#“but if this is what you want why speak of right and wrong

[leilanihours]

# ABOUT YOU

pairing: paige bueckers x reporter!reader

word count: 1389

warnings: none !

summary: paige reunites with her favorite reporter.

⭑ from lani: first fic in literal MONTHS!! sorry for the unexpected hiatus ☹️ but we are so back (hopefully) also idk if i love this or hate this i was just inspired by the dub today

masterlist !

"THE UCONN HUSKIES are your 2025 ncaa champions!"

colorful confetti falls blissfully from the ceiling of the sold-out arena, the scene playing out like the end of an award-winning movie.

joyous screams and celebrations fill your ears as  the team jumps up and down, taking pride in their hard work and well-deserved win.

you can't help but smile brightly at the girls in front of you. you knew the effort they put into this season, you knew of the adversity they faced leading up to this moment.

it didn't feel right for you to be standing here with them considering you weren't an official part of the team, but you were damn grateful that you were here.

after a few minutes of compliments, hugs, and pictures, paige bueckers pulled you aside from the large group.

"hey," she greets loudly, still loosely grasping your hand, “where you been?”

“what do you mean? I’ve been here all game?” you say, puzzled by her question.

“i haven’t seen you since the regular season ended.”

“oh i stayed at school for most of the tournament,” you explain, “i was only assigned to report for this game. why?”

“i dunno,” paige shrugs with a smirk, “i’ve just been missing my favorite interviewer, that’s all.”

“careful, bueckers,” you warn, mirroring her teasing experession.

“so we doing an interview or what?”

"you want to? right now?“ you ask, surprised.

"'course i do," she says, "long as you're the one asking me the questions."

"okay obsessed..." you joke with a laugh.

“man, just shut up and talk sweet to me," she rolls her eyes playfully.

"so that's the reason you wanted me to interview you?" you deadpan.

“i mean…kinda?” she laughs, causing you to jokingly walk away from her, “i’m playin, i’m playin,” she grabs your arm and gently pulls you back to her, this time a little closer than before, “i just wanna talk to you.”

“you just won a natty and you want to talk to me about the technicalities?” you ask, confused.

“yes and no,” she offers, “I just wanna talk to you, is that so wrong?”

"alright, whatever, let's do it,” you giggle, making paige’s eyes brighten immediately.

once you called over your assigned camera crew, you picked up your mic and began the interview.

"i'm here with uconn superstar, paige bueckers, who just carried her team all the way to a national championship, and tonight i have the honor of speaking with her about her experience."

"hey, y/n," she smirks down at you with her hands behind her back.

"hi, paige," you blush, "so, this is the first national championship win for the women's program at uconn since 2016, what does it mean to you that you were part of the team that brought that title home?"

"it means a lot to me, truly," she starts thoughtfully, "it's been a bit of a struggle to make that stretch all the way to the end. we've gotten real close these past few seasons, but unfortunately we weren't able to close it out. this time around, though, with all my amazing teammates, it tastes a little sweeter. espeically considering that this is my fifth and last year here. it's like a little cherry on top, you know?"

"yeah of course," you agree, nodding, "you really deserve it considering the crazy career you've had."

"thank you, y/n," she smiles sincerely.

"on the topic of this being your last year as a college player, once you head into that locker room, what will you say to the young players awaiting years of experience to come..."

you continue with the interview, asking questions back-to-back that you genuinely wanted to know the answers to, or that you thought her fans wanted to hear about.

you were so caught up in the authenticity and professionalism of the report that you failed to notice the way paige was looking at you.

she was entranced. her eyes were locked onto yours the entire time, as if you were the only two people in the room. she nodded along as your sweet voice brought her to calm state of mind. whenever you interviewed her, she was able to disregard the pressure of the cameras and the media controversies. she felt safe and at peace.

with the way she stared at you, one might think that you were some sort of supernatural being that put her under a spell.

"yo, look," ice nudged aubrey with her elbow, "you see paige with that reporter?"

"oh yeah," she nodded, looking at the two of you, "that's y/n. she's a student at uconn and a reporter-in-training with espn. she's pretty chill," aubrey explains.

“well, shit, whoever she is, she got paige down bad,” ice laughs.

"what do you mean? they're not even close. at least i don't think they are."

"well they look like they are," ice says, "you don't see the way paige is looking at her?"

“lowkeyy,” aubrey raises her eyebrows, “you might be right ‘cus tell me why one second paige was next to me, and the next she was running around looking for someone..”

“it was prolly y/n!”

“no shit,” aubrey deadpans, ice responding with a shove and scoff.

they both stand silently for a moment, observing you and paige from afar. they watch as you laugh with their teammate, the smiles on your faces so genuine and contagious.

"i don't play my edits on repeat!" paige laughs as she hopelessly throws her hands in the air.

"alright, alright," you sigh as you try to subvert your laughter, "well thanks for talking with me tonight, paige, and huge congratulations to you and your team."

"thanks, y/n, it's always fun talking to you," paige smiles as she moves to hug you before waving to the camera.

"anddd cut," the cameraman says, "alright we're offline..."

you momentarily break free from paige’s grasp to thank your co-workers and wish them a good night. you’re about to start packing up your own equipment when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your frame.

“paige-“

“hollon, ma,” she mumbles into your hair, “just lemme stay like this for a bit.”

“you okay, superstar?” you giggle, hugging her back nonetheless. you wrap your arms around paige’s torso, squeezing slightly as you rest your head on her chest.

“yeah, i just-“ she sighs in content, “i just missed you.”

paige’s statement left you confused. you had only became friends with the girl that past school year, and you didn’t think that you were the closest friends. sure, you saw each other at games and occasionally around campus or at certain functions, but that was pretty much it. 

what you didn’t know, however, was that paige had taken a strong liking to you. her little crush on you was tiptoeing into unprofessional waters, but seeing you on the sideline at all her games with the brightest smile and most enticing personality made her heart soften a little bit.

over the course of the season, you became a sense of serenity for her amidst the hectic tornados of game days. if her shots weren’t falling, all she had to do was listen to the sound of your cheers of encouragement to get her confidence boosted. or if geno forced her to ride bench for a little bit, one glance in your direction would lift her mood and keep her motivated.

little things like that made the short exchanges she had with you more meaningful. to you, it might have just seemed like a means for you to do your job, but to paige, it was her way of slowly building a deeper relationship with you with hopes of sparking something that only existed in her daydreams.

maybe part of you wasn’t interested in her in that way or wanted to prioritize your progressing career, but on the other hand, maybe you just wanted to say “fuck professionalism” and just let your heart lead the way.

maybe you really were starting to develop feelings for the america’s favorite athlete.

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[rosepetalkitty]

oh boy tw for family trauma 🫠

yeah no that's. damn.

my dad only ever hit me once, and he probably doesn't remember it, but i do. i never told anyone because i didn't want him to get in trouble — he was always the parent who was less of a threat.

that's the only physical thing that ever happened (thank god) but there was a lot of other shit and moving away to uni really helped me realize that.

my mom would sit on my bed behind me while i worked on homework and shout at me if it seemed like i was falling asleep. she would keep me up until 1am some nights, and when she was tired and angry in the morning she would tell everyone it was my fault no matter how much i tried to say that i wanted her to just go to bed, that i didn't want to keep her up, that i was tired too... that started at the beginning 9th grade (during quarantine) and lasted until the beginning of 11th.

before that, in middle school (i was 12) when i first got a phone, she told me one of the expectations was that i would give her the password and let her go through it. i did give her the password, but even at that age i didn't really trust her, so i used another app to put a second password on my home screen. if you put it in wrong it took a photo of you and emailed it to me.

a few weeks later she told me she wanted to go through it, and i told her that was fine, but because it was past my bedtime she wouldn't let me stay up and sit with her while she did. i asked if we could do it in the morning so that we could go through it together, and she said that was fine. guess who woke up to an enraged mother and an email with a picture of her face in the morning...

i brought that one up in therapy four years later in response to her telling the therapist she didn't know why i didn't trust her, and she interrupted me to say, and i quote, "that was so long ago that it doesn't matter anymore." she then turned to the therapist to tell her about how when i was in middle school i wouldn't let her go through my phone "to make sure i was safe", and that that was evidence that the trust issues were my fault. the therapist just looked at me like 😬 and quickly moved on to the next topic. my mom now refuses to acknowledge that she ever said that.

in high school my parents always kinda treated me like a toddler. i wasn't allowed to leave the house unless it was with them because they didn't trust public transportation and our neighborhood wasn't safe to walk out of (giant road all around the perimeter). i didn't get to take a bus until i was 16, and that was only to the mall a few minutes from my house. it took until i was 17 to be able to actually go and hang out with my friends without her supervision or that of another parent who she would expect updates from.

now that im in uni living on my own, she takes every opportunity she can to berate me about my ability to take care of myself. ive been living alone for three months now and have been perfectly fine, doing what i can to get decent nutrition on a college campus that makes it somewhat difficult, and she argued with me about whether it was "responsible" to get a hamburger when she brought me to shake shack while was home to visit for a weekend. "you probably only eat stuff like this, anyways, order something healthy!"

and honestly, speaking of that trip, y'know what really showed me how much less stress i've been under in uni? having a nice brunch at a fancy-ish restaurant that we used to go to with my grandparents when i was little and being low-key appalled when my parents parents started having a not-so-quiet back and forth in which my mom was saying "oh you just think everything i say is wrong, just tell everyone that, be honest, this is ridiculous" over the fact that my dad had asked "hey just to make sure we did mean to get two orders of potatoes, right? just want to check before the server comes back in case that's too much."

those arguments were normal to me a few months ago. and they wonder why i don't tell them things...

(also for context, it's one of those places where two or three small plates is enough for one person and you share stuff, so he was counting up what we were planning to order to make sure we got the right amount — the answer was yes, everyone in the family loves those potatoes, and the second my brother said that my dad was like "oh cool okay, anyways-" before being cut off again by my mom going nuclear over being interrupted by my brother)

and also, final footnote before i post this, there is so much more. this is like. not the worst of my childhood. plus im not including anything from before i was like 12 because i don't remember any of it besides a couple snippets, so there's that...

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

TW: Bruises/Hickies, Church

AN: Surprise shawtyyy! I was fighting demons to keep a poker face up until this point lolol also normally, I'd have a follow up post for Tuesday if I post on a Monday - but next update will be later this week, as I'm at the point where I'm just straight up making poses for the whole thing lol. (trying not to, because it's time consuming).

Transcript under the cut

Malcolm: Are they done yet? This is boring!

Jonathan: You don’t get it.

Malcolm: Get what!

Jonathan: Mom and Dad. They’re in love and stuff.

Malcolm: Bleh!

Nancy: [whispers] I’m sorry.

Geoffrey: Hm? What for?

Nancy Narrates: [For betraying you]

Nancy Narrates: [For always wanting more when this should be enough]

Nancy Narrates: [You don’t deserve this..]

Nancy: [whispers] Nothing. Nevermind.

-

Jonathan: What happened? What’s wrong with Mom?

Geoffrey: She’s ok, she just needs to rest-

Malcolm: Is it cause she’s drunk?

Geoffrey: Malcolm- Ok, how about you two find a movie for us to watch for boy’s night and I’ll get Mommy ready for bed.

Geoffrey: Nance. I need you to sit up so I can get your night gown on.

Nancy: Mhm.. s’fine.

Geoffrey: [snorts] Alright, suit yourself. Don’t try and steal all the blankets when you get cold tonight.

Nancy: [whimpers] M’ gonna be better, Geoffrey. M’so sorry..

Geoffrey: There you go, apologizing again. You know it’s ok if you do steal them, right, silly? I run hot at night any...anyway-

-

Nancy Narrates: [I made a silent promise to my family that I’ll never stray away from them again. I would make it right, somehow]

Deacon: Today we gather to reflect on the sacred gift of family. God created humanity in His image. From the beginning, we see family is part of His design.

Deacon: It is within our families that we first encounter unconditional love that mirrors God’s own love for us all.

Priest: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Nancy: Amen. [softly] Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been- [exhales] a while since my last confession.

Priest: What is troubling you, my child?

Nancy: I’ve- fallen prey to my weakness for the same sex. I fear what I’ve done will ruin my family.

Priest: Have you struggled with this before?

Nancy: I’ve never really acted on it, until now.

Priest: How do you feel about what you’ve done?

Nancy: Guilt. Shame. Disgust.

Priest: My daughter, these emotions are a sign of your conscience at work. You have acted against your own values. You know these unnatural ways is not in accordance to God’s design. For your penance, I want you to spend time in prayer and consider the harm you’ve caused for yourself and for your soul.

-

Judith: Oh, brother. He said that?

Nancy: It’s nothing I’ve never heard before, growing up in the church and all.

Judith: You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?

Nancy: [scoffs] I cheated on my husband! That’s unforgivable, in any situation. If Geoffrey ever found out, he’d leave me. The boys would have to suffer through a divorce- a broken family. The media would eat us alive. And my mother, God, if she knew-

Judith: Oh, I am so sick of hearing about that old broad!

Nancy: I just need to put it behind me. Move on. I got it out of my system, so I have no reason to speak to Lily ever again. I’ll never think about another woman. I’ll be good. Normal.

Judith: What the hell is normal, anyway? If you’re abnormal, than so am I.

Nancy: [sighs] You’re not married or a mother.

Judith: Have you even allowed yourself a moment to revel in this?

Nancy: Why would I?

Judith: Because you finally gave yourself something you wanted. Put the shame and all those nasty feelings aside for a second and tell me about it.

Nancy: [groans] God, it felt so good. The sex yes, but there was something about her obeying everything I said that thrilled me. If I close my eyes now, I can still feel her teeth in my skin, her gasps when I squeezed her throat.

Judith: There.

Nancy: What? There what?

Judith: The real you. You pack her away so much that when you finally allow her to show, she shines.

Nancy: She frightens me..

Judith: Good! She’s a real bitch, and she’s ready for her debut! I want to see you at your brightest, darling. It’s when you’re the happiest.

Nancy: I don’t know if happiness was in the cards I was dealt.

Judith: I believe it is. And when it comes, bask in it, darling.

-

Jonathan: Move, Malcolm! I have the phone!

Malcolm: NO! Let me talk to mommy!

Nancy: Quit bickering, you two. Jonathan, let your brother speak too, please.

Malcolm: YEAH!

Jonathan: [groans] Fine! Mom, are you almost home? Will you be late again?

Nancy: I’ve just wrapped up my last client and I’ll be on my way.

Malcolm: Then we can look for a Christmas tree?!

Nancy: We sure can, my love. I’ll see you both very, very soon.

Jonathan: Promise?

Nancy: I promise. I love you both so much.

Assistant: Mrs. Landgraab, you have a guest asking for you in the lobby.

Nancy: [scoffs] You’re joking? No, no I can’t. Have them book an appointment. I’m leaving for the evening.

Assistant: I suggested that, but they refused to leave and insisted on seeing you.

Nancy: Oh, fucking hell.. fine. Page my driver to wait for me out front anyway. I’ll make this quick.

Nancy: [breathlessly] Vanessa.

Vanessa: Hello Nancy.

[my-castles-crumbling]

truth - November 4 - jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 329

"You were with Evans today."

James is greeted by this dry statement when he finds Regulus in their usual meeting place, the younger boy's back turned to him. "Er...yeah," he shrugs. "Why?"

"Did you have fun?"

The tone of the question is tilted, and James is smart enough to know that he's dumb enough to be missing something. "We...went to the library. She helped me with a Potions essay," he supplies, hoping stating facts is the way to go.

"Hm. Sounds like a nice little study date."

But this isn't right, and James frowns. "It wasn't a date."

This, though, is the wrong thing to say. Regulus whirls around, eyes icy, and glares. If he wasn't in so much trouble right then, James might have been turned on. "Then why did you hug her?"

He swallows. "I..." But before he can explain that the hug was really, truly an innocent one, a thought pops into his brain. "Why does it matter, Regulus?"

And for the first time, the other boy looks at a loss for words.

Grinning, James knows he's got him. "I thought we were just sneaking around? I thought you still hated me? Isn't that what you just said last week?" As he speaks he steps closer, crowding into Regulus's space, the tension building.

"I do hate you," Regulus whispers, zero venom in his voice.

"C'mon, baby," James murmurs in a taunting voice, lifting a shaking hand to cup the younger boy's jaw. "Tell me the truth. You don't hate me. You hated seeing me with Evans, because you like me. Like me so much you don't want anyone else near me."

And, a low moan falling from his throat, Regulus surges forward, wrapping his arms around James and connecting their lips in a passionate kiss. "I still hate you," he mumbles out as he stumbles, pushing James into the wall and kissing him again.

"Sure, love," James chuckles, grabbing his hips and just puling him closer.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 16

Warnings: trauma related, abuse, bondage, reader has flashbacks, stockholm syndrome, assumed sexual assault but uncertainty if true, uncomfortable scenes

The first few days were hard for Y/N. She felt lonely and craved physical affection. Jisung was still not back and she was worried Chan and Hyunjin were torturing him. Some of the wolves spoke to her, like Seungmin and Chan who made sure to check in on her but she still felt isolated. Not as isolated as her dream. Even Felix and Minho completely refused to make any verbal contact with her. Y/N wanted to beg Chan to make it stop so she could apologise to the wolves and make the bond better.  She even made a list in her bedroom on how she could fix it. Her biggest priority was Felix, her ray of sunshine was now an icy wolf. Y/N wanted to apologise to him, even if he didn't want to hear it, it would be enough. The next grumpy wolf on her list was Hyunjin. She wanted to understand him and learn how to please her alpha but she found him difficult to be near sometimes. For the simple reason that she never actually saw him that often. Then there was Minho, he was another one she did not understand but she still wanted to check in on him. Jeongin was another alpha who she desperately wanted to get to know him but knew he was still learning and was at his vital stage of growing and gaining power. Y/N had no intention of disrupting his journey, she only wished to get to know him than mere passings. Y/N wanted to ask Chan when he came back if they could spend time together if he was ready, but Y/N was patient. Seungmin and Changbin were comfortable and happy with her. Both made efforts to talk to her despite the circumstances. Y/N sighed as she looked at her list. The only way she could bond with them was by using words as actions were prohibited. In all honesty, her ass had turned black and was rather sore, which she did not appreciate. She had never seen it so black, ever. Focus Y/N. Focus. Y/N placed her hand on her head tapping it in frustration. She was an omega for goodness sake and she couldn't even please her pack. She got it right the first time so why did she get it wrong the second time? Y/N shook her head and forced herself to find Felix.

