#skitters out and leaves this and then skitters back to my little corner with my laptop

[rindomness]

for the record, this is bany's fault entirely. @banyanas come pick up the consequences of your actions(affectionate)

[banj0possum]

Hi! I love your stuff, you’re a really good writer! Take your time if you ever get to this, don’t burn yourself out.

The scenario is a delusional yandere childhood friend/monster. Like the reader found it in the woods as a kid and they grew up playing until the reader had to move away. Now years later, the reader is back..and the monster thinks it has a mate again.

Imaginary More-Than-Friends

Yandere! Imaginary Childhood Bestfriend x GN Reader

an: I believe the few people will recognize this guy from my old posts, i figured i let him out of my little toy box of characters huehuehue. i have to say though that i'm very much attached to this one and i will not be accepting nsfw requests of this character in the future! sorry if its not really what you asked for though ._." i was a bit excited when i saw your request

CW: Coulrophobia, delusional yan, this one is a bit more intense than normal, kidnapping kind of, possessive themes

🦋 You have vague memories of your old house. Memories of playing around in your old room and the faint sounds of cicadas and rustling leaves from outside your bedrooms window felt like a blur.

🦋 The clearest memory of your childhood there was playing around in the woods by your backyard. You had a small clubhouse somewhere in the thicket of trees and other flora. It was a small red tent full of flower ornaments that you've weaved and little trinkets you found while exploring.

🦋 You also remember there being someone else in the woods with you every time you played, although you don't remember any neighbors with kids when you were younger. Even then you have foggy memories of talking to someone very close to you.

🦋 You feel the truck you're riding in turn a corner and you look up to see your old family house slowly appearing from behind autumn-colored trees.

🦋 As soon as the moving truck came to a stop, you opened the door after thanking the driver and got your bags, taking a good look at the large house in front of you.

🦋 The paint was chipping and most of the metal decor was rusting, but you can fix them up as soon as you move in. Your family had to move out pretty quickly for some unknown reason so you figured many of the things that were left were still there.

🦋 Turning the key in the lock and opening the door, you could have sworn you heard scurrying from inside the house, must have been an animal that got in from a window or something.

🦋 Somehow, the house didn't seem very dusty, even though it's been sitting unoccupied for years. The floor looks swept to an extent with piles of leaves looking to have been swept lazily to the sides of the rooms.

🦋 You wandered through the house, your memories coming back to you about the times you spent with your parents, all the while, you can hear faint scratching and thumping as you walk.

🦋 The tall figure skittered around house, watching you wander around from the corners with an unblinking stare. He couldn't believe it. You were here, you're back! And you're so much bigger than you were all those years ago...you look so beautiful now! A toothy grin widens on his face as his claws scratched the doorframe he was gripping, leaving deep scratches.

🦋 As you enter your old room, you see that the dusty bed still looks made, like it's been waiting for someone to sleep in it for years. Old toys with ribbons of your favorite color tied to their necks or wrists sat in their places by a fogged windowsill as paper cranes and insects on string and glow in the dark stars still hung on your ceiling.

🦋 Just as you were about to leave to get your things moved in, you hear your old closet creak open. You freeze and turn to it, it looked like there wasn't anything inside. You wait a bit before fucking off, not wanting to deal with any ghouls or the like at the moment...

🦋 The figure then breathes a sigh of relief as soon as you're out of earshot. It pushes itself out of the closet and onto the floor. Soon you will see each other, he promises. He just has to find the right time...

🦋 You'd find items missing and reappearing in strange places sometimes, it could've been just you forgetting where you placed them, but there's no way you could have misplaced your shoes in the sink or your sweater outside your window...

🦋 You'd also notice food that was left out being eaten, not by ants or rodents though, the bite marks were too large.

🦋 You weren't some dumb character in a horror movie, you could see the tell-tale signs of a haunting, but you didn't want to let go of the house, not after all the years of trying to buy it back and all the money you put into renovating it.

🦋 Your mind was put at ease somewhat when you found a group of raccoons rummaging through your trashcans next to a window with a broken window, they could've just been messing with your stuff and eating your food while you weren't looking. You took note that you had to fix the locks soon.

🦋 After a few tiring days of getting everything cleaned up and moving in your stuff, you look at your hard work and smile. Your furniture gave the home your own personal touch while still keeping the nostalgic charm of your childhood home. You sigh in satisfaction and decide to go out and get some fresh air.

🦋 You exit through your backyard door and, from what you can see, the woods hasn't changed a bit since you left. It made you smile knowing you personal little playground hasn't wasted away. You then remember your old hideout. A wave of memories come back to you as you rush to where you remember the little red fort was.

🦋 To your surprise, the tent was still up, in fact, you could see no sign of aging on it. No damage from rain or wind or anything, it's like it was frozen in time. You walk up to it, crouching down and lifting the red embroidered curtains of the entrance and revel in the little items that withstood the years it has been left here.

🦋 Although, you notice there being more things than you remember. Did you really collect all these thing when you were younger? There were bottles of soda can tabs and acorns, figurines of animals carved out of wood, were those animal bones??

🦋 You back away from the tent, very much weirded out by the new additions to your old hang out spot when suddenly, your body bumps into something. It felt thin like a tree but soft like a plush toy with burlap for the cover. Your eyes go wide as you hear a voice from above you. "(Y/N)?"

🦋 The familiar jingle of bells sparked something in you as you look up to meet the creature's porcelain face.

🦋 You stare at the figure like it would disappear if you look away from it as you step back to look at it better.

🦋 It was a clown, a tall one at that. Its white pupils stayed on you as you can see razor sharp teeth within its mouth. His limbs looked almost jointless like how a plush toy would look. It's clothes were brown and dirty from years of neglect.

🦋 What you were seeing wasn't human, it couldn't be human. It was too freakishly tall to be one. You didn't know what to do, running could provoke it to chase you and attacking could anger it.

🦋 Suddenly, it steps closer to you and bends down, you could feel its breath on your face, it unusually smelled like candycorn.

🦋 Then it chuckles, giving you a grin before suddenly picks you up and wraps its long arms around you, spinning around happily like a child holding their new toy.

🦋 "(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Oh I'm so happy to see you again! You've grown so much! Where did you go? What did you see? Did you...make any new friends?"

🦋 It pulls away from you and stops spinning only to see a terrified expression on your face. His smile drops and cocks his head to the side. "(Y/N)? Are you okay?" The bells on its jester hat jingle softly.

🦋 As your shock melts away, you figure he didn't have any intention of harming you and you try and catch your breath. Your eyes then catch a glimpse of ribbons tied around his wrists. It was your favorite color.

🦋 Your slowly look back up to the clown and you finally remember your old friend that you used to play with.

🦋 You had a favorite toy amongst your collection of stuffed animals and dolls. It was a strawberry pink clown with stretchy arms, you used to carry it around with you all the time. From the moment you wake up to going back to sleep, you had it with you. You named it..

🦋 "Hallow?"

🦋 The clown perks up at the name and its smile widens even more. "So you remember! Hahah! I was beginning to think you forgot all about me!" "Y-you're real?! I mean you were- but- h-how is this possible?!"

🦋 Hallow puts you down and gives you a confused look, pointing a finger to his cheek. "Real? Of course I'm real! I'm your best friend!" He giggles, spinning around joyfully.

🦋 "And I...left you here.." "Oh I don't mind! I'm sure you had a reason! Besides, you're here now and we can play again! And we can be together!" He takes your hands into his and squeezes them, his grip a bit shaky. Well, at least it won't be so lonely out here anymore...

🦋 From there, Hallow kept you company, he would help you out in fixing up the exterior of the house and tell you all about what's happened since you left.

🦋 "I saw a reeeaaallly big bear once! He looked all tubby and fluffy and stuff! I tried petting it but it bit my arm off! So rude right? At least I knew how to sew my arm back! Thanks for teaching me how by the way!"

🦋 He's a bit clingy, but he does give you space if you ask him. and by give you space i mean he just stares at you from the corner of the room instead of hovering over you the whole time.

🦋 He wasn't a fan of other people though, if ever a friend of yours visits or a delivery person drops by, he'd disappear in a flash, when they finally leave, he's unusually quiet until to ask if he was alright. When you turn away from him, his forced smile drops down to a sneer, thinking about the strange person that was trying to take you away from him...

🦋 Then one day, a friend of yours called and told you they were in the area and wanted to meet up with you. Hallow watched as you happily talked to your phone from the gap between your door, scratching the wood in jealousy. Who was making you so happy (Y/N)? Only he's supposed to make you laugh like that...

🦋 When your friend came, he disappeared once again. He watched you greet your 'friend' with a hug, being awfully touchy with them, holding their hand as you guide them to your couch.

🦋 He hated it, he hated them. He hated you happy you looked as you two laughed together. He wished it was him who was making you laugh, not this stranger. Infact, what made you think they were to be trusted? Wasn't it other people that made you leave him in the first place? Your dreaded parents were the reason you were taken from him, what makes you think your "friend" won't do the same. Before you know it, you could be taken back to the city, stressed and overwhelmed and away from him, your best friend, your only friend, your soulmate!

🦋 His spiraling thoughts were quickly interrupted by your friend getting up from their seat. "Alright, it's getting late..where's that mall again?" "Oh, you just turn right from the second street over." "Ok! I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon!" noon?

🦋 The door closes, and you hear the jingling of bells behind you. "Do you have to hide every time there's someone else he-" Your joking comment is cut off when you turn and he's looming dreadfully over you.

🦋 "What mall?" "H-huh?" He's glaring daggers into your eyes, taking a step closer to you as you back up, unease growing inside of you.

🦋 "What's at noon?" "H-hallow we're just going out-" "How long?" "H-how long?? I don't kno-" "Hours? Days? Years?" You're backed up against the wall, the giant clown's arms at either side of you, trapping you under him as black drool drips down his snarling mouth.

🦋 "How long are you gonna leave me this time huh? How many days am I gonna wait for you to come back to me?!" "Hallow stop you're scaring me!" "I'm supposed to be my best friend! Not them!" He snaps at you, making you flinch in fear. His glare softens then turns into a horrified expression. Pulling his hands back closer to him shakily as you shivered in front of him, your arms hiding your face. He lets out a quiver before stepping away from you. You lower your arms and he was gone, you can hear banging and thumping from upstairs.

🦋 The next day, you were getting ready for your outing with your friend. Hallow didn't show up that day. You weren't used to the silence that was left.

🦋 You haven't seen Hallow in a few days, but you always let out food for him. He was hurt, you can tell, but it was clear he needed space at the moment, you just hoped he didn't do anything rash as you went to bed a week after your fight with the clown.

🦋 You woke up the next day, expecting Hallow not to come out again. You get up from your bed and head downstairs. Calling out Hallow's name, no answer.

🦋 You sigh and figure you should get some much-needed fresh air. The tension that has built up in the house was almost suffocating to you. You went to your backdoor to spend some time outside.

🦋 But when you tried to open the door, it wouldn't turn. You tried unlocking it, but the lock wouldn't budge. You pulled and shook it but to avail. You groan and try to open a window instead, but the latch was shut tight. You tried the other windows but none of them opened. You started to freak out when you hear a jingle of bells behind you.

🦋 "H-Hallow? Why are the all the windows shut? The door's locked too!" You look to him, but he looked off. His normal wide-eyed smile was replaced with a half-lidded grin. He swayed side to side, clasping his hands together as he giggled. "Hello, you~"

🦋 "H-hey...what's going on?" You ask him, sweat rolling down the side of your head nervously.

🦋 "Well, I thought about what you said and I realized! You're not at fault here! You just want someone to be with! And I guess me being your friend wasn't good enough for you so you turned to someone else! I know you didn't mean to hurt me lovely, but I can change for you! I can be much more than a best friend! We can be like those knights and princesses in your storybooks, remember?"

🦋 He starts walking up to you, you hold onto the countertop behind you as he rambles on in a lovesick haze. "H-Hallow?"

🦋 "You won't need anyone else (Y/N)! You'll just need me from now on! We'll be together forever! Oh and don't worry about food and stuff, I can get you those!"

🦋 He chuckles, before pulling you into an uncomfortably tight hug, you flinch as you feel him kiss your neck and cheek, his sharp teeth grazing your skin ever so gently.

🦋 "You'll never have go away ever again, my f-...my love~"

[another-lost-mc]

feel the heat: newspaper club edition

mephistopheles turns to you in a moment of desperation.

pairing: mephistopheles x afab!reader

content: nsfw. explicit smut. poly!reader, demon heat/rut cycles mentioned. demon form!mephisto. derogatory language, cursing, sexting/dick pics, first time, frenemies to lovers.

word count: 3.3k

feel the heat series: the demon brothers | the royals edition

You passed Mephisto in one of the hallways of RAD long after classes ended for the day. You were on your way to the student council chambers, and you guessed he was on his way to the Newspaper Club office. He was distracted and walked right into you. He hissed when you made contact with his chest, and he skittered back like you burned him.

You're surprised by the anger in his eyes, but there’s sweat beading along his hairline and he’s panting. You recognize the dark haze clouding his vision, and you try not to stare at the outline of his half-hard cock in his pants. 

Your voice is almost shrill when you ask why he’s still on campus when he’s obviously unwell. He shouldn’t be here in his condition, and you tell him that, as kindly as you can.

He clenches his jaw and grits out that it’s none of your business.

Fair enough, but he’s the one who was stupid to come to campus like this. 

He looks insulted when you ask him if he has someone to help him with his little problem, and he glares at you. 

You offer to help him if he has no one else, and his stunned expression would be hilarious if it were any other circumstance.

He spits more venom at you about how you’re just some meddling human pest and how he wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty by touching you. He nearly shoves past you as he carries on to finish whatever’s brought him back to school in this very volatile state.

You’re not sure what to think, and you know your concern for him is unwanted. You stare at his back as he stalks away, but he doesn’t spare you another glance. He turns the corner and disappears from view, and you listen to the sound of his boot heels clicking on the floor until you hear nothing. It’s like he was never there; he leaves no trace of his presence behind except for the sting you feel from his rejection.

It’s a few hours later when you’ve settled in for the evening and try to forget what happened earlier. You’re watching a movie in your room when your phone buzzes beside you. You’re not sure who’s texting you at this late hour. It can’t be one of the demon brothers - they would just let themselves into your room if they wanted to see you.

You certainly don’t expect to see the name that flashes across your screen.

Mephistopheles: If I send a car for you, will you come?

You can’t contain the surprised laugh that bubbles out of you, because it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said to you. Why would he do that now, after his scathing response to your offer earlier?

You point out how much of a hypocrite he’s being and ask what his problem is. He might be hot and you might want to get to know him better, but you also know that you deserve more respect than the less-than-bare minimum he’s shown you.

Mephistopheles: You’re annoying and you get on my nerves, and you’re stubborn and naïve and so painfully human it hurts to look at you. 

You: Okay…?

Mephistopheles: And I see the way you walk around RAD, sashaying those fucking hips. I hate the way your ass fills out your uniform. And you’re so clumsy! Do you constantly drop things so everyone has to see the way your perfect fucking tits strain the buttons of your blouse when you bend over?

Mephistopheles: Do you know how tempting it is to push you over a desk and fuck some sense into you when you’re too cheeky for your own good?

Mephistopheles: I’ve spent all fucking night thinking about your lips around my cock. I hate how much I want you.

Mephistopheles: I want you. I want—fuck.

Your eyes widen with each message he sends. Your throat’s gone bone-dry and suddenly it feels a little warm in your room.

His next message contains a photo. 

He’s laying on a bed in a dark room. He’s still in his RAD uniform, but his pants are loose around his hips and his fly is down. His hand - his bare hand, glove tossed aside carelessly - is wrapped around his cock. It looks painfully hard, and there’s a thick stream of cum dribbling from the tip. It looks like he’s come more than once already in an attempt to find relief on his own, like he has a craving only you can satisfy.

You wish you could tell him to fuck off and invest in a good fleshlight if he wants to get off so badly.

You wish you could forget about his filthy admittance of how he thinks about you while he jerks off, and how he’s practically begging you to come fuck his brains out.

You wish you could go to bed and forget this ever happened, but you know you’ll be fucking yourself on your fingers while you stare at the picture of his cock and regret not accepting this very tempting offer.

You wish you were stronger than this, but you’re not - not when you’ve wanted him for so long, and now he’s finally giving you a chance.

You: I’ll be waiting outside in five minutes.

Mephistopheles: The car is already on its way.

Arrogant prick, you think to yourself, but you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.

The ride to Mephisto’s grand estate isn’t as awkward as you think it will be. The car he promised arrives moments after you step outside, and the driver says nothing about your attire when he opens the door for you. You’re still wearing the t-shirt and loose sleep pants you planned to wear to bed. You didn’t see any point in dressing up for the occasion - you won’t be wearing your clothes for long, anyway.

When you arrive, the driver opens the door and offers you his hand. He tells you where you can find Mephisto - up the main staircase, the room at the end of the hall to your left. The house is quiet and you don’t see or hear anyone else, but you assume his family is giving him space and privacy to deal with his heat how he sees fit.

(You’re not sure you want to introduce yourself as his booty call when you’re wearing pajamas, so you think it’s for the best.)

It wouldn’t be difficult to find his room even without directions. When you reach the second floor, the air feels thick around you, like a warm fog. Mephisto’s natural scent and the spicy traces of his cologne grow stronger with each step you take and it leads you right to his bedroom door. 

You can hear the faint sound of bed springs squeaking inside his room and animalistic grunts that punctuate the rhythmic slick stroking sounds of skin-against-skin. The noises stop abruptly when you knock. There’s a rumbling purr just on the other side of the door, and when it opens suddenly, he pulls you inside.

Mephisto crowds your back against the door and it slams shut behind you. He’s still wearing his uniform slacks, but at some point he removed his shirt. His bare chest is sweaty, and his belly and pelvis are slick from when he jerked himself off for relief before you arrived. He’s never looked so sloppy before, but there's something gratifying about seeing the real him and not the perfect, superior demon he pretends to be.

You brush your hand through his sweat-soaked hair to sweep it away from his eyes, and he groans and leans into your touch. He buries his face into the crook of your neck while his hands explore your body over your clothes. He sniffs at your skin like he’s trying to breathe you into his lungs, and he licks over your pulse point.

“You came,” his lust-thickened voice rumbles close to your ear, and your shiver while you stroke his naked back.

“I did.”

He leans stares into your eyes. They’re blown black with lust, but you feel seen by him. “S-stay?” he stutters like he’s having difficulty speaking, but you know what he’s really asking you.

“As long as you want me to,” you murmur before you lean forward to kiss him gently, almost nervously because you’re not sure if he’ll reject you even in his heat. But he doesn’t - he leans into the kiss and whimpers against your lips before he pulls away.

One of his hands slides under the waistband of your pajama bottoms, and you gasp when two of his fingers drag across your slit. You didn’t realize how soaked you were until he touched you. His fingers stroke between your entrance and your clit, not focused on pleasuring you exactly, but more likely he’s surprised - and flattered - that you want him this badly.

“So wet,” he moans against your skin, and he grinds his cock against you, making a total mess of your shirt. 

You can’t help but breathe out an airy chuckle as his fingers continue to stroke you. “You have a filthy mouth on you when you’re horny,” and you cup his cheek. He huffs in amusement but doesn’t deny it.

He explores you a little more, but then he withdraws his hands from between your legs abruptly. You nearly whine at the lost contact, but he holds his fingers up for both of you to see. They’re glistening with your slick and the smell of your arousal hangs heavy in the air between you. You would be embarrassed if not for the way Mephisto sniffs the air and licks his lips. He holds your gaze as he pops his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. 

