#sandwiched; cw suggestive
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luk3nk13r4n · 24 days ago
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pssssstttt. trick or treat? :DDDD
L: (๑>؂•̀๑) We have treats, but... K: ( •̀⩊•́ ) 'Trick' sounds nicer. L: You can choose which one you prefer, though. K: You either get popping candy... L: Or you have 10 seconds to start running from us. K: If we catch you, we get a treat. L: So, want the candy, or want to take a chance at being a final girl?
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nebulousmedic · 11 months ago
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Support Sandvich! I can't show Spy for......... reasons
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jaythecryer777 · 26 days ago
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Hey errrmm
Should I draw this as Dr Two Brains and Chuck?
Would it be wrong if I did that?
Would this be something ppl wanna see?😭 Be brutally honest lol
Warning: a lil,..,,.suggestive
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UHHHH
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bonon-bobani · 9 months ago
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bitepilled · 7 months ago
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yeagh
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logansdoll · 4 months ago
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thank you
you never thought you'd be murdered in the middle of an alley... but you also never thought you'd be saved by a man with knives in his fists so... yeah.
CW: suggestive, profanity, the dude that attacks you is clinically insane, Logan's a little socially awkward, your power is kinda bad but kinda good, etc.
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It was amazing how quick your day could go from fantastic, to an absolute, fucking shit storm.
Waking up that morning, as you went through your morning routine, something in the air just told you that everything was going to go right.
Your curls turned out perfect after your nightly twist, your makeup flawless, accentuating your natural beauty, and your breakfast sandwich tasted especially delicious.
That, along with the relatively quiet day at the hospital, left you leaving work with a certain pep in your step that made you feel like you could take on anything.
So not once did you plan to end up in the middle of a dark alleyway, and not once did you plan to stand off with a shady, seemingly dangerous, man because of it.
You were too lost in the music of your earphones to notice you had taken a wrong turn, a rookie mistake to make so late at night.
A mistake you were currently cursing yourself for.
"Look," you started, hands up and voice calm in an attempt to placate the irritated man. "I didn't mean to walk over here. I'm just trying to get home."
Slowly, he stalked closer, stance low and beady eyes staring at you in a way that made your stomach drop, and blood run cold.
'Shit.'
"Please... I don't want any trouble," you continued, taking a few steps back, "Just let me pass."
He tutted in response, wagging his finger as a sadistic grin slowly rose to his lips, "People who trespass on my territory gotta pay a toll, sweetheart," he licked his teeth, words slurring together, "and I can see you got more than enough..."
Shamelessly, his eyes dragged over your body, the surface of your skin erupting with a feel of grime and dirt.
You'd need a serious shower when you got home.
If you made it home...
As he drew closer, your hand discreetly slid into your jean jacket pocket, latching onto the cool, metal handle of your switchblade.
You were hoping to de-escalate the situation, but with the way things were looking, you knew you'd probably have to fight your way out.
"I'm only gonna ask one more time," you warned, your tone curt as your expression sharpened into a glare. "Let me go."
Without warning, he let out a manic shout, charging for you at full force.
You let out a shriek of surprise, quickly moving out the way before he could tackle you, whipping your blade out your pocket and flicking it open in one fluid motion.
Quickly, he turned around, expression furious as he ran again, hands out in an attempt to grab you.
And as you tried to dodge, he managed to latch onto the back of your scrub, roughly throwing you to the ground with a grunt.
"Fuck!" you spat, head throbbing as you attempted to sit up, your chest pounding as he grabbed your ankles and dragged you closer.
Fear struck your heart like a freight train, and in a bout of panic, you swung your knife, plunging it into the closest thing you could reach.
He let out a roar of pain, dropping your ankles as he nursed his injured foot, and the handle sticking out of it would've been funny were it not for the dire situation.
Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, stumbling towards your purse which laid on the ground not too far away.
But the man took notice, his foot becoming a thing of the past as he chased you again, scooping up a large shard of broken glass as he ran.
"Get away!" you cried, hugging your purse into your chest as his charge backed you into a corner, your legs giving out as you slid down the wall.
Horrible visions of your fate flashed through your mind as he approached, images of your lifeless body plastered on the nightly news, or your smiling picture on a missing persons poster.
What a fabulous time for your power to chime in...
You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever was to come, when a loud shink and a pained grunt cut through the air.
Forcing your eyes back open, they landed on a figure, who stood over the dead body of your attacker.
The way the man laid, and the way he was injured, made it look as if he was mauled by some sort of animal.
'Holy shit...'
Pulling yourself back to reality, you realized the figure was now standing right in front of you.
He held his hand out for you to take, sharp, brown eyes flicking between you expectantly.
Finally having the chance to get a good look at him, you took in his appearance.
With his broad chest and strong jaw, you'd think he'd be on the cover of Sexy Bikers weekly, arms and legs thick with muscle under his leather jacket and blue jeans.
Your eyes met in an instant, an electric buzz shooting up your spine at his features.
From what you could see through the darkness, they were sharp, but strong and hard, handsome in their own rugged way.
His lips pulled taut in a line as he stared back, brows furrowing while his eyes flicked around you, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction.
Slowly, you placed your hand in his allowing him to pull you up to your feet.
"Thank you," you exhaled, shoulders dropping as relief finally sank in your shoulders. "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't come when you did..."
His arms came back to his sides, tiredly, as he awkwardly cleared his throat.
As if he didn't expect you to actually talk to him...
"What're you doin' walkin' by yourself so late?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble. "You got a death wish?"
The sound ignited something in you, a sudden flood of warmth rushing to your stomach, your reply nearly dying in your throat.
"I just got off from work... I wasn't paying attention and turned the wrong corner," you explained, choppily, the embarrassment of your mistake setting in.
It was a stupid one.
Especially for someone who's mutation gave her the ability to see the future.
Or variations of it, at least.
"You got a way to get home?" he asked, resting a hand on his hips.
His arms flexed with the motion, his bicep straining against the jacket sleeve, your eyes drawn to it almost instantly.
You'd never seen a man as handsome as him before, and while you felt bad for gawking, you were more concerned by the flurry of feelings swirling in your chest.
"Cab," you blurted, snapping yourself out of it, "I can hail a cab."
He nodded, smoothly and, to your surprise, silently, stepping to the side and out of your way.
You were ready to head back toward the street, when you suddenly remembered something.
"My purse—" Jittery, the man nervously shoved it into your arms, averting his eyes from your thankful expression.
Your gorgeous, thankful expression.
God, he didn't understand what such a beautiful woman like you was doing in a place like this.
"I found it on the ground over there," he cleared his throat once again, shifting his weight on his feet, "I put your knife back in, too. You might wanna wash it—"
Without warning, you pulled him into a hug, nearly sending his heart into a frenzy.
He kept his hands up, quite confused and unsure of what to do, especially since your impossibly soft cheek was pressed against his chest.
"Thank you... really," you smiled, warmly, as you looked up at him.
God, he was handsome.
Though, you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.
"It was nothin'," he assured, awkwardly, as you backed out.
"I don't suppose I could learn your name, could I?" you asked, a small smile rising to your lips at his social graces.
It was adorable.
Someone so big and strong being so nervous.
Instantly, he tensed, completely taken aback by your bold comment.
Maybe he was imagining things, but he could've sworn your tone made it sound like you were flirting with—
"Logan," he blurted, stiffly.
You grinned, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, "(y/n)."
Slowly, you started toward the mouth of the alleyway, his eyes following you intently, "Well, Logan, I hope we meet again... Then I'll pay you back."
"Not necessary," he assured, shaking his head.
You paused your walk for a moment, turning to glance at him with a devilish glint in your eye.
"We meet again... I'll have something for you," you promised, crossing your fingers.
A shiver rolled down his spine at your words, and you continued on your merry way, exiting the alley and hailing a nearby cab.
Once he was sure you were gone, he let out a loud sigh, allowing his shoulders to sink and a tired hand to run through his hair.
You were something...
One conversation and he already knew you were going to be trouble, the smell of your perfume and the warmth of your smile already plaguing his mind.
He shook his head, taking a deep breath before turning to walk out the alley.
But just as he stepped forward, he felt something under his foot, lifting it to reveal a necklace.
You must've lost it in the melee...
Carefully, he picked it up off the ground, placing it in his pocket before walking out the backstreet.
The next time he saw you... he'd have something for you, too.
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modedelagauze · 17 days ago
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Lying is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off ✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
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​​pairing: Ellie Williams x f!reader summary: Ellie finds out you do burlesque and fucks you in costume after the show. cw: nsfw, dom!Ellie, thigh riding, praise kink, cursing, strap, fingering (4.2k) Read the extended version on AO3 HERE
an: I've got serious p!atd brain rot right now so stream Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off to get the full vision~
unedited btw!
“Five minutes!” shouted a voice over many, somewhat distorted by the echo of clicking heels rapidly shuffling between the narrow corridors of the dressing rooms and storage closets sandwiched among one another downstairs. You took a moment to reapply a thick layer of the blood colored bullet in your fingers and puckering to place a kiss on the surface of a half boa covered mirror as a way of wishing good luck to yourself before the show. You were one of the only cabaret girls who actually sang at the club and the only girl to  have ever sang for Ellie Williams personally. At the beginning of the semester you’d often spend late afternoons alone and enclosed within the padded walls of the black box theater, on campus, practicing. You were blissfully unaware of the fact that there was someone else who was also using the space on occasion, probably for the better. It only was two weeks into the term that you’d stayed later than usual singing–ten minutes at most–and been disturbed by the nervous brunette carrying a guitar. To avoid drawing attention, Ellie had always entered the theater through its reliably unlocked back doors only to be gifted with the sound of your voice. Entranced by the melody, she decided to wait behind the curtains, standing just far enough for a view of your form without being noticed. It was only when you turned to take a swig of water that you became aware of the girl watching you. After that encounter she suggested that the two of you spend some time singing together, that you could learn a thing or two from each other. You ended up learning how magical her fingers could feel buried deep within that aching cunt of yours. With time, of course, she’d gone and destroyed what the two of you had built by indecisively bouncing back and forth between you and some girl back home. So, here you were ignoring her third call of the week and at the same time hoping to see her in passing just for one moment of spite.
On the stairs down from the dressing room, you practiced breathing exercises in preparation for the upcoming vocal stress. Girls called out wishes of support as you made your way down the long hall until their voices faded into the hushed whispers of patrons and the sharp clanging of glasses upon their wooden tables. It felt as though time had sped up tenfold how a wire was so quickly slid behind your ears and down your costume; a small flesh colored earpiece rushed into your right palm to be placed comfortably at your own will. Right at center stage was the band’s pianist, side facing the curtains, whilst the rest of the group were all tucked along the left side of the stage facing the audience. He passed along a supportive nod in your direction as you rushed into position; that being sat atop the far right side of his piano with an arched back and one thigh flush against the wood while the other was kicked up and bent.  
“Thirty seconds till curtains rise,” ushered one of the techies and thus began the pianist, a playful and upbeat tempo before joined by the bass then guitars. The crowd cheered, queueing everyone behind the curtains that the two dancers upon the stage beyond had begun dancing along to the music. Slowly the velvet draping began to reveal light, decorating everyone behind the curtains too in ribbons of dancing radiance. 
In synchronization with the drums having now kicked in and the curtains fully raised, you began in a teasing tone, “Is it still me that makes you sweat?”  Your hands navigated down your hair and to your breasts, stopping to cup them ever so slightly before tauntingly sliding a single bra strap down between the lines, “am I who you think about in bed when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you’re sliding off her dress?” An o-shaped expression of faux-embarrassment graced your face for a moment before gliding off of the piano and maneuvering around it to wrap your arms around the pianist in an attempt to imitate the look of a neck kiss. The next line was one of mockery, “Think of what you did and how I hope to god she was worth it.” As the final words of the phrase escaped your lips, your eyes landed on Ellie sandwiched within the crowd along the center stage, earning a stutter only recognized by the pianist as his eyes quickly darted to you and back to his instrument of choice. “When the lights are dim–And your heart is racing as your fingers touch her skin.” The line was rushed in order to catch up with your stutter, though the pianist threw in an additional key to make up for it, smiling as he played. In one fluid motion the two dancers along stage, darted to your figure and tugged on either side at both arms. You sang with pure confidence, borderline arrogance “I’ve got more wit” as one dancer dropped your arm the other spun you into hers and ran a hand along your face, thumbing at your flush bottom lip “a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck than any girl you’d ever meet.” Your song choice for the night had been a very carefully curated one though you weren't expecting to see Ellie any time soon–especially at your place of work out of all locations–it felt so good to sing your emotions out and leave them on the stage, but seeing her just now had felt like the greatest fuck you that the universe could offer. Had she even known that you’d be here or was it all by pure coincidence? Regardless, you'd come to the conclusion that now was no better a time than ever to remind her of the mistake she’d made. The other dancer’s hands found their way to your waist, unraveling you from the original’s hold and into her own. Both of your hands landed in your hair, teasingly pulling at it leading her to imitate the ghost of an open-mouthed moan, “Sweetie you had me.”
The routine required you to pick a random guest in the audience to sing to and Ellie had just so managed to pick one of the best seats in the house. Navigation was really quite effortless as you made sure to spend a lingering moment here and there singing into the face of occasional patrons. Each strum of the bass was a stride forward before unabashedly ending up at Ellie's table. You managed to dance around the other people sitting there and right into her face without wasting a beat. You asked and received and here she was in all her glory, a bewildered look upon her face as if she hadn't expected for you to make such a commotion about her appearance. You knew under that carefree attitude that she loved to portray there was still that same nervous girl tucked away within. It was as if she’d planned to show up in order to provoke you and realized that now was too late to back out. Usually she had no issue confronting any issue at hand but the problem was that she hated the attention confrontation brought her. She wanted your attention after having not seen you in so long and was desperate enough to risk embarrassment for it, which said more than enough.
Her gaze brought out a degree of seduction in you that had been fighting to finally be on the prowl again, tantalizing and enough for the girl in front of you to practically taste you with her eyes. You could see her fingernails hopelessly digging into the arm rests of her chair, respecting  the club rules that patrons weren’t allowed to touch any of the performers unless they placed the hands of patrons upon their bodies themself. 