Felix was sat downstairs in the living room watching one of his programmes with Seungmin. He seemed to be in a better mood but not his usual self and Y/N hoped she could reconcile with him.

"Felix-ssi?" Y/N called out as she plopped down in front of his feet, leaning her head against the sofa, making sure she didn't touch him. Felix didn't respond to her and carried on watching his programme so Y/N tried again.

"Felix-ssi. I am sorry for getting you into trouble. I am really sorry if I caused you more pain. I only want to fix it." Y/N pleaded but was met with silence.

"Felix. Y/N-ssi is speaking to you." Seungmin spoke as he turned off the TV.

"I heard her. I have nothing to say to her." Felix answered.

"Don't you think that's unfair? Y/N has been through enough as it is. She didn't ask for this-"

"Neither did we Seungmin. Neither did we. We didn't ask to be given a broken omega. We didn't ask for all this trouble, but everything seems to follow her." Felix shouted, causing the female wolf to drop her head in shame. Y/N accepted Felix's outburst, his feelings were valid but she didn't know what else to do.

"Felix, stop!" Seungmin shouted as he threw down the remote. He was sick of all the arguments.

"Felix has a point, Seungmin. It's not even been two months yet and almost all of us have been punished by Hyunjin. She doesn't even know how to be an omega!" Minho shouted, his words burning deep into her body.  She doesn't even know how to be an omega. He has a point. His words were true. Everything she thought she did know was gone. Two months I've been here and I've caused a pack to divide because of me. Jisung is downstairs because of me. Felix killed San because of me. San died because of me. It's all my fault. Y/N stood up, ignoring the shouting matches around her as she made a decision. An irrational decision? Maybe, but Y/N needed to put things right.

"I'm going to put it right," Y/N spoke up but they ignored her, only scoffing at her words. "I'll go to Hongjoong."

Y/N ran out of the house and phased into her wolf form without a second thought heading straight into the woods. Her heart burned with determination as she broke through the clearing. She was close to the border of Wraithwood. She could smell its dark essence. Y/N sped up, ready to bolt towards the clearing when something tackled her with a snarl.

"You will not go." The brown wolf growled, almost challenging her. He was an alpha, but she did not recognise him. Y/N challenged the alpha with a growl ready to pounce when the alpha ordered her to sit down.

"Jeongin?" Y/N called out as the werewolf paced, ready to block her moves.

"Yes. I didn't mean to frighten you, but what you are doing is wrong. You cannot go back to them. We are your mates." Jeongin stressed, his dark brown eyes looking deep into hers.

"No. I'm not leaving. I wanted to put it right and talk to Hongjoong. I don't want a war." Jeongin huffed at her words and trotted over to her, nuzzling his head into her neck as he tried to calm her.

"You're so brave but it would not work. Trust me it would not. Hongjoong would never let you come back." Jeongin explained as his snout nuzzled against hers.

"I want to put it right." Y/N pleaded with the young alpha.

"You put it right by staying with us. Do not let Felix and Minho hyungs anger cloud your judgement. Hyunjin ssi tells me you're smarter than Hongjoong himself so why have you forgotten all your wisdom? Why have you forgotten who you are." Jeongin asked.

"I'm scared of Jeongin. I'm scared of being treated badly all over again. I'm scared of people having high expectations. I'm scared of being actually loved." Y/N admitted.

"No one has expectations of your omega." A black wolf called out. "No one has treated you badly, you're imagining it. Almost craving it. You see the good in Hongjoong that is not even there, Y/N. He brainwashed you and all your views you ever had. That's why it hurts so bad to see San killed. It felt like you had killed him."

"I feel like I'm missing the whole plot here," Jeongin explained as he looked between her and Hyunjin's wolf.

"She misses Hongjoong. She loves him. Y/N believes that everything Hongjoong did was in her best interest. Every time he punished her she would do her best to please. Her existence only existed if he was there. She could only breathe if he was there and the only way she could survive was by pretending that it was all because he loved her. Yet, that pretend feeling accidentally moulded itself into reality. She accidentally rewired her own brain to survive which lead to Seonghwa being allowed to punish her more. Locking her in a dark room as he taunted her, slowly dragging her until she went mad. But still she somehow managed to fight her way out and now her brain is still trying to justify his actions, because she's afraid of the reality. She's afraid to recognise that she was going to be used in a ritual so her brain tells her we're the enemy."

"How do you know that," Y/N whispered, slowly backing away. He can't know that.

"I can know that Y/N. Which is why I'm telling you to accept that your feelings were real but you need to let them go. It's time to come to terms with that and I'll help you, just like you helped me." Hyunjin whispered while Jeongin nuzzled himself into the omega, trying to piece together what the older alpha was explaining.

"He's right omega. We can help you get past this. We will listen to whatever story." Jeongin promised as he felt the wolf whine out in pain. Images of her struggles flashed through the male's mind.

Jeongin shuddered as he saw her reliving her darkest moments. He saw Hongjoong's menacing eyes burning deep into hers. He saw the way Hoongjoong's fingers gently touched her body, caring tentatively to her before they shifted into bloodied hands that grasped her throat as he whispered cruel things to her. The way he changed from a proud alpha to a disappointed one. He saw the way Seonghwa babied her as he carried her around, spoiling her, only for him to edge her closer and closer to their goals. He saw the way the wolves pleasured her as a group, driving her to every brink of madness and he couldn't tell if she wanted to or wanted to. Jeongin wanted to be sick as her images flashed through him. He tried to be strong like Hyunjin who allowed her to break in confidence. He wanted to be a strong alpha for her. He wanted to protect himself from all the horrors of the world. He wanted to show her how much better the world is but he wasn't strong enough, not yet, but he will be.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

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[king-nyx]

Their couple's therapy appointment was first.

Audrey and Apollo left the kids at home with Leto and Audrey's father. Her father hugged her, before she went into the car with Apollo.

Apollo drove them to the appointment silently, watching the road. They went into the building and were immediately seated in the therapist's office.

The old woman came in with a tray of teas, smiling at them.

"Well, hello you two!" She smiled. She looked at Audrey for a second, "Wasn't your due date for August?"

"She came early," Audrey said.

"Ah, lovely," the therapist smiled, sitting down. "How long has it been? Can't imagine hoe you're on your feet."

"Three weeks," Audrey said. "Stayed in Delos until I healed."

"Well, congratulations you two. What's her name?"

Apollo and Audrey looked at each other shaking their head.

"We can't agree on one yet," Apollo said.

"Well, you still have time," the therapist said. "So, how are you feeling? Exhausted, I can imagine."

The two of them nodded.

The therapist frowned, "Alright. What's wrong, you two?"

Audrey looked at the ground, refusing to say anything. Apollo didn't look at the therapist either.

"Right. Apollo, why don't you start us off? How's parenthood? How's your baby? Enjoying taking care of another one?"

"When I can, yes," Apollo said.

"More work?"

"No...uh, Audrey's been...anxious. Not letting me near."

"Oh? Audrey, is there a reason for..all this?"

"I just don't want him to feel responsible," Audrey said meekly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, he is the father," the therapist smiled. "It's only natural."

Audrey wrapped her arm around herself.

"What's wrong Audrey?"

Audrey didn't respond, the familiar shamr burning in her heart.

"I can only help if you two speak to me honestly. Yes, confrontation and admitting to issues can be difficult and ugly, but it's necessary. And, I can only help if I know what's wrong," the therapist recited.

Audrey sighed, "I ruined our relationship. I accused him of cheating."

Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?

I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity

[tan1shere]

Heyyyyyyy could YOU please PLEASE do one where Billie tells the reader how to touch herself, while Billie is on tour?!!?

Call Me

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: coming righttttt up, hope you like it 😊

Warnings: smut, phone sex ?? Masterbating - think thats it !

Masterlist

It was lonely here all alone. Finding little jobs and activities to do to fill in time. Whenever you weren't working, yourself. Your girlfriend, Billie was currently on her HMHAS tour. And you haven't seen her in days. Truth be told you missed her like crazy. Her presence. Her voice. Her touch..

Which led to the next feeling you missed. Ovulation was no joke. And you were currently facing the feral-ness of it. Even more so that she isn't here. You had been frustrated all day. And you only now realize why. You needed to touch yourself, you had to relieve this pent up tension. So as the night comes along you get into your warm, comfortable bed. Checking the time. Billie usually calls around this time.

You figure shes sleeping, she had been extra tired lately. You go to slide your hand down into your shorts, about to touch yourself. When you do, but stopping. Things aren't the same. You wanted her touch. You try to continue but nothing was feeling good right now. That caused more frustration to bubble inside you. Deciding to just sleep it away. And hope tomorrow was normal.

Next day rolls around and you still have the same feeling. Frustration and horniness. Not a great combination, the day felt longer because of it. It was a bit earlier when you got home, but thankfully Billie didn't have a show today. So she was hopefully going to answer when you call. You couldn't take it anymore you needed her help. And you needed it desperately.

You go to lay on the bed, grabbing your phone and dialing her number. She answers in seconds, causing you to grow nervous. In all the years of being with her, phone sex was the one thing you've yet to do. So ofcourse you were nervous. Would she even help you, would this be odd? "Hi baby." You hear her say, cheerfully. You smile to yourself. "Hello!" You try your hardest to not jump into things, going to try give her some hints.

"How was your day?" She then asks. You sigh, ever so lightly. "A little frustrating, good to be home though. How about yours?" - "Mine was pretty boring I've just been preparing for tomorrow's show and chilling. Why was yours frustrating my love?" You think for a moment. "Just some work and other little things, some of which I just can't fix by myself.." - "I'm sorry, anything I can do to help at all?" Yes. Phone fuck me. Was all you wanted to say but you had to play things cool. Even if your body was heating up at the thought of this happening.

"Not that I can think of, just wanted to hear your voice I missed you." She smiles to herself. "I miss you too babe." There was a small pause, you were contemplating on how you'd do this. When a small idea pops into your head. You missed her voice so much, and it sounds like you had just woke her up from a nap. Her voice was slightly raspy, a bit of her tiredness peeking through.

"Did anything else happen today?" You then ask, getting comfortable on the bed. Moving your hands just above the waistband of your underwear. You had decided to get straight into your sleepwear, just a loose night gown. Wanting to feel good as all you've been wearing lately are big t-shirts to bed. You wanted to feel hot, make this moment more sensual. "Not too much if im honest, just got my outfit for tomorrow, did some other things. Just boring stuff really." You hum in reply, moving your hand in your underwear as she speaks.

Was this wrong? It felt a little like that. Your face heats up what're you even doing. But you get pulled from your thoughts when you hear your name. "Hello? Y/n, baby. You still there?" The name made you bite your lip. "Y-yeah sorry." She chuckles. "You didn't answer my question love." "Oh, oops. What was it?" She smiles to herself again, finding you cute. Except what you were doing was far from cute and downright filthy. "I asked you how shark had been, he's behaving right?" Your hand moves lower, trying to stay focused on the conversation and her voice. "Y-yeah he's been good." You let out a quiet sigh but she hears it. "Everything ok?"

You get nervous again, how were you even going to manage this. "I'm fine.." You needed her to keep talking, and thankfully she does. "Ok, Im sure if it's anything youre just tired. I was going to talk to you about when I get back, we have a dinner with Finn on the Friday. Just thought I'd remind you incase you forgot." Your finger had been in you, slowly moving the whole time she was talking. And when you don't reply she gets more confused. "Baby, what're you doing you seem distracted." You holt your movements, trying to think of an excuse but why? You wanted to call her and ask.

Ask her to talk to you, help you. So why were you so damn nervous. "Talk to me baby." God sake her voice was so hot even when she wasn't intentionally trying. You bite your lip again trying to stop any noise that was about to escape. Mustering up some sort of strength to reply. "I'm f-fine." Was all you managed to respond with. Billie sits there in thought, when she hears another sigh. Was she catching on? She needed to be sure. "I miss you, so. So much." She was playing with fire. You don't respond again, having your eyes shut as you try to give yourself pleasure.

When it's not working you let out another sigh followed by a tiny whine. She hears that loud and clear, smirking to herself. She knew good and well what you were doing. "Can't wait to see you in a few days, get to kiss you. Hold you. Touch.. you." She chose her words evily. But she didn't stop there. A breath was to be heard. Followed by a frustrated sigh. "Let me help, baby. You sound annoyed." Another small whine left you, at the fact she was right and just overall the way she was speaking to you.

Your brows knit together, giving in and letting her. She knows now, there's no point in staying silent. "It's no good, I miss you. Your hands." She coos. "I know baby, I know. I'm just so good at touching my girl huh?" Your head rests back. "So good." You breath into the speaker. "Your fingers still inside?" You reply with a hum. "Move em." So you do just that, slowly at first. "Move your thumb, touch your clit for me." You do that, touching it then moving your thumb in a circle motion.

Everything was so still and quiet she could hear your wetness and God it was driving her nuts, she wanted to be there. To see it, to feel it. "That's it." She says encouragingly, hearing your noises as you speed up on both tactics. She could just imagine it, you touching yourself just to her speaking. "Was baby doing this the whole time I was talking?" She then says. Your cheeks grow red with heat. "I- uhm." She lets out an evil chuckle, sending tingles straight to your pussy. It was such a hot chuckle. But then again, anything she did right now was 10x hotter. "You're such a filthy girl huh?" You bite your lip yet again.

Feeling more pleasure than you had been. "Please keep talking please." You begged. Voice so needy. "Plunge deeper for me, know you can. Imagine my fingers. How deep they go. Imagine your thumb is my tongue as I swirl it around your throbbing clit." Your back arches at the thought, you needed it more than anything. "Need you so bad." A louder moan was to be heard. The fact this woman is just talking to you and you almost coat the sheets in your nectar. She felt all the power in this moment. "Go faster for me - that's a good girl." She finishes as she hears the squelching increase. Your breaths and moans mingle into one as you get closer.

"Mmm, fuck I'm so so close. Please." She laughs yet again. "So cute, still asking to cum even when I'm miles away. So incredibly good, aren't you?" Your head lulls back into the pillows again, feeling the knot almost snap. "Fuck, Billie." - "Faster baby, rub your clit. Wanna hear you squirt." Just those words alone send both of those sensations out of you, having you leak and squirt all at once. Your breath being uneven as your eyes roll back. "Good, girl. That's what I like to hear."

[star-suh]

Scream

Choi San x Male Reader

cw: top ghostface san, sadist undertones, degradation, dubcon, drunk-ish encounter at first, knife play, anonymous sex?, some edging, handjob, blood play, blowjob, cum eating, breeding, manhandling, nipple play, ripped clothes, choking, semi-public sex, bareback, san is mean to the reader.

an: i think this is way darker than what i usually write ngl bcs i don’t know what happened in my mind when i thought about the knife part.

also this is the last halloween special fic, enjoy!! 🎃

it’s halloween week and the murders attributed to ghostface haven’t stopped, it doesn’t help at all that somehow everyone has taken a liking in dressing as him, costume stores ran out of black capes and ghostface masks. “what’s wrong with people?” yn mutters to his friend wooyoung, “i don’t know, maybe it’s the idea of a sexy hot dude under all those clothes” he tries to reason, “yeah but if they all disguise as him it would be difficult to know who’s the real murderer” yn adds. wooyoung shrugs “dumbasses for real”.

“are you going to tonight’s party at my fraternity?” wooyoung asks his friend, “i would feel better if i can keep an eye close to you, you know, i don’t want you to be in the newspaper tomorrow” the joke makes them both laugh “you stupid” yn smacks him lightly on the shoulder “ok i’ll go. but first i have to choose a costume” he says, eyeing his phone. “you could just go naked and say you are a slut, it would be fun. best costume of the night if you ask me” wooyoung blurted out, “shush, i don’t want you to fuck me with your eyes” yn puts his hand on top of the other’s face, covering his eyes and pushing his face away from him “nasty woo”.

store after store yn tried to find a cool costume but it seems that all they sell now is the ghostface one, “why is he so popular” yn speaks to the air, “sigh… i guess i’ll just go disguised as a frat boy” he grabs his phone from his pocket and dial a known number, “hey woo can you lend me your jacket, i’ll go as a frat boy”, “sure bro” woo affirms, “just don’t be late”.

loud music, flashing lights and neon signs decorated the venue, the fraternity house was full with people, a perfect place for a murderer some might say, but they don’t seem to care. “ok here i go” yn takes a deep breath and walks closer to the entrance. man doesn’t like to go to parties, they feel like they drown all his energy but he’s doing it to not worry his dear friend. “you came” wooyoung runs towards yn and hugs him, offering him a cup of liquor he is holding in one of his hands, “yeah…” yn laughs awkwardly while looking around, spotting all the ghostfaces in there, but one in particularly caught his attention. he was standing next to the stairs, he was not moving at all as if he was a statue, but yn could feel his gaze piercing into him, that sensation when someone stares at you but multiplied like 50 times, it was creeping him out.

