#past tense weekend only happens once!!!

[mylittleredgirl]

i thought that was a normal, even expected amount of trekkie behavior actually

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist for any fic

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |14|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Fighting, Shooting, Guns, Stabbing, Blood, Killing, Murder, Death

Word Count: 5.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

“Remember, travel in public,” you heard Bailey say through the phone as you and Sam walked over to the group. “The more people around you, the less likely he is to try something.”

Sam flicked a glance at you, but you didn’t say anything. Traveling in public was useful at times, using the crowd to hide yourself and make your way to a target, or spy on them without them knowing. It could also be dangerous, you had a lot less control when traveling in public, never knowing what or who you might run into. Depending on the place, there was also the high probability of getting separated or losing sight of your target.

Ghostface had already attacked in public many times. You saw the news report of the lady killed by her student; you knew this psycho wasn’t that guy, but he stabbed her in an alley with people actively walking past it. Not to mention when Ghostface first went after Sam, it was when she was at the gym, sure it was late, but it was clearly not planned out, they had no idea if she’d be alone or how many people would be there. Then most importantly, when he attacked at the bodega, sure he came at you guys from of the shadows, but he had no problem running into a public space and shooting anyone who got in his way.

You weren’t sure what the better option was, the subway was cramped and upped the risk of getting separated. The crowd could also work against you, it was Halloween weekend, people were always dressed in costumes. You had plenty of assignments that involved you subtly taking someone out, just as they were simply walking down the street, only for them to stumble forward after you were long gone and collapse. A cab was no better, you didn’t have the risk of being around a crowd but there was no way all of you would fit in a cab, separating was the biggest risk you could take. Then there was walking, the shrine wasn’t close, and anything could happen between Gale’s apartment and there, if Ghostface came out of the shadows again he could force you into a public space, hurting more innocent people, or force you into an unknown location.

“What are you thinking?” Sam asked.

You crossed your arms as you silently debated with yourself. You went over every option, now you just had to determine which was the best course. “The subway,” you settled on. “Just make sure to stick together,” you looked at each of them. “Don’t let go or lose sight of each other.” When everyone nodded, they all made their way out of the building and towards the subway.

You pushed past people, everyone bumping shoulders as you forced your way down into the subway tunnel. Just as you expected, it was overly crowded, as usual, and half the people were wearing costumes or a mask of some sort. Once all of you reached the platform the doors to the subway opened and everyone began shoving each other to get in while others shoved to get out.

You heard someone screaming to wait but you couldn’t make out their voice. You kept your eyes on Sam, she was leading the group and shoving her way onto the subway. Tara was between you and Sam, but she started to fall behind when more people started to shove themselves between them. You instinctively reached out and caught Tara by the shoulders when she bumped into you. You felt her tense, probably at feeling someone touching her but as soon as she looked at you, you felt her relax in your grasp. You gave her a reassuring smile and continued forward, making sure Tara stayed in front of you and didn’t get pushed back again.

Once you were safely on the subway with Tara and Sam you looked back to see Chad in the doorway reaching back for Mindy. It was no use, people kept shoving Chad into the car and Mindy further away until the doors finally closed, separating them. You furrowed your brow when you saw Ethan a couple paces behind Mindy, but while she was still reaching and slamming her hand against the closed doors, Ethan remained still, as if he wasn’t even trying to get on the subway.

“Oh my god,” Tara whispered. You looked up, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of a handful of people dressed like Ghostface.

You understood the appeal of Halloween; you had dressed up plenty of times. What you didn’t understand was the appeal of dressing up like a serial killer. Jason, Freddy Krueger, you got it, they were iconic villains from classic horror movies. You also knew Stab was a movie, but it was based on real events, a real person dressed up like Ghostface and terrorized his classmates. Dressing up like Ghostface seemed rather tasteless, it wasn’t like most people were going around dressing up like Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Bundy.

“Stay together,” you mumbled. Tara was already pressed into her sister’s side and you put your hand high on the pole Sam was next to, making sure, in a way, you had a protective arm around both of them, with Chad between you and Sam but behind Tara.

“Mindy said she and Ethan will get the next one,” Chad said. He didn’t bother looking up from his phone as he continued to text his sister.

“Tell her to keep her guard up.” Chad looked up at you and nodded before typing away on his phone again. You learned Mindy was naturally a suspicious person, you still didn’t want her to take chances. You didn’t trust Ethan and you didn’t like that Mindy was completely alone with him, even if they were surrounded by people, there was a risk.

The four of you rode in silence, your eyes flicking from each person in a Ghostface costume and back. All three of them could be standing in the same car with you and you wouldn’t even know it until one made a move. They could easily make a move, they would just need to get close enough, then once the car jostled, like always, someone could take a knife to the gut, and Ghostface could slip back into the crowd, with everyone none the wiser.

You were silently counting the stops as they happened, with each one, more people cleared out, but just as many got on. You clocked ever person entering and exiting the car, even if Ghostface wasn’t currently in the same car, it didn’t mean he couldn’t hop on at one of the stops. The stop before yours was when one of the Ghostface’s started moving. You effortlessly slipped around behind the others to get on the other side of Sam and turned so you were facing her but bocking her from any potential attack, your hand still gripped the pole, just above her head.

“Hey,” you whispered.

You could see Sam fighting a smile, but her eyes quickly shifted back to the figure over your shoulder. You used the reflection in the glass to track the Ghostface’s movements and turned your head just as they exited the subway.

“That was smooth,” Sam said, giving you a small smile. You just shrugged but didn’t bother moving, opting to stay right where you were, close, and face to face with Sam until your stop.

The four of you were the first ones out the door as soon as they opened. You followed closely behind the others as you made your way down the dark street towards the shrine. You still hadn’t heard from Mindy as far as you knew, you didn’t know if she was safe and, on her way, or if something had happened. Ghostface had appeared out of the shadows more than once and you weren’t putting it past him to do it again, you were sure he knew you were planning on taking him out tonight.

“Hey,” Kirby greeted once you were outside the shrine. “I just got done clearing the place.”

“Great,” Sam said. “Any word from Mindy?” she looked at Chad.

Chad shook his head and held up his phone as if that would make a text from Mindy magically appear. “I’m going to try calling,” he mumbled.

“Do you want us to wait for you?”

“No,” Chad waved her off. “I’ll meet you inside.”

Sam seemed reluctant but she nodded and followed Kirby into the shrine, with Tara right behind them. You moved to follow as well when you turned and looked back at Chad, frowning at his phone as he still tried to get ahold of Mindy. “Hey,” you called out, making him look up at you. “Be careful.” Chad glanced around, seeming to realize he would be standing on the side of the street at night, right outside of the Ghostface shrine, alone. “Want me to wait?”

Your offer seemed to shake Chad out of his daze as he quickly shook his head. “Nah, they need you more,” he nodded towards where Sam and Tara disappeared to.

You nodded quickly jogged to catch up with the girls. You didn’t feel right about leaving Chad outside alone, he was a perfect target for Ghostface. Ghostface could quickly take out Chad before making his way into the shrine and none of you would ever know.

“This is the only way in or out,” Kirby said, as you walked up behind them, slipping through the door before she closed it. “He comes in, the doors lock, and he’s trapped.” You hummed, it wasn’t a bad plan. “Our own little kill box.”

“Weapons?” Sam asked.

“One gun.” You and Kirby shared a knowing look, silently agreeing to still keep your gun quite. “And I have it.” Sam didn’t seem happy about only one of you having a weapon, but Kirby was quick to remind her she was the only one with a badge. You didn’t point out that a badge didn’t matter if you weren’t actually arresting Ghostface, if anything holding a badge just made things more difficult.

The four of you walked around, glancing at the display cases again. Your eyes scanned over the area, before you had been looking for threats and taking everything in, now you were scoping out spots to hide and what could be used to take someone out. If you had your gear, you could knock out all the lights, propel down and take out each Ghostface before they even knew what hit them. You could take out the lights still, but it would be less fun since you couldn’t propel down from the ceiling, and there was no window to break through.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Kirby said. You nodded and watched as she left the main room and through one of the side doors. The place wasn’t overly big, but there were still too many places you could be snuck up on.

Sam pulled out her phone and brought it to her ear. You watched her with a furrowed brow. “What?” she shouted into the phone, clearly shocked by whatever the other person said. You looked back at the cage; Chad still hadn’t entered the building yet. When you looked back at Sam she was making her way across the stage, until she was standing in front of Billy Loomis’s display case. You didn’t question her as she opened the display case and took out the still bloody knife that was inside.

You approached Sam slowly, glancing down as she tucked the knife in her jeans, but you still opted not to say anything. “Everything okay?” you asked. Almost as soon as the words left your mouth the lights flickered, several of them going out as if someone flipped the switches for them.

Sam turned to you, her eyes searching your face for you weren’t sure what. You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when a scream interrupted you. Sam whipped around and your head snapped up towards the door to the side of the room. Neither of you hesitate to run through the door, not even caring what would be on the other side.

You burst through the door and saw Tara on the ground, her shoulder bleeding, and Ghostface standing over her. You didn’t even hesitate to grab Ghostface by his cloak and slam him into the side of the counter that was next to him. Sam took the opportunity to pull her sister to safety while you faced Ghostface.

Ghostface pushed off the counter and swung his knife at you. You effortlessly dodged it, trying to keep him distracted from Sam and Tara. You barely ducked in time as the door to your right burst open and a knife was swung at your head. You whipped around to see there was now two Ghostface.

“Go!” you shouted. You slowly backed away until you heard the door open, telling you Sam and Tara had listened. You made your way towards the door and pushed an old popcorn machine over to buy you some time as you ran down the hall after Sam and Tara.

You quickly caught up with the sisters and the three of you burst through the door that led back out into the main room. “How the hell did they get in?” you asked as the three of you stood in a circle.

“Because it’s Kirby,” Sam said. You stopped in your tracks and looked at Sam cautiously, never once did it seem like she suspected Kirby. “Bailey said she was fired from the FBI,” she gave you a curious look.

“Forgive me for not taking Bailey’s word for it,” you said.

Before anything else could be said Kirby stumbled into the room, a trail of blood dripping down the side of her head. “We know it’s you Kirby,” Sam whipped around, holding up the knife she stole from the display.

“Wha-No,” Kirby said confused, shaking her head. “Someone knocked me out.”

“Get away from them Kirby!” Bailey called out, coming down the center aisle. You narrowed your eyes at Bailey, unsure of when he arrived and how he got in without anyone hearing him. “We know it’s you!”

“He’s lying!”

“You two aren’t going to get away with this!” You furrowed your brow at the word two but then your eyes widened when you realized he was looking at you. You scoffed and shook your head, now you knew he was killer.

Sam gave you a confused look and took the slightest step away from you. “He’s lying,” you said calmly. “He’s clearly behind this.”

Bailey let out a humorless chuckle. “My own daughter died because of you!” You glared at Bailey, it was obvious he was behind all of this, but you didn’t think he’d actually kill his own daughter, something was off. “It’s been you two since the beginning,” he gestured between you and Kirby with his gun.”

“No,” Sam said, shaking her head. “It can’t be.” Her eyebrows were scrunched together as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Who was the one with the file on Y/N?” You glared at Bailey, that was a thin argument at best, Kirby was FBI, she would be able to get your file. “Who’s been sneaking off and conspiring in corners?” You rolled your eyes, you and Kirby never snuck off, you just whispered quietly away from the others. It seemed to be enough to make Sam look at you differently though.

“Come on,” you said calmly. “Sam, you know me,” you held up your hands to show you weren’t a threat.

“But I don’t,” she said more to herself than you.

“Sam.” She looked up at you, but you could see her trust wavering, you could practically see her questioning whether last year was happening all over again. “Remember what I told you.” You gave her a knowing look and mouthed the word ‘Three’ even if you and Kirby were behind everything, there was still a third person out there. Sam saw you in the gym when two other Ghostface attacked her, she knew this.

“I-”

“Look out!” Kirby shouted, interrupting all of you.

You all turned to see a Ghostface running up behind Bailey, with his knife raised. Bailey raised his hand and shot at Kirby before any of you had time to react. The Ghostface slowed to a stop right beside Bailey and the second one appeared on Bailey’s other side. “Good work you two,” Bailey said with a smile.

“You?” Sam said, slightly confused and disbelieving.

“Me,” Bailey shrugged, clearly proud of himself. “The only one to figure it out,” he waved a finger at you. “What gave it away?”

“I clocked all three of you the second I met you,” you said. “Isn’t that right, Ethan?” you raised an eyebrow.

The Ghostface on Bailey’s left took off his mask, revealing Ethan was in fact underneath. “Still don’t know how you figured me out,” he said confused.

“But then who…” Sam started, turning her attention to the Ghostface that was still masked. “Mindy?” her voice cracked as if she truly couldn’t believe her friend might behind all this.

“No,” you said with a shake of your head. Mindy got separated with Ethan, so it made sense for Sam’s mind to go to her first. “Right, Quinn?” You felt Sam and Tara both snap their heads towards you, but you kept your eyes on the Ghostface as they slowly took off the mask, revealing Quinn.

“Surprise,” Quinn said, holding up the mask. “You’re good,” she chuckled.

“You were all painfully obvious.”

“But you died!” Tara said. “We saw you die!”

“But I didn’t,” Quinn snarked. “It’s quite easy to fake your death when your dad’s a cop. Got me off the suspect list,” she shrugged. “And gave me the perfect opportunity to attack Gale, then Mindy on the subway.” You heard one of the sisters suck in a breath, you just had to hope Mindy would survive, though you now knew why she wasn’t answering Chad.

“But why?” Sam asked. “Why do any of this?”