A wicked smile was unavoidable as your hands grew to extend themselves past your own body and onto hers, delicately tiptoeing down her shoulder blades, scuffling the tips of your freshly manicured nails down the sides of her biceps. How you knew she loved the scratches; the way you would often leave her skin tinged red the following morning after a scandalous night. Maintaining eye contact was the name of the game for the entire duration of your little escapade. Naturally you already had the girl by an inch or two, but with the added height of heels you were a steel tower of carnality that she wished to rip apart. If anything she liked that you were taller because It made watching you sink down onto her strap all the more enjoyable. Seemingly the length of your legs created an illusion of prolonged time settling down upon her crude nature and she could watch you ride all night long.
You were sure to drag your claws along her jeans, pressing just hard enough for her to feel it through the fabric as your hands retracted down to her knees and you dropped to a close legged crouch looking up at her, running your hands across your own skin and through your hair, suspending it all in the air long enough for her to get a good glance at the exposed skin of your neck and hickeys from someone who wasn’t her. Slowly you stood again, rocking your hips back and forth as and circled her seat. She hadn't taken much of a sip from her drink and so from behind you snatched the floating cherry stem from its alcohol soaked entrapment. When you could see her eyes again, you reached to wrap your left hand around her jaw, forcing it open as you allowed the cherry to hover over your outstretched tongue then flicking it inside of her mouth. Of course she caught on and separated the cherry from its stem and you dropped what was left of it back into the drink. “Oh no, you know it will always just be me.”
From there you made your way back to the stage and concluded the set. Exiting the stage, you caught the view of a faint glow upon Ellie's face as was seemingly typing away furiously upon that screen. When you finally got to the dressing room your phone had lit up with a flurry of messages from the distressed brunette. The first about how beautiful you were, next demanding you keep your costume on, followed by how much she wanted to ruin your pretty makeup and finally concluding it all by asking if you could just come outside for a moment. And of course she got the better of you. Frankly you were turned on by how desperate she looked and sounded. Maybe you’d punished her for long enough? Washington got cold fast and by early November snowfall was impending so you grabbed your fleece and made for the back door where-to nobody’s surprise-Ellie was parked almost directly in front of the door whilst leaning against the passenger door waiting for you. 
“It’s good to see you.” She spoke as she moved to open the door for you to get in.
With only inches between your lungs, you crossed your arms stopping dead in your tracks. “That’s not what you said to me Ellie. You asked me for a moment, not a damn joyride.”
The brunette rolled her eyes, now dropping her crossed arms to motion at the enormous building behind you. “Can you just listen to me for five minutes (†)?” she sighed loudly before continuing on in an almost pleading tone. “You just gave me a fucking amazing show and the place is obviously about to close. The least I can do is congratulate you on all this, because I haven't heard a lick from you in the last two weeks and suddenly you've become a damn good showgirl.”
Avoiding the situation, you sniffled at the bitter cold before gliding inside of her leather interior. “I’m freezing.”
She was quick to slam the door shut, mumbling something about you irritating her as she made her way back around to the driver’s side. Humming quietly, the speakers inside said what she refused to say aloud, “Why don't you show me a little bit of spine you’ve been saving for his mattress. I only want your sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me.” And of course you would've done just that, but it was only fair that you made the process difficult. Too many times had you easily given into her apologies within hours. Truthfully you missed her and the way she fucked you, but don’t get it twisted, it wasn’t that Abby hadn’t been easily laying you to rest when you couldn't see Ellie and vice versa, but why have only one pretty girl in your life when you could have two of them? It was pure and utter unapologetic greed.
As she had previously requested, you kept the same lingerie from earlier on; a pair of fishnet tights, low rising short shorts decorated by black sequins with a matching bustier so low cut that she was surprised it had not warranted one nip slip throughout the entire show. A plethora of golden cuffs spanned either of your biceps while a frilled garter belt adorned your left thigh and your hair, she couldn't even begin to speak on those perfect ringlets and how they framed your face, cascading down your shoulders into ink blotted waterfalls. The charm decorated braids placed sporadically around your head were always the cherry on top of it all because she loved how she could always hear you coming before she actually saw you; waiting like a dog with perked ears for a treat. 
After her door was closed and locked you turned to face the girl, now ready to lay bare whatever needed to be said and done. “Well?” You taunted, sliding your feet from their heeled prisons and bringing your legs up to your chest to sit comfortably.
Ellie adjusted the gear before she moved to reach behind the head of your seat , reversing out of the parking lot. Her eyes darted over to you then back on the road, laughing dryly as she responded. “Please don’t play stupid with me (†). We both know why you’re in my car.” 
You opened your mouth to speak then decided against it, staring out of the window with crossed arms when you responded. “How did you even find out where I work at Ellie?”
She laughed before placing a hand on your thigh, playfulling squeezing the tender tissue. “I knew that I only had to look for the most glamorous place around. Besides, Jessie really doesn’t like conflict.”
“And who the fuck are you, going around asking my friends about me Ellie?”
“He’s my friend too. I don’t understand why you have to be so damn difficult when you’re sitting barefoot in my car. I can’t think of any other reason you’d be undressing yourself already.” You’d been so busy pretending to be mad at her that you hadn’t realized that the car had just come to a stop in an empty parking lot, with only the faint illumination of a nearby lamppost to reveal the silhouette of her face in a warm wash of light.
Finally you decided to face her, “Maybe I’ve decided to change things up. I like hearing you whine, Ellie.” her gaze softened, eyebrows raised as a smirk played at the corner of her mouth fighting to reveal itself. 
Ellie reoriented herself to lean on the center console, partially to close the space between the two of you and also to allow her eyes finally a better view, mentally undressing your figure in the process. “You’re so demanding (†).”
You leaned in, whispering a final retort before closing the gap. “I get off to being worshiped by you, Ellie.” 
You could feel the girl smiling into the kiss as her fingers entrenched your curls, holding them tightly in a delicate cluster. After the two of you finally pulled apart a string of saliva had remained connecting you both until you’d moved far enough to break the thin bond. Her eyes were darker now, thinking of the ways she could mold you into whatever she wanted in this car. “Get in the backseat,” she demanded breathlessly. The girl then increased the volume of her music before she joined you back there, the next track being ‘Is It Really You’ from Loathe.
The two of you fought like swordsmen to control the encounter, Ellie forcing you into the cold glass of the window when she was the one kissing you and then switching to Ellie restrained with her head to the leather when you were the one kissing her. You sat straddling her lap, one leg folded up along her hip and the other fallen between the leg space separating the front and back seats. Your fingers threaded through her hair as an arm moved to gently squeeze your throat, locking you in place as the other reached around, palming your ass for a couple seconds before she snuck a finger around the ribbon holding your bustier together, tugging at the material. “So fuckin pretty,” she gasped between the dancing of your tongues. “Put your arms up.” You did as told with a careless disregard for the long process of getting that thing back on after all of this was over. You just wanted her all over you now. 
Ellie was a mess as she watched the reveal of your breast falling free from the bustier, instantly taking a taunt bud into her mouth and tweaking the other in her fingers. You moaned at the shockwaves it sent echoing down your body straight to your pussy, but there were no breaks to this ride. 
You didn’t even realize her fingers had already peeled back the crotch of your shorts when the sound of your fishnets ripping under her grasp brought you back down to reality. The air was cold against your clothed, sticky cunt as it begged for room to breathe. Her fingers began massaging small circles onto the inflamed pearl, already wet enough for it to stick to your panties. “All this dancing around the fuckin’ questions I ask you,” she laughed over your hushed moans before stopping to slap your desperate pussy. “Tryna pretend you didn't want this, but you’re so fucking wet already (†).” 
You’d forgotten who you were under her hold. Somehow it had become so embarrassing to be as bratty as you were, deliberately pissing her off in order to earn a good fucking, sitting there with your eyes screwed up and a hand over your mouth, silencing the pornographic noises attempting to escape your throat over mere dry humping. “Come back to me baby; You don't get to run away.” she teased, resulting in an aggressive hickey pressed into the skin above your nipple. Another electrifying shock when she bit down and in that same moment sneaking her digits into your panties to now perform an inhumane assault on your pink parts. “I wanna hear you.” The vulgar brunette hummed.
“How many times did she make you cum?”
Your eyes threatened to shut closed again, nearing the verge of pleasure filled tears sliding down your perfectly powdered cheeks, “What baby?”
“Abby.” At this point she was starting to sound annoyed, picking up the pace.
Out squealed a voice that you hadn't known could even come from within, “I don't know.”
“Then we should start counting how many I can put you through.”
Just as you could see the horizon of your orgasm approaching she retracted her fingers from the sopping canal, earning an exasperated whine on your end. She took your jaw into her left hand, turning your face away from her as she drug her tongue down your skin, biting at it rougher than she normally was-like there was something to be proven. “You want me to fuck you real bad huh?” She gloated, hooking a finger around the seat of your undies and running her digits along your slit, collecting more than enough slick for it to run down her fingers and onto her palm “Yeah?” She continued, pushing two fingers into your hole without warning. 
“Please,” was all that you could muster, grinding your hips onto her fingers for any sort of additional pressure. Almost there. Like clockwork she caught onto what you were attempting and stopped you dead in your tracks with her fingers having gone limp and the other hand holding your hips in place. 
“Now, you know better than that.” She spoke imitating faux-empathy, “especially when we’re like this with each other.” Because normally after arguing the two of you fucked it out and at some point during the transaction someone apologized resulting in an orgasm for the other but for now this was world’s nastiest game of chicken. In passing moments, she began again, fingers curving directly into that spot that made you see stars in the night, a hand placed on your hips rocking them back and forth. “C’mon baby, fuck yourself for me.” And you damn sure rode her like it was nothing, eyebrows knit together as you focused your entire being on getting off. It didn't even take a whole minute for you to get there, and Ellie grinned at her handy work, but this was only the beginning. “One. That’s a good girl.” Your legs shook in reaction to her aggression and you attempted to stop her fingers from continuing on, wrapping your own around her steady wrist.
“Move your hands (†).” She ordered as your eyes began to water from the overstimulation.
“I can’t.” You pleaded in broken whimpers.
All she could do was laugh at you again, offering encouragement as if this was nothing to her. “You will. I need to hear that shit real loud on my dick.” Those words alone were enough to send you through another fiery orgasm. You swore your moans were loud enough to be heard beyond the entrapment of this car and Ellie liked pushing herself to see just how loud she could get you. “Two. It was that easy.”
Stiff fabric was good for hiding things just as she had until now, exposing the strap on that you had assumed to have been her phone in her pocket earlier. Ellie took you into her arms, rearranging the two of you where she was now the one on top and your head resting against the door’s storage compartment. “You ready baby?” she enquired, taking a minute to kiss your cheeks. You nodded, cunt throbbing for more as she watched it produce more of that thick hot arousal. 
“You got the prettiest pussy in the world, (†).” She began, taking the plastic dick into her hand and tracing your slit, bewitched by the beautiful glass shine of your cum dripping down onto the leather seat as if an antiquated romantic painting. In that moment the guilt came flowing down her conscious for everything. Just wanted to make up for it by making you feel good. “Fuck, I can’t wait,” the girl whined, slowly pushing herself into you, feeling her own wetness completely entrenching her boxers and making its way for her thighs. The way your hair laid along the car interior, fanning out around you like a headdress made her melt, stopping to kiss you again before she began stroking slowly, making sure to allow you time to adjust to the feeling of fullness. 
“More,” You pleaded, beginning the process of catching her rhythm in your hips. 
“Yeah?” She answered, taking your thighs into her hands and sliding them over her shoulders, thrusting deeper for a couple of moments. “Feel good?” You struggled to formulate a coherent response and decided on simply nodding between moans. Ellie took this as a sign to make up for lost time, fucking into you with such force you were sure she could feel it on her own end, getting closer to finally cumming. 
“Like that! Just like that!” ripped a scream from your lungs, satisfied with her rhythm having at last caught onto matching with her. She thought you were too fucking gorgeous of a girl that just looking at you had her loosing it, just seeing your expressions and the way your tits bounced so beautifully, revealing the stretch marks on their underside that she so loved to trace when the two of you laid in bed together; a live erotic portrait unable to be topped by even the masters themselves. Your arms locked around Ellie’s neck, taking her hostage in your grasp and moaning feverishly into the girl’s ears. Before one could get past your lips another would come, choking you on your own pleasure. “So fuckin good El’s.” If she was doing everything right then you wouldn’t have been able to speak, so she slipped an arm between your stomach and hers, pressing your abdomen down  while the other arm kept you locked in place for her to use and abuse. You yelped, surprised by the added pressure, now feeling her deeper than before. Your hands loosed around her neck, digging into her back possibly even drawing blood.
“Take it, pretty girl.” she cooed, wanting everyone on the street to know her name and how good she made you feel. Didn’t matter how late into the night it was. It wasn't long until you came unraveled under her, your thighs clenching in anticipation for the coming waves of your climax. “Atta girl, I got you,” she whispered, continuing her dangerous pounding. A banshee would’ve been disturbed by the sound of you two. Of course Ellie always had to get the last laugh. “Three,” she sighed, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on her clammy forehead, bits of her fringe stuck adhered to the skin. "Forgive me?"
Would you guys be interesting in full length fic? I had lot of fun writing this. :p
Original Release: 11/7/24 Edit: 11/8/24
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tongue-like-a-razor · 3 months ago
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Brother's Best Friend - Part 13
Jake Seresin x F!Reader
Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.
CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff
WC: 2800+
Part 1 | Masterlist
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It’s nearly midnight on a Friday and Jake has already stated that he needs to leave at least six times. Bradley is due back any minute and if he finds Jake at the house with you, he’ll undoubtedly ask questions.
But, between his goodbyes, Jake continues to kiss you. On your lips, along your jawline, down your neck.
“I have to go,” he declares firmly, as though you’re keeping him hostage.
He proceeds to graze his teeth over your collarbone and flick his tongue at the base of your neck. You giggle. “No one is stopping you.”
Jake drops his head and nestles it under your chin with a groan. “Could you?” he asks, making you chuckle again.
His hand hovers uncertainly below your shoulder blades, over the clasp of your bra, while the other slips past the curve of your waist to your leg, noticeably avoiding your ass. Jake has done a remarkable job of keeping things PG since the two of you got together. This suits you just fine because, as much as you want him to touch you all over, you’re not overly keen on having to live up to every other girl Jake has ever been with.
