#sandwiched; cw suggestive

[luk3nk13r4n]

The masks stay on.

[nebulousmedic]

Support Sandvich! I can't show Spy for......... reasons

Full

[bonon-bobani]

[wh0re-in-the0ry]

Is anyone going feral because of Ted saying mommy in the latest chuckle sammy episode? no? just me? ok.

[bitepilled]

yeagh

[jellys-compendium]

Newlywed Nanami Headcanons

Rating: T | Pairing: Nanami Kento x F!Reader | cw: mostly fluff & a little suggestive

Newlywed!Nanami who has no problem admitting that he teared up during your wedding ceremony (even when his colleges and friends tease him). Nanami has no qualms about it. Why on earth would he ever feel embarrassed about the happiest day in his life?

Newlywed!Nanami who despite thoroughly enjoying your wedding day, was more so looking forward to the honeymoon. While entertaining guests and making sure you had the perfect wedding day was all well and good, he couldn't adequately suppress that selfish little spark of excitement at the thought of having you all to himself for two blissful weeks.

Newlywed!Nanami who planned your honeymoon in secret. The day after the wedding, he flies the two of you to a tranquil seaside town, renting out a quaint and cozy beach house just for the two of you. Each day, you and Nanami spend the time at your leisure. Fishing, taking in the beautiful sights, chatting with the locals, attending a festival or two, and trying a variety of new and delicious dishes. When it was all over, both you and Nanami think back wistfully to that time. It was truly heaven on earth.

Newlywed!Nanami who unsurprisingly settles into his role as a new husband quite well. He's quite a natural at it. Nanami is a caring, thoughtful and conscientious husband. But that being said, Nanami is no pushover. He is quite the skilled negotiator, preferring that you both reach a satisfactory compromise rather than simply bending to your will, or alternatively, proving himself right. In the end, you'd be hard pressed to find a more stable and loving husband than Nanami Kento.

Newlywed!Nanami who effortlessly establishes a daily routine with you. He makes breakfast in the mornings, alternating between western and more traditional style breakfasts, while you prepare each of your lunches, experimenting with different kinds of breads and sandwiches, fueled by the desire to perfect your new husband's favorites.

Newlywed!Nanami walks you to work, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and telling you to have a great day before watching as you slip into your building. He never leaves until he sees you safely make it past the security guard. The big smile and wave you give him from across those glass doors is all the fuel he needs to motivate him for the rest of the day.

Newlywed!Nanami who isn't really the type to brag about his new wife or bring you up in conversation at work. But, he absolutely drives his coworkers up the wall (and makes some of them a little jealous) by being very clear that you are his priority. He will do what needs to be done during times of need, but outside of that he is completely and indisputably yours. Newlywed!Nanami who after marrying you becomes known around his office as Mr. Nanami, "I won't be working overtime tonight. I'd much rather spend that time with my wife", Kento. Newlywed!Nanami whose highlight of the day is cooking dinner with you, bantering amicably back and forth about both everything and nothing at all. Sometimes the two of you talk about your future, sometimes it's about the mundane, and sometimes it's silly teasing, which quickly derails into flirtatious invitation.

"I'm still convinced that your actual cursed technique is being able to fold fitted sheets into perfectly symmetrical squares. That's true sorcery." The sound Nanami's warm, deep chuckle perfectly complements the wine's pleasant burn as it makes its way down your throat. "You shouldn't be so surprised, love. You married a man of many talents." You hum in agreement, sultry gaze fixed on Nanami as you return the wine glass to the table. "Hmmm, care to demonstrate a few more of those talents while the night is still young?"

[logansdoll]

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.

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.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

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

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.

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@theweekndhistorybook

@books-are-escapes

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@maeleeme

@lynnevanss

[nanamis-bigtie]

morning after ↬ nanami kento, higuruma hiromi, kusakabe atsuya & gender neutral reader

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

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.

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.

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.

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

[russellsppttemplates]

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 ✨️)

[luk3nk13r4n]

Psst. Luke... See you tonight?

L: Tonight, and every other night you want, starling. Should I bring a towel?

[steddieas-shegoes]

sounds like a date

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is sharing food' rated g | 743 words | no cw | tags: fluff, established relationship, flirting

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

"Can I have a fry?" Eddie asked with his mouth half full of the last fry he'd stolen off Steve's plate.