“umm.. wooyoung?” yn turns around to seek his friend but he wasn’t there anymore, now he looks back at the creepy man and he wasn’t there either, “calm down yn haha you just need to relax, that’s right, just relax” he talks to himself while grabbing a cup of liquor and chugging it all at once. hours passed and yn seems to have forgotten about the creepy dude, thanks to the alcohol in his system. he starts to explore the house, visiting every room on the first floor and now going upstairs, not noticing that from afar someone’s been watching him. “is this woo’s room?” he says feeling tipsy and opened the door, there were two couples in there fucking, thanks to the music they didn’t hear the door opening so yn quietly closed it. his face red in embarrassment and a little tent forming on his pants, “what the fuck” he tries to cover his growing bulge and went running to another room sitting on the bed there. the alcohol didn’t help to cover his hard dick, it was aching, it needed to be liberated from that clothed prison. letting himself get carried away by the pleasure he pulls up his white shirt, biting the hem so it doesn’t get stained when he cums. he tugs his pants down along with his briefs and starts to stroke it, spitting some saliva on his hand to coat his dick with it. he throws his head back, grunting and whimpering in pleasure when suddenly his strokes stopped, but it wasn’t for him, he felt someone else’s hand so he quickly tries to get away from whoever is doing ir, when he looks up a man with a ghostface costume was there, continuing the handjob. “let go please” yn’s body squirmed, the other guy was stroking him but with more pressure. “pleassee” he slurred, his thighs pressing together to try and hide his dick. his dick was getting dry because the anon guy wiped the precum off of his tip with his thumb, yn sees how the man lifts up his mask a bit and a thread of spit falls on top of his tip, he uses it to lubed it and strokes it faster and harder. “hngh wait. slo-slowly. ahhh” a deep voice then suddenly speaks, “okay” and he stops.

next thing yn knew is that his bottom half was completely naked, his dick, balls and ass in full display for the other pervert to see, “you told me to stop but your body is betraying you” his dick and hole throbbing for the thrill, the unexpected pleasure an anonymous guy was giving him, “that’s not-” yn was cut out when the masked man introduced his index finger on his hole. the ring of muscles gripping on it, yn’s hips moved on his own signaling he was close to his climax but ghostface stopped pulling his finger away of the hungry hole, “you will only cum when i say so” he pulls out a knife and scrape the cold metal against yn’s tigh catching him off guard. “what the f-” he was about to scream but then man acted fast enough to cover his mouth, “scream and i’ll gut you while you’re conscious” the sharp blade sliding gently in between his thigh, a fine line of blood coming out of it. he lifts his mask once again showing his creepy yet perfect smile, his wet tongue licking the blood out of the recently made wound, “amuse me tonight and maybe i won’t kill you tonight. think about it you could be the savior of these stupid people, no murders tonight and maybe tomorrow all you have to do is be my slut” the creepy yet sexy smirk on his face would haunt yn from now on. the hand on yn’s mouth slowly undiscovered it and he started to put his fingers inside yn’s mouth and then same on his hole again with the other half, “look at you accepting to be a murderer’s sex toy. you don’t have an ounce of self-respect, do you?”, yn started to cry thinking how low he’s gone now but those thoughts were suddenly replaced by ones with pleasure when four digits entered his ass with the middle one brushing his prostate every time it goes in, “fuck you” yn muttered, with the other’s thumb still inside his mouth, that is now covered in spit. yn’s hole was already so stretched that ghostface’s four fingers entered so easily so he decided to try something thicker. something cold entered inside yn, he lifts himself up to see what was it, he was shocked after realize the murderer was fucking him with the knife handle, “you’re fucking crazy, pull that out of me” with a swift motion yn moved backwards managing to pull it out, “what a pussy” the masked man purred, he stands up grabbing yn by the hips and pulling him closer, “you’re getting on my fucking nerves” that fucking sexy deep voice spoke, he lifts his black cape showing he was only wearing a pair of jeans under it, his torso completely naked showing yn how ripped he was. “fucking looser” he unzips his pants and pulls out his shaft, covering it in his spit and ramming himself inside yn with no mercy, the latter crying out loud feeling his prostate being abused by the other’s veiny fat cock.

his shaft stretched his walls to the max, yn would swear he would not be able to walk after this at least for a week, this provokes that yn mutter curses towards the masked murderer that went unnoticed by the top, whose growls and moans didn’t let him catch clearly what the other was saying, he just chased his own pleasure now.

ghostface grabbed yn by the neck and made him turn around fucking him doggy style, with his hands around the other’s neck to squeeze occasionally, he loves how yn’s grips so hard onto his dick when the oxygen starts to lack on his brain, truly a psycho. grabbing him by his neck, ghostface pulls yn closer towards him, his back against his toned muscles and heaving chest. he starts to explore under yn’s shirt, playing with his nipples, pinching them “nice tits manwhore” ghostface praises and immediately rips his shirt apart leaving him now completely naked, the cold air making yn’s skin crawl, “bet you like being used like this, just a human fleshlight for everyone to dump their spunk on you”. “noo” yn refuted, “i’m not like that”. ghostface keeps plowing yn continuously, his hole already sore and agape with droplets of cum coming out of it, yn has already lost count how many times ghostface has came inside him but that pleasure was always denied to him with the other stopping the fucking or straight up threatening him with the knife. “guess that’s enough for today” he says as the last drop of cum is spurted inside yn. he then turns yn around to see how fucked up he was and glorify himself for it, then he notices the red aching cock begging for release so in what could seem his first act of pity he lifts his mask once again and suck him off, his sexy lips going up and down while his tongue is swirling around the tip and underside of yn’s shaft. ‘shit! he’s skilled in sucking dick’ yn thought, cumming not long after a few more sloppy sucks, flooding ghostface’s throat with thick spunk. yn was tired after all that fucking session but right before falling asleep he catches a glimpse of ghostface swallowing his cum and smirking at him, “sleep well tonight bitch boy, after all you should be proud of how you avoided more murders tonight by just being a cumrag”. he puts his shaft back again in his pants, covered his naked torso with the black cape and pulls down his mask, leaving the room.

“you fucked with the murderer” wooyoung yelled, “shut the fuck up woo, my head hurts” yn said hiding his face from the morning sun, “he even threatened me with a knife, and made a superficial cut on my thigh”, “that’s creepy bro, but i’m grateful you’re okay now” woo took a sip of his iced coffee. “yeah i’m okay, but my ass hurts like hell man”. as they left the restaurant, near the exit was a man reading a newspaper that says “no victims last night, is ghostface taking a break?”

[captainmera]

In the modern au, what would Caleb's reaction be if Philip's father reached out to him about Philip?

He does make contact!

Caleb is polite, if anything. But mostly overly compliant.

Philip's father didn't know he had a son. And very much want him. He's not a bad person, but both he and Caleb have been given different stories about the other. (they're being manipulated by Anthony Hopkins)

Pip's father has been told that Caleb isn't a great person, but comes across as pleasant and very polite. Meanwhile, Caleb had it pointed out to him that he's in a bad seat, legally.

He's just lost his job at the Roasted Robin's, he's mentally and emotionally unwell - and untreated! Their lives are their version of normal. But Caleb is growing increasingly aware of how not-normal it is.

Legally, Philip's dad has the rights to him. He gets the final say if Caleb is somebody who should be part of Philip's life or not. Caleb knows his record looks bad. But doesn't know Hopkins has set him up to failure.

Hopkins is pretending to help Caleb, in actuality he's just pushing Caleb's circumstances closer to an edge where Caleb will feel there's no better solution than suicide. Which would, in Hopkins world, leave nobody with the knowledge of the royalties.

He's trying to manipulate Caleb the way his mother was manipulated. She gave the church access to her money so she wouldn't spend it all. He's trying to do the same to Caleb, but gaslighting him into believing he's too broken to manage this himself, and needs Hopkins' guidance. Caleb does, after all, not know his way around legal things. And has no reason to disbelieve Hopkins.

Philip, in the case of Caleb dying, would be taken to his father. Leaving the Wittebane home vacant. And Hopkins could get access to any papers that'd be there, where he can sign over rights to himself. Why give it to the church??

Philip, in the meantime, isn't clued in on what's going on.

Caleb and the father discuss how to go forward, what's best for Philip. And Caleb is saying all the right things, which makes the father uncomfortable, because he's been told that Caleb is a good manipulator and mentally/emotionally abusive. So hearing him say very loving and thoughtful suggestions on how to move forward, puts him on edge.

Hopkins is, of course, banking on that the father is an idiot and will blindly trust him. But he keeps his cards close to himself. He lets Caleb's actions speak for him, and is wondering why Hopkins said Caleb was a bad person - sure, rough around the edges, but his heart is full of warmth, especially for his little brother.

Caleb's suggestion is that they move slowly. First, let him tell Philip he *has* a father that didn't know he existed, and now that he knows, wants to be part of his life.

Caleb is acutely aware that, in the end, he has no rights to Pip.

If his father wants it, social workers will get involved and they'll dig up everything that's wrong. If it gets to court, it'll traumatise Philip (mostly Caleb though) and in Caleb's world - he'll definitely lose Philip forever.

So, he's agreeing. And being friendly. And suggests that Philip and his dad hang out, maybe go on father-son dates, maybe start sleeping over on the weekends.. Y'know. Ease him into it.

Philip doesn't like this.

not. one. bit.

To him, it looks like Caleb doesn't want him anymore.

"Why don't you fight for me then?! If you want me, then take it to court!" "With what money?! Look at me, Philip! No authority would let me keep you, and honestly? Maybe they're right! Maybe I shouldn't!" "Caleb-" "No, Philip! Enough..! You know I love you, but maybe I'm.. not good for you? You know? He's not a bad man, for crying out loud, he's a dork! He has a what's cookin' good'lookin apron! I don't have that! I have... Powder-mix flapjacks!" "But I like that, it's home to me.." "Then.. I'll pack some down for you. And it'll help you make a home there too." "...." "..Pip, I don't stop being your home, just because you get a second one." "I don't need a dad. I never needed one, not a mum either. I just needed you, you've always been good enough." "you only think that because you don't know what- Philip, come back. We aren't done talking- okay."

That sorta thing! :D

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

safe house pt 2 (previous part)

summary: read previous part, this is a direct continuation.

content warnings: domestic violence

You wake up in your best friends bed, last night still fresh in your mind. It plagued your dreams, waking you up out of your sleep multiple times, heart racing in a panic until you realised you were nowhere near your boyfriend, you were safe. For now.

Nightmares were a regular occurrence for you, especially after his outbursts. You would dream of him choking you and you’d wake up gasping for air and he’d be sleeping soundly as if nothing was wrong.

You spent a lot of nights staring up at the ceiling not daring to even breathe too loud incase you woke him and you would wonder if this is what your life was destined to be like forever. Would you always live in fear? It felt like it. It felt like there was no way out and he had told you as much.

“You’ll never leave.”

“You couldn’t survive without me.”

“You need me.”

“Without me, you’re nothing.”

“You’re mine. I own you.”

“The day you leave me will be your last.”

He’d spoken these words for so long you believed them. You believed you needed him. You believed you couldn’t survive without him. You believed he owned you. And you especially believed that the day you left him would be your last. He had a short fuse, he was violent and unpredictable and one too many times you thought you wouldn’t survive his beatings.

You’ve been victim to multiple black eyes and busted lips over the most insignificant things. One time it was because you had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day. Another time it was because his team had lost a match. Bruises covered your body constantly and in the worst instance, you had suffered a broken nose. That time, you didn’t leave the apartment for weeks just to avoid the barrage of questions that you wouldn’t be able to answer truthfully.

Allie was no longer laid beside you like she was last night when you fell asleep, you wasn’t sure how long she’d been up, she must have been very careful not to wake you and you were grateful for the extra sleep.

You slip out of bed and catch your reflection in the mirror and you audibly gasp, “Shit.”

The bruising around your eye had developed overnight, it was a deep shade of red and extremely swollen. You traced your fingers over it gently and winced at the pain it caused. The split on your lip had dried over and a scab had begun to form, it hurt to open your mouth and you knew it would sting like a bitch when it came to eating and drinking. The hand marks around your neck had deepened too, they were more prominent today and you swallowed hard, remembering the feeling of the air be squeezed out of you. Your ribs hurt with every intake of breath and after lifting your shirt, you could see why. Your torso was littered with bruises and scuffs caused by your boyfriends foot.

You knew deep down leaving the apartment last night was the right thing to do, for your own safety but you also knew it will have made your situation today worse. You had to go back, there was nowhere else to go. It was your home, all of your things were there but you knew he’d be waiting, as soon as you stepped foot back inside and he wouldn’t be happy.

You could hear Allie and her roommates in the living room, they were talking in hushed voices but you could still make out your name when it was spoken.

You pressed your ear up against the door in an attempt to listen.

“I’ve known Y/N a long time. She won’t leave him. You think I haven’t tried before?” That was Allie.

“Obviously not hard enough, Allie. She’s being beaten black and blue.” That was Paige and her voice was raised several octaves higher, she sounded angry and you flinched at her tone.

“OK, calm down. Let’s just speak to her and see what she wants to do.” Jana tried to reason with the girls.

“No. Seeing what she wants to do isn’t an option. She’s brainwashed by him, not to mention scared out of her mind. Of course she’s not going to want to leave him but I’m not letting this go on for any longer. I told her last night was the last time he’d hurt her and I meant it.” Paige says quieter this time but she still sounded angry.

Last night was the first time Paige had seen you after one of your boyfriends outbursts and you hadn’t expected it to evoke this kind of reaction. Most people didn’t know what to say, they’d just ignore it. It was like the elephant in the room.

You’re crying now as you listen to the girls talk about you, you felt bad that you had dragged them into your mess.

“She can’t stay there anymore.” That was Paige again.

“That’s her apartment, she has nowhere else to go.” That was Allie.

“She’ll stay here until we figure it out.” Paige, again.

You appreciated what Paige was saying but ultimately, Allie was right. You weren’t going to leave your boyfriend, you couldn’t.

You dried you tears quickly and readied yourself to face the girls. Your hand shook as you opened Allies door and you took a deep breath as you stepped out. Everyones eyes immediately fell on you and you felt like a deer in headlights. Allie looked at you sympathetically while Jana, who hadn’t seen you last night, looked shocked at your injuries and Paige had a deep frown set on her face and it looked like she was about to cry.

“Thank you for letting me stay but I should be getting home.” You tried your best not let your voice falter but it came out in a shaky croak you cursed yourself for sounding so weak.

Paige looked at Allie, silently saying stop her but Allie just raised her brows in response as if to say what can I do?

“I don’t think you should go home.” Paige brakes the silence and stands from the couch.

“I have to.” You murmur.

“You don’t.” Allies also standing now.

“I do, you don’t get it. None of you get it.” You snap and run your fingers through your hair in frustration.

“No, we don’t, but we can’t let you go back there. You’re not safe.” Paige responds, walking over to where you’re stood and she reaches out to touch you or hug you, you’re not sure but you jump back at her advance.

“I’m sorry.” She mutters, letting her hand fall back down to her side.

You shake your head, “I have to go.”

“Y/N, please don’t.” Paige pleads and the tears that have been threatening to fall finally do and you’re sobbing in your friend’s living room, not knowing what to do.

Allie calms you down and her and Paige continue to beg you not to return to your apartment. They say you can stay with them for as long as you like and you allow yourself to dreams of days not poisoned by your abuser.

“All my stuff is there.” You whisper after a while. If you were really going to do this, if you were really going to leave him, it wouldn’t be easy.

You wasn’t sure what scared you more, going back and being at his mercy or trying to leave and him doing everything in his power to not allow you.

“We can help you do that. Ayanna and KK are coming over, we can go and get your stuff.” Paige tells you and you shake your head, “I’m coming with you.” You say, your boyfriend was unpredictable on a good day, you were not about to put Paige or Ayanna or KK in his firing line.

Ayanna and KK arrived shortly after and you sat awkwardly as Paige explained the situation, you felt like a victim, weak and frail and you hated that but the girls met you with nothing but love and support and you thanked them continuously as you drove to your apartment. You were really about to do this.

“I should go in first.” You say as the four of you stood outside of your front door. Music blasted from the other side so you knew your boyfriend was home.

“We’re coming in.” Ayanna states and your hand shakes as you push the key in the lock and turn it, opening the door.

“Just pack your stuff and we’ll get you out of here.” Paige whispers into your ear, she’s behind you and her hand comes to the small of your back and you flinch at the unexpected touch, you keep doing that but you can’t help it, you’re so used to violent hands, it’s all you expect now.

The apartment was not how you left it, in the few hours you’d been gone, it had been trashed. Dirty laundry was thrown onto the floor, dinner plates from last night had been smashed, pizza boxes lay discarded on the table, beer bottles too. This was expected, but what hurt the most was seeing your personal items destroyed, a frame that held a picture of you and your sister had been shattered, shards of glass everywhere, multiple items of your clothing looked as though Edward Scissorhands himself had got at them and your favourite books had the pages ripped out of them and thrown across the room.

You look back at the girls with tears in your eyes, trying to gauge their reactions and their faces say it all, “He’s a freak.” KK mutters picking up your cut up clothes.

You take cautionary steps to your bedroom knowing he’s in there.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He spits, he was laid on the bed but quickly got up when he saw you.

“I stayed at a friends.” You gulp as he steps closer to you, so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“What friend?” He pushes, his hand coming up to grip your jaw, “And don’t lie.” He snarled bringing his face directly up to yours.