“So, everyone would see you for the killer you truly are,” Bailey said.

“But I’m not,” Sam shook her head. “Those posts are lies! I didn’t kill anyone.”

“No!” Quinn cut in, her voice rising with emotion. “You killed our brother!”

“Your brother?” Tara asked confused.

“You’re Richie’s family,” Sam said, seeming to put it together before you or Tara. Your eyes widened, you didn’t know anything about Richie, but it was clear his entire family was psychotic.

“Yeah,” Bailey sighed, his eyes filled with the sadness at the mention of his dead son. “Now it’s time to die,” his voice became devoid of any emotion.

Bailey pointed his gun at Sam, but you moved quicker, whipping out the gun you had concealed. You didn’t point it at Bailey though, you pointed the gun higher and fired at the light above them. All three of them flinched at the sound of the gun but then were forced to cover their heads as the light shattered above them and glass rained down. You grabbed Sam and Tara and pulled them to safety before Bailey could start firing again.

“Go,” you said, nodding to one of the doors to the right of you. Sam looked at you then looked down at your gun, if you survived this you were sure you’d be hearing about this. You reached down and rested a hand on top of Sam’s, forcing her to look at you. “Go.”

Sam seemed reluctant to leave your side but eventually she relented. You watched as her and Tara got into position to run across the room. You gave Sam a nod and as soon as they took off you stood up and provided cover fire, forcing Bailey to duck out of the way and not shoot at them. Ethan swiped his knife at you, forcing you to dodge him and not shoot at Quinn as she made for the door on the other side. You figured Sam and Tara could hold off Quinn long enough for you to deal with Bailey and Ethan though.

Ethan raised his knife and lunged at you again. You effortlessly caught his hand holding the knife with your own, holding it high in the air. You used your other hand that held the gun and fired, shooting Ethan in the knee. Ethan howled out in pain but as he fell forward, you twisted the arm that was in your grasp, keeping him standing up right.

You drove his own knife into his back and as soon as he released his grip your hand took his place, giving the knife a sickening twist before ripping it upwards. Ethan screamed out in pain again.

“No!” Bailey yelled. You turned around, making Ethan turn with you to use him as a shield.  “You sick bastard.” Bailey pointed his gun at you but didn’t fire, he couldn’t unless he was willing to kill his own son.

You couldn’t help but give a small smile, that probably looked rather sadistic to anyone else. You ripped out the knife and wrapped your arms around Ethan’s neck, effectively putting him in a headlock. You stared Bailey straight in the eye as you twisted your hands, the sound of Ethan’s neck snapping instantly filling the room. Bailey’s eyes didn’t even have time to widen in horror before you pushed Ethan’s body towards him, using it as cover as you dove behind the seats.

Bailey’s screams of horror filled the room, as he began shooting blindly into the seats. You stayed low, army crawling and rolling under the rows of seats as you made your escape. “Where are you?” Bailey screamed. You peaked your head over one of the chairs to see Bailey spinning around in circles, his gun raised as he searched for you. “Come out and face me!”

You watched Bailey, making sure to duck when he started to turn in your direction. When he wasn’t facing you, you took your chance and did a somersault across the floor, so you were now behind one of the displays. When you peaked around the display you got the perfect view of the balcony where you saw Sam and Tara facing off against Quinn.

Sam had one arm around Tara, trying to keep her as far away from Quinn as possible while her other arm was stretched out, the knife she took from the case raised. You could see Quinn smile and hop around as if she were having the time of her life. They were evenly matched, but Sam had Tara to worry about, putting her at an extreme disadvantage. Quinn knew that and was just toying with them, she just needed to keep them occupied long enough for Bailey to join her, then they’d easily take out the sisters.

You looked over as Bailey slowly made his way down the aisle, whipping his gun side to side as he continued to search for you. You slowly continued up the aisle, making sure to keep your eye on Bailey with each move you made. You made your way behind the back of the seats and did a somersault when you had to pass the main aisle. When you got to the end of the seating, you looked up, seeing Tara and Sam back against the wall. Sam stabbed the knife at Quinn, it was the only thing she could do to keep Quinn at bay.

You raised your gun over the seats and fired a few rounds next to Bailey, breaking several of the display cases in the process. Bailey covered his head as he ran for cover, he raised his gun and tried to blindly shoot once again. You took the opportunity to run to the staircase that led up to the level Sam and Tara were on.

When you got up to the top level you slipped through the door as quietly as possible. You stayed low as you made your way towards Sam and Tara, weaving in between the rows of seats as you did so. It didn’t seem either of the sisters had seen you yet, which you were fine with, you didn’t want them to react anyway. You were crouched down as you stepped down on the main pathway and slowly stood up. You tucked the gun away in the holster once again when you were directly behind Quinn.

You caught Sam’s eyes widen as she finally saw you, but you didn’t pay her much attention. Just like you did with Ethan you put Quinn in a headlock but instead of snapping her neck you drove the knife into it, then dragged it across her throat. You held the knife down at your side, not even paying attention to the small pool of blood it began forming on the ground.

You stepped back as Quinn turned around, a hand to her neck as blood gushed between her fingers. She opened her mouth but only spit up more blood. She reached out towards you as she stepped forward, but you stepped to the side. You stared emotionlessly as she stumbled forward, eventually going to far to the side and tumbling over the balcony.

Bailey let out another cry as soon as his daughter’s body crashed into the displays below.  He seemed to forget about the three of you up top as he ran to Quinn’s side. You looked over the balcony, seeing Quinn’s lifeless eyes staring up at you. You let out a hum, even if she wasn’t dead yet she soon would be, you cut her neck deep enough that she would certainly bleed out in seconds.

“Let’s go,” you said and nodded towards the door.

Tara gave you a look but did as you asked. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you so you turned to her and just saw her staring at you, though you couldn’t place the emotion on her face. She just watched you slit a girl’s throat and watch her walk off a balcony, all as if it were a completely normal task for you. Even though Quinn was trying to kill her you probably most certainly scared Sam away, especially if she caught what you did to Ethan.

You led the way down the staircase back to the first floor. You peaked around the corner to see Bailey still sobbing over Quinn. “What about him?” Tara asked.

“We take him out,” Sam said before you could answer.

“Got a plan?” you asked.

Sam nodded. “First, we need to hit the lights.”

The three of you moved, sneaking around Bailey and making your way through another door. Once you were free of Bailey’s gaze the three of you began searching until you finally found the electrical room. “Stay here,” Sam ordered her sister. “I’ll send a text when it’s time to hit the lights.” Tara seemed reluctant but nodded anyway. “Ready?” she asked, looking at you, which you gave her a firm nod to.

You left the electrical room, making sure to close the door as quietly as possible behind you. You and Sam gave each other an understanding nod before splitting up. Sam went around the side so she could get up on the stage without Bailey seeing her and you peaked out the little window of the door, making sure Bailey wasn’t looking as you slipped back out into the main room. You pressed yourself against the side of the stage as you waited for the signal to make your move.

“Come on!” Bailey yelled, shooting to his feet and spinning around in a circle with his gun raised. “Show me what kind of killer you really are!”

A moment later the lights shut off, throwing all of you into darkness. You smiled as you started moving, using the edge of the stage to guide you. Right on cue the giant screen clicked on, playing more of those home movie’s Bailey originally had going.

“What’s the plan Sam?” Bailey yelled as he predictably began making his way towards the stage.

You kept yourself low, blending into the shadows of the stage as Bailey got closer. Your hiding was made easier by Bailey not expecting you, he was too focused on the screen, waiting for someone to pop out somewhere up on stage. As soon as his foot got to the second one from the top you sliced your knife across his right heel.

Bailey let out a pained hiss as he tried to hold in his scream. He immediately stumbled forward, needing to lean all his weight on his left leg so he remained upright. You looked over the side of the stage to see Bailey, as predicted, hadn’t made it far, so you sliced your knife across his left heel, sending him crumbling to the floor.

You hopped up on the stage in one effortless move. Bailey raised his gun, trying to shoot behind himself but you grabbed his hand and arm, and brought your knee up, snapping the bone at his elbow. Bailey sobbed as he brought his arm to his chest, his gun falling to the floor as he was no longer able to hold it. You walked around to the front of him, kicking his gun across the stage so he didn’t get any ideas.

You crouched down so you were eye level with Bailey and tilted your head at his broken state. “I was right about you,” Bailey said through gritted teeth, tears streaming down his face from the pain he was in. “You’re just a trained killer.” You tilted your head to the other side then stood up without a word, backing away as you made way for Sam.

Sam came out from behind the screen, which was still playing the home movies. She was dressed in her father’s Ghostface costume as she walked towards Bailey. She crouched down, twisting the knife in her hands as she stared at Bailey through the mask.

“You can’t do this to me,” Bailey seethed. Sam stood up and took a small step back. “You can’t do this to me!” Sam ripped the mask off, letting it fall to her side. “You can’t do this,” Bailey shook his head. “I’m a decorated officer, you can’t-” he was cut off by Sam shoving a knife through his eye.

You gave a nod of approval as Bailey fell backwards, his body unmoving. Sam looked back at you, and it was like you could visibly see the relief of this all being over in her eyes. She looked past you and you turned, following her line of sight as Tara joined the two of you on stage.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, looking at her sister.

“No,” Tara admitted. “I’m going to get so much therapy after this.” Which made Sam chuckle.

You smiled but quickly winces when you moved to stand next to the sisters, all the adrenal quickly wearing off. “I’m going to an ambulance,” you said. “I’m pretty sure I tore all my stitches.” Both sisters laughed and you couldn’t help but join in as the three of you made your way off the stage.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

@luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee @bella423 @rayisaknight

@assgradiangod @canyonyodeler @marsyay78

[inafieldofstarflowers]

My ⋆｡*Jeremy Knox Evidence Board⋆｡°

aka: I scoured TSC for all the crumbs I could find about Jeremy Knox and the mystery of his tragic and/or questionable past and tried to sort the information into sections

1. Whatever happened has something to do with Exy

Jeremy mentions "the fall banquet that broke [the Knox] family in half" in his freshman year

Before this banquet, Jeremy's sister Annalise always went to his games, after it, she not only stopped attending but went "out of her way to forget everything she knew about Exy" and had "never forgiven [Jeremy] for sticking with it"

Annalise suggests that their step-grandpa will have an opinion on Jeremy recruiting Jean and states that this recruitment is "a new scandal" which will make Jeremy "End the way [he] started"

2. Jeremy Goes to Therapy

Cat says that this therapist was "legit life changing" for Jeremy

Jeremy's mom was the one to find him this therapist, and she's both very good & very expensive

The therapist has walked him through how to push back against his family (or, at least, Annalise's anger at him sticking with Exy), suggesting that she believes his decision to continue playing after whatever happened is legitimate

3. SOMETHING is up with the Knoxes

Jeremy acknowledges that his family has their issues, though he specifies that his mother never raised a hand to hurt them physically

Again, whatever happened at the banquet "destroyed the family"

There's specifically tension between Jeremy and his stepdad/step-grandpa

- Jeremy is "permanently on his stepfather's bad side"

- Their step-grandpa is a Congressman, and the Knoxes are a "picture perfect family" who are "duty bound to dress up and smile" to make him look good

- When Annalise brings up their step-grandpa it is apparently "obvious bait" which Jeremy rises to by saying that he "isn't their grandfather"

- Him saying this makes Annalise respond "don't destroy my future"

Jeremy's parents are presumably divorced rather than his dad being dead (Jeremy uses the present perfect tense when he tells Jean "Dad's been stationed [in Europe] a couple times"

There's weird energy between the Knox siblings

- Cat identifies three: two brothers and one sister. We know Annalise is the younger sister and Bryson is the older brother, but the third is an unknown. Also, Cat noticeably pauses before saying that Jeremy has three siblings, but Jean doesn't ask about it

- Annalise has a grudge against Jeremy, and he avoids Bryson, who is apparently a jerk

- Jeremy mentions that "most of his siblings" wanted to get out of LA when stating that he wanted to stay because of his love for USC

Jeremy's family is upset when he bleaches his hair (presumably because of how it affects the family's image)

- He's "uninvited from the family table for the state of his hair"

- When Laila asks what happened to frosted tips, Cat says it was "something about how going beachboy mode was more acceptable than looking like a one-hit wonder dropout" and Jeremy says he might do tips next year "after I've graduated and don't have to deal with the fallout"

Jeremy gets "tense and distant" when his mom texts him

- Also her text tone is an "awful noise" (which could mean nothing but also Jeremy has curated specific text tones for everyone so I do NOT believe this is a coincidence)

4. Jeremy's housing situation is weird

In his own words, Jeremy stays "[with Cat and Laila] from June until the start of the school year" and then once school begins, is "usually only over on the weekends" and lives at his house

- When Jeremy explains this, Jean notices "the way Jeremy's gaze slid past him to peer into the distance" and "the tight tug at the corner of Cat's mouth"

- As @drunkinourtears pointed out, “apparently only [Jeremy] (out of all his siblings) is required to live in their family house the whole year,” referencing the passage "Unlike Bryson, who always came home for the summer, [Annalise] insisted on keeping her own place on the other side of the city year-round." This emphasizes that “Jeremy is the only sibling to be put on a tight leash” regarding his living situation, as both his older brother and YOUNGER sister are allowed their own choices on where to live

Jeremy sneaks in and out of the house "to avoid conflict" and is aided and abetted in this venture by the family's butler

- He says that "the trick to starting Saturdays off on the right foot was to get out of the house as early as possible"

5. A deeply weird financial situation

The Knoxes have money (as evidenced by the butler & mentioned private chef), and Jeremy has access to it to some extent

Jeremy has to deal with his mother's bookkeeper regularly enough that he has the practiced thought that he gets a receipt "so he could file it later" with the thought that it is "always best to have a paper trail"

- He gets receipts three times: when he buys coffee & the gift card for the man in line behind him, when he keeps the receipt from Jean's shirt, and when he gets the receipt for his hair dye job (adding a note with the amount for the cash tip on the top of this one)

Jeremy gives Cat and Laila cash to help with groceries and rent, and Cat "knows how many hoops" he has to jump through to get the money as a result of being on his stepfather's bad side

- As a side note, it's interesting that Jeremy's finances seem to both require his stepfather's approval and are then confirmed by his mother's bookkeeper

- This also ties back into the weird living situation: Jeremy seems to have some financial freedom (he can get his hair done on the book, even though his family does not want him to), but he has to scramble to be able to give Cat and Laila money for the time he lives with them (possibly to disincentivize him from staying there?)