You bite your lip to keep from moaning, but it doesn't completely silence the aroused noise you make. He’s filthy and gorgeous, and his mouth hangs open like he still can’t believe you’re really here. His eyes lack the bitter disapproval he normally shows you, and you know that at least for tonight, he wants you just the way you are.

In a sudden wave of confidence, you reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head quickly. You let it drop to the floor, and you try not to squirm too much when his hungry gaze trails down your body so he can stare at your breasts. He reaches for you and cups each of them in his large palms. His touch is gentle and exploratory, and he sighs while he squeezes the soft flesh. He pinches one of your nipples and you gasp. His eyes snap back to yours, and he does it again; you arch your back into his touch, a silent plea for more.

He steps closer and bends his head low so he can lick at your breasts. He swirls his tongue around each of your nipples and you cradle his head to your chest so he knows you like it. He draws one hardened nipple between his lips and sucks on it gently, and he pinches the other with his fingers.

It’s a wonderfully delightful sensation of pleasure with just the hint of pain, especially when he pinches too hard when you moan loudly into his ear. He hums around your nipple just to see if you’ll moan for him again - of course you do - and he growls his satisfaction. One of his fangs brushes against the sensitive skin of your breast, and you know he won’t hurt you, but the reminder of his demonic nature and inherent power leaves you breathless.

Desire rolls off him in waves, but you’re on the verge of begging him to fuck you. His cock throbs and twitches against your hip when he grinds against you, and you know you’re dripping-wet for him. His earlier teasing did nothing to quell the throb of your clit and you feel desperate for some kind of friction. Every time he moans or grunts as he fondles your body or plays with your breasts, your walls clench uselessly around nothing.

He grins when he realizes your growing desire mirrors his own. His mouth trails between the valley of your breasts and up your neck. The path is littered with tiny marks he's nibbled or sucked into your skin. His hands slide under the waistband of your pants and over the curve of your ass. He gropes you, squeezing and kneading your body greedily, and he drags you closer. 

“Need you,” his deep voice rasps against your ear. As soon as you nod because you need him too, he slides your pants over your hips so they fall down your legs and pool at your feet. You step out of them gingerly and head towards his bed, but you realize he isn’t following you.

The question you're about to ask dies in your throat when you look over your shoulder. He’s standing eerily still by the door, and his eyes are staring at you so intently that you feel vulnerable. His hungry gaze roams up and down your body, and you can see his eyes linger on your face, your breasts, and the mound between your legs. You guess that strange feeling of being watched a few moments ago was him staring at your ass, too. 

Mephisto loosens his pants so they fall down his legs, then he slides his boxer briefs off too. He straightens and rolls his shoulders. There’s a hum of energy and within the blink of an eye, his horns and tail have emerged. You try not to gape openly at his demonic form but you’ve never seen him properly before.

He’s beautiful, and you want him.

You sit on the edge of his bed, and you both stare at each other. His tail flicks behind him and you can hear him purring deep within his chest. You spread your legs wide and ignore the way embarrassment burns your cheeks. He moves quicker than your eyes can track, and he’s suddenly standing between your legs and staring down at you with so much hunger you can hardly breathe.

He leans forward and clasps your shoulders with his hands, and he urges you to lay down. His hands trail over your body and he slides them under the curve of your ass and up your thighs. He maneuvers your body how he wants you until your legs dangle over his shoulders. You’re utterly trapped beneath him while he kneels on the edge of the mattress.

One of his hands holds your hips down to keep you steady while the other guides his cock through your folds. He drags himself up and down your slit, and you moan quietly when he brushes across your clit with the slightest bit of pressure. He does it again, and you whimper.

“Please,” you whisper, and you’re reduced to begging now. You were promised a thorough fucking, and you feel like you’re about to lose your mind.

He’s the one in heat. He’s the one that should be begging to be fucked, not you.

There’s something predatory in the way he tilts his head and watches you beg for his cock, and his body grows completely still. When he snarls and buries himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, you choke on your cry as your body stretches around his cock.

Oh, you never should have doubted him.

He's relentless when he fucks you, and his pace is fast and brutal. He takes you with powerful strokes that punch the air from your lungs. The rough drag of his cock brushing over that spot inside you has you keening every time he thrusts inside with a sharp snap of his hips.

His eyes are nearly eclipsed by his blown black pupils and he pants loudly from the exertion and pleasure of finally claiming you. His bedroom fills with the wet, obscene sounds of his skin slapping against yours and your wet hole squelching around his cock.

He can’t seem to decide where he wants to look. His eyes flicker between your mouth and your bouncing breasts, then he finally looks down so he can watch his cock glide in and out of your body. His cock is coated in your creamy slick, and he growls with satisfaction when he sees your arousal leak from your hole and spread messily across your skin. 

He’s gripping your thigh so tightly that you think - you hope - his fingertips will leave bruises later. His other hand guides your hip back and forth in time with his thrusts so he can bury himself deeper every time his cock slams inside you. 

Your hands are clenched in his sheets. You’re powerless to do anything else but arch your back and cry your pleasure while he fucks through the haze of his heat.

His movements grow more desperate and he's losing his rhythm - you think he’s getting close. He’s still staring at the junction between your bodies, mesmerized by the sight of his cock claiming you over and over and over. 

Your clit throbs as your own desire threatens to consume you, and you reach down with one hand so you can stroke yourself in time with his thrusts. You tilt your head back and your moans grow louder, and you start chanting his name breathlessly as pleasure courses through your veins. Your fingers massage your clit faster because you’re so close you can almost taste it. Your body shakes, but he’s holding you so desperately that it keeps you grounded. You feel your walls flutter around him as the first waves of your release start to crash over you—

A loud growl startles you, and you open your eyes and stare up at him. He was watching himself fucking his cock into you with abandon; now, his heady gaze is locked onto yours. His body is trembling nearly as much as yours is, and he grits his teeth and bares his fangs at you. 

“Come for me,” he rasps, "come on my cock." It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard, and there’s no possible way you can deny him that, not when you’re still touching yourself and you’re right there on the edge—

He fucks you through your orgasm, delaying his own pleasure so he can revel in the feeling of your walls squeezing him even tighter than before. You let your hand fall away from your clit, and you blink at him with watery eyes and pouty lips. He finally spills himself inside you, claiming the deepest parts of your body for himself. He pants loudly as his hips come to a stuttering halt and the aftershocks of your orgasm milk his cock dry.

You feel exhausted and weightless and pleasantly full. You raise your arms high over your head and arch your back into a delightful stretch. The sweat on your back makes his sheets stick to your skin, and you squirm a bit on his cock. You gasp when you realize he’s still completely hard inside you, and his grip on your body tightens when you try to shimmy away.

“More,” he mutters harshly under his breath, and his smirk turns feral. His eyes are still black and hazy from his heat. He reaches for your hand and guides it back down between your legs. He laces his fingers through yours and slides them through your sticky, wet folds. Your fingertips graze the base of his cock that’s still sheathed inside you and he moans. He moves your hand back up to brush against your clit and he moves his hand away when you start touching yourself again.

You exhale a shaky sigh and rub lazy circles around your sensitive clit. He looks so pleased with your obedience that it makes your cheeks burn from his unspoken praise.

He can't kiss you in this position, but he turns his head and nips at the skin of your leg still draped over his shoulder. It feels like a filthy, silent promise that he'll never go through his heat again without you.

He starts rocking back into you, slower and more gently than before, and you roll your hips to encourage him. You whimper his name and he starts to move in earnest.

It's not long before he consumes you once again, and all you can see and feel and hear is him.

read more: mephistopheles masterlist | obey me! masterlist

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Please Please Please - Rafe Cameron Short Story (Part 3 of 6)

+18 Minor DNI

Older MobDealer!Rafe x Female Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

Part 1 Part 2

2798 words

Warnings contain spoilers: blood, domestic assault, cheating, swearing, name-calling, gaslighting, threats, and mentions of killing partner, kissing, general violence, gun violence, heavy petting, mild smut warning

Loosely based on the song and music video Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter 💕

✨”It’s not gonna be me and you if he’s around, baby.” The muscles in his jaw tighten, tears glistening on his waterline that hadn’t been there a moment before as he leans in closer, letting his cheek rest against yours. Rafe’s lips brush against your warm skin, making you melt into him. “Men like me take what we want, and we don’t take ’no’ for an answer. He’s not gonna stop ‘til I make him. No one fucks with my girl.”✨

Sexual content in pink if you want to avoid that

Reader’s POV:

“Fuck, I missed my girl,” Tony groans as he nuzzles into your neck, his stout cologne doing nothing but turning your stomach. “You gonna wait up for me tonight, babydoll? I promise I won’t be gone too long this time—just a quick meeting.” His fingers scrap along your jaw, capturing your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. You wince in shame and disgust. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he even see what he did to me? It doesn’t matter.

“Of course, I’ll wait for you.”

”Oh, and wear that little set you were wearin’ the night before I left. I’ve been thinking about it since.”

You purse your lips, forcing them into a tight smile. “Of course, Tony,” you subsist, your voice cracking slightly, making him shift his stance, looking down at you concerned.

”You alright, honey?” He questions as he moves even closer.

“Mhmm… You press the utterance past your lips. “You just got here. I don’t want you to leave,” you lie.

He looks back at you lovingly, matching your pout, rubbing his rough thumb along your bottom lip. “I never wanna leave you, princess.”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

You wait by the phone nervously, standing by for a call from Rafe. Nothing yet. An hour passed when he said they would meet. Maybe they’re just gonna talk. Maybe Rafe has enough muscle to scare Tony.

No. There’s no way they’re both coming out alive…

Your eyes fill with tears, thinking about Rafe alone in this. Maybe he brought someone with him, his goons, just like Tony would surely do. Barry? He hasn’t mentioned anyone else in his corner.

BEEP.

Your phone lights up, making your stomach fall. You look down at the screen. Unknown. A burner phone… Either Tony or Rafe. Light floods your bay window, filling with light the dark kitchen. Is the deal done? What if Tony took care of Rafe and stole his phone, following the chain of messages between him and me, putting together all the pieces?

You skitter into the kitchen, catching a large knife out of the butcher block, holding it at your side for protection. Snagging your phone off the counter, you creep toward the window, peering outside, but it’s far too dark to see.

CLICK.

You lift the phone to your ear, listening to your uneven breathing in the playback as you linger for the caller on the other line to say something.

“C’mon, princess. Let’s get outta here.”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you whisper shakily, your delicate voice vying with the music pouring out of The Country Club. Rafe reaches behind his back, it adjusting himself; the tilt of his large body just slightly in front of yours, giving you a glance of his GLOCK 19.

”Rafe-“

”Don’t worry,” he stops you, looking into your eyes with a requisition to remain calm. “You know I’ll take care of you. Yeah?”

”Yeah,” you answer as the two of you slip into the entryway. Rafe’s large hand clutches yours tighter as you move quickly through the thick crowd to the back. He lowers his head, and you follow suit, catching the door as a stripper struts onto the main floor just as you did before.

The noise around you plunges to a muffled roar, leaving the two of you alone in the dark hallway. Sweat gathers on your palms; heart, racing. Your knees wobble, ankles weak in your heels as the two of you step closer toward the door. Rafe reaches for it, and you go for him, wrapping your hand around his bicep. His eyes fall to yours, softening as he sees the apprehension in your eyes.

“Please, baby. Just - Just please let’s go,” you plead. He tightens his strong jaw, shaking his head ‘no.’ “Please…” You whimper weakly. Rafe wraps his arm around you, pulling you away from the door, caging you against the wall, looking out before turning his attention to you.

“If I don’t come out, you gotta leave.”

“Leave? Why? I don’t want to leave you,” you panic.

”And have you struck in the crossfire? I don’t think so. You’re only here ‘cause I need you close. I need to be able to grab you after I handle shit so we can hide out together. I don’t trust anyone to keep you safe but me.” You nod up at him, waiting for further direction. “Need you to go somewhere safe; somewhere close-”

”The champagne room-” You interject.

”Yeah - Yeah. That’s perfect, baby,” he breathes as he brushes your cheek with his thumb, demanding your eye contact, knowing his presence is the only thing keeping you from a full-on panic attack. “I told you I’d take care of you. I meant that. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. Rafe grabs your palm, resting them on your trembling hand. “I bought you a Penthouse in Charleston, and a car to take you wherever you want to go.”

You look down at the triple set, a gold house key, a Mercedes fob, and a third silver key with a palm tree etched in the metal. “That G-Wagon we took here is all yours, princess. If you open the mirror, you’ll find the address of your new place and a credit card. There’s a burner phone in the center council. Those contacts will make sure you’re taken care of and protected. And, if for some reason you’re not, and if anything happens—I’m talkin’ anything, and you feel unsafe, this key is for my hideaway in Nassau. Text my sister Wheezie, she’ll tell you where I hid the address. Okay?”

“You - You… Shit. You didn’t have to do that… Why did you do that for me, Rafe?” You panic. “That’s too much. That’s-”

“Stop, baby,” he soothes as he brushes your tears off your cheeks with his rough thumbs. “I needed to do this. I need you. Alright? You can thank me later. I’m fuckin’ counting on it,” he chuckles weakly. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that since our phone call-”

“Please just think this through,” you whimper. “We can start over anywhere. Just me and you. We can go to your hideaway tonight.”

”It’s not gonna be me and you if he’s around, baby.” The muscles in his jaw tighten, tears glistening on his waterline that hadn’t been there a moment before as he leans in closer, letting his cheek rest against yours. Rafe’s lips brush against your warm skin, making you melt into him. “Men like me take what we want, and we don’t take ’no’ for an answer. He’s not gonna stop ‘til I make him. No one fucks with my girl.”

He pulls away slightly, searching for your eyes. You look up at him, hating yourself for not fighting harder, but there’s nothing you can say to stop him. The only thing you’re doing is getting in his head, adding further emotion to an already emotional situation. If he is going to come out alive, he needs to focus. You look up at him and nod. “It’s just a conversation,” you whisper.

“Only a conversation,” he breathes as he reaches behind his back, double-checking his piece. You grab him by his shirt, pressing a hard kiss on his lips like it might be your last time. Rafe separates slightly, ghosting his lips over yours before kissing you again, taking control of the situation—the perfect kiss, exactly what you needed; deep and passionate yet gentle enough to feel more.

His lips pull away from yours, leaving you chasing him. “Pretty girl…” He mumbles, with a gentle grit in his voice. “This isn’t my first time. Aight? I know how to handle business, I know how to use my gun, m’not afraid to get shit done,” he assures, resting his forehead against yours.

“Red wine,” you whisper, fighting off tears as you rest your hands on his toned chest.

“What now?” He chuckles before kissing your forehead.

“That’s what I want. I wanna share a bottle of red wine with you tonight-”

“On our date?” He asks happily.

“On our date.

“She’s confident now. Huh? I needed that, princess. I’ll buy you a bottle of whatever you’d like, and we can share some dessert. Yeah?” He asks as he cups your cheeks in his large hands, kissing your nose, then your lips. “I love dessert.”

You giggle weakly, right on the verge of tears. “You can have whatever you’d like after this, baby.”

”Whatever I’d like?” He breathes between kisses. “You know what I’d love. Don’t you?”

“I do. I’d love that too.

“My girl,” he smiles. “Now let me handle business. Aight? I’ll be right out.”

“Okay.” You quickly catch a tear on your finger, brushing it away on your dress. Rafe turns toward the door, taking a deep breath. He lifts his fist, banging on the large wooden entry.

“Come in.”

”Stop,” you gasp, pressing your hand against the door. Rafe looks down at you frustrated; your talk apparently not enough to let him do what he needs to do without more pushback. “Just stop for a moment.” You whisper. “That’s not Tony.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, shifting from you toward the door and back to you, watching you as you lean in, pressing your ear against it. You shut your eyes, doing your best to focus on the conversation behind it.

“What are they saying?” Rafe whispers.

You lift. your finger to your lips, quieting him. “Shh, baby… Just-”

”Who the fuck else would it be?” A man grunts.

”Why the hell isn’t he comin’ in then? It’s gotta be one of Tony’s sluts,” a second adds. It’s always ‘yes sir,�� or ‘no sir,’ whenever Tony’s in the room. None of these men would ever have the balls to call Tony his first name to his face.

”Then open the goddamn door and find out what they want.”

”Nobody’s been back here all night. It’s him. We got specific orders. Kill him, take her home. We fuck this up, we’re gone.”

“Next knock, we handle it.”

”Can you hear what they’re sayin’,” Rafe asks, the pull of his voice making it impossible for you to compartmentalize him and the other conversation together in your fear-muddled mind. You bury your face in your trembling hands, finding yourself in a seemingly hopeless situation, trying to remain strong.

“Rafe - I… He’s not in there,” you whimper. “It’s a setup. Kill you. Take me.” The gravity of the situation has the opposite effect on Rafe. Those exact words sending him into a fit of rage instead of a fit of terror.

“So, he’s a woman beater and a pussy. Huh?” He chuckles darkly, pulling his gun out from behind his back. “Fuck, I’m gonna love killin’ him.” You look at Rafe, hearing those words fall so easily from his mouth. There’s no question that it’s not just lip service. He can’t wait. He’s looking forward to it. “Can you pretend to be a dancer? Just call for Tony? Throw him off?” You nod obediently. “You ready?” Rafe asks. You step toward the door and look up at him, tears wetting your cheeks. “I need you to take a deep breath for me, princess. It’s all going to be okay. Five minutes tops. Give it five minutes. If I don’t make it out. Leave. Please. Don’t look for me. If I’m alright, I’ll find you. And if not… just know that I love you.”

You stare back at him in disbelief. It’s hard to wrap your head around an instant connection with someone and even more challenging to convince yourself that love at first sight exists, but there’s no denying you feel it, too. “I love you, Rafe.”

“That’s all I need to know,” he whispers. He wraps his body in yours, burying himself in your neck and breathing deeply. Rafe kisses your neck, cheeks, forehead, and lips, lingering momentarily. You feel his lips tremble against you, his shaky breathing letting you know that he may not be as confident as the face he’s putting on for you, but the last thing he needs is more doubt.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the champagne room on the main floor, back-right, red curtain.”

“Five minutes,” he adds sternly. You separate slightly, walking toward the office door; rapping on it several times. “Tony, it’s Serena. I have a cash drop,” you call, holding onto Rafe’s hand for dear life. He kisses your head before nodding toward the main floor.

You run away, just as he asked, listening as the office door opens. Light floods the hallways, illuminating Rafe as you watch him draw his gun. He aims, quickly firing three shots inside, making you cover your mouth, muffling your scream as he rushes inside.

You sprint toward the door, throwing it open; clipping toward the champagne room fast. You look both ways, turning the plaque from empty, to occupied. It’s an out-of-body experience as you peer out the crack in the curtain into the club, everything visibly unchanged as the bass continues to thump, strippers climbing and sliding down the poles as if you’re not cowering in the corner, and there’s not a gunfight going just down the hall.

Your thoughts start to consume you, the idea that that could have been the last conversation the two of you would have ever shared, the depth of his love even after such a short time, his deep-seated need to keep you safe, the idea of not getting to share a life with him after.

You slide your fingers along your swollen cheeks, sniffling and wiping your tears. “C’mon, Rafe,” you blubber as you look down at your watch, seven minutes since he went in—two minutes longer than you vowed to stay. You feel torn; listen to him and leave or stay and wait. If he doesn’t make it out, I don’t want to either…

Your stomach flips; heart skipping as the curtain is pulled back. Rafe. You stand up from the booth, running into his arms before he can even set down his gun. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him toward your lips, needing him close. He rests his firearm on the table, giving you his full attention as his large hands paw at your body. Your kiss is desperate, rushed, and hungry. Your tongues reeling, teeth clashing, tugging hair; your hands everywhere. You pull away, panting for air, taking the deepest breath you have all night. “I was so worried. I-”

“Baby, I’m alright. I’m okay,” he comforts as your kisses soften, the two of you falling on a smoother tempo.