“A-Allie.” You stutter out and try to wriggle away from him but that only makes his grip tighten before he shoves you away from him making you stumble back into the living room. Paige is by your side in a heartbeat and you watch your boyfriends face contort into a scowl and his eye twitches in anger, “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m helping Y/N get her stuff. You’re not hurting her anymore.” Paige asserts, moving herself to stand in front of you. You’re completely shielded by her tall, muscular frame and you were so used to seeing your boyfriend as big and intimidating in comparison to you but Paige made him seem nothing short of ordinary. At 6’0, she stood at the same height as him and her biceps bulged in her tight t-shirt making his look like nothing special.

He laughed a deep sinister laugh but you knew he found nothing funny and his eyes grew dark as he stepped towards Paige but she didn’t move one bit, she stood her ground, “Get your stuff, Y/N.” She says turning to you but you’re frozen in place, scared to move.

Your boyfriend notices KK and Ayanna and he scoffs, “What are these, your fucking bodyguards?”

You don’t reply so he lunges at you but not before Paige can pull you behind her again, “Back up bro.” She hissed holding her hands out to keep him away.

“Get your stuff.” Paige says again turning to you and pointing to your room and this time you move with conviction. You weren’t alone now, you were getting out of here.

KK helped you stuff what was left of your clothes into a suitcase. You collected your belongings from around the room, your stuffed animal, makeup, books, your laptop, packing them all into various bags. Your movements were rushed and frantic and your attention was on the repeated smashing and crashing sounds coming from the living room and kitchen.

“That’s everything.” You say to KK, zipping up your case and she nods, picking up multiple bags in each hand while you wheeled the suitcase behind her.

In the living room, every surface had been wiped clear of whatever stood there before, a vase was shattered on the floor, the coffee table had been flipped and a lamp laid in pieces on the rug.

Your boyfriend was fuming and he couldn’t get to you so he was destroying anything and everything he could get his hands on. You thank God that he hadn’t touched Paige or Ayanna, they just stood watching him have a complete meltdown.

“Ready?” Paige asks seeing you with all your possessions packed and you nod, not able to string together even a simple sentence. Your hands were clammy and your heart was beating so fast you could hear it. You never thought this day would come.

“You’ve lost your mind if you think you’re going anywhere.” Your boyfriend booms at you.

You walked to the door with hurried steps and he reaches out to grab you but you dodge his grasp, something you’ve been afraid to do for so long but you’re not afraid anymore, you’re determined. Determined to leave, determined to survive this relationship that’s been nothing short of hell on earth.

“Y/N if you leave, you’ll regret it. I’ll make you regret it!” He threatened, picking up a beer bottle and hurling it in your direction. You feel it brush past your ear before it smashes on the ground in front of you and you yelp at the sound as tiny shards of glass crunch under your steps.

“Get her out of here.” Paige instructs her friends, opening the front door ushering you all out but you stop on the threshold, “Come on, Paige.” You urged, not wanting to leave her alone in the apartment.

“Give me a minute.” Her words are softer and calmer when they’re directed at you. You don’t want to leave her but KK and Ayanna don’t give you much choice as they guide you away from the apartment that was filled with some of the worst memories you have.

You stay in the hall, the door to the apartment still open and you hear everything Paige says.

“Y/N is never coming back here. You’re never going to put your hands on her again. You’ve hurt her for long enough and it stops now. You won’t make her regret anything and if I hear that you go anywhere near her, you’ll regret it. Do you hear?” Her voice is strong and dominant and you hold your breath waiting for his response but there is none. “Do you fucking hear?” He must nod because Paige mumbled a good before joining you in the hall, closing the door behind her and you let out the breath you had been holding in.

Paige has the picture of your sister and you in her hands and she passes it to you with a small smile, “Thought you might want this.” She says and you thank her holding the picture close to your chest, such a small action meant more than she’ll ever know.

“It’s done, Y/N. You’re out of there and you never have to go back.” Paige says closing the trunk of her car after filling it with your bags.

KK and Ayanna are already sat inside, “Thank you.” you whisper looking up to Paige, her big blue eyes sharing down at you, “Can I touch you?” She asks tentatively and you nod. You want to say please but stop yourself.

And for the first time, you don’t flinch or recoil at Paiges touch, as her arms wrap around you protectively, you melt into her and just allow yourself to be held.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: sorry this took so long, ive been so busy but thank you for all the requests for a part 2! i hope this does it justice 💋🫂

[alwaysthefool]

Orbiter of Bad Days (x Rafayel)

Synopsis: Rafayel accidentally puts you on the spot by asking you his views on his art

Warnings: OOC MC in the sense they’re a bit mean here, feelings of embarrassment, you had a bad day

Tags: angst, comfort, GN Reader, MC/Reader x Rafayel

It hadn’t been a good day. You had been yelled at by a random person complaining to the Hunter’s Association about a different hunter causing damage to surrounding properties while doing his duties. The government would compensate for it anyway, so why did you have to listen to that? After that, you tripped on the pavement, and were scolded by a passerby, who wasn’t even affected, for carelessness. To make matters worse, you had to attend Rafayel’s art exhibit in the evening as his bodyguard. You wanted to bail, but Thomas got to you first with a text.

“We need you here, there’s already many vicious reporters not on the guest list.”

That was just your luck. You quickly changed to a suit, befitting a bodyguard, instead of dressing fancy like you usually would when you went to these places with Rafayel. After all, you were employed by him, right?

You took a bus to the event this time, worrying that driving would end up in you getting yelled at by someone again, and surprisingly nothing went wrong on your way to the gallery, making you think perhaps your bad luck streak had ended.

You quickly met Thomas, who too frowned at your attire, but then shrugged. “Just… make sure they don’t reach him, okay?” He said, referring to the infamous reporters known to trick people into saying incriminating things. You wanted to ask if you could just kick them out, but they’d probably make a big deal about that too.

You couldn’t really see Rafayel anywhere, and you forgot to charge your phone so you couldn’t text him. I guess he’s getting ready for the event.

You sighed, seeing the hall fill up as Rafayel’s paintings were displayed in beautiful 3D layers by a projector on the stage. The reporters were impressed, capturing the scenes, and the famous guests that attended.

“But he’s a little late, isn’t he?” One of them spoke a little too loudly, making heads turn.

“He’ll be here any minute.” You replied, not even sure if that was true.

And that was when you became the target of the night for those two, a camera and mic shoved into your exhausted face.

“You’re his bodyguard, aren’t you?” The reporter’s smile was venomously sweet, but not exactly fake. He was happy to have caught such a prey.

“I… yeah.” You tried, and failed, to sound confident. I’m sorry, Rafayel. You thought, knowing you’d fall in whatever trap they set for you. Whatever though, you had been the villain for many people today, what was wrong with one more?

“So, what do you think about his art?”

“I don’t think my opinion matters here.”

“Actually, it does.” A familiar voice spoke. There he was, in a blue suit, walking towards you, turning all heads towards you.

You didn’t know what to say. The hall was filled with art graduates, people from foreign countries, geniuses, and him. How could you say anything that mattered more than what they were thinking?

“I think it’s aesthetically pleasing.” You murmured. People in the crowd hummed in agreement, and you wished Rafayel would just leave it at that.

“Is that all?” He inquired. You looked up at him, his eyes piercing your face.

Rafayel, I feel embarrassed. Please just shut the fuck up.

Maybe he sensed that, how could he not? He was excellent at knowing what you felt, but he didn’t say anything, as if he really wanted to hear what you had to say.

Fine, then.

“I also think… it’s ridiculous.” You weren’t really talking about the paintings. “You critique the ignorance of elites in society, but it’s funny because you’re being cruel right now.”

Rafayel’s face turned into one of concern immediately, and he tried to speak, but you continued. “Did you get tomorrow’s headlines, guys? Did you have fun, Raf?”

You wanted to take everything you said to him immediately. You were lashing out at the wrong man. Before anyone could see the tears that filled your eyes, you murmured an apology and ran backstage. This was probably the worst day of- well, just the month, and it was only the 3rd. You found a stair to sit on, behind the projector room, and cried with your knees folded. You were embarrassed. You made a fool out of yourself in front of everyone. You ruined Rafayel’s day. You-

“There you are.” You didn’t know when he came to sit beside you, but he was kind in a way you felt you didn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke in a cracked voice, holding your knees closer to yourself.

“What do you have to apologise for?” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him try to reach out for you, but then keep his hand to himself. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation.”

“Yeah, no, you shouldn’t have.” You admitted, looking up at him with a tear stained face. “But it still didn’t make it okay for me to be rude about your art.”

You wiped your face with your sleeve, turning towards him. He had a neutral expression but there was a much deeper sadness in his eyes. He once told you that eyes don’t lie, and as long as your eyes are visible, you’d always be able to catch someone in one.

He was hurt, deeply.

“I didn’t mean it, you know. I was… I just don’t know why you’d ask me that in front of people you know would make fun of how uneducated I am.”

“No, you’re not-“ Rafayel wasn’t sure what to say. “Does it matter what they think? I think your opinion is the most important, and in this entire gallery, you’re the only one who matters to me.”

“Bet you say that to everyone you’ve been with.” You teased, and he hoped you didn’t see his red ears. He was grateful you weren’t taking him seriously, because would his words even make sense to you, who remembered nothing? But yes, he did only say that to everyone he’d been with, which was you, you, and always you.

“What other people think matters to me.” Your tone was soft, with hints of bitterness. “You wouldn’t understand, because you’re different. You think differently than I do. I… live on earth, and you live someplace I can’t reach. I see glimpses of it when we’re alone, I feel it through your art, but when I’m around people, I feel their words, their judgment, their voices, and I’m back on the ground. I start feeling small, and sometimes, I become someone you wouldn’t like.”

“Hey.” He pulled you closer, resting his head in your shoulder. “There isn’t one version of you I wouldn’t like. I like it when you get angry, and I like your ugly side. I like it when you lash out because you had a bad day, and I like all your little thoughts.”

“I like you too.” You rested your own head on his.

He smiled, his heart going several miles in a minute. He held your hand in his, tracing the shape of a fish with a heart tail. “Are we in my world right now?” He asked, not caring about the event.

“Yeah. And there’s no place I’d rather be.”

-x-

[interstellar-productions]

Thinking so many thoughts honestly, about Aaron currently (spiritually not situationally I relate to him, it’s complicated). Aaron so specifically speaks to me because of how (at least with the crumbs we’re fed by canon) he internalizes and deals with his trauma. He WANTS to be normal. In fact he tries so hard to be normal (as society interprets normality) that he actively distances himself and represses any part of him that may lead people to viewing him as anything other then normal.

In my mind this was probably done intentionally, it creates a contrast between him and Andrew (and is probably why Neil is able to tell the twins apart pretty much from the get go). Andrew doesn’t speak about his trauma but he also doesn’t necessarily minimize it. Andrew makes himself big, body language wise he’s very loud. “Look at me, at what they did to me. Look at who I became”. Andrew is a warning sign, he lets his bleeding wounds show and mixes them with ragged bone and snarling teeth. Andrew is telling people without telling people what will happen if someone crosses him.

In contrast Aaron hides, his pain and his scares. Aaron turns everything inwards, shoving it all into closets and under beds. If he blends in then maybe no one will notice him enough to pick him out. Hiding in plane sight. Aaron works so hard to be normal and is canonically known as the least interesting and most normal fox, despite having a murder charge and being a recovered addict. He is the normal fox. People overlook him, glance right over him, his teammates, peers, everyone. Perfect grades, good at his sports, girl next door girlfriend. Aaron is so painfully NORMAL.

It speaks so deeply because it’s so obvious to me that its a coping mechanism and not actually because that’s how he really is. If he was just painfully normal we wouldn’t get some of his more violent or assholeish out burst and he probably wouldn’t have that grudge against Bee. His grudge against Bee is actually what sparked this whole thing for me. He hates Bee, he says that he’s never actually spoken a word to her and even when he starts sessions with Andrew he’s really just speaking to Andrew while Bee is in the room rather then directly speaking to Bee. My little psych major mind (mixed with my personal feelings but HUSH) is just screaming that this whole “I’m normal look right through me please I’m normal”. It’s how he COPES. This guy grew up at least a little bit inside a church (because Luther) and had to hide both bruises and addiction and whatever else was going on inside that house. Statistically speaking there’s two major ways you internalize trauma like that. And I love Aaron and Andrew because their those two ways basically. Aaron is trying so hard to be so Normal that he becomes basically invisible. Blending into the background.

He probably has everyone convinced that he’s got it all in the bag, all his shit? It’s in a sock, don’t even worry about it. He’s got the grades, the girlfriend and he plays a sport. Bro is literally sitting pretty to be so uninteresting that he gets nothing but a cursory glance, and it’s totally part of his scheme. No one’s going to think to ask questions he doesn’t want them too. Not about his past and not about what’s going on in his life. “Oh that’s Aaron yeah I’ve got advanced chem with him, yeah good guy. I think he plays exy.” Aaron doesn’t want people to ask questions, because he knows he’s towing the line. Does he have it all together? Or is he desperately trying to keep all his shit in the boxes he’s stuffed it in? Who knows. Aaron probably doesn’t even know.

Aaron gives me “fake it til you make it” vibes that it actually hurts my soul. This man wants to be normal so bad that he’s doing everything he can to not have to address what’s actually wrong, because acknowledging something’s wrong means acknowledging that he is in fact NOT normal. And he wants to be normal because being normal is how you survive. (How he got Tilda to not beat him for dragging the wrong sort of attention to her)

My psych major mind is absolutely consumed by AFTG because to me they represent all the different ways that trauma can manifest in people. Basically all of the foxes (even and Renee Wymack) are the violent kind. Their teeth and warning signs, don’t get too close, don’t step on my toes. But they all show it so differently. Renee for example is the healed sort of violent, she’s faced the majority of her demons and won, she knows she’ll be able to handle you if you step out of line (see her ruining the nest). Nicky is the loud kind. He’s not the break bone sort of violent but he is the make you uncomfortable kind. So much of Nicky’s early character (Foxhole court) is him giving off borderline predatory vibes. His jokes, his mannerisms, the whole Edens trip. It’s his version of violent. He makes you uncomfortable so he knows whose safe and who isn’t.

Then you have aaron and his whole character is a ticking time bomb. Aaron isn’t normal because he’s healed, he’s normal because its the only way he knows to survive. That’s why he doesn’t like Bee. Bee is a psychologist, her whole job is to know their problems and fix them and the fact he even has to go sit in a room with her is a threat to his overall performance of normality. Because normal people don’t NEED therapy.

Screams into the void, I’m so normal about him.

Also all of this is just my personal little ramblings about a purely fictional character that reminds me of myself as it relates to the topic of interest I’m currently studying. If you don’t agree with me that’s totally fine, if you have different preconceptions about him thats totally ok too. This is just my little brain rot corner of the internet and I’m just trying to have fun.

To the 3 people that wanted to see my deranged psych rambles i hope this reaches you, this is all for you!

[austinbutlerslovers]

Playing Dirty

Label Mature 18+ Summary Ruining a night out getting way too drunk Hank bangs on your door an hour later begging for forgiveness. But this time you won't give in to his puppy dog eyes and sweet talk, this time you'll teach him a lesson he'll never forget.

⚠️Depraved Smut⚠️ Dirty talk• P in V • squirting• Hank wasted•Fem Dom• slight degradation• Hank begging •Hank apologizing •Hank as a submissive- whimpering- pleading•eager to please • kiss it better •make it right• Hank being used for sexual gratification • oral on female• cowgirl while hank is tied up 🔗 Master List

Inspo- Hank being drunk in a clip for the movie ruining the night and all the imagines of Hank being a eager to please desperate submissive 🥵

Dedicated To:🏆@butdaddyilovehim99 @aust-een @umika @austinbutlerfly @feralgodmothers

Playing Dirty

It’s been days since you’ve heard from Hank, and as the evening settles in, you find yourself glancing at your phone, thinking about him. You miss him—more than you’d like to admit—and you try to push the feeling aside as you focus on tidying up.

You clean your apartment, putting away the dishes, picking up the living room, changing the linens. With everything in order, you stand back, taking in the quiet stillness of the place.

You decide to take a relaxing shower and just as you head to the bedroom your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

You rush back into the living room, relieved to see Hank’s name lighting up the screen. Without hesitation, you pick up.

“Hello?” you answer, breathless from the sudden dash.

His deep, familiar voice comes through with a hint of warmth in his tone. “It rang this time,” he teases.

“Hank, where have you been?” you ask, unable to mask the desperation in your voice.

He hesitates, a slight pause before he finally speaks. “Can I come to your place?” he asks, and there’s an urgency in his tone that catches you off guard making concern flicker in your chest.

“Of course is every thing alright,” you ask feeling worried.

“Yeah I just… need to see you,” he slowly admits and the vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard.

“I’m sending you my address right now” you respond as you finish texting it to him.

“I’ll be there soon” he says and you both say your goodbyes ending the call.

You stand there after you hang up, the phone still clutched in your hand and your heart is tethered between excitement and uncertainty.

Part of you is overjoyed at the thought of seeing Hank again, but then there’s the other part, the unsettling ache that he can disappear for days without a word, like you’re just one small part of his life—a life you can’t quite understand.

Your mind goes over every possible scenario, wondering what could be wrong, why he keeps you at arm’s length only to reel you back in with an unmistakable intensity.

His touch, his presence, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only one in his world—it’s all become a pull you can’t break free from, completely unsure of where it will lead.

Though you try to deny it, you’ve fallen for him—fallen in a way that feels reckless and all-consuming.