"Why didn't you just get your own fries?" Steve asked, handing him a fry from his plate.

"Because I only wanted a couple and you always share with me," Eddie shoved the fry into his mouth.

That was true; Steve always shared his food when they were having their usual date night at the diner. In fact, he pretty much only got fries because he knew Eddie would want some.

He preferred just eating his turkey club sandwich and smiling over at Eddie who always ordered two milkshakes because he could never decide on a flavor, a cheeseburger, onion rings that he complained were soggy every time, and a chef salad for balance.

Eddie never finished his food, or the milkshakes, but he always finished Steve's fries.

So it became an unspoken routine, something Steve wasn't even sure Eddie noticed even after months of doing it. Robin said he was a sap for doing it, but he didn't care.

"How's the chocolate shake?" Steve asked as Eddie dipped another stolen fry into it. "Good with the fries?"

"Yeah, but the strawberry is better. They didn't add extra chocolate syrup this time," Eddie half-pouted, as if he didn't complain about their lack of chocolate in the chocolate shake every time he ordered it.

"Can I have a sip of your Coke?" Eddie asked after another minute of stealing fries from Steve's plate.

Steve wordlessly handed his cup over, surprised it took him this long to ask for it. He usually asked way before he'd even started on the fries.

Eddie, as expected, took a few large sips, almost draining the rest of the drink.

"Why doesn't the waitress ever bring us napkins?" Eddie asked as he set the cup back down in front of Steve.

Steve handed him one of the napkins he'd grabbed from the table they passed on the way to their own. The waitress did always forget to bring them, so Steve prepared.

"You're so good to me," Eddie smirked, brushing his foot against Steve's ankle under the table.

Steve was pretty sure the waitress knew what was going on between them and just hadn't bothered to say anything, and the rest of the diner was empty. Their date night was pretty late, right after Eddie's Hellfire night with the kids that always seemed to go longer and longer. It was damn near midnight now, most of the town in bed, the rest up to no good somewhere else.

It was peaceful, being here with Eddie like this.

It was a look at a future they could have, at least a version of it, though neither of them planned on staying in Hawkins forever.

Steve slid his plate of the few remaining fries over to Eddie and wiped his hands on his napkin. "Finish 'em. I'm done."

"You didn't even eat any," Eddie pointed out before grabbing another one.

"Wasn't that hungry, I guess."

"Mhm," Eddie smirked knowingly, but didn't comment further.

"All set for the bill?" The waitress came by to ask, tapping her pen against the pad of paper. "Who gets it tonight?"

Eddie pointed at Steve, like he did every single week they did this.

Steve took the bill from her hand like he did every single week.

He pulled out his wallet, grabbed the $10 in cash he always kept there for date night, and handed it back to her.

Eddie waited until she walked away to pull out his wallet, grabbing $2 for a tip.

"You know at some point, you may have to actually pay for a date," Steve said as he slipped his jacket on.

"Maybe," Eddie shrugged, like he knew Steve loved paying for their date, made him feel like he could provide. Eddie joked it was his inner caveman. "Maybe I'll just take us on a nice road trip with all this money I'm savin'."

"Oh?" Steve froze.

Eddie looked back at him, beaming smile.

"Yeah. Next month sound good to you? A tour of diners across the midwest. Every night is date night. All my treat," Eddie suggested, like he'd already had this planned for a while. "I'd love to steal your fries in new places, Stevie."

Steve felt himself blushing, somehow always surprised at the lengths Eddie went to to make him feel so loved.

"Sounds like a date."

[nina-ya]

Law Helping You Study (NSFW)

Pairing: Law x AFAB Reader CW: Oral (reader receiving), fingering, uh i think thats it??? WC: 2.5k A/N: This was meant to be a self indulgent Law helping you study thing but idk what happened I blacked out and now its NSFW lol. I might write a part 2 with what happens after the end of this one but for now here have this <3 Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

“Wrong”  Law's deep voice declared from across from you, causing you to look up, irritation flashing through you.

“What? No, I can’t be wrong.” you insisted, narrowing your gaze at the man in front of you.

