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nanaslutt · 8 months

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Rivalry

synopsis: Geto and Gojo learn to share (you)

cont: fem reader, they're all 'friends', masturbation, oral (they eat you out together), making out (satosugu), competitiveness, arguing, teasing, dirty talk, choking, hand jobs, so much sexual tension it hurts

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Satoru jabs his shoulder into Suguru's not acknowledging it as he pulled your thigh over his shoulder harder, bringing your cunt more towards him. Geto felt the vein in his forehead pop out as he tsked loudly, repeating the same action Gojo had just done to him, his warm fingers digging into your other thigh as he tried and failed to pull you more towards him thanks to Satoru's iron grip.

The duo continued giving each other painfully obvious side eyes and noises of disgust at the other. "Hey... hey- hey!!" You snapped, snapping the men out of their childish fight as their heads turned to face yours. You propped your arms behind you on the bed, looking down at them with a scowel. "Stop fucking fights, you assholes are stretching my legs too much I can feel my ligaments ripping." You said dramatically.

Your legs were spread so far apart to accommodate both obnoxiously wide and built men, you were already struggling enough, and now they were trying to pull you apart like some dog toy. "It seems like you two are more interested in yourselves than me. Maybe this wasn't a good idea." You said with a scowl, ready to end this before it even started.

"No! no, no, we'll behave." Gojo said quickly, panic evident in his tone as he took your words seriously. "Won't we, Suguru?" The white-haired man looked over at the man next to him with a faux smile plastered on his face. Suguru's lip twitched as he forced his own smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Right, sorry pretty." He replied, pursing his lips at his best friend before he directed his eyes at you once more, his expression immediately softening.

"Yeah?" You asked, raising your eyebrows as you looked between the two of them. "You mean it? You really won't fight anymore?" You continued, a hint of malicious intent behind your tone. The boys must've picked up on it because neither of them dared to move, their faces void of emotion as they looked at you expectantly, knowing something else was coming.

"Then kiss."

It was cartoonish the way their jaws dropped in tandem, they stayed silent as they waited for you to say 'just kidding', but it never came. "What? If you're so friendly now, what's a little kiss, hm?" You said, trying to hold back your laughter at their expressions, "Unless..." You continued, your voice tone changing to one laced with faux uncertainty, "...you guys lied? You're going to keep fighting huh? Might as well end this now in that case-" Your words got caught in your throat as Gojo turned his head toward Geto and grabbed his neck harshly, forcing their faces together as he kissed him harshly.

"Oh~" You cooed, your eyebrows raising at the unexpected action. Truthfully, you were only teasing them, but you guessed they were taking this more seriously than you thought, just how bad did they want you? "Mmm!" Geto moaned against his best friend's lips in surprise as he stilled, his lips not moving against Gojo's as he did all the work, slotting his lips against Geto's.

Suguru's hand gripped Gojo's wrist in a warning as the white-haired man's fingers dug into the sides of his neck dominatingly. There was no way Geto was going to let Satoru take charge like this. You felt yourself throb between your legs when Geto released Gojo's hand and took his slender neck in his the same way Gojo was doing to him. When he squeezed, a choked moan was released from Gojo's lips into the kiss.

He had expected Geto to fight back, but he didn't expect him to be so rough. Geto started moving his mouth against Gojo's, trying to gain control. The two of them were quite literally fighting with their lips. The kiss was full of teeth, tongue, and spit as the growled agaisnt the other's lips. Saliva was dripping down Gojo's chin from how harshly Geto was licking into his mouth as he fought Gojo's tongue for dominance.

But the stubborn blue-eyed man wasn't one to back down from a fight. He tried to ignore the throbbing he felt in his boxers as he choked Geto out while he tongued his mouth, trying to stick his tongue down the other's throat. Their eyes stayed open for the most part as they looked into the eyes of the other challengingly, only fluttering shut briefly when one squeezed the other's neck, they must both be sensitive there.

"Okay, okay. I think you guys have proved yourselves." You giggled, interrupting their kiss. They detached their lips from the other at the sound of your voice, almost like they were in a daze and your voice was the key that set them free. Both men breathed heavily with red faces and lidded eyes as they looked at the other. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" You asked, trying to ignore the intense throbbing you felt between your thighs so you could tease them a little more.

Geto released his hand from Gojo's neck, making the other follow suit before he looked between your legs and noticed a drop of your slick was sliding down your inner thigh. Suguru smirked as he wiped up the trail of your arousal before he wiped his finger through your folds, making your body jolt in surprise as he smeared the wetness agaisnt your clit, "Yeah... guess you liked it too, huh?" He asked, smirking as he slowly rubbed your little bud with his pointer finger.

Gojo couldn't ignore the throbbing he felt between his thighs any longer as he watched Geto rub your swollen clit. He started grinding his hips into the sheets for some relief as he gripped your thigh over his shoulder for support, taking in the sight in front of him greedily.

"H-hey... I didn't say you could touch me yet." You spoke softly, trying to keep your voice steady as you spoke, the task proving incredibly difficult from Geto's light teasing touch. "No?" he replied, it was his turn to tease you now. "But you're begging for it down here, should I just ignore what she wants? That doesn't seem very nice." Geto spoke, referring to your cunt like it was a person.

You stayed silent, trying to hold your moans and whines back from his ministrations. "Cmon Satoru, back me up." He said, surprising the man on his left. That kiss really had done wonders, just earlier they were fighting about who got to be closer to your cunt and now they were working together to touch you? In your heart, you knew this comradery wouldn't last long, but it was nice to see if only for a little bit.

Satoru didn't even look Suguru's way, instead, his eyes stayed zeroed in on your pussy as he reached out and used his index and middle fingers to drag through your folds near the entrance of your pussy and scoop up some of your wetness there while Geto rubbed your clit. "Oh fuck... you're right, that kiss did more for you than it did for us, huh?" Gojo teased, rubbing circles around your tight entrance teasingly, making you think he might slip his fingers in at any moment.

Satoru looked towards the man next to him when he laughed incredulously, clearly not a sound that was backing up his previous words, no, this laugh was directed at him. "Don't play coy, I saw how you were rutting your hips against the bed. Kissing me got your dick all stiff huh?" Geto teased, laughing at his best friend. Gojo tsked, his lips curling in a snarl. He was right though, although it wasn't all from the kiss, Gojo couldn't deny that the little interaction they shared had made him horny, maybe even made him leak in his boxers a little.

"Look who's acting all high and mighty when you're as hard as I am right now. Your lucky your laying on your stomach, I bet your boner is so fucking obvious through those thin-ass shorts." Gojo shot back, both the men's fingers on your pussy pausing as they started arguing once more. You sighed, you knew they wouldn't be able to get along for longer than five minutes.

"Do you want to kiss again?" You asked, your words immediately ceasing all arguing between the boys. Honestly, they both didn't mind the kiss, they could both agree internally the other was a good kisser and they were pretty easy on the eyes, but they would rather die than admit that out loud, hence why their big egos made them shut their mouth when you threatened them with a kiss.

"Really? You hated it that much?" You giggled, shaking your head at their childishness. "So I guess you would really hate touching each other too, right?" Your words sent chills down their spine, but not in a negative way, in a pleasant way, which shocked them both. They had pecked on the lips as high schoolers teasingly and jerked off in the same room while watching porn together once or twice, but they had never dared to cross that line.

Their silence spoke volumes, you watched their eyes dart around the room as their faces scrunched in embarrassment. You decided to give them a break, not wanting to push them too hard, but you weren't going to give up on this so easily. "Relax, it was just a question." You said, easing the tension that had filled up the room.

"It's not nice to tease people you know," Gojo replied, leaning in to press a kiss to your inner thigh, his hair tickling your skin. You gasped quietly in surprise, your body squirming against the sheets as he continued pressing kisses against you. "A-all you do is tease people Satoru." You replied before Geto could, effectively stopping yet another argument. Geto smirked when you took the words right out of his mouth.

"I'm older than you, you should treat your elders with respect. Picking on you builds character." He replied, making you snort. 'Elders', he wasn't even that much older than you. You were about to respond when you felt his lips kiss your pussy, right against your folds below your throbbing clit. "Did that feel good?" He asked, repeating the action, making your hands fall into his hair, carding through the strands.

Looking over to Geto you noticed his face looked more relaxed than he did seconds ago. His eyes were more lidded and his mouth was slightly open in a small o as he watched Gojo kiss your pussy, not yet using his tongue against you. It was only when you noticed his shoulder moving up and down that you realized why he looked so flushed, he was touching himself. He swallowed hard before biting his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes briefly closing as he palmed himself over his shorts for some relief.

"Suguru... I want you to touch me too." You replied. It was so obvious he wanted to join in but didn't really know where to fit in. He was practically salivating as he watched Gojo kiss where he wanted to put his own lips. He looked up at you and gave you a lazy smile, one that made your heart skip in your chest. "Yeah? Want me to lick your pussy?" He asked, starting to lean his head closer to where you needed him.

"Hey, there's no room for you down here, go somewhere else," Gojo responded, dragging his lips down your thighs on Geto's side to emphasize his words. "Make room then," Geto responded, knocking his head against Gojo's as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh where Gojo just did. In his head, he was erasing Gojo's kisses, such a childish thought.

You abandoned one of your hands on Gojo's head to rest on Geto's, digging your fingers into his hair. "P-please... do something." You begged, your voice coming out needier than you were expecting. "Ohh? Were you just telling me how you didn't give me permission to touch you? Are you giving me permission now?" Gojo asked, trying to make your words all about him.

You dug your fingers deeper into his hair, you felt your annoyance much stronger with how aroused you were, you weren't in the mood to be teased by him anymore. "Yes, fuck, both of you. C'mon, hurry." You instructed, pushing both of their heads towards where you needed them the most.

The two men were so absorbed in their own little world with you that they bumped heads when they both tried to lick your clit at the same time. "Fuck, Satoru moves your head, I wanna suck her clit." Geto growled, knocking his head against his once more, on purpose this time. "No, you move, that's what I was going to do." Gojo shot back, his face flushed with his arousal and need to touch you.

You sighed, staying quiet this time as you wanted to see where this fight took them. Maybe they were able to figure something out without your interference, but if they couldn't, you would have to step in and fix their attitudes.

"You're so annoying, get your own ideas," Geto responded, shoving Gojo's head harshly against your thigh, successfully pushing him out of the way so he could latch onto your clit. You gasped when you felt the plushness of his lips around your neglected bud, your back arching at the stimulation. Gojo snarled as he watched Geto get the first real taste of you, but he couldn't deny the harsh twitch of his cock in his boxers when he caught a glimpse of Geto's soft tongue poking out between his lip as he caressed your clit with it.

Gojo decided he was going to do what he wanted to do anyway, and in the process, make Geto so uncomfortable that he let Gojo take his current place in sucking your clit. His next actions had your pussy clenching around nothing. Gojo leaned in and tilted his head at an angle before sticking his tongue out and forcing his tongue under Geto's to poke at your clit.

Geto had felt Gojo's soft hair tickle the side of his face when he leaned in, but he figured the man was going to suck you lower or tongue fuck you, not make out with him while trying to lick your clit. Surugu's eyes cracked open in disbelief but not once did he cease his tongue's movements agaisnt you. Gojo moaned against your pussy with a smile on his face as he rubbed your clit with his soft tongue.

"O-oh fuck" You moaned, your back arching and legs threatening to snap in on their heads as they ate you out together. Geto's first instinct was to fight Gojo with his tongue but he realized that might hurt you in the process, and this was about making you feel good, not about his own personal grievances.

Sighing, he tilted his head at an angle like Gojo's and released his lips from around your clit, opting to just stick his tongue out and bat the little bud with his tongue. Gojo huffed out a laugh at Geto's compromise, feeling like he had one somehow, even though he was doing the same thing Geto was.

"K-keep doing that!" You praised, realizing the men had calmed down a bit and were now slowly starting to figure out that working together can be better than working alone. "F-feels so good when you g-guys do that." Your head tipped back against the sheets as you whined their names freely, your nails digging against both of their scalps.

The longer they ran their tongues over your folds and occasionally licked each other, the more the tension dissipated and turned into a more carnal sense of need for pleasure. Gojo started trying to intentionally follow where Geto's tongue was, not only to increase the pleasure you were feeling but because it felt good to touch his tongue to Geto's. It felt forbidden, which made his whole body feel hot.

Geto quickly caught on. At first, they were licking at your clit together, then they fell into a sort of rhythm where one of them tongued near your entrance while the other licked your clit, alternating like that. But now, they were trying to be in the same place at once, and it was heightening Geto's sensitivity.

The way no one was saying anything about it either made them feel even hotter like they were pretending nothing weird was happening. "I'm so hard." Gojo mumbled needily into your pussy, getting a coo of his name from you followed by a "Touch yourself for me." And touch himself he did.

Geto had paused on touching himself when he started licking you, focusing more on what his tongue was doing than his hand. Once he watched Gojo sneak his hand under his body to jerk himself off in the tight space of his crotch being pressed against the bed, he started rubbing himself too. He had pushed his own arousal to the side, but from the taste of your cunt, your noises, and the constant push and pull from Gojo, he could no longer contain himself once Gojo stopped holding back.

"Mmm... fuck... I- I wanna fuck you so bad." Gojo whined against you, his voice sending vibrations through your pussy. Geto's face heat up at Gojo's words. He slowly slipped his fingers past the waistband of his shorts and boxers when his arousal grew too much. Suguru always was a whore for dirty talk. "Y-your fingers, fuck me with your fingers-" You cried, humping your hips towards their faces.

When Gojo detached his lips from your pussy to get a good look at your tight little hole, Geto took the opportunity to suckle your clit back into his mouth now that he had it all to himself. "So sweet, so fucking sweet." He mumbled, squeezing his hand around his cock harder when he felt your little bud throb in his mouth. Gojo bit his lip and quickened his strokes on himself as he started humping his hand like a fleshlight, the slide eased by how wet he was from all the pre-cum he had been leaking.

"Geto stop for a second, I can't see," Gojo said, his voice abandoned of any real malice and instead replaced with raw need. Geto obliged, pulling his lips away from you begrudgingly, he parted your folds with his fingers for Gojo while the white-haired man rubbed two thick fingers agaisnt your tight entrance, teasing you. "You're being so nice to me now." Gojo giggled, looking over at his best friend who was holding you open for him.

"Shut up and finger her so I can go back to eating her out." Geto deflected, ignoring the fact that Gojo was right, he was becoming too pussydrunk to fight with Gojo like before. Gojo giggled as he started to press his fingers into you, breaching your tight hole. "Satoru!!" You cried, making him bite his lip as he penetrated you fully, his fingers sliding inside you to the hilt with ease thanks to your wetness.

"You're so fucking tight baby... fuckkk I can only imagine how well this pretty pussy takes cock." He fantasized, making his own, and Geto's cock twitch at the mental image. With lidded eyes, Gojo started slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of you before he looked to Geto, "Go ahead, she's all yours." he said with a smirk.

Geto wasted no time in sucking your clit back into his mouth, shaking his head agaisnt you as he abused you little bud. Your head was going fuzzy, the way Gojo was curling his fingers into your gspot was making you cant your hips against Geto's mouth, forcing his tongue to rub you harder. "W-wait, wait, I think I'm gonna cum-" You cried, your arms shaking from the intensity of the building orgasm.

"Yeahhh? Gonna cum all over my fingers? Let Suguru lick up your cum?" He cooed, smirking at you. Gojo's cock throbbed against the sheets when he released his hand from his cock and placed it over yours atop Geto's head, shoving him harder into your cunt. Geto moaned in surprise but internally groaned as he knew Gojo was most definitely smearing his precum all over his pretty hair.

"C'monn, you're doing the heavy lifting here," Gojo spoke to Geto who was now furiously sucking your clit, alternating between the latter motion and flattening his tongue against you and rubbing back and forth. Each time his tongue accidentally touched the base of Gojo's fingers when he pulled them out of you, and he got a taste of your wetness from the inside, his eyes rolling back in his head. How was it possible for someone to taste so sweet?

"Shit- wait- fuck I'm r-really cumming-" You cried, feeling a ball of something more intense well up in your tummy. Your words made Geto groan loudly against you, the sound coming out muffled from how hard he was pressed agaisnt you. Geto was focusing more on his tip now as he tried to bring himself to the brink of orgasm with you, but the tight space in which he was pressed against the sheets was making it hard for him to get the proper stimulation.

"Let it out, we got you baby we got you." Gojo cooed, speaking for the both of them as you rode Geto's face and his fingers. Gojo's jaw dropped with your own as your body stilled and you came. Only this wasn't like one of your regular orgasms. A warm feeling spread throughout your whole body as you came, the tight bundle in your tummy had snapped and you squirted all over Geto's hungry tongue.