Even though you know he’s complicated, you can feel yourself surrendering, unable to resist your need for him, even if you wanted to.

An hour passes by until you finally hear his gentle knock on your door and all the emotions you’ve been holding back flood forward, impossible to contain.

You open the door, and there he stands, Hank’s tall frame silhouetted in the doorway , his sandy blonde hair tucked behind his ears, and those intense blue eyes meeting yours with a look of complete desire.

Without even thinking, your arms are wrapping around him, your body pressing into his. You breathe in his familiar scent, and in that instant, all the walls of uncertainty come crashing down.

His arms come around you, holding you close, and it feels like finding something you’d been missing even though you tried to pretend you were fine without it.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, biting back the questions threatening to spill out, and instead, you search his eyes. As he looks at you, his expression softens, a small smile forming on his lips, and you can’t help but smile back, feeling the tension between you dissolve.

He leans down, his forehead resting gently against yours, his touch tender and unexpectedly vulnerable. “I missed you so much,” he whispers, his voice low, almost fragile. and all of your lingering thoughts vanish into thin air.

He leans in and kisses you, his lips soft and hesitant at first, but then he kisses you deeper, and you feel all your emotions ignite for him as you surrender to the undeniable pull between you both.

His hands slide down your back, bringing you closer, and as your arms wrap around his neck your fingers graze the familiar curls at the ends of his hair.

Still lip-locked, he guides you in pushing the door shut behind him, one hand reaching back to lock it with a quiet click.

His hand quickly returns to you, and he pulls your top over your head in one smooth motion before tugging off his own shirt, the warmth of his skin meeting yours.

He guides you to the living room couch, his hands firm and steady as he unzips his pants, his gaze dropping as he retrieves a condom from his pocket, letting his pants fall to the floor as he kicks his shoes aside.

He focuses on tearing the condom open and sliding it on his cock as you kiss along his jaw, trailing down to his neck.

His hands return to you with confidence hooking fingers into the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down, his gaze dark and focused.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you,” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper as he unclasps your bra.

The raw honesty in his tone sends a thrill down your spine, and as he trails kisses along your collarbone your fingers slide into his hair feeling the soft strands. His movements are slow and unhurried, filled with reverence as he begins to pull your panties down your hips.

He leans in, his lips brushing over yours in a silent plea. “I know I’ve kept you waiting,” he whispers, his breath warm against his lips. “There are things I’m dealing with… things I can’t share yet. But I’m here now, and I need you to know—-I never stop thinking about you.”

You feel a surge of emotion as you look into his eyes seeing his sincerity and his mouth finds yours again in another slow, consuming that erases every lingering question, every doubt.

His hands slide down your body as his tongue brushes against yours, his kiss growing so intense it makes it impossible to think about anything else.

His infatuation is undeniable, his mouth moving against yours with a heated determination savoring every touch of your lips, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

A flicker of concern pulls you from the haze as you lean back slightly, searching his face seeing a shadow of something darker in his eyes

“Hank tell me what’s wrong” You ask breathlessly, your voice filled vulnerability.

He lowers his lips to your shoulder, tracing a delicate path of kisses “ Later ,” he whispers against your skin his voice heavy with longing

“Right now,” he whispers, as he lowers you onto the couch, “I want to give you everything you’ve been waiting for.” He says with a quiet intimacy, pressing his body firmly against yours, grounding you beneath his weight.

His mouth finds yours again, his tongue moving against yours in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. Each stroke is deliberate and unhurried, drawing a soft, helpless moan from your lips that’s muffled against his mouth.

His tip nudges against your slick entrance, and you softly gasp feeling the firmness of it.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, his voice low and breathless as he kisses along your neck gliding his tip along your wetness, as soft moans escape your lips.

“Please,” you whisper, voice heavy with desire.

“So eager,” he teases, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he lean in whispering into your ear. “beg for me” he breathes.

“Hank… please,” you beg instantly, barely able to contain your arousal as you arch your hips up, aching to feel him deep inside you. But he doesn’t give in, he holds you there, savoring the way you respond to him, every pleasing sound, writhe of your hips driving him to the edge.

“Let me hear how much you want it” he says as he slowly pushes in an inch before stopping.

Your loud moan fills the room, fueling his desire, as his hips tilt, pressing the tip just a little deeper before he pulls back, leaving you gasping with desperation.

“That bad, huh?” he whispers, his voice low with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His mouth slowly trails kisses up your neck until his voice is a low, teasing whisper in your ear. “You can take it all at once, can’t you?…”

Before you can respond, he thrusts into you with one powerful motion, filling you to the hilt. A moan tumbles from your lips, your back arching as he hits that perfect depth, sending a wave of pleasure through you.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his tone both commanding and reverent as he begins a steady rhythm, each thrust deep and controlled. “I want to feel every bit of you… squeezing me, just like this.”

You moan, hands clutching his shoulders, feeling the fullness of his cock with every slow, torturous thrust. Your moan trails off into soft cries as his hips press even deeper, drawing every sensation out.

“Is this what you’ve been waiting for?” he breathes his voice rough and thick, his hands digging into your hips, guiding you to meet each thrust.

Your dumbstruck, lost entirely in the intensity of the moment enduring every pleasurable sensation he creates in you.

He leans in close, his mouth hovering over yours, his breath warm as he waits for you to kiss him, holding back just long enough to make you crave it.

His lips brush over yours, soft at first, barely there, teasing you as your fingers tighten on his shoulders, urging him to kiss you. But he just grins, a slow, seductive smile that sends a thrill through you.

“You want more?” he teases, his lips barely an inch from yours, his eyes dancing with a playful, knowing gleam as you nod for him.

In one smooth, forceful motion, he pushes deeper, his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. His hips snap between your legs, each movement precise and intense, as uncontrollable moans escape your lips

The sound of your pleasure only drives him further, a spark igniting in his eyes as he presses his chest firmly against yours.

His hands tilt your hips as he thrusts himself into you finding that perfect place within, setting off a cascade of emotions that leaves you breathless.

Your moans blend with quick, shallow gasps, every muscle in your body tightening as the familiar wave of your orgasm builds.

He smiles, his mouth returning to yours, finally deepening the kiss. His tongue sweeps over yours in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, filling you with the taste of him.

Your walls instinctively tighten as you feel each push of his cock becoming deeper, more intense, his pace building, his hips thrusting harder between your legs.

The sounds of his pleasure is rough, the way he pants and grunts against your ear, adding to the intoxicating heat building between you

“Taking this cock so well“ he praises his voice low with exertion.

Desperate moan escape your lips, feeling every powerful flex of his muscles as he drives into you with a force that leaves you dazed. Your mind is hazy, completely overwhelmed as his fingers grip your waist holding you in place as you take each powerful thrust of his cock bringing you both to the edge.

His lips graze your jaw as he loses himself , his loud groans against your ear spurring you further into the haze of desire that’s taken over.

Your face is unrestrained with pleasure, your lips parted as moans spill out, growing louder and needier with every moment.

You can feel yourself unraveling, every part of you under his control, and your body finally gives out and you orgasm, your back arching as your hips push against him.

His hips wetly clap against you as you come and the sensation is so pleasurable you feel another pressure swell deep within as a second release rushes from your core.

“Look at you, soaking my cock,” he praises, his voice filled with satisfaction as he takes in the sight of you in a blissed out beautiful mess beneath him.

His hands slide over your hips, steadying you as he moves with purpose, each thrust designed to push you further into euphoria as he savors every shiver, every quiet moan.

His pace begin to falter, each movement becoming more erratic as his own climax builds, and with one final, deep thrust he comes.

Your walls clench around him, drawing him deeper, his name spilling out uncontrollably from your lips as a wave of pleasure crashes over you both.

His breaths are ragged, his hips grinding in slow, deep circles as his body tenses against you. He groans from his chest as he empties himself, the warmth of his come sending a final, powerful wave of pleasure through you both.

He's breathless as he rests his hands on your hips holding them steady as he slowly glides his cock out until you both sigh.

He sits back on the couch, staring off into space, a look of complete satisfaction softening his features.

As you slowly sit up beside him his gaze is distant, lost in his thoughts, and you trail your hand down his jaw with a soft, reassuring touch.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” you ask him gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

His shoulders drop, and he leans forward, covering his face with his hands. Slowly, he drags his fingers through his hair, pulling it back, his eyes filled with a raw, almost unbearable intensity. The usual confident, guarded expression slips away, revealing something deeper, something vulnerable and anguished.

“It’s bad” he out right admits, his voice heavy with a seriousness that makes your pulse quicken.

“What is it Hank?” you ask, becoming more concerned by the second.

“Do you have any liquor here?” he asks, looking around your place and you shake your head trying to lighten the mood with small talk.

“No, that’s why I go to your bar,” you tease, hoping to coax a smile out of him.

He nods, the corner of his lips tugging upward, but the worry never fully leaves his eyes.

“Let’s go to a bar,” he suggests, catching you off guard and you blink, surprised, with his change in plans to drink due to his kidney removal.

But the tension in his face tells you something’s shifted, something’s drastically changed in his world, and as he rests his hand on your knee, his fingers tapping nervously, you realize something’s very wrong.

The night starts off well enough, Hank begins to unwind after a few drinks the conversation and flirtation flowing easily as you sit together. But as the night wears on, it becomes clear this isnt just a casual night out for Hank.

He begins drinking like there is a void he is trying to fill, each glass disappearing faster than the last.

You try to be understanding , but the warning bells are already ringing. Hank isnt just getting drunk—he’s getting wasted.

His charming familiar edge of sweet and wild begins to change into something darker after a couple rounds.

As a baseball game intensifies on the screen above the bar, Hank’s attention is entirely drawn in, his composure slipping the deeper he gets into the action.

“Are you kidding me?” he yells, jutting his hand out at the tv in frustration. “That was a clear strike!”

His eyes are fixed on the screen his irritation growing as he watches the game continue. “What the hell are they looking at? He’s safe, are they blind!” He yells, his voice heavy with bitterness in his tone drawing glances from other patrons.

“Hank, I’m getting us a taxi,” you finally say seeing he’s beyond his limits.

His eyes flick from the screen to you, a faint smirk softening his expression “Look at you…-all responsible…trying to keep me ..-in line..-“

He says dragging out the words, a lazy smile spreading across his face as his gaze drifts over you,

“Thought you liked me ..-a little wild,” he says seductively, his voice low and challenging heavy with the weight of alcohol.

“That’s why I’m taking you to my place,” you whisper with a grin your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you speak.

As you pull back to look at him his eyes are dark with desire, and that smirk—lazy and dangerous makes you bite your lip.

After settling the bill, you glance over at Hank, his eyes glazed and unfocused, the weight of the night’s drinks clearly settling in. You know full well he’d never have let you pay if he were in any condition to argue.

“Come on, Hank,” you say, offering him your hand. He blinks up at you, eyes flickering with something soft and unfocused, as if he’s just now realizing what kind of situation he’s in.

He takes your hand, his grip warm and surprisingly gentle, but the second he tries to stand, he slightly sways, leaning heavily against you, forcing you to reach for his arm to keep him steady.

He looks at you then, a slow smile tugging at his lips, his gaze lingering in that way that’s softened by the haze of alcohol.

“You really can’t resist taking care of me, can you?” He says slowly as he looks down at you, and in that moment there’s no denying your feeling for him.

His eyes hold a magnetic pull with an intensity that seems to cut right through you.

His sandy blonde hair falls perfectly into place, framing his smirk that’s equal parts devilish and alluring.

Even in his wasted state— Hank is irresistible, and before you know it, his hand is in yours, fingers intertwining as you pull him out into the night.

Hank’s laughter echoes through the quiet street, loud and unrestrained, as he stumbles out of the bar with you. He leans heavily against your shoulder as you wave down the first cab you see.

But Hank isn’t ready to call it a night, and as the cab pulls up he slips from your hold, stumbling in front of the it with a wild, defiant grin and spreads his arms wide, yelling like he’s a baseball announcer.

“He’s safe!” Hank yells, his voice booming as he throws his arms wide, mimicking an umpire calling a play. “The bases are loaded, and he’s safe!” he shouts again, wild with enthusiasm, drumming his hands down on the hood of the cab. The sharp sound startles the driver, who slams on the gas, tires squealing against the pavement as Hank stumbles back, grinning.

“He’s outta here!” Hank slurs, pointing sloppily after the departing taxi and laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world, completely oblivious to the situation until he catches the concerned look on your face.

“Hank, what was that for?” you ask, your tone edged with frustration. You’re tipsy, a little off-balance yourself, but nowhere near his level of wasted.

“I… I’m not going back to your place,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on you and your expression shifts waiting and expecting him to take it back, to laugh it off like some twisted joke, but he doesn’t.

“Hank, what are you saying?” you manage, your voice wavering from the alcohol clouding your head.

Hank’s gaze drops to the ground, his expression shifting, like he’s struggling against something he can’t put into words and you catch the flicker of frustration in his eyes as he avoids your stare.

“You’re not safe with me,” he mutters, barely audible. “We… we can’t see each other for a while.”

His words hang in the air between you, completely catching you off guard as you search his face, desperate to understand.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he mutters, his voice low, almost like he’s talking more to himself than to you.

Your breath catches, a sinking feeling settling in your chest. “Hurt me? Hank, what are you even talking about?” You take a step closer, trying to catch his eye, but he looks away.

He shakes his head, frustration flickering across his face. “You don’t get it. There’s… things about me that you don’t know.” He swallows, his voice raw. “I thought I could keep you safe from all of it, but I can’t. You’re not safe with me.”

A chill runs down your spine, and you feel your heart pounding faster. “Hank, you don’t get to just decide that for me. Whatever you’re dealing with, let me in… I want to understand. We can handle this together.”

He lets out a hollow laugh, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours, though there’s a hardness there you’ve never seen before. “You think it’s that easy? That I can just let you in and everything will be fine?” His words are harsh, but you can sense the pain underneath. “I’m telling you, we can’t see each other for a while. It’s better this way.”

“So… that’s it?” you ask, your voice sounding strange, thin, and trembling

He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture tense and agitated. “I’m a mess,” he mutters, his gaze finally meeting yours, a mix of regret and something almost like fear shadowing his eyes.

“You wanted me, Hank. You brought me into this—you made me —feel things, flaws and all. I know you’re not perfect. I’ve seen you struggle, and I still wanted you… chose you. And now you’re just telling me I should leave?”

He opens his mouth as if to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, his expression hardens, like he’s trying to keep everything locked away, the silence stretching between you, heavy and raw. The alcohol only amplifies the ache, blurring the edges making it harder to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over.

Finally, you draw in a shaky breath, willing your voice to stay steady. “Fine. If you’re not going to let me in… if you’re just going to shut me out when things get tough… maybe your right .”

Without a second thought you walk away from him as you wave down an approaching taxi.

“You’re the one who pulled me in, Hank. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me some kind of favor by pushing me way,” you yell over your shoulder, the words raw and full of everything you’ve been holding back.

“Wait… please!” he calls after you, stumbling forward, his voice breaking. “I didn’t… I don’t… this isn’t what I want!” His words are jumbled and desperate, with his internal struggle.

But it’s too late. You’re already sliding into the backseat of the cab, slamming the door shut on whatever the hell this was supposed to be, finally letting him feel the weight of this situationship for once .

As the taxi pulls away, you can still hear him calling your name in the street, his voice fading with each passing second.

Over an hour passes as you begin to sober up, the sting of the night slowly dulling as you step out of a long, hot shower. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you breathe deeply, hoping to wash away the heart ache that lingers, though it clings stubbornly, refusing to dissolve.

You slip into your nightie, the silk fabric sliding over your skin, doing little to ease the strange emptiness settling inside.

You wonder if Hank is okay, wonder if he’s feeling even a fraction of what’s tearing through right now and you suddenly just want to be back in his arms, without thinking, you grab your phone from your purse.

The screen is lit up with notifications—over a dozen missed calls from Hank. Each one a silent plea, his desperate attempt to reach you, a sign that he wasn’t ready to let you go any more than you were ready to leave. But you don't answer. Not in the taxi, and not now.

You clutch the phone tightly, staring at his name on the screen, and your heart fills with the reassurance that at least for now he wants you just as much as you want him.

You almost press the call button, but you can’t, not yet. You need him to show you what you truly mean to him, to stop pushing you away only to pull you back in when it suits him—-to finally stop playing dirty.

A knock comes softly at your front door barely audible at first, but when you don’t answer, it becomes more insistent filling the silence of your apartment.

When you check the peephole and see Hank standing there, your heart skips a beat as you slowly open the door.

He stands there with his hands shoved into his pockets, his tall frame slouched, shoulders down, his whole posture reflecting the weight of his guilt.

His sandy blonde hair is now tousled, his full lips almost in a pout, and his eyes, those soft blue pleading eyes, are practically begging even before he speaks.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his voice lower laced with a hint of shame as his gaze flickers downward.

“For what? So you can tell me to leave you again?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

He blinks, clearly taken aback, his expression flickering with surprise and a hint of hurt not expecting such a cold reaction from you.

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant, alright…” His voice trails off as he looks down, avoiding your eyes.

You watch him struggle with his feelings, his hands running through his hair, frustration clear in every movement. “Fuck—I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters, his voice rough as he tries to gather his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice softer now, and he looks up at you with the most unmistakable puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen.

Your breath catches at how pretty he looks but you hold firm, waiting for him to finally decide whether he’s willing to trust you enough to let you in.

“You hurt me tonight, Hank.” You remark, you our voice laced with dissatisfaction.

