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sinsofsummers · 10 months

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sensational; part ii

6.8k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader follow-up to sensational

summary: you've tasked joel with teaching you about all of the things you missed. he's back for more...teaching moments. warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. softdom!joel vibes in this one, joel gives reader an anatomy lesson, pet names (lots of dollface) fingering, praise kink to the gods, masturbation (f and brief m), reader gives joel a hand(y), grinding, bit of a corruption kink toward the end, jesus there might need to be a part 3 note: well. look at what you guys did. you went and loved on sensational so much and asked for a part 2 so often that i just had to grant your wishes. i hope you’re fckn happy✌🏼🥹 (this is all jokes i’m so excited to write more of this dynamic teehee)

You'd never counted yourself as a dreamer of any sort; when sleep clouded your brain at night, every thought faded along with it. Aside from the occasional nightmare, reminding you of your parents' absence, you hadn't had an actual dream since you were a kid.

Of course, that night in Joel's house had changed everything, in every possible way. In just an hour or so he had taken your world into his hands, shaped it, flipped it, and returned it to you, unrecognizable. His name was carved into everything you saw and touched, and this included your dreams.

He was everywhere in your head when you slept. So much so that you'd begun to forget which was reality and which was a figment of your imagination, which made your patrols with him all the more humiliating.

Your hands were cold. It was all you could focus on as you followed Joel along your normal patrol route. Just twelve hours had passed since that night in his house, when he'd touched you with rough hands and what taught you what it meant to feel desired. His words still rang clear in your head days later:

Trust me, doll. I've got so much more to teach you.

It sent your head reeling just to think about it now. The memory of his fingertips grazing the side of your face as he'd said it, those brown eyes sparkling with desire for you—a vision of contentment.

You had leaned into his touch subconsciously, reaching a hand up to trace the line of his wrist. His eyes had darted to where your fingers pressed to his skin, a soft grin replacing his satisfied smirk. "I'd better get you home, then," he'd whispered.

It had taken everything in you to ignore the small pang of disappointment that had bloomed in your gut, but it was an easier task when he'd dropped his lips to your forehead.

"No one'll miss me at home," you'd protested quietly, trying not to relish too much in the feeling of his beard scratching at the space between your eyebrows.

This sentiment was true. You still didn't know how things had worked out so well, but after arriving in Jackson, Tommy (the fact that it was Joel's younger brother made this seem all the less coincidental) and Maria had been more than accommodating. They'd offered you your own space, a house to yourself. Granted, it was much smaller than Joel's, but it was your own. It had become home in the four short years you'd lived in Jackson.

No one was waiting for you at home. It was a fact that used to make your throat close up, memories taunting you every moment they could. Now it was a welcomed thought, if it meant that you could remain in the heady presence of Joel Miller.

But he'd only shaken his head, his brown eyes flitting down to your lips before returning to your gaze. "I'm sure they'll notice when you don't come strolling out of your own place in the mornin'," he'd insisted gently. His thumb traced your bottom lip when your shoulders slumped. You hoped you didn't look as pitiful as you felt, your lip threatening to push outward in a pout.

"Might not be able to keep my hands to myself tonight if I let you stay," he'd breathed. You didn't care if he said it as an apology, or if it was actually true.

Because who were you to disagree with him? It was Joel.

So without more than a lingering hand on your wrist, he'd walked you to your door. When you'd teased him for such a chivalrous act, he'd cocked an eyebrow, glancing sideways at you. "Can't just let you walk home alone after that," he'd scoffed, his voice rough again in the outdoors. A few people were still milling about despite it being darker than pitch after nightfall. "M'not a complete scoundrel," he said with a wry grin.

Your front door always looked so inviting, a place for you to take a breath and relax after a long day. In that moment, it was taking everything in you to put one foot in front of the other and return to your own place.

"Scoundrel," you'd mused, hoping the amusement in your voice covered the way you leaned back with every step, as if you could claim one more touch of his body—arm, chest, shoulder—to send you to bed with nothing but him on your mind. "Kind of a big word, wouldn't you say?" you'd teased him, just as he'd done to you. "Sure you know what it means?"

The twitch of his jaw was enough of a reward for your attempt at humor, but your satisfied smirk had been wiped clean off your face when he'd darted a glance around before leaning in, hovering just centimeters from your face.

It occurred to you in that moment that you'd truly only kissed him once. A shame, a voice in your head sighed. His lips were devastatingly plump, even in the darkness.

Joel had stayed there, his eyes tearing down to your mouth before warning you in that deliciously low baritone, "I know what it is. Best get inside," his jaw twitched once more and you caught him clenching and unclenching his fists, "'fore I show you what it means to be a scoundrel."

You'd gone inside with a shaky breath and the return of that familiar pulse that, it seemed, only he knew how to ignite.

—

Joel chose not to look in the mirror when he'd gone home that night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand the way his hair was undoubtedly wild, his eyes hard with desire, and his hands still aching with the memory of her squirming body in his lap.

After four years of near silence, this girl had unraveled him. After all those days on patrol with her, nothing to do except look at her when she wouldn't notice, Joel Miller had been undone.

The next day, waking up early with the stiffness in his boxers begging to be dealt with, Joel spit on his palm and wrapped it around his cock, releasing a sigh. Fuck's sake, he thought with a groan. Can't hardly get a full night's sleep anymore.

It should have annoyed him; it was certainly an inconvenience. But if it meant that he'd get to spend more time thinking about her body and her lips and her eyes when she asked those incessant questions, then so be it. He'd never sleep another wink and be glad for it.

It didn't take long for his release to come, not when the memories of her whines were so fresh in his mind. To think that he'd had her on his lap, hips squirming in that way that only she knew...it was enough to make him—"A grown fuckin' man," he reminded himself—spill into his hands and draw ragged breaths into his lungs to recover.

With an arm thrown across his face, he latched onto the image of her in the heat of ecstasy, her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips wet from constantly biting them.

For a moment, he tried to rein himself in. Can't be doin' this, he'd thought while getting ready for patrol that morning. Don't wanna take advantage of her, or fuck her up cause of my inability to control my own desires.

In reality, he'd considered, did she really know what she was getting herself into? With little more knowledge than the mechanics of reproduction, it had been evident with the events of the previous night that she knew nothing of what pleasure could be. Did he really want to be responsible for her discovery of such things?

But when he went to the stables an hour later and saw her standing in the snow with an extra twinge in her grin and her eyes sparkling despite the echoes of fatigue in her irises, every doubt dissipated immediately. He pretended not to notice the way her eyes lingered on his back when they saddled up, heading out of Jackson for the day.

Joel Miller was never one to deny a woman in need. Why should he have stopped now?

—

"How'd you sleep?"

When you looked over at him, almost shocked that he'd broken the silence, your eyebrow quirked up. "Fine," you answered.

It wasn't that this patrol had been disappointing, it was just...ever since you'd left Jackson that morning, you'd been waiting for him to look at you like he had the night before, or to even acknowledge you in the way that you could still remember him doing.

Maybe it was because Tommy was nearby at the time, or maybe he'd changed his mind after all. Maybe you'd overstepped, asking a man so much older than you to teach you all of this. Maybe it hadn't happened at all—your dreams were rather convincing these days.

If it hadn't been for those girls, hell-bent on making you feel ostracized, perhaps you wouldn't have landed yourself in this position. You probably wouldn't have had any reason to be curious about what it all meant, and you could have gone on in comfortable silence with him on your patrols.

With a heavy mind, you blew out a breath. If it hadn't been for those girls, though—you never would have known the creases that sank into the corners of his eyes when he grinned at you.

Beside you, having held back to come up shoulder-to-shoulder, Joel huffed. "Bullshit, darlin'," he scoffed, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

You tightened your hands on the reins. "Excuse me?" you said sharply.

His chuckle was a soft rumble in his chest, and you ached to feel it against your back. "I saw those sleepy eyes at the stables," he crooned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like you remembered. "Looks like someone didn't get a good night's sleep."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to believe you slept like a damn baby, then?" You couldn't help the incredulity in your tone, but you blushed when you noticed him smirking, his lips twitching as he fought a smile away.

"'Course not," he shook his head almost dismissively. "Couldn't tell my brain to stop conjurin' pictures of you shakin' in my lap." He adjusted the way he was seated on his horse, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was getting hard at the reminder of the memory.

You, in a similar vein, were trying to ignore the unmistakable feel of heat puddling between your legs. Keeping your eyes forward, you asked, "Is that a good thing?"

Joel nodded. "A very good thing, dollface. You were so good for me last night."

Any air that had been in your lungs left in a rush, and you put a hand to your cheek, warm despite the winter's wind. You thought you heard yourself whine at the sound of the pet name.

Thankfully, he didn't say or do anything to show that he'd noticed. Instead, he tugged his horse to a stop. "Let's get down here," he said. "Walk and talk, yeah?"

The thought of walking beside him after all that had happened the night before was enough to make you freeze in your saddle, suddenly unsure of how to get down. "Yeah," you mumbled, if only to fill the silence.

You could hear the crunch of snow under his boots as he came up beside you, thick gloved hands reaching for your waist. "C'mon, darlin'," he'd insisted, "I won't bite."

There was a note of irony in his tone, and you let him pull you from your saddle, landing in the snow in front of him. Your jacket snagged against his, and you stood there for a moment, letting your frosty wisps of breath coil and furl with his. "What do you mean?" you asked, cursing your ever-present confidence when it came to asking him questions. It seemed that you'd never learn to hold your tongue.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response. "What's what mean?" He stepped away from you to grab the reins in his hand and began to walk forward in the snow.

You shook your head and pushed on, stumbling after him. When did the snow get so deep? "You sounded rather..." you trailed off, searching for the word.

"Oh, here it comes," he mused in that serious tone, hardly covering the teasing lilt that rang clear in his eyes. "Bet you're coming up with a big word right about now, huh?"

You couldn't help it when you rolled your eyes and swatted a hand at the back of his arm. "I was going to say you sounded smug," you finished. "About how you won't bite?"

There it was again. That look of slight surprise at your questions. You waited for a few moments, the two of you trudging along in the snow, before he answered quietly. "We're jumpin' ahead of ourselves, but I s'pose it won't hurt." He shrugged. "Some people like it. Biting."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Like it?" You looked down at your hands, covered in thick gloves. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Joel smirked. "It can," he considered, "if the person gettin' bitten wants it like that." He brushed your arm with his. "But some people don't like it at all. Just depends."

You braved a look up at his face and swallowed roughly, feeling your core pulse at the sight of his rosy cheeks. "Does it have to hurt?" You didn't mean to sound so desperate; you were just curious. "I mean, is it like...like a real bite?"

It happened so quickly that you hardly had a moment to process. Joel stopped in his tracks, pulled you near, and dipped his head down to your ear. "Don't have to," he murmured, and you were just starting to quiver at the feel of his voice next to your ear when he was brushing your hair from your neck and grazing his teeth against your skin. "Can feel good, if the person doin' the biting knows how."

You couldn't help the hand that shot out to grab his arm, as if it were the only thing that might hold you up. "I'm assuming you know how," you said thickly, eyes wandering on his weathered face. Funny, you thought at the sight of his grin, he looks quite young like this.

Joel shifted his arm so he could squeeze your hand once with his before letting it go. "Don't boost my ego too high, sweetcheeks," he warned, but you could hear the humor in his voice. "Might never let go if you do."

You knew he was kidding, but the prospect that he was being serious made your stomach flutter and forced you to clench your thighs together, bringing the forefront of your attention back to the frustration that was pooling between your legs. "Joel," you muttered in a whine, not quite realizing you'd said it until he was looking at you with a twinge of concern.

"What's up, doll?" he asked, slowing to a stop. "Somethin' wrong?"

A curly tendril of his graying hair was blown into his face with the winter wind, and you wished you could brush it away with your fingers like he'd done just moments ago. "I..." you inhaled deeply, and shifted your weight. "I'm..."

It took him a moment to understand, and when he did, his eyes sparkled. "Oh, doll," he cooed, reaching forward to tug you closer to him. "Need something', huh?"

You leaned your head forward until your forehead rested against him, breathing in the scene of pine and old leather and that heady musk that was utterly Joel. Nodding into his strong chest, you brought your hand up to his wrist and tugged it down, down, down...there.

Joel's large hand cupped the mound between your legs and you swallowed harshly as it pulsed again, begging for the sweet release he'd given you the night before. "Fuck," he breathed, the vibrations of his voice rolling against your skin. "Shoulda told me you were this bothered, baby," he hummed.

You lifted your head. "I've been trying," you said in a pitiful whine, although this wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. "Why does it...why do I ache so bad?"

His smirk quivered, and his pupils were suddenly huge as he withdrew his hand from where it covered your heat, exposing it to the frigid winter air once more. "I think we've gone far enough, don't you?" he winked. "Think we may as well head back."

The implications of what would happen when you got back to Jackson made your head spin. Nodding feverishly, you let go of the twinge of embarrassment at your eagerness. "Yes, please," you hiccuped.

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Good," he murmured.

—

This was the worst possible outcome.

Just when you'd worked up to exactly where you wanted to be with Joel, with his hands on you and his intentions leading you back to his house (and hopefully his couch), Tommy stopped you at the stables.

Well, not you. Not you at all, actually. He stalked up to his older brother and said, Meeting at my place, Joel."

He'd just gotten down from his saddle to help you do the same and was letting his hands linger on your waist when the interruption happened. With his hungry eyes locked on yours, he'd been leaning into your touch and hovering his hands just inches from your heat.

You could have sworn he jumped out of his skin at the sound of Tommy's voice; you just hoped it was because of his infamous hearing loss on his ride side and decidedly not because he'd been caught standing so close to you.

"We just had a meeting last week," he said gruffly, his eyes still searching yours. For what, you weren't sure—but you were quickly growing addicted to finding those rare flecks of gold buried in the espresso brown seas reflected back at you. His hands clenched involuntarily, and given the fact that they were resting around your hips, you got a delicious lick of pleasure that shot through your pelvis at the sensation.