- Annalise, by contrast, has her own place in the city she can stay in year-round, which suggests that she has easier access to the family’s money, or at least more freedom to work with it in regards to her housing situation (shoutout @drunkinourtears for pointing this out!)

6. Jeremy's weird comment about cops

I will just quote this in full because: “There was little to no chance he’d know them, and no reason they’d recognize him, but Jeremy kept his gaze forward and his mouth shut until they were past.”

- This is never expanded on, and it's such an ambiguous passage in terms of what Jeremy means. First, why say there's "little to no chance" he'd know them and not just "no chance"–why would they know him? His politician step-grandpa? Something he did? It just reads less as a general discomfort with cops and more as an avoidance with a specific reason

- Second, "and no reason they'd recognize him" could just mean that they wouldn't know Jeremy Knox, but again, that would be such a weird thing to say. Would they know his name/know about something he did in the past, but just not know his face?

- All in all, this passage reads to me like there's something in Jeremy's past that has made him uncomfortable around cops, and while there's no reason these particular ones would recognize him from that or know about it, the very idea that they might puts him on edge (is there a potential tie between this discomfort and whatever happened in Jeremy's freshman year?)

There’s also Rhemann’s comment after Grayson’s attack: when he wants to bring the police in, he tries to reassure Jean by saying “I’ll send Jeremy away first,” Rhemann said, like that somehow would win Jean over.” It’s easy to read this as Rhemann thinking Jean wants privacy in this moment, but that doesn’t hold up as much considering the specificity of sending JEREMY away, suggesting he assumes Jean is concerned about Jeremy having to be around the cops

- As @drunkinourtears pointed out, his comment suggests that Rhemann knows about whatever Jeremy’s issues with the cops are, and him saying this in front of Lucas and to Jean “implies that Jeremy's situation with cops is common knowledge for the team and [Rhemann] assumes Jean also knows about it” (I 100% didn’t pick up on this until reading the comment about it and it is FASCINATING)

7. Cat and Laila know about whatever happened

Throughout the book, Cat and Laila either trade looks or make faces or almost slip out information about what happened when things come up about Jeremy's past

- They're solidly on his side about it whatever's up with his family, seeming to dislike them quite a bit

- Cat mentioning that therapy helped him out a lot does suggest that they didn't think he was in a good place before

- Cat knows even though she wouldn't have been at the freshman year banquet, only the fifth year seniors would have been (that suggests that the only people who DEFINITELY know would be Laila, Cody, Pat, Derek Thompson, and Shawn Anderson)

Addendum 1: Jeremy is particularly uncomfortable around discussion of suicide

Obviously, this is a very sensitive topic, and there’s every possibility that Jeremy is just uncomfortable because any conversation about suicide is going to be hard. However, as @welcome-to-the-end-of-eras and @catalailas pointed out in the notes, Jeremy’s reactions are generally heightened compared to those around him when suicide comes up

When Jeremy finds out about Wayne, Jean notes that: “In one heartbeat, Jeremy’s entire demeanor changed. Jean watched the blood drain from his face even as Jeremy hopped off his stool and turned away from them. The line of his shoulders was rigid as he listened to whatever Cody had to say.”

Additionally, when Jean suggests Grayson might kill himself like Wayne if he goes to therapy, it’s followed by “That isn’t a joke,” Jeremy said, with unexpected ferocity.”

- Again, these could just be a natural reaction from someone who’s removed from the mafia stuff in a way the other main characters aren’t, but the section about Grayson is also followed by the statement that “Cat winced, but kept her eyes on Jean,” which suggests it might be something more personal to Jeremy, & Cat knows what/why

If there are any other notes you have to add to the evidence board, let me know! Also, if you have any theories about how these things connect and what exactly is going on with our boy Jeremy, I would LOVE to hear them and I WILL add any substantial evidence I missed

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A week passes in a tense slog. Barrett continues his pandering penance and you wallow in irritation. You want to put it behind you. You want to get past it but every time you do, it just happens again.

If this was the first time, it would be easy but you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve had this fight. 

Your menial office work does little to distract. It only allows you to think about all the bullshit. The way Barrett dismisses everything you do and has to list of everything you don’t. The way he can’t see his own flaws or how you’ve never once rubbed his nose in them like a dog.  

Is it passive or weak or just acceptance? You can’t say. You just always put up with it.  It’s just easier not to make an issue of every little thing. Problem is, now it’s a big thing. 

When you come home, you’re worn out but you still have work to do. Dishes, tidying, cooking. Even your weekends don’t allow you must rest. You need to sort through the bills and go get groceries. All along the way, he’s in the way. You’re not sure he’s trying to help, more so trying to force his way to forgiveness. 

You grab a bundle of reusable shopping bags from the cupboard overflowing with them. It only took about a hundred of the things to start remembering to take them with you.  

As you shut the cupboard, Barrett’s on the other side of the oven. Watching and waiting. He’d be a lot more help if you didn’t have to tell him what to do. You forgot a mug and to him, that’s high crime, but he can’t remember to pay the power bill without six texts on the due date. 

“So... what’s going on today?” He smiles. 

It used to be that that smile made you melt. It would make all your troubles flutter away like butterflies. Now it’s just another irk. 

“Groceries.” You wave the fistful of bags. 

“Oh, cool, want me to come?” 

You nearly scoff. Every weekend you ask and every weekend he’s too busy. His pals want him to jam in their garage band or go fishing down at some dirty river. Another tick on the wrong side of the Pros-Cons list. 

“Sure,” you shrug. It’s easier to just let him come along. You don’t need another argument and you could use the extra hands. 

You shove the bags into the folded shopping cart and put your shoes on. He toddles behind like a lost child. You’re repress a glare as you grab your keys and purse. You’re going to have to talk this out sooner than later our you’re really going to hate him. 

He follows you out to the bus stop and you wait in silence. You had a car but it broke down last year. Ever since, he gets a ride off his coworkers or friends and you flash your bus pass. It’s cheaper than leasing a car, even a used one. 

You don’t know what stresses you out more; thinking about all the stuff he does or just thinking about your life. You get on the bus and sit near the back. He reaches over to grab your hand. You wince but don’t pull away. 

“Nice day,” he says. 

“Mhmm,” you grumble. 

His attempt at small talk doesn’t go much further. You get off at your stop and walk the block to the grocery store. You unfold your shopping cart and pull out your list. Barrett grabs a bag of gummy bears and dumps them in the cart. 

“Those aren’t on the list,” you say. 

“I know but it’ll be a nice treat for later. We’ll have some tonight after dinner.” 

“Oh, alright.” 

You factor in the extra cost and mentally cross off the avocado from the list. You can go without. You roll through the produce section and work your way down the list. Barrett trails behind you. 

You stop in the cereal aisle to grab a bag of oatmeal. As you stand, you flinch and cry out at a surprise peck on your cheek. Barrett puts his arm around your shoulder as he presses his lips against you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

“Baby, giving you a kiss.” You look at him and he grins, “I miss you. I love you. I’m tryna be better, honey.” 

“In the grocery store?” You challenge. 

“It’s cute.” 

“Mm, it’s... let’s wait ‘til we get outta here. It’s starting to get busy.” You glance around at the other customers, hoping none of them noticed his little act. “How about you go grab some drumsticks? Flyer says they’re on sale.” 

“Oh, I can do that. Be right back!” He proclaims. 

He shuffles off and you shake your head and turn back to the shelves. The store brand on discount is all out. You hiss in disappointment. You search the rest of the selection. That’s the cheapest on the shelf and you really can’t stretch the extra dollar. 

You look up at the overstock along the top. It’s right up there but you’re just too short to reach. You give a poor attempt then stand flat on your feet. You peer up and down the aisle. You could find an employee. 

“Need some help?”  

You turn to face the stranger and give a start. They aren’t so strange after all. You know him. Well, not know-know him. Everyone in the city knows Steve Rogers, the Captain America. 

“Uhhh...” 

“What’s your brand?” He asks. “They don’t run restock until before closing. I usually come then, less busy but I got... ha, sorry, I’m rambling. What can I grab for you?” 

You lick your dry lips and glance at the shelf. You appreciate the help but telling Captain America that you need the cheapest bag on the shelf isn’t exactly dignified. You point to the price tag on the shelf and he reaches on his toes to grab the edge of the box on the top. He wiggles out a bag and stands flat. 

“Here,” he offers it with a handsome smile. “You know, it’s made at the same factory as the regular brand.” He taps the back of the bag, “exact same address. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re from the same lot.” 

“Oh, well, er... thanks,” you take the oats and put them in your cart. 

“No problem. Sometimes being a hero isn’t very glorious. Sometimes it’s just reaching the top shelf.” 

You force a chuckle. You’re sure the Cap’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Must be a real ego boost to help the little people. 

“Well, I appreciate it, Captain.” 

“Steve,” he smirks and stares. Your lower your brows and look behind you. Is he looking at someone else? 

“Oh, of course. I should go find my husband.” You roll around him and try to shake off the awkward encounter. You look down at your list as you stop at the end of the aisle. 

“Hope he’s not lost...” Steve calls after you. He says your name and you crane to look at him. You meet his gaze and blanch. He turns and struts off without another word. 

You turn back to your path and slowly leave the aisle. How did he know your name? You replay the interaction and try to recall giving it but you can’t. Well, you’re not exactly thinking straight right now. It’s nothing. You’re just stressed. 

[deathmetalangel]

HARDLY SEEMS FAIR

robby keene x fem! reader

warnings: "casual" relationship", swearing, arguments, crying, heavily ldr coded, implied hookups, slut shaming, cheating, angsty

“in what world is that fair robby?"

oke so this is kinda a retconnned chapter from my wattpad book that i'm just extending and making more ambigious instead of clearly x oc. i hope y'all like it tho. i am sorry i have been gone for so long :(

Y/n plays with the ends of Robby's hair. He was laying with his head in her lap while they just relaxed in her room. It was calm, domestic. A small and very rare moment for just the two of them. No outside force would intrude and break their safe haven. There was no what if's that lingered in the air. Nor past resentments that hung over them like an ominous cloud determined to damper their moods. 

It was just Y/n and Robby. And that's all they'll ever be. No labels. She figured that much after the last time she'd brought it up. But she's become so full of him she can't even bring herself to care. She'd rather have what they have now, whatever it may be with him. Rather than risking losing him, and the routine she's started to build around him. 

She hums softly. Her mind far off. "Y/n?" She hymns in acknowledgement without turning her head. "Something happened this weekend."

He was lying. This had been going on for weeks. He had been having doubts for weeks. He'd been seeing her for weeks. "What happened? Another karate fight?" She wasn't the girl who got heartbroken. She was never the second choice. She got what she wanted. And she wanted him, however she could have him.

"I kissed Sam Larusso."

Y/n freezes. Her body betraying her as she tenses up. She has no right, she knows that. They were 'casual'. Just her and Robby. Non-commital.

"I mean big deal right? We were drunk anyways. Just felt bad not telling you. I know were not dating so it's really not your business, but don't worry about it. I mean we've fucked so often what does a kiss even mean?"

A kiss. To her it meant everything. An act of intimacy that they rarley ever shared. So innocent, so pure.

"Get out of my room Robby." Y/n mumbles, her voice above a whisper. The teen sits up from her lap and looks at her incredalously. He was only telling her to keep her in the loop. She didnt have the right to be mad. So why was she making a big deal about this?

"What?"

"You heard me. Get the fuck out of my room Keene."

He furrows his brows in a toxic coctail of anger and confusion. "Why? You can't get pissed at me for this Y/n. We aren't fucking dating. Don't get all aggro on me like you're some psycho girlfriend when you're a friend with benefits at best."

Y/n stands up and pushes the boy out of her room. "Get the fuck out of here Robby! If it didn't mean anything why don't you go fuck her then? Go whine about your mommy issues and daddy issues to her and leave me the hell alone."

"You have some nerve you know that right? Don't act all high and mighty now. You're a whore. Why the hell would I ever actually take you seriously when I can get everything I want without the label or work. You're easy, I could never do that shit with Sam."

Her breath was stuck in her throat as the boy she truly thought cared began to berate her as if she was a random person on the street. The boy she suffered for. The boy that was really never her's to keep. Y/n forces herself to wipe her anrgy tears and push Robby once again.

Y/n's hands were shaky, she desprately wanted to cry. To scream. To give in and give him the satisfaction of getting to her. "Oh so you can come over whenever you want, make me listen to your shitty life, and basically force yourself into my own life, but all that means nothing right? Well guess what Kenne. You kissed her, and she still doesn't want you!" She presses her finger into his chest while her voice level rises. "That same girl is still with Miguel. So just because you wanna jump ship and 'upgrade' doesn't mean she wants anything to do with you. Face it babe, you're just white trash."

"Shut the fuck up Y/n." Robby practically spits back.