Law raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide the amused smirk playing on his lips “Your flashcards don’t lie” 

“Well the flashcards are wrong.” you retorted, crossing your arms defensively.

Law leaned back, studying you with a bemused expression. “But you made them.” 

You let out a frustrated groan, tossing yourself back onto the bed, and running your hands across your face. The stress of the upcoming exam was getting to you, and it seemed Law was enjoying the spectacle.

“You need a break.” Law suggested, putting the flashcards to the side. 

You shot him a skeptical look as you responded, “since when are you one to take breaks?”

“Since I can practically see the steam pouring out of your ears.” he deadpanned, gesturing to your visibly agitated state. 

You sighed deeply and rolled your eyes. Law was right, and you knew it. You needed some sort of destresser before you blew up. You propped yourself onto your elbows and looked at Law. “Fine, a break,” you conceded. “But only a short one.”

Law nodded and got up, putting all of the study materials aside and walking away from your study area. He gestured for you to follow him. You reluctantly got up from the comfort of the bed and followed as he led you into the kitchen. He found himself digging through the fridge, pulling out some random ingredients.

“You could’ve just said you were hungry.” You said as you observed the items he was pulling out of the fridge. 

“It’s not for me, It's for you.” he stated matter-of-factly. “Three cups of coffee, an energy drink, and some cheese and crackers is not proper sustenance.” 

“I don't know, that feels like more than enough sustenance to me.” you retorted, a playful smile forming on your lips. 

“Ahuh, sure. Sit.” He said, gesturing for you to take a seat at the small kitchen table, and you complied. You watched as he threw together a simple sandwich for you, placing it on a plate and pushing it towards you along with a glass of water. You seemed to relax as you took the sandwich in your hand, taking small bites out of it. 

As you made your way through your sandwich, Law leaned forward on the counter, looking at you as he stated, “You seem to be struggling.”

“Excellent observation, Sherlock.” You retorted, finishing the last bits of your sandwich. 

“Still snippy. I thought food was supposed to calm you or something.” He said with amusement, shrugging as he pulled the plate from in front of you, putting it in the sink. 

“There’s nothing calming about feeling like I’ll never understand this subject.” You whined out, dropping your head onto the counter as you let out a groan of frustration. 

Law looked at your state of despair and watched as you lost hope. He suddenly spoke up. “Maybe you need to look at it in a different direction.”

“Huh?” You asked, lifting your head up from the counter to make eye contact with him.

“You need to switch up your studying. Change something in your routine to make studying more tolerable, and hopefully enjoyable.” He said thoughtfully.

“Enjoyable? You severely overestimate just how enjoyable studying can be.” You countered with a groan, clearly not wanting to hear him out.

“Humor me.” he stated plainly. He walked out of the kitchen and waited for you to follow, leading you back to your study area.

You sat down on the bed once more, feet dangling off the edge as Law took a seat in a small chair across from you. He pulled out the study materials, sorting through them as he started, “Studying won't do you any good if you aren’t motivated. You look at each of these flash cards as if they are the enemy.” He waved the flash cards in front of you for emphasis as he continued, “How does a reward system sound?”

“Rewards?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the thought, “Like what?” you asked.

He leaned over to a nearby drawer and rummaged around. As he did so he started to explain, “Let’s say for every 5 questions in a row you get right, you get to take a 5 minute break or…” he trailed off as he seemed to be looking for something. Then, he sat back up, a plastic bag in hand as he continued, “I knew you had these,” he muttered to himself triumphantly. He held up the plastic bag, and in that moment, you realized it was your stash of chocolates, “How about, for every question you get right, you get a piece of chocolate?” 

“This is stupid.” You say with a deep sigh, the motivation to study having evaded you hours ago.

Law continued, trying to convince you to give his idea a shot. “It’s not stupid, It’s basic psychology. Do you have any better ideas anyways?”

You stared at him for a moment before sighing in defeat. He smirked at this small victory as he placed the bag of chocolates in his lap, getting into a comfortable position to start with your new study session.

Law held the flash card in your face, and your eyes scanned over the question, reading it carefully. You thought for a moment and perked up as you nearly shouted out an answer. A smirk spread across Law's lips as he placed the flash card down and grabbed a piece of chocolate, tossing it to you. 