Gojo moaned loudly as he fingerfucked you through your orgasm, groaning through his teeth. Geto's eyes rolled back in his head as he opened his mouth and tried to drink up as much of your wetness as he could. You could barely hear Gojo's whistle as your orgasm clouded all of your senses. You shook and writhed agaisnt the sheets as the boys worked you through possibly one of the most intense orgasms you'd ever had.

"O-oh-" Your stomach clenched and your body jerked in on yourself as your orgasm ended and you were thrown into overstimulation when Geto continued eating you out, too pussydrunk on you to realize you had already finished. "Easyyy~" Gojo said softly, gripping Geto's hair harshly as he yanked him up and away from you. The man was breathing heavily, his face flushed red and covered with your cum as he was pulled away.

The bed sheets and your thighs were stained wet with your cum. You had no time to be embarrassed though as the only thing on your mind was getting the boys to cum too. "C-come here." You said softly, releasing their head simultaneously and nodding at them to get closer. Gojo moved quicker than Geto, who seemed to still be in a daze as they rose from their place between your thighs, your legs falling against the bed limply.

Once they were both sitting on their heels by your chest, looking at you expectantly, you stuck out your hands in an O shape. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know what you were wanting from them. You gave both men a fucked out smile as they hastily worked on pulling their erect cocks out of their pants. Geto held his cock out over your chest, stroking it slowly as he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and an open mouth, it clearly wasn't going to take much to get him to cum.

Looking over at Gojo, he was already fitting his cock in your weak O-shaped hand, waiting for you to jerk him off. "C'mon... you wanna touch us right?" He asked, trying to mask his need with that teasing voice of his. You smiled softly before you took both of their cocks in your soft hands and began stroking them off together, keeping the same pace and speed for both of them.

"H-hahh..." Both of their moans were mingling and tangling together, you couldn't tell who's belonged to whom. Geto was staring at your hand in a trance as you jerked him off. His mouth fluttered open like a fish out of water, his breathing coming out stuttered and uneven, you knew he was close. Gojo on the other hand, was entranced with the slick that was dripping down Geto's chin.

He licked his lips before he made a split-second decision to taste it. They had already crossed so many unspoken boundaries today, what was one more? Leaning forward, Gojo placed his hand on the back of Geto's neck and pulled his unsuspecting face toward him. Suguru's breath caught in his lungs when he felt Gojo's tongue collect the cum from his neck and chin, the white-haired man making a path from the bottom of his face to his lips, before he connected them together like before, this time of their own volition.

"Fuck.." You cursed, your face heating up as you watched the men's tongues tangle with each other. "You guys are so fucking hot." Geto groaned at your words, both of his hands wrapping around the back of Gojo's neck as he kept him against his face, relishing in how good his best friend's tongue felt against his. "I'm so close baby, keep going- f-fuck." Gojo groaned against Geto's lips, his fingers caressing the other's neck harder as his orgasm approached.

The sounds coming from their lips were so vulgar, combined with their desperate moans it was making your cunt throb. "God... m-my tip, focus on my tip," Geto instructed, starting to thrust his hips into your hand, aiding you in pleasuring him. "Your tip is sensitive?" Gojo asked, pulling away from Geto's lips to whisper against them. "I remember that when we jerked off before, you didn't notice it but I was watching you. Watching how squirmy you got when you touched yourself there." Gojo teased, working Geto up with his words.

"Ohooo, this is interesting." You giggled, feeling the men drip steady streams of pre-cum over your hand, making the vulgar squelching noises echo louder in the room. "S-shut the fuck up, S-Satoru-" Gojo spit back, averting his eyes from his bestfriend. Gojo let Geto pull his head back, their hands dropping from each other as they became seconds from cumming.

"God... god your hand feels so good princess, I-I'm gonna cum-" Geto whined, his eyes finding yours as his face scrunched in pleasure. "Cum for me Suguru, wanna watch you when you cum." You replied, making him groan loudly as his cock throbbed in your hand. "Heyyy~ You're making me feel left out," Gojo whined childishly, his hands wrapped around your smaller one that held his cock before he started thrusting into it, squeezing your hand tighter around him.

You looked over at him and shook your head as if the two men didn't just make out on top of you while you jerked them off. Your gaze was swiftly corrected by Geto's hand that gripped your chin, making you look at him. "S-said you wanted to watch me cum." He moaned, his voice breathy and high-pitched. "W-watch- f-fuck fuck fuck-" Long hot ropes of cum spilled from his cock and all over your chest, which was covered by one of Gojo's old band tee's. Something told you after today though, he wouldn't mind his shirt covered in Geto's cum.

"Good boy, fuck. You're so pretty Suguru." You praised, keeping your eyes on his face as his eyes squeezed shut and his orgasm wracked through his body, his abs clenching and his body spasming with his high. The only warning you got from Gojo was an obnoxiously loud moan before he was cumming. He grit curses through his teeth as he used your hand to milk his cock.

His cum was thinner than Geto's, but there was more of it, and his cum shot further when most of Geto's just spilled over your fingers. Geto groaned in annoyance when a rope of Satoru's cum landed on his thigh as Suguru twitched in the aftershocks of his orgasm. "So tighttt~" Gojo moaned, smiling through his orgasm as he squeezed his hands tighter over yours, almost painfully so.

"Ugh... fucking gross, you got your cum all over me Satoru." Were the first words spilling from Geto's mouth when he fully came down. Gojo wrung out his cock using your fist as he pulled it out of the makeshift pussy, making sure he gave you all of his cum. "Oh shut up, just grab a tissue you big baby." Gojo spat back, leaving his softening cock hanging out as he laid down beside you, putting his arm behind you, against the pillow you were laying on.

"No, you get me a tissue." He spat back, laying on your other side as he leaned slightly over your body to curse at the man next to you, his arm siding under your shoulders as he squinted at Gojo. "Hah???? I'm not your maid, get it yourself." Gojo retorted, looking at the man incredulously. You gave up on looking between them or trying to stop them for that matter.

You just layed there comfortably, your smaller body being squished and smothered by two large men who fought for your touch while simultaneously screaming at each other over a cum rag. You heaved a dramatic sigh, which both of them failed to catch, of course. You thought a little intimate time would bring them closer together but clearly, you were wrong.

———————————————————————

Bonus: At some point, Geto gave in and went to the bathroom to grab Gojo a tissue, leaving Gojo to take the opportunity to grab your body and pull you on top of him, wrapping his arms and legs around you like a koala. You shook your head, sighing as you knew this would only lead to another fight. When Geto stepped into the room once more, he was met by an annoyingly smug, Gojo face, making his vein pop out on his forehead. "Oh, you bitch." He growled, marching toward the bed.

You ended up falling asleep that night quite literally crushed between two large, muscly, hot, sweaty men. If you didn't die overnight from axphixiation, that would be a miracle. Honestly, though, you were just glad they had stopped fighting, so if that meant you had to die by suffocation? So be it.

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alwaysmicado · 21 days

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Nightcall

10.4k | 18+ MDNI | Marc Spector x f!reader

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, biting, rough & emotionally intense sex, multiple orgasms, possessive!Marc, choking, spitting, creampie, toxic dynamic Summary: Marc is a bad habit you can’t shake. A/N: This idea has been haunting my dreams like Marc has been haunting reader’s. And just like reader, I couldn’t resist the allure of this elusive, rugged, and devastatingly addictive man. Could you? Happy reading (even though it hurts) and let me know what you think! *Marc lifts & flips you with ease (he’s MK, duh). Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

One year.

It’s been one year since you’ve last seen him.

One whole year of wondering where he is, if he’s left for good this time, if he’s even still alive.

You’ve tried to fill the void in your heart, started smoking again, gave the nice guy from the coffee shop down the block a chance. He’s kind to you, makes you laugh, brings you flowers, and you think you could grow to love him.

You’re trying.

You’re trying so hard.

To forget, to forgive, to heal, to live.

And now he’s back. In your life, standing at your door at 1 a.m.

Marc Spector.

The bane of your existence.

You were lounging on your couch in your pajamas mere moments ago, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls, when a knock at the door shattered the peace you’d begun to find. Your heart stopped, your head jerking towards the door.

It couldn’t be.

You heard his voice, rough and familiar, sending a jolt through your entire being.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice muffled but unmistakable.

You stood, your legs trembling, walking closer to the door in a trance, bare feet on the wooden floor, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You didn’t answer, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

He was alive. He came back.

Marc came back to you.

What now?

Taking a deep breath, you look through the peephole, and your heart flutters when you see his face. He looks as handsome as ever, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, dark curls hidden under a baseball cap, beard stubble a little grayer than the last time you’ve seen him.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a deep exhaustion that pulls at your heartstrings.

He’s tired.

You know he is.

He’s told you in the rare moments he’d let you in, your sweat-covered bodies tangled in your bed, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

You’d see a spark of something in his warm eyes then. Something akin to sadness, longing, regret. But it would disappear after a few seconds, and he’d harden again, turning around to gather his clothes, telling you he needed to go.

You’d find new scars on his body every time he came to see you. He’d show up with barely scabbed-over cuts, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, a split lip. And you’d patch him up, kissing it all better.

You stopped asking how he got his injuries some time ago. He’d always give you the same answer anyway.

“Just a scratch, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

Whatever it is that keeps him going, it has more power over him than you ever will.

Tears blur your vision, and you slide down the door, sitting with your back against it. You want to stay strong, to remember the pain he’s caused you, but his words cut through your resolve like a knife.

“Come on, let me in. I came all this way to see you.”

It feels like he’s been out there for hours, but you know it can’t have been more than two minutes. Why is this happening?

“Let me in, Sunshine. Please.”

You blink back tears, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, your hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into your palms.

Every time.

Every time, he rips open the wounds he inflicted on you, and you know this time won’t be any different. You want to resist him, want to tell him to go to hell, that he can’t keep doing this to you, that you’ve finally had enough.

But you can’t do it, can you?

Resist Marc.

You both know you can’t. And deep down, under all the bullshit you like to tell yourself, under all the anger, under all the resentment, you know you don’t want to.

You never did.

Going for a smoke outside the bar, goosebumps forming on your bare arms as the wind blew and the rain fell, your feet sore from being caged in high heels for hours, the only thing you wanted was a minute of quiet, a minute where you didn’t have to smile or act like you were having fun.

You were tired—tired of the noise, tired of the people, tired of the pretense.

All you wanted was a moment of peace.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at your lighter in disbelief as it refused to spark, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Leaning against the cool brick wall, you let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.

How did it get like this? How did you get like this?

Deep down, you know you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. The problem is you. Not the world, not your parents, not the shitty things that have happened to you. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Need a light?” a voice cut through the rain, smooth and unexpected.

You opened your eyes slightly, just enough to see a stranger standing a few feet away. “Yeah, mine apparently hates me,” you replied, lifting the offending object.

The man chuckled, a warm sound that contrasted with the cold night. “Here,” he said, stepping closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk stirring something inside you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

He pulled out a sleek silver lighter, flicking it open with practiced ease, producing a small, steady flame. You put your cigarette between your lips, leaning in to catch the light. His eyes never left yours, a connection forming in that brief moment. He then lit his own cigarette, taking a drag.

The first inhale of nicotine calmed your nerves slightly, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside your mind. “Thanks,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall and savoring the moment of quiet.

“No problem,” he nodded, staring into the surrounding darkness.

He was closer now, leaning against the wall next to you, his presence oddly comforting.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.” You let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. He was handsome in a rugged way—dark curls, full lips, broad chest, with a confident air that was alluring. “What about you?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Rough night.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the gentle curve of his nose and the laugh lines in the outer corner of his eyes. You also noticed his split knuckles in the neon glow of the party lights hanging above.

“I guess we’re both running from something,” you said softly, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“Is that so?” He smiled at you with a raised eyebrow and you smiled back. “I’m Marc, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, feeling a strange jolt at the contact. “Nice to meet you, Marc. Thanks for the light.”

“Anytime,” he said, his expression turning pensive.

You both smoked in silence for a while, the rain a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

When your cigarettes were nearly finished, Marc turned towards you, his movements smooth and deliberate. He leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall next to your head, bringing his face and body close to yours, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips with unmistakable intent.

You hesitated for a second, brow furrowed, thoughts swirling. The rain fell around you in a soft patter. You searched his eyes and found something, something that promised a temporary escape from your hollow existence.

You didn’t have anything to lose.

“Yeah,” you said, putting out your cigarette with your shoe.

You ended the night with him on top of you, in your bed, all your troubles wiped away for a couple of hours. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive.

You thought it was just a one-night stand since he left as soon as you both came down, and you fell asleep, spent and satisfied.

Until he showed up at your door late at night, two weeks later.

There he was, standing in the hallway with that same charming smile, holding up a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s how it all started. This…thing you have going on.

“I missed you,” he’d whisper in your ear, his voice rough with longing as he was buried deep inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

Those words would wrap around your heart, suffusing you with a warmth that felt like everything you had ever wanted. In those fleeting moments, it was as if all the pain and uncertainty melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of being cherished, if only for a little while. But then, like always, he would leave, and the cold reality would set in.

He would tell you he couldn’t stay, but not why. His eyes would darken with unspoken burdens, and he’d brush a kiss against your forehead, promising he’d be back.

Yet, he never told you it was for your safety. He never mentioned the shadows that lurked around him, the dangers he faced on a daily basis. He didn’t tell you about the battles he fought, tooth and nail, just to carve out a few hours to be with you.

He didn’t tell you any of this, and after some time, you stopped asking. The questions died on your lips, replaced by a resigned acceptance. You accepted that you’d never be more to Marc than a brief escape, a distraction from whatever demons haunted him.

Well, your brain did.

But not your heart.

Your heart clung to every whispered endearment, every stolen touch, every heated kiss that promised more than he could ever give. Your heart held onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, one day he’d stay. That one day, this torturous cycle of brief encounters and long absences would end.

You’d lie in bed after he left, the sheets still warm from his presence, his scent lingering in the air. You’d replay the moments in your mind, his whispered words, the way he looked at you as if you were his salvation. You’d clutch your pillow, trying to hold onto the ghost of his touch, knowing that come morning, the loneliness would creep back in.

Every time he returned, it was like a balm to your wounded soul. He’d pull you into his arms, his kiss desperate, as if he was drowning and you were his only breath of air.

And for those precious hours, you’d let yourself believe that you were his beautiful girl, his light in a world filled with darkness, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

He’d leave again, the door closing softly behind him, and you’d be left alone. You’d tell yourself that it was enough, that these stolen moments were worth the heartache.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You always knew that your heart was breaking a little more each time he walked away.

And you know now that any resolve you’ve built up over the past year will crumble the second you open the door and look into his eyes.

It’s always the same.

No matter how sick and tired you are of his careless behavior, no matter how many times he chews you up and spits you out, no matter how many nights you spend crying over him, mourning him, cursing him, self-hatred wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

You let him in. You let him do this to you.

Because you love him. Because you’re a fool.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stand, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You sigh deeply, and before you can stop yourself, your hand turns the knob, opening the door just a crack.

Marc pushes the door open wider, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, and before you realize what’s happening, his cap is on the floor and his lips are on yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he kicks the door shut behind him. He spins you around, pressing you against the wall with a desperate need that makes you dizzy.

“I missed you, Sunshine,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body.

“Don’t call me that,” you protest, your palms pressed against his pecs.

He smiles. “But it’s who you are. My Sunshine.”

“I’m not your anything, Marc,” you hiss, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge. “I’m a warm body for you to fuck. That’s it.”

“That’s not all you are to me,” he says without missing a beat, brows furrowed, thumb brushing over your lower lip with a maddening gentleness. “Why so hostile, Sunshine? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There it is. That damn look. Concern, care, and hunger, all mingling in his eyes, breaking down your defenses bit by bit.

“Are you fucking kidding, Marc?” you snap, snatching his wrist to stop him from touching you. “You–you were gone for a year. No goodbye, no message, no nothing.”

His gaze doesn’t waver as he cups your face with both hands, and despite yourself, you let go of his wrist.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips make you want to throw up. You turn your head, your chest heaving.

He gently but firmly pushes your head back, his hands still cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. His grip is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control—the same strength that has always thrilled you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes boring into yours, pleading. “I’m here now.”

You’re stunned, frozen in place like a deer in headlights, about to be run over.

It’s too late for you.

All you see is him, the man who has torn your heart to pieces and yet somehow still holds it in his hands.

The world narrows to the space between you, and the chaos of your mind falls silent. You’re ready to die in this moment if it means feeling his touch again.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, a surrender, and his lips are on yours instantly.

The kiss is desperate, a clash of lust and guilt, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands move down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer.

You moan into his mouth, your body responding to his touch despite your mind’s protests. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of smoke and mint, and it floods your senses, drowning out the pain, the questions, the doubts.

Marc’s hands urgently explore the contours of your back, pressing you against him, reveling in your scent. You can feel the hard lines of his body, the heat of his skin, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Your back hits the wall again, and he pins you there, his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

One hand finds your breast, groping it for a moment, palm rubbing against your hard nipple, his touch needy and rough. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, his name escaping your lips in a broken whisper. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Impatient, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your panties with practiced ease. You step out of them, exposed, his leg pressing against your core.