Tommy didn't seem to be in the mood for dawdling. "And now we're having one this week," he insisted. "My place. Maria and the others are waiting."

You lifted your chin to see him close his eyes in annoyance. His mouth opened once; he closed it. When he opened it again, his eyes flashed along with the movement. "Alright, I'll be there in a minute," he said tersely, and you pretended not to notice the way his gloved thumb rubbed a slow circle on your hip. An apology, perhaps.

When he didn't move, you blushed with smug satisfaction. It had never been more clear that he didn't want to move.

"Joel, it's important." Usually, you'd never had an issue with Tommy. Now, of course, the sound of his voice clawed at your every hope for tonight.

With a soft look at your lips, Joel jerked his head to look at his brother. "I said give me a fuckin' minute," he said, his words clipped. "Fuck's sake," he muttered as he turned around. "Just answerin' a goddamn question," he finished, soft enough that you were sure his brother couldn't hear.

Tommy grumbled his fair share of disapproving words, but you couldn't help the grateful bubble that bloomed in your gut when you heard the shuffle of his boots as he left you alone in the stables with Joel.

He waited a moment or two before letting out a soft sigh. You couldn't have known how disappointed he was, but the way he lifted a hand to your cheek was clue enough. "New lesson, dollface," he said.

A pang of regret hit your stomach and you found yourself shaking your head. "Please?" you asked in a quiet voice. "I don't want a new lesson."

Joel grinned and sucked in a sharp breath. "I know, baby, I know." The familiar phrase threw you back to the night before, when he'd had his hands all over you, reassuring you with those exact words. But now, it wasn't a comfort. "But if I'm not around and you need to feel good..." His hand trailed down your cheek, brushed against your chest and returned to its previous spot between your legs. "I want you to practice touchin' yourself, yeah?"

His voice had become a near-painful whisper, just loud enough for you to feel rather than hear his words caress your skin. "This of me all you want, darlin'. God knows I'll be thinkin' of you at this damn...meeting," he practically spat the last word, but it didn't take away from the pressure that was building and causing you to blink rapidly. "Think about me," he repeated, "but I want you to explore this pretty body for me so you can tell me all about it when I get back."

The sound of his voice enveloped you, that heady sensation nearly making your knees give out. With a slow nod, you couldn't see yourself ever disobeying him. Not when he asked such sinful things of you.

"Okay," you whispered. "I'll try."

His mouth was in a hard line, his irritation at Tommy's interruption still prevalent. But it softened for a moment when he slid a gloved thumb over your bottom lip, letting it get pulled from its place before bouncing back. You darted your tongue out, wetting your lip in a desperate attempt to taste his leather on your skin; to taste him.

"Good," he said softly. Something new pulsed at the sound of his praise, but you fought it down. "I'll see you soon, doll."

—

Despite everything you tried when you got home—despite squeezing your eyes shut and picturing that dimple in Joel's cheek when he smirked, or the way his arms felt when wrapped around you—nothing helped. The pressure remained, the ache between your legs was ever-present, and yet...

You couldn't give yourself the release you craved. Not like Joel could.

There was no telling how long you tried, hand shoved down your pants in a sour attempt to replicate the feeling he'd given you. Your fingers were clumsy, untrained, and entirely new to the task, leaving you desperate and unsatisfied. A strangled whine left your throat when your mind flashed with the memory of his face near yours, his lips on your own, and his rough hands rubbing that small bud at your center. It was maddening.

He'd asked you to do this one thing, and you couldn't deliver. Of course, you'd never even realized this was a possibility; you'd only ever heard of men bringing themselves to the plummeting precipice of pleasure. You never considered that you could do the same.

But you didn't want to make yourself feel good. You wanted Joel to do it.

After what felt like hours, stuck in your house alone, Joel nowhere to be found, and with your hopes slipping into despair, you gave up. Your fingers would never be as rough or as thick as his. You didn't know how to explore your body when you couldn't tip yourself over the edge to ecstasy; it was impossible.

Weary and defeated, you went to bed with a groan. Joel still hadn't shown up. Either it was a long meeting, or...you didn't want to entertain the thought that he'd possibly forgotten about you. About your task to be completed.

You actually did drop off into a dreamless sleep, but when you woke to the sound of a knock at your door, you were almost positive the dreams had begun again. Swinging your legs out of bed, you trudged to the door with sleep oozing in every movement. The door opened with a click, and you blinked.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetcheeks," Joel breathed. A distant streetlamp, the only one in Jackson, was the sole source of light that illuminated the edges of his broad body on your porch. He looked near-angelic.

You didn't say anything for a moment, only crossed your arms to keep yourself warm in the face of the wintry outdoors. The relief and anticipation at seeing him here paired with the disappointment and fatigue that it had taken so long warred with each other, creating a dangerous mix as you managed to say, "Are you...hungry? Or something?"

He swallowed, and your head swam with the desire to lay your tongue flat on his neck where his Adam's apple bobbed. "Starving," he groaned, and in one step he was not only in your house but he was all over you, and you were wearing nothing but your thin pajamas.

He'd apparently already taken off his gloves, and when his hand came up to cup your cheek your body registered the chill of his fingers with a shock, despite leaning into his touch all the same. He took a moment to look at you before touching his forehead to yours, pressing his lips to yours gently. You could practically taste the restraint on his mouth, and you wanted nothing more than to beg him for everything.

Something about your face must have given it away when he pulled back because he tapped a finger against your cheek. "You look like you need somethin'." He darted a look down to your legs. "Did you do what I asked?"

You weren't sure what made you lie, but you nodded nonetheless. "Uh-huh."

Even in the dark, he was so close to you that you could see his eyebrow lift in question. You didn't know how he knew, but why wouldn't he? This was Joel. "You didn't come," he concluded, and you ducked your head. "Why not, dollface? I thought I told you to."

The implication that his request was, in fact, a command, didn't slip your mind. Your cheeks burned when you forced yourself to look at him. "I couldn't. I don't know how."

"Sure you do," he whispered. "You did real good last night for me, remember?" His lips ghosted your jaw.

You shook your head. "I don't know how. I've never...made myself come."

When Joel looked at you, you could have sworn his lips twitched, betraying the desire in his movements. "I'm sorry, babydoll," he cooed, bringing his other hand to your cheek. He slotted his lips over yours once more, and it was all you could do not to sink to the floor right there. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

You nodded. "Show me? Please?"

Without another word he bent to brush his lips across your hairline—you could have sworn you felt him inhale with his nose in your hair—and murmured, "In the morning, yeah?"

You pulled away to complain but he only gave you a soft smile. It was then that you could see the exhaustion in his face, eyes downturned despite those creases winking at you in the darkness. "But—"

"Told Tommy you need a day off," he clarified. "'Cause you're...sore..." he splayed his hand on your back and tugged you near, voice low. "Ya know, from all that horseback ridin'."

An anticipatory chuckle bubbled from your chest. "No way he bought that," you said breathlessly as he nipped your jawline with his teeth (you were almost sure it was supposed to be a kiss). "I've been patrolling on horseback for years."

Joel shrugged and looked down at you with a smirk. "Who knows? Maybe I should have told him you were waiting for me to come home and make you fall apart on my fingers," he said dismissively, but his tone did nothing to stop your stomach from flipping.

"Oh," you said dumbly, cursing yourself inwardly for how easily you were rendered speechless in his presence. "He'll...he'll really let us take the day off?" Your mind swam with the possibilities of what you could do with an entire day.

He shook his head. "Not us, darlin'. Just you." Tracing the line of your jaw, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. "I'll have to go tomorrow. But," he whispered, squeezing a hand on your hip and cocking an eyebrow at the way your legs wobbled," I'd gladly go every morning all by myself if it meant you were in your bed all day, daydreamin' about me."

It was a heavier confession that you'd expected out of him, and you let out a breathy sigh. "In the morning then," you asked. You swallowed roughly in an attempt to push down the lump of pure need that had risen in your chest, but to no avail.

Joel nodded firmly. "Trust me," he hummed, "in the morning."

So you'd led him to your bed with no more discussion. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not stay the night; he'd come to your place after the meeting like he'd said, and it was the middle of the night. Why wouldn't he have stayed the night?

Despite everything in you fighting to stay awake, the second you returned to your mattress and pulled the covers up, your eyelids drooped. Joel stood at the end of the bed and shed his jacket slowly. "Sleep, doll," he said, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent room as he bent to kick off his boots. "I'll be here when you wake up."

—

Was he getting too close? Was he pushing the boundaries too far, too soon? Probably.

Selfishly, Joel didn't much care.

—

Sure enough—when morning came, when the dull winter sunlight crept into your house and draped the floor in soft yellow, you felt the dip of your mattress beside you and betrayed Joel's presence. He'd stayed. Like he said.

Quite the dedicated teacher, you thought to yourself with a satisfied warmth. You'd felt him climb into bed last night, but despite your every wish for him to press himself to your back and hold you tightly the whole night, he'd kept at least a foot of space between your bodies. Always close enough to touch, but never giving in.

You rolled over and swiped a hand over your face, a few stray strands falling into your eyes. The breath left your chest when you saw him there, eyes open and waiting for you. "Hi," you said, your voice rough with sleep. Again with the monosyllabic responses, you scolded yourself.

Joel hummed, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through the mattress and into your body. "Looked so sweet like that, darlin'," he mused, his rough hands tucked under his head. He reached one of them toward you and tapped your bottom lip, plump with sheep, with two of his fingertips. "Didn't wanna wake you up."

"You didn't." You weren't sure what made you do it, but you moved closer, shifting your entire body until your nose almost brushed his. Your eyes flitted up to look at the way his graying hair laid messily around the crown of his head, haircuts neglected for who knew how long. "Can we...I want to start now," you mumbled.

His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was swallowing down a grin. "Look at you," he cooed, "so eager. Aren't you hungry, doll?"

You bit your lip and you could have sworn you saw his eyes widen. "Starving," you fumbled over the word, imitating his response to you the night before on your porch.

Joel let go of a chuckle and his eyes danced with mirth. "Always turnin' my words back on me, aren't ya?" When you nodded sheepishly, he slid his hand around to cup the back of your head and he pulled you in, connecting his lips with yours. "Okay, pretty girl," he said. "We'll start. Since you asked so nicely."

His lips were chapped from the cold weather but they were still soft as he pressed them to yours, moving lazily as the two of you blinked away the last clutches of sleep. "Always so soft, these lips," he murmured, and then his hand was moving from your neck to your chest. "Everyone's different, yeah? There's these spots on everyone's body," he said, absentmindedly drawing swirls along the expanse of your chest, making you shiver. "Let's call them...pleasure points."

"Pleasure points," you repeated breathlessly, your stomach fluttering as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Is that—"

He grinned with a nod. "Think I just found one of 'em, doll." He rolled you onto your back and bent his head down, his breath fanning over your chest and warming you through your thin pajama shirt. "This is how we get you all ready for me, when the time comes."

You nodded quietly and let out a shaky sigh as his hands wandered. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you practically preened at the feeling of his lips against your skin while his hands squeezed and caressed your breasts, moving over your stomach. "Joel—"

He paused, hand hovering over the hem of your shirt. "What, babygirl?"

You couldn't help the whine that fought its way out of your throat. "Please," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the pressure that writhed in your core.

Joel's fingers lifted the hem of your shirt, his mouth widening in a grin at the way that your stomach rose and fell in spattered pants. "Come on, darlin'," he crooned, "open those pretty eyes for me. Gotta see you, doll."

It was all you could do not to take his hand in your own and shove it to your core where you needed him desperately, but you did as he asked.

"That's it, baby," he breathed, good girl."

You'd become familiar with the way your stomach clenched at his use of pet names, but this was new. You had done well for him. You wanted to stay that way. "Will you touch me please? I need—"

"So eager," he murmured, leaning in with his lips to your earlobe. "Lemme take my time with you, dollface." And then his lips were wrapping to the soft part of your ear, his teeth grazing at your skin. Paired with this sensation and the heady feeling of his hand on your waistband, fumbling to push his hand beneath it, you arched your back and released a series of high-pitched whines.

"JoelJoelJoelpleasepleaseplease," you were overcome with the pure, unbridled need that was speeding through your body like a tidal wave on a summer day.

"Alright, darlin', alright," he acquiesced, pushing his hand into your waistband and pulling it down over your hips. You didn't even have the mind to be shy about being laid bare to him this way; you just needed him to touch you.

Before you could beg him again, he had his fingertip on your core, sliding it gently through your slick heat. "Oh, baby," he groaned, rutting his hips against your side. His bulge pressed into your hip and you flexed your fingers to reach for it. "M'never gettin' used to how wet you are for me," his voice shook.

One finger became two, and then his fingertips were rubbing sweet circles to your sensitive bud, drawing near pornographic moans to tumble past your lips. "Can I touch you, please?" you begged, your hand fisting your bedsheets. "Wanna touch you, Joel, please."

He hummed against your ear as he swiped another finger against your bud and lifted your hand to his lips. "Sure thing, doll," he said, and placed it in his hair. Your fingers instinctually carded through the coarse strands, and you blushed when his eyes fluttered closed. "Hold on tight if you need to, pretty girl," he grinned, and lemme know if it's too much."

You were going to ask if what was too much, but then he dipped his finger further down your core, notching it at the small opening. You hadn't even thought this far ahead, that things would eventually lead here. Something pulsed and you whined, tugging his hair in your hand.

"Look at you, so ready for me," he murmured against your neck. His tongue swept out to lick a small stripe along the sensitive skin there and when you let out a stuttering breath he chuckled. "You are ready for me, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

You couldn't nod fast enough. "Please," you choked out, and then he was pressing his finger inside you.

It was a small intrusion, but overwhelming all the same. In all your years, you'd never had the thought that it could feel this good to have him close to you like this. He was only as far as the first knuckle, but with the way that his bulge was nudging your hips, he wanted much more. "Good girl," he breathed, "such a good girl, openin' your legs like this."