His head lowers “I know…” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I just—fuck, I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have said that”

“It’s just…” he pauses, taking a shaky breath. “Right now, I’m caught up in something that’s spiraling out of control— and I …I don’t want you to leave me— I want you more than anything right now.”

You lift your chin, feeling his words stirring something deep inside.

“Then tell me what it is you’re hiding from me. If being with you is such a risk, then lay it out, Hank. Be honest with me.”

He stares at you, a mix of fear and yearning in his eyes, like he’s torn between wanting to let you in and wanting to protect you by keeping his distance.

“I will tell you,” he finally says, nodding slowly,“But you have to give me time.”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. “Please just… let me in. Please let me make it up to you.”

You feel your resolve soften as his words linger in the air and he looks so vulnerable, practically begging with those eyes of his.

With a sigh, you step aside, allowing him to walk in.

“You owe me more than an apology tonight Hank,” you confirm, your tone steady as he watches you lock the door.

“What can I do?” he asks, his voice quieter, his expression laced with remorse. “I’ll do anything.”

His words send small wave of satisfaction through you, though you don’t let him see it, instead you hold his gaze, watching as he waits, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

“Like I said you owe me more than an apology,” you repeat, your voice taking on a more dangerous edge as you walk past him.

Hanks eyes follows your movements, his confusion slowly turning into understanding that this is about more than an apology.

You pause for a moment, letting the silence hang between you, before you give him your command casual and calm.

“Get on your knees for me.”

Hanks body tenses, and for a split second, you can see him hesitate.

But then he does just as you say and slowly sinks to his knees.

As you watch him a small smile forms on your lips, because there’s something deliciously satisfying about seeing Hank this way.

As you stand directly in front of him, his breaths are a little uneven, and when you place your hand in his sandy blonde hair, tilting his head back a gasp escapes his lips.

His eyes are pleading as they meet yours, his usual confidence nowhere to be found and as you tug his hair a little harder making him wince, the thrill of having him completely at your mercy sends a surge of excitement through you.

“Look at you,” you tease, your voice soft but commanding. “kneeling in front of me like the mess that you are.”

Hank’s breath catches in his throat, hearing his own words thrown back at him, and his hand reaches out, trembling just a little as his fingertips trail up your bare thigh, inching toward the hem of your nightie.

You narrow you eyes as you tsk at him.

“Did I say you could touch me?” you ask with authority.

He brings his hand back immediately, “No you didn’t” he says full of apology as he looks up at you.

You faintly smile at how he listens and release his hair gently tucking the strands behind his ears.

“Good boy,” you coo, your voice dripping with satisfaction as you look at him. “You’re going to do exactly what I say tonight, aren’t you?”

Hank nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “Y-yeah,” he stammers, his voice unsteady, eyes flickering with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty.

You lean down just enough so that your fingertips trail over his jaw. “You’ve got a lot to make up for tonight Hank,” you whisper, your tone laced with promise. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you do it right.”

You slowly straighten up, your nightie brushing softly against your thighs and Hank’s eyes lock onto it but his hands stay obediently at his sides, exactly where you want them.

Your hands freely glide down your body teasing him, and you can see the lust in his eyes—his desperate desire to touch you, to be forgiven in the most physical way.

He slightly licks his lips, and you smirk, watching the way his fingers twitch, wanting to touch you.

Slowly, you lift up your nightie, just enough to give him a teasing glimpse of your bare skin.

“You’re not wearing… panties,” he breathes, his voice filled with an unmistakable edge of desire and as he stares between your legs his restraint immediately falters as he tries to stand.

With one fluid motion, you drape your leg over his shoulder pushing him down with just enough force to keep him on his knees.

His breath hitches in surprise as you reach down, grabbing a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back just enough to assert your control.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask, your voice a low purr. Hank groans, a pitiful sound that only makes you tug harder. His eyes dart up to meet yours, wide with a mix of apology and raw desire.

“Please…” he whispers, his voice barely above a rasp, his lips brushing against your thigh as he speaks. “Let me fix it—let me just—”you cut him off with another firm pull on his hair.

“Fuck!” He yells his face wincing as you tilt his head back harder.

“No Hank, you don’t get to decide what you want.” you command, your voice unwavering. “Tonight you’re here to please me. Isn’t that right?”

Hank’s blue eyes flicker up to meet yours, a hint of vulnerability and arousal shining through as he slowly nods.

“Good boy,” you coo, your voice soft and sweet “Now, do as you’re told.”

With your hand firmly in his hair, you position him exactly where you want him between your legs.

“Show me just how sorry you are.” You command him.

He obeys, opening his mouth and eagerly licking his tongue along your pussy.

He moves his head in perfect rhythm, his mouth working with a combination of desperation and skill that has you softly gasping.

You look down at him and see hes enjoying every minute of eating you out, his eyes fluttering closed as he focuses entirely on pleasing you, the tension in his body telling you just how badly he wants to do it right.

“You like this don’t you Hank,?�� you ask, your voice breathy as you watch the way he devours you like a man starved.

He nods eagerly, his mouth too occupied to respond properly, but his moans against your pussy are the only answer you need.

You arch your back slightly, feeling a wave of pleasure roll through you as he intensifies his efforts. “Mmm Hank… Just like that,” you praise, tightening your grip in his hair, guiding him exactly where you want him. He moans against your pussy, your praise driving him wild as he keeps going with raw devotion.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he deepens his attentions with his tongue, every thrust sending a ripple of sensation through you. “You’re doing so well for me Hank…-almost making me forget …-what an idiot you were tonight ” you praise, your fingers tangling tighter in his hair.

Hank’s eyes flick up to meet yours, and the sheer devotion in his gaze is almost enough to make you forgive him. Almost. But for now, you’re going to make him work for it.

As he becomes more focused, you feel a surge of arousal building within you, your breaths becoming heavier, each one a little more unrestrained, until soft moans begin to spill from your lips.

The intensity in his gaze only deepens as he senses you nearing the edge, spurring him to work harder, each movement faster and perfectly timed.

Your body tenses as your head falls back and you orgasm with Hank’s mouth pressed against your pussy.

You push against his face as the pleasure rolls though you until the intensity of your orgasm begins to subside, then you gently pull his head back, releasing his hair and savoring the dazed dreamlike look in his eyes as he catches his breath.

“Please…” he whispers pressing his face against your leg ”Let me give you more” he asks, his voice is low and desperate and you can feel his ragged breaths against your skin as he presses gentle, lingering kisses along your inner thigh,

His hand starts to move up, his fingers reaching to satisfy you, trying everything in his power to get the reaction he wants, but you catch his wrist before he even touches you.

“You don’t get to decide when or how you please me tonight.” you say, your tone resolute.

You release his hand his eyes are filled with a dying need, craving the chance to satisfy you again.

“Get up,” you order him as you lift your leg from his shoulder and he immediately stands.

Hank is much taller than you and as you stare up at him you can see the way he holds himself back.

You take a step aside, your gaze steady as you point to the bedroom. “Go,” you command your voice unwavering.

Hank doesn’t hesitate as he stumbles toward the bedroom door. The adrenaline of the moment is still coursing through him, but the alcohol delays his movements just enough to make him a little less graceful than usual. You follow behind, taking your time, knowing exactly what’s in store for him.

Once he’s inside the bedroom, you stand at the door, watching the way he waits for you, his body tense with anticipation and you let the silence linger, as he feels the full weight of your gaze.

You take in every detail of his stance, his pupils wide his breaths panting and the unmistakable hardness of his cock pressing insistently against the fabric of his cargos.

“Undress for me” you command your eyes flicking up to meet his and he readily obeys.

You watch as he fumbles with his shirt, stripping it off clumsily then his hands move to his belt and he struggles with the buckle due to his drunkenness.

“On the bed,” you instruct, your voice direct and sharp cutting through the room before he’s even undressed.

Hank looks up at you desperation in his eyes still half clothed “shit” he mutters moving faster his belt slipping from his hands as he drops his pants to the floor.

He’s hard—so hard, you can practically see the tension in his heavy cock as he climbs onto the bed, laying back.

His eyes follow your every movement, his chest rising and falling heavily with anticipation. His cock is strained hard with the need for release, but he’s smart enough to know you’re still in control.

You step toward him, bending down slowly to pick up his discarded belt from the floor and you can see the realization flash across his face as you loop the leather strap around your fingers, testing its weight.

“Hands,” you command, nodding toward the headboard.

Hank’s arms shoot up without hesitation, his eyes never leaving yours as you lean over him, wrapping the belt around his wrists and tying him securely to the bars of the headboard. He squirms a little beneath you, testing the restraint.

“Comfortable?” you ask, your voice filled with amusement as you pull the belt tight, securing it with a final tug.

“Y-yeah,” he breathes out, his voice shaky but eager, the restraints on his arms only making the moment more exciting for him.

“Good,” you say,as you run your hand down the length of his chest, watching the way his muscles tense under your touch. “Because you’re not going anywhere until I’m satisfied again.”

A soft sigh of pleasure escapes his lips as you climb on top of him, your thighs brushing his, teasing him with just enough contact to drive him insane but not giving him he craves. His hips buck instantly, and you press down on his chest, holding him still.

You shake your head as you lean in, your breath warm against his ear. “You don’t move until I say so.”

Hank bites down on his lip, his eyes screwing shut as he tries to control himself. His whole body is tense, as you slide a hand down his abs, purposefully avoiding his erection. You tease him every where else with touch and lean back, just enough to watch his reaction, enjoying how desperate he looks.

“Do you think I’m going to let you off easily tonight?” you ask, your voice soft but filled with authority.

“N-no,” he whispers, shaking his head. He’s panting now, clearly fighting to keep himself under control, and you can see the strain it’s causing him. Every vein in his hard cock is pulsing with need, but he knows better than to push you.

You reach into your nightstand, retrieving a condom. His cock stands hard and flushed, the tip a deep pink, from his arousal. His breath hitches as you put it on but he doesn’t move as you carefully roll it down his length to the base.

You smile, pleased with his obedience and you shift your hips, finally positioning yourself over him, just enough to brush yourself against him, letting him feel you without giving him what he so desperately desires.

His hips jerk upward instinctively, and you push them back down with firm hands, keeping him pinned beneath you.

“You’re going to wait until I’m ready.” you instruct and Hank lets out a low groan, his wrists pulling against the belt as he strains to keep still.

You slowly lower down onto his large cock, watching the way his face softens with pleasure, it feels so good you both moan as you settle on the base and you begin to ride him gently, your breaths coming in soft pants as you roll your hips against him.

His eyes are wide and pleading, as he watches you gliding up and down on his cock with agonizing slowness never giving him just enough to push him over the edge.

His face is a picture of barely contained bliss, his usually steady jaw now slack, lips parted as he tries to keep his focus.

You feel the subtle twitch of his cock inside you, the undeniable sign he will come despite his efforts to hold back.

You stop your movements, leaning down to press a single, lingering kiss against his neck. “You come when I say,” you whisper, your lowering your mouth with intent, gently sucking a sensitive spot just above his collarbone to form a bruise.

Hank lets out a soft, sigh,savoring the sensation as your lips leave a subtle mark.

You continue to use him for your pleasure, grinding down on him, taking your time, reveling in the way his body trembles beneath you.

His breaths grow ragged, his chest heaving as he tries to keep himself from coming, and you can feel the tension building in him, his cock becoming harder as his desperation mounts with every passing second.

Your climax builds within, your thighs tightening around his waist as the tension peaks, each pulse intensifying the sensation between you. As you orgasm, your walls tightens around him, every contraction amplifying the pleasure for both of you.

He groans feeling you come, his hands pulling futilely against the belt as you begin to grind down on him harder, sending him spiraling over the edge.

“Come for me, Hank,” you gasp, your voice filled with anticipation, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, his head tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut feeling the intensity of pleasure take over.

His abs are flexing hard as you feel the full power of his release, his hips jutting up hard as he comes in you.

You moan above him feeling all his control and composure lost in one, overwhelming moment. He is left breathless, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the condom holds the warmth of his come inside you.

Before and he can even think about moving, you lean down, your lips close to his ear.

“Don’t you ever hurt me like that again,” you say, your voice breathless but firm.

Hank nods weakly, too spent to say anything, but you know he understands.

You reach up, finally releasing the belt from his wrists, and the moment his hands are free, he moves quickly, his fingers finding their way to your hair, pulling you in as his lips press against yours in a heavy desperate kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between kisses, his voice laden with the sincerity. “I didn’t mean it… I’m so damn sorry.”

You run your fingers gently through his hair, soothing him as you pull back from the kiss. “I know,” you whisper, a small, affectionate smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze.

You continue to stroke his hair as he sighs, the tension in his body easing under your touch.

His face is soft and vulnerable, his sandy blonde hair falling gently along his jawline, framing his captivating blue eyes.

As he looks at you, his full lips curve into a faint, knowing smile, and his hand finds yours, guiding it to rest over his chest.

“You played hard ball with me tonight,” he says, his voice low, a spark of that familiar mischief lighting his eyes. “And I liked it,” he grins, the softness in his expression and the way he looks at you like he’s ready to do it all over again, tells you it won’t be just reserved for earned punishments.

His expression shifts, a glimmer of something raw flashing across his face.

“I don’t want to lose you ” He confesses the words slipping out before he can stop them, and he searches your face, almost uncertain, as if he’s laid himself bare in a way he hasn’t before.

The simple truth of his words resonates deeply, and you feel a pull to ask him more, to understand what’s haunting him, what he’s been carrying in silence.

But instead, you settle into the warmth of his embrace, grateful knowing that in time, he will tell you everything.

You want Hank—more than what’s good for you, more than what is safe for your heart and as he holds you close, so peaceful and serene you know a part of him feels the same way about you.

🧢 End 🧢

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

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[after-witch]

When You Looked at Me, I Should Have Run [Mahito x Reader]

Title: When You Looked at Me, I Should Have Run [Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Your trip to Japan doesn’t go as planned, thanks to a monster in the forest.

Word count: 7400ish

notes: Yandere(ish); body horror, violence, vore and implied digestion, reader is transmasc

If there was one thing you could appreciate about getting lost in Japan, it was the fact that people were very willing to give you directions. So when the realization hit you--you have been unfortunately walking the wrong way for some time now--there is none of that stomach-churning dread that occurs back home, when asking someone for directions typically ends with someone telling you to “fucking looking it up on your phone.”

And sure, you didn’t exactly speak Japanese, but that’s what your secondhand “301 Phrases You’ll Need in Japan!” book was for! You’d also found that you could ask in English, and people didn’t seem to mind. Or at least, they didn’t say they minded, and that was what counted. 

Sighing, you grab the book out of your tote bag and begin to flip through. A few people veer to the side from behind you after the sudden stop, but you pay them no mind, instead focusing on finding just the right phrase you need. When you do, you repeat it out loud what feels like a million times before tucking the book away.

The map comes out next, and you unfold it haphazardly, searching for the hiking trail you’ve been searching for all morning. It was supposed to be really scenic, but a little off the beaten path. Perfect for photos, plus you could tell your friends back home that you weren’t on one of the annoying overcrowded tourist paths, which was always a bonus. 

Now, to find someone to help and--ah! 

A young man leaning up against the alley wall of a charming little storefront would do. He’s dressed unusually, wearing a flowing shirt with a striped pattern, and he was maybe in an accident of some kind, with stitches on his face. But you don’t stare (well, maybe for a second); because that would be exceptionally rude, Japan or otherwise. 

You smile, bowing (maybe too low, maybe too dramatically, but it was hard to get the angles right) and hold up your map. In very accented Japanese, you ask, “Can you help me find the…” And the word you had memorized from the book vanishes, so you tap the map, shaking the paper. “Mountain trail?” You complete in English. 

The man blinks at you, saying nothing, which is a bit strange. A bit rude, you might say. Maybe you pronounced the words completely wrong. You fumble for the book, finding the page again, and hold it up for him to see. “Mountain trail?” You ask again, still in English.

The man blinks again. 

You sigh, and point at the page where the phrase sits, not wanting to attempt a pronunciation in Japanese at the moment. 

He leans in closer, too close, really, and his silver hair ghosts your shoulder. Mismatched eyes--contact lenses? He was really trendy!--scan up and down before he moves backward, staring at you again.

Then--

The man grins.

Widely. Unusually so, among the people you’ve met. But perhaps since he was younger, he was breaking social norms a bit. I mean, he already was, with his outfit--with his hair, long and impossibly silver. And those contacts! 

His eyes roam over you--and you feel suddenly self-conscious of yourself, wearing a simple touristy t-shirt and trousers with hiking boots--and his finger finds the map even as his eyes never leave your face. 

The finger slithers down the paper, and you force yourself to follow it (geez, why was he staring so rudely?) as it lands on a particular sidestreet marked with a hiking trail symbol. It’s not too far off, thankfully, and you could probably cut across a few streets to get there sooner. 

He says something in Japanese, but you don’t know what. When you stare at him blankly, he grins again.

“Forest,” he says, in English. His grin gets even wider, somehow, and you swear one of his stitches twitches. “Fun.” 

“Thank… you very much,” you murmur, in your accented Japanese, before giving the strange young man another exaggerated bow. You wave--a habit--and don’t bother folding the map before you leave, walking quicker than you might have, to avoid wasting anymore time on this trip.

The wave seems to amuse him, and he waves back, beaming. 

A strange young man, sure. But just as helpful as anyone else you’ve met on your trip so far. And his hair was really pretty; it was a wonder nobody was so much as staring at him.

--

There is something in the forest.

There is something in the forest, wild and large.

There is something in the forest, wild and large--and it is following you.