You comb your fingers through his hair and he sighs blissfully into your chest. “Stay,” you say quietly, knowing full well what that would entail.
Jake lets out another groan and leans his weight into you, pushing you over onto your back on the couch. “Maybe I will,” he mutters defiantly, as though your offer had been a challenge.
You let out a soft laugh, certain that he’s bluffing. After all, staying would mean having to explain to your brother what he’s doing at your house past midnight while Bradley isn't home. “Do you really think he’s going to make you choose?” you ask as Jake settles himself behind you on the couch and drapes an arm over your shoulder.
He sighs and you feel his breath warm the back of your ear. “I wouldn’t blame him,” he replies.
You bite your lip anxiously. “We still have to tell him.”
Jake presses his mouth to the back of your head and mumbles, “I know,” into your hair.
You feel him shift behind you as he struggles to fit himself on the couch. He kicks the armrest by accident. “You want me to move?” you ask.
At these words, his hold on you tightens and he mutters, “Don’t you dare.”
You giggle. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.”
Jake moans into the throw pillow under your head and then reluctantly sits up. “I just want to spend the night with my girl!” he whines, repositioning himself so that he can rest his head on your chest when he lies back down.
You smile at him and pat his head sympathetically.
“I’ll be home late again tonight,” Bradley says, finally sitting down to eat his lunch after spending over half an hour building the perfect sandwich.
Jake, who’s just finished eating a second bowl of cereal, shoots a brief glance in your direction.
“Cool,” you say, ignoring Jake’s foot that’s currently creeping into your territory under the table. You kick him before he tries anything untoward and he winces in silence. “Have fun.”
Bradley looks at you suspiciously. “I haven’t even told you what I’m doing.”
You lift your eyebrows at him guiltily. “Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t fun.”
Bradley shrugs and goes back to his sandwich. You look over at Jake, who’s chuckling lightly into his bowl, and glide your bare foot up his calf. He freezes, blinking pointedly at the milk in his bowl. With a straight face, he lowers his hand and curls his fingers around your ankle. You panic, trying to yank it out of his grasp, but his grip is too strong. He eyes you mischievously, knowing he’s won this round. Meanwhile, Bradley bites into his sandwich, blissfully unaware.
“You should come, Seresin,” you brother suggests. “One of the bartenders told me she thinks you’re cute.”
Jake leans back in his seat and makes a face. “Nah.” You feel his thumb begin to stroke the top of your foot.
“Why not?” you ask him innocently. “Don’t you want to get laid?”
Jake throws you a smirk and squeezes your foot under the table. “Always,” he responds with a wink.
“Yes, dude!” Bradley exclaims happily, slamming the table. “Trust me, if you’re coming, you’re gonna get laid.”
Jake looks back over at Bradley uncomfortably. “Not tonight, man,” he says.
“Why?” Bradley slumps back in his seat, clearly disappointed. You can tell that he misses his days of debauchery with his best friend.
“You should go,” you tell Jake. “Maybe you’ll get lucky,” you add, shrugging, when Jake looks back at you, unamused.
“It’s got nothing to do with luck, little girl,” he says, leaning into the table to get closer to you.
You roll your eyes at him and finally pull your foot out of his grasp. “Please,” you say.
“Please, what?” Jake mutters, raising his eyebrows at you suggestively.
The insinuation makes your stomach leap into your throat.
Meanwhile, Bradley seems to miss the entire exchange. “Oh my good god, this is so fucking good!” he exclaims as he continues to devour his artisan creation of a sandwich. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks you between bites.
You gulp, suddenly unable to look Jake in the eye. “I kind of just want to make out with somebody.”
“Woah.” Bradley holds up a hand. “We did not need to know that.”
But Jake is staring at you unblinkingly. “Just with anybody?” he asks boldly as Bradley rises from the table.
You eye your brother as he makes his way to the kitchen sink, completely oblivious. You shake your head at your boyfriend's audacity. “Yes, Jake,” you retort. “Just with whoever walks into my face first.”
Jake snorts. “Good to know.”
That evening, about an hour after your brother leaves the house, there’s a knock on your front door.
“Since when do you not just barge in?” you ask, opening the door.
Jake, who’s got his hand behind his back, brings out a bouquet of flowers and holds it out for you. “Since I’m trying to make a good impression now.”
You snicker, taking the flowers from his hand and admiring the arrangement. “Well, so far so good, Seresin.”
“Good,” he says, stepping inside and putting his arm around your waist. “Because I’m here to walk into your face.”
You let out a laugh, letting him capture your lips in a kiss.
“So, listen,” he says. “I know you had your heart set on making out. But I thought that we could go somewhere first.”
“Go where?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says, winking at you.
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “If you say haunted house…”
He chuckles. “Good times.”
“For whom?” you exclaim as he ushers you out the door.
“For me, obviously. I got to hold your hand and everything.”
“Aww, you wanted to hold my hand?” You take his hand in yours as the two of you walk to his car.
“I wanted to do more than hold your hand,” he admits, bringing your hand to his lips and giving it a kiss as he opens the door for you.
“Like?” you ask playfully as you climb into the passenger seat.
Jake watches you with a smile as you buckle your seat belt. “Like walk into your face,” he says, kissing you on the mouth again.
“Uhh,” you utter, staring at the laundromat sign above the dingy door without stepping out of the car even as Jake pulls open your door. “So, when you said surprise… I didn’t realize we’d need to bring fabric softener.”
“Get out of the car, smartass,” he says, gesturing for you impatiently.
You climb out warily as Jake ducks into his backseat to grab a leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses.
“C’mon,” he says, ushering you toward the door.
“Seresin, what the fuck,” you say, eyeing the homeless encampment at the corner of the establishment.
He pulls open the door and a bell rings as you enter. There are several rows of washing machines and dryers inside and the fluorescent lights overhead flicker every few seconds like you’re in a post-apocalyptic movie. The laundromat is deserted.
Jake approaches the third machine on the far left and opens the top. Then he proceeds to dump in his jacket.
“Jake, you can’t wash leather in a machine!” you hiss, still rooted to the spot by the front door as you take in your surroundings.
“Relax,” he says, and then he tosses in his sunglasses and drops the door.
You eye him skeptically as he beckons you to follow him. “Jake, we said no more haunted houses,” you remind him, slipping your hand in his when he starts toward the back. The flickering of the lights seems to intensify.
Jake glances down at you with a smirk but doesn’t respond. He stops at a vending machine that’s stationed against the back wall. “Twizzlers?” he asks.
“No way!” you say. “Nerds, please.”
“You're so polite today,” Jake notes and you glance at his face just in time to catch a cheeky smirk.
The throwback to your conversation in the kitchen makes your heart convulse for a moment, but you decide to ignore his comment.
Jake slips a bill into the slot of the vending machine. He gets both Nerds and Twizzlers and then starts entering a third letter-number combination.
“What else are you getting?” you ask, scanning the offers for the code he’s entered, which, you quickly realize, doesn’t exist. “That’s not an option.”
But before Jake can respond, the entire vending machine starts to slide to the side, exposing a dimly lit staircase in behind, leading down to a metal door.
“Jake,” you croak, clutching his hand again. “I’m going to murder you. Assuming you don’t murder me first.”
Jake laughs. “Don’t worry, darlin’. If I was gonna murder you, I’d have done it already.” He leads the way down the stairs, although you hang onto his arm so tightly, he might as well be giving you a piggyback ride. When you get to the door, he pushes it open, revealing beyond it a scene unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed in your life.
You walk inside first, captivated by the warmth of the place; by the beauty. Jake follows, confirming his reservation with the host. The bar is like something out of a fairytale – if fairytales had bars. Low lights, glowing candles, a fireplace blazing in the middle of the room. You look up, wondering how you missed the chimney on your way in. Small tables with marble tops dot the floor. Elaborate sconces adorn the walls, and framed, faded photographs compliment the elegant wallpaper. “A speakeasy,” you breathe excitedly as Jake places a hand on your back and leads you to one of the tables.
“Thought we needed a place that was out of the way,” he said, pulling a velvety armchair out for you to sit on.
You give him a look as he walks around the table to sit across from you. “Well, it’s definitely out of the way.”
Jake grins. “It’s got darts,” he says, pointing at the corner to your right.
You give him a smile. “Of course it does.”
He chuckles. “It’s also got a bar that serves vintage cocktails. And their sliders are incredible.”
“How did you find this place?” you ask, perusing the extensive drink menu.
“I’ve uh, been here a few times,” he says vaguely, raising a couple of fingers to alert the server that the two of you were ready to order.
You look up at him questioningly as the waiter arrives. “I’ll have the Old Mule,” you say. Jake orders a whiskey sour and some sliders for the table. “Been here with whom?” you ask the moment the server departs.
Jake throws you a sheepish look. “Well, not with Bradley.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’ve taken another girl here?”
Jake scoffs. “I’ve never taken anybody anywhere.”
You nod, unsurprised. “Except to bed.”
He shakes his head at you with a smirk. “Wasn’t always in a bed.”
“Ew!” You cringe. “I don’t want to know that!”
“You started it.”
“You elaborated,” you retort. Then, after a moment, you press. “Come on, tell me. How did you know about this place?”
Jake sighs. “There was a girl –”
“I fucking knew it!” You shake your head.
“Just let me finish, woman!”
You raise your eyebrows cynically but allow him to continue.
“There was a girl in my squadron –”
“Whom you fucked,” you say nonchalantly, unable to contain yourself.
“No, I did not fuck her,” Jake says under his breath just as the server arrives with your drinks.
You and Jake each give him a polite – albeit uncomfortable – smile. “You didn’t?” you ask skeptically.
“No,” Jake restates. Then, he adds, “Her grandmother –”
“You didn’t,” you croak, horrified.
Jake fixes you with a glare. “I can wait,” he says.
You roll your eyes. “Fine.” You sigh. “Go on and tell me how you fucked her grandmother.”
Jake presses his lips together to hold back a laugh. “Her grandmother was a phenomenal baker. She’d always send us pastries and desserts and, let me tell you, an éclair tastes a hundred times better after a long day of flying. Anyway, I ran into her one day at a farmer’s market. She had about a million bags, so I helped her get to her car. She asked me to join her for a luncheon she was dreading. It was with her old classmates from college. Apparently, this joint’s been their hangout for over half a century.”
You watch Jake with knotted eyebrows and a small smile. “You were her date?”
Jake shrugged. “Not officially. I think she just needed some support because those little old ladies were ruthless. Asking her all kinds of questions she didn’t seem very eager to answer.”
“I wonder why she went at all.”
“They were the only friends she had left, she told me.”
“That’s sad,” you say.
Jake purses his lips. “Anyway, I figured she needs a new friend. So, I’ve been seeing Margaret for close to two years now. This is where we come.”
You blink at Jake in awe. “You’re cheating on me with a grandma?”
Jake laughs. “She knows all about you, actually.”
Your jaw drops. “She does not!”
“It was her idea to bring you here.”
You feel as though you could cry, inexplicably touched that Jake has told somebody about your relationship. “I love her,” you say.
Jake chuckles. “You should come out with us next time.”
You smile at him, relieved that this place wasn’t the setting of yet another one of his hookups. “I’m surprised you never showed Bradley this place.”
Jake shrugs. “Almost took you here a couple times,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.
“Really? Like, before we started dating?”
He nods, smiling sheepishly. “Before I realized why I wanted to take you here.”
You drink for a moment, then say, “I have to ask: what was with the machine upstairs? Your jacket?”
“It’s a donation. Kind of like a ‘pay what you can’ cover,” he responds, rubbing his hands together excitedly when the server arrives with the sliders.
“I love that,” you muse, picking up one of the little burgers and devouring half of it in one bite. “I love everything about this,” you add, covering your mouth as you chew on the most delicious slider you’ve ever tasted.
Jake grins at you proudly. “Now,” he says, changing the subject. “Why are you trying to pimp me out to your brother’s bartender friends?”
You meet his gaze with a smirk. “You know,” you respond casually. “Just trying to keep up the charade.”
Jake narrows his eyes. “I never asked you to do that,” he says.
You shrug. “Couldn’t hurt, right?”
Jake purses his lips in thought, studying you at length. You’re surprised that this doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable like it would have a few months ago. Now, you’re confident enough to maintain eye contact indefinitely if he so chooses. Unless, of course, he makes another suggestive remark.
He doesn't however, and you can't be sure whether you're relieved or disappointed by this. You spend the rest of the evening trying various cocktails and getting your ass handed to you at darts and, before you know it, the two of you are pulling up to your house at the end of the night, deciding which drinks you liked best, because neither of you wants to address the very real possibility that this might have been not only your very first but also your very last date ever.
“Bradley’s home,” you mutter, as though Jake can’t see Bradley’s Bronco in the driveway for himself.
Jake sighs heavily, pulling on the handbrake a little more aggressively than usual.
“You should go,” you say, because your brother would certainly be surprised to see you walk in past midnight with Jake, considering your original plans entailed walking into somebody’s face.
But Jake is already opening his door and stepping out of the car.
“Jake,” you begin, also climbing out of your seat and shutting your door.
But Jake doesn’t wait for you to finish. He walks around the front of the car determinedly and holds out his hand for you to take. “Let’s go,” he says.
You gape at him in alarm. “W-what?”
Jake takes your hand in his and starts for the front door.
“What are you doing?” you ask anxiously, running to keep up with his long strides.
“What I should’ve done in the very beginning,” he responds firmly. He reaches out to turn the doorknob, but the door opens before he even makes contact.
Read Part 14
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luk3nk13r4n · 4 months ago
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The masks stay on.
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ellecdc · 25 days ago
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can you write a sirius black au where he and fem!reader go to the movies but end up not paying attention at all to the movie iykwim and when they get home lily (the person who recommended the movie to them) asks them if they liked it and asks them about specific scenes and they have absolutely no idea what she's talking about.
um im single and i pathetically crave stuff like this happening to me.....um yh but anyway i luv your writing!
I had to think of a movie that I couldn't spoil for anyone haha so I hope everyone has seen Mama Mia!
Sirius Black x gn!reader who return from the movie they didn't watch [828 words]
CW: suggestive, reader and Sirius clearly fooled around in a semi-public venue but it's not described in detail
“I’m so glad Lily suggested a movie.” Sirius murmured into your jaw where he currently had his nose shoved whilst you fiddled with your keys.