"Wanna touch you," you whimpered again, vision blurring with the desperation that coursed through your veins. "Please, Joel, let me touch you."

He kissed you, but you could hardly focus enough to move your lips against his. "Already touchin' me," he said. "You want more?"

"Yes," you nodded feverishly, releasing your hand from his hair. "I wanna..." you looked down at his bulge and licked your lips.

Joel's eyes were wide as he whispered, "For fuck's sake, darlin', when you're cryin' about it..." he swiped a thumb across your cheeks, collecting a teardrop you hadn't even known was there. "How could I say no?"

Thankyouthankyouthankyou were the only words in your mind, a jumbled mess as you reached for him. Your finger traced his length and before you knew it, you were reaching inside his boxers to release it from its constraints. "Holy fuck," you whined, bucking your hips into his hand as you saw just how big he was, long and thick and heavy in your hand. "Need it," you found yourself whispering. "Need you."

It was all you could do before he pushed his finger further, then out, and then in, just enough to throw you closer to that addicting edge of ecstasy. Once again, you found yourself enveloped in the thick pressure of pure desire in his arms.

He pressed the pad of his thumb to your bud and swirled circles in your heat, his lips connecting to your ear once more. "Alright, baby. Alright, baby," he practically chanted in a low tone, nibbling on your lobe just hard enough to pinch the skin. "C'mon now, squeeze my finger like that, that's it," he groaned, drawing out the final two syllables, "good girl."

With his hand in the crux of your legs and his mouth connected to your ear, whispering the filthiest things you'd ever heard in your sheltered life, you threw your head back into the pillow and curled your legs toward him, your hand squeezing his cock tightly as you continued your strokes.

The sounds that erupted from your throat as you burst in a state of pure pleasure were the most pitiful (and yet electrifying) noises you'd ever heard yourself make, and you couldn't help but continue rolling your hips into his hands, chasing the feeling until it became more intense and your legs began to twitch again. "Joel," you mewled, voice breaking, "I need you."

A teasing chuckle sounded, and your cheeks warmed as he removed his hand from your slick. "So much you don't know, dollface," he crooned, tracing his index down the line of your nose. He pushed another, shining with your release, into your mouth. The sweetness nearly made you fall apart again. "Don't know if you're ready for that."

Your body was on fire, nearly throbbing with the insatiable need to be wrapped in his arms, with his hands everywhere, his lips anywhere. Your hand had been moving on his shaft, but his hips stuttered with your next words. "I am," you insisted, "I need you, please. I wanna feel you everywhere."

Joel's pupils went wide and he shuddered out a breath, mumbling a string of curses with his eyes shut. He thrusted his hips into your hand and then your skin was sticky and warm with his own release, some of it landing on your stomach where you lay beside him.

"Shit," he groaned with a rueful smirk. "Maybe I'm not ready for that yet." His breath fanned deliciously over your skin as he continued. "Can't hardly last long enough with the thought of stretching you out like that, baby."

You grinned, and you didn't mind the fact that he could definitely see the flush in your cheeks. "No?"

He shook his head. "Fuck no. I don't wanna think about how quickly I'll come if I were to be inside that pretty pussy yet," he said with a short and gentle tap to your mound. When your hips arched off the mattress and you whined at the sensitivity, he cooed apologetically.

"Isn't that a good thing?" you frowned slightly. "I thought I was making you feel good."

"Makin' me feel too good," he mused, bringing his hand up to hold your face toward him once more. He winked. "Can't have me comin' before you do, sweet girl. Not very gentlemanly of me."

You couldn't help the pang of doubt that clouded your face, and it must have been obvious, because then he was cupping the back of your head and pulling you to his chest. Humming into your neck, he smirked. "Besides, I want to be able to take my sweet time with you. To see you squirmin' beneath me like you do, baby? S'enough to make the pope leave the goddamn church."

tysm for reading, i can't believe you guys convinced me to write MORE filth for these two. u made it to the end, lemme know what you thought!

3K notes · View notes

andvys · 16 days

Text

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twelve ⭐︎ When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Warnings: 18+ minors don't interact! angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, mutual pining, mentions of unrequited feelings, mentions of cheating (not on reader), mentions of past stancy, jealous!Steve, slightly mean!Steve (kinda?), smut smut smut, bathroom sex, car sex, fingering, squirting. I like to picture Jacob as Drew Starkey hehe

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve had never handled his jealousy very well, but being jealous over you, brings out a new side in him. He would do anything to keep you, anything.

Word count: 17.4k+

Author's note: I've been waiting for this chapter since forever, jealous men are always my jam, and @hellfire--cult took these ideas to a whole new level, enjoy this filthy chapter. This one is for all my Steve girlies who haven't given up on me after my last story ♡ Roe, I should grant you a thousand wishes at this point, you keep me so hyped for this story. Also this chapter wouldn't have been this good without you, don't even try to fight me

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

Nancy’s brows are furrowed in concentration, her pink lips pursed as she looks through the many dresses to find the perfect one, her curly hair is pulled up into a bun, held together by a white scrunchie with pink polka dots, she’s wearing one of the outfits she had gotten on your last shopping trip together, this is only your second time, but it’s fun, you like hanging out with her.

You drove to Indianapolis since Hawkins doesn’t have all too many clothing stores, especially after the ‘fire’ at the mall, you prefer it here anyways, the big city has much more to offer than the small town.

“What do you think of this one?” Nancy asks as she shows you the yellow sundress.

You tilt your head, pressing your lips together as you eye it, not quite liking the way too bright color. You walk around the clothing rack to get to the other side, holding the clothing items that you threw over your forearm a little tighter as you take in the different colors of the dress she’s still holding up.

“Mmm… No, maybe the blue one, Nancy?” You ask, as you point your finger at the baby blue color, when your eyes widen as you catch sight of the purple one, “or, the purple one! That one would look cute, it matches the color of your eyeshadow!”

She smiles at you, nodding excitedly. She puts the yellow dress on the rack, and looks through the purple ones to find her size.

“But you should go for the yellow one if you like it more.”

She shakes her head, looking back at you, “no, I trust your judgment,” she smiles and picks out the dress, “besides, this color is way cuter.”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips, “yeah, it’ll look amazing on you.”

Her dimples show and her eyes light up a little.

Nancy has been nothing but kind and sweet to you, and you can’t help but feel guilt and regret growing inside of you for the way you once felt about her.

You weren’t only jealous of her because she had Steve, you also hated her for having him, and you’d spent your shared classes with her, staring at her and comparing yourself to the girl he loved so dearly – the girl he still loves. You were never rude to her or mean, you never glared at her or threw comments at her the way other girls did, after Steve had humiliated her in front of the whole town, despite your feelings for him, you did feel disappointed for what he had done, even when you didn’t even like her, at that time.

“You should try this one on!” Nancy pulls you out of your thoughts, a grin on her face as she holds up a black dress – a daring black dress. It’s short and flowy, the straps are thin, it’s low cut with a dainty bow on the front, the back very exposed. “You could wear this one to Vickie’s party.”

A smile tugs at your lips, you step forward and slowly reach your hands out to take it from her.

“You will look hot in it,” Nancy wiggles her eyebrows at you, nudging her shoulder against yours as she brushes past you to look for more dresses, “I’m sure I won’t be the only one who thinks that,” she says in a sing-song voice.

Nancy had been very persistent in trying to get you to go on dates. The last time you went out together, the Barista at your local coffee shop had put his number on your takeaway cup after giving you the order for free. She tried to convince you to give him a call, gushing over how sweet he was to you and how he looked at you, and yeah, he was sweet, he was very good looking too, and maybe you would’ve given him a call if things were still the same they were months before this. Yeah, you would’ve definitely given him a call, but only to forget about the certain someone who woke up in your bed this morning. Whose bed you will go to sleep in tonight.

As you stare at the dress, all that you can think about is Steve, and how he will react to seeing you in this.

Will he think that you’re pretty?

Will you look irresistible to him?

Will he want to tear it off of you?

After all, he does like your dresses, your sundresses especially, you see the way his eyes darken whenever you step into his house with a new one on your body, like he is ready to rip it to shreds and devour you for the next few hours or so, and he usually does, sometimes he doesn’t even take it off, and only pushes it aside, bunching it around your waist.

This sundress is by far more revealing than any of the other ones you have worn before. Excitement bubbles in your stomach as you think of his reaction to it.

You are definitely getting it.

After taking forever to pick out what clothes to keep in the dressing room, you both make your way out of the store with full bags, stuffed with new summer clothes. You stroll around town for a while, looking for new jewelry and shoes to go with the dresses you both bought.

You never realized just how much you missed having a girl friend to do these things with, until you sit down at a cute café to eat some late lunch. It’s something you always used to do with your childhood best friend, that you always try not to think of, too painful are the memories of Chrissy and how you couldn’t be there for her, how you couldn’t save her. You always wondered if things would have gone differently had you both not drifted apart the way you did when you both went separate ways.

But it’s no use to overthink about it, you won’t ever find out.

“Funny how we’re shopping for clothes, when a few weeks back we were fighting for our lives against something the whole world doesn’t even know about,” Nancy says as she looks over the menu.

“Yeah,” you nod with wide eyes, glancing up from your own menu to look at her, you realize that you never asked how she got involved in all of it, in the first place.

You clear your throat, “I never asked… how did you get involved?”

She raises her brows at your question, taking a deep breath before she puts down the menu.

“I–It was when Barb went missing, right after Will… What the police said about her wasn’t right, I knew my Barb, so I looked into it all, and I dragged Jonathan in with me because he was looking for his brother, only to find out that my brother and all of his friends were in it too…” She rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips.

You laugh a little, shaking your head.

A shiver runs down your spine as you think of how long it had all been going on in the shadows, how long you had been unaware of the Upside Down and the existence of monsters, how children were involved in something they shouldn’t have been.

“And then, poor Steve… He showed up at Jonathan’s place when we tried to lure in the Demogorgon, he almost ran off… but he came right back to fight him with us.”

You know all about it, Steve told you how he fought the Demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan, how he had been dragged into it all by accident, how he helped Dustin find Dart, how he protected the kids and climbed into the tunnel after getting beaten by Billy.

You know most of what happened, not only from Steve, but also from Robin, but you feel intrigued, you want to know more… from her.

Something flashes in her eyes, a look of guilt, a look of regret.

You know exactly what she’s thinking about, and you know that you shouldn’t bring this up, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

“I-I was at Tina’s Halloween party.”

Nancy winces at that, she doesn’t seem uncomfortable by your words, just… regretful of the memories that night brings her.

You remember the night just as well as she does. Steve had bumped into you after he rushed out of the bathroom you didn’t even know he was in with Nancy, he glared at you and nudged your shoulder harshly, he rudely told you to move out of his way and murmured some incoherent curse word at you.

You remember how deflected you felt, all night you had avoided him only to bump into him in his worst moment.

Everyone knows what happened that night, not in full detail, but it doesn’t take a genius to find out what happened between King Steve and his girlfriend after he had stormed out of the house without her, and she left with Jonathan instead.

Word traveled around, rumors circulated, but you didn’t listen to them, it wasn’t any of your business, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened anyways. Just as Steve and Nancy’s relationship ended, she showed up to school, holding hands with Jonathan. Clearly, something happened between them long before her relationship with Steve had ended.

Steve hated you, but your heart broke for him still.

It was so very obvious how much he loved her, and you can imagine how much it hurt when she cheated on him, and left him and his heart in shambles.

“I-I will never forgive myself for it. No matter if– he did forgive me. I was horrible to him, no amount of apologies can take away the guilt I will forever feel.”

“W-What happened?” You ask nervously, not wanting to overstep but still feeling the curiosity tugging harshly in your chest.

She sighs, looking around the bustling street before her eyes move back to yours.

“I-I always blamed him for what happened to Barb, I should’ve gone home with her that night, but I didn’t, even though I promised I would. I went with him, a-and the Demogorgon got her,” she explains, shaking her head a little as she closes her eyes, “it wasn’t Steve’s fault, not at all, but I-I blamed him and every time I looked at him, I just thought about her and what happened to her and how things would’ve gone differently if I didn’t leave her that night, if I didn’t went with Steve.”

You dig your nails into your palms, swallowing harshly as you watch her.

“He was good to me, he was there for me, b-but I couldn’t stand him sometimes, and how he tried to act like everything was normal, when it wasn’t.”

The feeling of irritation sparks inside of your chest, crawling into your bloodstream.

“And then, the Halloween party… I just, I was still grieving and I was angry, I let it all out on him, I should’ve handled things differently, I shouldn’t have been so harsh but… I-I called him bullshit,” she confesses to you, scrunching up her nose as she cringes at her own self, “and then I confessed my true feelings for him and our relationship.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, the anger that you are holding back after those leave her mouth. Bullshit.

How could she do that to him?

How could she hurt him the way that she did?

How could she call him that?

You can tell that it takes a weight off her shoulders, that it’s something she hasn’t talked about since it happened, not to Robin, not even to Jonathan, because after these words leave her mouth, she takes a deep breath, and her body relaxes as she leans back in her seat.

Her face is edged with shame, but also with relief to finally be able to let it out.

And you try, you really try to hide your own feelings, the anger, the hurt that you feel for the man that you hold so dearly in your heart.

You feel thankful for the waiter who interrupts your thoughts, he places the drinks that you ordered on the table, and reaches for his notepad, taking Nancy’s food order first.

You take a sip of your iced tea and you watch her for a moment, reminding yourself of how long ago it was, how much she changed, how much he changed, how it’s none of your business, how you shouldn’t feel angry at her, even when she’s the one who hurt him, when she’s the one he still wants, despite what she did.

He would take her back in a heartbeat if she came back to him, and the thought breaks your heart.

But you can’t help but keep dancing around the topic, so after the waiter takes your order and leaves, you ask her something you’ve been wondering about for weeks now.

“Do you… regret it? Do you sometimes wish that things between you went differently?”

She leans her elbows on the table, placing the straw between her lips, she takes a sip of her drink before she leans back again.