You can’t help but buck your hips against him, your body moving on its own accord, driven by pent-up desire and anger. Your hands fist his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His hands are on your ass, kneading your flesh with possessive urgency, each squeeze sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Marc’s mouth is everywhere, hot and insistent, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from behind your ear down your neck. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching. He sucks and nips at your skin, frenzied and desperate, leaving a trail of bruises that mark you as his, each one a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting connection you share.

The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the wet heat of his mouth drives you wild, every touch igniting a fire inside you that you can’t control.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of frustration and need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responds with a growl, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, the sharp pain making you gasp.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip your ass harder, lifting your leg slightly so he can grind against you, his hardness pressing against your core, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You throw your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he continues to lick, suck, and bite with abandon, each mark he leaves on your skin feeling like a brand, a claim that you both know will fade but never truly disappear.

“More,” you whisper, your breathing shallow. “Please, I need more.” You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand down his hard torso, rubbing his bulge over the rough fabric of his jeans.

Marc groans and pulls back just enough to look into your glazed-over eyes, his own filled with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache. “I’ll give you everything, baby,” he promises, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you again, his lips searing and demanding.

You can feel the truth in his words, even if only for this moment, and you let yourself believe it.

He bites your bottom lip and pulls back with a growl, dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his mouth to your core. Your brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, your mind foggy, your heart racing.

“Marc, wait,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicks out, teasing your aching clit. “I haven’t—oh fuck—I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue lapping at your folds with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. He groans in response, reveling in the scent and wetness you’re spreading all over his face, cursing under his breath as his cock strains against the inside of his jeans.

His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you steady as his tongue and lips work with practiced precision to make you lose control.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, but you barely notice. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, fingernails scraping his scalp.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of desperation and bliss, your body trembling under this relentless, sweet torture. “Oh fuck, Marc.”

Hearing you moan his name is like gasoline on a fire, fueling his desire.

“God, you taste so good,” he pants against your skin, his voice filled with raw need, drunk with lust. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembles as he hums against you, his tongue alternating between slow, teasing licks and fast, desperate flicks before sucking on your swollen clit again.

You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a shaky whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He responds without hesitation, his tongue plunging into your wet heat, tasting you, drinking you, fucking you with ruthless intensity. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He replaces his tongue with his middle and ring fingers, sliding them inside you, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot. His mouth devours you simultaneously, desperately, like a man starved.

Your hips buck harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he finger-fucks you in rhythm with his licks. The dual assault of his tongue and fingers is overwhelming, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

Your nails rake across his scalp, and he groans against you, the vibrations sending ripples of ecstasy through your core.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind hazy as you can’t hold back the moans escaping your lips. Marc starts sucking on your clit with renewed vigor, the sensation sending you spiraling. You’re on the brink, the tension inside you coiled so tightly it’s about to snap.

The wet sounds of your pussy fill the air, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel your body tensing, the telltale signs of your impending climax, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

You don’t get to finish the sentence before you shatter into a million pieces, every nerve ending ablaze with euphoric release. Marc doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, holding onto your hip, continuing to lap at you and move his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until you’re left trembling and spent.

For a brief, blissful moment, you feel pure, unadulterated happiness, your fingers absentmindedly running through Marc’s hair. But as reality slowly sets back in, your living room coming back into view, Marc’s mouth on your core starting to become uncomfortable, the weight of what just happened begins to dawn on you. Your eyes meet his, and you feel it all crashing down on you—confusion, heartache, regret.

Marc finally pulls back, his face and fingers glistening with your arousal, a satisfied, almost smug grin on his lips.

He stands, his hands finding your cheeks as he presses his wet lips against yours, sliding his tongue inside. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, tasting yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“You miss me?” he whispers against your lips before pulling back enough to look into your wide eyes. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and his gaze is filled with an intensity that makes your heart clench painfully.

The casualness of his question tears at you, as if you had seen each other just yesterday, as if he hadn’t just given you an earth-shattering orgasm after crushing your heart with his bare hands.

And all after you swore to yourself you’d never let him do this again.

You want to hate him, you really do. But how could you? He came back from the dead to see you. You know he needs you right now, so how could you deny him?

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes, swallowing heavily. “Always,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.

A smile spreads across Marc’s lips, his eyes softening for a moment, and he captures your lips in a deep, fervent kiss again, as if trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You cling to him, head buried in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He clocks the bouquet of pink roses on your dining room table, notices the little card standing next to the vase. There’s a strawberry drawn on the front, but it’s too dark for him to read what he just assumes to be a lame pun about loving you ‘berry’ much.

How cute.

Marc lays you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours, trailing kisses down your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist again, rubbing yourself against his bulge, impatient, hands tangled in his curls.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, reveling in the needy noises you make, how you squirm under him, trying to get him to move and give you what you want.

He will. But first, he wants to look at you—at your beautiful body, every inch of your skin.

He gets off the bed and you scoot back, fluffing up your pillows and leaning against them with your back. You watch as Marc turns on the bedside lamp and removes his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscles and the scars that tell the story of battles you’re clueless about. He kicks off his shoes, his eyes never leaving yours. When he unbuckles his belt, ready to pull his pants down and fuck you already, his eyes drop down to your wet pussy, and he decides differently.

“Take off your shirt and show me how you played with yourself while I was away.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull your shirt over your head, your skin prickling with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the look in Marc’s eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. You spread your legs wide and slide your hand down your body, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your other hand moves to your breast, teasing your nipple, and you let out a soft moan, your eyes locked on Marc.

His gaze darkens with lust as he watches you, jeans on the floor, spitting in his hand, wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself slowly. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

God, how much he wants to bury himself deep inside of you, to feel your warm, wet pussy pulsing around his cock, to fuck all his frustrations into you, to hear your sweet moans, to feel your soft skin pressed against his.

It’s all he wants.

All he can think about when he’s away from you. All he needs in nights like this.

You increase the pace of your fingers, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure builds. Marc’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, his hand moving faster on his cock, mirroring the rhythm of your movements.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he pants. “Missed you.”

Fuelled by his poisonous words, your hips buck against your hand, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “Marc,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m close.”

His eyes burn into yours as he moves swiftly, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your legs. He nudges your hand away and replaces it with his own, his fingers sliding inside you in one smooth motion, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Let go, baby. Come for me.”

And with his words, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your pussy clamping down around his fingers, pulsating, your hands gripping the sheets. Marc watches you intently, his own breath ragged, cock throbbing so close to your dripping hole.

The ecstatic feeling coursing through you turns into uncomfortable overstimulation quickly, so you grab his wrist, and he withdraws his fingers, giving you a moment to come down.

You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Eyes glazed over, looking at him like he’s all you see, like he’s all you need. But as Marc holds your gaze, your chest rising and falling, he also sees something else in your big, beautiful eyes.

Sadness.

It’s a deep sadness he knows he’s responsible for—a sadness that cuts through the layers of detachment, apathy, and composure he’s built up to survive the trials in his life. Despite everything, there remains a gentle, tender part hidden deep inside him. A part that makes him vulnerable, scared, and like he could be the man you need…if only things were different.

“My Sunshine,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing over your hot cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions inside him. He leans over you, and the kiss he presses on your lips is soft, oh so soft.

It’s intense. Intense and unexpected.

It’s easier to push aside your feelings when he’s rough with you. It’s easier to tell yourself you’re just two lonely people fucking to feel a little less lonely if all you can focus on is your body.

But then he pulls shit like this and it gives you hope that you might mean something to him. And after years of asking yourself if he’s just an asshole who gets off on playing mind games, or if he doesn’t care enough to realize what he’s doing is killing you, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Marc pulls you out of your thoughts when he releases your lips and pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening with a different kind of intensity as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Open your mouth.”

You obey, parting your lips, your breath hitching in anticipation. Marc lets a strand of spit drop into your mouth, slowly, deliberately, watching as it lands in the back of your throat, and you swallow it without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, kissing and nibbling on your jaw, your neck, down to your breast, circling your nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his eager mouth.

“Marc…” you whine, looking down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, your heart pounding. You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touches you, in the way he makes you feel alive. And as you do, you can’t stop the words tumbling from your lips.

“Please stay.”

Marc pauses, his mouth still on your breast, his body tensing. He releases your nipple and looks up at you, his brow furrowing at your watery eyes.

He hates to see you like this.

“You know I can’t,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the guilt that’s clawing at his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

But he can’t comfort you. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be his salvation. Not when he knows it’d be a lie.

He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumps his painfully hard cock.

“Why?” you whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Why?”

Marc leans over you, arms braced next to your head, capturing your quivering lips with his, preventing you from making him feel worse than he already does.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t wait anymore. Needs to be inside you. Needs to make it all right.

He shifts in closer, pressing his cock against you, just sliding it between your folds, up and down, letting out a raspy sigh at the friction of it. His cock gathers your wetness quickly—you’re always so fucking wet for him.

Before falling asleep on whatever cot he’d find himself on, he’d sometimes allow himself to fantasize about waking up next to you, feeling your warm body, hearing your soft breathing, sliding his hand down the front of your panties, and feeling how wet you are from dreaming about him.

His breath catches in his throat just thinking about it.

“Marc…” you plead, and he smiles to himself—it usually takes far longer for you to start begging, so it must mean you really missed him. You squirm again, hips twisting like you’re trying to get him inside you, and he watches you intently, soaking up every little expression, every little moan, every little plea.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, dragging it out just a little bit longer. He loves to hear you, loves to get you to admit it. For you, the truth is in the action of it, but he likes to listen to you say it out loud.

“You,” you moan desperately. “I need you, Marc. I missed you so fucking much, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs with an imperceptible smile.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, staring up into his eyes.

Marc’s cock twitches at the genuine need he can see in your eyes, the sight like a potent drug going straight to his brain and filling him with more bliss than anything else could. He knows what you like, knows what buttons to push, knows exactly how to touch you to make you forget the world around you.

It makes him feel good to make you feel good. It always has.

And it’s more than the gratification of feeling your pussy pulsating around his cock or hearing you scream his name while your orgasm overtakes you. It’s more than his pride, his ego, his need to feel like he’s doing good for once in his life.

It’s you.

It’s his misguided effort to make up for all his misdeeds. His atonement. He tells himself it’s enough for him to fuck your brains out, to pour all of himself into you without inhibitions while he’s with you to offset his absence.

He tells himself that, holds onto it—needs it to be true.

“Please…” you whine, and he pushes up against your clit, feeling the pulse of it. You shudder at the intensity, the pressure, and he grins. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“Dirty mouth,” he chides, and you whine in frustration as he brings his hand up, pressing one finger to your slightly parted lips. You open them wider, suck his finger in, suckle for a moment and then bite.

“Fuck me,” you demand, voice muffled and tongue pressing against his fingertip, wet and warm.

Your teeth loosen up and he slides his finger deeper, right to the back of your tongue. You don’t gag, just stare him down defiantly, and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches down with his other hand, guides himself to your entrance, cock pushing deep into the tight heat of you, as slow as he can stand it.

You’re so fucking good.

His head starts to roll back instinctively, but he holds it steady and slides his hand over to your hip, gripping your flesh as his cock splits you open.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a low moan, brows furrowing, throwing your head back against the pillows. He pulls back a little only to drive right back in, hard, and this time you moan a hell of a lot louder. Quickly, he stifles the sound with his palm, pressing his hand right over your mouth—not because he doesn’t want to hear you. No, because he knows it heightens your pleasure.

Your resulting moans are muffled against his hand as you start trying to meet his thrusts, your hips working towards him, desperate for it. You love it when he smothers you like this, love feeling his big hand over your face.

He first discovered the power of it when you were arguing about something silly and you wouldn’t shut up—he did it jokingly, only to be surprised when you immediately fell silent. You didn’t even push him away or do anything obnoxious like lick his palm; you just went totally compliant. It was an instant reaction, as though it was something your body was conditioned to obey.

He grips your hip, feeling your soft skin against his palm, his other hand covering your mouth as he thrusts into you hard, until the bed is rocking rhythmically against the wall. The hand on your hip slides higher, over your belly, groping your breast, pinching your hard nipple. His other hand slips from your mouth and you’re panting now, your face hot and almost grimacing, your whole body taut and tense for him.

But then his hands meet at your throat, and you go limp, your lips stretching into an exhausted smile. He keeps his hands still, just on either side of your neck, curled around your shoulders, his thumbs across your collarbones.

“Go on,” you say breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation, lifting up your head in order to strain a little against his hands. He says nothing, smiling wickedly back at you, his hips working shallowly, cock thrusting against your G-spot.

“Go on,” you whine, impatient, and he wants to say, “What?” and grin sardonically and make you beg for it, but he’s too greedy, eager just like you are.

He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes, quick and sudden, watching your pupils dilate and your lips fall open. You’d let him choke you to death if he wasn’t careful, he’s sure—you get so fucking caught up in it—so he has to be vigilant, letting go when you look like you’re about to pass out.

It’s difficult to judge, though. You look blissed out already, and he can feel your tendons working against his fingers as he jabs his thumb just under your jaw, tightening his grip. You make these sounds—gasps at first, and then little choking coughs, your throat all raw, and all the while he’s thrusting into you, hard and fast.

He eases off a second, lets you catch your breath, and you draw it in, hoarse and gasping, looking dazed. Almost high.

You jerk your chin at him as if to say, “C’mon, again, what are you waiting for?” and he complies, one hand this time, big enough to reach quite a way around your neck. His other hand snakes down the center of you, down between your legs, along your hot skin to where he disappears inside, your slick folds parting to let him in. He teases with his fingers, finds your clit, gentle there even as he’s gripping your throat so tight he’ll probably leave marks.

You buck wildly against him and he holds you down, grinning, relentless, finger flickering over your clit as he fucks you, chokes you, brings you closer and closer to the edge—

He feels your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, then his arms, grabbing frantically at him as your whole body tenses, and you’re spluttering out a desperate, “Yes, yes,” and then he feels that same clenching around his cock, a quick spasm, so tight he can’t help but groan.

You come with your eyes shut and your mouth open, and he keeps going a moment longer than he needs to, stroking you where you’re oversensitive, making you shake and squirm.

Marc lets go of your throat and takes ahold of your breast instead, chasing his own release, fucking you harder and harder and closing his eyes because you’re gazing at him in that way that chips away at his resolve.

“Slow down,” you suddenly whisper, so full of him, so desperate to keep it that way.

He slows down minimally. “Why?”

“I–I don’t want….” you trail off as he licks and sucks on your neck, his hand groping your breast. “Please, I don’t want it to end…”

He pulls back a little and just…smiles at you, that irritating smile that says, “You honestly still think you’re in control here?”

It wouldn’t bother you as much if you weren’t still processing that he’s actually here, flesh and blood, after abandoning you, and having the balls to act like the past year didn’t happen. Like he didn’t stab your heart and leave you to bleed out slowly.

“I know you don’t want me to slow down,” he pants in your ear as he picks up the pace again, alternating between shallow thrusts that hit your G-spot perfectly, and deep thrusts that make you gasp. “You want me to fuck you like your little boyfriend never could.”

You freeze. Marc’s labored breathing, the wet sounds of your pussy, the sound of rain coming from outside your window—it all becomes white noise as your brain catches up with what he just said to you.

And then something snaps inside you.

Something primal, violent, desperate.

You grab the nape of his neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss, biting his lips hard, tongue swirling around his, the taste of blood in your mouth making your head spin. Marc moans into your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop his own movements inside you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer again, and you hate it. You fucking hate that he’s doing this to you. And you hate even more that you’re letting him.

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his bloody lips staining your shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you as your nails rake down his arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. You claw at his back, holding onto him with all you have. He groans at the pain and looks into your eyes, reveling in the pure need he can see in them.

You see how much it turns him on to see you like this, and it makes you even angrier.

Marc leans in to kiss you again, but before you know what’s happening, your hand shoots up to his throat, fingers digging into his jaw, pushing his face away. He growls at you and tries to kiss you anyway, stubborn and unyielding, his lips brushing against yours despite your resistance. You buck your hips and twist your body, trying to dislodge him, your hands pushing and shoving at his chest and shoulders.

You manage to get one hand around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Marc groans, his breath hot against your face, but his grip on you doesn’t falter. He grabs your wrists, attempting to pin them above your head, but you fight back with all your strength, writhing beneath him, your legs kicking out, trying to find leverage to push him off.

“That’s enough,” he growls, his voice rough and intimidating as he finally manages to secure your wrists. “Calm do–”

You turn your head and bite the arm that’s pinning your wrist down, canines piercing the skin.

“Fuck,” Marc hisses through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, as if he’s trying to match your intensity, trying to make you feel the same pain you’re inflicting on him. The bed creaks with the force of your combined movements, the air thick with the sounds of your mutual anguish.