“I bet you are.” You chuckled at him as the two of you stepped into the shared town-house.
You’d been lucky enough to be able to room with all of your friends after graduation without having to pay an absurd amount in rent thanks to James’ parents letting the bunch of you stay at one of their properties.
Unfortunately, this meant that the house was always bustling with people and it was often hard for you and Sirius to find a moment alone.
So, accepting Lily’s suggestion to see Mama Mia in the cinema on the one day both you and Sirius had off this week had already sounded heavenly.
And it turned out even better when the two of you arrived and had the entire cinema to yourselves save the one other couple sitting in the second row.
Which left you and Sirius sneaking off to the very back row like horny teenagers, snickering and fiddling with each other’s zippers before getting each other off a number of times before you were both surprised by the ending credits and the lights turning back on. 
“You’re back!” Lily called as she rounded the corner into the kitchen where you and Sirius were readying lunch. “Did you not get something to eat at the cinema?” She asked then as she considered your lunch with furrowed brows.
“Oh no, we definitely did.” Sirius quipped as he shot you a salacious grin.
“Did you enjoy it?” Lily asked eagerly, causing Sirius to snort.
“Obviously?” He responded when you finally dug your elbow into his ribs warningly. 
“The movie was great, Lils.” You offered pointedly, causing Sirius to nod in understanding.
“Right! Right, yeah, very good, loved every minute of it.” 
“What was your favourite part?” Lily inquired, leaning onto the kitchen island on her elbows as she settled in for a deep conversation regarding the cinematic marvel that was Mama Mia. 
“Uhm, all of it?” You answered in the form of a question, looking to Sirius for help.
“I can’t believe you’re asking us to pick a favourite part of such a masterpiece, Red.”
“That’s so true, it really was all great.” Lily amended quickly. “What did you think of the boat scene!?”
“The boat scene?” You asked, earning you an eager nod from Lily. “Fantastic.”
“Emotional. But, in a fantastic way.” Sirius added.
“It was sort of emotional, wasn’t it?” Lily considered, and the two of you nodded eagerly. “I think my favourite scene might have been the wedding.” She added wistfully.
“The wedding was gorgeous.” You agreed readily, remembering when you’d happened to look up from where Sirius had been settled between your legs to catch a glimpse of the protagonist in her poofy wedding dress. “They’re perfect together.”
Lily looked very excited by your declaration, so Sirius continued.
“Right? I love young love.” He offered, causing Lily’s brows to pinch slightly as she tilted her head at him. 
“Didn’t hurt that they’re a very attractive couple.” You added.
Sirius hummed in agreement, resting his hip against the counter as he took a bite from his sandwich. “They’ll have very cute babies.”
“Wait, hold on.” Lily started as she looked suspiciously between the two of you. “Who are you talking about?”
You and Sirius shared a confused look as Remus walked in to ready himself his own lunch. 
“Erm, Sophie? And…what was the bloke's name?” You hissed at Sirus causing Lily to gasp and Remus to snort. 
“They didn’t get married!” Lily shouted, earning her a judgemental look from Sirius.
“I don’t know Red…pretty sure that’s who the wedding was for.”
“They didn’t watch the movie, Lils.” Remus tattled then. 
“And how exactly would you know that?” You grumbled at your very correct friend. 
“Well, ignoring the fact that you clearly have no clue how the movie ended,” he teased as he licked the knife he’d used to spread peanut butter on his bread, “Sirius has that post exertion glow that he only ever gets after playing a scrimmage with James or sneaking out of your room in the middle of the night.” 
“I thought we were friends, Lupin.” Sirius spat with no real heat. “After all these years, you’re just gonna throw me under the bus like this?” 
“You’ve got a love bite the size of Ireland on your neck, mate.” Remus snorted as he left the kitchen with his plate.
Lily let out a groan but it looked like she was trying really hard to be mad at you. “You guys suck.”
“And swallow.” Sirius agreed readily, earning him a swat up the back of the head from you.
“And nasty!” Lily shouted around a laugh as she stalked away, muttering something under her breath about ‘horny freaks can’t keep their hands and mouths off of each other for two whole hours’.
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ceruark · 24 days ago
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trick, or treat?
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gorgon! dr. ratio, zombie! blade, vampire! aventurine, & ghost! sunday x gn! reader [separate] synopsis: monster encounters are rather unfortunate, but perhaps your luck is better than others' ;) words: 3.6k cw: none! a/n: happy halloween!! <3
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DR. RATIO - GORGON
Everyone in your university’s town knows that the cavern at the end of the river is haunted. With what, exactly, no one knows, but what you do know is that everyone who goes in never comes out— not even law enforcement officers pursuing cold cases and trying to quell the worries of distraught families.
So when your friends suggest visiting said cave on Halloweekend to get into the “spooky spirit,” you vehemently decline and insist on returning to campus to find some stupid frat party to get shitfaced at instead.
“Come on,” Kakavasha laughs, pulling you by the sleeve. “I grew up here, and no one’s actually gone in there in decades. It’s probably some stupid rumor that parents made up so their kids didn’t go play in the cave and get hurt.”
And that’s how you end up walking into the dark, damp cave with a large group of boisterous college students. You’re at the very back of the group, sandwiched between Kakavasha and Jelena and clinging onto them for dear life. You jump at every little sound, prompting those nearest to you to laugh at your paranoia. It’s all fun and games until you hear the distinct sound of hissing beside you, far too close for comfort.
“That’s not funny,” you complain, glaring at your friends. “You’ve had your fun, you scared me, so can we please get the hell out of here?”
“That’s not us,” Guinafen responds. She looks a little nervous herself. “That’s near you guys, and the rest of us are over here.”
“You’re overreacting,” Caelus says. He turns his phone flashlight brighter, swiveling it around the cave. “It’s probably noth—”
The light catches onto a stone statue. The subject’s face is frozen in a horrified shriek, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He holds a flashlight in his right hand, and his left hand is clutching what seems to be a walkie-talkie. As you take in the man’s clothes and the badge on his chest, you realize it’s a police officer— or rather, a man with a mullet wearing a very outdated police uniform.
You hardly have time to process this, though, because behind the statue stands a foreboding figure with writhing, violet snakes for hair and glowing red eyes.
And he’s starting right at you.
With a shout from Stelle, the cave descends into chaos. She rushes forward and claps a hand over her twin’s eyes, pulling him back toward her and away from the statue. Your friends’ screams drown out your own panicked breathing, and you stumble as some of them shove past you and each other, fleeing toward the cave entrance in an ‘every-man-for-himself’ fashion.
You take off in a sprint, following the sound of Kakavasha and Jelena’s voices calling for you from up ahead and using them to navigate your way in the darkness. You struggle to move your limbs, your joints feeling as if they’re growing stiffer with each passing second. As you draw closer to the exit, someone slams into your shoulder from behind, sending you crashing into what feels like another statue. You shove yourself off of it, but your foot catches onto the statue’s own foot, and you trip, tumbling toward the floor.
As the footsteps of whoever left you for dead grow fainter, a strong arm wraps itself around your torso, catching you and keeping you upright.
The hissing is deafening in your ears. You shudder as you feel a few snakes make contact with your skin, sliding along your ears and the back of your neck. Your heart races as a hand makes contact with yours. It presses some kind of glass container into it.
“Watch your step,” a deep, rich voice says against your ear. They let go of your waist and gently nudge your shoulder, and as if snapping out of a trance, you take off running again.
When you reach the outside of the cave, half the group you arrived with is gone. Guinafen and Sushang sit by Stelle, who is cussing out Caelus while cleaning his scraped knee. Kakavasha and Jelena fuss over you, checking you over to make sure you’re okay and trying to coax you out of your shocked state.
“Oh no,” Kakavasha whispers suddenly. Jelena’s face has drained of color.
You bring a hand up to your cheek. Your fingers graze over it, and your heart skips a beat as your fingertips meet cold concrete instead of warm flesh. A sob leaves you as Jelena and Kakavasha latch onto you, saying words that your brain isn’t registering right now. 
You look down at your hand. A glass vial is clutched in it, filled with a thick red liquid that almost looks like blood. Without thinking twice, you rip the cap off the vial and bring it to your lips. Grimacing, you force the liquid down your throat as the taste of iron coats your tongue. You gasp out a breath once it’s all gone, and bring your hand back up to your cheek.
Your friends watch with wide eyes as the gray patch stops for a minute, and then begins shrinking. You keep your fingers pressed against it until all you can feel is the smoothness of skin beneath them.
You spare a glance back at the entrance of the cave and tilt your head, curious.
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BLADE - ZOMBIE
You were just trying to be a good samaritan, doing your due diligence as a fellow human being to help someone out when they appeared to be down on their luck. You were admittedly intimidated when you saw a tall, broad man stumbling slowly down the street while you were driving through the woods, on the way home from your friend’s Halloween party. You intended to mind your business, until your headlights shined on him and you saw blood dripping down from his forehead, standing out greatly against his pale skin.
You pulled to the side of the road and tried to talk to him, asking what happened, but he merely stared down at you without response. His red eyes made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to be hostile or aggressive, so you sat him down in the backseat of your car and treated him with the first aid kit you kept in your trunk. After more failed attempts at conversation, you drove him to the nearest police station and left him at the front doors, bidding him well wishes before driving home.
And then, things got weird. To begin with, the day after the strange encounter, your friend, Firefly, messaged your group chat saying that local police were investigating a defiled grave, and that whoever had messed with it had taken the entire corpse out of the coffin. More concerning, though, was that you constantly felt as though you were being watched, and when you peered out the windows at night, you could notice the silhouette of a large man lurking somewhere near your house.
After a week, you’re at your wit’s end and overcome with fear. Rushing out of your house and not in your right mind, you make the poor judgment of walking to the police station— and turning down an alleyway as a shortcut. Alone, and clearly afraid, you’re an easy target for some bad actors who hold you at gunpoint and demand money.
In the blink of an eye, one of them has been tackled to the floor, and the other is firing bullets at a large man who rises to his feet with jerky movements. The robber grows hysterical as the bullets lodge themselves into the man’s flesh, but no blood comes out. You watch, in horror, as the man walks up to the robber— the bullets doing absolutely nothing to faze him— and grabs the other by the neck. He wraps a hand around the robber’s neck and lifts him off the ground, then throws him into the wall. The robber crumples to the ground, unconscious. You hold your breath and press yourself closer to the wall behind you as he slowly begins to turn around.
Confusion and alarm shoot through you when he faces you and you realize that it’s the man from the other night. Slowly, he stumbles forward, and you tense when he reaches into his pocket. He takes your hand in his impossibly cold one, and then gently places your wallet into your waiting palm. He lets out a grunt, then releases you.
A defiled grave! The entire body went missing, it’s unbelievable!
You have no idea how you’re going to tell Firefly you know where the body is without having her think you’re a grave robber and a weirdo. You also have no idea how you’re supposed to house an entire zombie who enjoys looming menacingly a few feet behind you, but, well— maybe it’s a little endearing.
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AVENTURINE - VAMPIRE
Your friend is strange.
Granted, Jelena had complained to you about Kakavasha’s odd habits long before she ever introduced you to him. He’s a picky eater, always asking about what ingredients are in a dish before deciding if he wants it or not. The dishes he refuses seem completely arbitrary, at least to you; he insists that it’s an allergy, but you’ve yet to figure out what he’s allergic to, and he’s yet to tell you. He also refuses any alcohol that’s not wine, claiming that his tongue is sensitive. (You’re convinced he’s just a drama queen who can’t hold his liquor.) He loves being in pictures and often uses his phone’s front-facing camera to fuss over his appearance, but he avoids mirrors and reflective surfaces like the plague. For someone so self-obsessed, I’m surprised he doesn’t carry a mirror on him, she’d said once.
That being said, you’re fairly certain you’ve taken all of his oddities into proper consideration and made your home as comfortable for him as possible. Kakavasha is one of your only friends who doesn’t scare easily and isn’t squeamish with gore, so when he agreed to binge slasher movies with you on Halloweekend, you were ecstatic. You purchased two bottles of high-end red wine, and prepared a nice steak dish with mashed potatoes and asparagus for dinner. You even covered every mirror in your home to make sure he wouldn’t be antsy all night.
Just as you toss a blanket over the full-length mirror in the corner of your room, the doorbell rings. You lift the blanket up a bit and fix your hair, then rush to answer the door. As you open it, Kakavasha grins at you, his eyes lighting up with it.
“Hey, Vasha.” You smile back at him. You turn around and begin to retreat into the house, but pause when you don't hear him following you. You look back at him and raise an eyebrow when you see him still standing on the porch, away from the doorway.
You snort. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”
He smirks at you, clearly finding something funny. “I wouldn’t want to overstep.”
You roll your eyes at him. “Come in already.”
At your words, he happily bounds inside and follows you into the dining room, where the table's already been set. He gasps happily at the smell of the steak— apparently he was able to guess what it was before he even saw it. 
Your smile grows a bit at his pleased expression. “Bloody and still breathing, just the way you like it,” you joke. You pause, mentally reviewing the list you and Jelena have compiled of Kakavasha’s suspected allergies. “No cayenne pepper, nuts, garlic, thyme, or turmeric.”
He grins again, open-mouthed this time. His oddly pointed canines glint beneath the lights. “Oh, how you spoil me.”
After a nice dinner filled with friendly banter and Kakavasha’s on-brand gossipping, you two move to the couch, taking the bottles of wine with you. You put on the first Scream movie as he pours you both a glass. The night is filled with snarky commentary on the movies and debates on who in your friend group would survive in a slasher film. (You don’t count, you tell him, you’d be Ghostface and we’d all die.) By the time the credits for Scream 3 roll, you’ve both drained your wine supply dry and a sleepiness has settled into your blood, accompanying the pleasant buzz from the alcohol. Kakavasha is still wide awake, but he’s always been a night owl. You stifle a yawn and turn to him.
“I would bring out more wine, but unfortunately, I’m a bad host and didn’t buy extra,” you say, smiling sleepily at him.
He hums, then reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. You ignore the way your heart skips a beat. His hand lingers by your neck. He smiles, a little too wide and a little too friendly. Your eyes are held by his, which emit a strange glow.