“The only thing I regret is how I led him on, I wish I could go back, and lay it all out on him in a different way… Explain to him why… I didn’t feel that for him, give him a reason instead of making him think that he’s damaged.”

She cared about him, you can see it in her eyes, you can hear it in her voice. She cared, even if only poorly.

“I see,” you nod, trying not to sigh. “And… well– when the whole thing with Vecna…” You pause as you feel the weight on your chest crushing you with nervousness.

She tilts her head at you, “what?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, you lick your lips as you look around, watching the people in the busy street across the café for a moment, before you return your gaze to her.

“Well… It was noticeable you know… and then… you two weren’t exactly quiet in the RV,” you mumble, trying not to sound bitter as the day catches up to you, what Steve had said to Nancy, how he looked at her, how she looked at him – and the rude things he said about you before the white picket fence conversation came up.

Her eyes widen a little, cheeks blushing a deep red as she looks down sheepishly.

You don’t know what you had expected, but you certainly didn’t wait for her to blush, it makes your stomach clench uncomfortably.

“I–I was just hurt because of Jonathan. Feelings are cunning, evil… I was angry, and I think my heart and mind looked for where I could find comfort.”

Oh, how ugly the feeling in your chest now is, how bitter the taste on your tongue is, how the sweetness of your drink does nothing to make it better, because you know, you know that you wouldn’t be sitting here now if Jonathan didn’t come back, you wouldn’t wake up in Steve’s bed or fall asleep in his arms.

Because she would be the one.

You knit your brows together as you stare at her, “but Steve–”

“I know but… I think it was just a heat of the moment kind of thing.”

You physically have to restrain yourself from clenching your jaw or rolling your eyes. So, you look away for a moment, staring into a blank space as you try to calm your breathing.

Heat of the moment.

You want to scoff and laugh at her words, because telling your ex-girlfriend that you want to have six kids with her is totally, a heat of the moment kind of thing, right.

You’re very well aware of the jealousy that is boiling inside of you, worsening every passing second, and yet, you can’t help but want to fuel the fire even more, and find out what she would’ve done if she needed more comfort.

So when you look at her back, you ask, “so… if you were still hurt and Jonathan didn’t come back…?”

You see the way she freezes, the way she hesitates, the way she takes way too long to answer your question.

“I-I don’t think that I would’ve been with Steve again… Even if my urges and desires told me to… That’s the only thing they were… desires or… attractions. I wouldn’t want to hurt him again and give him the idea that there’d be a chance for a future,” she sighs, shaking her head, “I’m not the one. I’m not the woman for the future of his.”

You don’t know whether to feel sad for Steve or yourself.

She is that woman.

She is the one, the only one that he wants in that way, so why is she denying it?

The question lingers in your mind and you can’t help but wonder, what would happen if she stopped denying it? If her feelings were more than just desire after all? If she came back to him?��

There is no doubt about what he would do.

You’d be nothing but a faint memory the moment she’d come back.

You’d no longer occupy her space in his bed.

You’d no longer be the one he’d kiss, touch, feel.

And you, you would step aside without a moment of hesitation, because despite your feelings for him, you would want him to be happy, and you know that he would never get that with you.

“Besides, I don’t want to be. Steve was my first boyfriend, puppy love,” she chuckles. “It’s different with Jonathan, I want him in my future, a-and I’d honestly take any future with him,” she says, as a soft smile creeps on her face, “I didn’t love Steve but, I love him,” she says truthfully and honestly.

She isn’t someone you have to worry about.

She isn’t someone who will take your temporary space, at least not now, not anymore.

But you still can’t find peace within you after this conversation, you can’t push aside the thoughts of him, of how much he still wants her, of how much he still loves her, of how much he wishes to be with her again, and it upsets you, even when it shouldn’t.

So, when you come home, you throw your bags on the stairs and make your way into the kitchen, you pick up the telephone and you call him, coming up with some weak excuse as to why you can’t see him tonight.

You want to see him, but you wouldn’t be able to control your feelings, you wouldn’t be able to hide the pain in your eyes. If Nancy wasn’t with Jonathan, she would be with Steve, and he would choose her, then and now.

You heard the sigh on the other end, the disappointed ‘okay… bye, Blondie.’ before you hung up the phone abruptly.

You want him, you want to be with him, you want to feel his touch, his hands on your skin, his lips on yours, and yet, you don’t at the same time, because right now, it would just hurt too much.

You need to calm your anxious thoughts, or you will give yourself away completely.

Two days.

It’s been two whole days since Steve had last seen you, and both his mind and his body were going crazy over the lack of you.

When you had called him on Wednesday evening, he was already waiting for you, giddy and excited for another night with you, but when you announced that you wouldn’t come, he felt deflected, a little crushed even, but he understood, you sounded tired and like you needed your rest, so he didn’t even try to convince you to let him come see you.

But the next day, there was no trace of you either, you didn’t call, you didn’t visit him at work, you didn’t come over, and when he tried to call you, you didn’t pick up the phone, you also weren’t home, your car wasn’t in your driveway, you were gone. And it made him feel… weird.

Because where were you?

You had never done anything like this before, always eager and ready for him, but never this.

He craved you so terribly, he wanted to see you, he wanted to hear your voice, to feel your touch, to feel your body beneath his.

He longed for you, and two days away from you, only showed him just how much of a hold you have over him.

The past two days went by so slowly, it was almost agonizing – just like the terrible music that blasts through Vickie’s house as more and more strangers make their way into her home, filling the empty spaces.

With his back against the wall, Steve stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, a bored expression on his face as he nods along to Eddie’s rambling about some band he had never even heard the name of, occasionally putting on his meanest face to glare at the people who give Eddie dirty looks. He can’t stand them.

He takes a sip of his coke, looking around the crowded room in search of you.

He knows you’re here, but he has yet to see you.

You came with Eddie, but while the latter instantly came to find him, you apparently left to find Robin, who he hasn’t seen in a while either.

He has been here for at least two hours now, and he is beginning to grow restless, wanting to just push himself away from the wall and go find you.

“--And I can’t wait to see them live, man! No more headbanging in my room,” Eddie laughs as he sips on his beer. “Judas Priest is sick! You gotta come with us, I’m sure Gareth won’t mind.”

“Mmm.” Steve nods, glancing at Eddie with a plastered smile on his face, he feels a bit bad for not listening to him, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, he continues talking.

Steve cranes his neck, looking into the kitchen, then into the hallway, and out into the backyard, trying to catch a glimpse of you, but all he sees are people he doesn’t care about.

The music is starting to give him a headache, and the smell of liquor and weed is beginning to make him feel hazy. He's not drinking, he’s got other plans that hopefully won’t be canceled tonight but the more time passes, and there is still no trace of you, his hope is beginning to dwindle, because a part of him starts to believe that you are doing this on purpose, not showing yourself to him.

Are you avoiding him?

The thought makes his chest ache weirdly, a feeling that he can’t even describe floods through his veins.

He doesn’t want you to avoid him, he doesn’t want you to stay away from him, he doesn’t want you to get bored of him.

“I got Robin to listen to my mixtape, you’re next, I’m telling you, you’re gonna be a metalhead in no time,” Eddie chuckles, bumping his shoulder into his, he pulls Steve out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” Steve furrows his brows at him before a forced laugh falls from his lips, “y-yeah, sure.”

Eddie snorts, knowing that he wasn’t listening to a single word he just said and still agreed. A smirk tugs at his lips, he tilts his head, “so, you’re gonna listen to it?”

Steve nods, pursing his lips as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Promise?” Eddie asks, almost cackling.

“Yeah, promise,” Steve shrugs.

Eddie shakes his head, bringing his beer up to his lips, “you’re gonna regret that,” he murmurs against the glass before he takes a sip.

Steve hates the music Eddie listens to, he’s hated every song he has shown him so far, but Eddie will take that promise in satisfaction, knowing that Steve never breaks any of his promises.

Eddie takes a look around the room, recognizing a few people from school, some of whom have already graduated the year before. The guy by the snack table is the one who catches his attention the most, he squints his eyes as he takes a better look at him – tall, dark blond, lean, the gold ring that he always wore on his middle finger, still in place. Jacob Leeney.

He hasn’t seen him since last year when Jacob was back from college for the weekend, the same weekend you made this guy lucky.

He wants to make a joke to Steve about it, knowing that he hates the football captain’s guts, when from the corner of his eye, he notices how Steve stands up straighter.

Every hope that began to dwindle, comes back in a rush when Steve sees you for the first time in two days.

You walk into the room with a drink in your hand, a smile on your lips that grows brighter when your eyes lock with his.

His own eyes light up at the sight of you, something in his chest swells with a feeling he grew unfamiliar to. His lips curl into a smile as he stares at your face for the longest time, before he lets his eyes roam your body, the exposed skin that isn’t covered by the pretty dress that you’re wearing, begging for his attention, begging to be marked up by his lips and to be touched by his hands.

If only he could look into his own reflection to see just how awestruck he looks at the sight of you, how you lit up the whole room for him with your presence. If only he was focused on the beating of his heart or the fluttering in his stomach, the butterflies he thought were long gone, rising back up and filling him with life.

Your skin is glowing beneath the dim fairy lights, your glossy lips that he craves to feel on his own, looking even more kissable than usual, and he already begins to count down the second until he can actually feel them.

You start making your way over to him, the platform heels that you’re wearing making you look taller than you are.

Steve licks his lips, having to fight the urge to just meet you halfway, throw you over his shoulder and get the hell out of here so he can have you all to himself.

Your eyes are locked with his, a blush creeps up on your face and you grow flustered beneath his stare, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you raise your hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear – good, nothing changed in those two days.

His excitement grows, the closer you get, he has nearly all forgotten about his friend next to him, about the other people in this room, but the reminder that it’s not just you and him in this room, catches up quickly, when the smile falls from your lips and your eyebrows furrow as a hand on your upper arm stops you, not enough to startle you, but enough to make you turn around in and look away from him.

Steve’s own smile falls, and he straightens his back even more.

He no longer sees your face, your expression or your reaction, but he sees him, Jacob Leeney. And the sight of him alone, is enough to turn the fire that you lit up inside of him, into raging flames. – And not because of the rivalry that was once between them, but because of what he had found out about you and the football captain not too long ago.

Steve can’t hear what he’s saying to you, but the smile, the smirk on Jacob’s face makes his blood boil. The look in his eyes as he stares you down, making him clench his jaw.

He pulls you into a hug, hand coming to rest between your shoulder blades, but not quite staying there, he moves it lower and lower until it rests dangerously low on your back as he hugs you for longer than necessary.

“Damn,” Eddie mumbles from beside him, “Leeney’s about to get another best fuck of his life,” he chuckles, repeating the words that the jock had said to him months back.

And it does little to calm Steve down.

“I mean, unless they’ve seen each other this week before, I heard that he was back in town… a few days ago,” Eddie shrugs, watching him closely.

He watches the way you take a step back, putting distance between you and Jacob after you pull away from the hug, but his hand lingers, not on your back anymore, but now on your elbow as he taps his fingers against your skin, talking to you with a look on his face that gives away his intentions. The sparkling in his eyes matches the one of his own, he wants you, he wants you badly. The interaction between you seems so… trusted, intimate.

And then, Steve registers what Eddie had said to him, just now.

A few days ago.

Steve freezes.

The cold shudder that runs through him, weakening the flames that just ignited.

Is that why you canceled your plans with him?

Is he the reason why you haven’t called?

Did you stand him up for Jacob?

Were you with him?

Did you let him kiss you?

Did you let him touch you?

Did you forget all about him?

He can’t decipher his own emotions at this very moment, too many are running through him, anger, frustrations… and a very ugly emotion that he won’t admit to feeling.

He takes a deep breath, unable to hide the frown on his face as he watches you.

Steve knew it, he knew that his own rule would come to haunt him, and he suddenly feels a deep regret for suggesting the inclusivity that allows you to see other people, he doesn’t want you to do that, he doesn’t want you to see other people, he wants to be the only one for you.

He is watching you, so closely, so intensely, glaring at the touchy man in front of you, like he’s ready to light him up with his own eyes for putting his hands on places only he should be allowed to touch.

Eddie slaps his shoulder, “I’ll be right back,” he announces before he scurries away from Steve who refuses to tear his eyes off of you.

He continues to watch you like a hawk, eyes not straying away from you and the man before you, and despite the intensity in his gaze, he is blind to your reactions, to the subtle, tiny steps you take to put distance between you and Jacob. All that Steve can see is the burning red that flashes in his eyes every time he touches you.

He sees the way your shoulders shake from laughter, the way you brush your hair back as you tilt your head up to look at him.

And the more time passes as you stand across the room, spending time with someone who isn’t him, he begins to grow impatient, restless.

You should be here, with him, by his side.

And he wants to show you that the only one you need is him. So, without a second of hesitation, he slams his drink on the table, and he lets his feet carry him over to you, no longer wanting to stand there and watch how someone else might steal you away from him, he won’t let it happen.

He let it happen with Nancy, he probably would’ve let it happen again if he was still with her, if this was her with Jonathan in front of him, he would’ve looked the other way, despite the aching in his chest.

But you aren’t Nancy, and his feelings, his reactions, his action that he’s about to take, didn’t fully sink in yet.

Once he is in earshot, Steve hears Jacob’s annoying, flirty voice.

“You’re the prettiest girl at this party.”

Your giggle follows, and it makes Steve’s skin crawl – if he wasn’t so driven by jealousy, and blinded by anger, he would’ve heard how fake it sounded.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

Jacob chuckles, opening his mouth to speak, to throw some lame pick up line at you, probably.

But Steve doesn’t let him. Stepping up beside you, he places his hand on your back first, before he slides it down to your waist, gripping it tightly. The feeling of your body beneath his palm, your warmth and the way you melt into his touch after you turn and tilt your head to look at him, makes his stomach flutter pleasantly.

You step closer to him, relaxing further when he squeezes you with his large hand, though your eyes are wide and your lips are parted as you stare at him.