“You wanna hurt me, baby?” he pants as he lets go of your wrist and instead grabs your chin to force you to look at him.

“Yeah,” you whisper without hesitation, your pupils dilated, your voice dripping with venom and need.

Marc’s eyes darken with a mix of lust and something deeper, something almost like understanding. “Good,” he says simply, grabbing your ass and rolling you both over, so you can ride him. He pulls up the pillow behind his back, so he’s propped up and you can hold onto his shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He moves his hips slowly, tenderly almost, as if to tell you he’s done fighting with you and wants you to feel good. You’re not there yet, you’re still seeing red. Clawing at his chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches that will take days to fade.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to make him feel the pain he’s caused, to make him understand what he’s put you through. You push his face away, his stubble grazing your palm, and he turns his head, biting down on your thumb, groaning at the taste of you. Spurred on by the sensation, your teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break the skin.

“Stop,” he grunts, the word strained, his cock twitching inside you. You don’t relent immediately, your teeth sinking deeper until he grabs your shoulders, trying to push you off.

Finally, he manages to grip your throat, not squeezing, but enough to make you stop. The pressure is firm, commanding, and it stills your movements. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and desperation. “Enough,” he says with finality, his voice rough and low. “I want you to fuck me, not kill me.”

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, the raw emotion in his eyes grounding you. Slowly, you release your grip on his shoulders, the tension in your body easing as you adjust to the new position. His hand remains on your throat, a reminder of his control, but also of the thin line between pain and pleasure that you both walk.

You start to move, rocking your hips against him, swollen clit rubbing against his trimmed pubes, taking him deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, enough to send a thrill through your body, but not enough to hurt. His other hand grips your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him, each thrust a release of the pent-up emotions that have been tearing you apart.

Mouth slightly agape, Marc’s eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and unbreakable. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Use me.”

And you do.

Your movements become increasingly more frantic, muscles tense, driven by a need to feel him, to feel that he’s really here with you.

“You left,” you pant, eyes piercing his, pleasure building inside you with every movement of your hips.

“Yeah, I did,” Marc replies, his tone unapologetic and infuriatingly calm. He lets go of your neck and cups your cheek instead, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your cheekbone.

“I–I thought you were dead,” you choke out, tears stinging your eyes as you find the perfect pace, hands resting on his pecs. The pressure in your core builds, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you were dead!” Your voice cracks as the hurt and anger that have been festering inside you pour out, mingling with the unbearable pleasure he’s giving you.

“I’m not dead, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is softer now, tinged with an edge of remorse. He accentuates his words with a powerful thrust of his hips, driving deep inside you. The sensation forces a moan from your lips, your anger momentarily drowned out.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you ride him harder, your body seeking solace in the physical connection. You lean forward, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling, your eyes closed.

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I fucking hate you, Marc.”

His response is immediate, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “I know, baby,” he pants. “I know you do.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, push you closer to the brink. You hold onto his broad shoulders as your walls tightens around his cock, the muscles in your legs aching. The rush you’re experiencing is intoxicating, the line between pleasure and pain, love and hate blurring until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

As the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, you cling to him, your body trembling. “I need you,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his grip on you tightening. “I’ve got you.”

The words are a promise, a plea, and as your orgasm crashes over you, you feel a moment of clarity. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, he’s here. He’s with you.

You collapse against him, your body trembling with aftershocks, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears stream down your cheeks. Marc wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tight as he chases his own release, his hips moving with relentless intensity. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice both a comfort and a torment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, too far gone to stop himself.

You’re lost in the moment, too out of it to hear him.

“Tell me,” he urges again, needing to hear you say it.

When you still don’t respond and he feels he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls your head back by the nape of your neck.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, flying high, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he says sharply, slowing his thrusts down as much as he can physically stand it, searching your face until your gaze meets his.

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats through gritted teeth, brow furrowed. “Please.”

His eyes are warm and you see him—the Marc who shared his favorite childhood recipe with you, the Marc who reassured you after your boss was an asshole to you, the Marc who made you laugh until your sides ached.

“I–I’m yours,” you whisper, the realization that it’s the truth breaking something inside you. “I’ve always been yours.”

Your words are like balm for his wounded soul, and he feels like he can finally let go. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marc. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He’s close. “I could–I could never stay away from you. Never.”

The confession slips out, raw and unfiltered, and it’s like a dagger to your heart. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to silence the sob that threatens to escape as he fucks you with everything he has.

“Gonna come, baby,” he pants. “Where do you want me?”

You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you, your mind foggy. But you know exactly where you want him, where you need him.

“Inside.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he’s here to give you everything he can. And he does, spilling his warm cum deep inside of you, his cock pulsing, hips stuttering as he groans your name.

Not baby.

Not Sunshine.

Your name.

He wraps his arms around you, softly, almost reverently, feeling your bare, sweat-covered skin against his palms. He holds you close like this for a moment before rolling you both over so he’s on top of you again, his cock still buried inside, his body slumping against yours.

Feeling his weight on you is grounding, soothing, calming you like nothing else in the world ever can. You try to absorb the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, knowing this moment of closeness won’t last. Marc usually doesn’t hold you for long after he’s fucked you.

You inhale his scent, draw shapes on his back with your fingertips, scratch his scalp softly, nudge his shoulder with your nose, press little kisses on his skin. Each touch is a silent plea for him to surprise you, to stay with you for a little bit longer.

He relaxes on top of you, the deep tension he’s been feeling for so long slowly giving way to a sense of calm. It’s peaceful, his mind quiet for once.

How he wishes he could stay like this forever; feeling your heartbeat, your soft touch, holding you close as you fall asleep, nose brushing the nape of your neck, a protective arm draped over you, keeping you safe.

He’s convincing himself to stay. He can feel it.

Just this once.

To put a smile on your pretty face.

To show you he cares.

It means so much to you, and how could he–

“I love you, Marc,” you whisper against his skin.

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret saying them as you feel his muscles tense and he pulls out of you, leaving you painfully empty. His cum starts leaking out of you, pooling on the rumpled sheets beneath you.

Marc sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to you and you sit up, leaning against the headboard, watching his profile with tearful eyes.

“Marc,” you say quietly, extending your hand to lightly touch his arm.

But it’s too late.

The spell is broken.

He gets up and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jeans pocket, lighting one up, the orange glow casting shadows on the wall. He blows out a stream of smoke as he pulls up his jeans, sitting back on the bed, eyes distant as he looks out of the window.

You feel a pang of hurt, but you press on, desperately needing him to understand. “You–you don’t have to love me too,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “But please, you’ve been gone for so long and I–I only just got you back. Please, just stay with me this one time. Just this one time.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. You shake your head slowly, resigned, then reach for his cigarette.

He gives it to you, watching as you put it between your swollen lips. You take a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs, and then exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a moment.

Marc eyes you curiously, recalling how you proudly told him you’d stopped smoking the last time he saw you.

Some things have changed, he supposes.

And some things…haven’t.

“Where were you?” you ask.

“Egypt,” he replies simply, caressing your leg.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“And the…business you had there, is it done?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, an imperceptible smile on his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You take another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to him, the smoke a comforting distraction. “Will you stay in town now?”

Marc looks at you, and for a moment, hope flares in your chest. “Mhm. That’s the plan.”

You reach out and trace the remnants of what you can only imagine was a nasty bruise below his ribcage. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He chuckles. “Of course I am.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy. There’s people who count on me, who need me.”

You avert your gaze, laughing mirthlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with trembling fingers. Marc watches you intently as he smokes, his hand resting on your thigh.

“I see,” you say softly as you meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t say anything in return.

“Why did you come back?”

I wanted to be as close to you as possible.

“My…job required me to. And I think it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He gently strokes your leg, unconsciously trying to soothe himself more than you. He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, just something, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I get that I’m not a priority for you, Marc, I really do,” you whisper, your expression so full of sadness he can barely stand to look at you. “You made that abundantly clear when you disappeared without having the decency to say goodbye–”

“Sunshine…”

“–but I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me.”

Marc’s brow furrows deeply as he watches your lip quiver with frustration.

“I-I promise I won’t ever ask you again, but please stay with me tonight. Please. It doesn’t even have to be the whole night. Just an hour, Marc, or–or half an–”

“Sunshine, no,” he says a bit sharper than intended, his own nerves frayed. He gets up and looks at the moon.

You just…don’t understand.

You don’t understand what keeps him up at night, what keeps him away from you, what he’s vowed to protect you from—and he can never tell you.

He knows he should have left you alone when he saw you outside the bar that night, should have walked away and spared you the pain.

But he couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.

Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Because he loves you.

He flicks the cigarette butt out of the window, then bends down to put on his shirt, the act mechanical, his face set in a mask of determination. You haven’t noticed before, but now you notice how careful he is when bending and stretching.

He must be in pain.

“Marc,” you plead, your heart beating so fast you feel like it’s going to explode.

He puts on his shoes, the silence that’s stretching between you suffocating. He’s killing you. He’s killing you, and yet you’re more afraid of losing him forever.

This needs to stop. You need to stop.

“If you walk out of that door, I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

Marc halts his movements and your pleading eyes search his, the genuine desperation in them twisting a knife in his heart. For a moment, you think you see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man you need him to be—but then it’s gone.

He sighs heavily, then rounds the bed, leaning in to cup your cheek. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you around.”

“Please,” you whisper, but it’s too late.

When he reaches the front door, his cap in hand, you stand in the living room, naked and vulnerable. “I hate you, Marc Spector,” you say, your voice filled with all the pain and anger you feel.

He turns, his eyes softening for just a moment. “No, Sunshine. No, you don’t.”

And with that, he’s gone.

It takes a few seconds for your body to react to what just happened, and when it does, it’s overwhelming. Your stomach sinks, your chest tightens, and your vision blurs as you grapple with your ambivalent feelings.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you crumble, the exhaustion and heartbreak taking over.

Heading back to your bedroom, your eyes catch the roses your boyfriend gave you yesterday, a cruel reminder of the life you’ve been trying to build without Marc. All the work you put in, down the drain.

And for what? Why do you do this to yourself?

In a fit of anger and despair, you grab the flowers and throw them off your balcony. You watch as they scatter on the rain-wet street below, the cool night air wrapping around your naked body like a cloak. You stay for a moment, heart pounding, staring at the flowers as Marc’s cum runs down your thigh.

God, you’re a dumb idiot.

You turn off the TV as you head back inside, turn off your bedside lamp, the darkness a welcome solace. You go to the bathroom without turning the light on, clean up, put on a fresh pair of pajamas.

You do hate him.

You need to tell yourself that, for tonight at least.

Curled up in your bed, you clutch at the pillow where his scent still lingers, letting the darkness take you as the man who holds your heart is once again slipping through your fingers. The tears come again, silent and unending, each one a testament to the love you can’t seem to let go of, no matter how much it hurts.

Because for better or worse, Marc’s a part of you, and you can’t escape it.

Down on the street, Marc watches the scene unfold from the shadows, the flowers landing at his feet. He stands there, drenched in regret, his heart heavy. He wants to turn back, to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but he knows he can’t.

Not with the life he leads.

Not until he’s finally free.

He walks to his car, parked on the opposite side of the street. Coming from the reflection of the driver’s window, the car illuminated by the street lamp above, he hears a familiar voice.

“You’re a cold bastard, Marc,” the man in the reflection says, his tone filled with quiet condemnation.

“Thanks, bud,” Marc sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You wanna explain to him that we’re gonna be late, then?” He raises an eyebrow, but Steven just shakes his head disapprovingly.

Marc scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think so.”

He takes the silver lighter out of his pocket, lights a cigarette, and leans against the car door, looking up at your windows. He imagines your silhouette as you’re lying on your side, your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He imagines you’re dreaming of him, finding peace in your sleep.

He knows he’s dreaming himself, knows you’re tossing and turning, cursing him. And he deserves it. He knows he does.

“Tick-tock, Marc Spector,” comes the resonating voice of Khonshu, his towering figure perched atop a nearby rooftop, his skeletal bird skull gleaming in the moonlight.

Marc rolls his eyes, takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with his shoe, and shoots the impatient god a glare that earns him a chuckle that echoes through the night.

He looks up at your windows one last time, his heart aching with a longing he can’t afford to indulge. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets into his car and turns on the radio.

As he speeds down the road, the city lights blurring past, leaving you behind, he feels the crushing loneliness of his life.

It’s strange.

Feeling lonely despite never being, you know, alone.

Right on cue, he catches the intense gaze of a dark pair of eyes in the rearview mirror.

“What? You gonna tell me I’m a cold bastard, too?”

Jake looks back at him with a sly grin. “Nah. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know,” he scoffs. “But it’s a real shame, Marc. Leaving that poor girl to get fucked by boys who don’t know what they’re doing, just ‘cause you don’t have the balls to–”

“And that’s enough of you,” Marc mutters, turning up the volume of the radio, refocusing on the way ahead.

⚡ Kavinsky’s Odd Look is playing in Marc’s car as he’s driving through the night, thinking of you. ⚡ Marc’s Ferrari Testarossa – the sexiest car there is. ⚡ I adore the synthwave aesthetic if you can’t tell lol.

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

#fic: nightcall #marc spector #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector smut #marc spector angst #moon knight #moon knight x f!reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight smut #oscar isaac characters #marc spector fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #oscar isaac fic

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fckeddiemunson · 3 months

Text

Blurred Lines Pt. 2

Part One Here:

Summary: What was a one time thing is turning into a full fledged affair

Warnings: 18+ONLY MDNI. some choking, p in v, creampie, more cheating, handjob, spitting

Notes: AHH ok part 2 is here! Please enjoy, I may make a part 3 i have some ideas.....

2750 words

Getting away with cheating is not a humbling feeling. It boosts your ego without even realising it. And then suddenly you’re taking risks you never would have before. You think you’re untouchable. Especially in this case when there’s two parties involved who have so much to lose. It doesn’t get any better with time either, the longer you aren’t caught for the less careful you become about hiding fleeting glances, small, overlooked touches. Then there’s after work. Going back to your respective homes, playing a husband and father or playing a dutiful fiancé. You think it won’t catch up to you, but it always will.

The immediate day after you were with Rusty, you called in sick – something you had never done. You were sick to your stomach that day, you couldn’t even be at home. Dom was at home sleeping in the same bed you let Rusty fuck you in, worse in the same sheets. Your absence was met with a slew of texts from Rusty, get better soon, hope you’re in tomorrow, where’s the link to my google calendar?, please sweetheart I’m useless without you. It was honestly a bit overwhelming. You spent most of that day in your car, driving past the office about ten times like a maniac. Once evening hit and you knew Dom would have left for work you went home. You collapsed once inside, relief rushing through you at being alone. You breathed deeply and smelt the dinner Dom had cooked and left warming in the oven for you. despite the rough patch you were having, he still made time for you like this, it made you sick thinking about it. You frowned, a twinge of guilt coursed through you as picked at the food, not very hungry. Your phone vibrated, filling the silent void you had cocooned yourself in. you felt even worse checking the message, from Dom sending his love and hoping you enjoyed dinner. Sending back a message with love hearts you shut your phone and cringed. But as you sat there longer, chewing slowly on the potatoes your loving fiancé had cooked. You made a decision. A decision to not let this effect you. Evidently you had gotten away with it. Everything would be fine so long as it remained a one-time thing.

The next morning you walked into the office with your head held high. Rusty had beat you into the office, not many people had filed in this early. You marched into his office locked the door and leaned against the door with your arms crossed.

“The other night was a one-time thing.” Your stern voice almost echoed in the room.

“Jesus. Keep your voice down!” Rusty looked suspiciously out the little window, not a soul was around besides the two of you. Ignoring him a little you continued; “I don’t regret it, god, I don’t regret it, but we have lives we must maintain.”

“I agree. We work so well together is all. We got carried away is what happened. For the record, I don’t regret it either, I should but I don’t. Shall we begin the day? Coffee?” Rusty had already made you a cup, it sat next to his on the desk. And just like that. It was swept under the rug, nothing more needed to be said.

A week passed uneventfully; more prep work was done for the woman whose body was found in the dumpster. The trial really was only another few weeks away and at this point it seemed cut and dry, open and closed. All thanks to your hard (very hard) work with Rusty that night. It wasn’t until you felt yourself staring at Rusty again when you should’ve been working that you felt concerned again. You felt an invisible tug towards him, a shudder in your lower stomach when you studied his lips for too long. You were reminded how good they felt on you, how good they felt on your neck – no. You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daydream, or more memory of Rusty.

The next week was full of late nights in the office with Rusty, the case now was too sensitive and confidential to work on anywhere else. Most of your team was in the office until about 8pm. It was the Friday before the trial was set to start, the following Monday. It was now approaching 8:30pm, everyone had already vacated, under the impression that we wouldn’t discover anything new this close to trial. But Rusty was insistent, he was beyond thorough and would not stop until he was satisfied there was nothing else to find. You had organised food for the two of you and stood in the break room, dishing up a plate of chicken and rice. Rusty was standing over his desk when you took it in, his hand catching yours as you placed his food.