The next flash card is up. You thought hard for a moment once more and recited another correct answer. Once again, he grabbed a piece of chocolate, tossing it to you.

Next question. He held the flashcard up and you thought over the content before starting to slowly and unsurely speak. As the wrong answer spilled from your lips, Law’s eyebrows raised as to indicate that you are on the wrong track. You noticed this and hesitantly changed your answer, this time saying the right one.

He nodded his head at you and pulled out another chocolate. This time, being a little more brave as he leaned forward and held the chocolate in front of your mouth. Your eyes flickered between the chocolate and his eyes, your brain stopping momentarily at the action. Nevertheless, you leaned forward and accepted the chocolate, taking it from his fingers. Your tongue ran against the tip of his fingers and  your lips enveloped the digits as you did. When he pulled his fingers away, a small string of saliva connected your lips to his fingers for a moment before it snapped. His eyes grew darker as they fixated on your dampened lips before pulling his hand back towards him.

This action did not go unnoticed by you, as your breathing deepened slightly, heart starting to thump harder in your chest and a slight heat building in your core. You simply stared at him, shifting slightly as you instinctively rubbed your thighs together, seeking any friction of sorts to relieve yourself of this sudden rise in tension. 

He pulled out another flash card and held it in front of you, the fingers that were just in your mouth seconds ago dampening the card underneath. You had to forcefully rip your eyes from his gold ones in order to focus on the question in front of you. 

‘I wonder what he tastes like… wait, that's not what the flash card says… those fingers, that hand, what would that look like around my throat?... Shit! Get yourself together!’

“Having trouble there?” Your heart raced as Law’s voice broke your swirling thoughts, bringing you back into the present moment. You blinked rapidly, trying to regain your composure as you tore your gaze from his intense stare.

“Uh, no, I’m fine,” you stammered, attempting to regain focus on the flashcard in front of you. Your mind was still reeling from the unexpected intimacy of moments ago. The question seemed to wash away before your eyes, the words blurring together as you grappled with the sudden rise in this unexpected desire.

With a shaky breath, you managed to refocus, mentally berating yourself for letting your intrusive thoughts take over. 

“What's the answer?” Law prompted, his tone colored with amusement as he watched you struggle to conceal your emotions.

You forced yourself to ignore the lingering sensations as you recited the correct response. Relief washed over you as Law nodded in approval, his expression rather unreadable at this point. He reached for another piece of chocolate and held it out to you. You hesitated, heart racing as you looked at the compromising position you are once again in with his tattooed fingers delicately holding out the chocolate to your lips.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, parting your lips to accept the offering. As the chocolate met your tongue, you closed your eyes briefly, savoring the sweetness that flooded your senses. Your eyes fluttered open to the feeling of Law’s hand moving, his hand now gently cupping your chin with his thumb resting on your bottom lip. 

You locked eyes with him and you froze, most of the chocolate still poking out of your mouth, being held in place by your teeth as you dared not move. Heat rose to your face and your breathing quickened as his gaze bore into yours, dark and intense. 

Without a word, he closed the remaining distance between you two, his lips parting to meet yours. He gently bit down on the chocolate as his lips brushed against yours with a soft touch, sending shivers down your spine. 

You gasped softly, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips pressed more firmly against yours, the kiss growing more insistent with each passing second. His hand slid from your chin to the curve of your jaw, holding you in place. Your lips parted instinctively, allowing him access as his tongue slipped past, tasting the remaining remnants of chocolate on your tongue.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you surrendered to the intoxicating sensation, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with desire. Without breaking the kiss, Law rose from his chair, his hands finding their way to your shoulders, gently urging you back onto the bed. You complied without hesitation, sinking into the softness of the mattress as he hovered over you. 

His hands roamed freely, tracing your body, gently touching and grabbing everything within his reach. His lips began to trail down your neck, each press of his lips onto your skin sending your mind into a haze with a desire that bordered on intoxication.

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his hands explored every inch of your skin. Law’s hands roamed under the fabric of your shirt, and with a desperate touch, he guided the shirt over your head, discarding it with a sense of urgency.

Exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze, you watched as he leaned down, and you sharply gasped when his lips started trailing down your chest, each touch growing that feeling in your core. You arched into his touch; every caress left you yearning for more, aching with a need only he could satisfy.