Right now, he can’t even find it in himself to care that your friends could see the intimacy between you and him, all he cares about is you and dragging you away so he can finally have you all to himself.

“Can I talk to you?” He asks, calmly.

Your wide eyes spark with curiosity as they look into his own, your glossy lips parting further for him as you come up with words, only to be cut off by Jacob.

“Oh hello, Harrington, long time no see!” The jock grins.

Steve clenches his jaw, but still turns to face him, biting back the distaste on his tongue, he nods at him, “yeah, yeah man, I’ll take her for a minute, okay?” He mumbles with squinted eyes and a fake smile on his lips as he points to you.

Before the blond can even respond, Steve’s hand leaves your waist, and moves over to your wrist. He grabs your much smaller hand and holds it tightly, giving it a squeeze as he pulls you away and begins to walk, basically dragging you out of the room, and you don’t protest, you follow him, without a single word, slamming your drink on the counter on the way out.

You both walk into the crowded hallway, and he pulls you closer to him when you pass by a group of guys who are talking rather loudly. He pushes you towards the stairs, bringing your hand up a little as he gets behind you.

He doesn’t even bother to look out for your friends, they aren’t on his mind right now and he finds himself not caring about who could see you together. He also doesn’t care about one of his many rules that he is about to break when he pushes you into an empty bathroom.

You switch the light on and let go of his hand when you walk in further.

Steve turns around to close and lock the door, his fingers linger on the handle as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“What’s wrong, did something happen?” You ask.

He opens his eyes again and turns around to face you, he raises his hand up, running it through his styled hair, he licks his lips as he lets his eyes roam your body for a second, taking a better look at the dress he hasn’t seen on you before, it must be new.

The light that shines on you from the ceiling is golden, making your soft skin glow, making it look even more delicate, more desirable. Your chest rises up and down heavily, a worried expression etched in your beautiful features as you stare at him with furrowed brows. Your pouty lips parted.

Can he blame Jacob for trying to go after you? Not really.

“Nope, nothing happened,” he mumbles as he makes his way over to you.

You shake your head a little, frowning, “then why–”

He practically lurches forward, cupping your cheeks, he leans down and presses his lips against yours, the way he wanted to, all night.

You squeal in surprise, a noise that only fuels his lust even more, prompting him to deepen the kiss roughly. He can taste the sweetness of rum and pepsi on your lips, the strawberry from your gloss, he can taste you, he can smell the intoxicating scent of your perfume, he can feel your arms around his shoulders now as you start moving your lips against his, picking up the pace to match the speed of his own.

He moans when your fingers get lost in his hair and your nails graze his scalp as you try to pull him closer against you.

He licks your bottom lip, parting it with his tongue so he can slip it into your mouth. You let him. His palm slides down to your jaw, he holds it there for a moment as his other hand moves down to your hip, gripping it tightly as he presses you against the counter behind you, fingers now playing with the flimsy material of your sundress.

A needy moan blesses his ears, the delicious sound rushing to his cock, making it stir in his pants that are now getting way too tight around his groin.

You place your hand on the back of his neck as you place your other on his chest, pressing yourself further against him as you kiss him with whimpers and a neediness that he thought only he was feeling.

God, he missed you.

But, did you miss him?

Did your lips touch someone else’s when you weren’t with him, where you were supposed to be?

The flames that are still raging inside of him, sparking a new kind of anger in him at the thought of it, it prompts him to do something that he has never done before – he bites your bottom lip, making you wince and moan at the pain.

He pinches your chin between his fingers, pulling away from the kiss to look at you.

With furrowed brows, you open your eyes to look at him, leaning back in to steal a kiss, but he keeps you in place, ignoring the whine that falls from your lips.

“Jacob Leeney, huh?” He mutters, instantly clenching his jaw after saying that name out loud. “Why did you talk to him, hm?”

Steve moves his hand under your dress.

“W-What?” You ask, shakily. “He was just talking to me about college.”

Right. That is the reason why he looked at you like he was ready to tear your dress off and devour you, right then and there.

“Right,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth in anger.

You stare at him with a frown on your face, tilting your head a little as you reach your hand up to wrap it around his wrist. And then, realization flashes in your eyes and your lips twitch a little.

“You plan on fucking him tonight, Blondie?” He sneers, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

You raise your eyebrows, pressing your lips together, he watches the way your throat bobs as you swallow.

The silence between you is nearly deafening, he can feel your breath on his thumb as he still holds your chin, he waits for you to answer his question.

Your eyes crinkle, and your lips curl into a smile before you suddenly burst into giggles, making his irritation feel worse than before.

Steve’s muscles tense up and he bites the insides of his cheeks, pressing his knee in between your thighs, he holds you tighter.

“Why are you laughing, huh?” He asks, as he leans closer to you, cupping your jaw again, he tilts your head to the side, making your giggles die down the moment he latches his lips onto your neck.

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Mmm, nothing,” you murmur, “w-what if I am? What if I do plan on fucking him?”

Steve has to hold back to growl, threatening to escape as he presses another rough kiss to your neck, his fingers now digging deeper into your hip.

“Well, I have a little priority here, don’t you think?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Wasn’t it you… the one who said no exclusivity, Steve?”

His breath stopped for a moment, regret gnawing up in his throat like vile. He wants to back out of that rule… but you are not his, so he waters it down.

“New rule then, Blondie,” he mumbles, not stopping with the kisses on your neck, “we leave with each other when we are at the same place. So, meaning today it’s me.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his words, questions already lingering in your mind.

You would always choose Steve.

There is no one else you would go home with.

And you can’t help but want him to know, but you don’t get to tell him because just as you open your mouth, Steve starts kissing your neck differently, intensely, roughly. He sucks on your neck, marking you up and blessing your delicate skin with hickeys as though he wants to show everyone that you’re his, that you belong to him.

And you do, you do belong to him, but he doesn’t know it.

He doesn’t know that your heart is his, that your mind and body is in his possession.

He doesn’t know how crazy you go over his touches, how your heart flutters at every slightest touch of his, how weak and vulnerable you feel when he holds you, how no one else could ever come close to make you feel the things that he can make you feel.

“How many drinks did you have, Blondie?”

“J-Just half of the drink I left downstairs,” you say, tilting your head to the side to give him more access to your neck.

“Just that?” He asks, “you’re not drunk, are you?”

You shake your head quickly, “no, not at all.”

“Good,” he nods.

Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his fingers on your ruined panties, he pushes them aside and slips his long fingers through your folds, dipping them inside of you before he pulls them back out to tease your clit, digits now coated with your slick.

You jerk a little, wrapping your arm around him so you can hold onto him, a needy moan escapes your mouth.

You could have had this on Wednesday night, you could have had this last night, but you were too busy worrying about something that filled your heart with pain.

“S-Steve!”

He gets lost in his feelings, lost in the rage, in the possessiveness and the urge to show you that he should be the only one for you. His teeth graze your neck, his lips suck harshly on your skin as he spreads you open with two fingers.

You mewl when he starts pumping them inside of you, in and out, deeply and slowly at first.

“Who are you so wet for, huh?” He asks, pulling away just enough so he can look at the marks he left, appreciating the sight in front of him for a second, before he pulls your face towards him, gripping your chin tighter than before, his thumb now lingering on your bottom lip. “Tell me, Blondie”

You open your eyes, revealing to him just how dark they are, how much lust lingers in them.

“You, Stevie! Just you!” You whine needily before you wrap your lips around his thumb, catching him off guard, once again. You swirl your tongue around it, looking into his hazel eyes as you start sucking, you watch the way they widen and darken, the tension in his jaw now leaving as he is only focused on this, on you.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, picking up the pace of his fingers, he drags them out of you and slams them back in, nearly moaning himself when he listens to the squelching noises as he finger-fucks you, “just me?”

Your jaw drops and you throw your head back, letting go of him to hold onto the edges of the counter, he has got you pressed against at. You nod quickly, “yes, yes! Just you, only you!” You ramble as you squeeze your eyes shut again, enjoying the feeling of his fingers inside of you.

“Good.”

Steve can feel how you clench around him, how you’re already so close even though he didn’t even get started yet. He leans in to peck your lips as he curls his fingers inside of you, and he presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing it slowly.

He feels himself growing harder – the feeling of your tight, wet walls around his fingers being too much, along with the needy moans that keep falling from your pretty lips.

He stares at you, watching the way your nipples poke through the thin material of your dress – of course, you’re not wearing a bra. You bite your lip, your brows are knit together, and your head falls to the side as you let yourself get lost in the feeling he provides you with.

Not Jacob, definitely not Jacob.

The jock could never make you feel this, he is so sure of it, and yet, Steve can’t shake the thoughts of you and him together.

Would you be this wet for him too?

Would you moan so prettily for him?

Would you be so needy for him?

The anger just won’t leave him, it refuses to, it has him in its tightest grip, urging him to prove something to you.

His chest heaves up and down heavily, his darkened eyes are nearly black now.

You’re close, he can feel that you are with the way you’re clenching around him, but he doesn’t let you cum like this tonight, so he pulls his fingers out of you.

Your eyes shoot open and your lips part as you’re about to protest, pouting at him. He grabs your hips with both of his hands, turning you around abruptly, he bends you over the counter and presses himself against you, and he chuckles darkly when you gasp at his action.

Steve reaches for the hem of your dress and he flips it over, exposing your ass to him and the lacy thong you’re wearing, he groans at the sight of it, unable to hold back, he rears his hand back before he smacks his large palm against your skin, slapping your ass harshly.

Steve has never, never treated a girl roughly before, not any of his hookups, not Nancy, but then again, he never had this much fun with any of them. Letting go of his inhibitions, taking what he wants for once, and the fact that you let him, and even love it, makes him go feral.

But as the realization sinks in of what he had done, his eyes widen as fear rushes through him, worried that he had gone too far, but you ease his mind with the filthy whimper that sounds through the room as you press your ass against his dick, rubbing it against him as though you’re asking for more.

He can’t help but chuckle, the shock and the fear vanishing just as quick as it came.

“Oh, you like that, Blondie?” He asks as he presses his palm against your ass, this time not slapping it, but grabbing it roughly, making you whine again. “Of course you fucking do,” he murmurs as he lets go, only to smack you once more, making you gasp his name in pleasure.

“Please!”

He looks at your reflection in the mirror, needy eyes meeting his.

“Please what?” He asks as he unbuckles his belt and pops the button of his jeans, he reaches for the condom in his back pocket – mentally thanking his needy self for placing one there before he left his house, in hopes that he would get this.

“Please, fuck me!”

He pushes his jeans and boxers down, just enough to free himself, not wasting any more time, he rips apart the foil and throws the empty packet on the ground, making quick work of rolling the condom over his length. With his chin against his chest, he looks down, stroking his dick for good measure, his spit curl falls in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to push it out of the way, he looks up through hooded eyes, glancing at you through the mirror, he almost wants to chuckle at the desperation in your eyes, but it gets stuck in his throat when you push your ass back against his dick, whining.

His stomach flutters seeing you so desperate for no one but him.

He grabs your hip with his left hand, pressing himself against you, he teases both you and himself by slipping his shaft through your wet folds, he watches the way you look at him, begging for more with your eyes as you push yourself up a little.

He presses his palm against your lower back, pushing you down so your chest is flush against the marble counter, he lines up with your entrance and pushes inside of you slowly. Waves of pleasure rush through him in an instant. You scrunch your face up, lips parting as a sigh escapes you.

You throw your hand back, reaching for his forearm, you grab it tightly as you shut your eyes and drop your head a little, your hair falls in front of your face, hiding all your pretty features.

Steve looks down, watching his cock disappear into your weeping pussy.

“You take me so well, holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath. And it was the truth, you take him like no other, making you the most addictive.

He sinks into you, deeper and deeper, stretching you out and splitting you open, the tension inside of him grows and his heartbeat increases. He pulls out again, watching the way the condom around him glistens with your slick – how he wishes that he could feel you without it. He slams back in, making you gasp and arch your back in pleasure. He starts thrusting, in and out, deeply and slowly at first, but with an intensity that makes you open your eyes again.

“Steve!”

“That’s right,” He grunts, reaching his hand forward, he grabs your hair and tilts your head back up, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror as he moves his hips faster, quickening his pace until he’s pounding you. “Look at who’s fucking you right now, Blondie.”

The loudest moan falls from your lips, and you instantly bring your hand up to cup your mouth, panic flashing in your lust filled eyes. Despite the loud music, you are scared that someone might hear you, and it only prompts him to fuck you harder and rougher against the counter, holding you tighter as heat spreads in his chest – who do you want to hide from? Your friends, or Jacob?

But while Steve worries about something that isn’t even on your mind, you are so far gone, so lost in the pleasure that you feel because of him, your insides so sensitive already, yet aching for more. You focus on the way he thrusts in and out of you, how heavenly it feels to feel him inside of you, to feel him in your stomach.

You are so drunk on him that there is not a single thought in your brain, only him.

No one has ever done this to you, no one has ever made you feel so weak, so submissive, so lost in the heat of the moment, no one has ever taken such control – you wouldn’t have let them, only he can have this.

Your eyes turn glassy, rolling back as you throw your head back, your weak hand falling from your face again.

“Yeah, as if that asshole could fuck you like this,” he grunts, letting go of your hair and moving his hand forward to cup your cheeks, “say it. Say no one can fuck you like this, Blondie, because I know it’s true.”

Your walls clench and flutter around him, a cry leaving you as he pulls your ass up a little, slamming in and out of you, hitting the spot that makes tears fall from your eyes, making him even more aroused than before.

“Only you, Steve!” You sob as a tear spills down your cheek and onto his thumb.

Your knees buckle and your body begins to tremble, sobs and moans turn into needy whines and whimpers, your flustered face decorated with pretty tears making his muscles tense in his stomach.

You try to keep quiet as you press your lips together, trying to breathe calmly through your nose despite the pounding in your chest, when he suddenly changes the pace again, pounding you so hard that he knocks you forward, hitting so deep inside of your squelching pussy, that you can’t help but cry out loudly as stars blur your vision.