“No worries, friend. You’ve been so kind to me all night,” he says, leaning in a little closer.
“Besides, there’s something else I’d much rather have a drink of.”
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SUNDAY - GHOST
Your condo being haunted isn’t exactly news to you— the previous owners had disclosed this to you. They said that while they didn’t believe the spirit to be malevolent, it was too active for their liking and the thought of something else in the home freaked them out too much to stay there. Desperate to sell the condo, they listed it at a price far lower than was reasonable, and you were more than willing to put up with a little paranormal activity if it meant finally moving out of the hell house you grew up in.
You expected things to be like the movies and take a while, but that didn’t happen at all. The day after you moved in, you noticed drawers and cabinets being left open, some of which you hadn’t even approached that day. The contents inside were always just slightly out of place, as if someone had grown curious and decided to look through them. While cooking or watching TV, you would feel the occasional gust of cold air brush past you, even if the windows were shut tight. If you were losing your mind searching for something you misplaced, it would show up shortly after you returned to the room you’d been in, placed out in the open and easy to spot.
It did creep you out at first. But with time, you became accustomed to the spirit's presence, and even began talking to it, rambling out loud about your day, the show you were watching, and any gossip you had to share about your coworkers or friends.
Five months later, and here you are, scurrying about the condo in a frenzy to make a nice dinner and get yourself dressed up. At this point, you’ve thanked the spirit at least five times in the past two hours, your frazzled mind making you misplace your belongings more than usual.
Your longtime boyfriend is visiting today. He’s studying abroad for his Master’s degree, so you don’t get to see him very often. The few moments you get with him are already special, but this time, he’s seeing your condo— what you hope will be your shared future home— for the first time.
Everything has to be perfect.
The doorbell rings just as you finish plating the pasta dish you put together. Quickly, you rinse your hands off in the sink and pat them dry with a dish rag. You swipe the bouquet of flowers you purchased earlier that day off the coffee table, then you answer the door.
You beam at your boyfriend, which he returns half-heartedly, but you don’t notice. You throw your arms around him and pull him in for a kiss before handing him the bouquet. He takes it, expression slightly pained. “I missed you so much,” you say, guiding him into the house. He says he missed you too, then steps inside, taking a look around.
He lets out a low whistle. “It’s nice,” he says, nodding approvingly. “I still can’t believe you got it for as much as you did.”
You grin. “It is, isn’t it? A little haunting here and there is worth it.”
Your boyfriend raises an eyebrow at that. “Haunting?”
You relay what the owners had told you when you bought the condo, along with some of your own experiences. “I don’t mind it at all,” you say as you pour him some white wine. “It’s been so helpful, I’d honestly be running around like a headless chicken without it.”
Dinner is pleasant. You talk about work and your friends, and he talks about his thesis and ongoing research. You love it when he’s like this, speaking passionately about his life’s work and getting lost in the details. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.
“I hope you’re not working yourself to the bone,” you say as you stand to collect the plates. “Have you made any friends? Gone out anywhere?”
He freezes in place at your words, prompting you to, as well. Your hand hovers by his plate, hesitant. He looks crestfallen, and refuses to meet your eyes.
“Is something wrong?” You ask when the silence grows unbearable. After another long moment, he mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear. “I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t catch that.”
He looks up at you with a guilt-ridden expression. Slowly, he repeats, “There’s someone else.”
The room goes cold, and this time, you’re not sure if it’s because of the spirit, or if it’s just you. Your plate slips from your hand and clatters to the floor, and for a fleeting moment you think about how grateful you are that it isn’t porcelain. You stare at your boyfriend, mouth slightly open, and tears welling in your eyes.
“What?” You whisper, heartbroken.
“I was lonely over there,” he mumbles, fidgeting with his sleeves. “One of my research partners, he was flirting with me and I— I turned him down the first few weeks but then we all drank together one night, and one thing led to another, and—”
“You slept with him?” Your voice sounds so far away from you, like you’re somewhere else entirely. “Just that night?”
He swallows. “I’ve been with him for seven months.”
“Seven—” You gasp out a sob, and clench your hands into fists. “Seven months. You were with him the last time you visited, and you didn’t bother to break things off then?”
“I didn’t think it was going to last this long.” He shakes his head. “I thought it was just a rough patch. I was going to end things when I got back.”
You laugh, harshly and without humor. “You were gonna end things, and what? Act like you never fucking cheated on me?”
He takes a step back, defensive. The guilt on his face twists into disdain. “You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you just came with me to Xianzhou.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, just uproot my entire life in Penacony to keep you company while you pursue your career and make me abandon mine.” You glare at him. “Don’t try to make me feel bad for something that was entirely your fault.”
He looks as if he’s about to yell back at you, but he smooths his face out into something apologetic before he does. “Baby, I’m sorry,” he says. He starts taking large steps toward you, and you back away from him with two steps for each one he takes. “Please, we can work through this—”
He crosses in front of the table. The tablecloth flies off the table, pulled out from under the dishes. The dishes go flying, and his half-full wine glass hits him in the shoulder, spilling all over what you’re sure is a very expensive shirt. 
He looks around, eyes blazing with rage and fear. “What the hell?”
The chair he was sitting in creaks, then shoots toward him at an impossible speed, skidding horrendously across the floor before it crashes into his leg. As he keels over, the picture frames and cooking utensils hanging from the racks on the wall start clattering against the walls, a tremor sweeping through the house. The lights flicker, before going out completely.
The room is freezing.
Your ex-boyfriend looks at you, alarmed. Despite your own fear and racing heart, you manage to keep your face impassive.
“Get out of my house,” you whisper.
The cabinet doors begin opening and slamming shut. The room shakes more violently. Your ex scrambles to his feet and rushes to the entrance, where the door is already wide open. When he steps foot on the porch, it slams shut on its own behind him.
The cabinets close gently. The tremors stop.
You collapse into the wall and sink to the floor, sobs pouring out of you as you bury your face into your knees. Your heart aches in your chest, an ache that echoes in your knees as you clutch onto and dig your fingers into them.
Suddenly, you feel two gentle hands settle on your shoulders. A chill shoots down your spine, but still, you will yourself to look up.
Moonlight pours in through the windows, illuminating the man kneeling before you. His hair falls just past his shoulders in grayish-blue waves. He dons men’s casual wear from what must be the 1920s. Your gaze linger on the very blatant stab wound in his stomach before shooting up to his face. Golden eyes gaze down at you, his expression so soft it takes your breath away. The beams of light cut straight through him, pronouncing the wispiness around his being. Slowly, he pulls you into an embrace that you cannot return. He holds you for a brief moment, then the lights flicker back on, and he’s gone.
The room is still freezing, but you’ve never felt warmer.
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spideyhexx · 2 months ago
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oct. 1st - on trial
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ModernLawStudent!Coriolanus Snow x Reader
mdni! cw; cunnilingus (yeah that's it ) wc; 2.6k
kinktober2024 masterlist
a/n; enjoy the first day of kinktober :) also the title does not make sense cause the plot changed mid-writing but i like the title so nobody speak on it
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Coriolanus lets out a big sigh as the hot shower water cascades down his body. 
If he could, he would erase the day from his memory. He woke up late, which means you woke up late, and both of you scrambled to get ready for your respective morning classes. You handled that easier, but Coriolanus was brimming with anxiety over the mere notion he might be late to class. 
He sat through his first one of the day, hoping to dear god his stomach wouldn’t rumble too loudly since he did not have time to have a decent breakfast. All he ate was half a granola bar while walking to class and he learned very quickly it was not enough to satisfy him for even thirty minutes. 
After the class, he treated himself to a breakfast sandwich from the campus’ best cafeteria. One plus of the day. But then his second class had a pop quiz. Which he promptly almost failed. Close enough to failing that he had to ignore your texts about something he can’t remember now. 
He went to the library after to decompress. Coriolanus decompressed, however, by reading yet another book for his psych class which had a midterm coming up. He needed five sources and he was running thin, and the book his professor suggested to him was so long, he wanted to say some choice words in an email, but he held back. 
He was a speedy reader anyway, it wouldn’t be so bad. 
But it is bad. Coriolanus has to reread every other sentence because of the way this apparent academic scholar writes. He usually would pride himself on being able to handle some of the densest texts, but none of this was getting through to him. 
To make matters worse, his grandmother kept him on the phone for an hour. Yes, an hour. She could not figure out her login for something and Coriolanus, being the ever so gracious grandson that he is, spent the time helping her, but by the time he hung up, he wanted to rip his hair out. 
So yeah, the shower was good. Really fucking good. He pays attention to the time though, not wanting to take too long and use up all the hot water before you come home. 
Coriolanus does the basics. He washes his body, rubbing every spot he can as if it will wipe the day clean. Give him a refresh. No shampoo today, since he cleaned his hair yesterday, but he does wet it, smoothing his hands back against his wettened curls so it’s out of his eyes. 
He turns the shower off and grabs the towel hanging on the hook, drying off a bit of his chest, ruffling it in his hair, then he wraps it around his waist, stepping onto the bathmat in front of the sink mirror. 
With a washcloth, Coriolanus wipes the steam from the mirror, then opens the right side drawer of the counter to take out his skincare. 
He almost feels a bit of relaxed excitement in the tips of his fingers that he’s finally at the end of his day. Like all is well and soon you’ll be home, and he can cuddle up with you and listen to you ramble about whatever show you’ve been watching. He never tells you how much he loves that, but he’s sure you know. 
Coriolanus clips the front curls of his hair back so they don’t get in his face, opting for the soft pink ones that you compliment all the time. 
Right as he grabs his cleanser, he hears the front door open and close shut. He smiles at himself in the mirror, rinsing his hands in the sink. 
He can hear a muffled groan from you, then the sound of a cabinet closing a bit louder than it should be. 
Coriolanus already opens his mouth to speak right when there are three incessant knocks on the bathroom door, “Are you-,” he cuts himself off, “Come in.”
The door opens, revealing an exasperated-looking you, rivaling Coriolanus’ freshly showered ease. He raises his brow, “What? What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t get those cookies I asked you to pick up,” you say, and in any other circumstance, he might laugh at the statement, since it sounded so minuscule, but the look on your face told him to keep that in. 
“You asked me to get cookies?”
You roll your eyes, “I texted you like three times if you could pick them up for me.”
Oh. The texts he ignored. He gives a sheepish smile, “Oh, I’m sorry, I just had a bad day and-”
“Yeah, so did I, but you can’t ignore my texts, Coriolanus, even if you couldn’t go to the store or whatever, I would’ve appreciated you responding or something.”
He nods. But his face returns to its blank slate which he could tell annoyed you. “What happened?”
You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face as you lean against the doorway. He can tell you’re trying not to look at his stomach and his cheeks heat up at the thought of that. 
“It’s not worth it, just a shitty day and you always do this. You always ignore my texts when I’m asking for something.”
“I didn’t open the text, I didn’t know,” Coriolanus says, his voice more soft than defensive, but you take it that way. How could you not? You’re already so worked up from your day. You feel bad he also had a not-so-kind day, but you can say full-heartedly that you would text him back regardless if the day was going bad. 
Coriolanus was a good boyfriend, but he was also an awful texter. 
“You should have opened it,” you tell him and he nods, fingers fiddling with the edge of his towel at his hip. You can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose to entice you or if he’s just nervous. 
“Are you gonna tell me what happened? Besides the waking up late thing.” Coriolanus raises his brow at you, and your eyes dart to the pink clips in his hair. 
“Ran into Festus,” you mutter and it earns a scoff from Coriolanus. That vapid human was the bane of his existence and your ex rolled into one. He couldn’t believe you even dated a guy like that. Coriolanus was sure you were joking when you told him that Festus was an ex. You were not. 
“Vague,” he calls you out for how short your explanation is, and he wants to hear the details so bad. He knows you’ll never go back to him, so the little blip of jealousy in the pit of his stomach is only there for a few seconds before it vanishes. But Festus had to have said something to you for you to deem your entire day as, ‘shitty.’ 
Coriolanus can tell you don’t want to talk about it. So as the silence lingers on in the still-hot bathroom from his shower, he lets out his own sigh. He reaches for your wrist, which you reluctantly let him take. 
“I really wanted those cookies,” you mumble, as he pulls you closer, until your back against the bathroom counter next to him. 
“I’ll go out and get them,” he says, his thumb rubbing circles to your inner wrist, sending a bit of heat into your skin. 
His words make you stiffen a little and you study his face with a furrowed brow, “You hate going out after your showers.”
He replies immediately, “I do,” and his voice comes out more like a whisper. Your hand is brought to his side, and you naturally caress your fingertips to his stomach, feeling the bit of muscle there, just as his head dips down to kiss the side of your neck. 
“Thank you, then,” you whisper back, although you don’t need to. It’s just the two of you in this apartment. In this bathroom. The warmth from his shower starting to get to you. Coriolanus raises his head back and looks over your face. He’s contemplating. You know the look well. 
But you can only watch it for a few seconds because he’s made a decision. Unceremoniously, Coriolanus kneels on the tiled ground in front of you, head tilted up to see your face. His nose twitches and he grabs his discarded pants, putting them under his knees so they don’t get uncomfortable. 
“What’re you doing?” You could take a guess, but with Coriolanus, sometimes your guesses were always more fun than what he had in store. 
His eyes lock to the space between your legs, then back up at you.
Nevermind. What he had in store sounds fun as fuck. 
Coriolanus’ hands touch your knees, then slowly caress their way up to the top of your thighs, “Yes?” 
He is not sure what’s compelled him to do this, seeing as he’s never eaten you out in this way before. Maybe it was your annoyance. Maybe it sparked something in him he did not want to admit to. Maybe it’s the fact you were staring at his mostly naked figure and he wanted you to join him on that front. It’s mostly the annoyance. 
You nod, “Yeah,” and his fingers, shaky yet quickly, undo the button and zipper of your pants. 
He tugs them down, then remembers your shoes. With a curse under his breath, Coriolanus unties your sneakers and takes them off you, tugging your pants off the rest of the way, then trailing his hands back up your legs. 
You rest back against the counter, both hands against the cool stone of it as his breath hits your inner thigh. 