Laws hand reached behind your back, his fingers working at the clasp of your bra, releasing it with ease. He tossed the garment aside, not particularly caring about where it ended up. You gasped as his hands met your bare chest, his touch sending shivers down your spin as he grabbed and squeezed at the skin. His fingers teasingly ran over your hardened nipples, chuckling lightly at the reaction he pulled from you when he gave one of them a squeeze.

Your breathing shuttered as his lips closed around one of your buds, his tongue flicking and teasing with a skill that left you trembling with pleasure. Each movement sent waves of ecstasy crashing over you.  

Law's lips traveled lower, leaving a trail of kisses along your abdomen, the feeling of pleasure coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach. Your breath hitched as his hands slid lower, tracing your hips with a light touch.

He lets out a low groan of desire as he pressed his lips against the skin just above the waistband of your pants, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. You whimpered out at the sensation, your breath shaky as he teased you.

In one smooth motion, he rid you of your pants and underwear, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze. His eyes bore into you with complete and utter desire as he took in the sight of you. He closed the gap, and his mouth found its way onto your dripping core, having you moan out in utter pleasure at the feeling. Your fingers dug into the sheets as he worked his tongue on you. Each flick of his tongue around your sensitive bud had you trembling.

You writhed under his touch, your body involuntary moving as the pleasure threatened to consume you whole. But Law held you down, his hands gripping your hips firmly. “Stop squirming,” he murmured his voice low and commanding as he continued his relentless assault.

Law wasn’t content with just his mouth, he wanted to drive you to the edge with the help of his fingers as well. He slipped two of his fishers between your thighs, the digits easily sliding in with the help of your wetness, and soon the ‘E’ and the ‘A’ of his knuckle tattoos disappeared deep within you as he explored your depths. You moaned out, back arching as his fingers and his tongue tortured you, tightening that coil that's threatening to snap with each passing moment. You cried out his name, your voice a desperate plea for release as he brought you closer and closer to answering your prayers. 

With a final thrust of his fingers, he sent you hurdling over the edge, your body convulsing, thighs clenching around his head as a tidal wave of pleasure washed over you. He lapped up your dripping desire with hunger, riding you through your orgasm. Your heart raced and your chest heaved as you lay spent and breathless beneath him. 

He brought his head up from between your thighs, your essence dripping from his chin as he stared at you with a shit-eating grin. He wiped away your arousal with his fingers, popping them into his mouth to lick them clean.

Law was not content with just tasting you; he wanted to feel you. He discarded his shirt, revealing the large tattoo that adorned his chest. His gaze burned with hunger as he leaned down to kiss you once more, his hips planting themselves between your legs, grinding against you as he chased any sort of friction to release his own pent up desires. 

What was meant to be a simple study session has quickly faded into a moment filled with complete and utter desire. Sounds of shared pleasure soon fill the room, studying being the last thing on anyone's mind as you two get lost in the feeling of absolute bliss.

[daisynik7]

cw: alcohol, reader is drunk, Nanami is a doting husband, kissing, suggestive dialogue, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, baby, honey, good girl), use of daddy once

Author’s Note: Whoops, I’m afraid my Nanami brainrot is not over! Anyways, I got wine drunk yesterday and I was just imagining about how cute it would be for drunk!reader to come home to husband!Nanami. Enjoy! Banner by @/saradika.

You’ve got your arm draped across your best friend’s shoulders as she helps you stumble up the driveway to your house and towards the front door. She knocks with her free hand, waiting only several seconds before your husband answers, an amused grin on his face. “Thanks for bringing her home in one piece.”

She laughs, handing you off to him. “We almost found the bottom of the bottomless mimosas,” she jokes, waving farewell to the both of you, heading back to the car with the designated driver. Nanami watches them leave while you hang onto his shoulders for dear life. 

He shuts the door behind him, carefully leading you into your home, bending down to remove your heels. You’re a wobbling mess, head hazy and body buzzing with intoxication from today’s brunch. One of infinite things you love about Nanami is how patient he is with you, even when you’re a useless lump, too uncoordinated to do the simplest things like this. 