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie!”

Steve nearly busts, eyes widening at the way you chant his name so desperately. His hips stutter a little and he has to suck in a sharp breath, eyes shutting for a moment. He twitches inside of you, and it doesn’t help that you keep clenching.

The sound of the music, of laughter and voices outside are so far away, the only thing you both hear are your moans and how wet you are as his skin slaps against yours.

He slows down a little, enough to make you whine again, to make you move back against him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

“F-Fuck,” Steve moans, he opens his eyes again, reaching forward, he grabs your shoulder and pulls you up and against his chest before he lets his hand travel down your stomach, he pushes your dress out of the way, and his fingers find their way to your clit.

A high pitched moan echoes through the room, your body shakes harder and you grab his forearm tightly as he rubs circles on your sensitive nub.

He presses his lips to your neck, moaning himself as the tension in his stomach grows bigger and bigger. He kisses your delicate skin, his mouth brushing the dark marks he left.

You cling to him, nails grazing his skin, you press the side of your face against his, staining his cheek with your tears.

“I know, baby, I know.”

If only he knew just how such a simple yet special word affects your heart, making it beat faster and harder in your chest, setting all your insides on fire and igniting something in you that throws you into a pit of love and glee.

Steve had never called you this before, and you could only dream of such sweet nicknames, until now.

Your eyes roll back again, eyelashes fluttering as you squeeze them shut completely, mouth ajar as filthy noises fall. You’d fall over if it wasn’t for his strong arms holding you up, his fingers moving so fastly on your clit, his dick so deep inside of you, his lips biting gently on your skin, all it takes is another rough thrust and your body begins to shake for a different reason, you fall apart for him, once again.

You don’t even feel yourself drooling, you no longer feel the tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your ear, kissing the spot behind it before he grabs your chin and tilts your head to the side so he can press his lips against yours, pulling you into a soft kiss as he keeps fucking you, chasing his own high.

Steve furrows his brows, his muffled moan vibrating against your lips as he gives one last powerful thrust and spills into the condom, secretly wishing that he could spill inside of you and paint your walls white instead.

His body relaxes after the high it had been on for the past minutes, muscles loosening, but lips still moving gently against yours.

Both yours and his moans die down after a moment, but you’re still panting, trying to catch your breaths as you pull away from one another. You open your eyes, and look into his, the blackness slowly fading away and you see the pretty hazel color again. His tongue licks his bottom lip, eyes flickering between your own and the marks he left on your neck.

A lazy smile appears on your face and you feign confidence as you tilt your head to the side and reach your hand up to move the spit curl away from his forehead, the tips of your fingers brushing his skin, he holds you tighter in response.

“I didn’t think you could get so jealous, Steve,” you whisper, ‘jokingly’ but most of all, painfully to yourself.

You’d hope that he was jealous, that all of this was the result of the burning red emotion, but why would he feel jealous over you?

Just the presence of Jacob was enough to bruise Steve’s ego. That’s all that it was.

You know he never liked the jock, and the fact that he got his hands on you first, must’ve hit a nerve. But it has nothing to do with you. Steve is not jealous of who you sleep with, he doesn’t care. He is just bruised cause he felt threatened with an ex hook-up you had, afraid of them stealing you for tonight.

Steve huffs at your words, shaking his head at you. He pulls out of you with a hiss, cursing under his breath.

“Well, did you think I’d let him steal you away from me…?” He asks, clearing his throat as he adds, “tonight?”

And then he looks down, not wanting to show his face, to show how jealous he really is.

He doesn’t need you to know that.

He slips his hand between your thighs again, adjusting your panties and putting them back in place before he fixes your dress, pushing it back down over your ass.

Your eyes soften at his action, heart fluttering in your chest.

It’s not the first time he does this, he always takes care of you – he cleans you up, he helps you put a shirt on your body whenever you stay over, whenever you’re too weak to move. He is good to you, gentle and soft, and that is dangerous, because despite the thoughts in your head, the logical part that tells you the truth, his actions keep putting false hope into your heart.

You grab the counter, and on shaky feet, you step closer and hold onto it tightly, watching as he fixes himself next, throwing the condom and the discarded foil into the trash, he tucks himself back into his pants and steps towards the counter beside you to wash his hands.

His lips are stained with your lipstick, his hair is messy and his cheeks are flushed – he looks so cute like this.

You tear your eyes away from him and finally look at your own reflection, your eyes widen and you gasp in shock – not at the mascara that runs down your face, the messy hair or just how puffy your lips are, no, this is not exactly an unusual sight to see, but the marks on your neck are, because they are so much bigger and darker than they usually are.

You throw your hand up towards your neck and turn to face him, “what the fuck, Steve?”

He winces, quickly drying his hands before he turns to face you, as well. Eying your hand that is covering the hickeys he left, your big eyes filled with panic. He can’t help but think you look cute like this, with your hair all messy and your lips curled into a pout.

“H-How am I gonna hide–”

He grabs your face and pulls you into a soft kiss, just a quick peck, one that is enough to cut you off.

“You think I’m done with you and we’re gonna go back to the party?” He chuckles, caressing your cheek as he pulls away from your puckered lips, “no, we’re leaving, Blondie.”

You gulp at his words and squeeze your aching thighs together as excitement rises back up in you.

“So, fix yourself and meet me downstairs,” he murmurs, placing another soft kiss to your lips before he pulls away. “I’ll wait by the front door.”

He takes another look at your neck, hiding his satisfied smirk by turning around. He unlocks the door and opens it, leaving you alone in the bathroom as he makes his way downstairs to find Eddie or Robin, to announce that he will be driving home a very sick Blondie.

While a smirk keeps playing on his lips, you are panicking in the bathroom, not knowing how to hide the marks he left, what lie to come up with this time if Eddie sees and asks questions again.

You do your best to fix your hair, running your fingers through it and wiping away the mascara streaks on your cheeks, and the smudged lipstick, that you only now realize, is still on his lips, he didn’t even bother to wipe it away – what an idiot.

You step back and take a look at your dress, smoothing it down and moving your hands back to your hair. The marks on your neck are so strong, so very visible, you’re not even sure if foundation and concealer will be able to hide this. A groan falls from your lips.

You should do the same to him, he surely won’t fix it with makeup.

You press your palm against your neck, testing out how it will look if you just go out like this.

“This looks so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes.

You pray that you won’t run into any of your friends on the way out, all you have to do is make it downstairs and to the front door. You haven’t seen much of Eddie before, and Robin is too busy with Vickie anyways.

You take a deep breath and then you step out of the bathroom and into the hallway. It’s not as crowded as it is downstairs, but there are still a few people you have to pass, as you awkwardly keep your hand on your neck, pretending to scratch it.

You feel eyes on you, but you don’t bother to turn around to look at them, not even caring if they heard you and Steve – as long as your friends didn’t hear, you’re good.

Your legs are shaky, and walking in your platform heels feels like a workout after Steve just railed you into oblivion, your stomach still flutters, yet feeling empty at the lack of him.

You walk down the stairs, carefully. You hope that your knees won’t buckle.

The party is still in full swing, some Billy Idol song blaring through the speakers as the living room is still filled with dancing people. Red solo cups are everywhere, empty bottles and cans litter the counters and tables – poor Vickie will regret throwing a party when she wakes up tomorrow morning.

Your eyes fall on him, the smug look on his face making you huff in annoyance. Steve enjoys seeing you struggle after what he just did to you, he licks his lips as his eyes run up and down your body, they flash with amusement when they fall on your hand, you see the way his shoulders shake, he is chuckling at you as he plays with the car keys in his hand. Smug bastard.

You roll your eyes at him, and turn away, looking around to see if any of your friends are around, but the only people you see are strangers and a few known faces from school, you sigh in relief, knowing that you won’t have to lie into Eddie’s or Robin’s face. You return your gaze to Steve whose face is suddenly no longer as smug as it was a few seconds ago, his eyes aren’t even on you anymore, but rather on someone behind you as he looks over your shoulder.

Someone calls your name, someone who is the reason for the rage on Steve’s face that you had already seen before.

You turn around when your name is being called again, to find Jacob walking towards you. Oh.

You grow flustered knowing that the fucked out look on your face is so very obvious. You can’t even hide it.

He catches up to you, and he reaches his hand out to place it on your upper arm, “hi, there you are,” he smiles, towering over you. He is tall, much taller than you, even taller than Steve.

You greet him back, forcing a smile.

He furrows his brows as his eyes scan your face, his smile falling a little, a frown appearing instead, “are you okay?” He asks, worriedly. “Do you feel sick?”

You shake your head and open your mouth to speak when the words get stuck in your throat after his hand leaves your arm and comes to rest on your face instead, surprising you and angering Steve.

“Do you need me to take you home?” He asks, caressing your cheek.

You would have moved, but you are frozen in place as you stare at him, completely caught off guard by his action and the look in his eyes.

“I-I…”

A different hand appears on your lower back, one that your body instantly recognizes, because your skin heats up and your chest blooms with warmth – it’s scary how well your body knows him.

Steve pulls you into his side, wrapping his arm around you, “I got her, she’s in good hands, Leeney.”

Sometimes you wish that he knew how you felt about him, how your heart nearly explodes every time he says something only a boyfriend should say – maybe then, he would take pity on you and your heart.

You melt into his touch, the smell of his cologne is so intoxicating.

Jacob retracts his hand, he looks between you and Steve, his shoulders slumping a little as he steps back, he looks down at you, nodding, “alright.”

“Come on,” Steve murmurs, squeezing your waist as he begins to pull you away, wanting you away from the jock and towards the front door.

“Bye Jacob–”

“Wait,” he rushes forward, and reaches for your hand, placing a folded note into your palm. “Here, I’m not making the same mistake again.” He gives your hand a squeeze and smiles at you, not waiting for your response, he steps away and takes another glance at Steve, before he turns around and leaves.

You stare at the note in your hand, you don’t have to open it to know what’s written on the paper.

You fail to notice the absolute rage in Steve’s eyes, how much more intense it is than before, how tense the muscles in his jaw are, how it takes everything in him not to slam you against the wall and kiss you in front of Jacob and everyone else.

He pulls you out of the house without a single word, he grabs your hand instead as he leads you outside, he shuts the door and the sound of music and the many voices begin to fade away as you both make your way to his car, which he parked on the side of the road.

Your heels click against the cobblestone, your hands hold tightly onto his, you’re quiet, and so is he, but a storm is raging in his mind, and everything he felt before, now feels so much worse.

Can he keep you when there’s other people who want you just as much as he does? – And even, in different, much more intimate ways?

He saw the way Jacob looked at you, he wasn’t only interested in another quick fuck, he wanted more, and it irritates Steve, it makes his stomach churn uncomfortably, it makes his heart clench in his chest – it shouldn’t, there is nothing more between you than this, and yet, he is scared to lose it, the little secret that you both have, he isn’t ready to let it go, he isn’t ready to let you go and watch you fall into someone else arms.

He wants to keep you, and he will do everything to make it stay that way.

He knows that there is only one way to show you that he is the only you will ever need. At least, for now.

He opens the passenger door and lets go of your hand so you can get inside, eying the note that is still in your other hand. He closes the door once you’re seated, and he makes his way around his BMW, when he gets inside as well, he notices the now unfolded note in your lap and the number that’s written on it.

He grits his teeth but bites back his bitter words.

You won’t call him, he will make sure of that.

It’s not easy to focus on the drive when his mind is in such a whirlwind and his eyes keep glancing back at the note in your lap, that you folded back together again.

You aren’t looking at it any longer, your eyes are focused on the road and the passing trees.

“What do you plan to do with that number, Blondie?” He asks, unable to hold back and hide the jealousy this time.

You narrow your eyes at him, taking a look at his hands, you see how hard he is gripping the steering wheel when you take in the sight of his knuckles. The veins in his hands nearly popped. You gulp as your eyes move along his arm, muscles that are hidden beneath the black sleeve of his shirt peeking out just a little, his cheeks are red, his jaw clenched.

He is angry, but a part of you can see through your insecurities.

It’s not only his ego that was bruised, it’s not only the anger that shines through, there is more, so much more.

The jealousy that only you ever felt is lingering in his eyes.

He is jealous.

Steve is jealous over you.

And there is really no reason for him to feel that way, but you can’t stop the rush of excitement and happiness that floods through your body.

If he felt that way before he dragged you into the bathroom, over an innocent conversation, what will he do now that Jacob has made an entirely new move?

Will you get another taste of what he gave you before?

Will he call you baby again?

You’re stepping into a dangerous territory, you know it, but the thrill over it makes heat pool in your stomach.

“I don’t know, Lego Head,” you shrug, trying to keep a straight face as you look at him, “maybe I’ll keep it… You know, for when you don’t answer your phone.” You lie as you pick the note back up.

Steve huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

He rolls down the window, giving you no time to react, he snatches the note from your hand and wastes no second to throw it out onto the road, letting it get lost in the darkness.

“Hey!” You gasp as your eyes widen.

“Whoops, my hand slipped,” he flashes you an innocent smile as he closes the window again.

“What if I want to call him!?”

Your question makes him grip the wheel even tighter, knuckles turning white.

“You don’t need him,” he mumbles.

You sit up straighter, raising your brows at him, “oh really? I don’t? Why’s that?”

Steve can’t take it any longer, the feelings inside of him boiling over, controlling all his actions now.

He pulls the car off the main road, and drives into the isolated wooded area that leads to a stream, a hidden part of Lovers Lake that he only ever came to when he needed to clear his head.

He slams his foot on the brakes and turns off the car, turning off the lights and unbuckling the seatbelt, he turns to you in anger, “because you literally just said no one can fuck you like I can!”

Your heart begins to race, goosebumps rise on your skin, and you press your palms against the leather seat beneath you. The giddiness inside of you is now so difficult to keep hidden.

“Ah, so that should make you exclusive,” you smirk, tilting your head to the side, “okay, well, maybe he got better–”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence, you don’t get to taunt him anymore as he turns his back to you and gets out of the car, slamming the door shut and rounding the car to get to you, he rips open the door on your side.