“What happened?” You whisper, lips flowing close.

“You were right… He wasn’t there.”

“Did you-“

“Kill anybody?” He asks, voice hoarse with adrenaline. “Yeah, baby. I killed ‘em all.”

“Shit,” you stammer, looking over his shoulder into the club, the guests and girls none the wiser. No heavy hitters in Tony’s crew were taken out. No one who truly mattered to his operation, just warm bodies set out to handle the boss’s dirty work - goons that got taken out in the crossfire.

It was them or us.

I still have him.

“Sit,” you whisper

Rafe smiles along your lips, lifting you into his strong arms. “Yes, ma’am…”

You reach for the top button of his shirt, pinching it between your fingers, tugging it open, working to the next as your eyes lift to his. Rafe sits down, setting you on top of him. You sink the rest of the way down, straddling his lap, grinding with the tempo of your kiss and the beat.

“I want you so fucking bad, sweetheart,” he mumbles between kisses. You can feel his want pressed against your delicate lace panties, your dress hiked up around your hips, pussy pulsing at the sound of his voice and the weight of his words.

"I need you, Rafe,” you groan. He chuckles lustily against your lips, groping your ass with his large hands.

"Oh, Yeah? Fuck, princess,” he hums as his eyes follow your hands, working lower and lower, exposing more and more skin as you pull open each button. Your lips press against the column of his neck kissing and sucking his hot skin. “Thankin’ me already, baby?”

You look at his opened button-down, dirtied with small splatters of blood. Rafe lip his bottom busted lip; in the heat of the moment, unnoticed ‘til now. His hair is a mess, hanging loose in front of his darkened eyes. He brushes his bangs off his face, smiling at you that has you physically aching for him. “There’s not enough time in the night to thank you…”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

Part 4

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[pretzel-box]

Idk if requests are open but an idea has been chewing at my side like a piranha for a few days now.

Sebastian, scavenging, searching and coming across whatnot, meets another humanoid such as himself. though, imagine reader is much like a certain character from another media. Twisted wonderland, floyd leech.

Basically, Sebastian meeting a floyd leech-like reader, maybe with a twin too? Not sure, though am leaving it in your servos to do what you want with it.

It's likely I'll come back, though am not sure if I'll have the courage to do so, idk how to ask properly. Have a great rest of your week

words: 1k

tags: gn!reader, reader is a eel hybrid and a prank master, sebastian gets pranked!

“Hehe, they are certainly squishy,” you giggled with a toothy grin, pressing the Squiddle against the hard wall with a bit more force than necessary. Its makeshift face shifted fast in a futile attempt to scare you, but you only blinked at it with glowing eyes, more amused than anything.

The poor creature had made the mistake of jumping at you in the dark, getting startled by you passing through, and now it was paying the price for its recklessness. You pressed harder, watching its panicked reaction with mild interest. But your boredom quickly sets in, and you soon let go of it's head, already losing interest in the squid-like monster.

“Oh well,” you sighed with an eye roll, casually pushing the Squiddle away. You made your way to dove back into the flooded part of the facility, swimming through giant pipes in search of your next source of entertainment.

And then you saw him.

Peeking out of the water, your tail wagged in excitement as you spotted Sebastian Solace on one of his usual scavenging runs, rummaging through debris with that familiar look of intense focus. He was completely unaware of your presence, and that made your grin widen. You knew just how to make his day a little more…interesting.

As always, you were determined to ensure he had a bit of unexpected fun, courtesy of your playful nature. The perfect prank was already forming in your mind, and you could barely contain your anticipation.

You grinned mischievously as you watched Sebastian from the shadows, your sharp eyes tracking his every move. The man was engrossed in his scavenging, completely oblivious to your presence as he rifled through the debris in the flooded section of the facility. Perfect. You hadn’t had this much fun in ages, and Sebastian’s all-knowing and self-confident nature made him the ideal target for your latest prank since you knew he wouldn't see that coming.

Slithering silently out of the water, your tail curling beneath you for extra balance, you scanned the area for something to use. Your eyes landed on a file—one of the many random documents scattered around the facility. A grin spread across your face as an idea formed.

With quick, precise movements, you tied a nearly invisible string that you found in a drawer, to the corner of the file. You could barely see it yourself, and you knew Sebastian wouldn’t notice until it was too late. Holding the other end of the string firmly in your hand, you settled back, ready to enjoy the show.

Sebastian moved toward the file, his eyes narrowing as he spotted it lying on the ground. “What’s this doing here?” he muttered, bending down to pick it up.

Just as his fingers brushed the edge, you gave the string a gentle tug, causing the file to slide away from his grasp.

Sebastian blinked in confusion, staring at the file as if it had just insulted him. “What the—?” He reached out again, but you pulled the string a little harder this time, making the file skitter across the floor, just out of reach.

His brow furrowed, clearly puzzled. He stood up, glancing around suspiciously. You had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from giggling out loud as you watched him. This was going even better than you’d hoped.

Sebastian cautiously approached the file again, crouching down with a look of determination. He was careful this time, moving slowly as if trying to catch the file off guard. But just as he was about to grab it, you yanked the string sharply, sending the file shooting across the floor and into the shadows.

“Okay, what in the world is going on here?” Sebastian exclaimed, clearly frustrated now. He scanned the area, his three fluorescent eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of the ridiculous situation.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore, a soft, bubbling giggle escaping your lips as you watched Sebastian’s bewildered expression. His head snapped in your direction, his eyes narrowing even further.

You quickly ducked behind a stack of debris, trying to stifle your giggles as you heard Sebastian approaching. He was muttering under his breath, clearly irritated but still confused.

You peeked out from your hiding spot, your tail wagging with glee as you saw him cautiously searching the area. He was so close to discovering you, but the thrill of the prank was too much to resist.

Just as Sebastian reached the spot where the file had disappeared, you gave the string one last tug, pulling the file into the water with a splash.

Sebastian jumped back, startled. “Oh, for the love of—!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst into full-blown laughter, doubling over as you watched Sebastian’s exasperation. He finally spotted you, his eyes widening in realization.

“You!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger at you, his frustration melting into a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “You little eel!”

You grinned up at him, flicking your split tongue playfully. “Gotcha, didn’t I?”

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head, though the small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You’re going to be the end of me, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you teased, flashing him a playful wink. “But at least you’ll never be bored!”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he glanced at the file you had just made him chase around. “I suppose that’s true,” he admitted, a hint of fondness in his voice.

“Exactly,” you grinned, swimming a little closer, your tail flicking in the water. “Consider it my personal mission to keep things interesting.”

Sebastian shook his head again, but this time, his smile was full and genuine. “Well, mission accomplished,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. “Just try not to get us both killed in the process, alright?” He knew you wouldn't dare to put you two in actual troubles but he still felt like mentioning it since your pranks were a thing for itself.

You laughed, the sound echoing through the water. “No promises, Solace. But I’ll do my best.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The flight makes you restless. It’s more than just the confinement but the company. Each time your hand wanders up to fix your shirt, it’s swatted away by another. You wince as you look at your boss, his eyes glued to his phone screen. 

You fidget and cross one leg over the other, then switch. You crane to see the baggage crate and push yourself to your feet. Before you can stand straight, you’re wrenched back down. 

“Where’re you going?” Stark challenges. 

You wince and shake your head, “just... to get my laptop. I was going to do some work.” 

“Did I tell you to do that?” 

“Well, no, sir, but--” 

“I’m your boss so you work for me. You do what I say.” He puts his phone down on the table and shifts to look you up and down. “If you’re getting up, why don’t you get your bikini and show off for me?” 

“Huh.... what? Er, sir?” Your lashes flutter and your eyes skitter back and forth. 

“Yeah, sure. Gotta make sure it’s hot tub appropriate.” He winks and nudges you. 

“Oh, uh, but...” 

“But?” He sucks his teeth and the humour drains from his face. “Do I need to report you for employee insubordination? Ha. But who exactly do I report you to? I mean, the CEO doesn’t really have anyone above him so...” 

Guilt tugs in your cheeks. You can’t admit your mistake aloud, yet you can’t defy him either. You just nod and stand. You walk slowly across the cabin. You’re not used to the floating sensation that makes you feel heavy at the same time. 

You grab your bag and unzip it. You sift around for the black one-piece.  

“Gotta try it on to get the full effect, sweetheart,” Stark snickers. 

You do up the bag and put it back. You cringe and sidle toward the bathroom. The attendant emerges from behind the curtain and you quickly hide inside the tiny compartment. You roll the door shut and look at yourself in the mirror. You look just as terrified as you feel. 

It’s just the way Stark is. He doesn’t like being refused or any glint of defiance. It all stems back to that day when you got in the way of his fun. Really, it’s your own fault. You should have been patient. You should have waited before you just ran right in. 

You turn away from your reflection and ice flows through your veins. Once he’s thoroughly humiliated you, this will be done. Or you could quit. In mid-air. Without a way home. 

Shoot. 

You switch out your business attire for the swimsuit. It’s been so long since you put it on. It’s tighter than you remember. It pulls high along your pelvis and your bottom threatens to fall out completely. You feel little better than naked. 

You face the door and gulp. You amp yourself up to emerge and when you do, you nearly collide with the attendant. Oh god! As much as you want to retreat and hide behind the door, you can’t. You’re locked in place until she disappears behind the curtain. 

Mr. Stark whistles in his seat. You approach, hands hovered over your ass, and stop just beside the leather armrest. You do your best to conceal yourself behind the empty seat. He reaches for his drink and swigs. 

“Can’t see you like that,” he chirps as he considers the dark scotch. 

“Sir... I...” 

You choke down your protest and step up. You turn to face the table and shiver as he looks at you from the corner of his eyes. He frowns at you and his cheek dimples. 

“What the fuck is that, George?” 

“Um, my swimsuit--” 

“That isn’t a bikini.” 

“I know, sir. I don’t have--” 

“I pay you enough to afford one. Don’t act all innocent with me. Turn around.” He spins his finger and you blink. You shake your head and pout. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

He snaps his fingers. You look at the window and the clouds outside. Even if you had the strength to run, you can’t. So, you do what he says. 

“Move your hands,” he demands. You pull your hands to your side and bounce on your heels. He hisses through his teeth, “whoowie, Georgie cakes, that’s a hell of a keester.” 

You quickly twirl around and clap your hands to your bottom. You sputter, “Mr--” 

He snickers and bites his lip, “come on. Put it on me, George.” 

“Hm?” Your brow furrows. 

“Don’t give me that dumb look. It makes me horny so get over here.” 

He squares his shoulders as he leans back into the leather cushion. He drags his hands up and down his pants and wiggles his hips. He purrs as he looks down at the twitch in the fabric. You inhale and hold it in until it aches. 

“Sir?” 

“Sit.” 

You turn and shift between the seat and the table. You reach back to touch the armrests to lower yourself but nearly tumble. Stark yanks your wrist and forces you in front of him. Before you can get your balance, he has you by the hips. He pulls you in his lap and wraps his arms around you. 

You wriggle and push on the armrests. “Mr. Stark, this isn’t... appropriate. This... you said... a work trip?” 

“I’m working,” he tilts beneath you. The blunt prod makes you squirm. “Hard. Lot of work to keep from blowing right now.” 

“Huh?” You try to stand but he has you trapped in his arms. 

“Keep rubbing your ass on me like that and I won’t be able to. Relax and... enjoy the flight.” He keeps an arm hooked around you and eases back. You tense as his hand spreads across your stomach, fingers petting just above your pelvis. He pulls you back and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Grab my phone for me, will ya?” 

[themareverine]

—worst!Logan x namelessfem!OC

warnings: mentions of sex, body insecurity, weightloss, confidence issues, domestic bliss and fluff, namelessOC has blue eyes.

in celebration of me discovering I've dropped eleven frickin' pounds off the BMI chart, I decided to share the news with Logan, and yourself. please enjoy my domestic fantasy. this really isn’t a drabble but I’m classifying it as such.

There’s little better God has created in the world than coming home to a house alive with music, laughs, and the thick swirl of joy chasing the air. Fall hangs out the window in a tapestry of orange leaves, skittering to the ground on chill winds, cluttering the sidewalk like ill-fitting, everyone’s-a-little-different puzzle pieces.

Blankets of fog have hung in the air every morning. Leaves and grass are wet, burdened with thick, cold mud that stings—the type of cold that sinks all the way down to bone, should you be standing between it. And Logan tries to remember a time when, as a child, he didn’t care about the frigid mud between his toes—didn’t mind the mess, innocence of childhood wrapped up in exploration and whimsy.

Simpler times. Suburban life greets him at the door of what, at one point in his life, would be knife’s edge unfathomable—a duplex. Butter yellow with little white trim around the windows. Big oaks in the front and back yard, primly divided by white privacy fences so tall they challenge heaven. Summer had proudly boasted a colorful troop of flowers in that window box facing the street, the one that allows for the smallest peek into his small kingdom, if you looked hard enough. Prepared for winter, adirondack chairs have been swept away into the garage, all traces of outside living shut up for the Goliath of winter that looms with each passing day. 

The corner of his mouth tips up at the arrangement proudly displayed on the front door. It’s Fall Y’all! hangs in his face, all domesticity. Glitter and pumpkins, a cute little red-and-white-pickup. Evidence of a woman’s touch, more and more. Bearing down on his life like Egyptians chariots forcing Moses against the sea, every day he approaches the house— there’s a little more charm. A little more whimsy, order. More color and life and more her, all things he never in his longest, maddest dreams would begin thinking were missing from him. But now they are so familiar, such welcome soldiers to his little army of living, that he can’t imagine going without. 

And Logan will never not love the fact he doesn’t have to knock on this door. He opens it, twisting the knob that’s cool against the thick callouse of his hand. Jacket heavily draped over his arm, habit knocks his boots against the doorframe, adding to the collection of scuffs already there from the hundred other times he’s done this same thing. And it is the same come-home routine, but he doesn’t mind. Shake his head at whatever seasonal decor greets him on the door. Slip in, knock his boots. Hang his jacket on the hook behind the door, with his keys–next to hers. Because she’s been home all day, working on that frickin’ computer, making her little creative world run in the little ways she does that he’ll never understand. 

About to shed his vest, Logan pauses. Claws on wooden floors from the 50s flick his attention down, to his feet. The ménage à trois of three scampering sets of paws tip up the corner of his mouth into a small smirk, watching the troop of hair, wagging tail and slobber all bull rushing him like cannonballs. And they are not small creatures, by any stretch—a bloodhound. St. Bernard. Doberman, all looking at him with bright eyes as if he’s the best thing they’ve seen all day. 

Which is the farthest thing from true, because she’s been here. Locked up in his Fort Knox all hours of sunshine, doing all the things he’d give his right arm to spend his days doing with her. Domestic bliss. It’s sick, really—kinda insane. For a man who has prided himself the last 200 years on destruction, a man who has traveled through time to claim a world that isn’t his, it’s disturbing that this idea of life is so…saccharine. Perfect. Eden. 

Scratching behind each set of ears, movement in the heart of the house triggers his gaze up. Down the corridor to the kitchen, where he cal all but taste what’s for dinner. It floods him with a warmth he can’t quite put a finger on, rousts something in his guts that is good. Fire that’s delicious, heat that promises. Standing, he manages off his boots, all three canines looking at him. Expressions cocked, they wait. Expectantly. 

“Where is she, fellas? Mama ‘round somewhere, huh?” A flick of his hand beyond them sends the troop off like a shot—slipping and sliding on the pretty rugs she’s laid out in the foyer, sending them against the walls in fat piles of fabric that makes his eyes roll. On socked feet, he fixes them. She likes them pretty and neat, and if she likes it, well—whatever his girlie wants, she gets. 

About to call for her, he doesn’t expect the slingshot of curl that attacks him from the front room, “Hi, babe!” Out the french doors like a racehorse, her girlish smile and bright eyes assault him less than seriously, bouncing laughter loud and fresh and strong, like mountains on an open-sky day. Very suddenly the events of his day are improved, work all but forgotten as she wraps her arms around his middle. Rests her chin against his chest, looking up at him with the full weight of the universe hanging in her eyes. In heartbeats, she manages to change another Thursday into the Thursday—the Thursday to challenge all others even known to his existence.  

And since he’s known her, that’s what she is–changing. A fresh wind, moving clouds and rearranging the sky. Rivers that carry him away to faraway lands, anywhere that isn’t the onyx abyss of his memories, which are so black and white and unalive without her. His hand moves to run fingers through curl, which are still damp from a late-afternoon shower. Color that lingers on her cheeks matches that barely-there smattering of that vanilla protein powder she loves on her lips when he kisses her. Means one thing, his favorite thing—the thing they’d been doing for nearly six months. 

Greeting her with a smile and a, “Hey, baby,” will never tire to infinity. Leaning back against his arms cradled around her midsection, pressing her close, Logan all but craves the sparkle of sapphire hanging out in her eyes. They catch his, holding him hostage—every day he has to rediscover how to breathe. Think, move past the ache in his cock that she somehow manages to produce at a subliminally level just by existing. 

And his lips part to ask her about her day, another part of this thing they call life. Until she reaches around to the back pocket of her jeans, her favorites, the one’s she won’t stop wearing and has at least three extras squirreled-away to that spot in the closet they don’t speak of. That spot next to the neon-colored heels he knows she thrifted but hasn’t ever shared, the lingerie she’s holding onto that’s been driving him itchin’ mad since he’d peeked at it. And while he adores everything about her, her ability to wait for just the right moment to share things she’s excited about has to be one of his favorite things on the planet. 

“So, before you speak,” her finger comes to press against the seal of his lips, other hand proudly producing a folded square of paperwork between her index and middle finger, “I have amazing news. The biggest news–the best news of the whole week.” Her brows bounce, emphasizing her excitement as her low lip curls in. Logan watches her bite the inside of her cheek, thinks it’s just about the sexiest thing in the world aside from the little scrunch of her nose, how her glasses sit a little lopsided from where she’s rested her forehead against his chest. 

Really all he could use right now is another taste of her to make his week, but, he plays the adjective game. “Oh yeah?” A chuckle rattles the adamantium of his ribs as she steps out of his arms, takes his hand to guide him into the kitchen. She releases him only when her socked feet hit the wooden floor, making a show of sliding to a stop opposite the island from him. 

Babytalking the dogs at her feet, his sweet little thing of a girl backs up against the sink, her tongue teasing the front of her bottom teeth as she unfolds the paper. It’s like magnetism, the way he wants her–he’s drawn, like creatures to fire, around the island. To her side. Touching her, breathing in her closeness. And he prays to God it will always be like this—he’ll always want her, she’ll always look at him like he has been carved from bronze. That this little life in Hoboken, New Jersey, never says die. 

“I had a doctor’s appointment today,” the little lilt in her tone is so clear, they’d hear it from Mars if anyone had the brains to listen, “and, I just have to say this, Logan—really. This has to be like, a top eight life moment for me, what I’m about to tell you.” Playing with a dog-eared corner of the paper, her eyes flick up to hold his in limbo, again. Smiling eyes have all but chiseled away any remaining stone of his heart, and he’d gladly carve whatever may remain out of his own ribs and give it to her, should she ask, “And I’ll say this as a warning. If you aren’t nearly as excited about this as me, well—I’ll be forced to divorce you and move in with Wade and Althea.” 