No matter how much it stirs a giddy feeling in him, Coriolanus can’t take his eyes off of your face as he leaves the softest of kisses on your thigh. He’s been between your legs so many times, but every time feels like he’s discovering some new part of you, like there must be an area of your skin he hasn’t touched, that’s begging for his lips to grace it. Your breath is hitching andyour hand rests on his head. 
He nuzzles his head against your other thigh as his teeth graze the skin right at the edge of your underwear.  
The exhale you let out causes tingles to spread throughout his body, “too slow?” 
“No,” you tell him, your fingers lightly threading into his semi-wet hair. Coryo flattens his tongue on the skin of your inner thigh, licking up to the edge of your panties. He skims his tongue along the line until he gets to your hip. A small kiss lands on it, and you let out a breathy chuckle, “Maybe a little too slow.”
He smiles, tracing his tongue back down to the dip of your thigh, and feels you tighten your hand to his hair. 
“Maybe we should-oh.”
You’re cut off by the press of his nose over the cotton of your panties, his tongue flicking out to lick against the cloth as his hands rub to your hips, toying with the waistband. 
“Mhm,” he replies, rubbing his nose against you at a slow, languid pace, the smell of you enticing him, he curses silently at himself for not doing this for you recently. 
“Coryo,” you breathe out, and he mumbles an apology that makes you laugh. 
“What? No, no sorry, this is…oh my god,” your voice trails off as he presses a wet kiss right over where your clit is. 
Not able to keep this going much longer, Coriolanus tugs your underwear down, letting you kick them off, and he gives you no time to say anything. He buries his nose into you, groaning at the wetness you’ve accumulated from all of his previous actions. 
Both of your hands find his hair, messing up the clips that are still there, but not knocking them out. His eyes watch you, hooded and dazed from the taste of you. The way his tongue teases your entrance, dipping in for only a second before moving out, has you whining for him already. 
He moves up to your clit, swirling with the muscle of his tongue and sucking it to his mouth, relishing in the way you pull his hair. 
You let him dig his hands into your thighs, half to hold you up for him and because the strong grip is one you feel only now and then with him. He always expressed not wanting to bruise you like that, but you wanted his tight hold on you. 
“Coryo, shit, shit,” you mutter as he sucks on the sensitive bud more harshly, then licks his tongue back to your entrance, lapping against you like a needy dog looking for water. 
“Mhm mmm,” he mumbles against you, fingers pressing into the back of your thighs like he’s urging you forward. 
But he pulls back a little, lips shiny and red, the ache in his lower region increasing from the whimper you let out at the loss of contact. He splotches kisses on your thigh, “It’s okay…it’s okay, I’m gonna make you come, just give me a moment.” 
You notice how heavy his breath is, almost as if he’s on the verge of finishing himself, but he steels himself quickly. His kisses never stop, caressing every part of your inner thighs, before he trails back to your cunt, lapping eagerly, and smiling when you moan at the contact. 
“I know, that’s what you wanted,” he mumbles, his hands slipping up to your ass and pushing you to his face. 
“Fuck,” you grunt out, unable to stop the jerk of your hips from his touch. Coriolanus’ eyes close at the movement, feeling his nose bump back into you. You give another test, but it’s awkward from this angle. 
Coriolanus can’t think. Your taste, your sounds, the fact he can feel you pulse as he licks you, he’s sent into a complete overdrive. 
He moves one of your legs up and over his shoulder, slotting him more comfortably between your legs and effectively making you gasp out and hold to him tighter. 
“C’mon, do it now,” he encourages, pushing on your backside and helping you grind against his tongue. It snaps something inside of you. To rub yourself down on him and feel how hungry he is to take whatever you give him. 
“God…fuck you for holding back on me,” you say through a moan. He’d laugh if he wasn’t buried in your pussy, desperate to taste the release fast approaching you, wracking through your body and waiting for that last chord to be struck. 
You can’t recall when he’s been this insatiable, but you can’t complain. Maybe you two needed this. 
“I’m so close,” you say, though you don’t need to. Your hips rock against his face, his nose catching and rubbing against your clit just right with every other thrust, and Coriolanus fucks his tongue as deep as he can in you. He tries to keep his eyes open as you let out a shaky moan, but it’s difficult. With your taste and with your hands tightening in his hair so hard it burns his scalp, he has to close his eyes as your orgasm rips through you. 
Your hips stutter and he grips the backs of your thighs tighter, making sure you don’t fall. His tongue licks up everything he can until you feel too sensitive and gently push his head back. The hair clips hang on to his curls for dear life. You can see how hard he is under the white towel, begging for attention.
The whole bottom half of his face is wet. His mouth parted and his lips redder, almost swollen-looking. 
“My knees hurt,” he whispers. And you lightly tap his cheek in a scolding manner, sending him a lazy grin.
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nanamis-bigtie · 7 months ago
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morning after
↬ nanami kento, higuruma hiromi, kusakabe atsuya & gender neutral reader ↬ jjk masterlist // ao3 version
a/n: debuting post for the monday afterhours, yay! i'm really excited to start, especially with the topic that's been at the back of my head for a while. i love casual intimacy and i love giving touch starved men the oh moment of their life cw: suggestive themes, implied bottom reader word count: 2.3k
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nanami
Nanami is not used to noise and smells in the kitchen so early in the morning. Such disruption of his routine would bother his mood under other circumstances—but now, with the soft sound of your bare feet at the other side of his apartment, it feels only right. Familiar, he would even say, despite the atmosphere of a special occasion lingering in the air.
When was the last time he made breakfast from scratch, he wonders when the door of his bathroom closes behind you. Normally, he would be still asleep at this hour; his alarm would go off in thirty minutes, he would take a necessarily short and cool shower, check emails in case of an emergency, and then head to the 7/11 on the corner, to eat a humble meal of a pre-made sandwich and a cup of coffee from the machine, maybe an onigiri too, if he felt particularly greedy. Today, he barely slept and rose with a crack of the dawn—yet he felt the most relaxed since what seems to be ages to him. He still had the taste of you lingering on his tongue after the night, and decided to savor it until the flavor of cooking he had to test on the way would eventually wash it away. Scratched marks on his shoulders and back stung when he leaned to check what he had in the fridge. His hips, unlearned of moves he had been using on you since you had devoured the takeaway dinner together, ached as he tiptoed to reach the rice cooker, left dusty on one of the highest shelves. His eyes kept the afterimage of your blissed out face over the selection of vegetables and spices he chose for this meal.
When was the last time he was so peaceful?
Nanami finishes cutting the fresh cucumber and tsukemono, pours water into mugs with instant miso soup inside, and finally checks on the rice. It's warm and fluffy, just waiting to be put into the bowls he prepared—the cutest he had, with a long-tailed tit pattern. He brought them from Hokkaido and didn't use them even once, until he spotted them today and decided you would love them.
Rice has to wait; he can't let it grow cold like the sheets you two left behind are undeniably growing. First, he checks on the piece of salmon—a luxury that waited for a day when he could cook again—getting ready in the oven, then cracks a few eggs and beats them well with a pinch of salt and pepper. His stomach growls when they hiss on the red-hot pan—and he can't help but wonder if you're as hungry as him. Things you had in your mouth through the night couldn't feed you, as your corny, vulgar jokes suggested. Nanami rarely smiles but the memory of them and the startled look you gave him as you worried if you hadn't been too much for him has him grinning for a short moment.
When was the last time he felt strain in the corners of his lips?
The omelet is ready in no time. Nanami knows how you like your eggs, but he can't remember how and when he learned about it. He's sipped many details like this from your lips, through the whole year of waiting for the day you crossed the threshold of his bedroom. He was feeding on crumbs for so long... Being full out of the sudden fills his heart with content and anxiety at the same time. He wants to savor this moment, afraid to stomp on the thin shell of happiness too strong, but he knows he's already too addicted to stop. Whatever happens, happens.
And the food can wait only as long. He can't feed you a cold meal.
The hum of the shower ceases shortly after he takes the salmon out of the oven. Nanami listens to the commotion in the bathroom while he finishes the last cuts. Bowls are filled with steaming rice, plates and mugs find their right place on the table. He hasn't cleaned the kitchen—but even if he could do it quickly before you join him, he can't bring himself to disturb this disarray. It looks—it feels—so good to have his place messy at least once, at least today, at least for the first hour you spend together after the night of passionate lovemaking.
His hands still remember the shape of your hips, he realizes when you appear at the entrance, fresh yet still sleepy—and smiling bright at the sight of him by the table.
Nanami doesn't want to ever forget it.
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higuruma
Out of the first mornings Higuruma experienced, this one is not the most...extraordinary. But he definitely would place it somewhere at the top of the list.
Seated on the edge of the bathtub, head leaned down, he still feels drowsy. The night was deliciously long and so worth the lingering fatigue in his muscles. He hasn't worked that hard in a while—well, physically at least—and he's undeniably going to pay the price with the top soreness of the last decade. He's more than okay with it...as long as you're not going to ask him for the repetition within the next few days. He's crazy for you—but he's not twenty anymore, and his job squeezes much more energy from him than he would have sacrificed, if he had any choice in this matter. 
Speaking of squeezing—he barely managed to find time to bring you home, for dinner and a movie you didn't even start watching, hungry for something else than a story. And he did so only by nipping time off somewhere else—and by paying the carrying charge now, in his bathroom, awaiting the blind judgment of your skill...or the lack of it, to be honest. He has no idea if you've ever done a haircut before.
But you seem at least familiar with it enough to know how to hold and turn the hair clipper around. Higuruma watches you from the corner of his eye: you're right behind him, scrunching your nose as you're studying the shape of the device and options the various buttons provided. Bare-chested, wearing your pajama shorts only, you secure the towel wrapped around your head with the other hand. It's on the verge of falling apart, some of your hair already got out. He feels an urge to get up and help you tuck it where it should stay but just thinking about feeling it pushes blood where he really doesn't want it, if he wants to leave for work on time. He had his share of touch a few hours ago, stroking and playing with your locks as you had your sweet lips wrapped around his cock.
He's ruined the position when trying to take a better look, so you gently nudge him to lean fully again, a brush of your warm palm enough to have hair on his forearms standing. He had your hands all over him for hours, pulling him close, securing him next to you when you both finally collapsed into well-deserved sleep, so he could swear he's learned your touch enough. 
But now...it's different.
You run fingers through the hair at the back of his head, testing the line you want to cut—and Higuruma is melting. He has to clench hands on the edge of the bathtub to stay collected; the last thing he wants is to get scolded and deprived of your digits slowly threading through his locks. You mumble something about being jealous of how thick they are and something about how badly he needs this cut—but all he can think of is how your voice is so raspy after moaning out his name over and over again. He wonders how your mewls would sound with this tone but thoughts evaporate from his head as soon as they've appeared, this time with the steady buzz of the clipper.
So the sound can be ticklish, such a weird sensation...
You're quick and as precise as only you can be at six in the morning, scrunched over his back in a rather tight space. You cut his hair just enough to keep him somewhat tidy for the few days before he can see an actual hair stylist; there's no time for more and Higuruma doesn't want to make it too much of a struggle for you. Even if it was his own request, he immediately regrets it when you're finished with brushing the cut dust off his neck and shoulders. It's such a pity you have to abandon him and rush with your own preparations. If only you had more time...
Right as he's straightening his back, you touch him with both hands, fingertips scratching lightly at the freshly shaved part of his head, right at the point where it meets his neck. Warmth explodes in his chest—and Higuruma lets out a low, needy growl. It's good, so good, oh gods, just touch him more, just do it one more time, he hasn't had anything like this for so long...
Humming, you move towards the longer strands, then down the sides of his face until you're cradling it between your palms. You tilt his head back and pull him close, until he rests it against your exposed, warm belly. Dry sob shakes his whole body and tears prick at the corners of his eyes—but Higuruma can't bring himself to close them or at least to look away. He's begging for your attention like starved and he's not ashamed.
All he wants is for you to never let go of him.
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kusakabe
Holy shit.
Kusakabe didn't get a wink of sleep through the whole night—and the fact that he doesn't have anything to do for the day to come doesn't help the case. He always had problems with falling asleep after sex, but he thought the long break since the last time and, well, the overall busy period in his life would crumble this irritating habit by sheer force of exhaustion. He's as good at taking an accurate measure when it comes to love as he is with dozing off, it seems.
You're sprawled by his side, lying face down and on his arm, butt-naked with the exception of the blanket loosely wrapped around your leg and covering half of your ass. You've taken his share of sleep since you collapsed as soon as he rolled to his side and reached for wipes to clean you both, much to his amusement—and horror once he realized he was sentenced to his thoughts alone for the hours to come. Your smell, soft, twangy breathing, and warmth is just helping them race now. Your weight, pressed tight from his wrist to shoulder, keeps him in place too, cutting any attempt of shameful retreat short. It's nothing he wouldn't be able to move, he's carried you around not once and not twice and it meant nothing to his strength, but he dreads to wake you up.
You deserve that rest after taking his pent up tension over and over again. And he really has no idea what to say to sound appropriate.
Good morning? Good job? Did you sleep well? I love you?
Kusakabe groans and does another trip around the room with his eyes only. The more light sips through the loosely drawn curtains, the more details he could pick up, and shame already pricks at his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he cleaned around properly but even if he had it squeaky clean for the night, the area just screamed: a confirmed bachelor. Well, at least there's no trash lying on the floor or furniture, but he could easily pick up the smell of cigarettes and a badly aired room. None of it mattered when you tussled in darkness, sucking sloppy kisses from each other's lips and peeling clothes off your bodies. But once you wake up and take a look around—Nope, he doesn't want to think about it. That's a problem for Kusakabe from in-a-few-hours-future.
He rolls head to the other side, ashamed to even look at your sound asleep body, and stares right at his shirt, casually thrown over the bed stand. He doesn't have to look at it to know it definitely has its best days behind it. He could at least wear something presentable when seeing you for that unplanned job, hasn't he learned anything from his past relationships? Maybe he did, but it was so long ago he wasn't sure anymore if his sloppiness was ever addressed. His chain-smoking, however, is a different story.
Holy shit, he really needs to smoke.
Kusakabe knows there's a spare cigarette and a small pack of matches hidden in the little pocket of his shirt, this very shirt within his reach. Carefully, he scoots to the side and reaches for it, fingers already brushing the sleeve, just an inch more, just a little...