"Oh, so you can disrespect me and belittle me in my own fucking room, but when its you its a problem? Grow up Robby. You're a man baby and a hypocrite. In what world is that fair Robby? Maybe in your little made up fantasy where Sam picks you and you leave me for dead. So go stay there. Cause you're sure as hell not welcome here."

Y/n throws everything he's given her at him. Every last peice a memory they shared together. Posters, drawings, braclets, anything that adorned her room. All of it thrown to him and crashing down like victims of a violent storm. Tears streamed down her face as he backed up to her door.

She opens the door for him and grabs his sweater and keys before shoving it in his chest. The boy watches her dumbfounded.

"Stay away from me Robby. Go back to some other slut that can put up with your baggage and shitty attitude for one night stand status. Because I'm done."

He looks at her, but there wasn't the girl he knew looking back at him. Not with how she glared, not with how she stood, and not with how she felt. Her eyes, the e/c irises reflected love, now they were dark. Harbors for her contempt. The grimace on her face was unforgettable. Especially as the last thing he seen before she slammed her door on his face.

Robby swallows the spit in his mouth, a hard lump of guilt not wanting to go down. He didn't think any of this would happen. He wanted her to care, but he didn't want to fight. His temper, his father's god forsaken temper, and his own damned ego.

He wanted what he had with her, with Sam. The girl next door with a rich family and big house. Like something out of a book. Not the girl that did whatever he said for the sake of making him happy. He really did want to just abandon her, didn't he? After everything.

Choking back his frustrations the boy marches down her stairs and lets himself out. He liked what he had with her, but he wouldn't fight for her. Guys only did that for the girl they want.

[lcriedlastnight]

Can you do a fluffy and angsty fic for Lando after Austria, his girl comforting him. I'm surprised there aren't more after what happened under the tags but the only ones that were there are smut, which I don't really want to read I want fluff and angst.

sorry it took me so long to respond anon! i've been swamped.

tw: fem! reader, swears, AUSTRIA!!!!, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1k

you watch as lando trailed after max and you knew one of two things was inevitable. either lando was going to overtake max and finally take the lead after what seemed like forever, or the two boys were going to crash into each other.

you watch with one eye open every time lando tries to overtake max. you makes your body tense up as you fear that this will be the time their tires touch. you try to stay hopeful but you know that this will not end well, neither drivers willing to give up their positions and both trying to fight for that first place position.

it happens so quickly, it was a blink and you'll miss it incident. all you see is lando's mclaren try another move on max then something flying in the air. you can hear shouts from the mclaren team around you but you were still confused, you were not sure what exactly was happening. you watch as max slows down and lando finally overtakes him. you hear that he has received a five second penalty. you see a flash of a red bull fly past in the pit lane and then suddenly, lando's own car is stopped, practically half of its back wheel missing. it is then that it finally registers. they had contact and it had caused lando to retire from the race (you later found out it was his own decision).

you had not been with lando long enough to know what to do in this kind of situation. you just stay where you are for ten minutes until maybe the last few laps of the race when you feel lando's presence looming around you.

he does not even have to ask you to follow him as he heads towards his drivers room, head bowed down, not even looking where he was going. the boy was lucky he did not walk into any walls. if it had been any other situation you would have laughed at his carelessness but right now you had no clue how to act.

once you were both in the privacy of his room, lando slumps down on the little couch headfirst. you linger at the door, your hands longing to soothe him and your mind crying out to tell him it will all be alright.

"are you alright?" you question. it comes off timid as much as you tried to seem confident. you knew it was a silly question. you knew he was not fine but you just felt like you had to ask. lando sighs into one of the throw pillows at the question. for some reason this is what spurs you to spring into action. you take the few steps over to join him on the couch and sit as the space next to his feet.

"lando, look at me." you tell him, you voice much more firm and stable than before. lando does as you ask and turns himself so he is facing you and looks at you so sadly he might as well have just ripped out your heart out and jumped on it right there and then.

"that was all max's fault. you did nothing wrong. you tried an overtake, you wouldn't be a racer if you just sat back and let max lead the whole race. you're the only person on the grid who is consistently challenging max every weekend, that's something to be proud of.” you grab his hand gently and let your thumb rub it's own path along the skin of wrist.

"i'm shit. i've had one win and now i can't seem to do it again and when i finally get the chance to, like today, max just fucks me up because he would rather dnf than finish second! and he didn't even retire the fucking car he actually kept on racing which makes me look even worse!" by the end of his rant his voice was louder and you could see the tears of frustration in his eyes.

you swiftly pull him up by his hand to be face to face with you. you hold eye contact with him, letting him know how much you meant what you were going to say.

"you are not shit, lando. you've had one win and now you're hungry for more, of course it's gonna hurt a little when you come second again but listen to me. every single race you are getting closer and closer to max. i know you want it to be now but just because it isn't doesn't mean you're shit. it just means that max knows you are more of a threat than before miami and he can't just saunter along like he did at the start of the season. you're doing so well, please don't doubt yourself."

lando listens through your entire rant without trying to interrupt once and once you are finished talking he drops his head into your lap. "i really, really thought i was gonna get it this time. i really wanted it." he mumbles into your thigh. you know it is killing him and you cannot stand it. you know the only thing you can do to help him though, is to listen to him and give him the most comfort you can manage.

you sigh, hand coming to run through his sweaty, messy curls. "i know, baby. it's coming and it will be so fucking great when it does. i'll be here waiting for you and then we can celebrate like it's first, huh? that sound good?"

you can feel the small smile lando manages on your leg as he nods against it.

you stay like that for what seems like ages but you know it cannot be that long because before lando can even ask the time there is a knock on his door, alerting him that he had press to do in two minutes. he sighs and hauls himself from his comfortable position.

"you're so strong lan, be strong." you tell him with a quick kiss to his lips. lando knows it is a good luck kiss. lando also knows that you know how much he hates doing any kind of press or media when he was feeling like this.

"wish you could come with me." lando's frown is so deep it sort of looks like a half pout half frown. you smile at his cuteness.

"when you come back we can go back to the hotel, order in and watch that adam sandler film you like."

this seems to perk the boy up significantly as he give you a peck on the forehead before rushing out to get his media done and dusted. a night in with you sounded like heaven to him right now. he did not want to me reminded of the events of the day's race but he would put up with it for the end result. you and him cuddled up, together. it is all he ever wants.

[demonsslayersstuff]

Male Hashira x Reader (How They Apologize)

A/N: I’m back with one of my fav things to write! This one took a little longer than I planned, but life is getting busy. My plan is to get the Nanami fic out next week. As always thanks for the support! Have a great rest of the week/ weekend!

Description: Head cannons on how the Male Hashira apologize to the reader after a fight.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, slight smut with Sanemi’s (I couldn’t contain myself with that man). Reader is written gender neutral for all!

Kyojuro Rengoku:

Hates that he hurt you, to him it’s the worst feeling in the world, he swore to protect you and make you happy and ultimately failed to do so.

Immediately apologizes, but gives you space. As much as it pains him to be apart from you, he understands the need for space and respects that

When the two of you are ready to talk and apologize, he’s immediately pulling you into a tight embrace and keeping you there for a while. Gives you kisses all over your face and plans some alone time for just the two of you

Rengoku is not one to get you a gift after a fight, he’s going to focus on quality time and having a conversation to clear the air. Communication is key!

You watch as Rengoku comes into the kitchen, guilty expression splayed across his face. It had been a few hours since you’d asked him for some space after a particularly nasty spat, though now that you had time to think and calm down, the fight seemed to be over nothing of importance. “Can we talk?”, Rengoku asks as he comes to sit at the small table that you yourself were sitting at. You nod your head, gesturing for him to speak to you. “I’m so sorry. I let my anger get the best of me and I should have not said those things. I want you to know that I didn’t mean any of it”, the fiery man says, his eyes finding yours. “I accept your apology and I’m sorry as well, I over reacted and I shouldn’t have lashed out at you either”, you respond, sincerity in words. Rengoku reaches his hand out towards you and you grasp it, squeezing it gently. “Let’s make it up to each other by cooking dinner together, how does that sound?”, he asks with a smile. “Let’s do it”, you respond excitedly and for now you knew things would be ok between the two of you.

Uzui Tengen:

Being in a large family unit, squabbles are a common occurrence between and Tengen and his partners as we have seen in the show/ manga. For the most part the issues simmer down and life moves on

If things get fairly tense I see his wives picking sides and this turns things into a bigger mess. Tengen hates when things get this bad and often keeps his distance; allowing you and his wives to calm down and what not

I see there being a little group therapy session when all of you are ready to talk. For some reason I see Hinasturu taking charge of that, she gives me peace keeper vibes. Regardless issues get aired and things will go back to normal

I see Tengen being the type to bring you flowers or a small gift to start his apology. However, he is sincere, if he fucked up he’s going to make sure you know he really is sorry and will do his best to get back onto your good side

“Get in there and apologize”, you hear Hinasturu say with a commanding voice. For the past day you’ve been hiding in your room, only going out to eat quickly and quietly before slipping back into the room. After your fight with Tengen you were on your avoidance, path. You knew it was childish, but you didn’t care, you weren’t going to speak until he’d apologized first. “And give them the flowers”, you hear Makio add. “Ok ok”, Tengen grumbles, before he moves to knock on the door. “Let me in so we can talk please”, he says quietly. You open the door, letting the hulking man into the room. Once the door shuts he starts talking. “Listen I’m really really sorry for what happened. I was not in a great head space when we argued and the others made me realize I was acting like a dick”, he rambles before holding out the flowers towards you. You take them, laying them down on your beside table before launching yourself in his arms. You wrap your arms tightly around his waist before looking up at him. “I accept your apology, in the future let’s work on the words we say to each other, especially in the heat of anger”, you tell him. “I know, I really am sorry”, he mumbles before hugging you tightly to his chest.

Giyuu Tomioka

Even though Giyuu tends to be more closed off, with his partner I see him working really hard to not have fights or arguments with you. However, these things happen in most relationships, so when you do fight, it hurts him

If he is in the wrong I could see him asking you what you want. If you space he’s immediately giving it to you, an apology already done. He’s going to do what you want to do

Similar to Rengoku I see Giyuu being more focused on having quality time with you post an argument. He’s not one to give you gifts, but a hug and a few kisses he’ll do

I feel like Giyuu would be one to do small acts of services as an apology. He’ll make you your favorite drink, wrap you up in a blanket. He’s not one to be outwardly confrontational, but he’ll do the behind the scenes stuff to show you he still loves you, no matter what

You wake up warmer than you expected from your nap. You look down to see that someone, most likely your partner, had covered you up with a blanket. You smile a little, knowing that even though the two of had a rare argument, Giyuu was still looking out for you. “Yu?”, you call, using the playful nickname you gave him a long time ago at the beginning of your relationship. You hear the creaks of the floorboards as he walks towards the bedroom. You register his dark hair first before his ocean blue eyes come into view, soft and hesitant. “Can we talk?”, you ask him, shuffling on the bed to make space for him. “Of course”, he murmurs before walking towards and plopping down on the soft mattress. “I’m sorry for shutting you out like that Giyuu, that was immature and not fair to you”, you tell him, cheeks flushing pink with shame. “I’m sorry to, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I let my emotions get the best of me”, he responds, voice calm and even. You reach your hand out, softly cupping his cheek before you lean your forehead against his. “I hate fighting with you”, you mumble, relaxing as he pulls you closer. “Let’s try to not do that again”, he tells you, moving back slightly to look at your face. “Kiss me”, you whisper as you look into his eyes and as his lips connect with yours, any lingering pain or anger dissipates as you find your way back to each other.

Sanemi Shinazugawa:

This man has a lot of anger issues, so arguments are not uncommon in this relationship. Though Sanemi tries to not fight with you, his temper gets a hold of him sometimes

For the most part when fights break out you’ve learned to just let him get his anger out, he never means most of the stuff he says, so you often give him space. He goes to do training with other Hashira's to help him release the anger while you get the home to your self, a win win situation

When it comes to apologizing Sanemi is a flustered mess. As much as he hates it, he knows it’s the mature thing to do. Personally I really see make up sex being his go to, like I find Sanemi to be very passionate, so after a verbal apology he’s apologizing in other ways

Once the argument is over, most of the other Hashira and Corps members know they won’t be seeing you for a bit. One thing the two of you like about arguing is knowing how hot and heavy the make up sex is going to beeeeee

You let out a sharp gasp as your back connects to the wood wall of your shared bedroom. Before you even have time to make a coherent statement, Sanemi’s lips are on yours, devouring you in a deep passionate kiss. Your clothes are swiftly removed before he grabs the back of your thighs, holding you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. “M’fucking sorry, let me, fuck, let me make it up to you”, he huffs out, lips puffy from the intensity of the kiss. You squeeze his shoulders slightly, staring into his plum colored eyes as you catch your breath. “What’s stopping you”, you quip, rolling your hips slightly, causing a brief but electrifying heat in the area your bodies were connected. Before you know it you find yourself being flung down onto the bed, the wall now a distant memory as Sanemi stares down at you with hungry eyes. “I’m not letting you out of this bed until the sun rises”, he says, voice thick with desire. And as his body covers yours you knew you were in for a long night.