And he laughs at her. His single favorite quality of life since running into what’s-his-face-pool and saving this realm has been the rediscovery of laughing, of feeling beyond the numbness. She made him laugh the day he found her, discovered her like some fool digging around the dirt of the everyday, and she hadn’t stopped. And Logan Howlett has never taken pride in being a hardass, but—his ass is a little less hard, these days. How could it be. Her standing there, looking like she does? Wanting him, seeking him? Him? The damn Wolverine—the worst Wolverine. 

His brow pops to attention. “Is that right?” His finger crooks one of her belthoops, tugging her hip against his gently, “a little harsh, but, I accept your terms, taskmaster.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling and his chin gestures to the paper. After a second of weighing her words, he snags her chin between his fingers and gives her a Really? expression. “Hold the fuckin’ phone—a top eight? You have a top eight list of life events?” He snorts, “And I didn’t know about it?” 

Her eyes flash with brazen darkness enough to shame the witching hour. A firm nod, even between his fingers. Her hip pops out, just a little. “Mhm, eight.” Still holding the paper, she offers a blatantly over dramatic look of desire, her head tipping back just a little as she brushes close. Done-up nails gently graze through his facial hair, before she flashes him eight—a palm, thumb and index finger somehow still managing to hold the paper keeping him in suspense. 

Beginning to tick off fingers, he listens with amusement. Driver’s license, college. Her first publication as a freelancer. Her first car payment. Paying off her student debt, meeting her idol, Charles Xavier, a man who’s work on mutant and human coalitions she’d been devouring since forever. Meeting him, marrying him and buying a house. Technically that was nine, but, she explained—a bunch of life events landed under the Logan tab, which made him chuckle and shake his head. 

“Finished?” He nods to the paper again. “You gonna tell me this life changing, top-eight news or what?” For a second his heart does an all-stop as she nods, the corner of her lip tucking in under her teeth.

From here Logan can taste the adrenaline in her blood, the joy—the buzz of something pumping through her like a pistoning locomotive, charting new territories. And before he can think, before he can bridle his own wagging tongue, “You pregnant, darlin’?” punches off his tongue like a cage fighter.  

Two things he should’ve known off the shot—pregnancy announcements usually involved a piss stick, not paper. Two, that something so mountainous would not have waited for him to breeze through the door. Not her style, not by a country mile—she’d stopped off at his job site with lunch just to announce the last payment on her student debt, complete with cheesecake and those cute little pocket bottles of Jack Daniels. She made a big deal out of everything, and he wouldn’t have –could not survive– it any other damn way. 

Slackjaw, for a second he thinks the hinge of her jaw might start swinging before she hauls off to slap his shoulder, the rings on her fingers passing by in a blur of turquoises, yellows, oranges and silvers as a squealing, “Logan!” shoots out of her like the fountain of youth—makes him laugh, again, as he grabs her hand in his and hauls to his lips. Presses a kiss to the heel of her palm, “No, Wolvie—haven’t managed to knocked me up quite yet, thanking you.” And that name—it punches the wind right out of his lungs, sends every ounce of mutant fucking blood right to his cock, all at once. 

It’s not a serious thanks, he knows. Been off-the-cuff talking about getting pregant for a handful of months, tossing the idea back and forth. It was the reason behind the duplex, family planning—and he hadn’t fought the idea of redoing the spare room. Shoving her office into the corner of their suite. It’d been a year, she was thirty, now, had been ringing off these walls like a canyon echo. Biological clock ticking off the walls of her womb, apparently, even though she didn’t fucking age—thanks to mutation, his mutation left behind in her blood a lifetime ago. 

Source of one too many arguments back and forth, they hadn’t quite decided to make an effort not to get pregnant. An ugly IUD hung between them like unscalable Mount Olympus. Hands up in surrender, he tries not to chuckle as she plants the paper in between them, in both hands. Sapphire blues cast down to it, triggering his attention downward as well. A heartbeat before her head pops back up, all smiles and piglet pink cheeks. 

“Guess who just knocked eleven points off the BMI chart?” And there it is.

Certainly a different tone of subject than the one before, Logan can’t help the look of surprise that smacks across his face—she is all but giddy. Pressing the paper to her chest, she rising on toes and begins to bounce, like a rabbit, up and down in a way that springs her hair every direction. Her shrieks of excitement are loud enough to wake the dead, but, he’d have a better time freezing hell over, if he’d wanted to. Spinning in a exuberant circle, the ruckus sends all three of their dogs into the kitchen, bouncing around her like she’s deserving of worship. A goddess. His goddess. 

She’d only been killing herself in their garage gym since they’d bought the place a little over a year ago. Plagued with one of those New Year’s resolutions, she’d committed to exercise like a duck commits to water—and Logan hadn’t ever seen someone try to hard, not in a long time. Never one really faced with the issue of having to maintain physical maintenance, thanks to genetic mutation, a workout regiment hadn’t really ever crossed his mind—natural circumstances kept him lean. He’d been alive for 200 years, could abuse his body any way he wanted, and it just–was. A lucky son of a bitch, but, he’d never paused to consider that it wasn’t that way for everyone else. 

So when she’d all but pleaded for a home gym, he’d folded fast. Like a bad hand. Her body had certainly never been an issue between them—he worshiped every curve, could build monuments how often his mind drifted to just fucking her within an inch of sanity. Each scar, every single solitary divot, right down to the pores on her face. Not magazine beautiful or classically Hollywood, her own admission had almost gutted him. 

A girl-next-door, down-to-earth pretty sent him to pieces in ways that Logan would sooner carve out his open spine than share—she ravaged him. Like a dog, licking at the marrow of his bones. The weight of her eyes alone, cutting through his misgivings, trailblazing his insecurities as a man. She was perfect in every phenomena, every realm and bend of time. Designed for him, by Christ Himself—the most gorgeous fucking thing on two legs, he didn’t need billboards or Vogue or the silver screen to set standard yet untenable to the majority. Determined long ago that there’d never be another for him, that he could never love any other soul–worship anatomy—quite like he did her. 

He’d never complained. Hell thrived with such foolishness. He bought the gym equipment, though, mostly because he knew in the long run, it would be better. If not for him, then for her—he was happy. HEr happiness may as well have been the air his body craved. He’d set up the gym on a weekend, learned to park his Jeep outside. Had learned to help her bandage injuries and balance proteins and carbs, listened to her cry over numbers on a tiny scale that didn’t really matter. But, never complained. 

And Logan had noticed the change about her anatomy—the little definitions of curve, the way she moved. She didn’t always, but he knew—when he held her close, made love to her. Difference, even in its smallest form, was still changing. Lighter on her feet, stronger when it came to helping do whatever it was she determined to assist with. Her clothes fit a little differently, the line of her jaw a little sharper. But, skies above that was her confidence. 

Always had opposed his reserved and calculated stoicism, a spicy little firecracker of a thing that took what she wanted and could talk to fenceposts. But, she’d always sparkled differently. It was like weighing the moon against the sun—she just sparkled better. Moved a little sexier, blazes a little hotter. Not quite the North Star, but a close second—somewhere in his guts he feared she’d wake up one morning, realize she was hot as sin, and leave his ass for what’s-his-face from the Greatest Showman or someone on television. 

Her fingers curl into his arms as she bounces a little more on her toes, pride all but beaming from the pink dusting across the bridge of her nose. “Me, it’s me!” Childlike laughter bubbles out of her like a brook, hot and alive, and he can’t help the swell of pride. “After eight fricking months, it’s me,” she blows out a breath, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “y’know, honestly, I didn’t think any of it was actually doing all that much—i’ve only dropped thirty pounds on the scale, which doesn’t seem like a lot in eight months, but–you were right, Lo! It turned to muscle, you were right!” 

He nods, smile growing to a painful wide that he isn’t sure is amusement, or pride. “‘Course I was right,” he stresses, his tone low as he dips his head to brush his nose against the end of hers. Smiling into the kiss she presses to his mouth, he lifts an arm into flex before grabbing her chin between his fingers and taking her full attention, “Don’t get definition like this not knowin’ what you’re talking about, baby.” Lies. Teasing lies. He hadn’t so much as thought of a fucking dumbbell since that time before some God-forsaken war. 

Pouty lips pull her eyes back to his, and he can see the muscle in her jaw tick with the effort not to grin. Heartbeats, and his arms snake around her middle again, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt. “I’m proud of you, kid,” and he hasn’t called her that since God knew, likes the way it darkens the little flush on her cheeks. “Guess I’d better work a little harder keeping you close to home. Can’t have you skippin’ out on this whole little domestic thing we’ve got going,” he shrugs a shoulder, “what would the dogs do without you?”

Giggling again, her shoulders pop up and down in a little happy shift, he takes her arms and guides them around his neck, “The dogs, huh? Is that right?” Her nose scrunches up again, eyes snapping to life as she steps onto his toes, enough for him to shuffle them out of the kitchen, towards the living space, “You think I’d leave you just because I get sexy?” It’s not a serious question, the flutter of low lashes testifies as he stops them in the middle of the living room, toes curling into the plush carpet as her head cants to the side, like a curious puppy. “And lose my bet with Wade? Don’t know me at all, do you, Wolverine?” 

God only wishes. He knew parts of her the world would never. And he smiles, snorting a little at the thought of their entire relationship hinging on a bet with Wilson, the fucking idiot he is. That feels like a lifetime ago, riding life out in a dingy apartment. Blind Al as company, Wilson as a fucking landlord. If he counted back every red cent he’d paid in rent, it wouldn’t be enough for a grocery run—small mercies. Lifting a hand between them, he crooks a finger, chuckling as she eyeballs it for a second, weighing her options. 

“I like to think I do,” and he does. She’s given him everything. And if she hasn’t—well. He can fix that. “You don’t got any secrets left, do you, darlin’? You’ve already seen my soul—only fair you let me see yours.” Tipping her chin up, he kisses her slowly. Angles his head for whatever depth he can pull her from, keens a little when her breathy moan chases the heat lighting up his adamantium skeleton like an inferno. Tasting the trace of that fucking protein mess on her tongue nearly brings him to his knees, fingers carding through her hair for as much purchase and possession he can find. 

“I do have one,” she manages, a little breathless between nipping at his bottom lip and fighting with the buckle of his belt. With a Jezebel shove of her hand, she sends him down to the cushions of the couch—it protests, accepting his weight.

From beneath low lashes, her ocean blues trace the details of his face as she knees onto the couch, swings a leg over him. Pelvis to pelvis, her weight is divine. Lights him up like a damn electric wire. He can feel heat in his chest chasing after the adrenaline in his blood, can taste her, even from here. 

Grabbing the front of her t-shirt between two fingers, he tugs her a little closer. 

“What’s that?” 

She chuckles, shifting a flirty shoulder. “My IUD? Gone,” she snaps her fingers, biting the corner of her lower lip. Eyes cutting to his mouth, she doesn’t hesitate–a heartbeat and she’s kissing him deeply, milking every little ache and moan creeping up the back of his throat. She sighs a little when his hand presses against her womb, thumb tracing the gentle spot beneath her belly button. “How’s that make you feel, Wolvie honey?” A light, flustered chuckle as he tucks hair behind her ear, rubs a curl between his fingers.

“Think you can handle a mini you making a mess of the world?” 

Knocking his head back over the edge of the couch, his hands find her waist. Stills her before he closes his eyes, relishes the way she lathes her tongue along his pulse. And he’ll never know how it really makes him feel, because feeling is all but a rush of adrenaline when it comes to her—everything and nothing, a floating abyss of pleasure and home that, from the beginning of time, man has tried to describe. It’s all wrapped up in limbo, though–limbo and his ribs, jeans and a pretty face. 

 “Not sure,” his hand tucks behind her head and he flips them, forcing her into the couch before she can protest—before she and her eleven-points-off-the-chart can challenge any idea other than what he’s about to do to her.

“”Think we should find out, darlin’.”

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

[wyervan]

@r0tting-rat & @amarynthian-fortress I hope you don’t mind each other’s company in this ask.

I also hope u don’t mind that I tried writing for this ask. Also it’s halfway through November 😆 hope your not too sick of Halloween. I know I never am 😝

It’s been a reeeeally long time since I’ve written much of anything 😳 but I wanted to try it out again and both you guys are such amazing writers and i would be totally open to your feedback and suggestions 🥺🥺

DCA Slasher AU

content warnings: general spookiness i guess lol? oh but also characters describing acts of graphic violence :D

🌞🔪🤡🪓🌜🩸 💫 👾 🌞🔪🤡🪓🌜🩸 💫 👾

The October air is refreshingly cool as you step out from your car. Looking up into the fading pale sky, you see pink cirrus clouds lining a glowing sunset. You stand there for a moment and inhale deeply, briefly in awe of the color of the light. A sudden whistling breeze rattles the branches of a balding tree, sending a flurry of yellow leaves skittering across the parking lot.

Remembering that you have somewhere to be, you turn on your heel, slamming the car door a bit too hard and startling both yourself and a crow that was sitting on a nearby fencepost. It chides you sternly for your disruption with a caw.

Ignoring the jeer, you start down the sidewalk toward downtown, joining a half a dozen others leaving the lot, all of them dressed in varying degrees of costume.

Apparently for Halloween this year, the town had sectioned off a whole six block radius of shops, restaurants, and other commercial establishments to encourage business and tourism for the holiday. Blockades prevented cars from entering the area for the evening while vendor booths and pedestrians filled the streets. Local businesses handed out goodies to the trick or treaters, usually working in some advertisement of their wares and services.

You found yourself actually excited for this Halloween in a way that you hadn’t felt since you were a child. You even dressed up! Ahh—kinda. You just pulled something from your closet and did your hair in a way that made you look like that one character from that show that you watched two seasons of three years ago.

But you had promised Sun you’d wear a costume tonight. You had left work much earlier than usual, vowing to return to the arcade now and stay late to assist with the festivities. Your outfit was quick enough to put on that you had managed to sneak in a nap before heading back out.

You pass kids in costumes. They walk and chitter to each other excitedly, yelping happily and playfully pushing each other around. A smile spreads widely across your face at the sight of their joy. Parents or scowling teen siblings follow closely behind. Now inside the blockades, booths displaying all manner of seasonally-themed crafts, foodstuffs, and trinkets line both sides of the street, people flitting from vendor to vendor. Candy bowls sit ripe for pillaging at the edge of every station.

Enjoying the sights and sounds, but not wanting to get caught up with the fair, you stick to the sidewalk. You round the last corner and across the street you see a small crowd of strange creatures gathered in front of the arcade—a cat, a wizard, two pirates, Shrek, and multiple Disney princesses.

Their attention, you see as you cross the street and finally step on to the curb in front of the arcade, is entirely focused the clown crouched in front of them. You stop behind the group of kids and the clown’s eyes raise meet yours, flick down your form, and then refocus on the little girl in front of him, all in half a second.

“Mr. Sun, we know magic isn’t real. My cousin showed me that trick and then he showed me an entire book about fake magic! It’s all slide a hand or whatever…”

The clown, dressed in pale bright yellow and burgundy stripes, shakes his mane and brandishes a card with bear and the number 4 on it to the girl (one of the pirates). His already wide grin stretches further.

“Little Captain Shelley, if magic wasn’t real, then how did I know that this is the card you actually wanted, hmm?” he says.

Shelley the Pirate opens her mouth to retort, but before she can say anything, the clown suddenly flicks his pinkie and flips the card once, twice, thrice… and then there’s a bar of chocolate grasped between his gloved fingers instead of the bear card.

The other kids give small gasps of delight. Shelley is quiet and wide-eyed for a moment before a shy smile breaks over her face and she snatches up the chocolate bar, dashing away giggling to her parents standing a few paces away. They scold her lightly for not saying “thank you” to the clown, who is now passing out candies to the remaining trick or treaters.

You look around, taking in the decor that you and your bosses sweated over just this morning. You had watched as Sun hung string lights from the eaves at painstakingly even lengths. The goofy-looking giant spider that you had wrestled with earlier sat fat and content in a gauzy net of cobweb pinned over a window. A fog machine situated in the entrance between the two sets of doors into the arcade spilt thick mist out onto the pavement.

You spy the other clown fifteen or so feet away, slumped in a fold-out lawn chair next to the arcade’s doors. His deep blue hat and pants, accented with yellow stars, stand out starkly against the ruddy red of his seat. He’s already watching you—head propped up in one hand braced against the chair arm, the other idly fishing through the bucket of sweets he has resting in his lap.

“Star light, star bright, won’t you grant me candy tonight?”

You pull your attention back down to the red and yellow clown to see that the trick or treaters have ran off to raze other pastures, leaving him alone with you. He’s looking up at you now, cheeky grin cradled in his palms... then suddenly springs from his haunches to his full height—easily six and a half feet. The bells on his wrists chime abruptly with the motion. He weaves his fingers together, palms out, and brings his arms out and over his head, spine arching with the force of a full-body stretch.

He drops his long arms and takes one stride to close the distance between you. He leans a bit to the side, hand going absently to rub at his left knee, and gives a dramatically contented sigh. “Ahh. Little monsters and princesses may come and go, but the Star always returns to the evening sky,” waxes the clown—who is your boss of course, because that’s the kind of life you lead now.

Ah. And he’s in character. More so than usual.

“Starlight, what kind of treats did you bring us?” he asks, bright blue eyes wide, chin tucked to gaze steadily down at you.

“Oh shit. I forg-“

He leans further in toward you, face suddenly less than a foot from yours, and you jump a bit. He raises a single slender finger as if giving an instruction, or about to shush you.

“Language, Star, especially when there are children in the vicinity. Anyway, it’s fine, fine, fine. We have more inside” Sun steps back and gives a dismissive wave. “Moony, could you get the two other five pound candy bags from the breakroom, pleeease?”

Moon’s head rolls lazily to give Sun a dead look, long strands of black hair spilling across the stark light side of his face.

“You can have all the licorice, red and black.” Sun states.

Apparently satisfied with this, Moon’s head lolls back to a neutral position. He sets his candy bucket on the sidewalk, gets up with a low grunt, and trudges through the fog and into the arcade. You turn, opening your mouth to ask Sun what he’d like you to do now that your here, but he’s already prancing back to his post—just in time to excitedly meet a Mario and Luigi pair.

You walk over and take up Moon’s nearly empty bucket of candy. Hmm… you wondered if Moon had been eating most of this himself, judging by the numerous empty wrappers mixed in with few yet untouched pieces of chocolate you see at the bottom of the bucket.

“Trick or treat!” Two pairs of children’s sneakers enter your vision.

You look up to see a couple of familiar faces—Gregory and Cassie, both wearing blocky helmets and body pieces made of tinfoil-covered cardboard and covered in glued-on switches, buttons, and dials. They have their arms and legs stuck through wide flexible tubing and are holding lumpy pillowcases filled with their spoils.

“Oh, hey guys. Robots—nice. How’s the haul been tonight?” you ask.

The styrofoam balls that top the antennae attached to their helms bounce in the air when they look at each other and nod their square heads.

“Pretty good. Wickson’s down the street was giving out caramel apples. Think you can top that?” Cassie says.

You glance down at the meager dregs of what was left in the candy bucket. But before you can offer up the scant pickings and apologize, Moon’s voices rasps from behind you.

“Kid, don’t you know treats aren’t for brats?” Moon’s arm brushes your shoulder as he remerges from the arcade, two bags of assorted candies clutched in one fist. He looks down on Gregory, lips pulled into a slight sneer. Gregory faces him fully and juts up his chin at a defiant angle.