“You know I really appreciate you. You’re the best assistant anyone could ask for.” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand, smiling.

“I’m much more than an assistant you know” You whispered, sliding your hand away.

“You’re so much more.” Rusty said quietly, you looked back at him. Without thinking, you tilted your head up and kissed him, eyes closing briefly. He kissed back, leaning into you. But it was all over too quickly, you pulled away, scurrying back to the break room to grab your food. You stood there with your hands on your hips, staring at the ground in disbelief. Another decision was made in that moment. The true point of no return.

“Fuck!” Rusty yelled after a few more hours of meticulous reading and frustrated re-reading of the case files.

“There’s just nothing else. I can’t find anything to fortify our case further.” Rusty slumped in his office chair, rubbing his temples and frowning.

“Maybe that’s because its already foolproof.” You offered, throwing your stack of papers back on the desk.

“No, it has to be better.” Rusty almost snapped, frustration overcoming him. You rolled your eyes, not appreciating the tone.

“Come on. Grab your things.” In a moment you were up, handbag and laptop in hand.

“What, why?” Rusty slowly got up, grabbing his things and attempting to tidy up before leaving for the weekend.

“We’re going to clear our heads.” You headed for the elevator; Rusty followed behind chuckling after you. Rusty’s arm brushed against yours the entire lift, he didn’t seem to want to move, and you were trying to stop yourself from moving closer to him. You looked at him again, his tie still tight from this morning. You placed your bag on the ground and reached up to his tie, dodging his gaze.

“Its now after work, got to loosen up a bit.” You loosened his tie, hands lingering on his chest, his warmth radiated up through your fingertips. In an instant, he backed you into the lift wall and kissed you deeply. You gasped as his hands pulled at the bottom of your shirt from your skirt, rucking it up and sliding his hands under. You felt his fingertips working upwards, running across your ribcage, feeling his way. He pulled his hands out and fiddled with the buttons up at your chest. The lift pinged as he undid two, exposing your cleavage to him, he looked smug as you walked to your car.

You drove the two of you to a cliff top lookout, it overlooked the whole city. At this time of night, you expected local teenagers with beer getting drunk, but it was thankfully deserted by the time you got up there. Rusty had asked many questions along the way, not a man who liked to be surprised. You had answered all of them, with Rusty kissing your hand. The city lights twinkled in the distance, feeling a lifetime away from the lookout. You sat in silence for a moment, both looking ahead at the view. It was you who broke the silence, sighing deeply and looking at Rusty.

“Fuck it.” You whispered, more to yourself and hiked up your skirt, climbing over the centre console, and into Rusty’s lap. He was amused, a smirk pulling at the edges of his lips.

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing, Rusty. I want you. I have craved you ever since that night. I can’t stop thinking about you.” You knew you sounded obsessive and a bit crazy. You knew it was a lot to be asking of him, of anyone but that longing desire you had burned for him. You tried to be a head strong person, but you had somehow almost girl-bossed your way into an affair.

“I don’t like keeping secrets from my wife.” Rusty was already playing with the buttons on your shirt, teasing you.

“So, I’m sure you told her about the other night then?” You stared him down, lifting his chin and forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Just shut up.” Rusty’s voice was harsh as he snaked his hands around the back of your head, pulling you down for a kiss. It was rough, all teeth nipping at each other’s lips. You let him kiss you, your hands snaking down to play with the buckle on his pants. Rusty let out a deep sigh as your hand brushed against him. He was rigid as the back of your hand stroked him, pulling his cock out of his pants. You eagerly spat, it landed on his cock, Rusty hissed at the contact. He bucked his hips when you touched him, a soft whine escaping his lips as you jerked him up and down with lazy strokes. You leant forward, lips connecting to his exposed neck, you felt a low warming in your stomach as you licked a stripe up his neck, stopping at his jawline and kissing him along it finally reaching his mouth. You licked his lower lip, begging for entrance, whining when he waved a hand through your hair pulling back, his grip firm. You locked eyes as your hand continued to stroke him up and down, now painfully hard, the tip blushing pink as you ran your thumb over the slit. Rusty grunted your name, his head falling back against the seat. Taking the opportunity, you kissed him, pulling him in and biting his lower lip, running your tongue against his now swollen lip.

Rusty took the chance and pushed you back, landing against the dashboard, your legs spread for him, pussy covered only by sheer stockings. You started pulling them down awkwardly, attempting to shimmy them off you when Rusty put his hand on yours to stop. His wicked smirk returned, hands grabbing on the material at the apex of your thighs, gripping tight and ripping a hole in them. A surprised gasp left your mouth as you stared at him through half closed lids, lustfully enjoying the way Rusty kneaded at your exposed thighs. His hand grabbed your thigh dangerously high, his thumb swiping over your underwear, brushing your clit. His thumb hooked under the band, feeling the warmth of your cunt as he inched towards your dripping entrance. A mix between a moan and a dark chuckle left his mouth when he felt how wet you were for him. How all it took was a hand-job to get you aching for him. He looked at you then, and you felt powerful, eyes following your hand down and gripping his dick as you leant forward and grinded your hips down onto him, his tip flicking against your clit.

“Please.” He whispered, hips meeting your grinding, breathless moans leaving him. You slipped forward, tilted your hips and sunk down slowly onto his length. Rusty was big, there was no way to put it lightly and you hissed at the burn sinking further onto him. He knew it too, he chuckled once you took him all the way, pausing to breathe deeply. You moaned as he bucked up impatiently, pulling you towards him and gripping your hips tightly urging you to move on him. Settling yourself, you placed your hands on the car seat for leverage and began moving your hips up and down. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you and you relished the feeling, short panting moans as your pace quickened. Rusty’s fingers kneaded and bruised your hips as you rode him, helping you move as he bucked in shallow thrusts from below. He felt so deep inside you, his cock nudging against the spongey spot making you mew for him. You ground yourself down on him, your clit rubbing back and forth over his neat patch of hair, and you released a moan, feeling yourself getting closer and closer.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined as he tangled his hands in your hair, pulling you forward to kiss you. His thrusts deepened and quickened as you rested yourself on his shoulder, panting and moaning as his cock pumped in and out of you now almost harshly. He pushed you back against the dashboard, hand travelling up to your throat and holding you in place as he thrusted upwards into you, still seated in the car. His fingers wrapped around your throat, and he squeezed, testing the waters. Rusty groaned hotly, chuckling darkly as he felt your cunt clench when he squeezed. He did it again and you moaned, it came out high pitched and strained as Rusty kept his hand on your throat.

“Oh, you are a little slut for me, aren’t you?” Rusty’s voice had changed, he sounded rugged as he egged you on.

“My own personal stress relief. Isn’t that what you wanted, to ‘clear my head’?” Rusty felt his ego inflate ten-fold when he looked at you, mimicking your words from earlier. You met his eyes, cock drunk and watering as you held onto his hand, choking you. He tore his hand away from your throat, grabbed your leg and hitched it up higher, resting on his shoulder as he inched forward, fucking you deeper. You couldn’t answer him, you were too fucked out and teetering on the verge of an orgasm, eyes fluttering shut.

Rusty’s hand made its way to your cunt again, his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. You jerked against his touch, suddenly becoming too much as your orgasm built in your stomach.

“Rusty, its too much” you attempted to move his hand, but he gripped your wrist and held it away, his thumb moving quicker against you.

“You can take it sweetheart.” His thrusts quickened, his pace becoming erratic and sharp.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, immediately whining as you spasmed. A hot and cold feeling washed over you as Rusty kept on fucking you through your orgasm. Your cunt pulsed, over stimulated and Rusty wasn’t stopping, he was chasing his own high. He grunted and pulled you closer to him, feeling him everywhere. He was too deep, he smelt too good, his arms wrapped around you possessively as he thrusted the last few times. He nestled against you, burying his head in your neck and breathing in deeply as he grabbed you tighter against him, moaning into your hair, his warm cum spilling into you. You eventually relaxed into his tight grip, too tired to move. Rusty felt too good in your arms to move as well, his hand stroked your hair, you could feel his cum dribbling out of you. Rusty made no attempt to move, just stayed locking you in his arms. The rush was subsiding, and you both enjoyed each other’s silent company. You both felt it thought. The pull towards one another. You could hear his mind turning over like cogs, both coming to another decision. It was another night spent with the wrong person. Another night spent with each other, but now he was your arms, feeling far too intimate to be just sex.

You were the first to break the silence, “Rusty, I don’t want to go home, yet.” Your hand snaked in behind his neck, tilting it up so you could look at him.

“I don’t want too either.” His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

You don’t know how long you stayed up there, embraced in each other’s arms, but you knew something had changed. There was no going back after this.

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal fic #rusty sabich smut #rusty sabich x reader #rusty sabich #presumed innocent #presumed innocent smut

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spookedem · 2 months

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I've had this idea for a while but never really formally so without further ado, I'm presenting...

Stitch Theory

A theory that explains why gingi is the way they are!

A few things you need to know first:

At this point it's at least some what agreed upon that callum caused the DialUp by manipulating realtity to give everything object heads somehow (Dog has mentioned it even affected undiscovered tribes and animals on the DialUp day)

Only one timeline exists at once and they happen one after another as God says on day 2 of randys route.

Voids are outside of time and space and tied to reality/reality being unstable. Like enc0unter seeping through in parts of dietown when the world is ending, the wormhole, and just enc0unter as a whole!

Now onto the actual theory!

With God mentioning multiple DialUp timelines we can assume most are from Crown messing with reality, now picture the metaphorical fabric of reality is held together by hundreds of stitches keeping it together. Now each time Callum messes with reality in a Timeline he tears a stich, makes everyone's heads are objects, then eventually the next timeline starts fresh with reality still slightly damaged from the tear. Now if you do that do that for hundreds of DialUp timelines that small hole is getting larger and larger making reality unstable as we can see through out Dialtown.

Now with Crown being the one to do it most timelines, I think that had an imprint on reality spitting out Gingi, a creature who can warp time and reality, has various memory of history (mostly parts of ww2), and most of all Crowns memories. I propose that Gingi is bit and parts of different timeliness crowns causing the DialUp given form to fix reality and tie up loose ends.

Now to explain Typegingi:

Diffrent timelines have different changes, and though in the current one Callum Crown caused the DialUp, in another timeline Marla Crown could have as well!

That's mostly it! If you folks have any questions about it or see any flaws feel free to mention them!

#dialtown #dialtown theory #callum crown #dialtown gingi #marla crown #stitch theory

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gretavanlace · 1 year

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Sugar II (part 1)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult content, descriptions of alcohol abuse, illusions to casual sex, language, all the angst, etc.

“That had better not be a fan in there.” Josh hisses, just loud enough for his disheveled twin to hear as he stumbles by on his way to the bathroom.

There’s a girl, sprawled out and snoring softly, in the bunk Jake has just lumbered from without grace.

A sound of irritation grunts out of a still half-inebriated Jacob. “Dunno. Met her at that bar, I think. Can you get her out of here? Call a car to meet us at the next rest stop, or something? Make sure she gets home?”

“Get her out of here yourself.” Josh snipes, clearly angry and far beyond exhausted with this all too familiar song and dance.

His brother ignores him and slips into the bathroom. Likely to expel whatever whiskey is still sloshing around in his belly, before showering to wash her perfume from his crawling skin.

The girl, another nameless body to sink into, will be gone by the time he’s through, he knows. Josh will make sure of it. Bless him.

Under the spitting heat of the water raining over him, the tears come again. He loathes them, these tears. Will they ever end? Will he ever find something he can at least pretend to call peace?

Yet, he clings to them…a security blanket of sorrow. Each one a talisman of grief and loss. He would gather them all up if he could. Bottle them into something tangible and accusatory to shove in the face of fate…

Look what you’ve done to me! He’d spit, vibrating with rage. You took her! How could you fucking take her? Where is she? I can’t breathe another second without her. I’m dying, I’m fucking dying.

Most days, he wishes death would finally find him. Most nights, he hunts for it, in self destructive ways. He doesn’t find it, of course, that would be a kindness the universe doesn’t seem to care to offer him. Instead, he seeks that numb and beautiful void. Crawls down into the darkness of endless bottles and women he doesn’t know.

No, he doesn’t wish his agony away. He is attached to it. Comfortable inside the dank, slippery claw of its cruel embrace. For without it, what would be true? That he was finding light again? Without you? The very idea makes him want to crack open his own skull to wash the thought away.

You live in his pain, and if that is how he must have you, that is where you’ll stay. He will keep his pain, gladly.

George Jones was right - he’ll stop loving you the day they lower him into the ground with pennies resting over his eyelids. The sooner, the better.

You’re gone, but you’ve never left him. If he has things his way, you never will. Though, you’re fading…blurring around the edges. Were you ever really there at all?

He once imagined it was all a dream, you belonging to him as well, and he’d wished to never wake up. He wishes for that still, when sleep doesn’t evade him and the booze doesn’t steal his dreams of you. Your laugh, your voice, your skin, soft as a sigh and just as warm. The way you held in your sneezes. Why does he dream about that? It always worried him, mildly. Annoyed him, even.

“Just sneeze!” He would goad you, shaking his head. Why? Why does he dream of that? It makes him feel off-kilter, slightly insane.

When, finally, he trudges out of the bathroom, hair dripping onto his still clammy shoulders, Josh is waiting, just like a spider.

He stretches his arm out across the narrow hall, blocking Jake’s path with his makeshift web “When are you gonna get your shit together?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The shove between them is half-hearted. Jake is too drained, and too hungover to make it stick, and Josh’s soul hurts for his twin too badly stomach much more. “Move.”

Josh ignores him in favor of nodding over toward the now vacant bunk, “She looked like her.”

“Fuck you.” Jake ducks beneath Josh’s arm and instantly feels unsteady. Shit, he drank way too much…but what else is new? Josh sidles right back into his path and the spinning in Jake’s head is all for nothing.

“Yeah yeah, fuck you too, brother.” The elder twin is unfazed. Concerned, but unfazed. “They all look like her. But none of them are her, and you know it. You have to stop this, Jake. You have to fucking stop.”

“What part of fuck you didn’t you understand?” He’s being cruel, lashing out with anger that has nowhere else to go. He’s just so angry all the time; it’s a revolting but necessary salve for the hurt. Rage is softer than pain.

Does he blame his brother for you loving him, too? For the fact that Josh held half of your heart and ultimately, that took you away? That it was easier for you to leave than to choose? No.

Does he blame Josh for getting over you? For somehow finding solace and peace? For letting you go? Yes. It seems such a betrayal.

See? He wants to say to you, to hold the words out like some twisted, desperate offering. See? I loved you more all along. Do you see? Come back.

Josh stands his ground, but his words come kindly, and soaked in empathy, “It’s been three years, Jake. You can’t keep living like this. I’m worried. We’re all fucking worried. I look at you and it’s like watching some disease swallow you up. She isn’t coming back. I’m sorry, but you need to hear it. You need to get your head around that.”

With another shove, Jake maneuvers the tight space and steps forward to slide his bunk’s curtain aside, “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“I know, but she…”

Jake turns on his brother, whipping around with feral, furious flames burning wildly in his glare, “I said I don’t want to fucking talk about her, and don’t you ever fucking say that to me again. That she isn’t coming back…”

That seething fury dies out in an instant, only to be replaced with that all familiar sorrow as he hangs his head, loathsome and ashamed of his display. “I’m sorry…just don’t, just please don’t say that. I can’t stand it.”

Josh can feel his heart splintering for his brother. The misery that radiates from Jake like a blackened aura makes him want to turn away, but his loyalty holds him still, to bear witness. He won’t leave him alone in this.

“It should have been you.” Maybe he shouldn’t say it, maybe it will only make the hurt worse. Maybe he’s feeding the beast. But he says it anyway, because it’s true, “Probably right from the start it should’ve been you. But it wasn’t and at some point you’re just gonna have to swallow that.”

Jake visibly deflates, shrinking in on himself as though he’d love nothing more than to disappear…and then he’s silently climbing into his bunk, where Josh knows he’ll stay until he is forced to emerge for soundcheck and wardrobe.

Josh has watched this play out over and over again. A groundhog’s day of mourning.

Jacob will go through the motions - he will make sure your name and a pass is waiting at will call, as though you might decide to materialize at the venu like some miraculous mirage. His eyes will scan the crowd incessantly for a face that isn’t there…and those same eyes will avoid his twin’s when he sings those terrible lyrics, please stay, don’t go away.

…and then he will get smashed as quickly as possible on whatever is readily available and take someone to bed who has eyes that remind him of yours, and a name he won’t care to ask.