Iguro Obanai:

Hates fighting with you, if he feels an argument brewing he will do everything in his power to stop it from happening. However when the two of you are unable to stop a fight, it hits him hard

He had a rough childhood so you being angry at him brings up some past traumas and it can be difficult for him to handle at times. He knows deep down that you don’t hate him, but the anxiety is there

After an argument I really think that you’ll have to be the one to reach out. He doesn’t want to upset you further, so you’ll have to be the one to break the ice. He’ll be happy to see you and want to discuss the situation in a mature manner so that way it doesn’t happen again

I do see Obanai being someone who would probably get their partner a bouquet of flowers as a peace offering post fight, to let them know that he is thinking about them

“Obi”, you call as you step out into the garden, looking for the Snake Hashira who was in no doubt out here with his snake. You walk along the familiar path towards the big tree in the middle, your shoes crunching with each step from the fallen leaves. As you get closer, you see him sitting underneath the tree, so you call his name softly, watching as his eyes widen when he hears your voice, body turning to face you. “Can we talk?”, you ask him as you get closer to him. “Of course, if that’s what you want”, he responds, his multi-colored eyes watching your face carefully. “I’m really sorry, it was unfair for me to yell at you like that”, you tell him as you move to sit down next to him. “I want to apologize too, I should have never done that, without talking to you first”, Obanai tells you. You reach out and grab his hands, seeing his fingers tremble slightly. “I know, but it was still unfair for me to react the way I did, I am truly sorry Iguro. Will you forgive me?”, you question softly. “Of course, and I do accept your apology”, he responds, squeezing your hand reassuringly. The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon talking in the garden, the fight long forgotten by the end of the day.

Gyomei Himejima:

Honestly I don’t see many arguments happening with this guy. Gyomei definitely fits the gentle giant description, though as we have seen, he had no problem taking care of business like the badass he is

Anyway I don’t see you having bad fights, but what I do see happening is Gyomei not listening to your side of the story sometimes. As the de facto leader, it’s his way or the highway at times and that’s what causes an occasional fight

Gyomei would definitely be upset once he realizes he hurt your feelings (unintentionally in his mind) and would want to immediately clear the air between the two of you, but isn’t going to force you to do something you don’t want to do

I see big bear hugs as his silent apology. Be prepared to be scooped up into a tight but loving hug. Once the two of you apologize, things go back to normal fairly quickly, but for the next few days I see him being a bit more attentive to your wants and needs

You feel his large hands grip your waist softly as he comes to stand behind you in the kitchen. “Himejima”, you warn, but he doesn’t listen, he just spins you around so that way your bodies are facing each other. The dishes in the sink get long forgotten as the Stone Hashira moves his arms to wrap you in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to ignore your advice”, he starts, his deep voice soothing. “I know I need to get better at that, but I hate not talking to you”, he continues as your face nestles into his strong chest. “I just hate when you completely disregard what I say at times”, you tell him, pain still evident in your voice. “I am sorry and I promise I will work on it”, he responds before slowly releasing his hold on you. “I accept your apology”, you tell him with a gentle sigh, your fingers brushing against his own. “Thank you”, he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you softly.

[ssuburban-legendss]

please, please, please | m.v

summary: it's race week in hungary and the house of red bull is breaking down 

word count: 3k+

- July 20th, 2024. Hungary. -

There was nothing like a race weekend.

Milliseconds seemed to stretch for lifetimes, and a mere blink could last for an eternity. The hum of blood rushing in one’s ears, the burning, beating heart… it was everything. Every race was just as thrilling as it was terrifying and tense. 

Even now—even after years of living between breaths, you still weren’t used to the singing adrenaline. Maybe you never would be. 

How could one get used to screaming wheels and blinding lights? How could one stand that ache in the chest and tension of the heart? And how could you overcome the worry and fear that consumed your very being every time Max stepped into that car? 

Oh, Max. 

You sat in the garage, staring up at the live feed and cradling a crackling headset over your ears. Around you, various crew members were watching the televisions closely or busying themselves with screens and tools. Everyone else was along the pit wall, crafting magic in real-time. 

Part of you wished that you could listen to their live chatter instead of the F1 TV broadcast, but an even greater part of you knew that such constant and unfiltered coverage would make your head spin. There was already too much happening on television; you didn’t need extra noise.

In some ways, qualifying was worse than the actual race. The desperation for a faster lap, the frustration, and the bubbling tension. Some days, it was just too much. And today, with the rain and the endless media coverage… 

Maybe you needed more coffee.

“Mate, I don’t think we can improve like this.” Max’s voice crackled across your headphones, flooding through your ears and sparking your nerves alight. He sounded… nervous. Or maybe it was tension. You weren’t sure, but neither emotion was appealing.

Even from a distance, you could imagine the furrow between Max’s brow and the slight pout of his lip. His every expression was known to you, but what good would that do now? You felt trapped behind glass, watching him spin circles as his voice echoed in your ears. The only person that could reach him now was GP, and even then…

The past few weeks had been tense. Between the constant media attention and the slow decline in form, cracks were beginning to sprout in the marble pillars of Red Bull’s house. Even Max seemed less sure lately, falling behind on the circuits he once called home. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to forget the exhaustion in his voice. It was only Q1, yet it felt like you had been here for days.

“What’s your concern?” GP responded, his tone steady and smooth. “The temperatures or the…”

“The rain! The rain!” Max shouted back, instantly turning all nerves into boiling blood and burning rage. The sharpness of his words made you cringe, and a slight nervous nausea began to bloom in your stomach. Oh dear. A million thoughts rushed through your head at once, mixing into a crumbled cloud of anxiety. 

It was hard to pull Max back down once the frustration bubbled over. There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, but the anger was real, and it was hard to take or tame. And it was unending. Rage clouded some people’s judgment, but not Max. If anything, he seemed to find clarity in burning breath and bitter words. The ache and anger could keep him going for hours on end—lap after lap. But it also sent him spiraling downward, lost in his head and a faraway place you couldn’t find. He was unreachable in those moments, and you hated it. 

“Okay, calm down, Max.” GP replied, “Then, if you’re concerned about the rain, we can box. We can come back to the garage, it’s not a problem—“

Another voice cut through the conversation, screaming in your headset and flashing across the live feed, “Perez!”

You refocused your attention on the present and scanned the screens, looking for the F1 News Feed. At last, your eyes landed on the television, and the camera zoomed in hungrily on Checo’s smoking car. 

Red Flag.

One of the workers along the barrier gave a thumbs up. Okay. He was okay. A strangely tense sigh left your throat. 

“One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio, the other one—in the part of the track that we were just referencing—finds the barrier. And as a driver under pressure coming into the weekend—“

You turned off your headset and ignored the rest of the broadcast. Checo was fine, and that was all that mattered. You made a mental note to call Carola later and tried to keep your face indifferent and easy. You were certain that cameras were scanning the garage now, looking for some misplaced expression or glance to sensationalize into another disaster or distraction. 

Oh, disaster. 

One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio... You heard the commentary echoing in your head over and over. Was everyone thinking the same thing as you? Was everyone worried that Max was slipping into inconsolable anger? He had never been good at hiding his frustration, but now was not the time for such lapses in judgment. You mentally begged for his ease of heart but knew such things were impossible. The stress was beginning to cut into everyone’s skin. 

After a few moments, Max returned to the garage and his car was pulled back into place. Now, all anyone could do was hurry up and wait. 

It was hard being so close to Max and yet so far away. Being in the garage was a blessing, but sometimes it felt like you were forced apart and held at arm's length. Sometimes, the two of you could talk between sessions and during 

breaks, but it was probably best to stay out of everyone’s way with things so tense. 

Before you could search for a distraction, however, one of the engineers waved you over and nodded to Max’s car. A helmet covered the man’s face, and it was hard to focus completely on anything, but the message of his gesture was clear: pep talk time. 

Oh. That bad, huh?

You wove your way through the mess of technology and restless bodies and found yourself beside the still humming car. Endless words drifted around your head, but choosing the right thing to say felt impossible. Things had been tense for weeks, and today felt like the final straw. Control was slipping, and Max was sinking back into the unease of his youth. You could already see the headlines and tweets. You could already see the comments under your posts. You could already hear the commentary. Mad Max. Mad Max. Mad Max.

Taking a deep breath, you stuck your head into the cockpit and flipped up Max’s visor, trying to seem bubbly and calm—yet Max was already glaring. 

“Hi.” You said, making sure to enunciate the word. He couldn’t hear you, but it didn’t matter—you just wanted to see him, and you hoped that was enough. 

Max blinked, his blond eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks. His gaze softened slightly at your words, but the ice in his eyes didn’t melt entirely. Hi. 

A million words flashed through your mind. What now? What could you possibly say now that would change all this? How did you pull Max back from the edge? Thousands of statistics and hundreds of practiced speeches floated through your thoughts, but none seemed good enough. All you could think about was the tension in his voice and the mocking commentary and—

“I love you.” Your heart spoke without permission, pulling forth the only thing that truly mattered. “I love you, okay?”

A slight crease wove between Max’s brow as he watched your mouth—trying to decode your words through the senseless sound. After a delayed second, realization twinkled in his eyes, and he smiled. Instantly, the cold glare faded from his gaze, and he seemed like your Max again, with flushed cheeks and crinkling eyes under the blinding garage lights. I love you, too.

———

Later that night, the waves of uncertainty returned. 

P3. 

The position rattled around in your head and made your heart sting. Last year, this race had been easy. Though qualifying had ended with Lewis on pole, Max had regained the position on Sunday and crafted a lead of thirty-three seconds. That had been his best gap all season. So, how had thirty-three seconds turned into P3? Of course, the position wasn’t terrible, but something was definitely wrong. Everything felt wrong these days. You just hoped that Max would keep his head long enough to correct it. 

You glanced across the table, carefully observing the strain in Max’s expression. His brows were furrowed and tense, hanging low over his eyes and casting deep shadows across his face. Even his gaze seemed cloudy, as the clear blue-green of his eyes appeared dull and distant. An exhausted flush still stained his cheeks, but the red made him look sickly and sad in the fading daylight. 

Seeing him like this was agony. 

The media and the internet could rave about “Mad Max” all they wanted, yet you saw the truth in the dim light of his trailer. The anger and sharp edges masked a trembling lip and bleary eyes.   Your Max was lost somewhere in his head, caught between the kart from years before and the car of today—and it hurt. 

“You did your best.” You said, pushing scraps of dinner around on your plate. “It’s just a hard run, yeah?” Despite yourself, your voice cracked. It had been at least an hour since either of you spoke, and between the emotion and strain, your words shattered in the tense air. 

“It’s a shit run.” Max corrected sharply, pointing his spoon at you, “I don’t think everyone understands that. It’s a fucking shit run.” Though his eyes were set on your face, Max’s gaze seemed miles away, and the bitterness of his words felt directionless. 

Still angry, then. Not your Max, just Mad Max. 

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, m’just saying,” You replied, pushing his accusing spoon away with yours, “You just do your best tomorrow. News said there shouldn’t be rain, so that’ll be good.” 

Max huffed, unconvinced and frustrated, “We’ll see.” 

He was fighting with himself again, battling ghosts in his chest and competing against a past that would never truly fade. Yet the sinking spiral and flames of rage wouldn’t do any good. The media was crazy enough right now, and frankly, you felt crazy too. You needed him beside you, and you needed him to be calm. You wanted your Max back. If the car, the team, and the whole thing were going to hell, you just wanted him to make it out. 

You thought about Carola, stuck at home while her husband’s car smoked and sizzled on live TV. You didn’t want to remember how that felt. You didn’t want to recall the trembling hands and shaking breath. You needed Max steady and safe. Mad Max crashed cars and sent your head spinning—your Max needed to be something more.

With a tired sigh, you leaned across the table and kissed his cheek, relishing in the warmth of his skin below your lips. Some of the tension in his expression melted below your touch, “Just be good, please.” You breathed, hoping the warmth of your words against his flushed face would find a place in his heart. “And safe.” 

Max pulled back and smiled a little too brightly—his eyes glittering with mischief, “I’m very good.” 

With a huff, you sat back down and gave him a playful kick under the table, “Yeah, right. You’re yelling at GP, and suddenly everyone on Twitter is going on about Mad—“

“It’s actually X.” Max corrected in a superior tone. 

“Don’t start.” You tried to sound serious, but a teasing smile bloomed on your face, and laughter bubbled from your chest. It was nice to see him relaxed, even just a little. “I’m trying to scold you.”

With a laugh, Max leaned back in his chair and stretched slightly, reaching for something unseeable. The casual motion and the gentle crinkle of his face eased you a little, soothing something in your pounding heart. This is the Max you needed on the track tomorrow—this is the Max you needed in the media pen and in the garage. This is the Max that would live long enough to come home. 

“I’m going to play,” Max said, breaking your spiraling thoughts, “You’ll come?”

You glanced at your watch. It was getting late, but you hadn’t spent extended time together in weeks. You hummed and gave in, “Sure, just for a bit.”

Max beamed, and suddenly, everything was worth it—the extra coffee you’d have to drink tomorrow, the extra time you’d have to spend getting ready. It was all worth five more seconds of peace and grins. Still smiling, Max pressed several disorganized kisses to your face until you were beaming, too. 

———

Max’s gaming room was connected to the main living space, overflowing with electronics and blinking lights. 

You trailed behind Max, swinging your linked hands and flicking on your phone so you could scroll through social media. The qualifying results consumed most of your feed, as did senseless speculation.

“Did you get a look at Checo’s car?” You asked, still looking at your phone and curling into a chair beside the computer. “I’m sure the boys will be up all night on that.” 

Max let go of your linked hands and settled into his seat. From this angle, you were just out of the camera’s vision, but still within Max’s peripheral. Though he hardly spared anything else a glance during streams or gaming sessions, you quickly realized that he didn’t like being alone. Max seemed more at ease even when the two of you simply sat in silence. Besides, you didn’t really like being on camera anyway—the very last thing Red Bull needed right now was extra attention or scrutiny. The common narrative that having a girlfriend only distracted athletes always arrived just in time to bite you in the ass. You didn’t need that right now. Max didn’t need that right now. You were barely hanging on as it was. 