“Sounds like a sore loser talking.”

“Kid, I already beat your score again this morning. Ain’t got nothing to be sore about.” The sneer turns into a smug lopsided smile, displaying a sharp canine. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. Moon had forgone his usual nap on the break room couch, choosing instead to stand hunched over an arcade cabinet for the entire morning upon seeing GREG in mocking neon green at the top of the high scores. His desperation was evident by eleven when he snapped at you for vacuuming too close to the power cable.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll be back in this weekend.” Gregory promises, narrowing his eyes and attempting to awkwardly cross his tube arms in front of his blocky shell. “Your scores aren’t safe.”

Moon rolls his eyes and brings the hand holding the candy bags up, releasing one into the bucket you’re holding. Unprepared for the sudden weight, you almost drop it. He grips the top of the other in both hands and splits the plastic seam. Then he offers it stiffly to Gregory and Cassie.

“Here. Before I change my mind. Pick what you want then scram. No licorice though.” The kids don’t hesitate, hands diving into the bag to fish out a Banana Laffy Taffy and an Almond Joy. Both of them crinkle their noses at the choice the other made. Cassie smiles sweetly and thanks Moon, starting back toward the vendor booths. Gregory also turns to leave but then gives Moon another narrow-eyed look. He brings two fingers up to his own eyes and then turns his hand so that his fingers jut toward Moon—the classic gesture for I’m watching you—then he waddles away, tube legs impeding his movement slightly.

You set the candy bucket down in Moon’s chair and turn to face him, hands coming to your hips.

“Kind of lazy, don’t you think, to just be wearing your work costume for Halloween?” you tease and flick the bell of his hat resting at his shoulder. Moon just shrugs and gives you a bored look. His thick dark eyebrows flick up.

“Yeah, and what are you suppose to be? Some sort of nerd businessman?”

“No! What? You don’t know? I’m that one guy from that show with all the other people who all do the thing together.”

The street light above you two suddenly flickers on. You look up at the sky. In the half hour or so since you had left your rental, it had already darkened to a bruising indigo. You look back to Moon and in the stark orangey light, you spot a dark reddish mark on the white half of his shirt that you didn’t see before. You peer closer and raise a finger to point out the stain just below the blue ruffle collar he wore around his neck. “Hey, you got something right there. Jeez, is that blood?”

You scan him over again, looking for any sign of injury but find nothing concerning on what two-toned skin you could see… but looking at him carefully revealed an even larger stain on the dark-side of his costume, deepening the charcoal color of the fabric to almost black.

Glancing back up, you see a strangely stiff expression frozen on his mouth. But Moon’s eyes are intense, slightly wide, trained carefully on you. A spark of something jumps in your stomach under his gaze. You look away and try to break the weird sudden energy with a joke. “You know you should really be more careful while you laze about on—“

“Last time I wore this, I killed someone.”

This statement, spoken flatly, makes you forget your awkwardness and look back at him again sharply, mouth slightly agape. A moment passes while you stare at him blankly… then two… then a small impish smile settles on your face.

“Yeah? Did you suffocate him with a balloon animal?”

“I hit him in the back of the skull with a heavy statue from his mantle,” Moon says in the same matter-of-fact tone. You’re slightly taken aback again, but then he continues steadily “And when he woke up, I smashed his knees with a bat so he couldn’t run away.”

“Ah, the ol’ Tonya Harding. Classic,” you deadpan.

Moon’s face suddenly dips down closer to yours. His eyes have widened further in somewhat alarming glee and a slow smile was beginning to stretch his lips. You jerk slightly at the sudden closeness but stand your ground, not wanting to be the first to give into this odd game.

“And I took a knife and peeled strips off him until he begged for me to kill him… then I stuck it in his throat… and watched him choke to death on his own blood.”

“Moony, my old friend—my partner in clown, brother of bells—“ You break away from Moon’s gaze to see Sun approaching, his hands gesturing in a whirling motion in the air. “I’m SURE what you’re blathering to them about is very important—BUT, I need to pull our shining Star away so that they may attend to the prize counter. Some children inside will certainly be wanting to exchange their hard-won tickets for treasures very soon—mhm!” He finishes with a hearty confident nod.

“Sun was there. It was his knife.” Moon breathes, close to your ear, then he leans back from his hunched position over you and you find you can finally take a full breath.

Sun’s jester shoes stop-short mid-step with a violent jingle and a harsh scrap. His gesturing halts and his expression freezes in a wide but strained smile. He hums a nervous, sort of giggly noise of confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” Sun asks through his teeth, head tilting at a sharp angle.

“Moon was just telling me about what you guys do in your free time. You didn’t tell me you guys were suppose to be dressed as the Killer Klowns from Down the Street. I don’t even see any blood on your costume, Sun.” This actually earns you a low devious chuckle from Moon, which makes you feel an embarrassing bloom of pride. Sun doesn’t seem to find it so funny.

His eyes flick to Moon, to you, to Moon, and then back to you, and then Moon again… and then again back to you. His smile doesn’t drop.

“Ah yes… well, you know how hard even fake blood can be to get out of clothes.” Sun says in a constrained, somewhat aloof tone. He’s staring at Moon again with a strangely pointed look in his eye. “Wouldn’t want to scare anybody with stains like that after the holiday, now would we? They’d think we were a couple of lunatics.”

“You guys are kind of nuts though, you know.” You state. This draws both their gazes to fix on you again. “You bought this place didn’t you? With its history and everything.” You stick a thumb back in the direction of the arcade. “Pretty crazy. But you turned it into a cool place.” A smile lights your face at a feeling of genuine appreciation for your current situation in life. Sure, your showers were mostly cold water and your car was probably gonna fall apart on the drive home, but you had a pretty cool job with two people whom you now considered to be more your friends than bosses.

“Aight, I’m gonna head inside now.” You pivot with a wave and turn away from Sun and Moon, feeling the heavy weight of their twin gazes on the back of your neck. The sky is now nearly black, cold, distant stars glinting. A gust of wind picks up and sends fog swirling around your legs as you enter the arcade. The air, pleasantly cool only an hour ago, now bites chillily at your exposed face and throat.

🌞🔪🤡🪓🌜🩸 💫 👾 🌞🔪🤡🪓🌜🩸 💫 👾

Okay that’s all folks :D This was what I was working on most of the week. I started the first paragraph and was like “this is really hard!” then skipped to halfway through to some dialogue I knew I wanted. It’s hard to find the most efficient words to describe the scene and characters.

I’m happy with it! but I feel like it might read a bit stiff? Maybe you can tell I’ve read and watched too much historical fiction. Worry sometimes I come across a bit stuffy or old fashion-sounding.

Idk idk like I said at the beginning, it’s been a very long time since I’ve written any prose. Hope you liked it~ most probably definitely will do more, it just takes a lot of time and thought.

Please leave me your thoughts~~

[dyeher]

warnings| pregnancy, domestic shit.

notes| draken being uncertain about how babies are made for 0.5 seconds.

“Oi! What the fuck is this?”

Your heart rate spikes at Draken’s tone, your mind flitting through all the things he could’ve found in your apartment that would warrant it.

“What the fuck is what?” you call back, reaching for a paper towel to dry your hands.

“This!” he exclaims and when he rounds the corner and steps into the kitchen with the pregnancy test held in one hand, a wild expression on his face, your heart skitters to an abrupt halt.

“It’s- it’s a pregnancy test Ken,” you say slowly, backing into the sink. He blinks once, lips parting like he wants to say something but then snapping shut. He blinks again.

“You’re pregnant,” he says.

You nod.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeats, louder this time like he’s making sure you can hear him clearly.

“I’m pregnant.”

“How- what?”

“How the fuck do people get pregnant Ken?” you’re not sure if he’s happy or not and suddenly you remember why you’d been waiting to have this conversation. Because you’d never had it before.

“I mean- sex?”

It’s a question. “Yes Ken, from having sex. Specifically sex of the unprotected variety. And how often do we have that kind of sex?”

He gulps.

“Exactly.”

He blinks rapidly, the hand holding up the pregnancy test dropping limply to his side. “You’re fucking pregnant,” he repeats and this time there’s no mistaking the awe as he says it. “We’re having a kid.”

His eyes fall to your shirt covered stomach and then they raise to yours and your breath leaves you in a relieved whoosh. He’s smiling, it’s small and a little wobbly but it’s there and it tells you everything you need to know about how he feels about you being pregnant.

“I take it you’re happy?” you ask, a matching smile splitting your face as he invades your space. The pregnancy test is abandoned to the counter near the sink and Ken cups your cheeks gently.

“I don’t know what I am, but it’s way way way past happy,” he admits, breathlessly. “My heart is beating so hard I think that bitch might fly right out of my chest.”

You laugh wetly, your eyes dampening as he bends to leave a soft kiss to your mouth and then he sinks to his knees and lifts your (his) shirt enough to expose your stomach. One big palm splays open across your stomach, the other grips gently at your waist as he pulls you toward him.

“My kid’s growing in there.”

“Yup.”

“Holy shit,” he whispers. “Holy fucking shit.”

“You’re gonna have to cut back on the cursing when they’re born,” you point out absently.

Draken’s eyes widen as he continues to stare at your stomach. “So much’s gonna change now,” he says to himself.

“Are you ready for that?” You ask tentatively. “A kid won’t be a walk in the park Ken.”

“I know,” he responds seriously.

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” he stands and steps back to give you a once over. “Thank you,” he says.

You pause. “For what?”

“Wanting to have a kid with me?” He says.

“Why would you thank me?”

“I don’t know okay! Aren’t you gonna like…get bigger? And eat all types of crap? My kids gonna do that to you and I feel like thank you might not be enough but…yeah,” he’s rambling and it’s so fucking adorable that this giant of a man is in your kitchen rambling his thanks to you for letting the child that you both made rearrange your body— their home for the next seven months— that your eyes fill with tears.

“You don’t have to thank me Ken,” you sniffle. “I’m okay with this, with whatever our baby wants to do to my body, it’ll be their home anyway.”

Ken nods, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you to him. “Is the crying thing going to be regular?”

Your crying turns into laughter. “Yeah,” you admit. “If you keep being sweet then yeah, the crying thing is going to be regular.”

[sweetteaanddragons]

(I See Your Wife with) A Man Who is Haunting

”Him?”

This was not how Fingolfin had intended to start this conversation. Faced with the gangly elf carving a barely passable wooden bird beneath Nerdanel’s apple tree, however, it was the only word that managed to come out.

The elf jumped a little, apparently having not noticed Fingolfin’s rather thundering entrance. The knife in his hand skittered, scarring the wood.

It was, of course, none of Fingolfin’s business, but still - 

Him?

Nerdanel peered down from her perch in the apple tree, skirt full of apples. “Hello to you too,” she said dryly. “No, it’s fine, Partano - “

She was not in time to stop this Partano from bowing.

Fingolfin had to fight the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him vigorously until Nerdanel reconsidered if there might be something wrong with this picture.

It was not, he tried to convince himself, that Nerdanel was hoping to remarry. Her case to the Valar had been . . . perfectly sound. Inarguable, when looking at the precedent of his own parents.

It was only . . . “Partano?” he repeated a little weakly. He would have expected Nerdanel to pick someone a little more . . .

Well, a little more like his brother, he supposed. If there was an elf like that to be found.

Failing that, he would have at least expected her to pick someone a little more likely to be able to fight off the horde of Feanaro’s surviving supporters who would be out looking for blood the moment the news got properly out.

Partano was currently looking rather nervously between his king and his . . . his fiancee, Fingolfin supposed. His eyes had gone very wide.

Nerdanel rolled her own. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him, letting the apples roll from her skirts to the ground and leaping lightly down after them. “He’s my healer. He’s been checking on me since he got back from the Halls.”

The implied ridiculousness of this her tone was attempting was rather undercut by how sharply her bones stood out against her skin.

“Ah.” Fingolfin at last left the comfort of his horse’s back. “Forgive me. I just heard - “

“And assumed the first man in my vicinity must be the reason for my petition to the Valar, yes.”

“I won’t be the only one,” he protested in meager defense.

“Why don’t I just - take your horse to the stable? My king?” Partano tried.

“Thank you,” he said, trying for graciousness. “My apologies to you, as well.”

They watched him leave together before turning back to each other.

“Really?” Nerdanel said the moment he had gone. “You thought my second choice for a husband would be a nice healer who hates the thought of someone having a sharp word with him?”

He threw his hands up. “It would have been a change. I thought maybe - “

He had not been thinking at all, really.

It was a weakness of his when he got such news.

“Maybe you wanted a change,” he said more softly. He let his hands fall. “I did mean to be a little less prying about this.”

She leaned back against the tree trunk. He wished it didn’t look like she needed the help. “Hm,” she said critically. “I was expecting Arafinwe to be the one nominated to come.”

Fingolfin decided not to mention that there hadn’t really been time for a discussion, as such. One of the advantages of sovereignty was that there really didn’t have to be.

“Your actual intended. Is he . . . nice?”

She snorted. “I don’t marry nice. I told you that already.”

“Is he nearby?”

“Not presently. Are you going to ask me his name at any point, now that we’ve ruled out Partano?”

“What is his - “

“On the other hand, it might be funnier the other way. You’ve ruled out Partano; who would you like to guess next?”

Fingolfin gave up on that line of questioning and went to sit in Partano’s place under the shade of the tree. It meant he could only see her out of the corner of his eye; that made it a little easier. “I know you are not well,” he said quietly. “Is that why?”

She sighed. “Oh, I suppose that’s a part of it, selfish as it is. If that’s all it was, though, I would have waited. I do know just how much I’m asking. Mostly it’s Makalaure.”

That was quite possibly the last thing he had expected. “Is he - have you - “

“He’s still alive,” she said impatiently. “I know that much.” Her breath hitched a little. “No other word to even the Valar for a thousand years, but that much I know. Whatever cursed dungeon hides him from their sight, he is still alive.”

He had known, when he was in the Halls, that the last of Feanaro’s sons was not dead. It was not until he had emerged, not so very long ago, that he had learned ‘not dead’ was all anyone this side of the sea knew now.

Anyone at all.

It might not be some hideous forgotten dungeon of Sauron’s. It might be -

Well. It might be some hideous forgotten torment of someone else. Nerdanel was not the only one who feared.

He did not see how this would help except perhaps as a distraction. 

If a distraction was all she wanted, surely they could find her something else.

“They did rule Feanaro had to agree to this?” he checked.

“Oh, yes,” she said instantly. “That was the precedent, and I would have argued for it even if they hadn’t.”

Fingolfin had not seen Feanaro in the Halls. He had not seen Feanaro since before the first rising of the sun. However: “And you think he will follow his mother’s precedent and agree?” he said doubtfully.

Feanaro had not wearied of life. He had only been barred from it. 

He supposed Feanaro could have changed. Hoped for it a little, even. Just not . . . not that much, surely.

“Surely you have learned by now not to ask me to predict my husband,” she said dryly. “But I have done what I could, regardless; I asked them to carry my request to him just as I said it, and I have hope that they will. Even if they don’t, it may yet work,” she added hopefully.

It was not that he doubted her persuasiveness. Only . . . “What were your exact words?” he asked, very firm in his not doubting.

“That I ask only for the same courtesy that I promised him when I was carrying the Ambarussa,” she said promptly. “You remember how sick I was.”

He remembered hearing of it. He had not seen for himself; by the time it was evident just how hard the pregnancy would be for her, she had not been able to handle any possible additional stress, and he had not wanted to risk inciting an argument with Feanaro, and in those days, walking into the same room had been an incitement to an argument between them.

He had not previously imagined that she had been so wounded in spirit as to promise Feanaro that she would let him take another wife if she passed and could not gather the strength to return - or so visibly wounded that Feanaro’s indignance at the implication he would want to had not erupted onto all Tirion.

There were a lot of things he had not once imagined.

“Alright,” he said, defeated. There was nothing more he could do after all; nothing more but wait, as he once had as a boy outside Feanaro’s door, desperate to hear what he would say. “Alright.”

She looked rather concerned at his tone, but she didn’t try to stop him when he announced his intention to fetch his horse and ride away.

(“She asked them to tell him what?” Arafinwe asked incredulously when Fingolfin met him on the road.)

(Fingolfin repeated the message.)

(“The same courtesy - there’s going to be a riot.” Arafinwe swung his horse back toward Tirion.)

(Probably, but - )

(“She told me the story while you were gone,” Arafinwe said in furious impatience. “She was half delirious from the pain when she was carrying them. She promised him that she would come back as soon as she could. She promised him she would do whatever it took. She promised him she would <em>beat down the walls.</em>”)

(Realization finally struck.)

(“She’s not asking him to let her remarry. She’s asking him to break out.”)

(Ah.)

(That did put a different spin on it.)

[The title of this story comes from "No Longer You," a song from Epic: The Musical. It is also a hint as to how this story is going to end because that song involves Odysseus being told a seer has seen a vision of his wife standing beside a man with a trail of bodies behind him . . . and Odysseus angrily demanding to know who it is, not realizing the man is himself.]

[Which is not quite what happened here, but there are a few parallels.]

[This is, by the way, a Memento Pugna AU of all things; Nerdanel tells Finarfin her pregnancy story in the prequel to that, and Maglor's deal here is the same as it was there.]

[In this AU, though, Nerdanel got pushed past the edge and decided it was time to do something about it.]

[Possibly Fingolfin's return had something to do with that actually, since that hasn't happed in the main version of Memento.]

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch. 31

Sukuna x Reader

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

BEWARE THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT!!!

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

-----------------------------------------

CHAPTER 31 - A Foolish Human Gesture

Before you knew it, Sukuna had your lips caught in another punishing kiss, his fingers trailing slowly from your nape down to your collarbone, nails scraping across your skin and leaving red stripes that pulsed with heat long after he’d moved on to mark the next unclaimed part of you.

Whenever he finally broke away—for a rare, fleeting breath—he didn’t stray far. He dipped his head beside yours, his forehead pressing against the jagged wall behind you. He was close enough that you could feel his hot breaths fanning over your ear.

And every time he paused like that, he whispered the same thing to you—crafty variations of the same cutting sentiment.

“I loathe you, woman.”

“You’re a plague,”

“A stain on my existence,”

They were insults he ensured you couldn’t return during the brief moments you struggled to catch your breath because— just as you replenished enough oxygen to speak—he stole it away again.

He reveled in that small torment; it was undeniably amusing to him to keep you from getting a single word in.

His lips brushed past your jaw, and you could feel them curl into a smirk against your skin before he made you swallow down every cocky retort you dared to think of saying in return.

Though with this particular kiss, it seemed he had exhausted every bare patch of skin he could mark on you with his nails.

And that simply wouldn't do...

Right now, Sukuna was a conqueror possessively surveying his newly claimed lands, but forever unsatisfied and wanting more. So, with his tongue still tangled with yours, he gripped the collar of your plain black shirt. You flinched as he ripped the fabric down the middle, exposing your bra adorned with delicate lace that perfectly cupped your breasts.

In the heated friction of the kiss, the shirt’s short sleeves gradually sĺlipped down your arms until the whole thing fell to the ground. And Sukuna eagerly seized that chance to claim the newfound flesh, working his claws down the supple skin above the trim of your bra, before sinking them into your flanks.

With a particularly harsh pinch at your side, you flinched and accidentally bit down—on Sukuna's tongue.

Oh no.

He let out an angry growl and pressed down harder, causing you to yelp against his lips before he broke away. He wiped the lingering spit that dripped down the corner of his mouth and glared into your eyes for a tense heartbeat.

You knew that look all too well and expected him to throw another nasty insult at you, but instead,

he threw—you—literally, to the floor.