You’re not sure exactly when it started; you weren’t paying much attention to the forest itself until it became too loud and obvious to ignore. There weren’t enough service bars on your phone to look it up, but it had to be some kind of bear, right? Japan did have bears--you think. 

Maybe it was a deer. But deer would be too skittish, wouldn’t they? To follow you around in the woods, despite all the noise you were making. Unless it was one of those deer that was used to being fed by people, though if that was the case, wouldn’t it have made itself known by now? Begging for an apple and bowing, like the videos you saw online.

Probably not a deer. Maybe a bear. Or a fox or something else large and rumbly and, you think, eyeing you as a potential snack. 

Whatever it was, it was staying hidden. In the brush and trees, with the occasional rustle and snapping branch to give away its position. 

What do you do? Your mind tries to trace back to those Saturday evenings spent watching the occasional “When Animals Attack” documentary with your family. There were episodes on bees and mountain lions and sharks and bears, too, you’re sure… should you play dead? Make more noise? Run like hell? 

How can you get help, in the middle of the woods?

There’s on one else on the trail. Your phone isn’t working. And you’re not entirely sure if you should retrace your steps or keep going on ahead, to make it lose interest. The choices are all too confusing, with the adrenaline steadily growing inside your body, and your heart beginning to beat altogether too fast.

A decision can’t be made, not like this, heart and brain buzzing too quick and too loud to be steady enough for a proper thought process. 

In the end, though–

It doesn’t matter.

Your choice is made for you, when the animal retreats from the camouflage of the brush and steps right onto the trail. Its body takes up the entire trail, and it’s a wonder it was able to hide amongst the leaves and branches at all. 

And–

And it’s not a bear, or a deer, or anything you’ve ever seen before.

The creature that has been following you for oh-so-many steps is deformed. A monster. Something you’ve never seen in your entire life and so entirely wrong in its construction that your brain doesn’t register it as being real for a few awful, agonizing moments.

What is it–

It--whatever it is--has too many limbs. That’s what stands out at first, because it’s the most bearable thing to look at--the limbs. There are at least 6, skin-colored arms sprouting from the torso on downward. Claws or… hands? Fuck, they look like hands; hands are at the end of each arm, fingers wiggling like worms.

The creature doesn’t just have too many limbs. There are too many mouths, all open and red, with white human-like teeth showing in the center. Opening and closing and there’s a sound being made, but you can’t register if it’s human speech. It couldn’t be, because this thing was not a human. The sight of it was making you crazy, that’s all, and that craziness traveled from your retinas to your ears.

The worst sight of all, and it’s the sight of this that finally unfreezes your legs, is the rippling underneath the skin. A solid mass worming its way around the body. Like there was something else underneath the flesh, waiting to burst out, slithering along like a gorged snake.

You couldn’t let it come closer. You wouldn’t let it. 

So when your legs feel like they can move, when your breath gets sucked in with a terrible gasping that nearly chokes you, you bolt.

The creature comes after you. Of course it does. You ran like prey, and you feel like prey; you are prey, here, in the woods. You hear the creature now in full force, no longer meandering in the brush of the woods, but chasing you. The sound of too many feet hitting the ground, the sound of the air whipping by its many arms, and its breathing. Steady, loud, increasing as it gets closer. 

Your own breath comes out ragged, desperate, wheezing. You weren’t made to run like this–or perhaps you were, and that’s the crux of this whole damn trip–but this creature was clearly meant to chase. 

Regret on ever coming to the woods courses through you every time your feet pound against the ground, but regret wasn’t going to save you. Thoughts whir together--don’t let it catch me, how do I get out of here, will anyone be able to help me?--as you rush down the winding paths of the forest trail.

But there’s no one in sight, and there surely wouldn’t be anyone to help you if you went deeper into the woods. The only chance for salvation, if there was a chance at all, would be to head back towards the city. Monsters didn’t live in cities, didn’t thrive there. There’s an almost prickling fantasy that blurs through your mind: cross the threshold of the trail and it will stop instantly, like a fairy tale creature unable to cross a magic bridge. 

You will be safe, if you can get back there. 

But how to get there, with a beast at your back? 

You’ve got to turn around, somehow. If you can turn around, you can go back the way you came, and get back to human civilization. If you get back to human civilization, where monsters are dreams and movie magic, you will live. 

If you keep going into the woods, you’ll only get lost, you’ll be so deep that no one will hear you scream. If you even had the lung capacity to scream, after all this running. Would the lungs the monster tears through with its claws, its teeth, have anything left in them? 

You can’t turn around the proper way. Your brain, frantic though it is, is steady enough to understand that fact. You’ll lose momentum if you try to pivot and go back the way you came, and who is to say if you’ll be fast enough to evade the monster at all? 

But you want to live. 

So you do what the signs at the beginning of the trail forbade you to do, and veer off the trail, pushing into the thicket of the forest. The branches snag on your clothes, and you’re glad you decided against wearing the fanny pack after all. You’re able to pull the fabric of your shirt and trousers free from the branches as they snap and rustle around you; a fanny pack would have been a death sentence.

And when you make your desperate foray into the thicket of the woods, something happens. Something that makes your blood run cold, despite the heat of your pumping muscles and the sweat beginning to drip down your back.

The creature stops running. Oh, just for a moment.  You hear the racket of its limbs, of its power and size, cease. And you hear a little sound, a bit like a chuckle. That can’t be right, though. It must be catching its breath. Even monstrous creatures get tired. 

It must have been a wheeze, that’s all. The alternative is far worse.

It doesn’t stay still for long. You hear its body pushing through the canopy of trees now, too. 

It’s faster than you. And stronger than you.

But you keep running. Desperate, human, wanting to avoid the horrible fate at the end of its teeth and claws.

Your thighs and lungs and chest burn awfully as you hop over branches, run through canopies of leaves that slap your face as you go through them, the sting of micro-scratches registering as if you’re experiencing them as a third party.

What does a few scratches mean, if you get attacked by some--thing? No one will ever find your body, probably. Or it will be so unrecognizable that they’ll never identify you.

If you trip now, you’re done for. If you trip now, that thing will be on you, with its many mouths and many hands and many teeth.

If you trip now, that is.

Somehow, sheer dumb luck or some otherworldly being guiding your burning legs, you don’t trip until you reach the very edge of the woods, when the beautiful sight of the trail’s entrance is within arm’s reach. 

“Fuck!” 

You shout out, hands catching you before you hit the ground proper and hurting awfully in the process. Your palms sting, you’re sure there will be blood and scrapes. Like when you used to trip on the sidewalk as a kid and you wound up with gravel in your palms for the trouble.

That doesn’t matter though. What matters is that you can feel the weight of the creature behind you, can imagine it rearing up, can smell something--its breath, its body?--and you know you’re about to die.

This is it. A lifetime, all ended with–

Ding-ding-ding!

The ring of a bicycle bell turns out to be your saving grace. Someone pulling up to hike or maybe they heard your distress or who fucking cares, really, because at the sight of the bell, you hear the monster retreat back into the woods.

The person on the bike seems appropriately concerned at the state of you, sweat plasteirng your hair and clothes to your skin, your face red with exertion. They offer a hand and you don’t know what they’re saying because the thought of getting your translation book out right now is the furthest thing from your mind.

They murmur in concern at the scrapes on your hands. Those scrapes are nothing, compared to what was behind you; what should have happened, when you tripped. Child’s play, in more ways than one.

You let this stranger–your savior, really–guide you on jelly-like legs that carry you away from the forest, back towards the little town and what must be safety. Safety in numbers, safety in humanity, safety in the knowledge that the streets are filled with buildings, bikes, cars; the smell of automobile smoke and food stalls. The chatter of people, car horns, all of it a far cry from the wild woods and the wild creature behind you.

As you walk away on unsteady legs, you swear you hear another sound from the forest. you swear–but no, no, the rational part of your mind bubbles you safely away from it; oh, it can’t be real it can’t be real it can’t be real.

Because--

It sounds like laughter.

--

You don’t tell the police about the arms, and mouths, or the laughter. Only that you were chased by some kind of animal--you don’t know what--that was following you on the trail. 

The police smile at your story, told to them in shakily typed app-translated Japanese, and one of them types into his own translation app that they will search the forest, but that it was probably an aggressive bear. 

It was not a bear. You know this. You know this, and you let them placate you with assurances that they will put up signs, and send out a forest warden. Despite the awful knowledge that nests in your stomach like a rotten egg: this was not a goddamn bear. 

It was a monster in those woods. 

But who would believe you, if you tried to tell the truth?

–

The stranger with the silver hair and mismatched eyes spots you that afternoon, sitting at a local cafe with what must be a shaken, sullen expression. You’ve hardly touched the food you ordered, instead keeping your hands wrapped around your warm drink, focusing on the way it spreads through your fingers. 

Not that he seems to mind your look or the clear tension surrounding you like miasma. In fact, he plops right into the chair across from you without even asking, all grins, and swipes one of the mini sandwiches you ordered for lunch.

The audacity. The over-familiarity. Honestly? You can’t help but find it refreshing, in this moment, your mind and body still shaken from the ordeal. It was better than the awkward distance between you and everyone else; it was like the monster in the forest had laid its scent on you, and everyone knew to keep a step back.

“Trail?” He asks, eyes glancing over your hair, cropped short and still sticking a little to your forehead from sweat. He smiles a little–at you, maybe. Or maybe he just likes to smile. “Fun?”

The word hits, but not too hard. Not as hard as it would have, if anyone else had asked it.

It’s not like he knew what happened. And maybe… maybe he would know something more? A local who knew the trail, who lived around here, might take you more seriously than the police. Especially since he was a little strange himself, he might be used to the idea of not being believed. 

So you shake your head and offer up your phone to this perfect stranger, with the translated story from the police station still typed in. An animal, but you didn’t know what kind; a chase through the woods. 

“Ah,” he says, after a while of staring unblinking at the screen. “No fun.” He smiles, when he shouldn’t. “Scared.”

“Yeah,” you admit, breathily, almost smiling yourself. A lighthearted confirmation for a terrifying experience. Something about this stranger makes you want to open up. Makes you want to trust him. It’s like he gets you, and considering the fact that you stuck out like a sore thumb in this small foreign town, you latched right onto it. 

Then, leaning forward, you type the eager words into your app before asking them out loud: “Have you ever heard of there being a monster in that forest?”

You’re not sure if he knows enough English to register what you’ve said before reading the phone screen, but your words make his eyes widen. 

So you continue, almost babbling a bit, describing it in more detail. You’re not sure how much he understands, how much he’s getting. Your fingers type frantically into the app, repeating a choppy version of what comes bubbling out of your lips, hoping it makes enough sense. App translators weren’t exactly known for their accuracy. 

But you want to tell him, need to tell him, all about the way it moved, the odd breathy sounds that almost sounded like speech, and the rippling under the skin. The primal feeling of being prey in the woods, the same as any rabbit, any deer. 

People are glancing over as you speak, as you show this stranger your phone and go on about the horrors of the forest; and you’re not entirely sure if it’s because he committed an awful social faux pas in plopping down at your table to casually or because of you. Your words, your clothes, the way you’re getting increasingly frantic as he actually listens to what you say and doesn’t tell you that you’re some crazy American tourist who might consider going back to your hotel and taking a nap.

He gets you, he gets this, you’re sure of it even before you’re finished with your story.

When you’re done, you can feel new beads of sweat dripping down the back of your neck. During the course of your conversation, his wide-eyed expression has gone somber. Seriously. Like he knows exactly what you mean and it makes your chest clench in sick hope. 

“Yes,” he says, finally; low, leaning forward. His voice is soft and earnest and you latch onto it in a sea of unfamiliarity. “I know about a monster.” He glances around, apparently now keenly aware of the stares, although they only make him grin. “I tell you… not here. At home.” 

Home? His home? Maybe you shouldn’t--lord, stranger danger--but the stares only seem to intensify when he stands up, and you follow suit on instinct. It makes you feel naked, judged. Frayed-nerves don’t do anything but amplify the sensation. 

This is stupid. You read enough travel articles before coming to know that you shouldn’t go to places with a stranger. Hell, you knew that before you searched “Japan travel tips” on your phone for the first time–how many times did your mother tell you to never be alone with a stranger, back when you were small and so very different? 

But you were an adult now. More sure of yourself, in more ways than one. And this stranger, this strange young man, might be able to help you. If someone else knew about the monster, well; it might mean you weren’t out of your mind. It might mean you could leave Japan with this part of yourself intact. 

It’s something of a relief when the stranger grabs your wrists and pulls you away from the cafe. 

Your stomach flutters equally with that relief–and uncertainty. 

--

His home, he explains in his own accented English, is at the edge of the forest. It’s enough to make you nearly trip over your own shoes, when he tells you. The stranger turns around, smiles, but he doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t let go of your wrist, either, holding it with a gentle firmness that makes you want to avoid pulling away.

“Scared?” His smile is small and almost private. Whether it’s just for you, or him, you’re not sure.

You swallow. And nod. A knot of fear tightens in your stomach, but you try to remember that there is strength in numbers. 

He looks you up and down, and tugs you closer, so that you’re walking nearly side by side as he holds you close. The closeness is, you think, a comfort. 

“The monster lives anywhere,” he says. There’s a blend of solemnity and humor to his tone that you can’t quite place. It might just be his accent, you tell yourself.

You tell yourself a lot of things. Like that he sidepasses the forest trail and takes you through a shortcut in the woods because it’s quicker, and safer.

Branches and leaves snap underfoot, and the dead silence of anything but the noise the pair of you make as you walk is all too familiar. The quiet is unusual, in a forest like this. There should be the sound of animals, the sound of scurrying, the steady hum of insects.

Silence in a forest means something is wrong. 

You shouldn’t be here, your body tells you. Your heart begins to pound again, and you tug a little on your wrist--you should tell him that you don’t want to go to his home, after all. You’re fine with not knowing the truth about the monster.

You’re fine with not following this stranger into the woods, in a foreign country, after having just been chased by something mere hours ago. 

If he notices your tug, your apprehension, then he says nothing. He only maintains his steady grip, his steady smile. 

“The monster eats people,” he says again, with that awful casualness. There’s a thought in your mind--you, tripping, the monster over you, tearing you apart with its teeth. Nobody finding your body, or whatever was left of it.

Without warning, the stranger stops. His grip on your wrist loosens and you slowly pull it towards you, heart thudding in your chest.

He stopped, yes, but why? There’s no house here. Only the woods around you, without the comfort of the manmade trail as a guide. Not that the trail kept you safe the first time. And are you really at the edge of the forest? If anything, you walked deep into it, away from the trails, from the markers, from the tourist spots marked on the maps.

Oh. 

Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is–

“How do you know so much about the monster?” You ask, quietly. There’s only so much room for proper thoughts in your brain, and the only one that worms its way to the top is a sensible, naive question. “Have you seen it before?”

He doesn’t answer. Not in words, English or otherwise. You wish he did. You wish he kept talking, and you kept talking, and you found yourself at some run-down shack where he lived off the grid.

That doesn’t happen.

Instead, he tilts his head up, long hair almost slithering across his shoulders with the movement. As he does, he grins, the profile of it broad and then wide and then wider and then--

Then it’s so wide that it splits his face into two, revealing a mass of dark red colored flesh and teeth sharp enough to tear through your muscles. And oh, my, grandmother, what big teeth you have.

There are undoubtedly words within you, words that might express the primal shock and horror at what you're seeing. But all that comes out of your mouth is a squeak, a wheezing little sound that has him turning.

You wish he didn't turn. You wish all you saw was the profile of his split face, because as he turns it is no longer possible to recognize him as the young man from before. Except for that beautiful silver hair, cascading over his shoulders, beautiful and grotesque.

His body expands as he turns, and muscles beneath the skin rise as his height gets too tall, his arms grow too numerous, and you can't believe mere moments ago he was simply a quirky good looking stranger who was going to help you solve this traumatic tourist mystery.

It’s not enough that he has too many arms. It's not enough that he has too many teeth, and they are so sharp that you know without thinking that they are going to tear through your flesh and rip it like well-braised beef.

There is something underneath his skin. It was there before, and it’s there now, only you’re closer–and still–and its presence is not some shock to the system but a confirmation of an earlier, terrible scene.

Oh, yes, there is something under his skin, and it does not stay still. You can see it moving, like a worm or an alien. Only instead of bursting out of his chest it simply moves, rippling the flesh underneath. Is it separate from him? One and the same? Is this some solitary mass, or are there more–to go with the creature's many arms and many teeth? 

How can this creature be anything but a monster, something other? 

Unless--unless you're looking in his eyes. 

(His, or its? You don’t know, and you never want to find out.)

But those eyes, those eyes are just as pretty and human as they were before.

His human eyes are staring right at you. Your mouth is agape, and you wish you had something other than domesticated teeth designed for chewing and not ripping apart. Because there's nothing you can do in the face of this but run.

You are prey, after all. The rabbit. The deer. The thing that scurries and squeaks. 

So you do run. For the second time in so many hours, you run for your life.

Only now the sun is starting to set, and you are in a completely unfamiliar part of the forest, and you know the monster is real and that it wants you and that it played with you like a cat plays with its food.

Your breath comes out in sharp, short pants. There's something tingling in the adrenaline that courses through your veins, pumping straight from your brain to every extremity, making even the tips of your fingers feel numb and floating. 

It’s like you're high from the fear. 

"Why run?"

The monster calls after you, even as it gives chase. It doesn’t sound as winded now.

And fuck, his voice sounds exactly the same. Why couldn't he sound like a monster? Why couldn't he sound like some guttural beast with no connection to humanity?

Why does he sound like the helpful, if a bit strange, young man who sat with you in the café? Who cheerfully pointed out the spot on the map you ought to go? Who seemed kind, if odd, an unusual character you would surely tell everyone at home about once you got off the plane? 