“Might have to start in the pit tomorrow,” Max said, slowly flipping switches and bringing his computer to life. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but he simply shrugged, “Shit weekend.” 

You hummed, scrolling through your phone and trying to change the subject. He had relaxed slightly after dinner, and you didn’t want him falling back into despair and rage, “How long you got until lights out?”

During race weekends, every second was meticulously arranged. Meals were crafted according to specific weight and energy requirements, interviews were slotted between breaths, and curfew was enforced so drivers met perfectly planned out sleep schedules. 

Technically, you weren’t even allowed in here after dark, but you and Max stole seconds whenever possible. 

“Don’t care,” Max replied, shooting you a pleased, dazzling grin. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying to fight a scarlet blush, “Alright.”

His manager would certainly have something to say about that, but you let it go. There was no point in arguing. It had been a long day for both of you, and this was how Max relaxed—video games and vitriol. 

The following two hours passed by in a blink. Max played and chatted with his friends while you relished in the happiness of his cheers and the joy in his laughter. He seemed most himself in these moments—late at night, away from the garage and speaking nonsense with his friends. He loved racing, you knew he loved racing, but in soft seconds like this, you wished he would just retire. You would give anything to sit with him all day long, intertwining your legs under the table and smiling while he laughed. You would give anything just to kill time with him. 

Eventually, though, your yawns and bleary eyes won out over your heart. You needed sleep. He needed sleep. Ugh, if only you could sleep here. How much was that fine again? 

Unwilling to find out, you sent Max a text: Camera Off. 

After a slight delay, a chime sounded through the room, and Max glanced sideways at his phone. Without hesitation, he mumbled a quick dismissal and switched off his camera and microphone. 

“What?” He blinked at you, hanging on your every word. For a second, he seemed tense—still half on the track. 

“I gotta go,” You said, standing. “Getting late.” You reached for Max’s face and brushed a light touch along his cheek, trying to memorize the curves of his features to hold you off until tomorrow. Oh, how you wished the ease in his eyes would last forever. 

“Going to bed?” He asked, leaning into your touch immediately and staring up at you with electric blue-green eyes. He wanted you to stay. 

You laughed lightly, gently combing a hand through his hair and twisting blond strands around your fingertips, “I was gonna call Carola but m’tired. I should be sleeping. You too. Long day tomorrow.”

Max rolled his eyes, though the gesture had no malice behind it, just playful exhaustion. He leaned forward and rested his chin on your stomach with a childish sigh and slight pout, “Whatever.”

His easy closeness made your neck flush with warmth, and suddenly, that imaginary fine didn’t seem so steep. All reason and reality melted away as your eyes scanned the sunspots on his face and traced the twinkling in his eyes. 

Then you remembered the yelling, Checo’s crash, reporters, endless speculation, and… You needed to stay focused. 

Summer break was coming up fast. You could wait until summer break. All the light and laughter in the world could wait a few more days. 

“I’ll see you later,” You said, running your fingertips across his features, “Go to bed soon, okay? Please.”

“Okay,” Max said brightly—definitely lying. He quickly kissed the inside of your wrist as you traced an invisible line down his nose, “Night.”

There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, at least not right now. 

“Night.”

[whereserpentswalk]

When you met your girlfriend in college she was studying to be a wizard. It didn't suprise you that much, there were a lot of magic majors at your school, and the city that your college is in has a lot of companies that hire wizards.

As time went on you started to realize she was become a very specific type of magic user. Her spells are long, taking yo hours of her time, longer then any other major user you know, and they're draining. She says she's always been interested in magic since when she was a kid, but this particular type of magic isn't something anyone gets into because they find it exciting, it's the type of magic you get into because it pays the most. You understand why she chose this, it's hard for wizards, for anyone really, to find work nowadays.

Your apartment isn't very big so you can hear her trying her spell from the other room every time, straining herself, sometimes screaming, spending the weekends of her youth alone in a closest trying to pull off these impossible spells, with purposes that normal people don't even care about. When you told two freinds you have who are wizards from diffrent specialties of magic, necromancy and illusion, what kind of spells she was doing, they became really afraid for her, and said that they hoped she transfered to a diffrent specialty before she was locked into this path. Every time you hear her screaming from that room you want to grab her and save her, let her rest and enjoy her world, but you know that you can't.

It gets worse once you graduate and while you start working as an artist, she gets hired on by a big company that could use wizards like her. You don't leave the city you went to college in so your freind group doesn't really change, but you realize that all of your freinds start talking about her in the past tense after that. You don't have to deal with hearing her funnel magic though herself in your apartment anymore, but instead you're spending days not really seeing her when she's at the office, and comes home later then you're asleep.

When you do see her, you notice her body getting worse. She was always skinny but now her body has lost so much weight you can see her ribs. Her skin is paler then it ever was before, and her eyes are almost bloodshot. Strange symbols even start appearing on her arms. You're starting to get really worried for her.

Most of the time you spend with her is just her recovering from her work. You'll lay with her in bed, and cuddle her, and let her rest her head on your breasts, and try to make her feel safe and warm, even though her body is so very cold now. You let her talk to you about the things she used to tell you about when she first met, she still loves telling you about video games, or obscure magic lore, though the latter is a bit more of a sore subject now. You watch cartoons with her a lot now, and old anime, they seems to be some of the only things that let her fully escape.

You have to be the one to cook for her, and to get her things, she's just to tired to do most things outside of work. But you still care about her, you try your best to comfort her, to pet her head, and to kiss her. She can't really have sex with you anymore, the spells have killed her libido, killed her ability to her physically aroused, but you end up wanting to cuddle her a lot, and hold her close while you have her. You try to ask if she's ok but she says that she is, that she can't stop doing this. Every time she leaves for work you want to save her, and every time she leaves she can't.

When you ask your other wizard freinds about what she's actually doing with her magic, to try and get some comfort about what's happening, they explain to you what it is. It's a type of magic their teachers taught about but warned agaisnt, that has to do with letting spirits and entities from other realms, sometimes really powerful ones, possess you for a long time, useally to talk and answer question. The necromancer specifically explains that it's useally used by companies to get knowledge about things that they want to know for their business strategies, it's why they pay so much for someone to be hurt like that. Knowing doesn't make you feel any better, it just makes you feel like she's being even more violated now.

Eventually your girlfriend tells you that she got another job opportunity out west, but it's somewhere she doesn't want to see you stuck living. She tells you to stay in the city, and that she'll text you and call you while she deals with this new job. She barely ever gets any chances to text while she's out there, and never calls. She's just able to communicate with you less and less, until she's fully gone.

You're working as an artist in the city now. You have a new partner. You sometimes think about what your old girlfriend is doing, you like to pretend that she got out of everything, that she doesn't talk to you because she found someone new. But you know that in reality very few people in that field actually make it out, and very few manage to stay fully human, it's quite unlikely she's any different.

[joocomics]

begging

day 7 — formal wear w/ gunil ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 brat tamer!gunil x fem!reader

genre: smut ( 18+ ) wc: 1.4k

contains: established relationship, bratty!reader, spanking, degradation kink, strength kink, cussing, pet names, name calling (brat/slut once or twice), restraints, edging kink

[ kinktober masterlist | general masterlist ]

“Have you thought about what movie you want to watch tonight?” Gunil asks from the other side of the bedroom.

His hand is loosening up his tie, but his eyes don’t leave you out of sight as you’re stomping around. The usual excitement you have on your face when you’re here for the weekend is nowhere to be found. There’s only bitterness.

You don’t glance in his direction when you answer that you’re not in the mood to watch a movie, and it was better that you didn’t, because you were only going to complicate things for yourself. You were going to see his naked upper body exposed by the white unbuttoned shirt and distract yourself from being mad at him. Your desire would’ve only grown stronger at the sight and that would’ve frustrated you further, because you’re obviously not having sex tonight.

He barely paid attention to you in the car, he wouldn’t start now.

You tell him you’re going to bed after you shower and grab your towel.

“It’s still not even ten pm.” Gunil sighs as you walk past him without acknowledging his words, or presence even, and barge in the shower.

You feel his eyes on you the entire time as you get ready for bed.

You rarely bring any pajamas, because you prefer to wear his clothes when you’re here, and now he’s watching you go through his wardrobe. You're taking more time than you need just to force him to trace every single curve of your body that’s only in a pair of panties for as long as possible.

“What's bothering you, sweetheart?” He asks behind you.

“Oh, now you want to pay attention to me?” You huff and pull a black t-shirt before turning to face him.

Gunil raises a brow at your confrontation. He cannot have more of this attitude today.

“Is this about what happened in the car?”

You remain silent while picking your words. Your one foot is tapping at the floor while your arms stay crossed as the seconds pass.

Gunil takes a deep breath before speaking up first.

“You know I don't like being distracted while I'm on the road!” His jaw tenses as he tries to figure out why you can't understand this. “Are you seriously upset, because I didn't let you suck me off while I was driving? Where's this spoiled attitude coming from?!”

You decide to erase the distance between the two of you so you sit next to him on the bed with a sigh. You're just now noticing that he still hasn't changed from the suit he had to wear today for a work event - the black dress pants are still on his body, the shirt is still hanging loose, open, exposing his toned stomach.

“I just missed you, baby.” You put both arms around his shoulders, breathing in his cologne. Your pouty lips are close to his ear as you speak with a guilty tone that hopefully will ease his nerves. “Haven't seen you in days, I couldn't wait to have you back in my arms. I'm surprised how you can even deny me when I'm this needy. Most guys would be on cloud nine.”

When he tilts his head you're inches apart. Without realising, you swallow, so turned on by his serious gaze, as you wait for him to finally kiss you. The moment of anticipation only grows longer until his lips slightly curl up in a smirk as he moves a hand behind your back and positions you over his knees.

You've been in this pose before and you know what it means.

Your cheeks automatically flush with excitement, and you're thankful Gunil can't see your face and tease you for it.

You squeal from the sudden swift way he balanced you on his thighs and how quickly the first slap landed on your ass. He didn't even gave you time to prepare or expect it.

He spanks you again. Then again one more time.

“Baby,” you whine, kicking your feet in the air. “Why?”

“And you have the audacity to ask.” Gunil smacks you again; this time on the other cheek while staring down at your underwear. “Why? You really want to hear how fuckin' spoiled you sound right now?”

You've gotten familiar with how his punishments work.

The slaps go from light, but firm, to hard, coming from a bigger distance. Even if he tries to smack you lightly it still wouldn't feel like a soft slap, because of how heavy his hands are. Most of the time he can't tell how much strength he's actually putting into his touch, but that's exactly what turns you on.

“Tell me,” you mumble quietly.

Several new slaps fall onto your cheeks. Each stronger than the previous one. You start to feel the bittersweet stinging on your skin more clearer now, but it's still nothing compared to how it's going to feel later.

“Tsk,” Gunil squeezes your flesh before hitting it again - this one makes you whimper louder and the erotic sound shoots a pleasant thrill through his body, “I should make your punishments longer.” His right palm roams over one of your bare cheeks; his nails are teasing the area of skin that's turning warmer with each slap. “Do you really believe other guys would want a girl who needs to be taught how to behave all the time, huh? Who won't stop running her filthy mouth?”

You hear a muffling noise above you - a quick sliding of fabric against another clothing. You gasp softly once Gunil gets a hold of your wrists and ties them together with what must be his fancy black tie. He hasn't done this before. The unexpected act forces you to answer faster.

“No...”

Gunil's attractive laugh rings in the silence, and you try to imagine how hot he looks in this dominant state, with your body dressed only in a pair of underwear, placed on his lap.

“I don't think so too,” he replies and his voice comes out more gruff sounding than a moment before, sending goosebumps over your naked skin where underneath there’s a burning delight flowing.

Soon enough, your ass is all heated up and Gunil's fingers decide to touch you elsewhere for a change. Not to give you what you want, but out of curiosity, and because the view of your punished ass which makes him weak in any state, but especially this one, doubles his desire to pull your panties to the side.

You mewl weakly on the instant at the nice feeling of his hand finally appearing between your burning cheeks.

“I knew you'd be wet, but not this much, fuck—” The tips of his fingers slide through your folds and easily get covered in your arousal. If he wants to push them inside you, he wouldn't need to use any amount of force, they would slip in right away. “You're one filthy girl.”

“Ah, baby, please—”

Your moisture fuels his body with the sweet familiar rush, and he sighs, suppressing the need to buck up his hips. The way your eager voice starts to plead at him as he spreads your cheeks to see how you clench around nothing makes it even harder to resist you.

“Please, I'll be good, please touch me.”

“Stay still.” He commands and approves of the way your feet freeze. “I hear you begging, but I didn't hear you apologise.” His strong hand slaps you out of nowhere, pulling yet another whimper out of your lips. “You behave like a true horny slut.”

“I'm so sorry, please!” Your brows drawn in together as you focus on the movements of his firm fingers gliding so softly, barely pressing against your slippery folds. “I'll be a good girl from now on, p-promise, I won't bother you when you drive anymore.”

Your figure vividly squirms on Gunil's lap as he guides them closer in the direction of your clit then all the way back only to smack you several times again, right on top of the reddish marks of his palm.

“I'll buy a toy and next time you act up I'll use that instead of my fingers, remember this.”

You cry out at the thought of some vibrator replacing his experienced touch.

“I'll take anything you give me, but no toys, please, baby!” You beg as your heart begins to jump harder the longer he keeps brushing his fingers against your dripping entrance. You need them inside as soon as possible, but you know how strong his patience can be when he has you in his control like this. The more you tell him to please you, the longer he will drag on this punishment. “I need you... just you.”