You hit the rough gravel with a thud, small stones digging uncomfortably into your bare back. Before you could push yourself up, he was on you again. His knees pinning you in place, caging you, and his mouth back on yours with the same hungry intensity.

Maybe it was the cold, damp ground, or the cool breeze ghosting over your stomach, or perhaps the way Sukuna’s fingers tangled in your hair with a satisfying tug...

But a chill rippled down your spine, sending goosebumps skittering across your skin.

And not just goosebumps.

Your nipples, too, perked up with the shiver, pressing insistently against the soft fabric of your bra. Yet that softness did little to muffle the jolts of tingly pleasure that shot through you each time Sukuna’s hard abs pushed into your chest, intensifying the treacherous friction.

It was so—so hot. But you had to keep a sliver of focus, at least enough to control the pull of cursed energy so it wouldn’t overwhelm you.

Fortunately, your training had been paying off; it didn’t take nearly as much effort as before. Or... perhaps ‘fortunately’ wasn’t quite the right word, as that ease allowed you to sink into the moment a little too deeply.

You pulled Sukuna’s hand from your hair and guided it down your neck all the way to the lace of your bra. You felt his jaw clench, but he eagerly accepted the invitation.

Though he didn’t particularly like being directed by a mere human—he’d overlook it... just this once.

His hand was so big it covered your entire breast, and he let no time go to waste as he squeezed down—anything but gently. It kind of hurt, actually, but you were so desperate to be touched that the pleasure drowned out all the pain.

He kneaded your breast through the fabric with such vigor that you could feel the movement of each individual finger, pressing and flexing before digging even deeper. Every squeeze rough enough to have you squirming beneath him, as soft gasps—silent pleas for more—escaped your lips, barely muffled against his mouth.

It was as if Sukuna couldn’t do gentle; everything he did was rough and overpowering. Like it was his nature to dominate, to scare away.

But on you, it seemed to have the opposite effect; It pulled you in, leaving you wanting more.

So when he pulled away from your lips out of nowhere, and his hand stopped moving, you felt incredibly deprived.

He hovered just above your mouth for a moment, crimson eyes locked onto yours, before he suddenly ducked down and tugged at the band of your bra.

When it didn’t come loose—what did he expect?—He flicked his finger and with a swift cut of his dismantle, the band snapped, and your bra fell open, leaving your boobs fully exposed, in the dim eerie light.

You barely had time to process the shock before he dipped his head, and his mouth latched onto your nipple. It was a level of intimacy you’d never expected from the King of Curses, and your cheeks flushed the most vibrant shade of pink.

At first, he just sucked, his warm mouth shielding your nipple from the chilly air with a delicious pull that made your back arch and your needy hips grind up against him. But then he stuck out the flat of his tongue, dragging it across your sensitive peak, flicking up and down...

You couldn't help but whimper.

The sound was embarrassing to say the least but it did make you realize that with his mouth finally elsewhere, you might actually get a word in before things spiraled beyond your of control.

“Sukuna, um, I’m not sure this is—ah!”

He bit down, right on target, his sharp corner teeth grazing the tender skin around your nipple. You winced, pushing a hand against his head to shove him away, but he only growled, the sound vibrating against your eager bud.

When he looked up at you, his hair a hot mess, he seemed wholly unimpressed.

“What now, brat?  Playing reluctant after you were writhing and begging for me to touch you here?” He emphasized 'here' with a sharp pinch to your nipple, forcing you to bite down on your tongue to muffle the dirty moan threatening to escape.

But when you dared to open your mouth again—you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

The truth was, when he’d pulled away, the sudden chill felt so profoundly lonely that you realized you didn’t want this to end here... not that you'd ever say that out loud.

So, a lousy excuse would have to do.

“Uh, it’s… these rocks on the ground,” you stammered. “They’re, um, digging into my skin. Kind of hurts, so—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna lifted himself up and, in one swift motion, hoisted you over his shoulder. He did it with so little effort... it was as if you weighed little more than a feather to him.

The view of his back—his flexed scapula and the smooth line between the thick bands of muscle disappearing into his waistband—was, admittedly, exquisite. But the position itself felt, well... a bit demeaning.

Suffice to say, you were not entirely pleased.

You squirmed and wriggled all the way to the door and up the stairs, protesting at every step. “Hey, put me down, Sukuna! I’m serious!”

Until—halfway up—Sukuna finally seemed to tire of your feeble protests. He let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Tsk. Fine, then.”

The arm holding you in place relaxed and dropped to his side, and your heart plummeted as you felt yourself slipping down his shoulder. The unforgiving edges of the stairs taunted you from below, and you scrambled at his back like a cat dangling from a ledge, nails digging into him as you held on for dear life.

But just as your hand slipped—and you were pretty sure you saw said life flash before your eyes—he caught you, hoisting you back into place.

You let out a sharp gasp of relief, followed by an indignant snap.

“What the hell? You nearly dropped me!”

Though you couldn’t see his face, you were absolutely sure there was a smug smirk on it when he purred over his shoulder.

“Oh? As I recall, you were the one begging me to let go. I wouldn’t have minded watching you tumble down—seems quite a fitting end for an insolent brat like you.”

But you felt that smug smirk vanish just as quickly the moment he reached the top of the stairs. His steps faltered, and a cold breeze swept over your bare back, hitting you with the chilling realization that—

Oh. Right.

The door was in splinters.

Sukuna’s grip tightened, his forearm pressing down until you could hear your ribs crackle under the pressure.

“That blue-eyed bastard did this?” His voice dropped to a lethal whisper, each word a reproachful reminder that he was far from done with Gojo... or you.

“I'll make sure you'll regret denying me the pleasure of snapping that twig in half.”

You gulped, but that was the least of your concern now; the higher priority was the fact that your boobs were on full display for everyone passing by this block to see.

“Aah, Sukuna, just move! I'm half-naked!”

Sukuna let out an irritated grunt but he did move—into his bedroom, to be exact.

He slammed the door behind him, and with a less-than-gentle motion, he threw you onto the silk sheets...

At least the soft mattress was a better place to land than the cold, rocky floor of his domain.

Straight away, Sukuna planted himself back on top of you, yanking your boots and shorts off and tossing them aside like they were a pesky nuisance.

You wanted to protest, to remind him of the unwritten rules for handling a woman gently, but when you felt his hard bulge press against the thin, damp fabric of your panties, those thoughts quickly left the room.

All that remained was the heat of the moment...

And the two of you picked up right where you left off.

His head was back between your tits, his wet tongue trailing down the curve of your skin before it swirled around your nipple. There was no discernible rhythm, no practiced technique—but that only heightened your senses, leaving you in neverending suspense.

You couldn't suppress the excited twitches nor the way your hips pressed up against him with every flick and drag of his tongue.

And Sukuna clearly enjoyed every little reaction out of you, because the corners of his mouth curled up with every moan and quiver.

He reveled in the sight of you squirming; he always had. But now, as you writhed under his eager touch and the warmth of his tongue, rather than the force of his fists and his cruel taunts—

That was a new kind of ectasy to him.

His hand slid up to grope your other breast, fingers sinking into the soft flesh before he moved over to you nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers.

Who would have known he could do stuff like that with those nasty claws and that foul mouth? It was quite unexpected, and you couldn’t help yourself from prodding, realizing you had one thing in common with Sukuna: you liked getting a reaction out of him too.

“Ah—it’s surprising that you’re so—hng!—busy with your mouth...” you managed through heavy breaths, daringly locking eyes with him.

“After you told me that kissing is a stupid gesture that only brain—nngh—less pigs bother with.”

Safe to say, Sukuna did not like that tone.

He sat up, and your gaze zeroed in on the twitch of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, he locked eyes with you and smirked in the most wicked and perilously filthy way.

“How foolish of you to remind me, you idiot woman... Shall we get to the real fun then?”

Oh god. That was not your intention.

Sukuna grabbed your hips, yanking you close against him. His fingers slid down the edge of your panties, and with a merciless tug, he ripped them away.

You clenched your thighs together in embarrassment, but it was futile; His eager hands, veins popping with anticipation, had you spread open again within seconds.

He looked at your soaking pussy—really looked—as if he were drinking in the sight, and you couldn’t recall ever feeling this self-conscious about anything. But you didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on that feeling long before the next disaster struck.

His thumb swiped away the line of drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, dripping down at the thought of ravaging your glistening cunt. Then that same thumb hooked around the band of his pants, tugging them down to finally free his aching cock from its confines.

And fuck. It was an absolute monster.

Bigger than any you’d ever seen before, and you audibly gulped. A nervous sweat broke out on your brow because there was no way that would fit—not without proper preparation.

But before you knew it, Sukuna had already lined himself up at your entrance. You could feel the throb of his tip against your folds, and suddenly, a wave of fear washed over you. Not just because of its sheer size, but because; what if history repeated itself?

What if Sukuna gave you a little more of him again, just to take it away and ignore you—abandon you?

You couldn't let that happen. There was no guarantee that this time would be any different.

Right when he bucked his hips and pushed the very head of his cock inside, you drew your legs up and kicked him off.

“Sukuna, stop!" you yelled at him. “I don’t want this if it means you’ll go back to ignoring me right after. If it means that the moment your mind catches up with your body, you’ll yank yourself away and pretend I don't exist for days on end.”

Sukuna dragged a hand over his face, fingers digging into his forehead, fuming that you dared bring this up right as he was about to ravage you. With a barely contained tremor, he released his grip on his cock, his nails moving to bite into the sheets beneath him like he was trying to anchor himself to sanity.

Not once had the King of Curses ever thought he’d pull back from fucking someone because of their feelings. Yet here he was, peering at you through the slits of his fingers, hearing you out instead of reducing you to a sobbing mess beneath him.

Your voice quivered as you shifted to sit up, finally asking the question that had been haunting you for days.

“Why... why did you do that last time? Why did you suddenly pull away and disappear?”

Sukuna let out a hiss as he let his hand drop from his face to tug his pants back into place. “I'm not apologizing for anything, brat. So abandon such ridiculous notions.”

You slammed your fists into the silk pillow, unable to hold back from raising your voice.

“I’m not asking you to apologize, am I?! I just want to know why... you hurt me, you know?” Your gaze drifted downward, not really expecting a real answer from him. If anything, you thought he’d up and leave, because he hated when you acted like this—weak and vulnerable, like a pitiful human.

So it surprised you when his shoulders tensed and his gaze... his gaze, it didn't drop—no, it burned into the sheets with an intensity that could have set them aflame.

“Tch. That kiss... I felt sick. My face burned, and my chest felt like a vice squeezing tighter with every second I was stuck at your lips.” A sound somewhere between a snarl and a laugh tore from his throat, as if his own words disgusted him more than anything.

“When I pulled back it was no better, every breath like swallowing shards of broken glass—” He cut himself off, teeth bared in a grimace that could have been mistaken for one of his cruel smiles if you hadn't spent so long studying the subtle differences.

“And then the most revolting irony struck me.”

You stole a glance at him, trying to gauge where this was going, but it was impossible—his palm was pressed against his face, as if he couldn't bear the thought of you seeing him like this. As if acknowledging your presence during this admission of weakness would be the greatest insult to his pride imaginable.

“I had become exactly like that spineless fool in the film,” His voice dropped to a low whisper.

“Just as horribly cursed. I was so disgusted, I could’ve burned a whole village to the ground right then and there—”

A film?

Wait... that romance movie you'd been watching?

Was the King of Curses actually admitting that he felt like some lovesick male lead? No. This had to be some kind of fever dream. You pinched yourself, but the sharp sting confirmed that this was all too real.

Your mouth opened and closed many times before you finally managed to find your voice.

“So... why did you ignore me then? After?” The question came out softer than intended, and you immediately cursed yourself for sounding so hurt.

Sukuna took that opportunity to finally lower his hand, and revert to his usual—scary—self. You made it so easy for him with your utterly stupid questions and your quivering voice.

“Use that pathetic excuse for a brain, woman,” he spat.

“I am the King of Curses. Did you really think I’d welcome such revolting feelings?”

With a low growl, he raked a hand through his hair, irritation flexing his shoulders as his gaze shifted to the side. “I'll admit, avoiding you proved… ineffective.”

“If anything, it only made you fester in my mind more persistently,” he hissed through the gaps of his clenched teeth.

You were speechless, staring blankly ahead. This was everything you'd wanted to hear, yet hearing it left you completely shook...

And in your daze, you missed the way his gaze drifted back to you, tracking slowly and intently over every curve of your body. It was only when his signature smirk returned to his lips that your eyes refocused, catching his hungry stare.

“Perhaps... if you're going to plague my existence either way—” he was back on top of you in an instant, his massive body casting a shadow that swallowed your tiny frame whole.

“—I might as well go back to doing what I do best: taking what I want, when I want,”

His weight sank you deeper into the bed, and a shiver ran over you as he caught your hands and pinned them against the pillow. The calloused pads of his fingers traced your wrist until he found your pulse point, pressing firmly against it to relish the frantic beat of your heart beneath him.

He let out a raspy chuckle, nudging your knee with his own as he whispered against your ear with a taunting breath.

“Now, spread your legs.”

God, this was dangerous.

Yes, he was Sukuna—the King of Curses, the embodiment of evil—and yes, every survival instinct screamed at you to get away. But there was something maddeningly irresistible about the way he wanted you, of all things.

Besides, weren’t you technically forced to obey his commands? Or was that just the dumb excuse you’d tell yourself to justify your desire?

Slowly, you nudged your knees apart, but with each inch, uncertainty crept in.

If you gave yourself to Sukuna completely, only for him to discard you afterward, could you recover from it? Or would you be left shattered, in undignified pieces for falling into his trap so easily?

Caution fought against the rising heat between your legs until it finally won over your rationale; You couldn't go through with this.

You squirmed beneath his body, trying to break free and get away. But he was so massive; it was like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands.

“Fuck, get off!”

Increasingly agitated at your feeble attempts, Sukuna's eyes burned with anger, but weirdly enough his smile only seemed to widen, revealing more and more of the white of his teeth.

Finally, when you managed to wrench one hand free, he slid his body up, pinning your arm down with his knee—and his entire weight above it.

He hovered just over your chest and his free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your face toward his crotch, inches away from the thick bulge in his pants.

“After riling me up like that, you'd better fix this, woman. I don't care how you do it. But you will do it.”

Ugh, he really wouldn’t let this go, would he? And to be fair, being so close to his cock—literally feeling the heat radiating off it—you had to admit you’d been aching to know what it felt like.

So... maybe there was a compromise here.

You looked away, half in disbelief that you were letting yourself get involved with the most dangerous being you’d ever met in such a way. But—

“Okay, I’ll… take care of it. So will you get off me?” You mumbled barely audible.

You glared up at him with a sharp warning in your eyes. “But no sex, Sukuna. I swear to god, if you put that monster anywhere near my thighs, I’ll kill you.”

He let out a grating cackle and finally released you, inching backward and lifting his weight off your arms.

“Kill me, hm? I’d like to see you try, little sorcerer.”

You pushed yourself up across from him, and rubbed your thumb over the bruises forming on your arms. “Im not kidding.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes and casually leaned back, legs spread, his gaze urging you to fulfill your promise to take care of it—

of him.

But a wave of nerves hit when you realized that to 'take care of him,' you would actually have to touch him—there—on your own initiative.

It was terrifying, so nerve-wracking that your heart raced with enough force to make your hand bob with each beat as you slowly reached out.

At least Sukuna's attention was drawn to your nervous shakes instead of your eyes—if those judging slits had landed on your face, you probably would have died of embarrassment.

With a final push of courage, you leaned forward and grabbed his cock through the thick of his pants. He flinched ever so slightly as you began to slowly move your hand up and down, testing the waters.

Every swipe up emphasized just how impressive his size was; his length seemed to go on forever.

But with every stroke down, you couldn’t shake the overwhelming realization that you were jerking off the fucking King of Curses.

Sukuna’s gaze was locked on the movement of your hand, never straying, which allowed you the chance to sneak a quick peek at him. But the sight was thoroughly disappointing; his expression was as unbothered as always.

If anything, he looked bored.

And lo and behold, right at that moment, he let out a weary grunt and swatted your hand away—not harshly, but enough to leave you confused and a bit stung.

“What?” you asked, trying your best to hide behind your lashes. But he ignored you, too busy fumbling with his pants.

And before you knew it... his thick cock sprang free, slamming against his stomach with a loud thwack.

“Here,” he growled, grabbing your hand and wrapping it around his length, his palm completely enveloping yours. He squeezed tight, almost painfully so, muttering under his breath with an air of irritation.

“Don’t be so gentle; it’s grating on my nerves,” he said, retracting his hand and tilting your chin upward with a hooked finger.

“Have you looked at it properly? It won’t break, you coward.”

He casually leaned back on his hands, his cock twitching, urging you to continue.

God. He was such an arrogant dick. But lucky for him, you’d never shied away from a challenge... in fact, it lit a small fire within you.

With a firm grip, you began to move; your fingers gliding along his length as you familiarized yourself with every ridge and vein. Experimenting at the top, where you paused to rub your thumb in slow circles around the flushed pink head.

You didn’t dare pause for long, though; because the impatient throb of his cock and the even more impatient quirk of his mouth told you that you were moving far too slowly for his liking.

So, you picked up the pace, pumping up and down his shaft, finally managing to coax a few drops of precum from the tip, which made it easier to slide your hand along.

But with this speed and pressure came an impossible test of endurance.

After a few minutes, the muscles in your arm began to ache. You shifted the angle of your wrist, trying to find some comfort, but nothing felt right anymore, and you were panting from the effort.

Ugh, this was awful. Shouldn’t he be the one huffing and puffing?

You looked up at him, forcibly unfurrowing your brows to mask your frustration.

And there he was, staring at your efforts with barely any enthusiasm, that cold, agitated look in his eyes, the prominent vein on his forehead nearly threatening to burst.

When he let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh, you snapped.

You stopped your hand dead in its tracks, glaring at him with such intensity that he had no choice but to meet your gaze.

“Can you at least pretend it feels good?”

Sukuna arched a brow at your bratty tone and the sudden cessation of your efforts, but then let out another sigh—or maybe more of a grunt—as he broke away from your stare.

“I knew this was ridiculous. How's a measly hand supposed to satisfy me? How can you pigs be content with this?”

The nerve—you were about to snap at him again, but your words caught when he suddenly shifted, flipping you onto your side. The bed creaked as he let his weight drop into the mattress behind you, his rock-hard abs pressing into your back.

You felt his throbbing cock nestle between the cheeks of your ass while his fingers trailed up your leg until they landed on your hips and sank into the tender flesh.

“Hey! What are you—” You yelped at the sudden advance, but Sukuna wouldn’t hear you out, not this time.

“Ah, shut up, brat. I’m not putting it—” with a forceful thrust of his hips, he nudged his cock between your thighs, “in.”

It was hot and pulsing—and with that one buckle he'd miraculously managed to brush his thick head against your clit in a way that made your whole body jolt.

It didn’t stop there...

His hips began to rock at a restless pace—no 'easing into it', no. Just a domineering, impatient rhythm that picked up with each thrust as he fucked your thighs.

Not a shred of regard for the fact that you were still trying to catch your breath from jerking him off.

But you couldn't protest because—with each merciless slam of his hips against your ass, his cock slid over your soaked folds, grazing that same spot again and again, sending waves of pleasure through you.

Before you knew it, you were clenching your legs together. The juices that leaked from your cunt working as the perfect lubricant for his cock, coating your thighs as the room filled with wet, lewd squelches.