“You don’t learn, do you?”

“W-What?”

“Get out.” He demands, not nicely.

You frown at him, watching his stance and how angry he looks at you. “What the fuck–”

“Get out,” he repeats, in a much calmer yet angrier voice.

You shiver at his command, and you take a deep breath as you unfasten your seatbelt, your heels hit the grass as you get out of the car. Steve places his hand on your back and pushes you out of the way so he can close the door before he opens the one to the backseat. He glares into your eyes, “get in.”

Your frown transforms into a look of complete confusion as you look between his hand and the seat that he points at.

“You’re making me change seats?”

He steps closer to you, “get the fuck inside, right now.”

The demanding, aggressive tone in his voice doesn’t make you question him again, you swallow harshly and turn around, you place your hands on the leather seats as you crawl inside, moaning in surprise when he smacks your ass again.

He chuckles darkly behind you, “you really like that huh?”

You glare at him over your shoulder, earning another slap to your other cheek, making you jerk and whine.

He chuckles again and follows you inside, closing the door behind him, “noted.”

The leather beneath you is cold, and you grip it tightly, sucking in a sharp breath, and just as you go to turn around and sit down, Steve’s strong hands grab at your hips, flipping you over and manhandling you underneath his body as he forces you to lie down on your back. He pushes your thighs apart, settling in between them, he presses his palms flat against the seat on both sides of your head.

A shiver runs down your spine, not from fear, but from excitement, because he probably didn’t want you to realize he was jealous, but he is showing you. He is clearly showing you and you can’t help but feel absolutely happy, accomplished.

You know that you’re in for something when you look into his eyes – you can’t even find the right words to describe the emotions that are lingering in them, but they make your inside flutter so wildly, you feel the need to clench your thighs together as he looms over you, but you can’t, he doesn’t let you.

His nose brushes against yours, his hair falls in front of his eyes as he inches closer to you, his breath kissing your skin.

“Has anyone ever put you in your place, Blondie?” He asks as he drums his finger along your shoulder, hooking it around the strap of your dress.

“W-What?” You stutter, hating how weak and shaky your voice sounds.

“I’m taking that as a no.”

Steve drags the strap down, and he leans down to press his lips against your shoulder, “I wanted to be nice, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, “wanted to take care of you, but fuck, you leave me no choice.”

You squirm beneath him, digging your nails into the flesh of your legs as you furrow your brows at his words.

His lips ghost over your collarbone, his hand now pushing your dress down a little, he exposes your chest to him, and he traces the outline of your breast before his fingers pinch your nipple, making you whine again.

“Time for you to understand–” He murmurs as he plants a kiss to your jaw, “-- that I’m the only one you need.”

His movements are soft, his touches are gentle but to your surprise, they don’t stay that way, after a few more kisses, he flips the bottom part of your dress over, bunching it around your waist, he hooks his finger around your panties and tears them off of you, throwing them over his back, not caring where they land. His fingers trace your legs, hands finding their way to your heels, he unfastens the straps around your ankles, and takes them off before he returns his attention to where you need him the most.

He teases you with his fingers, torturing your clit and chuckling darkly at the whines that start filling the space around you.

Steve had been intense and rough before, but one look into his face shows you that you will get more tonight, so much more.

He splits you open with his fingers again, sinking them into your soaked hole, he fucks you with them, he taunts you with his words and sucks more marks onto your skin, littering the other side of your neck and your chest with hickeys. He makes you see stars with the way he curls his digits inside of you and rubs your clit.

To your surprise and confusion, he doesn’t let you cum, he pulls his fingers out and stops touching you when you’re about to fall apart, just like he did before in the bathroom. Nothing like this ever happened before.

You don’t think anything of it at first, not when he seems desperate to fill you up in a different way. He fumbles with his pants and pushes them down, along with his boxers. He rolls a condom over his length again, one of many he has in the glove compartment because sometimes you two don’t even reach a bed when seeing each other, rushing to do it just as he did earlier, your mouth waters at the sight of his leaking, red tip.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, grabbing your waist and pulling your weakened body on top of him, you instantly reach for his shoulders, grabbing them tightly as he gives you no time to react before he makes you sink down on his cock – you don’t mind. You are so needy, so wet for him that your juices soak your inner thighs.

But you need to feel his skin on yours, so you reach for the hem of his shirt, and pull it over his head, he leans forward as you rip it off of him. You throw it on the seat and wrap your arms around his naked shoulders, pressing yourself against his hairy chest.

You are the first to start moving, rolling your hips and riding him slowly, but he isn’t satisfied with that, he wants something else, he wants more.

Steve makes you bounce on his dick, he holds your hips harshly and uses you as though you’re a fleshlight, filling you to the brim and slamming you up and down on his dick, fucking you rather disrespectfully.

He makes you fall forward, as your eyes shut at the roughness and the intensity. He is buried so deep inside of you, you’re not sure if you have ever felt this before. Tears blur your vision again that night, moans turn into whimpers and whimpers into cries, the pleasure so strong, so overwhelming.

You throw your hand against the fogged up window, slamming your palm against it, leaving a handprint there for him.

No words escape you, not even his name, the only thing you can do is fall limply against his body and hide your face in the crook of his neck as drool starts coming out of your mouth but the moment it touches his skin, Steve grabs the back of your neck and pulls you back to him again, so he can see your face.

“Does he even get to see you like this?” He grunts, fucking up into you and watching the way you squeeze your crying eyes shut. “Drooling? Crying? I bet I’m the only one you’ve ever been this cock drunk for… aren’t I?”

You nod your head wildly, panting and gasping as pain and pleasure mix together. He thinks it’s just physical, but there is so much more to it. You knew you would turn into this for him and just him, you’ve always known.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Steve lets go of your neck, making you fall back against him, he decides to tease you more by smacking your ass, causing you to jolt and whimper, filling him with satisfaction.

He makes your pleasure the more unbearable, causing you to clench around him.

And just like before, just as you’re so close to reaching your peak, he stops your movements all together, filling you with anger now, making you snap out of the haze he put you into. He stills and grabs you tightly, so you won’t move, he lifts you up and off his cock, biting back a groan.

“W-What the fuck, Steve?” You cry out, “I-I was so close!”

His eyes are nearly unrecognizable when he squeezes your cheeks together with one hand, forcing you to look at him. The angry sight in front of you, only makes you clench around him even harder.

“You’re not cumming until I say so, Blondie.” It was stern, but Steve had a point to make, he needs to make it happen.

You aren’t even aware of what is going on inside of his troubled mind, you could never even guess, not even when he flips you over and throws you down under him, placing your left leg over his shoulder.

The position is quite cramping, but you forget about any kind of pain, when he sinks back inside of you and starts pounding into you with a force that makes the stars shine brighter and your heart race faster.

Steve is not even focused on his pleasure, despite how good you feel around him, all that he can think about is your pleasure. He gives his all, he gives everything to kill any memory of what any of your other hookups did to you, of the pleasure they made you feel, of the pleasure he once made you feel.

He snaps his hips into yours, fucking you so deeply and roughly, making his dick ache in pleasure.

He surely never fucked anyone this way before. He never felt this angry before.

He watches you closely, the way your pussy flutters around his dick, the way you grip the leather beneath you, nearly ripping through it with your nails as tears of pleasure stream down your face and you tilt your head to the side with furrowed brows, your tits bouncing as he slams you back and forth on the seats.

Your moans are so loud that anyone who were to pass by, would freak out and almost faint or call the cops.

He is not even touching your clit, not even grazing it with his fingers, not giving it any pleasure again… yet. But he feels your fluttering walls, how tight you are getting around him, how high pitched your moans are getting – you are close, so close.

And so is he, he keeps thrusting in and out of you, not tearing his eyes off of your beautiful face as he chases his own high, roughly and deeply. Your name falls from his lips, and his hips stutter as he finishes into the condom, groaning as your walls grip him tightly.

Steve pulls out of you reluctantly, stopping your pleasure once again.

He pulls your leg off his shoulder gently and places it back on the seat, giving it a squeeze.

His chest heaves up and down, he breathes heavily as he stares at you, biting back the chuckle when your eyes shoot open and a bewildered look crosses your face, the tears in your eyes still shining brightly as you raise yourself up on your elbows, frowning angrily at him.

“You– I’m going to fucking kill you, Steve, it’s not fair!” Your bottom lip trembles, you are clearly very frustrated with him.

He looks down to hide the amusement on his face, taking the condom off, he ties it up and throws it on the ground, making a mental note to throw it away later on.

Steve tugs himself back into his boxers and pulls his pants up, not bothering with his belt just yet.

He shakes his head at you when you squeeze your thighs together, hiding yourself from him. He hooks his hands around your knees, pulling you closer against him before he tears them apart again, exposing your glistening swollen pussy to him.

He licks his lips as he hooks your leg around his hip, holding it there as brings his other hand back to your center, he bites down on his lip, looking at you with mischief in his eyes as he delivers a slap to your clit.

“Wha– Steve!” You gasp in surprise and if he weren’t so determined, so centered on you, he would have been surprised by his action too.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, using his pointer finger to tease your slit, he spreads your folds apart, and slips his middle finger and ring finger into your sopping pussy, he focuses on your face.

Your angry features slowly relax again, mouth parting as he starts to move his fingers again, this time he does aim for your orgasm… and more.

He moves slowly at first, rocking his fingers in and out of you, moaning himself at the noises he draws from your pussy.

Despite the pleasure that you’re falling back into again, you grow flustered at the noises and raise your hands up to your face, covering it and hiding yourself from him, but your action only earns you another slap to your clit.

“Uh uh,” Steve shakes his head at you, letting go of your leg, he reaches forward and grabs both of your wrists with one hand, dragging your hands away from your face, “don’t hide from me.”

“But–”

He curls his fingers into your g-spot, tearing a gasp from you.

“No buts,” he grumbles, as he moves steadily, fingering your pussy roughly now. He angles his hand differently, the end of his palm now brushing against your aching clit every time he thrusts his fingers deeply into you.

He shuts you up quickly, making every word, every sentence get caught in your throat.

His left hand fondles your boobs, your waist, your stomach, your hip – he touches you everywhere, leaving every inch of your skin burning with desire. His fingertips dig deeply into your leg as he keeps you spread open, his thigh keeping your other leg from closing, as he abuses your cunt with his fingers that are much longer than your own.

Your back arches in pleasure, your sensitive core crying for more.

The feeling inside of you is different, new, but you aren’t surprised by it, he edged you three or four times tonight, tears of frustration fell from your eyes, those tears that are now caused by pleasure and sensitivity.

Your whimpers are so erotic to him, just like the wetness he can hear as he is knuckles deep inside of you, stretching you open. He can see the goosebumps on your skin and the way your stomach tenses up, the way your breathing stutters.

You are in bliss, he can see it on your face, there is not a single thought in that pretty head of yours.

He leans down, pressing into you as he inches closer to your face, pecking your lips, “no one else can make you feel like this… no one.” He whispers against your lips, placing another kiss upon them before he moves to your marked up neck, ghosting over it and inching down to your chest, trailing kisses along the way to your boobs. He wraps his lips around your nipple, looking up at you, he begins to suck, adding more pleasure to your body.

You belong to him.

“Steve!” You whimper, throwing your hands into his hair, you let your fingers get lost in it.

He moans against you, quickening the pace of his fingers, curling them even harder inside of you, making you shudder at the feeling, jolting even when he presses his thumb against your swollen clit.

You tremble beneath him, the wave of pleasure being so strong that a sob falls from your lips, your fingers curling into his hair roughly, “fuck… baby,” you whine.

A surprised whimper falls from his own lips, the nickname stopping every thought in his mind, for a second.

Baby, Baby, Baby…

No one has ever called him that, no one. The fact that you are the first, somehow makes it better, and he doesn’t even know why.

The coil inside of you grows bigger and bigger, an unfamiliar feeling bubbles in your lower stomach, making drool form on your tongue and stars blur your vision. Your nerves feel as though they are on fire, your skin prickling as he fucks you roughly.

“I-I’m so close,” you whimper and scrunch your face up as you move your hips a little, meeting his thrusts.

He is so lost in you and your moans, he doesn’t even realize that he is biting, tugging on your nipple with his teeth until a new, higher moan escapes you.

“O-Oh my god,” you whisper shakily as your eyes roll back, “S-Steve! That feels so good!”

“Yeah?” He murmurs against you, lips returning to your neck, he pecks it a few times as he looks down, watching the way your thighs tremble, the way the muscles in your stomach tense so tightly and your chest rises up and down so much heavier than before, “your thighs are shaking so much… holy shit.”

The pressure inside of you becomes so overwhelming, it feels a lot, it feels too much.

“S-Steve,” you tremble, “t-that feels weird.”

Your voice sounds so small, unsure, yet the moans won’t stop escaping you.

“No, baby, you’re doing so good,” he whispers as he lets go of your leg, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, he wipes your tears and brushes your hair out of your face, pressing his thumb against your bottom lip, “just trust me… let go for me.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, not even when he starts peppering your face with kisses.

The pleasure is too much, the pressure makes you panic slightly, but he doesn’t stop, if anything, he fucks you harder and faster with his fingers, keeping them curled inside of you, his palm keeps brushing your overstimulated clit. He is hoping to get what he has been seeking. You haven’t trembled this much before, and he is confident, he is so confident that you won’t forget this, that you won’t forget how he made you feel, that you won’t forget him.

“C’mon,” he murmurs against your lips, “I know you want to.”

Your bottom lip shakes, the pressure threatening to explode inside of you, every inch of your body now burning and quivering.

You let go of his hair and throw your hand down to wrap your fingers around his wrist, your eyes open, and you look at him through your blurry vision.

Your moans and the squelching that gets louder and louder, sounds that are like music to his ears, making his stomach flutter and his dick twitch again – to his own surprise.