“Then you shouldn't have brought up those other guys, sweetie.”

He spits roughly onto your exposed slick folds, then fixes your stained panties.

And slaps again.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Drive

@jegulus-microfic May 15, Word count 734

Previous part First part

“Stop fiddling with it,” James warned as he watched Regulus poke the leaf with his tongue. 

“I can’t help it,” Regulus whined. Over the past few weeks, Regulus had opened up a bit to James and, apparently, underneath all that snark, he was a whiny little brat. Just like his brother. James honestly didn’t know how he coped with both of them. “Are you going to get the dew tonight?” Regulus asked, finally done with prodding at the leaf. 

“Mmhmm,” James nodded. He’d have to go into the forest this evening to be able to walk far enough in to find somewhere human feet or sunlight had never touched, and he’d be exhausted by the time he got back to the castle, but he’d cleverly picked a weekend to do it so no one would notice if he slept in.

A cold wind had swept over the grounds and only James’s sheer will kept the invisibility cloak from soaring off into the darkening grounds. He swore he spent most of his time out here when it was dark. 

Once he was hidden by the tree line, the wind couldn't hit him as hard. He whipped off the cloak and stuffed it into his robes. He walked a bit further in before transforming into the magnificent stag, as his white tail would be a beacon in the gloom for anyone watching. 

It felt good to be Prongs. His feet, while dainty, were strong and somehow always knew where to step, even on the most uneven ground. He had to be careful of his antlers catching on low branches, but he’d gotten pretty good at running through the forest and not letting that happen. His ears pricked as a knarl scuttled out from the undergrowth, snorted at him and continued on its way. He wasn’t sure if it knew he was an animagus or if it just didn’t like stags. Either way, it was gone now. He picked up the jar he’d brought with him between his teeth and walked into the gloom. 

He’d selected a wide-brimmed specimen jar, so that he could easily manoeuvre it in his animal form. Remus had even marked on the side of it how much he’d need to collect to fill seven teaspoons. Remus had also added a stiff handle that he could grasp it with his teeth.

It took him hours to get into a part of the forest where the undergrowth was so thick a human would give up trying to get through it and so dark he couldn’t see the sky. It was perfect. 

Lucky for him, Prongs’s legs walked over the undergrowth as though it were nothing. He found a plant with huge leaves and dropped the jar beside it. Now for the hard part. He lowered himself to the ground and with his teeth grabbed the giant cork protruding out of the neck and yanked it free. 

He placed it under one of the huge leaves and gently shook the leaf. A few drops fell into the jar. He tried again and soon had all the dew off that leaf safe in the jar. He moved on to the next one. 

It took him far longer to collect enough dew than it had to get through the forest. The amount of dew had just risen above the line Remus had drawn, when his ears twitched and his body tensed. There was something here with him and his animal self was telling him to run. He fought it and waited. 

Silently, he replaced the jar's cork and held the handle tightly between his teeth. 

A twig snapped close by and the drive to flee became too much. He spun around and fled. 

A roar followed him as he darted between trees with his head down. He had no idea what had been stalking him, but he wasn’t hanging around to find out. He didn’t dare look back and pushed on. His jaw clamped down hard as he leapt into the air over a fallen branch, and continued running. 

The relief that flooded him when he broke through the tree line and the morning sun-soaked castle burst into view was indescribable. 

He trotted over to the greenhouses and transformed. He was sweaty and exhausted but as he held up the jar in front of himself, a huge grin spread across his face. He hadn’t spilt a drop.  

Next part

[its-time-to-write]

Hi love! Im obsessed with your writing. They actually make my whole day!!

I was wondering if you could do something with like protective!Jamie? Like maybe they’re out at a club and some guy won’t leave her alone!

Whatever you like? Thank you!

I did it! I didn’t know what gif to put with this. Wasn’t sure I’d finish it this weekend, but I got it done! I have finals next week, which either means I’m going to have a bunch of time or none at all. And again, thank you for being so kind. Many anonymous requests are not. 💚🍊

don’t go yet

Roy only lets Jamie go to the club when Richmond has won, which is why you’re both dressed up tonight. 

“You can have two drinks. Not fucking four, not fucking three, two. And if you fucking go over, your girlfriend will fucking tell me,” Roy had said.

Jamie had relayed this to you, more than a tad scandalized, but you just shrugged and said, “Roy’s not wrong.”

So now you’re at the club and Jamie’s had one drink that he’s been making last way too long, but he’s finally downed it and you’ve offered to grab him another one. Dani’s in the middle of some hilarious story about his old team, involving shaving cream, an unsuspecting coach, and… snails? Anyway, Jamie’s deeply invested in whatever it is which is why you’re at the bar waiting for your drinks and he’s sitting down. 

You’re contemplating what you want to do to Jamie once you get home, when an unfamiliar body sidles up to the space next to you.

You half-turn away to give him more space, but he just moves closer so you give him a look. The man, oblivious, says, “Hello gorgeous, name’s Max. What’s a sexy little thing like you doing out here all alone?”

Any distaste you had been stifling out of politeness ends. “I’m not alone, I’m here with my boyfriend,” you reply shortly. 

Max makes a show of surveying the room. “Don’t see him,” he says, “so I suppose you’re fair game.”

Your drinks appear, and you grab them. “I’ve got to go.”

“Hey now, I’m only trying to be fucking friendly. Your boyfriend doesn’t let you have friends?” He’s now blocking your path back to Jamie. You try to dodge around him, but he won’t let you. 

Max does not like that, and he snarls, “Don’t be such a bitch, I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t mind me having a turn, especially if he lets you out of the house looking like that.”

Your words catch in your throat, and before you can look around for help, there’s a tap on Max’s shoulder. 

“Oi mate,” says Jamie, voice calm but eyes simmering with rage, “pretty sure she wants to be left alone.”

Max turns to assess Jamie and you dart past him, behind your boyfriend. “And what’s it to you, shithead?”

Oh god. The last thing Jamie needs is to get into a fight tonight. You know that Nate would love nothing more than to bench Jamie whenever an opportunity presents itself. 

“Jamie,” you whisper, “let it go.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at you. “I’m her boyfriend, shithead.”

Max’s eyes betray a hint of surprise, then before you or Jamie can do anything he moves to shove Jamie. Jamie tenses up for a push that never happens, because Isaac has shown up from out of nowhere and has grabbed Max from behind. 

“Time to go, bruv,” Isaac says as he and Dani haul Max away.

Jamie fists are still clenched as he turns to you. Despite the anger on his face, his voice is gentle. “You alright, love?” 

You nod wordlessly and hand Jamie his drink. He takes both of them and puts them down. Your brain is playing catch-up because everything happened so fast.

“You wanna go?” he asks.

You nod again then shake your head. “No!” you protest, “This is your night out!”

Jamie’s hands are on your waist now, and you’re a little grateful because it’s grounding. You’re still reeling a bit.

“Babe,” he says, “I’m fucking exhausted, and you are too. And don’t fuckin’ lie, it ain’t gonna work. You’ve got little circles under your eyes. Let’s go home.”

You shut your mouth and sigh. That boy. He knows you too well. 

On your way out he says, “Can we do face masks? Can feel me face losing its sexy glow.”

You smile and squeeze his hand. Only Jamie can make a shit night into something good.

[maaxverstappen]

feel free to ignore this if it’s not what you’re after but in honour of your new chirlie status, maybe some touch starved choscar? as a prompt? <3

i would absolutely love to ring in my new chirlie status with some choscar!!

i fear i went a little tame and platonic with the prompt, but any more and it would’ve turned into a full plotted fic I’m afraid.

“Charles, hi,” Oscar stutters out a little shocked when he sees him enter the quaint little bakery.

Charles pushes his dark black sunglasses off his nose whilst he peers right at Oscar, before removing them all together with a warm, open expression.

“Oscar!” Charles beams. “What are you doing here?”

Oscar holds up the paper bag filled containing a banging chocolate croissant. “Just getting some breakfast, mate,” Oscar answers, a little confused to be stating the obvious.

Charles laughs and touches Oscar’s upper arm. It’s fleeting, barely even a whisper of contact made between Charles’ warm hand and Oscar’s tense arm, but it lights up every nerve in Oscar’s body. A million little zaps from the detonation site all down his body.

A shiver escapes him, too late to pull it back.

“I see that,” Charles says, having missed the odyssee that took over Oscar for one split second. “In Monaco, I mean. Visiting Lando?”

“Ah no, moved here a few months back. ‘S a rite of passage, eh?” Oscar smiles sheepishly.

The queue in front of Charles has dissipated, it’s just one younger girl in front of him. Oscar hopes she doesn’t know who they are.

“Guess it is, mate. Let me know if you need any tips, yes?” Charles says, patting Oscar’s shoulder to step past him, towards the cashier.

“Yeah, no, sure,” Oscar stutters after him, conversation clearly over. He stands there a second longer before the bell above the bakery’s door jingles and snaps him out of it.

*

It happens again a few weeks later.

Oscar’s been in the game long enough to be comfortable with all the bells and whistles of the weekend. Knows what to say in interviews, what part of the truck to occupy, and who to stand next to. But a badly timed unlaced shoe means he’s last on the truck for the driver’s parade, and the road to safety looks treacherous.

Just as he’s contemplating how to get past Max and towards the front of the truck without getting sucked into a conversation, the vehicle starts moving and Oscar stumbles—right into Charles.

Oscar makes a startled noise as he steadies himself, helped by Charles grabbing him by both of his arms this time to help him up.

The trip is almost enough for the touch to pass him by unbeknownst to him. Almost, that is.

It’s like in the bakery. He’s wearing a jacket, but it doesn’t do anything to hide the feeling of Charles touching him, gripping him like Oscar’s life depends on it. Which, in all fairness, is not a bad assessment given the fact they’re on a moving truck going around a hairpin.

“You alright?” Charles asks once Oscar has found his feet. He’s still holding onto Oscar.

Oscar swallows around the feeling and gives Charles a weak smile. “Yeah, thanks, mate. Could’ve broken my arm or something.”

Charles drops one hand but keeps the other on Oscar, moving it up towards his shoulder.

He drives around in death traps, for heavens sake, and Charles touching him is what gets him feeling like this; like his nervous system is both regulated and deregulated all at once. It’s calming and makes him feel at ease, but it’s also causing his heart to race and a flush to rise to his cheeks.

“Well,” Charles laughs, “we wouldn’t want that, would we?” He squeezes Oscar’s shoulder as he says it, and Oscar laughs with him, if only to hide the whine that’s threatening to escape.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena was in the dark in more ways than one.

The lights in her penthouse were all dark save one, a night light in her en suite to ensure that she didn’t take a fall if she got up. Swirling the edge of a migraine, she’s grown tired of an again-delayed product launch and the hoary halls of power and their patriarchs. Few things frustrated her more than the spiteful condescension of old men clinging to a world with all the success of a man trying to gather all the sand in a desert through chapped fingers.

Few things annoyed her more.

One of those things, she could give no name. Since Lena had realized Kara’s identity, things had been tense between them. Mostly in a pleasant way; they had been feeling out this new normal, Kara tentatively broaching this or that topic to add to brunch chats and lunchtime gossip.

“Oh,” she’d say, “that last alien hit pretty hard,” as if being knocked clean through a fertilizer plant by a blow to the head were part of her commute.

To Lena it was all new, but there was something else with it. Something neither of them dared to name, some friable, delicate new shape that they could only feel by its edges. It began with Kara bombarding Lena with friendship. Fresh breakfasts hand-delivered at hypersonic speeds. Daily lunches. For the last month, Kara had spent every weekend at Lena’s, or vice versa.

Lena’s penthouse had a guest bedroom. Kara’s place had a bed and a sofa. Comfy, but it was no bed. That was how the dance began. The first steps were hesitant, the dancers circling each other without breaking the barrier. A token argument about who gets the bed, only for them both to share it. And once they’d shared it at Kara’s place, it made no sense for Lena to confine a living space heater to the guest room.

They didn’t discuss, or analyze, or talk it out. No boundaries were ever set, and so the dance continued. What started as two people curled up in a big king bed on opposite sides became the pair of them entangling during the night, then skipping the pretext and curling up with each other before the lights went out.

It was driving Lena insane. Kara never pushed, not really, and yet it just seemed to happen. It was as if her best friend was daring her to take the initiative. The morning when Lena awoke to find Kara’s arm protectively curled about her waist, her thumb hooked on the waistband of Lena’s lounge pants, she’d almost turned over and said something.

The excuse she made was that Kara needed her sleep after the pummeling she’d taken that afternoon. That Lena enjoyed how Kara grazed the pad of her thumb over Lena’s hip bone was incidental.

Lying in the dark, Lena knew that Kara had arrived by the sound of the balcony door opening and didn’t bother to call out to her. Still dressed in her suit, Kara peeked into the bedroom, her movements tentative, somehow almost birdlike.

She came back a moment later with a cool, damp cloth for Lena’s forehead and a few murmured questions, before excusing herself.

“Darling, you can stay,” Lena sighed. “I want you to.”

“Okay,” Kara whispered back, lightly seeping stray curls from Lena’s eyes. “I need to change. No peeking.”

And why would you be worried I’ll peek? Lena thought. A platonic Best Friend isn’t going to peek. Best friends don’t do that, just like they don’t nuzzle into each other on the couch. If Lena were Kara’s best friend, then Lena wouldn’t be looking so much, so openly. Admiring Kara’s smile and her biceps and the way her abdominal muscles strained those button-downs.

She wouldn’t be thinking so much about the touches, the way she’d sat in Kara’s lap for hours at a time or how Kara had carried her to bed or how Supergirl had lingered to cradle her post-rescue, well past the point of safety.