His hand slid up to your breast, fingers digging in with an eagerness that would no doubt leave a nasty bruise. And if that, somehow, wasn’t enough to leave a mark, then Sukuna made sure that the sharp edges of his nails left etchings in your flesh.

It stung so deliciously that a cry escaped your lips before you could stop it.

But one little cry wouldn't do it. Not for Sukuna.

He hooked his knee over your leg, pulling you closer, squashing your cheeks against his pelvis and ensuring your thighs squeezed him all the way to the base.

“Sukuna… ah… not so rough,” you managed to mewl through heavy breaths as your folds grew puffy and sore from the friction.

With a half-assed effort you even tried to push his knee away for a moment of reprieve. But his grip was unyielding, keeping you pinned against him as he continued his brutal pace.

“Hm, brat’s giving orders now?” His voice rasped against your ear, dark and husky.

“This is punishment—for promising to 'take care of it' and failing so miserably.”

You wanted to snap back, but any attempt at a retort dissolved into helpless whimpers and gasps, your mind dizzy from the overwhelming sensation of every ridge and vein of his cock sliding past the sensitive endings of your nerves. 

You couldn’t explain in words how grateful you were to yourself for standing your ground on the no-sex thing.

Sukuna was like a feral beast, driven purely by instinct—topped off with limitless endurance and that ridiculous strength he felt no guilt unleashing upon you as he pounded into your thighs again... and again... and again.

And let’s not even get started on the size of that weapon... If it had been your pussy instead of your legs, he would have utterly destroyed you.

Sukuna's voice pulled you from your haze, as you struggled to focus on anything other than the electrifying heat and pressure building low in your stomach.

“You’re trembling,” he hissed between thrusts.

“Control your cursed energy, fool. Was all that effort training you a waste of my time?” He nudged his head against your ear, whispering so close that the hairs stood up at the back of your neck and your pussy throbbed.

“Or will you show me some competence for once?”

For him you'd try to focus—to concentrate on the flow of energy. Even now, you wanted to prove yourself; maybe more than ever, you wanted his praise. But the two of you seemed intertwined into an indistinguishable mess of energy.

It was impossible to untangle, and so you could only pray he’d finish before you fainted from the intensity.

“I... I can’t,” you murmured, voice muffled into your own arm.“It’s too much,”

At that point you gave up—surrendering to the pleasure even if Sukuna groaned against your neck, clearly irritated by your human fragility.

But something kept him from dragging this out and pushing you over your limit—he wanted you conscious to witness how thoroughly he'd mark you. To make you understand the consequences of infiltrating his thoughts, of making the strongest being in existence dependant on a mere mortal.

He bared his teeth and flipped you over to your stomach, his movements growing more erratic as he rutted against your thighs and clawed at your ass.

This new angle brought a whole new bliss and you were damn near losing your mind now... The walls of your cunt clenching together, aching to be filled, the heat in your stomach spreading to your whole body until even the tips of your ears burned up.

Instinctively, you arched your back, pressing into Sukuna's hips.

And that was when his own groans broke loose, low and raspy, louder with each thrust—sounds that were more animal than human. His pace picked up, even when you hadn't thought it possible.

Your face pushing deeper into the pillow with each plunge between your legs, muffling the desperate, shameful sounds you couldn't possibly suppress.

It burned when the sensitive flesh of your thighs and ass began to glow a deep red from the repeated impact.

And you could feel his cock pulse, on the verge of bursting as he bent over you, pressing your body into the mattress and yanking your head back so he could see your face, a moaning, drooling mess.

“Now this,” he rasped, leaning down to capture your expression as he drove his dick so deep between your thighs that his balls slapped against them.

“Is a foolish human gesture, I can see the appeal of.”

With another harsh roll of his hips, he let your head fall back into the pillow, dragging his tongue along the curve of your neck, savoring the taste of your sweat-slicked skin.

It was those words, followed by the feel of his wet tongue lapping at your neck—the head of his cock, drenched in your juices, swiping past your clit once more—

that pushed you to your orgasm.

“Hng.. Fuck,”

Your whole body tightened up as the heat in your stomach rolled into shockwaves of pleasure, your world narrowing in to the muffled sounds of your own moans and the rhythmic spasms of your cunt, your fingernails digging into the sheets.

Sukuna could feel your legs lock around him even tighter as you came undone, your thighs twitching when he overstimulated your clit, showing no mercy as he kept his pace steady.

Your needy little cries into the pillow—the pillow that was no doubt as soaked as your pussy, just with tears and spit—were the most enticing sounds he’d ever heard.

His hot breath hovered at your ear, every rough exhale fanning over your skin when his groans grew louder, gradually shifting into uncontrolled grunts at shorter intervals.

Until his hips jerked a final time, slamming into your flesh as a deep, guttural sound tore from his throat. His cock twitched and hot ropes of cum spilled over the inside of your legs, reaching all the way to your stomach.

With a few extra thrusts Sukuna made sure to spread it all around, properly coating you in his mess before finally pulling away.

He traced a finger along your thigh and smirked at the sight he’d left behind.

“I keep discovering more things you’re good for, brat. Pestering, cooking, fucki—brat?”

He nudged your legs, which had already crumpled onto the mattress, but you were barely conscious, his words fading into scattered syllables after the overwhelming rush of his cursed energy and the most mind-blowing orgasm you’d ever had.

You were so out of it you might have heard your own snore set it—or maybe that was just Sukuna’s disappointed growl as he realized your body had gone limp.

Whatever it was, you were too drained to care.

Sorry, Sukuna. Just a little nap…

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THANKYOU for reading bby's <3 Hope I fed y'all well this chapter 🥺

Also wanted to clarify that the gaps between chapters are a lil longer because, well, the chapters are twice as long lol. So I hope I'm forgiven 🙏

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel , @nessca153

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

[mustainegf]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: sometimes what bridges the gap between friends and lovers, is the ocean.

based on the song forwards beckon rebound, by Adrianne Lenker

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ¹⁹⁸⁵

❝ Over the Dead Sea ❞

It was night. The sapphire sky was a promise, and felt nearly close enough to touch. The full moon was bright, lighting his handsome face. Before us lay the Pacific, endless, like the world's biggest secret. I fell back onto the sand, its grains skittering under my palms, and watched James skip a rock across the water, his ripples creasing its tab skinned surface.

“You can't just sit there like that,” he slurred, whiskey evident on his breath, as he trudged over toward me, a big grin on his face. And I couldn't not smile back. There was just something sweet about James when he was this way. Reckless and alive.

"Oh yeah?" I teased, squinting up at him. "What are you gonna do about it?”

Without warning, he took my hand and tugged me to my feet, both of us stumbling in the process. We laughed. They sound carried out over the waters. We giggled in starlight and sea spray, and I swear nobody knew the world like we did.

"Let's swim," James said suddenly, his blue eyes almost glowing in the night.

"Are you serious? It's freezing out there!" I protested, though I was already unzipping my leather jacket—his leather jacket—and kicking off my boots.

"Come on, don't be a wimp!" he baited, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the sand. I couldn't help but stare for a second at how his body was so sweetly tanned, lean, not something the regular person would consider special. But I did. He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What? Afraid of a little water?"

"Fat chance," I snorted, promptly shedding my soft clothes down to my bra and panties and racing toward the water with him. The cold hit me as I plunged into the water, but all it did was make me feel even more alive. James wasn't behind me for long, and soon we were thrashing about in the water like some kind of children, laughing so hard it actually hurt a bit.

The waves pushed us together, then pulled us apart, and we kept finding our way to each other, clinging to one another for warmth. At one point, he grabbed me around the waist, lifting me up and spinning me around until I was dizzy.

"You're crazy!" I shouted, my breath coming out in white puffs as I tried to catch it.

"You love it!" he hollered back, his grin still not once leaving his face.

And maybe I did. Maybe I did love the way we were friends, and acted like a lot more than friends. It was a dangerous kind of love. But then and there, the stars watching over, I didn't care.

We finally emerged from the water, crawling and soaked, but still giggling like kids. We collapsed on the sand, lying side by side.

"Keep you company over the dead sea…" James murmured.I turned my head to him, still chuckling slightly. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the stars. "I don't know. Just something I heard once. Sounds cool though, doesn't it?”

"Yeah," I agreed softly, though I wasn't sure I understood it either. But it did sound cool, and there was something about the way he said it that made it feel like a secret meant just for me.

His hand connected with mine in the sand, and I squeezed it softly, his skin coarse against my own. Normally, friends don’t do this. Friends don’t hold hands, half naked on the beach. But James and I aren’t regular friends.

❝ Villain & Violent

Infant & innocent ❞

A few days later from that night at the beach, James and I were at his place. The bedroom air is thick with the smoke of his cigarette and pieces of whatever song he'd been working on earlier. The candles placed around him, their flames licking like ghosts in the dark. We sat on the floor, and an old piece of vinyl spun lazily on the turntable in the corner.

We hadn't spoken of the beach, how we'd gripped to each other in the cold water.

He sat opposite me, his back against the wall, staring into the flickering light of the candle in front of him. I said nothing as I watched him, just watching, understanding.

There was something in the way he looked. The world knew James Hetfield as this fierce, scary singer of Metallica. But here, in these hush seconds, he was different. It would seem that the flames of the candle melted away the layers of armor he usually wore.

I had seen him like this before, many times actually, but. The world saw that villain side to him, that persona that he wore, never really letting anyone in too close. But here, without an audience, without the stage lights, he was just Jamie from school; the boy who loved with all his heart.

Gentle. Sweet even.

The way he fidgeted with the edge of the blanket draped over his lap told of a tender man. James learned to put up walls, hiding that he was one of the shyest people you’d ever met. He was innocent, human, just a boy at heart.

Suddenly, James looked at me, his mouth staying shut.

He smiled.

And so did I.

❝ Stabbing stars through my back ❞

Days soon burned into weeks, and this tiny gap between us began to grow. We hung out, we drank, and still laughed together, but it was all a little different now. I didn't know what to do with it.

We had gone to some party or another, but smoke and noise couldn’t snap me into reality, just watching him from across the room. He was talking to some girl, his arm was casually slung around her shoulders, but his eyes weren't on her. They were on me.

We locked gazes, and we were alone again, both on that beach with ocean at our feet.

But then he would turn away, turn back to this girl with this huge, fake smile on his face, and something inside of me gives up. I turned and left the party without saying any goodbyes, clicking the door shut behind me.

I walked a long while, the city blurring in and around me, until I found myself standing in the only logical place.

The beach.

I just stood there a lot longer than I should have. I didn't know what I was doing there, didn't know what I was waiting for. But then I heard footsteps behind me, and I knew.

❝ Pulling your face close ❞

James was standing several feet away, his hands jammed in the pockets of his leather jacket, the same one he’d wrapped me with just weeks ago. We didn't say anything. We just stood like that.

"I thought I'd find you here.”

I nodded, not because it was all I had to offer, but I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth.

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and I could hear just how serious he was. "I've been an asshole. I didn't know how to deal with… with this."

"With what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He repeated, his hand motioning between us. "Whatever this is.. It scares the shit out of me."

I swallowed hard, throat tight. "Yeah... I know."

He ran a hand through his long hair, biting out a frustrated sigh. "You're my best friend, and I..I didn't want to lose you. That’s all…”

"You didn't lose me, James," I assured him, taking one step closer and tucking his long hair away from his face.

He stared at me. "I don't want to go back," he whispered. "Don’t just be my friend from highschool."

"I know…" I whispered, reaching my hand out to take his. "James…."

He looked down at our clasped hands, then back up at me, the corner of his mouth softening. "Did you know I love you?”

We stood there for a second, and his words melted my heart like warm golden honey. Without consciously thinking about it, I leaned in and kissed him. Though hesitant at first, our lips were quick to become acquainted. He was warm, tasted like strawberry, and his hands cupped my cheek like he was lost.

When we finally broke, our foreheads leaned against each others. “I love you too…” I mumbled, gently caressing his cheek with the pad of my thumb.

"I'm not afraid of you now," I whispered.

"I'm not afraid of you either," he murmured back.

He pulled far enough to see my face. "Come on," he said suddenly, a smile tugging his mouth up.

"What?" I asked.

"Swim with me," he said, that smile overtaking him, the smile I’d fallen for.

I laughed at that. "You're crazy."

"Dead serious," he said, already yanking off his jacket and booting his feet clear of his boots.

Who am I to deny him?

This time, we stripped all the way down, without any threat of fear. It was not the physicality, not about sex. It was trust, peeling away those layers we'd wrapped ourselves in, about being vulnerable and real with each other in a way

we'd never been before.

I admired his body, bare for me to see for the first time, and mine for him.

We ran into the water together, the cold biting our skin. We were laughing again, the sound of it shooting out over the ocean. We swam out until we couldn't feel the sand beneath our feet, until the world was just water and confession, alone together.

We floated there, side by side, the waves rocking us gently, like we were babies in our mothers arms.

“James?” I whispered, leaning my naked back against his wet chest and gazing up.

“Yes?”

“Can I sleep in bed with you tonight?”

“Always.”

It all started here, and both arms cradle me now.

[stevesbestgirl]

Phases of the Moon - Part 1

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

2796 words

Warnings: poor imitations of British speaking habits, not much else in part one, maybe a few curses but I’m not sure

A/N: This was my attempt to write a slow-burn. It’s long, self-indulgent, and obscenely fluffy. Reader is specified as American, but mostly so I can avoid pretending I know anything about living in the UK. Steven and Marc are aware of each other and trying to find balance in their relationship in this fic, but keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point. 

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

“Go talk to her.”

“Well I can’t, can I?” Steven sent a furtive glance at you, toying absently with your phone while you examined the glyphs inside a display.

“Why can’t you?”

“She’s got earphones in.”

Marc scoffed in the glass of one of the display cases, “Always an excuse.”

“I can’t just interrupt her, that’d be rude!”

“Not if she’s interested.”

Steven’s reply was cut short as a pair of boys came rushing around the corner, laughing and shoving each other- Steven wouldn’t have placed them at older than twelve. He watched helplessly as one firm push sent the smaller of the two reeling into your backside. Completely oblivious to their noise, you went sprawling, headphones disconnecting as your phone hit the ground and was sent skittering across the polished floor, coming to rest at Steven’s feet.

Inhibitions gone, Steven scooped your phone up and rushed over, offering a hand to help you up, “Are you okay?” You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “You lot,” he called out, locating the pair sidling off behind a diorama, “C’mere.” 

They looked like they were considering bolting, but the smaller of them located Steven’s badge and took a reluctant step forward. By the time they stood in front of you, they were looking rather cowed, like puppies who’d been caught gnawing a slipper. 

“Shape up, you hear? You could’ve really hurt someone.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Now listen, down that corridor there, there’s a bunch of old weapons; spears, cudgels, daggers, the like. How about you go give it a look?” You watched him speak to the two boys; his enthusiasm seemed very genuine, not the fake kind adults often used with children.

The taller boy hesitated before leaving, “What’s a cudgel?”

Steven smiled a little, “Why don’t you go on and find out?” Then the two rushed in the direction he’d indicated and he called after them, “Slowly, hm?”

Once they were out of sight, you finally spoke, “Are you sure that was a good idea? Sending them in there with a bunch of weapons?” You couldn’t help but smile as he unconsciously smoothed his dark, nearly sleep-tousled curls back from his face.

His intent had been to chuckle, but it came out as more of an empty puff of air, “They’re all under glass- should be alright.” He added, “Maybe I’ll pop in to check on them, just in case.” Nervous now, he looked down at his hands, still holding your phone, “Oh, there you are.” Your expression fell and only then did he notice the spiderweb of cracks in the bottom corner where it had hit the floor, “Oh no.”

You shook your head, accepting the phone and dropping it to your side, like putting it out of sight would make him forget, “It’s alright. Just a screen protector. I’ll get a new one eventually.”

“Sorry about that, love,” he insisted, his earnest gaze finally meeting yours just in time for your face to go warm. You’d thought you’d been ready to hear the term of endearment used so casually when you came to England, but apparently not.

“It’s alright,” you rushed to speak. “Definitely not your fault. Thanks for helping me-” you glanced at his name tag, “-Steven.”

“No problem- it is my job after all,” he cracked a halfhearted smile.

“You were great with those kids too.”

Rosy warmth tinged his cheeks and his gaze shifted away, “Thanks.” A small pause, “Your accent- you’re American?”

You nodded, “Needed a change of scenery, so I’m staying with some family for a while. Just got in yesterday, actually.”

His gaze eagerly lifted to yours again, but flicked away over your shoulder and he went slightly pale. Glancing back, you saw a stocky woman with dirty blonde hair gesturing impatiently at him.

Returning his gaze to you, he looked a bit panicked, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. I- ah-” He tripped over his words and almost tripped almost his feet as well, veering around you and backing away toward the woman beckoning him over. 

You raised your hand in an uncertain farewell as he stammered his way backwards, gesturing faintly over his shoulder with his thumb in a faint attempt at an explanation. Once he was within range, the woman seemed to be lighting into him a bit, though his gaze hadn’t yet left you. It wasn’t until she snapped her fingers that he looked at her. 

Not wanting to spy, you turned away, checking your phone for the time. When Steven glanced your way again, he only caught your retreating form disappearing out the entrance. For once, Donna’s criticisms didn’t affect him since he was already kicking himself for not asking you out. Or getting your phone number. Or even your name. He’d blown it. 

*

The following day, you had a bit more time to explore the museum, so you returned. And you noted with dismay, when the cabbie called you “love”, you didn’t so much as blink, let alone blush. Maybe it had been a one-off thing. Now you would be immune. 

Walking in and spotting the woman from before at the front desk, you plucked up a bit of courage and approached. Her name tag read “Donna” and she prompted with visible disinterest, as though she were reading off a script, “Welcome. Is there something I can direct you to?”

Deciding to push forward, you said, “Actually, I was just in here yesterday. I ran into a bit of trouble with a couple of young boys and one of your tour guides helped me. I wanted to let you know that Steven was very polite and just lovely with those kids-”

“Stevie? He isn’t a tour guide,” Donna interrupted, wrinkling her nose. “In his dreams, maybe.”

“But he does work here?”

“Yeah, he’s the gift shoppist.” She was still being very flippant; it was clear that she’d barely had interest in this conversation to begin with and now that it was about Steven, it had dwindled to none. 

“Right. Thank you.” You forced a smile and nodded before heading off in the direction of the gift shop.

The counter was empty when you first walked into the room, sending a tiny shoot of disappointment into your chest. You wanted to thank him, since it didn’t appear that you could score him any points with his boss.

You wondered for a moment if you should come back later, but then a shaggy, brown mop of hair sprung up from behind the counter, triumphantly brandishing what appeared to be a large, amber-colored marble with a bone inside it, “Got ya, you little bugger.”

His gaze fell on you and he tucked the marble behind his back, like it was something to hide, “You- you came back.”

You reached into your bag, pulling out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday, “I was only passing through yesterday.” You unfolded the brochure and showed him the notes you’d taken on the map, detailing where you wanted to go first and which exhibits had caught your eye, “I like to plan a little bit.”

He followed the line you traced with your finger intently, raising his gaze to your face when you pulled away, “That’s a good way to go about it. The tour is pretty good too.” Steven’s heart skipped as your lips pulled into a slight frown; had he said something wrong? 

“Speaking of the tour, I tried to put in a good word for you with your boss- as thanks, for yesterday- she doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Oh, yes. Donna and I have got a bit of a rocky history.” He added quickly, “Not a history, mind you. More like a boss/employee history. I’ve got a bit of a bad track record with my punctuality, actually,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I think you’d make a lovely tour guide, for what it’s worth.”  