You mumble his name and shift, sheets rustling around your legs. Kusakabe freezes, sure he's finally done it and woke you up, but you just adjust your position, face turned to him, and continue with your softest snores. You're all messy and exhausted, in need of a shower even more than his room is in need of tidying. With amused relief pushing his worries out of his mind, he reaches out and gently strokes your hair.
You repeat his name, with a mewl dangerously close to what you screamed into his ear a few hours ago.
Out of the sudden, the thought of smoking by your side has him disgusted. You're going to wake up to this mess, to crumbled sheets and clothes all over the place and dying plants and papers lying on the floor in piles—and he wants to add smoke right into your eyes? You deserve better than that. You deserve him to be better than that.
Hell, he's been thinking about it for a while anyway. Maybe if he remembers your face from now, so calm and smiling through your dreams, it will be easier for him to finally quit.
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thank you so much for reading ❤ i'll be really happy, if you reblog it and/or leave some feedback! you can read more of my jjk fics here.
tag list: @lale-txt @mirkaaaluv @ohnococo @clumsyraccoon @honey-deku
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auspicioustidings · 4 months ago
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Devil's Trumpet
AKA the Appalachian horror brain worms would not leave me alone
Summary: You move to small town West Virginia to get your head on straight but the men in the woods start unravelling you instead.
Words: 3.5k
CWs: mild horror, vague reference to mental illness
This is best read while listening to some Southern gothic tunes 🎶 I suggest Big Dark Love by Murder by Death!
Colour leeched out of the world here. There is something almost comforting about that, something familiar. Familiar too is the way this town moves like syrup too thick to be pleasant in your mouth. It was how you moved though the world once. Not anymore though, no, now your mind is your own and not an invading force. Now you can appreciate the drab slowness as something external to yourself, just an environment around you and not a prison closing in inside your head.
There wasn’t much of a plan really. A will reading that left you with not a lot, but enough to get the hell out. Signing with a fountain pen that made your skin crawl with how it scratched. A stiff drink and a dart thrown at a map and tearing a ragged hole in the Greenbrier River as the sharp point didn’t quite sink far enough into the board and tore its way through the paper on the way down. You were never any good at darts.
You aren’t putting down roots. Those were for old growth, not for hardy weeds that broke through concrete and always found another crack through which to grow when killed. Nothing that felt too much like a home, so instead a room at the only inn.
This town is too small to warrant one, but it doubles as a watering hole come evening. It doesn’t seem to have been updated in an age, you wonder idly if the plaque upkept to a gleaming shine declaring the inn to have been opened in 1824 is somehow conveying pride at the fact. The peeling wallpaper in your room was probably pretty once, but the green now seems sick with age and the delicate floral pattern has started to wilt.
There is no routine to your days here until one slowly creeps in as it always does.
Breakfast first. You don’t know if it’s something in the air here, but you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and are eager to drown it in food and mint toothpaste. The inn has a small kitchenette for guest use and you make yourself toast with butter and strawberry jam. It’s a little too sweet but the tea helps, black with no sugar.
You stretch out the back of the inn and enjoy the view of the woods. You don’t call it yoga because it makes you less likely to do it, but you had learned when things were bad that quietly engaging your body in the morning was a good way to quiet your mind. There’s a little tension in the back of your neck you try to work out but it sticks there until you finish up and go back inside to shower. The hot water fixes it you think.
The first few weeks here you just sit and watch the world go by, but then you one day you decide to get up and spend some time wandering the town. It’s small, decrepit. There is the inn, a few sparse houses, one general store. The library, despite being the only venue with any chance of entertainment, is usually empty. You meet Mrs Lela Kaletaws who runs it, although she isn’t always around.
Roads here are barely holding together, but the one main road that runs out of town is at least in somewhat better condition. It runs parallel with the woods at one point, curving off just past old Mr Kleer's house. The man in question usually sits on his porch but he’s friendly enough so you don’t pay much mind to the gun.
After you’ve wandered town you make sandwiches for lunch. It isn’t much exciting, but it is routine and is filling enough that you bunker down for a nap after.
In the afternoon you go for a long walk before returning to the inn for dinner. There is a bar downstairs that opens in the evenings and serves food that while not a delicacy by any means is hot and filling. You retire to your room, read some of your book and go to sleep.
It continues that way. Breakfast, stretch, shower, wander, lunch, sleep, walk, dinner, read, sleep.
At first you only really skirt the edge of the woods, but with each passing dreary day you venture closer to the depths down the packed dirt path. The path through the woods is confusing and unmarked. Where you swore just yesterday it went to the right, today it goes to the left. Even so it must be your sense of direction, because the path always leads you past the jimsonweeds that come up to you chest before spitting you out on the road that leads to old Mr Kleer's house. The flowers are beautiful, but there is some metallic tang to their otherwise sweet scent that causes your teeth to ache.
More comfortable with the area now, it causes a fright when you see a man in the woods just in the corner of your eye only to snap your head around and have him vanish. You force calming breathes and keep walking. There is no such thing as ghosts in these woods.
Old man Axell calls to you from his porch as you pass, rifle butt settled on the rickety wood that you worry will collapse and left leg stretched straight out towards you like reaching for something.
“Seeing things in the woods kid?”
“I look spooked sir?”
“Like you’ve seen a Ghost I reckon.”
You give a shaky laugh at that.
“Only if ghosts come in flesh and blood and quick feet. Some man gave me a fright is all.”
“Must be out of towners” Axell says.
You do not like the way he says it. You do not like that he looks at you strangely. But you smile and nod and get on your way. He is only an old man.
There is someone in the woods. You feel his gaze on you, feel the dull prickle that rests on your nape from those eyes.
“We really must stop meeting like this” you say.
You have stopped trying to catch him. Now you only speak, eyes set on the dirt path in front of you. You do not think you will get a reply and when you do you shudder horribly at how much closer the voice is than you had anticipated.
“Don’t enjoy the company?”
He’s English and you frown. Out of towner. The old man must know something, but maybe you cannot begrudge him having fun at your expense. You have not made friends here.
“Enjoy company where I can see it if it’s all the same to you.”
The man laughs. It is a confusing laugh, warm and cold all at once as it bounces through the trees.
“Careful what you wish for.”
You resist the urge to turn even as his voice moves strangely, like he is swaying from one side of the path to the other.
“Must have a face like sin to keep hiding away” you say.
The next words you can feel. His breath is right at your cheek, a strand of your hair lifted by his fingers.
“Quite the opposite.”
Your heart is a prey animal running from a predator, beating wildly against your ribs as you turn to find he isn’t there. Only you certainly felt him. He leaves a sweet smell behind.
Sleep does not come easily that night. The rain against your window casts the moonlight strangely into your room. You spend hours watching as the creeping vines on the wallpaper seem to twist and shift beneath the moon flowers. When you finally fall asleep, it is almost as if you can smell them. Sweet and slightly metallic.
You wake up with the fading scent of damp earth and something on the edge of rot in your nose and the feel of dirt packed uncomfortably under your nails. They’re clean you find, but you spend the start of the morning cutting them down once you see the fading scratches left on your arms and legs through the night.
He is not the only stranger in the woods. You swore you would not go back, but routine takes you there without thought.
The Scottish man likes to walk on your right hand side, just enough steps behind you that you can only see him at the very side of your vision. You think he is handsome, but it is difficult to be sure. What you can be sure of is that he is dressed oddly. You have spoken to him for a while now, discussing yourself mostly. Perhaps it is the eerie quiet of the woods that makes you want to fill the dead space, but you tell him more about yourself than you ever would have thought yourself comfortable with.
“Are you a soldier then?” you ask.
“Sometimes, I think.”
You take a moment to chew that answer, wonder at the taste of it. There is a panic when you smell blood on the air, but it is quickly blanketed by sweetness. You have reached the jimsonweeds. It is too early, you have not walked far enough to be here already. But before you can protest the steps to your right stop and you know the man is gone.
None of them ever come farther than this.
You try the next day and the next to get answers from him. He seems to make a decision at one point just as the familiar smell reaches you and you think you will leave with no more information than you had before.
“I’m SAS.”
He is not there when you turn to thank him. He is not there at all when you return the next day.
The library run by Mrs Kaletaws is added to your routine. Breakfast, stretch, shower, library, lunch, try to sleep, walk, dinner, read, try to sleep. The small building has the peculiar addition of a cat you never quite see. You hear the skitter of claws on worn wood floor that has started to smell of sickly sweet rot, see fading scratches on the legs and arms of the chair, find hairs on your clothing, feel the prickle of eyes focused on you from the dark running up your spine to settle dully on the back of your neck. You have tried before to get a glimpse of the creature, but it only seems to exist in the very corner of your eye and retreats when your gaze tries to creep around to catch it.
Lela never talks about the cat. She told you once that it is only her and her wife that live in the basement below the library. You have never seen her wife and fear she must have some permanent sickness that stops her from being able to do much. You think they should move above ground so she can at least see the world through the windows obscured by racing raindrops, but you keep it to yourself.
The one computer here is old, the white plastic exterior now yellowed. Still, it is the only gateway to the outside world in this little town and you blow at your tea while waiting for your search results. ‘SAS military bases in West Virginia’ is a shot in the dark, but you need to start somewhere. After a sip you dump more sugar into your cup before looking at your finally loaded results.
There are none. No British military installations at all in the USA. You had hoped at least the results would bring up something about training exercises but it is just pages of useless information about bases around the world. You read about the SAS, fall down a rabbit hole of how they torture their soldiers to train them to withstand it. You go through pages and pages of search results until finally one talks about SAS soldiers in this area.
The link takes you to a dusty website that stopped being updated sometime in the late 90s. It’s some sort of conspiracy blog and you are prepared to close it, but you can’t help but get lost in the story it tells.
The details are unclear which you suppose is the hallmark of any good conspiracy. 40 years ago. There was a team of two, or maybe four or maybe seven. They set up just outside the woods with little to no explanation. There’s an interview from a local, not a name you recognise so one you think is likely long dead. She says two of the soldiers went into the woods first. She remembers something bad must have happened, because there was an argument between the five left outside. Nobody was allowed close, but she watched two more men go into the woods. After that the operation seemed to vanish entirely overnight and nobody heard anything more about it.
Whoever authored the blog has a gift with words because despite your logical mind knowing it was probably nothing but a random training exercise, the hairs on the back of your neck raise.
There is a photo of the alleged unit at the end loading slowly. You stare in fascination as line by line appears from the top. The world stops before it fully loads. At first you are confused as to why your whole body is tense, why your heart is racing. And then you figure it out. Silence. Complete and all together sudden silence. No rain hitting the windows, no scratching of the cat echoing, not even the whir of the computer.
You do not want to look away from the screen. You do not want to turn around. The prickle on your neck goes from dull to sharp.
The computer powers down.
He says to call him John. This man does not walk to your right like the Scottish one, or behind you like the first one you met. He walks in front of you. You can see the full expanse of his back clad in a vest. He wears a hat. He only ever turns slightly, enough to see that he has sideburns but never enough to see his face.
You are so enraptured by being able to see so much of him so clearly that it takes you a while to notice there is someone on your left. A few steps behind like the Scottish one does on your right. It takes you by surprise enough that you are about to forget the unspoken rules and turn, but John predicts your move.
“Eyes forward.”
“Sorry” you say automatically, fixing you eyes to his back and letting the other man stay as the impression of a creature just in sight of your left eye.
“They’re pretty, Captain.”
“I’m aware.”
It should not make you blush but somehow it does.
“What’s you name?” you ask.
There is no way to direct it specifically to the man on your left, so you simple direct it to the back of John and hope that the trees will send it where it needs to go.
“Captain?” the man asks, not for permission but as if genuinely unsure of the answer.
“Kyle, your name’s Kyle.”
“Right. Kyle.”
You catch the movement of him touching his chest, maybe rubbing at a name tag there but you can’t be sure.
“You can call me Gaz if you like.”
John and Gaz are your company for weeks. Whenever you ask after the other two, the air turns sweet and bloody and you are left alone among the jimsonweeds.
“Got intae trouble for ye.”
You’re not sure where you are but you recognise the voice. Is he in your room?
“We both did. Curiosity would’ve killed you little kitten,” comes the other voice from the first man in the woods somewhere behind you.
You hazily look down at yourself. You are not in the bed at the inn, you are in another bed laid on your back. You feel your legs brush against one another, not clad in the flannel you remembered wearing. Silk, you are wearing silk. Delicate against your skin, not much of it. Were you wearing perfume? Something smells sweet.
As you stare at the bare expanse of your leg a hand sinks into your thigh, squeezes.
“Fuck LT, so soft. Fingers just sink right in.”
You fight the urge to look to the right where the hand is coming from. You can’t look, some primal part of your brain knows you cannot look.
“Stay away from the woods” the man behind you whispers into your ear like a caress as his hands settle gently around your neck.
You do not feel the snap of bone, but you hear it. You taste the blood in your mouth.
You do not manage to fall back asleep when you wake.
Breakfast, library, try to sleep, don’t go into the woods, dinner, try to sleep, stare at the wallpaper, try to sleep.
You overhear Axell and Lela once. You think they are talking about you.
“You think we’re doing the right thing?” Axell asks.
“I don’t think there is a right thing anymore.”
“It’s been a long time now. Maybe we should let them go.”
“You think we could?”
There is a silence. Neither of them thinks so. Paranoia settles over you that you haven’t felt since back when things got bad. It’s like an old vice settling into your bones, or maybe seeping out of them as if it never truly left. You cannot go back to that place again so you take some aspirin for the rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes and the dull prickle at the back of your neck and resolve to put any thoughts of conspiracy out of your mind. Lela and Axell are simply old, there is not something they know that you do not.
You do not mean to walk into the woods again. The man behind you is back. He feels different somehow.
“I could eat you right up” he says against your neck.
Old Mr Kleer sees the bloodied bite at your throat and says nothing as you walk by.
You book a bus ticket. It feels too much like there are tendrils growing from you to burrow into the ground, to fix you here. If you don’t rip them out now, it is only a matter of time until the roots are so deep you won’t be strong enough to move. You aren’t eating properly, you’ve hardly slept and when you do you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and covered in scratches. There is still the shape of a bite on your throat and the B&B owners in Pennsylvania look at you with pity as you check in.
The building is charming and fairly new. You stare at the neutral pink wallpaper. One corner of it has lifted ever so slightly. You fall asleep staring at the peek of green underneath.