Hours later, things are going to plan, just as they always do, with three of them checked into their respective rooms at yet another hotel, and Jake lingering in the lot, hidden away in his bunk.

Josh is trying to meditate, humidifier hissing moisture into the air beside him as he searches for his center. Legs pretzeled and folded beneath him. He hums quietly, just enough to coast along the vibrations. Some days are harder than others when he’s seeking to turn off his mind, relax and float downstream. Today is one of those days.

The carpet in the hotel is too thin, he feels as though he’s perched upon concrete; the walls are also thin to match the flooring, and Jake’s torment is tugging at him relentlessly. Something is different. Something feels off.

He reaches up and runs a flattened palm across his chest, finding comfort in the stark white cotton of his shirt and the mala beads that rest against it. When your world changes as often as theirs, you find your constants in the strangest places.

With a slow, deep breath he begins again, but a knock snatches the promise of celestial calm. Immediately, he’s annoyed - but it fades almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t going to happen this evening anyway…something isn’t right, and it’s got to be Jake. He’ll deal with his unexpected visitor and then make his way back down to the buses to talk with him.

Connecting with his brother a little will serve as his meditation tonight.

Josh finds Danny’s face distorted and warped by the peephole, and pulls the door open.

“I was trying to achieve inner peace, dick,” he jokes, turning to allow Daniel in, “but you just had to—“

His brother by heart is on such high alert he’s nearly sparking with the electricity of his frantic nerves as he cuts him off, “She’s here, man.”

They rush out of him, those words that carry so much weight, as his hand rakes through his unruly curls, “I just saw her. She’s fuckin’ here.”

Josh needs no clarification, he knows exactly who Danny means, “No she’s not.”

“Yes, she is,” For all of the space he takes up in the room with his size and presence, he sounds remarkably small. They both understand the weight of this, and what it could mean for Jake. “I ran into her in the lobby. She’s in town for work, had no idea we’d even be here…she asked me not to tell you, but…”

“Fuck,” there is a tremor in Josh’s curse, and the weakness of his own voice makes him wince, “Fuck! This is bad. What if he sees her? He can’t handle that, I’m telling you right now.”

Josh can handle that. In fact, he thinks it might be nice to say hello. To hug you and ask how you’ve been, to smile and let you know that hard feelings don’t exist…

But Jake is another story altogether. You broke his heart when you went away. This time, you might rip it right from his chest.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @gretavangroupie

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princeofwittenberg · 8 months

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Screaming out into the void once again about how painful it has been to lose so many former friends since 7/10. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s most likely ignorance not malice but it is really really hard to feel like the people who you once trusted now wouldn’t care if you died and it’s really hard not to take that personally.

I keep having these thoughts of like “how little did you ever respect me if you can believe blatant misinformation calling my people genociders?” And how little must you respect me to not even ask me why I would be supporting a side that you think is committing genocide?

So many of my former friends, people who I thought knew me well, overnight decided that I’m a terrible person who would support a genocide and didn’t even bat an eye. What the fuck ? Why do you think so little of me? Doesn’t it make more sense that you have it wrong? Or have I always just been this evil person to them?

I’m lucky to have a great Jewish community and lots of Jewish friends to feel supported by but I’m in a place of total loss of goyische friends and total distrust in the non-Jewish community because I have no idea who will listen to me and who is just going to spit vitriol in my face. Non-Jewish places don’t feel safe anymore because I am tip-toeing around people trying to figure out if the topic will come up and what to say so I don’t get the look of disgust I keep getting from people who just don’t know anything. It’s like a constant state of social anxiety but I don’t think I’m overreacting.

I wish I could just sit down with people and help them understand what’s actually going on, help them identify their antisemitism, help them understand the conflict and how to actually support Palestinians, but no one wants to listen. They just want the easy, un-nuanced answer so they don’t have to think, but that answer is wrong. And it’s hurting people.

The feelings from this are going to linger for a long time. I’m really scared that my trust around non-Jews is never going to return to where it was before. And I hate that. I don’t want to be isolationist.

But I have so much hurt inside me that I can’t resolve, so much that it feels like it’s suffocating me sometimes. It’s pain, and mourning, and grief, and anger, and it’s like I have to keep taking the hits.

B’ezrat Hashem the hostages will be released soon and Hamas will be dismantled and we can return to peace. But I’ll be honest tikvah is not my strong suit right now.

#just thoughts and feelings #phew #jumblr #ישראבלר

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lemon-russ · 2 months

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On a completely different note, me and hyperfixation enabler (bf) got onto a long ramble about how cool vultures are. Then he was like, man there should be a vulture WH40k chapter.

So here's my idea for a homebrew WH40k Vulture chapter that I am obsessed with. Needs an adjective for the name, tentative Void Vultures or Iron Vultures. Colors dark dark gray but not black, dark blood red, yellowed bone white. (Will draw later)

Also eyes like a bearded vulture, white iris and reddish skin around the eyes.

Long list so below the cut ⬇️

- Loyalist founding from Death Guard, immune to gasses and resistant to disease. Spits more acid than normal.

- Track enemies a long time, following them and weakening them. Patient long term hunters, like to wait for them to wear down, and like going after post-battle enemies that either just won or escaped a fight and are now weakened.

- An army that just won by the skin of their teeth may not get time to rest and recover when they pursue them like circling vultures, tracking them and trailing them slowly. Similarly will use superior tracking to follow retreating enemies of another chapter, pecking at them and finishing them off.

- Quick to retreat when outnumbered, seem cowardly to other legions. Sometimes wait and see if they can catch the enemy again at a more opportune moment, taking potshots at them to see if they are wearing down. Can take down larger foes through persistence.

- Sometimes overstretch themselves and get killed for it, thinking they can wear someone down only for them to get a surprise pushback. Not good in a blitz or against very aggressive and unpredictable enemies like space sharks.

- Use indirect modes of killing mostly, like chemical warfare. Have gasses like Death Guard, and are similarly immune/ resistant to their own gasses. Prefer long hunts, scouring out dug in enemies, and cleaning up stragglers from other chapters fights.

- Like to follow Black Templars around when they come across them, cleaning up after things they missed or just scavenging leftover loot and trophies of the battle. Love to loot and scavenge useless things, decorate their armor and ships with bones and trophies. Also like following other chapters if they are going to fight something, just wait for them to be done and clean up the rest or loot the battlefields.

- Huge and intimidating, very scavenger chic, decorate themselves with trophies and bones, use lots of big feathers. Like things that clatter and clink on their armor like strings of bones, and like to make themselves look bigger with things.

- not physically more powerful for it, just intimidating to enemies to see huge, scary eyed marines Clattering toward them slowly without saying anything. Rely on intimidation to keep enemies on the back foot.

- In aggressive encounters, circle in on enemies in slow, persistent attacks. Push, dig in, push, dig in. They are patient and persistent, and prefer corralling their enemies into groups, using their gasses and chemical weapons to kill them en masse.

- Like to watch things die from a distance. Not good in close aggressive combat, and prefer using a smaller number of terminators. Use their teleport jumps to keep distance and in a pinch, escape. One vulture terminator can pick away at one or two strong foes given time, but does not do well ganged up on. One on one, will teleport to hard to reach places, gas enemies, and corral them towards hazards or other threats. Prefers being defensive and slow. Not great use one on one but excellent exterminators in groups.

- If facing overwhelming and aggressive enemies, will just leave. Do not feel shame in retreating. Will retreat quicker than other Astartes. Often just to and see if they can wait out the threat and try again when their guard is lowered, but if they get threatened enough will give up and leave.

- Have strong disease resistances and immunities. Have Apothecaries that specialize in disease and Nurgle plagues before they take full hold, and specialize in treating baseline humans. Are much less likely to become diseased by Nurgle and are very on top of healing those who have been tainted before it gets too bad. Have to put many of their number down for it though, due to sheer frequency they are exposed. Care is heavy on inoculations for all new Vultures and routine boosters for what diseases they know it can help.

- “The opposite of disease is not medicine, it is immunity.” -Vulture Chief Apothecary

- Hate Chaos Death Guard and Nurgle. Will go out of their way to fight them. Will purposely go clean out planets that have been diseased by Nurgle. Use their superior immunities and their hands off fighting styles to slowly and thoroughly purge Nurgle plagues. Prefer incendiary purging for this.

- Will leave long pursuits if they are contacted and pointed toward Death Guard or plagued places. Will prioritize cleaning out the dregs of disease over even very good loot. Will join fights against Nurgle and death guard even though never join in already in progress fights otherwise. Not great team players but will attempt to be to help or take over fights against Death Guard.

- Get serfs and new Astartes alike from scavenging post-battle areas as they loot. Will find use in hurt, sick or disabled baseline humans that other chapters would overlook. Apothecaries are adept in healing baselines, and will heal and patch up promising mortals. Take slightly older recruits for Astartes than other chapters, like space wolves, like older teens and young 20s. Have higher mortality rate for geneseed implants because of it.

- Because of low implantation success and thus numbers, on top of being a more defensive and play it safe chapter, they scavenge a lot of human serfs and aspirants. Many are healed from injury and illness and many are partially disabled and given help for it.

- They find that people healed and rescued from their circumstances are sort of inoculated to it again, in a what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger way. A human who was grievously wounded in a fight but came out on top is seen as having more potential than one who came out fine. Also feel it is more likely for strong and capable people to be overlooked by the armies that came in ahead of them if they are injured or sick, and with a little care they can find diamonds in the rough. They like to scavenge and loot, and sometimes, good baselines are good loot.

- They ask first, but will only heal those who join them. Sometimes a bit of a “well I guess you could die if you want” situation, but most baselines appreciate being cured or cared enough to be grateful.

- Serfs heavily utilized in their scavenging. Will have groups of serfs whose whole job is to go dig through debris and carrion to find neat loot and cool bones. Terminator vultures will have personal serfs whose job is to specifically help scavenge for loot for them alone, and then clean the trophies and present them to their Vultures.

- A serf who finds an especially cool trophy, or who goes out of their way to get the head of a difficult enemy their vulture killed, are given preferential treatment and coveted by their Vulture. Serfs and baselines are seen in many ways, as also loot. Find a baseline dying of cancer, bring them back as a serf, and then they recover an Ork Boss pole off an old battlefield for you? That was a good baseline to loot rescue! Score!

- Ships look like a junkyard bazaar. Garbage and bones decorating everything. Vultures keep extensive collections of trophies in their quarters. Decorate their armor heavily with their favorite trophies. Sometimes decorate their serfs with them as well. All loot is impeccably cleaned, just everywhere.

- Personality wise, quiet, do not talk much at all during fights. Most fights are just the sounds of the enemies and then their armor clinking with clutter. Stoic faced and quiet, but really more like space sharks. Not a ton going on specifically, just nothing to say. Smart strategic thinkers. Not particularly prideful, no shame in retreat and survival, don’t particularly care what other chapters think of them.

- Individual vultures tend to keep to themselves and their brothers over intermingling with other chapters, in a reserved way. Don’t like having to work particularly hard for something, prefer waiting things out. Very patient and calm. Only territorial about their loot, but they don’t tend to fight over it as their trophies usually only mean something to them specifically. Other vultures see it as garbage, affectionately, and respect their brother's things. Do sometimes squabble over serfs, as a good scavenger serf means more cool stuff.

- While can be caring towards baselines they’ve taken in, not very concerned with the suffering of ones they haven’t if they aren’t someone they want. Exception is they do feel pity for the baselines that get infected by Nurgle that they then have to purge, and they show respect for them by exterminating any and all signs of Nurgle they can find, including the humans infected. Exceptions made to treat humans who are sick but not yet corrupted by Nurgle, since they don’t relish in decimating everyone. If they heal, they are often kept as serfs.

#I just think theyre neat!#Wh40k homebrew chapter #warhammer 40k #wh40k #my work #WIP #yes i quoted tool in there #vultures homebrew chapter

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daddyhausen · 10 months

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｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡「 KINKTOBER DAY SEVENTEEN: MARKING 」｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — jealousy was always a weakness of his, and he intended to mark you as his by any means necessary

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+, [ MINORS DNI ], jealous sex, rough sex, marking, biting, dominant x submissive dynamic, spanking, fingering, anal sex, anal creampie

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 560

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x wardlow

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @cosmoholic13 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwrites @biforrollynch

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「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

michael’s movements were vicious

his large fingers clawing at the skirt of your dress

shoving the tight material up past your plump ass

the lack of underwear beneath revealed your plans somewhat

to release the jealousy that had been building up inside of him all night

it had been casual banter between the stranger and yourself

keep in mind that you had zero intention of ever sealing the deal with him

maybe a few flirtatious remarks here and there but nothing that could not also be said in a platonic conversation

michael however, had other ideas

he didn’t enjoy the thought of another man attempting to take what was his

just another man in your presence was enough to set of the jealous streak inside of him

the last thing on your mind was him dragging you out of the nightclub

now back behind the walls of your home, secure from prying eyes

his cock now pressed against your ass

his fingers looming closer to you mound, wanting so bad to fill your cunt with them, yet he refrained momontarily, a form of punishment you so rightfully deserve

“is my cock not good enough for you huh? you gotta find another man’s pathetic dick to ride on?”

his cock grinding hard against your ass

slick with spit as he previously lubed up his shaft

his tip teasing your puckered hole

“i-i wasn’t gonna fuck him daddy…” you whimpered, feeling the tips of his fingers tease your sensitive clit

“sure you weren’t, princess.” he mocked. “why else would you be whoring around the club with no panties on?”

you have no response to his comment

instead slowly beginning to grind back against his cock

his fingers slipped into your void, curling upward in a slow rhythmic motion

gathering your wetness onto the large digits

his free hand guiding his cock into your ass

feeling your tight hole stretch and grip around his size

“remember babygirl, no one fucks you as good as i do”

his voice resonated with a deep rumble in his chest

“you’re mine!”

his thrusts were calculated and malicious

desperately trying to fuck the brat out of you

to tame his jealousy

he bared his teeth, biting hard into the skin of your shoulder, not enough to draw blood, but enough for it to bruise under the skin in splotches of red and purple

the initial bite caused a gasp to catch in your throat

soon accompanying the pleasures of his cock and fingers.

leaving you a moaning dripping mess for him

his fingers filled to you the brim

arousal building like an ever present wave ready to crash upon the shoreline

increasing his speed the longer he progressed

“d-daddy please-“

your cries were meddled with pleasured moans

feeling so blissfully fucked out with each of his movements

his cock swollen and throbbing with arousal

emptying rope after rope of his hot cum deep within your tight warmth with a low resonating growl

fingers curling and thrusting deep inside your cunt until you spilled over

his free hand raining terror on your ass

spanking and slapping the pillowy flesh until your skin glowed warm and red

juices leaking down his palm and your thighs

he remained inside of you

making sure to pump your ass full of his seed

“remember this. i own you, princess”

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#{ my fics : 🤍 }#wardlow x reader #wardlow fanfiction #wardlow smut #aew #wrestling imagine #kinktober #kinktober2023 #wrestling smut #aew imagine #aew wrestling #aew fanfiction

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biting-miguel-ohara · 12 days

Text

Mindfuck - Cassandra Nova x male!Reader

A/N: this was a fun request to fulfill. Gonna be honest, I did not have the same experience as the anon requester, but it was enjoyable to write all the same

Written for this request

Dividers by @/enchanthings

CW: Deadpool & Wolverine spoilers (sorta), fourth wall breaks (kinda), killing mentions, Cassandra’s hand/mind powers, explicit sexual content, smut, handjob, mindjob (I got no clue what you’d call this tbh), Cassandra calls Reader pet, kissing

900 words

“Well, well, well.” The woman stops in front of you. “Look who we have here.”

You know who she is. By her appearance, if not her voice. Cassandra Nova. Charles Xavier’s twin sister. Most of the Void’s citizens have a death grudge against her.

You find her rather attractive, actually. Most of their insults had been about her personality, or her actions, but the really foul ones had been about her appearance. You’d been expecting some wizened old hag, not the beautiful woman before you.

“It’s been quite some time since a Reader was in the Void.” Cassandra crouches to be eye-level with you. It feels vaguely condescending. Probably because you’re on your knees. You’re kinda into it.

“And quite a handsome one at that,” she muses. “Pity you’ll be dying soon. I’d have rather liked to keep you.”

“D-Dying?” Your voice comes out higher than you’d intended. You cough and try again. “Dying? What do you mean, dying?”

She raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing across her lips. “I’m going to kill you, of course. Right after I look into that interesting little brain of yours.”

“What—“ You don’t get a chance to finish. She reaches out and pushes her fucking fingers into your brain.

You choke on your own spit, eyes going wide. The blood leaves your head, leaving you dizzy and feeling weird.

Memories flash behind your eyes. Your childhood. Your life. Your trip to the Void.

You finally find your voice, intending to spit something out. Probably a scream.

Instead, you moan.

It catches you both by surprise. She pulls back, staring at you. Your face heats up and you stutter a bit. “Uh… S-Sorry?”