Lena wasn’t aware she was peeking until she’s already started. Kara’s suit had taken care of itself; it was her work clothes she needed to discard. When Lena turned over, there was the broad expanse of Kara’s beautifully muscled back, flexing deliciously as she pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.

Because Kara kept multiple sets of PJs at Lena’s place.

In Lena’s bedroom.

Because this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Lena turned back, knowing with certainty that Kara knew. She must have heard the creaking of the mattress and the soft whisper of skin on silk sheets and the rapidity if Lena’s traitorous heart.

When Kara climbed in with Lena, the world shrank around the pair of them. Kara swept immediately to the boundary tonight, gathering Lena in her arms, hands finding spots just on this side of chaste, and their bodies molded together.

Lena was finally able to get some sleep.

When she awoke, later, Kara stirred with her.

“Zhao,” Kara muttered.

Lena froze, blinking in the dark. That wasn’t a nonsense word; it was Kryptonian.

“Come back. Zhao,” Kara muttered, as Lena stirred. She didn’t seem to be properly waking.

A nickname?

Lena couldn’t remember when she’d started calling Kara Darling, though she increasingly wished she had.

Dear diary, it was on this day at this date that I admitted my feelings to myself before wrapping them in cardboard and then in concrete and then in steel before shoving them somewhere deep down.

Kara, for her part, had tried a few pet names but most were one offs, never quite fitting. She’d even called Lena “buddy” once before Lena had cut that shit off with an arched brow.

Lena stilled. She could deny Kara nothing, and so drifted off to sleep.

By some quirk of fate, they woke almost at the same time. Lena was still groggy and bleary-eyed when Kara’s sky-blues flitted open, bringing more light than the sun itself. She shifted in the bed without letting Lena go and began to murmur something in Kryptonian, cutting herself off as that last sharp, buzzing word tumbled from her lips.

The only world froze. Kara stared at Lena with wide eyes, and the sudden tension between them made both women go rigid, neither willing to move, to break it.

“You called me that in your sleep,” Lena finally whispered. “Zhao. What does it mean?”

Kara was unusually pale.

“Oh, it’s sort of a term of endearment in Kryptonian. It means, um, ah…”

Lena sighed, cracking a soft smile. “Kara, I’m not fluent by any measure, but I know enough Kryptonian to know what Zhao means.”

“Oh,” Kara whispered, barely more than a short and sharp exhale.

“Even if I didn’t,” Lena whispered, locking eyes with her. “Your hand is literally on my ass right now.”

“Oh. Um. Golly. I’m sorry, I…”

Kara started to pull back. Lena gently took hold of Kara’s wrist and held her hand there. Her heart fluttered not only at the strength in Kara’s forearm but how those steel cable muscles went slack beneath her touch.

Lena swiveled her hips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Kara whispered.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got that covered,” said Lena.

Kara shivered. “No, I mean… I don’t know what to…” She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing.

Lena pressed in closer, until the space between them was more a theoretical concept than an actuality.

“Just say what you want to say.”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Lena snorted a laugh, briefly ashamed at her inner dork, and afraid that Kara would take offense.

“Kara, you’ve been sleeping over every weekend with your hand in my pants for months. Yes, I will be your girlfriend.”

Kara grinned, starting to sit up.

“Come on, zhao,” said Kara.

Giving their partner a nickname/having their partner give them a nickname.

[hoshigray]

Only You Can Tie My Hands | K. Nanami

Hear me out: Nanami returns home from work to his loving partner, and you happily welcome him. Taking off his blazer, led him to the bedroom, giving him a "massage," doing all the things to help ease the poor blonde of stress. But what does a "massage" entail, and why does it involve his necktie?

A/n: Although it may seem like I only write for Toji because most of the stuff I put out is about him (bc I'm his one and only domestic wife outside of his late one whom I respect), don't get it twisted!! Some of these JJK men can make me swoon just like him (Choso and Nanami, my darlings~~~), so I'm writing yet another lil something in honor of one of them! This draft was an option for a poll but wasn't picked for a drawing. However, that doesn't mean I can't post it at all sooooo you get a win, Nanami stans :D

Cw: slight dom! reader x Nanami - the reader is androgynous or gn! bc I wrote pretty ambiguously in this piece - slight bondage (you tie up Nanami's wrist with a ribbon cloth) - sex with a blindfold (using Nanami's tie) - sensual touching - kisses on the body - handjob - ball massaging - blowjob - pet names (Nanami calls you beloved, darling, love, sweet pea; you call him "babe" and "honey") - throatfucking kind of (??) bc you go at your own pace.

Wc: 2k

It was a difficult day, but that's usual for Nanami Kento.

Today he had meetings after meetings with many of his sorcerer subordinates, had to go on two missions, and, of course, had to deal with the ever-annoyingly casual Gojo Satoru.

Nothing he couldn't handle, but the poor blonde man would be a fool to say he wasn't exhausted. All he wants to do is be in his space, his home. He can practically feel the soft surface of his bed.

It's all he's thinking about when he opens the door to his apartment and crouches to take off his shoes.

"Kento!"

Okay, that was a lie. There was something else he's been dying to see once he left work. Something more precious than his bed.

Then comes you walking from the corner, and your bright smile was the first thing that captured him. It was filled with such a glow that his fatigue almost vanished there and then.

He offers a small smile and straightens himself to greet you. "Hello, my love."

Your smile beams harder. It was a good thing Nanami wore his goggles before removing them. You rush to kiss him, and he hums into your lips. Then your gleeful glow is substituted with instant worry. "Oh honey, what happened to you? You look as if you didn't eat anything!"

"I didn't," Nanami admits as you unbutton and take his tan blazer. He follows you to the bedroom, where you hang his suit in the closet while he flops onto the bed.

"Kentyyy~" You use his nickname before you lecture him. A smile quirks up on his lips because you're the only one who refers to him with said name, and he prefers to keep it that way. "You're so lucky I cooked up something. You know you have to eat!"

Nanami hums, readjusting to lie on the pillow and headboard. His eyes follow your figure sit beside him, a warm hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "I know, darling. I was just caught up in too much, is all."

And you know he's telling the truth. It's the fourth day in a row that Nanami comes from work looking way more exhausted than he'd allow. But it was worse yesterday when he returned from past daylight hours, surprising even him. His face still looks the same, but you can make out slight depictions of dark circles forming under his eyes and muscles tensing, not from lack of sleep but because of his body being worn out.

Despite your worry, all he asks is for you to stay safe and smile. And you do just that with a willing heart. Thank goodness it's a Friday.

"Well. since the weekend is finally upon us," a brow is drawn upwards from your building excitement. "I cooked your favorite: chicken alfredo. But!" You cheekily stop him from saying something because his mouth opens, yet no words dare leave until you finish your sentence. "With a bread bowl! And yes, the pasta isn't ribbon."

A chuckle is well-received as you smile harder. "Oh, really? Is that what you've been working on all day?"

"Uhh, of course!" You proudly huff as you lightly pinch his cheek. "You've been working too hard this week, so you deserve to be spoiled by me!"

"You spoil me already just by living with me, my love." He leans in to kiss you, which you gladly reciprocate. One kiss leads to two, and two leads to three.

You break the kiss when you feel a hand finds its way behind your head, giggling at his sneaky action. "Aht aht aht, can't go having dessert without a meal."

"Oh, I know," his forehead gently lands on yours, "but wouldn't you be so kind as to let a tired man like me have a little taste?"

The way his mocha brown eyes survey yours, practically begging you for any sign of yielding to his request, it almost has you drop your guard down. But something else comes to your mind, and you can feel your grin go from ear to ear.

"Perhaps I have an idea to relieve you from your stress, Mr. Nanami." You lightly push his back onto the headboard, your eyes silently commanding him not to move from that spot. He indulges as you get up and grab for something in the closet. You come back to the bed with a smooth ribbon fabric. "Please put your hands up above your head."

A brow is raised, yet Nanami continues to oblige your wishes. With grace and patience, you wrap the fabric around his wrists and tie them onto the headboard. Nanami now voices his thoughts. "Something tells me you're going to get more out of this than me."

You only giggle as you untie his necktie from his blue dress shirt. "I wouldn't say that when I haven't even started yet, Kenty." You then tell him to close his eyes and wrap the dotted material around them.

Completely vulnerable in his line of sight, Nanami feels the weight of your body dent the bed as you move from the side of him down to where his legs are. He feels your hands slide down from his chest in tease, fingers delicately tracing his abdomen after you unbutton his shirt to reveal his well-built physique. You sensually kiss his body as your hands roam to his tan pants.

His breathing goes uneven when you spread his dressed legs apart, leaving his clothed groin in your line of vision. He hears you hum in loving anticipation. Oh, you're definitely getting a kick out of this. The sound of the zipper on his trousers alerts him, and he'd be a fool if he denied the titillation brewing inside him.

As for you, the image of his hard cock in his briefs has you swooned. The urge to pounce him beats your head like a drum, but that will have to wait for later. Because right now is meant to be a moment for him to relax and possibly give you something to do after cooking all day. The groans from Nanami when you stroke his member through the underwear are so hot to the ears that your ass sways from side to side to ease the heat growing south.

When his length is set free, your breath hitches at the marvelous sight. Even after all this time being together, you can't control the arousing pulsation of your core that manages to creep up whenever you see his dick. It's good that Nanami's blindfolded because how you liked your bottom lip would've baffled him.

Speaking of him, the blonde isn't used to this. When it comes to intimacies, looking at you is the highlight. Watching you ride him while his rough hands propel you down to his cock, how your body struggles to take his fingers drilling inside your sensitive hole, or the beatific expression on your face as you beckon him to come close for a kiss as he drives himself deep within you.

Just looking at you as he does whatever with your body can drive him crazy. Take that away, and Nanami feels like he's in an uncertain territory where you do what you want with him. It's a rarity and totally out of routine...That doesn't mean he doesn't like it, though.

How can he, when he silently gasps for air when he feels a wet muscle slide along the underside of his shaft? Or when your lips place teasing kisses on the beautiful veins that decorate his dick? And, oh Lord, when your tongue laps around the tip, causing the man to bite down on his lip?

You laugh at his attempt to suppress himself. "It's alright, honey, no need to limit yourself. Let it all out." You coo at him as your hand snakes up to his dick as the other massages his inner thigh. Pretty fingers slide up and down the length, and the pads of your fingertips rub against the sensitive tip, causing the poor blonde to groan through gritted teeth.

"Haaaah, haaah—Hnngh!" You could listen to his whimpers all day. "Aghhh—Y/n, my beloved, you're so..." The way he slightly ruts his groin towards you is telling. You smile at him even when he can't see it, but he knows you are. He knows you're watching and listening to him dissolve into a mess.

"I know, babe. I know just how to make you relax, huh." The hand on his inner thigh moves to his sack as the other strokes the base. Nanami jolts at both your hands, sculpting his dick simultaneously as his mind runs in circles at the pleasurable torture.

When he senses your plump lips faintly kiss the tip of his cock, he knows he's too far in. He curses the restraints on his wrists and eyes because he only wants to see you take his length to the base right now. Now those thoughts are challenged as your lips take in the pink tip of his member and slowly inch downwards.

Your jaw relaxes while you take in all of him at your own pace, his cock sinking further into your mouth until your lips almost brush his pelvis. His penis pulsating inside your mouth and throat has you under a euphoric spell. You slowly bob your head up and down, putting your hands on his thighs to hold him down before he starts thrusting and screwing with your slow tempo.

Nanami does all he can to maintain his composure, but God, the feeling of your throat on his shaft is doing wonders. Not only do the inner walls of your oral cavity feel so warm around him, but the blindfold has him using his imagination of how you look right now. He can just picture your pretty hooded eyes looking up at him, gauging his reactions as your ass rocks to and fro, tolerating the neediness between your legs.

It kills him that he can't physically see and touch you; however, your fleshy touch, paired with his creative fantasy, is doing just as much. That is, until a hand returns to massaging his balls, urging him to hunch further. He's now close.

"Hnngh!! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," If you weren't so full in the mouth, you'd giggle at the blonde's curses. "I'm about to—Mhmm! Oh God..."

You decide to help him in his release, slowly withdrawing his cock from your mouth and going for the head, your tongue lapping and licking in his most sensitive glands. Your hand on his sack kneed presses down harder, and Nanami wastes no time shooting his load to you. You happily take in his cum with your mouth, none going to waste as you're licking in any excess amounts.

Once he's done ejaculating and you're done drinking his essence, a pop leaves the mark as your lips leave his twitching head while you sigh blissfully.

Nanami breathes heavily in euphoria, "I thought you said...dessert shouldn't come before a meal."

"Don't question the methods of a cook, babe." you climb on top of him to undo the ribbon cloth on the headboard, your pants mixed with his. "So, I hope that helped ease some stress of yours."

"No."

No??

And it was at that moment you realized you probably shouldn't have untied his wrists first. Because one moment you're above him, your back sinking deep into the mattress the next. His hands pin you down by the shoulders, and a leg is positioned between yours, a knee rubbing against the aching sensation between your pants.

Nanami takes off his tie to free his eyes, brown orbs now cast with the intoxicating guise of lust and want. Your blood runs cold. Oh, I'm in danger.

"N-Now, Kenty, we shouldn't be doing this now," you try to plead before he does anything rash. "You have to take a shower and freshen up before dinner or else—"

"No, sweet pea. I don't think it's fair you get to have a piece of me, but I'm subjected to wait afterward to do the same." He removes your pants in seconds and sets your legs on his shoulders. Heat spreads around your face when his face draws near your opening, and you already have a hand grab for his hair in anticipation.

"Dinner can wait, darling. Right now, I just want you."