Now barefoot, you lean against him, using his entire body as support. He remains silent, a calm expression on his face, practically dragging you to the couch where he plops you down, kneeling before you to press the back of his hand to your cheek. He gives you a delicate smooch on the forehead before he stands up to walk to the kitchen. You hear the rushing sound of water from the faucet filling up a container and within seconds, he’s back, sitting beside you, handing you a full glass. “Drink this, sweetie.” You take it, tipping it into your mouth slowly until it’s half full and you’re properly quenched. He studies you in silence, scooching nearer with his hand resting on top of yours. “Are you alright?”

“I’m great,” you giggle, leaning towards him, lips grazing his with a crooked, goofy smile.

He laughs. “It looks like you had a lot of fun with your friends.” He sniffs, adding, “Your breath is very fruity.”

“Is it gross?” You frown at him, feigning embarrassment.

He shakes his head. “Not at all, honey. In fact, it’s very sweet.”  

“You’re very sweet,” you respond, kissing him sloppily. Your hands grip to his t-shirt, tugging at the fabric to bring him closer to you.

Chuckling into your mouth, he pulls away, licking his lips. “Honey, you’re drunk.”

“No I’m not!” you exclaim. “I want you, baby! Don’t you want me?” 

“Of course I want you. I always want you. But not like this. Let’s sober up first.”

“But I want it now!” you whine, being absolutely unbearable.

The smile on his face remains, ever so patient even when you’re being an annoying little shit. He nuzzles his nose to yours, cupping your cheek in his palm. “We’ll do it later, okay?” His voice lowers, mouth hot on your ear now. “Please, sweetheart? Can you be a good girl and listen to daddy?”

You groan, squeezing your legs together, grabbing him firmer. “Don’t tease me like that!”

He laughs again, placing another loving kiss on your forehead. “How about I make us some sandwiches and we watch a movie? Then, I’ll give you exactly what you want.” 

You release him, sighing, still pretending to be disappointed when in fact, you’re more than satisfied. Thrilled beyond belief that you’re married to this incredible specimen of a man. “Fine. I guess that’s alright.”

[auroreliis]

Platonic Yandere!Batfam

Summary: The Batfamily wants to spend time with you, so they force you to watch a film with them.

CW: no warnings

(slightly edited; not proofread)

The sound of keyboard clatter filled the room as your eyes stayed glued to the screen in front of you. Its luminescence stung at your eyes, yet you chose to disregard the uncomfortable sensation, instead opting to blink the dryness away. You were too desperate to distract yourself with video games to notice the tall figure entering your room. You only realized your bedroom door had even been opened when the light from the hallway hit the wall in front of you. The sudden illumination of your room had caught your attention as your heart skipped a few beats. You didn't hear a thing. How were they always so quiet? You glanced at the large shadow cast by whoever entered the room. After briefly scanning over the muscular silhouette you narrowed it down to two people: Jason or Bruce. The fact that anyone bothered you at all was bad enough so you chose to shift your focus back onto the bright screen and pretend you didn't notice how much brighter your previously dark room had gotten.

You were almost convinced that it had worked, when you were suddenly proven wrong. "Your siblings want to watch a film. I figured you should also be invited. Perhaps this way you can spend more time with them", a deep voice spoke. It was Bruce. Your face scrunched up immediately. You did not like that suggestion. Your fingers rested on the keyboard while you were trying to come up with a response. He definitely knew you were avoiding them. You had stopped being completely disobedient, but you did vanish from sight whenever you had the chance to. Declining the offer was what first came to mind, but deep down you knew it wasn't really an offer. Even if you refused, they would drag you down to the living room, you could cry, kick and scream all you want, but there was no escaping their suffocating embraces. So you agreed, albeit begrudgingly. Seemingly satisfied with your reply he smiled at you and gestured towards the hallway, waiting for you to exit your room.

His hand was placed on your shoulder the whole trip to the living room. You wanted to complain about it, but he would need to hear a really good excuse to oblige and you couldn't think of anything other than "It feels restricting", so you chose to keep your mouth shut and endure it. You didn't even need to enter the living room to hear the chaos coming from inside. You couldn't make out a lot of words, as most of the sounds were just screaming, but you did come to the conclusion that they simply had troubles choosing a film to watch. You stopped abruptly, causing Bruce to turn to you and ask, "Is everything okay? Are they too loud? Wait here, I'll tell them to quiet down." With that he left, only to return shortly after, guiding you to the large room. They didn't seem to pay much attention to your appearance until Damian spoke, "I'm sitting next to them!"