But the resemblance ends at his voice, at these little things. It ends at the glimmer of silver hair and the too-human eyes that you can no longer see as you try desperately to lose it in the forest. Swerving here and there, stumbling and half-leaping over obstacles, whipping through tree branches that claw at you in the dimming light.

You’re bleeding, you know it. You think the monster knows it, too.

"I like you," the voice says, light and breezy, from behind you. He says it in English and you wish he didn't, because it means he wants you to understand. 

It’s better when you don’t understand the monsters that chase you. 

Your foot trips on something, a branch or a log or the bone of a dead animal, and for the second time today, your body goes sailing through the air. This time, you land on the ground with a thump, half-crumpled. 

You could lie down here. You could lie down and die; let it rip through your throat and hopefully it would kill you quick before consuming your flesh.

But you don't want to. You don't want to die and it's not fair and you're just supposed to be on a nice trip, the end result of an entire year's worth of paid time off accrual. But instead, you're panting and bleeding and being chased by something in the forest that wants to eat you and likes you in what may be equal measure.

So you force your exhausted arms to push up from the ground and you stumble into a run. Pitiful as it is. Pointless as it is. 

Behind you, the creature laughs. Or the young man laughs. You're not sure which is which, or if they were different to begin with.

"I like you," it says again. There's something lighter in its tone now. Or maybe you're imagining it, high on adrenaline and lack of oxygen from all the panting. The tingling in your body hasn’t stopped, even as you stumble forward. 

"I'll keep you," it--he? You don't know, fuck--says. "Always."

The silliest of thoughts worms its way through your fear-addled brain.  Did he learn English just to communicate with you? Did all monsters speak different languages? Or did he shove his face into a tourist phrasebook in between chasing you and finding you in the cafe?

It's this silly thought that sticks in your ear as you go sailing to the ground again. Pushed, maybe. Or maybe you tripped on the bones of a dead fox, its flesh long eaten away by predators then maggots, in that order.

Palms stinging, knees burning. Blood bubbling through a tear in your trousers--cut on a sharp branch, you think. 

Your thigh aches.

Your lungs ache. 

Your chest aches.

Behind you, there is only the forest-noise of the monster chasing you. Arms and legs and the presence of it, pushing through branches and bushes like nothing. It could kill you like nothing, too. Maybe there are claws at the end of those hands, too many hands and too many fingers, and the world makes no more sense than it did a few hours ago.

Still, you don't want to die. Not here, not like this. So you push up with your burning, aching arms, and force yourself into a wobbling, weak standing position. 

It halts when you stand. You don't turn to see, you don’t even register the cessation of the rush of brush and bramble--you just know. 

One step forward, on wobbling legs. Legs that can’t run anymore, no matter what is chasing you.

“Oh,” says the monster. A soft, sweet sound.

Another step forward, and your knees buckle underneath you. Down you go. 

“Oh,” it says again. You do register the lack of sound, now. Nothing but distant insects (you wish they were closer) and your own breathing, and a sort of rustling as the monster approaches you from behind. 

”Cute,” it says. And oh, now, you can imagine its wide mouth, all those teeth, cradling the word like soft candy. 

You stare, barely able to support your body on your arms, at the ground underneath you. This will be the last thing you see, you think. At least it’s kind of pretty--nature. Green and brown and there’s life here, some insects meandering along underneath you, uncaring as to whatever is going on up above. 

Maybe they’ll get to eat what’s left of your body, when he’s finished. The circle of life, and all that. 

But it won’t be the last thing you see. Because you’re turning--no, you’re being turned, four or five or six arms on you, cradling you in a sickeningly gentle way even as your weakened muscles strain against their hold.

Your lungs strain and your breath comes out in short, terrible pants. The soft, sad acceptance is a lot harder to keep up when you’re facing death head-on. 

The last thing you’ll see will be this monster, above you, silver hair almost shimmering in the dimmed light of the forest. His mouth too wide, his limbs and teeth and scars too many, his human eyes boring into you with a glinting fascination. A sickly sweet sort of affection. 

That something is still underneath the skin, too. Rippling. Like a tick burrowed underneath the flesh, straining, wanting to get out but being unable to do so. 

His stretched mouth opens and there are so many fangs--you imagine the pain--imagine the teeth boring down into your chest or your neck, the tearing of your flesh. 

But that isn’t how you die; that isn’t how he eats you.

Instead--instead--his mouth opens wide and you hear the grinding of flesh as he teeth retract further into his mouth, leaving only a gaping dark hole staring down at you. Above it, his nose, distorted; above that, those eyes, still human, still searching your gaze as he leans forward and your body is gently cradled into the open mouth and pushed down into the tight cavern of his throat.

He swallows you down, and pushes you forward into his throat, down his gullet, onward and onward. There are brief glimpses of the world outside just before you enter his mouth, and then everything goes dark.

But not because you’re dead. Oh, if only you were dead. Instead, you are alive–you are inside.

It’s wet, inside. Wet and warm, like an inside should be. But there’s a wrongness to it all. You were never meant to be pushed down a gullet, to be surrounded by this pulsating warm darkness that slickened your skin even as your mind began to constrict along with your lungs.

Too tight. Too warm. Too many limbs--and despite all those teeth, they did nothing to ease your passing, to tear through your arteries and let you bleed out before you were swallowed up. 

You were swallowed whole, instead. Like Jonah and the whale. Like Pinnochio. Like other characters in other stories, and you can’t think of them now, with the buzz in your brain getting both louder and weaker all at the same time.

You don’t want to die–and not like this; the buzz in your brain constricts, something primal, telling you to GET.OUT.

And you try. You really do try, through pure instinct alone. An instinct you didn’t know you had until you were in this forest, inside of this beast. That animal instinct to free yourself from the jaws, the very stomach, of death.

Your arms, pressed up against your side by the pressure of the moist muscles around you, begin to flail. Your legs, too, constricted by the space you’re in–but moving. Squirming and kicking, trying to get some sort of purchase inside your living prison.

Strange, dim thoughts come as your body begins to squirm. They are the only thing keeping you human, separating you from the mouse clawing from inside a snake.

The thoughts–Being in here is like the time you wrapped yourself up in a sleeping bag and got stuck; being in here is like the first time you went down the tube slide at the playground as an adult, drunk at midnight, and almost got stuck.

Being in here is like all those times you thought you were going to suffocate inside something tight and warm and wrong–only this time, there is no triumphant roll as the sleeping bag unwraps, no sigh of relief as you wiggle your body back up the slide to freedom

There is only the wetness and warmness and the feeling of the monster around you. He hums–oh God, you can feel him humming, feel the way his body rumbles. He says something, too, you think. Something with a cadence that you’re so glad you can’t understand.

You have to get out. You have to get out, damn it. 

There’s a sick sort of rhythm to it, and while your mind recoils from the slick feeling against your skin as you begin to trash, it also gives you hope. This is how you get out, how you get free. Somehow, squirming inside the beast that’s swallowed you–you’ll survive. 

If only you could move more. If you could raise your arms and claw at the warm, wet interior, it might hurt enough to let you go. Throw you up or spit you out or maybe you could burrow your fingers so deep it rips the beast’s flesh open, like a bear gutting a salmon.

A salmon is perhaps what you most resemble now as your thrashing becomes a spasm, reflexive, increasingly jerky as the oxygen in your lungs begins to dwindle. 

Get-out-get-out-get-out, your mind screams.

Your body does its best. Your breath comes shallow now, panting loud inside the tight space and its moving, living walls. It’s all too moist, too hot, too wrong.

Warm, damp limbs jerk and kick and get nowhere in particular for their troubles. The moving walls against you constrict and release, slowly, and you find your thrashing only helps move you down further.

Further into the body of the beast. Further away from the world outside, further away from everything that made you a living breathing tourist just looking for a pretty mountain trail to explore and winding up eaten alive for their troubles. 

It was just an hour or so ago, wasn’t it, that you were sitting in the cafe? It seems like a lifetime, a distant memory, a dream. You cry out, the sound all warbled and wrong inside the tight cavern of his body. 

You want out–you want to go home–but there’s nothing you can do but trash again, soft, bleating sounds pushing out of your increasingly constricted lungs. 

“Oh.”

The monster speaks again, and the rumbling against you is softer, somehow. Cooing and low. And oh, Jesus–you feel him now. Feel his hands on the outside of what must be his belly, where you’ve wormed your way towards with every thrash.

The press of his hands against his skin from the outside is nearly unbearable, sending the wet-hot interior of the inside pressing against your cheek, smearing something slick against your skin, against your eye.

It stings against your lashes and you can’t see, can’t move your hands up enough to properly wipe it away. It makes you jerk again, makes your breath come in tighter, faster, less thoughtful and closer and closer to pure instinct.

Thoughts don’t come as easily. There’s only that desire to get out, to break free, to get away from the wet heat that surrounds you. There’s more slickness now, and a strange sort of acrid scent. A bitter, acidic scent in the air that stings your nostrils. 

He presses against his belly again and you wail, and he coos, and there’s hardly any space left for you to thrash but you try as best you can.

One.

Two.

Three more times.

And then the world gets too woozy, too hazy. You can’t breathe in here. You can’t move, really, aside from the way your limbs still twitch on instinct. You can’t see, and the sounds are only the strange rushing, the warbled noises from the beast that are hard to distinguish. 

The last thing you can sense with any sort of human distinctness is another side, slick and slithering, the sound of something inside the beast with you–oh God, you are not alone in here–and this last thought is when you stop being a person. When the thoughts cease to come as distinct lines from your brain and turn into a low, humming, dying thing.

The twitches that send your body spasming are not that of a person trying to escape, but of prey, finally subdued. 

Undoubtedly, you were once a human being. A person who grew up and imagined a future, some distant thing you couldn’t conceive as a child but which grew more concrete with every passing year. Someone who wanted a girlfriend or boyfriend, and eventually got one. Someone who thought, yeah, maybe kids, some day, if you adopted. 

Who imagined going to school and getting a job that paid decently enough; who did just that, working your ass off, spending all nighters drinking shitty dorm coffee before examples. All to get a degree to get an internship to get a desk job, so you could take nice vacations like this one, where you saved for a year and submitted your time-off request 6 months in advance and everyone at work told you to have fun and take plenty of pictures.

You were a person with hopes and dreams, with a family, with a past, with memories both clear and fuzzy. Sitting on the beach as a child and getting pinched by a crab you tried to place on top of your sand castle. Pushing another kid off the swing when he refused to give you a turn. Coming out to your parents and your dad making a joke about father-son fishing trips and your mom laughing too loud because she didn’t know what to say about having a daughter and now having a son.

All of that, and so much more besides--all of that and everything you ever were, everything you are, everything you will now never ever be, is lost inside a warm void of a body, a slithering, living cavity.

There’s no buzz in your brain now, no lungs to draw in desperate sucks of air. Nothing to register the monster sprawling out on the forest floor, satiated, thinking of how pretty you looked when you ran and the warm, full with the feeling of you inside him now.

He’ll rest here, dappled sunlight warming his skin, letting you digest; breaking you down with acid, absorbing your nutrients into his own body. 

And you? 

You’re dead and gone and there’s no comfort in knowing that Mahito will think of you for a long while, even after you’ve been digested. You were such nice prey, after all. 

[paradoxbeta]

"Hello everybody, this is your pilot speaking. I'm Mace Strike, and my crew and I will be accompanying you for your journey across Sector 3. You're riding aboard the luxurious ISS Pooty Tunnel-- ...What? ISS… Pooty Tunnel. ISS-- Simmers In Grace, did you give me the wrong script? They renamed it? Are you serious? When? Was anybody going to tell me? I'm the one driving this thing, you know. It's like my baby. You all knew and nobody-- bothered to? Okay, cool. And you know what, that tells you how much this entire empire has gone to shit. Don't look at me like that, I'm right and you know it. I mean, not 5 Hyperlanes over, all of the empire's fleet leaders are off joyriding in Outback Steakhouse territory piloting the shiny stuff like "Burning-Eyes class Corvettes" and "Final-Horizon class Frigates" and "Everybody-Annihilator-Machine class Destroyers," but they didn't even have the decency to tell me they renamed this ship from Nth Codex to Pooty Tunnel. That's how they reward me for going out of my way to pick up passengers-- which is not in my job description-- and read a script off a dirty napkin. Why!? Nth Codex was a nice name! And you know what, I heard Commander Fourteen Flourishing Infernos is hosting parties and having over women in one of her Destroyers. Which is like, Karma 2, hello? I never liked her anyway. When I met her I was like, 'oh yeah, I definitely see why you wanted a career where you get to sit behind a turret and aim it at civilian pops.' Don't you start waving your hands at me now. I'll turn this thing around and jettison all of these passengers into the orbit of Mennivi, don't play with me. Stop making that gesture. What do you mean 'turn off my--' OH!"

im about to have a very serious stellaris playthrough

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Beginning to learn

Adar x reader

Uruk and mortal learn things from one another in this. Suggestive themes.

Written with specifically season 1 Adar in mind.

You wandered the tunnels in search of Adar. There were matters to be discussed but it was like he avoided you.

He had been everywhere others told you to find him but by the time you got there all you were told was "Apologies, lady. Lord Father just left."

It took you almost hours to finally get to him and catch him off gaurd.

"Why do you avoid me?" There was a tone of annoyance to your voice and Adar visibly curled into himself at the directness of your words.

You and Adar were new to relationships, especially of mixed kinds. In the short weeks of knowing and being with each other Adar learned about mortal's routine bleeding. It had sent panic through his entire being as he found you in your chambers reeking of blood and in visible discomfort.

"I am confused as to why you believe I avoid you. The tunnels are close to completion and I am overwhelmed with overseeing it all." You could see he lied. His eyes had a tell. Yes, Adar was busy but it was not work that overwhelmed him.

It was your scent.

"Come take a break, then. If you are so overwhelmed. Calm your mind and eat with me, then you may go again." Even if he lied, it was still clear he was not entirely okay.

Taking a step towards him you caught his arms and pressed yourself against him to leave a kiss on his jaw.

"..Adar?" He was in trouble now, he felt the looming dark void in his mind grow. The voice that spat nothing but filth and hurt. You would be disgusted, how would you not be.

There was no denying you felt what you did with your body flush against his. With a quick glance down you took a step back to look him in the eyes.

"Are you ..aroused by me being near you? Is that why you ran?" You were confused. You and Adar had talked about communication and boundaries before, making sure both of you would voice your concerns.

"It is not that." The air of disgust was now visible to you as well, but it was unclear what is was directed towards. "I need to get used to smelling you in the air. Your current state is affecting me in ways I am sure you are uncomfortable with."

"My current.." You had no clue what he meant, but the idea of him believing you'd be uncomfortable with him being attracted to you was hurting your feelings more than him avoiding you.

"That's not a reason to avoid me. You are allowed to ask such things of me, I'm not afraid to lay with you if that is what you think." With a huff you crossed your arms and waited for a response, but he stayed quiet.

"Adar." You siged and looked at him. "I need you to speak. In clear terms, what is wrong here?"

"I can smell that you are.." You could see Adar search for his words. "Fertile.. Uruk noses are sensitive and I prefer to keep my distance as to not cause you any unease."

At his explaination heat rose to your cheeks. "You can smell that? What else do I need to know that you can just sniff out?"

While you were on one hand embarassed that your body was letting everyone know of something you had no control over, you were also curious to learn more about the uruks.

"There is also arousal, which I catch a slight hint of right now. Does this sort of talk interest you in such ways?" Adar's question made you want to let out a huff of laughter with how he did not seem to understand, but it also saddened you with how undesirable he saw himself.

A smile crept upon your face, now it had become your turn to be shy about things.

"What can I say. I suppose thinking about such things, about doing them with you is affecting me." You gave him an apologetic look, still unsure how he was faring in the moment.

Closeby the sound of a group of uruks drew closer and before you you watched him shake off his current state and hold himself with that leader stature that came naturally to him. "We'll speak more after today's business if attended to. In my chambers. Come find me then." You bid each other farewell and moved on.

Later that day, within the privacy of Adar's chambers you found yourself sat atop his hips. Your garment bunched up at at yours after you had helped him out of his armor and left him in just his tunic and trousers.

Adar's face still held no sign of true enjoyment.

"I am not offending you with any of my actions, am I?" You stopped your already slow ministrations, not wanting to cross a line.

"No, not offensive. I don't want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. Don't feel you must do this because of how my body responded before." One of his hands had come to rest against you, yet still over your garment instead of the skin of your thigh.

"You are not forcing my hand, nor my mind. I do this because I want to. There are no chains that bind me to these tunnels. No shackles that force me into this bed." With the utmost care you took his hand off your clothed waist and placed it on your bare thigh. "I want you. For my own pleasure, and yours."

There was loads of convincing needed to have him put his hands on you more intimately, let alone have his cock inside of you. Sighs of "oh, Adar please.." and "your hands feel so good." Turned into your combined moans as Adar finally gave in to the pleasure he felt. He gave up his control for you to take the lead and with the events from earlier gone from your minds you allowes him to spill inside of you, only realizing once the deed had already been done.

"You know the children you bear won't be fair like you.." The way he spoke sounded like he felt as if he cursed you, but you weren't letting him. Everything he gave you was a blessing, and never a curse.

"Fairness is in the eye of the beholder, my love. And I am sure they will be perfect."

You knew Adar wanted to speak against your words but he stayed quiet, knowing he could not win in this. You loved him and his children with all their flaws ans imperfections.

Perhaps, he thougt, he should start to learn from you in seeing himself through your eyes.