She grips your chin and forces your head back. Examining you with interest. “You’re not afraid. How peculiar.”

You do a mental check. Weirded out? Yes. Confused? Very. Turned on?

You can feel your dick straining against your pants. Can feel the throbbing of it. You haven’t been this hard since you saw your first pair of tits.

“Nope.” You croak out. “Definitely not afraid.”

“Interesting.” She lets go of your chin. “I think I’m going to keep you after all.”

You swallow. Give her a weak smile. “Does that mean you’ll do your hand thing again?”

Cassandra just smirks.

The guy carrying you throws you into the bed with a little too much force to not be deliberate.

You wince and Cassandra clicks her tongue. “Gentle, Pyro. We don’t want to break my new pet now, do we?”

His glare towards you does not make you feel any better. Pyro just scoffs and stalks out of the room. You’re left with Cassandra, who takes her time approaching the bed.

She lets her coat fall to the ground, revealing her outfit underneath. Your mouth goes dry and your dick twitches.

Being manhandled by Pyro hadn’t exactly been your idea of sexy, but being here with Cassandra? There’s definitely interest going on.

You lick your lips and hope your voice comes out normal. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to learn your secrets.” She settles onto the bed next to you, reaching out and tracing her fingers across your forehead. “And then I’m going to play with you.”

You don’t get a chance to even nod before her fingers are back inside your head. It feels just as weird as the first time. You can feel them inside your brain, probing around as images and memories flash through your mind.

She’s more thorough than last time, sifting through your memories more slowly. As if she’s looking for something.

Vaguely, you’re aware of her pressing you down to the bed. Of a free hand tracing its way down your chest.

You’re more focused on the hand fingering your brain. On the way your dick throbs in your pants. You let out a weak moan.

And then the first scene pops up. Your first teenage fantasy, filled with giddy emotion. Then another. A moment filled with passion and temptation. Then another and another.

You feel fingers toying with the zipper of your pants. A hand dipping below your boxers as memories play through your head. You cry out, arching up into her touch.

It’s too much, all at once. Your body pulses with heat, with need. Cassandra strokes your dick, digging her fingers deeper into your brain.

“Please, please, fuck!” You babble, thrusting your hips up erratically chasing your rapidly approaching high. A couple more memories, a few more heavenly strokes, and you’re cumming so hard your vision blurs out.

It takes you several gasping moments to come back to your body. You can feel a cool hand caressing your cheek, soft words being spoken.

Your head feels woozy. Your thoughts, thick and sluggish. You feel fantastic. The aftershocks of pleasure jolt through you, making you shiver.

“How was it, my little pet?” Cassandra coos. “I’m going to pull all that Reader knowledge from your brain. Make myself the strongest being here. And all you have to do is lie there and submit.”

You moan softly. Weakly. That offer sounds far too tempting to give up, especially if she’s going to do that again.

So you just nod, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Alright…”

She smiles and leans down to place a kiss on your lips. “You’re going to be a perfect pet.”

You feel too pleasure-drunk to do anything but agree.

#cassandra nova #male reader #tw killing mention #cassandra nova x reader #cassandra nova x you #cassandra nova x male!reader #cassandra nova x male reader #cassandra nova xavier #x male reader #male!reader #x male!reader

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ameliathornromance · 1 month

Text

The Manor House: A Vampire Romance: Chapter 4

A white trail of petals guided you downstairs the next evening. The same petals of the flowers you gave the Lord.

You followed them, down the hall and to the imperial staircase, where they drifted down the steps and ended in the front room.

The sky outside hadn’t changed since you went to bed, the curtains had stayed open and billowed as cold night air washed in the Manor in its icy freshness.

The fridgidness made you slow, sensing something… new in the air.

It wasn’t the old stuffy feeling that the constantly drawn curtains blocked in or the endless halls of void that suffocated anyone who dared gazed into its endlessness.

As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you turned into the front room and found the source of your unease.

Petals led your eyes up to Lord Baal. He sat in an armchair by the fireplace. The fire crackled menacingly, spitting embers as you locked eyes with the man in the chair.

His legs were crossed, his fingernails dug into plush red leather arms of the chair. In his lap, laid the bouquet of flowers. Nearly all the heads of the plants had been plucked free of their colour, only leaving the yellow pollen at the centre of the stem.

Heart in your throat, you and the Lord locked eyes, his dark gaze narrowed at you in the firelight.

Neither of you said anything.

“Why did you-“

“When I said ‘clean the Manor’, I didn’t mean do the bare minimum.” The Lord interrupted. Picking up one of the flower stems, he twirled it in his fingers, admiring his massacre of the greenery. “I checked everywhere, you missed the kitchen.”

“But-“ you started.

The Lord hurled the stem into the fireplace. Embers burst from underneath the stem, before it clambered on top of its fuel and robbed it of its life.

You stopped mid sentence as the Lord spoke again, “I had no idea that commoners were so incompetent, a monkey could do a better job here.”

Lord Baal got to his feet, tossing the rest of the flowers into the fire. The flames lapped at them as if they were parched dogs.

He approached you, his degradation continued, “maybe I should have employed one instead of a commoner I picked up from the bank of a river.” He chuckled, “I mean, what did I expect?”

You bit your tongue. Let him get his malice out of his system, it won’t last long.

“I picked you up from a river bank. You looked horrendous, just like I expected any peasant to look. I don’t even know why I trusted you with such an easy task.”

Endure it.

“I mean, you fell off your own horse and into a river. You can’t even swim. I thought that peasants were experienced in that, since, y’know, they have nothing else better to do than swim in dirty lakes and rivers.”

That night flashed through your mind. Your chest tightened, feeling the chilly air seep into your lungs, into your very soul as the villagers searched for you like Fox hunters chasing down their already injured rodent prey.

The water of the churning rapids licked your legs again, threatening to take you if you didn’t jump in yourself.

A twig snapped, somewhere in the distance. Just close enough for you to hear, you might have mistaken it for the cackling fire.

“I finally know why you’re alone.” Your voice echoed, strong, loud through the air.

Even the fire dared not make a sound, the Lord’s cruel grin falling away. “What did you just say?”

“I said,” You raised your voice. “I finally know why you’re alone.”

When the Lord had no response, you pelted him with sharp words, your tongue forked like a venomous snakes. “It’s no wonder everyone left you here, to rot in this Manor. Even the servants left you here alone and I can hardly blame them, especially with that shitty attitude.”

You jabbed your index finger, hard into the Lord’s chest. “It’s better than being talked down to by some stuck-up his ass Lord who can’t appreciate the work others put in for him and his ridiculously sized home that he keeps all to himself!”

Your shouts echoed around the Manor and bounced back, as if it was too, fed up with Lord Baal’s neglect.

“That’s probably why your family probably left too!” A cruel laugh escaped you as you tugged at yesterday's clothes, still on your back. “I mean, your mother didn’t even bother to pack her clothes to take with her when she left this place-”

The fire went out, stealing the words from your throat, plunging you into blackness. The ghostly moonlight bloomed behind you.

Heart in your throat, you looked around frantically, desperate for your eyes to adjust to the limited lighting. The tightness in your chest didn’t go away as you raked the surroundings for any sight of the Lord, ears pricked and almost yearning for his pompous tone that you hated him for.

The clicking of the front door earned a gasp of surprise from you, finally finding the only other occupant of the Manor.

He stood in the doorway, eyes shadowed and glowering into the night, as if it was the turning of the earth that had wronged him.

Without so much as a word, he slammed the door closed behind him. The Manor shuddered with the force, the window panes rattling, threatening to fall from their neglected frames.

Lord Baal stalked through the grounds of his Manor, fists clenched and teeth gritted.“That absolute fucking-” He growled as he stormed toward his overgrown garden.

This was stupid, to go on a walk so close to the morning, he knew it was, but he didn’t care.

Clawing his way through the rose bushes, ignoring the way the stems pierced his flesh, he forced his way into what was once a marble maze.

Once he was clear of the bushes he stopped, breathless, surrounded by them.

He kicked at the thicket, felt stupid for attacking a plant, then fell to his knees.

Your words hammered down on him as the Lord glared at a statue of his father. Nearly consumed by moss, vines twisting around its Greek podium, it soothed the Lord for a moment.

This moment of clarity, allowed a question that Lord Baal had been pushing away for so long, to creep into his mind:

Did they really leave because of me?

Read 4 Chapters ahead

Masterlist

#monster lover #monster x human #monster romance #monster x you #monster x reader #monster x female #vampire x reader #vampire x human #vampire boyfriend #vampire

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4rlekino · 6 months

Text

null and void ' kisaki tetta

cws. 18+ MDNI. gn!reader. canon divergence but also spoilers for bad toman timeskip. reader and chifuyu are friends. kisaki is a lil more ruthless (??) ig. blood and blood fixation. wounds, weapons, death, and violence. toxic relationship themes. no smut but they have a rank ass make out session and reader undresses. 3.2k words.

notes. sighhh kisaki so messed up from his dream girl not returning his feelings. he's killed her and now has no idea how to love anyone sighhh. inspired by the bath scene with venetia and oliver from saltburn

chifuyu's shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths, his hands tied behind his back and his legs to the chair. stating how he was is easier said than done. the cuts and bruises on your face and body spoke for themselves in terms of how he got there after he woke up too soon from being unconscious.

his head hangs low, drool mixed with blood dripping next to your shoes, and you stand over him, red spatter tainting your face and clothes in different patterns. your hands bruised and bloody from beating him. you try to relax but the spaces in between your fingers were getting sticky, making you keep them balled.

"matsuno," kisaki speaks. he's standing behind his desk, a fresh glass of bourbon in his hand. "you know it doesn't matter how many more of you there are." he takes a sip. "you're going to die here."

"there aren't—" he spits something out of his mouth, a dark object, a tooth maybe, landing between the hairs of the rug below. "there aren't any more. let takemichi go. just take all he's got and dump him somewhere if you want, he's got nothing to do with this."

you almost forgot takemichi was next to him, quietly passed out through the torture you endured onto chifuyu and bound to his chair the same way.

kisaki sighs heavily, finishing his drink and placing the glass down on a coaster. you turn back to your friend who's managed to raise his head up to meet your gaze, and the look you gave him, wordlessly begging him to tell the truth so the worst that can happen to him is be dumped in some alley, but chifuyu shook his head slowly.

"hanagaki has everything to do with this." kisaki's footsteps travel over the hardwood floor, taking his jacket off halfway and draping it over a chair. he rolls up his sleeves, "you wouldn't understand, matsuno."

chifuyu's breath is ragged. "whatever you have with takemichi, i don't, but baji..."

"still on about that?" kisaki says. "i've had your own friend beat the shit out of you and you still think about baji."

you look at chifuyu apologetically, thinking you could maybe work something out between them. "who's baji?" you let slip. you've known chifuyu for all the years you've worked here but you've never heard of this person before.

kisaki turns to you like he forgot you were even here.

"no one important." he says. "kill him."

to your right, you could hear groans and the three of you turn to the source. takemichi begins waking up from his unconscious state, processing his surroundings and struggling in his restraints.

"takemichi, don't move." chifuyu tells him between ragged breaths.

"what's going on?" takemichi's voice cracks. "did you fucking drug us?"

"jesus christ," kisaki sighs, frustratedly pinching the bridge of his nose as he paces.

"both of you, listen to me," chifuyu urges. "i need you to trust me, okay?" he looks up at you, the one, unbruised eye he has open gleaming. "because the future of toman—"

the corners of his mouth curled subtly but never formed fully into a smile, suddenly interrupted by a quick click and a bang. blood was heavily splattered onto your front and your friend was now lifeless in that chair.

you were frozen, your arm still raised with your gun in hand and your finger wrapped loosely around the trigger. kisaki was in the same position behind chifuyu's chair, his pistol was smoking but his clothes were clean and crisp.

takemichi struggled in his chair, crying out while chifuyu's blood continued to soak into the carpet, the bullet that travelled from his head lodged in the carpet near your feet.

"shut the fuck up!" kisaki yelled, the hilt of his gun clocking takemichi in the back of the head. it didn't knock him out but it was enough to silence him for the moment.

he cried out and whimpered, keeping his head hung low.

"are you serious right now?" kisaki snapped. "is this who you really are, huh?! be a fucking man!"

there's a loud thud after that, kisaki having landed a hard punch to the side of takemichi's head with his other hand.

"you really just won't stop." he shakes the sting off his hand and there's another click. all you can manage to do is watch. "even now after i gave you a place here. you're still your same old, pathetic self. i don't know what she saw in you."

kisaki stands at a distance.

"kisaki—" takemichi looks up at him with tears streaming down his face before the gun fires. his head holds up long enough for you to see his eyes roll back and cross, pupils looking like they're pointing at the bullet hole above the center of his eyebrows.

kisaki sighs, pulling up one of his sleeves. when he turns to you, he finds the end of your pistol aimed at him. he doesn't look phased.

"give me the gun." he calmly commanded, holding his hand out.

you stared him dead in the eye, but it did all but intimidate him. kisaki could easily see through you, that you were scared and confused with all the why-centered questions clogging your head keeping you from thinking logically.

"you killed chifuyu." you said, your voice a little wavered.

"he betrayed us. he betrayed toman."

"no, he didn't!" you yelled, tears streaming down your face as you take a step forward.

kisaki takes a step back in return, his hands raised in the air, one of them still loosely gripping his pistol.

the doors open and hanma and his whole division right behind him burst through. it doesn't take him a second to analyze the situation. he reaches for the gun at his side, but before he can pull it out kisaki calls his name.

"hanma, its fine."

"kisaki, be fucking serious."

"i said its fine." kisaki confirms. "i have this under control."

hanma's whole team looks skeptical, murmuring amongst each other.

"stay outside."

hanma glances from kisaki, who gives him a reassuring look, to you before withdrawing his weapon and nodding for his men to exit the room. once the doors close, your focus is back to him.

"don't think i'm not going to kill you." you say, both of your hands now grasping your weapon firmly.

"you're not," he says, confident. "but i'm not going to kill you either."

kisaki bends down slowly, never once breaking eye contact as he places his pistol on the floor and kicking it out of reach before standing back up.

his palms are raised, the silver shine from his rings reflecting. "what matsuno was upset for is between me, him, and the founders. it's a simple past misunderstanding he took too far."

"no, i know chifuyu. he wouldn't do this over something simple." you said.

"you don't know him like i do. we aren't close, but i've known him since we were fifteen." kisaki starts. "baji was a friend of ours, formerly a toman founder but he switched sides. there was a fight between us and his gang a few years ago and he died."

you body tenses when you see kisaki move a step forward, your trigger finger twitching.

"he was stabbed by the person he betrayed toman for."

"that still doesn't explain why chifuyu was out for you."

"i'm getting to it," he pauses. "it was because i joined toman around the same time and became a captain. chifuyu must've thought i had something to do with baji leaving, and if baji hadn't left, he wouldn't have died."

"you expect me to believe it was all because of some years long grudge?"

"i don't, but it's the truth. ask hanma. ask anyone when this is all over."

you didn't believe it, but maybe this really was something beyond your knowledge. kisaki was right on one hand, you didn't know chifuyu like he did. you didn't know much about toman's past at all.

you could feel your strength wavering, a layer of gloss forming over your eyes. the presence of their dead bodies was starting to get to you. you didn't know anything at all but you knew you didn't want to come this close to killing them and watching them die.

"give me the gun, y/n." kisaki says one last time, his voice calm like the first.

you lower your arms and kisaki safely pulls the gun from your hands. his free arm wrapping around you and pulling you in close, the blood from your clothes now staining his.

"we'll share this and put it behind us." he tells you, rubbing your back in circles while your body tries to relax.

you don't have much collection of what happened after that. your mind was too exhausted and confused working itself into overtime to make sense of the situation when too many pieces were missing.

part of you didn't want to think about it, that you just needed to make peace with the fact chifuyu, takemichi, and the possibly others were trying to do something beyond your understanding. that was the conclusion your brain wired into thinking as kisaki stroked your hair in the car.

he booked you a room, something he thought you should rest in. on the way, you both and hanma, who had driven you here, had to sneak in through the back entrance, evading any civilians due to your bloody clothes.

you were clearly out of it, so mentally exhausted that kisaki had to hold onto you to keep you from falling over. the entire time you were anxious of him minding having to tend to your pathetic state, but every time you looked up at him and every time he helped you adjust, there was always a hint of concern. and strangely, there was security in the way he held you.

there wasn't much spoken between you, kisaki, and hanma when you get to the room, kisaki just leads you to the bath, letting you absentmindedly stand there while the turns the faucet to let the water run.

then there were two knocks at the door. in the way kisaki reacts, hanma likely needed to say his piece on this in private.