It doesn’t rain as much here, the sun is out and everything seems more colourful. Weeks pass in a haze and you slowly emerge again, eating properly, sleeping through the night. The town on the Greenbrier starts to fade to an unpleasant dream.
There is something comforting about the old man who comes to stay and sits by you for breakfast in the mornings. He has the remnants of a Russian accent and laughs frequently and easily. The stories he tells are fantastical, but he’s non-committal about his visit to small town Pennsylvania although he at least tells you that he likes the nature around here. He whispers that his legs aren’t up for much walking anymore, so he has to take the easy paths through small patches of nature.
It takes a week or so more to work up the courage to accompany him on a walk. It seems silly, but the woods make you feel afraid. Maybe a short walk through the small area he spoke of will help you get beyond it. You rub at your neck, feeling the marks faded but still there.
He notices your discomfort and tries to ease it with his stories as you walk the dirt path.
“It’s the most important thing I’ve learned you know” he says, the aching grief in his voice causing you pause, “you cannot leave friends behind.”
You turn to him, intending to ask how much longer the path leads since it is getting dark now. He is not there.
“Nik?” you ask, calm at first but increasingly more frantic.
That old familiar dull prickle settles on the back of your neck as you run back down the way you came to get out of the woods. Drooping tree limbs get in your way and you push through, ignoring the scratches. As darkness falls you slow to a walk, unable to see anything in front of you. You catch the smell the sweetness of the jimsonweeds. You can smell blood.
Foot steps that are not your own surround you. A set in front of you. One behind. To the left and to the right.
“Welcome home.”
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russellsppttemplates · 7 months ago
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More Dad!Lando, please! How about a colicky Fraiser, a frazzled yn and dad Lando to rh rescue?
Cw: mentions baby's colic, postpartum recovery from c-section
"It's okay, my love, you're okay, mummy is right here", you cooed as you changed Fraser's nappy, "nearly done and then you can feel better hopefully", you sighed, finishing it and rubbing the baby's tummy like you remembered the nurses teaching you how to do in the hospital.
You weren't even sure what time it was, having decided against staying in your bedroom and moving to the nursery so Lando could rest. Even though Fraser slept with you and not in the nursery, you still had all the furniture in there for once you made the transition and right now it was proving to be useful, even if it didn't have a clock anywhere in sight and the lack of sleep was catching up to you.
"I know it hurts, I'm sorry, my love, mummy's doing the best she can - good, good, let all of that wind out", you smiled a little before he started crying again, "Oh, baby, let's have a cuddle", you lowered your top, letting him feel your skin on his after you unbuttoned the top of his babygrow.
The cold bed next to Lando let him know you hadn't been in the bedroom for quite some time, making him stand up and look for you, heading to the nursery since Fraser wasn't in his cot either. The sight before him pulled on his heartstrings. First, because his wife and snuggling your baby, another little one you were blessed enough to bring to the world, and even if you didn't believe it sometimes, the way you looked mothering his children was his favourite - you were the best mummy for them. Second, however, it pulled on his heartstrings because it was noticeable how much it was taking a toll on you. You still looked beautiful - that would never be a question - but he couldn't help but notice the dropped shoulders, the way your movements were still slow and needing you to think before moving a certain way so it wouldn't hurt, and how frazzled you looked.
"Hey, you two", Lando cooed, getting your attention as you bounced the baby around, "would you like daddy's help?", he mused.
Your nod was all he needed to scoop the baby boy and settle him in your chest, rubbing his back as he seemed to nestle into his father's naked chest, "you're not a happy little guy, are you? Is your tummy giving you trouble, Fraser?", Lando cooed as the cries didn't quite settle.
"He was fussing so much and I didn't want to wake you, so we moved here", you explained the reason why you didn't stay in the bedroom as usual.
"You should've woken me up, love, but it's okay, I'm here now", Lando smiled, kissing your forehead softly, "maybe some massages will help? You can lay on mummy and daddy can rub your tummy", he suggested.
"I did them for a bit, but he looked like he needed some comforting too", you mumbled.
You sat on the big chair, shuffling the pillows to make yourself comfortable before Lando set Fraser on your torso, his head nestled over your boobs as his father undid the rest of his babygrow, his fingers starting to massage his belly and slowly working all that was bothering him out, "you like being in mummy's chest, don't you?", Lando smiled, "daddy likes it too, but you've all but stolen it from me these days - it's okay though", he attempted to break a smile on your tired features.
Soon enough, Fraser settled down, falling asleep on Lando's chest once he got him back to snuggle into it, swaying from side so side was you did the same, sandwiching you son between you per your husband's request, "no one is alone in this, darling", he said as he pulled you to hug his waist.
(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)
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ashasdiary · 15 days ago
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Bodyguard
Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader Synopsis: Geto finds out you’re being harassed at work. CW: harassment, established relationship, protective!geto, angry!geto, Geto beats him up, a little angst, fluff, brief suggestiveness WC: 1.9k A/N: no one look at me I’m trying to cope 😵‍💫
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It started very innocently. Just small chats here and there, in the work kitchen, passing by through the hallways, in the elevators. Then the chats became a bit longer. You initially thought your coworker Daniel was just being attentive, asking about you, showing genuine interest in what you had to say. To be sometimes expected from a work colleague. 
But you realised his intentions early on. So you made it a point each time he asked your plans to mention your boyfriend, Geto, just to make sure he was aware that you were not interested. 
That didn’t stop him. 
Every time he passed by your desk, he’d pat your shoulder and mouth a small ‘hi’. Initially, it wasn’t concerning, because it was minor, just him saying hi in greeting. But the more time passed, the longer his touches on your shoulder, and the more agitated you got. 
He’d join you, uninvited, while you had your lunch. Offering him a polite smile, you wouldn’t say anything as he’d sit near to you in the work kitchen. 
“Whatcha got?” He asked once. 
“Just a sandwich,” you reply, mouth full, not caring about manners in that moment. Because he had eyes. Why ask stupid questions? 
“Oh, nice. Healthy,” he nods, opening up his food container, “You always have healthy stuff.”
You blink a few times, thinking what the hell, keeping tabs on my lunch? He begins to eat and you hum, kind of dismissively, “Yeah.”
You continue to eat your sandwich in silence, looking at your phone, hoping he’ll leave you in peace. Ha! Why would he? 
“What did you get up to on the weekend?” He asks and you glance up at him, giving a tight lipped smile. 
“Had a day out with my boyfriend, we did a hike and then saw a new movie…not much else,” you say. 
“Ah, hikes are great. I hope it was a good movie. It’s nice having a companion, but I’m so particular about who I keep around…it’s why I can’t find anyone decent,” he responds, and you chew on your lip, feeling a bit unnerved by the trajectory of the conversation. 
His phone rings then, and you thank the stars for the interruption. You stand up then as he takes it and you say something about your lunch break finishing before you dash out of there. 
Geto had noticed you’d been a bit down recently, but he didn’t want to push you to talk about it because he knew that there wasn’t always a reason for being down. Moods fluctuate, something he could personally understand completely. Instead, he ups his affection to you, making sure you feel loved, and seen, and safe. Which you always do. 
That week, it continued. 
Fucking hell, was he persistent. More touches; the shoulder taps had become shoulder squeezes. More questions. More attention.
At the very least you were thankful you weren’t working in the same team or even in the same department. But still, it was starting to affect you. You’d feel anxious as it approached the time that he’d come into work. You’d feel anxious when you heard his footsteps. 
Your coworker who sat beside you noticed it too. “He’s so weird…what’s his problem?” She comments, then her voice softens when she looks at you being tense, “hey…you okay?”
“Not really…” you whisper to her, voice wavering. 
She looks concerned, “Tell HR. I’ve seen what he’s been doing, every day, it’s creepy.”
“But I don’t want to cause trouble,” you find yourself saying, and you trail off as you hear yourself. It sounds ridiculous and you know it. 
Your colleague says your name, “Come on. It’s not. Do not sacrifice your comfort. Go tell them…or do you want me to?” She asks. 
Deliberating for a moment, you then shake your head and inhale deeply, “I will.”
After having a conversation with HR, it all happens very fast. Within 3 hours, Daniel is being escorted out of the building having been fired. 
You feel sick to your stomach, because you hadn’t wanted to cause such a drastic consequence. But as the day goes on, you are reassured that it was a completely justified decision. 
It’s when you’re on the way home that you get a text from an unknown number, angrily asking what he’d done to deserve that and that you should watch your back. 
When you go home to Geto that day, you walk through the door and burst into tears, all of your built up emotions being let out. He’s quick to envelope you in his arms tightly and hold you against the warmth of his chest. 
“Hey, sweetheart…shh…I’ve got you, it’s okay…come sit down,” he says to you, in a soft, hushed voice as he guides you to the couch. You sit on his lap, face buried in his neck as you sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks. 
“Tell me what’s going on, honey,” he prompts, rubbing your back in soothing circles, “talk to me.”
So you tell him everything. Every instance, every encounter, every inappropriate conversation. And then the text. You notice that as you’d been explaining, he’d stiffened, his gaze had turned ice cold. 
He utters your name, gently pushing your hair behind your ear as you look at him, “You should have told me the minute this began…” he sighs softly, “Maybe take some time off work. And if you don’t want to do that, I’m going to take you to and from there. Okay? Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.” 
The conviction in his tone is a safety blanket to you and you bury yourself against him, whispering a thank you and an I love you. 
“I love you too, sweetheart. You’re safe, always,” he kisses your hair and holds you for the rest of the evening. 
You’d debated taking time off, but you knew that would only postpone your fear. So you go to work as usual, but with the safety of Geto’s company. 
He had suggested driving you to and from, but you knew the traffic in the city was awful which would be quite long. So he commutes with you. Four trips he makes each day, just to ensure that you are safe. 
His presence alone was enough but knowing that he’d never let anything happen to you, that he was there only to protect you, makes you feel very much at ease. 
You’re pressed up against each other on the train a couple of weeks later and he grins at you, snaking his arm around your waist. “Up close and personal, huh,” you murmur to him. 
“Not close enough,” he teases you with a wink and you flick his chin with a laugh. 
“Sugu, you might as well just come and work at the same company with all these trips you’re making,” you say as you walk hand in hand from the station to your work building. 
He chuckles, “While that would be fun, working in the same place as you, I think that they might end up firing me too for inappropriate touching,” he jokes and you laugh at this. 
He smiles to himself at the sound of your laugh, happy to see that you’re not feeling so anxious or sensitive anymore and can laugh at jokes about it.
“You’d always want to get me alone,” you tease.
“Oh, yeah. Every chance I get,” he squeezes your hand as you approach the building. 
You head inside together and you let go of his hand, readying your keycard to swipe through the security gate several meters away, and you’re about to bid each other goodbye when you stop in your tracks. Geto looks to you in question and he follows your gaze to where Daniel is stood outside the security gate, waiting. 
He didn’t know what Daniel looked like of course, but he is quick to put two and two together. At the same time, Daniel sees you. You tremble slightly as you see the look on his face as he storms over, somehow not making note of the giant 6’3 man stood beside you. 
Geto quickly approaches, and he grabs Daniel by the collar, lifting him easily off the floor. “You have some nerve coming here again…I ought to teach you a fucking lesson,” Geto seethes. 
Daniel is completely taken aback, turning into a spluttering mess as he grabs onto Geto’s arm that was holding him up, “I— I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know you! Put me down!”
Geto’s brows furrowed deeply, his blood boiling, “You sly piece of shit, you deserve what’s coming,” Geto says through clenched teeth, and throws Daniel across the shiny floor. He slides a few yards before coming to a stop. He curls into a ball as Geto angrily approaches him, crouching down and pulling his head back by his hair. 
“You think this is funny? Showing up to your old workplace just to harass someone again?” Geto raises his voice. 
“N-no, I didn’t—” Daniel quivers, but Geto’s not hearing it. 
“Like hell you didn’t,” Geto bites back, then performs a jujutsu technique that has the man being catapulted against the wall so forcefully that it cracks.  
Daniel is knocked out cold. You cover your mouth in shock before you rush over to Geto’s side and hold onto his arm, “Sugu…”
At the same time, security guards rush over to both Geto and Daniel and police had been called as well. The security guard recognises you but says to Geto, “Sir, police have been called. We ask for your cooperation.”
“You don’t want me to leave the premises?” Geto asks coolly, swiping some sweat off his cheek with his thumb. 
“No, sir,” the security guard gestures for Geto to follow him and waits for him to do so. 
You look at Geto helplessly. “Sugu, I’m sorry—” you begin and he frowns. 
“Why’re you sorry? This isn’t your fault. I acted in your defence. He was clearly coming at you,” he says, his eyes searching yours, placing his hands on your arms and caressing them gently. You relax a little bit. He’s right, of course. 
“They can charge me but if any, it’s likely they’ll be dropped. There’s CCTV here, and the security guards,” he looks over to the security guard stood waiting beside you both and speaks directly to him, “were clearly negligent in carrying out their jobs to allow someone who’d been fired for harassment back into the building again.”
The guard swallows thickly. You try to hide your smile at how Geto’s handling this, it’s admirable to see. 
“There’s no problem for me, I’ll happily cooperate and give my statement to the police. The evidence is right there,” Geto says to you and nods his head to the CCTV cameras overhead. 
“Can I come with you?” You ask, and he outstretches his arm. 
“They’ll probably want a statement from you too. It’s best if you did,” he says and you both walk with the security guard to the side. 
Police arrive, take statements, and evidence of the CCTV. They determine there’s no charges. You head back home with Suguru and take the day off. 
He’d made your favourite meal for lunch, and as you’re curled up together on the couch eating and watching TV, you kiss his cheek. “It’s sweet having you as my bodyguard.”
“I like being it too,” he replies and glances over to you with a tender gaze, feeling content that he’s the one to protect you and keep you safe. 
“Does this mean we can do bodyguard role play in the bedroom?” You say and he coughs, almost choking on his food. 
You laugh quietly and pat his back as he says your name, “Now that, I didn’t expect.”
“Is that a yes?” You grin as he sips on his drink, eyeing you over the rim.
He sets his glass down and smirks, “It certainly is.”
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Do not copy or translate my work. © ashasdiary, all rights reserved. Divider by cafekitsune
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