Immediately you were dragged to the middle of the sofa, where you were currently sandwiched between Jason and Dick. "Not fair! You sat next to them last time, too!" said Tim, who was clearly not happy with being seated away from you. "Well, I sat down first. Maybe if you had been quicker, you would've gotten this spot", Jason retorted. "Let's not fight, there will always be a next time!" said Dick happily, as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You slightly cringed at the contact before a groan reminded you of the ongoing argument between the siblings. "That's easy for you to say. You sit next to them every time", Tim spoke again, not wanting to lose the argument. "Yes. It's my turn to sit next to them" added Damian. Before the dispute could evolve, Bruce spoke and reminded everyone that this was supposed to be a calm Movie Night. After that, they all managed to shut up.

Tim, after bitterly sitting down next to Jason, asked what kind of film you should watch and the next dilemma ensued: Jason desperately wanted to watch a scary film, claiming that he wanted to see you scared. Dick, on the other hand, was very eager to watch a lighthearted, family-friendly film. Both Damian and Jason were not pleased with that suggestion. It took Bruce intervening once again for the Movie Night to proceed. Jason, in control of the remote, turned on a scary film and didn't let anyone complain.

Much to your dismay, the film was full of jump-scares, unnerving scenes, gore and violence. Before you knew it, you were clinging to Jason and Dick out of fear. Every now and then you glanced away from the television, only to see a smug grin adorning Jason's face, as he pulled you closer to himself. Dick, conversely, wore an expression of distress after noticing how tightly you were gripping his arms. You failed to notice how bitter Tim and Damian looked after not being able to sit next to you. Bruce was also a bit disappointed, but he didn't let that show.

The film ended and the screen faded to black. They turned the lights on and you were left there, paralyzed by fear. Jason, wanting to appear like a kind older brother, offered to let you sleep in his room for the night (or longer, if you wanted to). Although you were scared, you declined. You almost missed how all the others exhaled in relief. There was no way you would be caught accepting their affection, especially not when it was Jason. He would most certainly tease you and your leftover pride would most certainly shatter.

So here you were, laying in your bed with your back pressed against the mattress in order to have a clear view of any possible attackers. It had been a few hours since you first tried to fall asleep. The film you watched with your family shook you to your core. The gore filled scenes replayed in your mind all night long until you decided that this was futile.

Getting out of bed, you slipped on your slightly oversized slippers and made your way into the hall. Now it was time to decide whose door you would knock on. Although you really didn't want to admit it, you were scared and tired, so you contemplated your choices.

You could go to Dick's room, but you would need to prepare yourself accordingly. You wouldn't be able to drink anything, because once he had you in his grasp, he definitely wouldn't let you go for a bathroom break. You would also need to prepare yourself to be throw around like a sack of potatoes, because that guy cannot sleep in one position for the whole night. Overall, not worth it.

Jason was an option, but not the best choice. The only reason you watched a scary film in the first place, was because he wanted you to seek his protection and the only reason you didn't want to let him have that was spite. Besides, he was already smug enough, no need to add fuel to an explosion. Hard pass.

Tim is...probably the best option. He's sly enough to know not to tease you too much and can also resist being clingy most of the time. Your only concern was that he would still be up at this time.

And then there was Damian. He wasn't weak per se, but clinging to a twelve year old somehow hurt your pride more than clinging to Jason.

Tim it is.

Making your way to Tim's room was much more uncomfortable than you expected. You kept looking over you shoulder, not being able to escape the feeling of being watched. By the time you were in front of Tim's door, you had almost been sprinting.

You were about to knock on the door when a very enthusiastic Tim opened it and all but dragged you inside. You were pushed onto the bed and told to make yourself comfortable. He swiftly turned off all his devices and joined you.

It took you a few minutes to process the situation you were in, since his actions had been so fast. You were in Tim's bed. His chest was pressed against your back. His arms were wrapped securely around your waist and his face was tickling the back of your neck.

Not what you would consider ideal circumstances, but at least you knew he would keep this a secret between the two of you, right?

[auspicioustidings]

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.”