"just undress and step in. get yourself clean." kisaki says to you before he steps out.

you peer over your shoulder, watching him leave the hotel room with hanma who gives you a look of disdain. you look down at your hands that were smeared bloody and you don't think they'll come back.

undressing, your fingers fumble over taking off your garments. when you step into the bath, your teeth seethe from the heat of the water touching your skin, carefully lowering yourself until you've submerged deep enough to reach your shoulders.

you stare at the running faucet, wondering what's going to become of you after you leave this room even if it was some kind gesture from kisaki.

he'll definitely kill you. maybe he'll do it here, drown you in the tub or suffocate you with a pillow. there were too many ways to die and not many where you could fight back and live.

you sigh to yourself and stretch your foot over, turning the faucet knob the other way to stop the water flow. before sinking into the water deeper, all you could think of were kisaki's motives.

"we'll share this and put it behind us."

internally, you just denied it. it was sweet in the moment, a tactic he likely used to get you to calm down.

was he like this with everyone? admittedly, while you sank completely into the bath, that made you a little frustrated. but he killed chifuyu so easily, then takemichi after that, and no doubt many more himself without your knowledge or help.

you've fully submerged yourself under, the blood from your body dissolving into the water while your fingers fidgeted to get the stickiness off.

you closed your eyes, trying to stay still and let the nervous aches in your joints disappear, but the images of chifuyu and takemichi dead in their chairs were still so clear, and above all you can still feel kisaki's touch. his voice from the past few minutes playing clearer than chifuyu's last words.

a hand grips your shoulder, pulling you up with urgency. it startles you, making you jolt up out of the bath. you gasp when you resurface, some water spilling out of the tub.

"what the hell were you doing?" kisaki exclaimed, staggering back to not get wet.

you took in heavy breaths, slicking your hair back out of your face not really knowing how long you were under.

"thought you were trying to drown yourself," he scoffed, adjusting the roll of his sleeves. he picks something up off the side, a wash cloth, and dips it into the bath water. "come here."

he grabs your chin, not giving you time to comply.

you didn't feel like speaking to him and you tried not to meet his gaze, glancing from here and there while you kept everything below your shoulders underneath the water, preventing him from seeing something he shouldn't. you notice he's changed into some cleaner clothes now, his shirt back to being a crisp white color.

he tilts your head up unexpectedly, making you meet his gaze.

it was a first, but kisaki's gaze softened as he let go of you, moving his attention from your eyes to your lips. you saw his brows lessen in their furrow, the placement of his hand now shifting so his thumb grazes the edge of your lip, feeling at the scabbed over cut.

he pulls at your lip, reopening the wound and pressing down. it makes you wince, the dryness of your lips making the sudden pry worse but kisaki doesn't give you room to think. he kisses at the wound first, your mouth still slightly ajar, then the warmth of his tongue laps over it.

the saliva in your open wound stings enough to make you seethe, his kiss crashing rather than landing.

though you try and push him away, your hands clasped around his wrists, you don't give in enough energy to fully fight back. you try to breathe but its like he's consuming you, trapping you in this strange force that makes you want him to keep going. it makes you hope that somewhere in between all this he'll kiss you properly, comfort you through this trauma.

but he was still being rough, you could feel his teeth gnash on yours and graze your lips. he moves his kisses back to the side where he opened your wound, suddenly biting down on it.

now you really pull away, fight or flight kicking in because something in your chest drops when his teeth sink into you, but its like he's got you in his grasp again in the same second. with one hand, kisaki has you by the cheeks, forcing you to look up at him again. then with the other, he gently moves your hair out of your face.

the water in the tub splashes quietly as blood slowly leaks from your lip, a single droplet making its way down your face, over kisaki's hand, and into the water.

"matsuno," your body tenses at the name. "what he was doing was putting everyone in danger."

his thumb stretches to rub along your jawline. you breathed from your mouth, sick of the mix of iron in your nose. you needed a little more air from how much your heart was pumping. he stopped when you swallowed the welled up lump in your throat.

his hand moves to cup your cheek and you notice his eyes were a gunmetal type of icy blue. it felt wrong staring into them with the warmth of his palm on your skin.

"i hope you understand what i had to do, because he could've killed you too." both his hands now cupped your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing over them gently.

"but you're mine," he says. "and you will always be mine as long as you live."

those words could be endearing, but they came from kisaki—wicked and sinful kisaki—who made you his favorite thing in the world.

you're mine? you think.

mine like an object, you think. mine like you were under him, in a way different from even hanma who's been around since the creation of toman.

despite all the wrongs, you felt protected being called mine.

he leans down and you squeeze your eyes shut, wincing as his tongue licks the trail of blood from your chin to the corner of your lip. his mouth is now just centimeters away with your lips just brushing over each other, and he can feel your slight panting.

something boiled inside him thinking of all that anxiousness you're still trying to hide from him. he's never touched you like this before, kisaki hasn't even though about it, but now you're naked, washed, and touched so graciously by his hands.

and now, kisaki thought—no, he knew he deserved everything that had to do with you. he felt like he saved you from some unsure, impending doom by recruiting you and keeping you by his side, making you fill that lonely, voided hole left inside him.

and god help you. it felt so good to be needed by him.

you press your lips to his, your hands moving up his arms to hold onto his shoulders, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. he grasps the edge of the tub for stability, not wanting to fall into the water with you.

you push your tongue into his mouth, every now and then lapping at his bottom lip. the kiss gets more fervent and its hard to keep yourself stable kneeling in the ceramic.

water from your body is soaking into his shirt. your chest nearly presses to his as you cup his face. one hand moves to the back of his head, the stubble of his shave pokes uncomfortably into your palm but you push him into you further, your tongue now lapped over his.

it feels like he forces himself to pull away, taking in a gasp of air as you loosen your grip on him. you're both shallowly panting and kisaki keeps himself still to catch his breath, all while you're eagerly waiting for more with closed eyes, impatiently inching back closer to him but the warmth of his body near you slowly leaves.

you raise yourself out of the bath to chase after it but he's out of reach now, standing at the sink to dry his hands with a towel, even patting down the shoulders and areas of his white button up that were soaked translucent from where your body touched.

"there are clean clothes for you on the bed." kisaki says. "spend the night here. have a warm meal while you're at it."

"you're not staying?" you say, monotone but expectant in some way.

he straps his watch back on his wrist, glancing at the time before he slides his rings back over his fingers. "i'll see you tomorrow."

when he leaves, he doesn't close the bathroom door. you watch him take his jacket, vest, and tie off the bed and walk out the hotel room door. the lock clicks shut and everything just falls silent. not once did he look back at you.

you sink back into the tub to get warm, but the water's lost its heat. you could only curl up, hugging your legs close to your chest and taking that much needed sigh of air.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #kisaki tetta #kisaki tetta x reader #kisaki x reader

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marinaiguess · 1 year

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💜💜💜 “i’m sorry you had to see me like that” sonic + character of your choice 👀

Thank you so much for this prompt, Chaox! I started this today and I'm posting it now, without a second editing round bcuz I need to sleep but I wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't finish this today :) Hope you like this <3

Sonic Forces inspired. 2k words.

He's getting out of control. Fists clenched so tight he's sure, weren't it for the gloves, he would have drawn blood. His mind is hazy, vision gradually blurring as he tries to shift his attention from the echidna in front of him to anything else.

He should do that right now; he should look away.

Albeit, he can't.

"Can you repeat that, Knux?" he says, his voice laced with venom.

Knuckles takes note of the dangerous undertone—of the warning behind it—but doesn't quite grasp the severity of the situation. He crosses his arms, turning his head away from the other's interrogating gaze. Maybe he can't bear the look on his face, maybe he can't bear the fact that he's wrong. For just this once, he can't deny it, he should have been more careful. Yet another responsibility he had failed to take care of successfully.

"You heard me alright," He spits, anger boiling inside him. "He's not here, Sonic."

Knuckles can feel Sonic's gaze penetrating through his skull. From his peripheral vision, he is able to see the way he's staring at him, the way his jaw tenses and he realizes, it might have been a better idea to break the news in another, more tactful way.

Sonic takes one step forward and suddenly the air is thicker, denser; the room turns tenser.

Amy senses it and opts to act first by putting a hand on his shoulder. "Wait, Sonic, please--"

He yanks her hand away without even bothering to look at her. "Stay out of this, Amy."

"You're kidding," Amy scoffs and she’s not sure if she’s reacting to him ignoring her or to him expecting her to just stand and watch.

This time, he doesn't hesitate to turn his head to glare at her and his emerald eyes have never looked more intimidating before, not to her.

Yet, she doesn't back down. "This is not Knuckles' fault, you know that."

He laughs. There’s nothing funny or humorous about his laugh, but it emits from the depth of his soul, echoing in the room as he turns his attention to Knuckles once more.

"Tell me, commander, whose responsibility was it to look after him while I was gone?"

"Don't give me that shit, Sonic. We couldn't really keep an eye on him--"

Sonic's forearm connects to his neck, pushing Knuckles to the wall behind him. "You couldn't?"

He ignores Amy's pleas, putting more force into his grasp. "Where is he?"

"How should I know?" Knuckles growls. "He's been gone for three months."

Everything goes quiet. Even Amy's voice fades out of existence as Sonic registers Knuckles' words. Without really intending to, he backs down a bit, although he’s still holding Knuckles against the wall.

"What?"

When Knuckles tries to push him away, Sonic doesn’t give him a chance to even touch him and he slams his head on the wall as a warning, his forceful grip returning shortly after, despite hearing Knuckles coughing. Sonic knows he's strong, possibly stronger than him, under normal circumstances, so he understands, even in this state of mind, that Knuckles decides to not fight back.

Good. He doesn’t wanna go all out on him.

"Where is Tails?" he repeats the question.

"I don't know, okay?!"

Knuckles’ scream is the last thing that’s heard in the room, inside the Resistance HQ. Silence fills the void, until Sonic breaks it.

"I trusted you, Knuckles. I trusted you with my little brother's life. And with mine too."

Those words hurt more than Knuckles could have imagined.

But Sonic doesn’t relent, throwing more daggers right at his heart. "Maybe you're just not fit for the job. Or for any job. You shouldn't be taking responsibilities you can't handle."

Knuckles finds himself unable speak, so Sonic does it for him. "I'm gone for six months and you're telling me the war is still going? Great job, commander. On top of that, Tails is gone?"

Knuckles coughs again. "Stop it."

Sonic’s fangs show as a grin carves its way to his face and Knuckles can't tell if it's a sinister act or if it's a coping mechanism to hide his pain. "How does it feel to have failed at everything?"

"Sonic!" Amy intervenes, not courageous enough to properly stand up to him, however.

She's standing still, her hands balled into fists against her chest. It's probably the first time in a long while she's felt this scared. She's never witnessed Sonic lose control like that.

Knuckles meets her gaze and reads her like an open book, agreeing with her thoughts. No matter how well Sonic knows him—well enough to use just the right words to hurt him—in any other case, he wouldn't have gone this far. Something about him is off, his no-die, no-lose attitude is nowhere to be seen, his hopeful, full of excitement for the next adventure eyes are gloomy and dark, his logic is clouded by concern. Even if this is about Tails, this isn't typical of him.

Those six months imprisoned in space did take a toll on him, however much he tried to hide it once they rescued him.

"He's fine," he reassures, getting ahold of Sonic's forearm with both hands, ignoring the way he tenses and hisses. "You trust him, right?"

"Of course, I trust him." he barks, immediately. "But we're in the middle of a war, commander. Eggman might have gotten ahold of--"

"You're--" he scoffs. "You're not thinking straight."

Sonic bares his teeth, his jaw tightening even more. "Are you saying that me being worried is irrational?"

"Yes, it is. The kid can handle himself, Sonic."

"You said it, Knux. Kid. He's just a kid and he's been gone for—for three months?"

"You've left him behind for longer than that before." Knuckles notices out loud.

"It was to protect him!" he spits on his face.

Yet, Knuckles seems unfazed. "What's so different this time around?"

Sonic's mind short-circuits. His eyes widen when he takes in the sight in front of him. He doesn't quite remember how they got here.

"What would he say if he saw you like this?"

The final blow. Sonic had him against the wall but Knuckles had him cornered. He may be right but Sonic would rather not admit that, for the sake of his ego not getting wounded.

He takes a deep breath, letting his arms fall. Knuckles is standing firmly on both his feet now, managing to keep his breathing in check.

Until Sonic approaches him, noses almost touching as he jabs a finger to Knuckles’ chest.

"If there's a possibility, even a slight one, that Tails went through half of the hell I did, I'm blaming you."

Knuckles knows he meant every word, which makes him furious; knowing that he was calm and collected enough to say something like that. Calm enough to walk away after that statement. He can’t just stand there and take it like a champ, resulting in Sonic looking like the bigger guy in this quarrel.

And so, he breaks, guilt washing over him like pouring rain. "You know what, Sonic? You're not the only one who's had it rough. While you were gone, we were fighting our asses to keep the world safe. It wasn't an easy task."

"Yeah? And how did that go?” He turns around to face him. “Ninety-eight percent of the world under Eggman's control and Tails lost,” He huffs a short-lived laugh, bitterness emitting from it. “Excellent work."

Knuckles wants to punch him, he wants to wipe that smug, sarcastic smirk off of his face to knock some sense into him (especially now that he seems he’s pulled himself together, at least a bit) but Amy steps between them, holding her arm out to stop Knuckles on his tracks. He could push her away but she knows he won’t.

"Knuckles is right," She states, locking gazes with Sonic.

For a single moment, she regrets it, upon witnessing the way something passes by Sonic’s eyes, pain written all across his face.

"Knuckles is what? He's right? By saying I didn't have it rough?"

"I didn't—"

Sonic cuts him off, waving his hand as he closes his eyes. "For once in my life I felt truly helpless but I thought you had my back."

Amy and Knuckles can only stare, jaws slack at Sonic’s confession.

"And you just… proved me wrong. I'm—"

His voice breaks, slightly, but of course, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Knuckles’ face softens and Amy approaches him, just a little bit. "Sonic..."

Sonic ignores her as he sits on the ground, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. "Shit.”

He brings his knees to his chest, almost curling into a ball as he moves his hands closer to his face, inspecting them. Only now he realizes they’re trembling.

He starts rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, even if he’s using too much pressure it hurts.

Amy takes a few moments before she kneels next to him, a comforting hand making its way to Sonic’s back. He winces when it makes contact with his fur, arching away from the touch but one look around him persuades him he’s safe. With one long inhale, he decides to relax and accept the friendly gesture, despite it not helping that much.

It is sincere. That’s all that matters.

“We can work this out, like we always do,” She speaks after what feels like an eternity. “We will find him.”

It is wishful thinking more than anything, Sonic notes in his mind. If Tails doesn’t want to be followed, he knows how to hide his tracks. Especially with all the commotion thanks to the war happening around them, it would be ten times harder to get ahold of him or even a rough idea of where he might be.

But Amy’s right. They always win at the end of the day. Together.

Knuckles crouches next to him, patting his shoulder since he seems less tense now. “I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your expectations,” He confesses and Sonic turns his head around so fast he feels dizzy. “You’re right, I wasn’t fit for the job. But it was a real mess, Sonic. We were lost and outnumbered. Tails felt lost as well, helpless.”

At that Sonic tenses but allows Knuckles to continue. “With you around, we might be able to fix things.”

“Yeah, maybe I—”

“Under my command, though,” Knuckles smirks.

“Aye, aye, commander,” Sonic pouts, playfully.

“And,” Knuckles looks at the wall in front of him. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like whatever you had to deal with back there was not rough. With the way you’re acting, I know it was really bad.”

“Meh, whatever,” Sonic waves a hand at him, grinning. “I’ve had it worse.”

Amy snorts and Knuckles’ raises a brow but they both decide to let it slide.

Sonic hugs his knees, his grin falling. “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” He says, taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry you had to see me like that.”

“It’s okay,” Amy reassures without missing a beat. “We know.”

Sonic looks at both of them, their smiles urging his own to appear on his face as well. If he feels his throat tighten, he ignores it. He feels like he’s cried enough the past six months; more than he should have allowed himself to. Good thing no one was around to see the mess the Infinite illusions had made of him.

“Alright,” he gets up, newfound courage flowing through his veins. “Let’s get to it.”

They get up as they nod when a slam of the door catches them off guard.

“Sonic!”

That voice. Sonic’s smile reaches his ears before he finds the source of the voice.

He’s safe. They both are.

He’s real.

“Tails!”

“I was so worried.”

“You worry too much, look! I’m perfectly fine.”

“Who’s gonna tell him he was losing his shit just a few minutes ago?” Knuckles whispers, which earns him a jab on his chest by Amy’s elbow.

#tehehehe yippeeee #this does remind me a bit of a chaox fic but:(this is not plagiarism i prommy #also . this was supposed to take a different turn #but here we are #hope you enjoy #sonic forces #hurt and comfort prompts #my ramblings #my fics #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #knuckles the echidna #sth #sonic fic #fanfiction #long post

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