There was another one of those long pauses; you were about to offer a meek “Thanks again,” and cut your losses when he spoke up, “If you like, I’m on a break in ten minutes. I could show you around.”

You’d insisted to yourself that this wasn’t why you came back here, but you found yourself nodding, a faint smile on your lips, “I’d like that.”

Steven seemed even more surprised than you were, nodding quickly, “Great- that’s- great.” He nodded again, “I can meet you in the ‘King’s Tomb’ exhibit.” He pointed, “Right over there-” He checked his watch, “-in nine minutes.”

Your smile widened, “See you in nine minutes then.” You moved off in the direction he’d indicated, the temptation to look back gnawing at you. 

“Wait!” he called after you. You turned back, “I haven’t got your name.”

“You haven’t needed it, have you?” 

Now you were teasing and you knew it. But you could feel his eyes on you as you disappeared around the corner and you smiled to yourself. So much for doing your own thing. The whole reason for coming to London was to get away from men- although you supposed it was more one man than men in general. But something about Steven just caught your eye.

So you waited out the impossibly long eight minutes remaining until Steven walked in, looking in a bit of a rush. You watched him scan the exhibit, almost like he’d expected you to have left by now.

You raised a hand, “Steven.” He positively lit up at the sight of you, relief visible in the heavy exhale he released- like he'd been holding his breath. 

You met him in the center of the room, clasping your hands behind your back in anticipation. Steven still had the remnants of a grin on his face, though he mirrored your posture, a bit of enthusiasm escaping as he bounced on the balls of his feet, just once, “What do you want to see?”

“You’re my tour guide, you tell me,” you teased. 

Almost instantly, his face flushed, “Well, I wasn’t sure if there were specific displays you wanted to look at or certain subjects you were interested in, you know? Since I've only got fifteen minutes on my break.” 

“Well, I’m interested in everything, but since we only have fifteen minutes; how about you show me the way you’d start your tour if you were a guide?” His cheeks darkened further and you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to smile again. But he surprised you, recovering quickly and placing his hand on your arm. He steered you over to one of the displays and you glanced at him, “The Ennead?”

The Ennead,” he corrected your pronunciation. “The Egyptian Gods.” He wheeled around so his back was to the exhibit, his gaze meeting yours with ease. “Everything about Egypt comes back to the gods one way or another, so to understand Egypt, you have to understand them.”

He walked you through the exhibit, one god or goddess at a time, his hands moving animatedly as he talked. And he was good at it, in a different way than you’d expect. He had such a wealth of knowledge- you felt comfortable asking questions because you expected him to have the answers. And he answered many of your questions before you could even ask them; his explanations were pretty comprehensive. 

It was all strangely charming, actually. His enthusiasm was so genuine, it was as though he invited you inside it with him. It was a nice place to be- like sharing a secret. It was also putting you in dangerous territory; a magnetic field that would be hard to pull yourself from.

Once you were about halfway through the eleven, you tentatively raised your hand. Steven faltered slightly, giving you the chance to speak up, “Two things- I just want to check the time, I’d hate for you to be-”

“Late-” he checked his watch faster than you could pull out your phone.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him back toward the gift shop, “Well, come on then, I don’t want you getting into trouble!”

Steven’s long strides quickly outpaced you; you had to hurry to keep up, a laugh at the ridiculousness of it slipping out. Steven glanced back- nearly shouldering a display case. Right before impact, his back straightened a bit, like he sensed it coming, and he just twisted out of the way. It was so smooth you wouldn’t have noticed the deft movement if you hadn’t been anticipating the collision.

By the time you skidded to a halt in front of the gift shop counter, you were full-on giggling; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so hard over almost nothing. “Sorry about that,” Steven offered meekly.

You took a breath and collected yourself a bit, though you still felt the warmth of the laughter in your cheeks, “Don’t be- it was fun.”

“What was the other thing?” he asked, shuffling back behind the counter.

“Hm?”

“You said there were two things, the time and what else?”

“Oh! Well that exhibit was called the ‘King’s Tomb,’ right? Why are the gods in that one?”

He leaned on the counter, some of his timid demeanor vanishing, “Well, the pharaohs were considered to be gods by their people. So they put them in a room together. And since the mummies are what brings in the crowds, they get the-” he clicked his tongue, framing a little marquee with his fingers, “-title spot.”

“I suppose you know quite a lot about those too?”

He gave a chagrined smile, “Did I go on a bit much then?”

You shook your head, “Not at all- I wasn’t teasing. I wish we’d had time to do the whole exhibit.”

“I’d wager with me giving it, that tour would take all week,” he joked, feeling like he’d done too much talking during your time together.

You shrugged, “I’m on vacation.” Smiling, you added, “Or holiday, you’d probably call it.”

He smiled weakly at the joke, seeming to be working out what you’d meant. He scanned your face, as though nervous he was misreading you, but you just smiled at him. “I’m scheduled again on Thursday, I could- if you like, I mean- I could show you some more. Of the exhibit. Obviously. If you want.” 

You were here for freedom. You’d come all the way to another country so you could do what you wanted, when you wanted, no strings attached. But, you reasoned, this wasn’t dating. This was an exclusive tour, on Steven’s break. It wasn’t like he was taking you out to dinner.

You were bargaining; whittling away your rules to nothing because they no longer suited your purposes. You knew that. And you also knew that you only did so because Steven was, very clearly, a large string. A large string with lovely, brown, puppy eyes and enough passion for Egypt to make a pharaoh blush. But you nodded anyway, “I’d love to come back. Same time?”

He seemed stunned by your acceptance, but he nodded rapidly to overcompensate for the moment of hesitation, “Yeah. My break is at three.”

You smirked, “How many minutes from now?”

He stared at you for a moment- you almost wondered if he was trying to do the math, but then he flushed and gave a weak chuckle, “Right, I’ll work on that one.”

You pulled out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday and a pen from your bag, “Since I won’t be needing this anymore-” You scribbled down your name and number and slid the brochure across the table, “Text me when you figure it out.” No strings, you reminded yourself.

He gave another hurried nod, “Okay, I will, I-” 

You got a sense of deja vu as Steven glanced over your shoulder and paled in nearly the exact same way he had yesterday. “Is it Donna?” You quickly scanned the counter, grabbing a stuffed hippopotamus, “Because I’d like to purchase this.” You deliberately moved it across the counter where Donna would be able to see and pulled out your wallet.

Now Steven looked back to you, “You don’t have to do that. Most of this stuff if junk-”

“I want to. This one is kind of cute.” You held out the money, “And you’ll tell me all about it next time?”

He nodded, a small smile returning to his face, “Yeah, I will.” He handed back your change and the plush, speaking up so Donna could hear, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

You smiled, “Same to you.”

You left the other way so Donna wouldn’t see your face, hoping she wasn’t descending on Steven for being late from his break. You held the little hippo plushie to your chest and thought ahead to Thursday.

[cece693]

Could you do a sequel to why? Where evil Bro,Billy and Stu succeed and the aftermath of their crimes?

Why? Pt.2 (Billy and Stu x M! Reader)

Sorry, I've been inactive guys. I see all the love and support you leave on my works which makes me incredibly happy. This took me forever to get out, but I hope you like it :)

Link to Pt. 1

tags: blood, murder, stabbing, killers duh, ghostface, death, m/n almost dies, but not really, just a knick really, if a gunshot to the chest counts :)

M/N watched with sick satisfaction as his sister’s world crumbled right in front of her eyes. People she trusted and loved have become her ruin. But the boy didn’t have much time to gloat as, without warning, Sydney threw her head back, making contact with M/N’s face. The impact sent him reeling back, a cry of pain escaping his lips as she seized the moment, slipping out of his grip and out the kitchen door. 

Sydney's heart pounded in her ears as she navigated the maze-like corridors. Desperation fueled her escape, but she knew she couldn't outrun them forever. Her brother would quickly recover and his lovers would surely be fueled with anger at her little stunt. Opening a random door, she gasped in relief, finding a phone on the bedside table and the Ghostface costume lying on top of the bed. Idea forming in her head, Sydney wasted no time and dialed 911, begging them to hurry before donning the costume, the mask fitting snugly over her face. If Stu, Billy, and M/N wanted to play, they would. Sydney knew she needed a weapon or her escape would be futile. The gun and knives were downstairs in the kitchen, with M/N probably guarding over them, so she had to make use of the items around her. Seeing a bat, she grabbed it before exiting. 

Downstairs, M/N was still reeling from the headbutt—blood wiped harshly off his nose as a pounding headache began, he continued his search for Sydney. With the gun gripped tightly in his hand, he checked the closet and behind every door, but to no avail. Huffing in frustration, M/N stalked towards the garage when a sudden blow came from behind. The impact sent him sprawling forward, the gun slipping from his grasp and skittering across the floor. Crying out, M/N saw Ghostface, bat in hand, poised to strike again. Panic surged through him as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around for anything he could use to defend himself.

"You think you can stop me?" M/N spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He backed into a nearby wall, his hand closing around a lamp. Ripping it from the socket, M/N swung it at the masked figure, watching as it connected with a sickening thud. The lamp shattered on impact, glass and metal fragments scattering across the floor. Ghostface stumbled back, momentarily disoriented but quickly recovering.

Before M/N could launch another attack, Ghostface swung the bat again, catching him in the shoulder. The pain was immediate and intense, sending shockwaves through his body. M/N tried to defend himself with his fists, but Ghostface was relentless. A final swing connected with M/N's head, sending him to the ground in agony, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay conscious.

From the floor, M/N watched with wide eyes as the figure removed its mask and bent down to grab the gun. His sister looked upon him with cold eyes, blood oozing from her forehead. “Yes, and I did.” Trying to crawl away, M/N gasped when his sister aimed and fired. The gunshot echoed through the house as M/N felt a searing pain in his chest—his shirt quickly soaking up blood. 

Upstairs Billy and Stu heard the gunshot. Exchanging looks, they raced downstairs, faces contorted with fury and panic at the sight. “Sydney, you bitch!” Billy's voice thundered through the room, the intensity of his fury vibrating in the air as he rushed forward with his knife drawn. Every step was fueled by a fierce loyalty to his lovers, his mind consumed by a primal instinct to defend what was his.

Meanwhile, Stu's heart hammered in his chest as he raced toward M/N. He knelt beside his beloved, his fingers fumbling as he tried to apply pressure to the wound. "M/N, stay with me." Stu pleaded, his voice thick with emotion as he looked into his lover's eyes. The boy only smiled, as if he already surrendered to fate, but Stu wouldn’t let go yet. The sound of sirens could be heard from blocks away; M/N just needed to hang on. 

Billy made quick work of disposing of Sydney, stabbing at her body until she dropped to the ground without a pulse. He had wanted to kill Sydney on the spot, but if the sound of sirens was real and not a hallucination, they needed an alibi. Panting and covered in blood, he returned to the garage and rushed to Stu's side.

"Is he going to be okay?" Billy's voice cracked with desperation as he dropped to his knees.

"I don’t know, but we have to stop the bleeding." Stu responded, his voice shaking but determined. Together, they worked frantically, using their shirts to create makeshift bandages, pressing them firmly against M/N's wound. The sirens were closer now, almost upon them.

"Hang on, M/N. The ambulance is almost here." Billy urged, his hands stained with blood as he tried to keep pressure on the wound. Minutes felt like hours, but finally, the flashing lights of the ambulance illuminated the room. Paramedics burst through the door, swiftly taking over from Stu and Billy. 

The last thing the duo wanted to do was leave M/N’s side, but the police wouldn’t let them go without giving testimonies. “Can’t this wait?” Billy hissed, watching as the paramedics lifted M/N onto a stretcher to be wheeled off to the nearest hospital. 

“I’m afraid you need to stay here and answer some questions.” An officer explained, blocking his path. Billy’s desire to see M/N again held him back from picking up a knife to stab the man, so with one last glance at the door, Billy nodded. Stu, the lucky bastard, had left him to deal with the officer, faking an injury on his side which allowed him to ride with M/N. 

“Fine.” 

Billy took a deep breath, his mind trying to focus on the current task. "It was Sydney, she was behind the Ghostface murders. She attacked us."

The officer took notes, his expression serious. "And where is Sydney now?" 

"Dead." Billy said bluntly. "We had to defend ourselves. She left us no choice." 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the police released them. "You can go now. We'll be in touch if we need more information."

They didn’t need to tell him twice, without another word, Billy rushed to the hospital where he found Stu in the waiting room. His shirt was covered in blood with bandages peeking from the neckline, but more urging matters were at hand. “How’s M/N?”

"Alive. They said if the bullet would've been an inch more to the left, it would've hit his heart."

Billy's eyes burned with fury at the close call. The thought of losing M/N filled him with a rage so intense it was almost blinding. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “We almost lost him.” Billy said through clenched teeth. 

Stu reached out, grabbing his hand. “But he’s fine. They put him to sleep so the wound has time to heal. They gave him a week max before being able to return home.” Relaxing at the information, Billy looked at Stu and smiled. With M/N now in the clear, they could celebrate getting away with the Ghostface murders.

[steviesbicrisis]

The Choice is Yours, Steve Harrington

When Steve Harrington starts getting threatening texts from an unknown number, he tries to take matters into his own hands. Little does he know that every choice he makes could have major consequences. His choices matter, and so do yours. So, what’s it gonna be? (An interactive modern day AU! by @steviesbicrisis and @hairstevington)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Ugh. Hargrove.

The guy was just - he really sucked, and Steve wished he was fucking gone. Now he was threatening Henderson? No way. Steve was going to settle this once and for all. Billy wasn’t going to mess with him anymore, he’d make sure of it.

Of course, Dustin was at the stupid concert. Steve really wanted to avoid it, but obviously he would do anything to protect his friends. He headed off to the Fairgrounds, practicing his speech to Billy the whole drive.

Listen to me, asshole. You’re gonna stay away from me and you’re definitely gonna stay away from my friends, or else. Got it?

By the time Steve got to the concert, it was winding down. People were pouring into the parking lot and speeding away in their cars. Steve knew that the kids planned on sticking around afterwards in hopes of meeting the band, so he figured they’d still be there.

It was kind of scary, being there alone at night. Robin was around somewhere, though, so that gave him some peace. He could probably just say her name three times and she’d appear beside him.

He continued looking for his friends as the place emptied out, feeling chills down his spine with every passing moment.

And then, he heard Billy’s voice. He sounded angry, as always. Steve followed the voice, puffing his chest out and trying to make himself look as intimidating as possible.

“Hargrove,” he said once he rounded the corner. Billy was alone, and he smiled the moment he realized it was Steve approaching him.

“Harrington!” he cheered wickedly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Steve rolled his eyes.

“You’re gonna leave us alone,” Steve demanded. “Me, Dustin, my other friends, all of us.” Billy smiled, fearlessly closing the gap between him and Steve until their faces were inches apart.

“Or what?” Billy teased between gritted teeth. “What are ya gonna do to me, Steve? You think you could take me down?”

Steve swallowed. Something about Billy always brought out his worst, most violent urges. Truthfully, Steve knew he wouldn’t win in a fight with Hargrove, and yet - he threw the first punch.

Steve’s fist clocked into Billy’s jaw. He laughed in response, then tried to hit back, but Steve dodged it. He was doing well at first - keeping up, at least - and then Billy got the upper hand.

Steve fell to the floor. Billy got on top of him. There was punch after punch after punch, and then everything went black.

When Steve came to, his ears were ringing and his head felt like it was going to explode. He’d failed. He’d come here to protect Dustin, and now who knew where he was or if he was safe? Steve sat up, and that’s when he saw that he still wasn’t alone.

Billy was on the floor across from him, sitting up with his back to the wall. He wasn’t moving. Steve couldn’t see much in the dim light, so he used his phone to get a better look.

Oh.

Oh, shit. There was blood everywhere, all stemming from stab wounds to the stomach and cuts on his arms.

Billy was dead.

Steve jumped backwards, falling over and skittering across the floor to get as much distance from the body as possible. This wasn’t happening. No, this wasn’t - who could have done this?

His shaky hand went back to his phone, which he’d dropped on the floor upon his discovery. He picked it up to call the police, because that’s what he knew he was supposed to do next. Even in his shock, he knew that’s what he had to do.

He dialed 9-1-1, and then his phone buzzed.

Same poll on Google Docs

The Choice is Yours, Steve Harrington | Ao3 Next

How to follow the story

[cascowriteswords]

bite me

Clarke should have seen this coming. The signs have been there all along. 

“There is such thing as too much garlic, Clarke.”

“The sun is hurting my eyes.” 

“My skin is sensitive, Clarke, I can only wear gold or medical grade titanium.”

“This is the skin of a killer, Clarke.”

Okay, maybe not that last one. 

But still, the signs were all there, all these years. It was only her own naivety that prevented her from predicting this earlier on. 

“So, vampire, hm?” she hums as Lexa jogs down the stairs, velvety black collar popped up around the slender column of her neck, coattails flowing behind her. “I didn’t peg you for team Edward.”

“I’m not,” Lexa answers smoothly, pecking Clarke’s cheek as she takes the mug of coffee held out toward her, leaving a black outline of her lips in their wake. “Party City was fresh out of werewolf costumes. But I’m not team Jacob, I’m team Seth - the only good character.”

“I see,” Clarke says coyly. “Remember when I said you should pick out a costume a few weeks ago? Instead of the night before Halloween?” 

Lexa is buzzing around the kitchen, spreading avocado onto her toast and grabbing pickled onions from the fridge. It’s an ironically vegetarian breakfast for someone with painted-on blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth. “Are you saying you think the kids won’t like my costume, Clarke?”

Working as a physical therapist in an outpatient pediatric clinic means going all out for Halloween isn’t optional. Lexa’s kiddos would be so disappointed if their favorite clinician wasn’t dressed up, and getting 3 year olds to focus on PT is hard enough on a normal day. She has all sorts of spooky themed games and obstacle courses planned for the day.

“Of course not, they’ll love it. They love you.”

“I love you,” Lexa quickly says, eyes flicking up to meet Clarke’s in a way that somehow still makes her stomach swoop even 3 years in. 

“I love you,” Clarke answers, grinning affectionately at her sweet golden retriever girlfriend as she eats her toast in full vampire garb as their tiny bistro table. “Are you going to ask what I think about your costume?” 

Lexa quirks a brow inquisitively, peering at Clarke over the top of her mug as she takes a sip of coffee. “What do you think of my costume, love?”

Clarke moves away from the counter she’d been leaning against and prowls forward, as if she’s the one dressed as a lethal predator instead of Lexa, intently focused on her target. When she reaches the table she rests one hand on its edge and the other on the back of Lexa’s chair, caging her in. “I think,” she says, ducking down to press her lips to the hinge of Lexa’s jaw which earns her a lovely, pretty breathy sound from her girlfriend, “You might be the one dressed as a vampire, but I’m going to be eating you tonight.” Lexa swallows thickly and Clarke grins; nips at her neck, feels the pulse fluttering beneath her tongue as it laves over the skin there. 

When she leans back Lexa’s eyes follow her, pupils a bit wider and darker than they were just a moment ago which suits her costume quite nicely. Clarke reaches out and runs a thumb along Lexa’s bottom lip, cleaning up the edge of her black lipstick. “I’m going back to bed for a little while,” she tells Lexa. “Have a great day at work, honey. And happy Halloween.” 

“Clarke,” Lexa whines. “How am I meant to focus at all today now.”

“You’re a highly intelligent and cunning immortal being, you’ll figure something out.”

She skitters up the stairs smugly, already knowing how tightly wound Lexa will be when she returns home in 9 hours.

Already more than a little excited to unwind her.