“I-I can’t– too much, Steve!” You whine, nearing an edge you have never touched before, “I’m gonna–”

You never get to finish your sentence, because as Steve plunges his fingers in even deeper, and curls them harder. You can only throw your head back, a mix between a squeal and a whimper falling.

Steve nearly stops all of his movements when you clench around his fingers like a vice.

Your hips jerk upwards as liquids shoot out of you, and he gets to where he wanted.

“H-Holy shit–”

Steve’s eyes widen, a chuckle of amusement and excitement leaving his lips, he stares at you in awe. Surprised at the tent in his pants, he is rock hard again.

He keeps pounding his fingers in and out of you, not stopping his movements just yet. With a smirk, he leans down to kiss your cheek, cooing at you, “you’re such a good girl for me.” He says possessively.

Your walls unclench around him, and he thinks it’s all, when you suddenly clench again, tighter than before, another shockwave rushes through your body, and you squirt even more, the leather beneath you becoming even wetter than before.

Steve’s hand is drenched, up to his elbow, and so is the front of his jeans, his stomach and the window behind him. The evidence of how good he made you feel is all over his seats, filling him with pride.

A satisfied smirk plays on his lips, he feels like he’s on top of the world, he feels like a fucking king again, knowing that he brought such pleasure to your body.

He never even thought that this was possible, that this move in porn movies is nothing but a myth, but he had to try, he had to try it with you. It would have shamed him before to admit he had been watching more porn than usual just to do the things he sees with you, but now? He feels like he is the most intelligent person in the world.

Your body falls limp, whines and whimpers still filling the space around you, tears roll down your cheek as you’re trying to catch your breath.

Steve pats your cheek, caressing it gently as he stares at you fondly, “hey, are you okay?” He whispers, unable to stop himself from pecking your lips.

You nod weakly, still needing a moment to come down from the high.

He keeps kissing you, playing with your hair as he caresses your skin, pulling his fingers out of you after a while, making you whine again.

You open your eyes, struggling to keep them open after the intense orgasm you just had. You look into his eyes, they’re filled with victory. A proud smile playing on his lips.

You raise your eyebrows when you notice the drops on the window, the wet seats, his soaked hands and the wetness beneath you.

Heat rushes up to your cheeks, embarrassment rushes through you and you can’t help but gasp as you look around the mess that you made. Tears blur your vision, “o-oh my god!” You say weakly, shakily as you start crying, catching him off guard, “I-I’m so sorry, Steve!”

You press your palms against the wet seats and push to sit up.

Steve shakes his head at you, he cups your cheeks and shushes you by kissing your lips again, “fuck, Blondie, don’t cry – holy shit, that was so fucking hot,” he chuckles, “it’s just leather, sweetheart. And honestly, this feels like a fucking victory to me.”

You blink through your tears, looking at him with big and glassy eyes, your heart still pounds in your chest, shame swirling deeply in your chest.

“Really?”

He nearly faints at the look in your eyes.

Who would’ve thought that Steve would ever get to see you like this or that he’d get to be the one to make you come undone so intensely?

You are so vulnerable, right now. It tugs at his heartstrings, knowing that you struggle with emotions, that you hate showing weakness and tears – yet here you are, even if it’s only out of shame, it shows him that you trust him, even if only a little.

You’re unaware of the fluttering in his chest that you cause, the warmth around his heart as he stares at you. He traces your cheek before he slips his hands down to your waist.

You look so fucking cute.

How can he not adore you when you look at him like this?

He gulps as he is completely aware of the way his heart feels.

You’re going to be a problem, that’s for sure – but he can’t find it in himself to care, not now.

He sits back and pulls you along with him, dragging you into his lap, he surprises you by wrapping his arms around your shaking, hot body. He pulls you into him so he can hug you, he cups the back of your head and makes you relax against his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead, feeling the need to treat you gently, sweetly.

Your breath hitches in your throat, his actions doing nothing to calm your racing heart.

It takes you a moment, but eventually, you calm down and close your eyes as you bury your face in his bare chest, his hair tickling your cheek a little. Steve runs his finger up and down your spine, making your heart race.

Your body is aching, your legs are trembling, you nearly squeal when his crotch brushes against your center as you try to move closer to him.

“Wait,” he whispers, he grabs your waist again and changes your position, moving both of your legs over his thighs instead, so you don’t have to straddle him, and then, he pulls you back into his chest again. He brushes his fingers against your upper arm, stroking your skin softly, “is that better?”

You nod.

“Good,” he whispers, letting all his emotions guide him as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Y-You made me squirt,” you whisper, blushing.

He chuckles, looking down at you and the way your cheek is pressed against his chest, “yeah Blondie, I made you squirt. I never did that in my life, you never did that in your life, we should put a memory plaque here.”

Finally, a giggle falls from your lips, and you look up at him, amusement shining in your eyes.

“I need a shower and sleep for like… three days straight.”

Steve chuckles, squeezing you tighter, he finds himself liking the feeling of holding you this way, he can’t help but want to pull you closer.

“I’m happy to provide all that for you,” he smiles down at you.

Steve likes to see you in his clothes, he likes it when you take showers at his place and make his bathroom smell like your shampoo and your sweet body wash.

He missed it last night.

He clears his throat, his smile falling a bit, “why didn’t you uh… call me the past two days?”

You hesitate, not wanting to show your face to him, you keep your head down.

“Oh uh… I felt sick, nauseous, probably because of something I ate, maybe it was Eddie’s attempt at the homemade burrito…”

Steve’s mind was plagued with ugly thoughts after seeing you with Jacob, but this is beginning to ease his mind a little.

“Wait so,” he blinks, sitting up straighter as he continues to look down at you, “you were home?”

You nod, meeting his eyes, “where else would I be?”

It’s not exactly a lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either. You had an appointment in the morning, one that you had been nervously awaiting for weeks.

The tension that remained leaves his body completely now, relief rushes through him, making him relax fully.

“I thought… since Jacob was back–”

Your lips part in surprise as your eyes widen, before a smile appears on your lips.

“Aw, is Stevie jealous and worried that someone is going to take his place?” You ask him, taunting him a little.

Yeah, he actually is.

But he can’t tell you that, can he?

He pinches your ass with his fingers, a smirk tugging at his lips, “don’t get all bratty now, or I will show you how no one can replace me… again.”

You’re a little taken aback by all the comments, by his actions today, by the softness of his touch, right now. He didn’t fight you on it. He just told you to not be bratty instead of telling you to stop thinking that way.

Today, he treated you as though you were his.

He acted out of jealousy and was possessive over you, and in the end, he pulled you into his arms, treating you with such gentleness that it will surely leave a stain in your heart forever.

This is dangerous, he is dangerous.

He is giving you a glimpse of something that you will never have.

He is showing you colors, you can’t ever see with anyone else.

And maybe, this should be enough to make you run into safety, to protect your heart from the pain it will suffer when it’s all over.

But in what world, would you ever run from him?

You know how this will end, but it won’t stop you from kissing his lips and letting him into you.

He can break your heart and shatter your soul for all you care.

It’s all his anyway.

Eddie looked all over for you, the backyard, the kitchen, even the bathroom and the bedrooms, he was sick with worry as he searched for you. He got distracted when Robin forced him into a game of beer pong, with Argyle and Vickie, and lost sight of you.

The girl ended up calming him down, when she told him that Steve took you home, you looked sick apparently. But Eddie knows better than that.

He knows deep in his gut that his suspicions were right, that he wasn’t thinking into it too deeply.

On his way out of Vickie’s house, he bumps into someone, turning around to apologize, he finds a very drunk Jacob, he raises his hands up, slurring out an apology, but then a confused frown appears on his face when he seems to recognize him.

“Munson, you’re friends with her, right?”

“Huh, with who?” Eddie mumbles, tilting his head.

Jacob says your name and Eddie blinks a few times and slowly nods, “best friends actually, what of it?”

The tall jock smells like beer and weed mixed together as he steps closer, invading his space a little.

“Well, I mean, is she dating Harrington or something?” Jacob asks, shaking his head.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, curiosity sparking inside of him.

“Um…” He could say no, he definitely could, but Jacob seems like a source of information right now, and he decides to use this opportunity to find out more, “what makes you think that?”

“Well, the fact that this guy cockblocked me two times tonight is the main one. Tried flirting with her and he just pulled her away and even dared to glare at me as if I were the one interrupting his conversation, man." Jacob is slurring, rambling, and he just looks like a guy that lost the opportunity, not someone who would push you into a date or something.

But Eddie is stunned by the revelation, so he pressed forward.

“Two times?”

“Yeah, the first one he took her somewhere as soon as I started talking to her, and the next he interrupted us so he could leave with her... Say sorry to Harrington for me, she didn't tell me she was dating him,” he mumbles, waving his hand as he rolls his eyes and steps.

Eddie’s gears work, trying to figure out a way to confirm all of this, but for now, the information is enough, his suspicions only growing with certainty. A small honest smile appears on his face and he pats Jacob on the shoulder.

“Thank you Leeney. I'll make sure to let Stevie know.”

The blond nods and steps away, giving him a weak smile before he walks off, leaving Eddie by himself.

His dark brown eyes flash with understanding and realization, a laugh of disbelief falling from his lips as he puts all the puzzle pieces together.

He brings his hand up to his chin and shakes his head when he thinks of the marks on both yours and Steve’s skin.

A scoff falls from Eddie’s lips.

“Chandler and Heidi, right.”

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @mysticmunson @taintedcigs @joekeerysmoles @ibellcipem @maroon-cardigan @sherrylyn628 @corrodedcorpses @munsonlore @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars

#my writing ♡#dwoht #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #stranger things angst

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jaylaxies · 7 months

Text

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: jay x fem!reader x heeseung

wc: 987 words

cw: smut, threesome, birthday sex, double penetration, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

a/n: its super rushed but happy birthday @heesuncore 💗

You wondered what your roommates would be up to this year, granted they did go out of their way to get you a cake, surprising you the exact second as the clock hit twelve, indicating that you were finally a year older. The surprise was sweet considering you hadn’t known each other for more than a month, being new roommates.

However, a lot had changed over the span of a year, which also included your current relationship with the boys. You were close, and the boys were overprotective when it came to you, which was endearing enough as it was, yet you never expected them to genuinely spoil you, getting you your favourite flowers, snacks, and also cooking for you whenever they got the time to do so. They kept you entertained, always, and you would be lying if you say that you didn’t have even the tiniest bit of attraction towards the two boys, Jay and Heeseung.

They looked godly, they carried themselves with the utmost respect too, which only made you fall deeper for both of them. Which brings you back here: Your eyes were covered with a silky black cloth, which blocked your vision perfectly as Hee and Jay stood on either side of you, holding your arm to guide you into your room, a sweet scent of cake lingering in the air, mixed with something vanilla flavoured, which you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Jay opened your blindfold to reveal your decorated room, full of balloons and polaroids everywhere, scented candles lit up and a pretty cake kept on the centre of your bed. The biggest smile graced your face, the boys mirroring your expression soon after. Jay and Heeseung held the cake up together, the candles illuminating your face as you closed your eyes, wishing for the things you wanted so deeply before blowing the candles.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” both the boys whispered, feeding you little bites of the cake before keeping it aside, their attention solely on you, especially when you pulled them into a hug, “ready for your gift?” They asked, making you look up at them in confusion.

“Wasn’t this a gift though?” You asked and they stepped closer, Heeseung’s finger caressing your cheek, “do you trust us?” He asked, and you shivered with how Jay’s warm hand rested on your waist, “tell us, baby,” he mutters, his voice raspier than ever, your knees felt weak just by this.

“I do,” you manage to let out, eyes fluttering close, feeling Heeseung’s lips on your neck, “yeah? Then are you okay with this, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping inside your top, brushing his fingers against your under boob.

“Say it, princess,” Jay urges you, his lips leaving featherlight kisses on your jaw, trailing down to your neck.

“Yes,” you say, letting the boys take over, your heart beating out of your chest as they helped you get on your bed, Heeseung being the first to make you gasp, his lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss, Jay using that time to get rid of your top, your back arching the second he took your tits in his mouth, the other hand fondling and paying attention to your other tit.

It felt like heaven. You would have never thought that any of them would even make such advancements, but having the two of them together was beyond your imagination, your whole body felt as if it was on fire.

“That’s it, baby. Be a good girl for us, let us please you, yeah? Our pretty birthday girl,” Jay says the second Heeseung leans back, his nose buried in your neck.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, coming down to slide your pants down, a whimper leaving your mouth at the sight of Jay removing his shirt, his pants coming off next. Your eyes widened for two reasons; one because Heeseung had fully immersed himself in eating you out, his pointy nose brushing against your clit. Second, Jay tapped your cheek, pushing his cock inside the warmth of your mouth, both boys groaning as they drowned in the pleasure of you.

You moaned around Jay’s length, especially when Heeseung’s tongue flicked your clit in the best way possible, “oh god,” you breathed out, lip bitten to conceal your moans. They continued their ministrations for a while, Jay joining Heeseung as he rubbed his thick fingers, pushing them inside your cunt, your walls clenching around them.

“That’s it our prettiest birthday girl, let go,” Heeseung coos, watching you shake as you fall apart on Jay’s fingers.

But they didn’t stop there, pumping their cocks, spreading your juices all over their length before Heeseung looked in your eyes, Jay positioning you on his lap, letting Heeseung enter your pussy first, your eyes watering at the stretch but it felt too good to even speak. Jay caressed your face, kissing the expanse of your skin to soothe out your nervousness.

Jay couldn’t hold back anymore, pushing his cock in your already stuffed cunt, this time Heeseung taking the initiative to kiss your lips as a distraction, letting Jay fill you in along with him. Soon, they both were groaning, praising you alongside for taking their cocks so well, the stimulation of their own cocks brushing against each other making them go crazier than usual, they had you right where they wanted you.

“Happy birthday, princess,” they both said the second you reached your state of euphoria, making sure you felt good through and through, emptying their cum inside you and you felt fuller than ever.

They both knew how overstimulated you felt, and they made sure to clean you up, showering you with kisses all over, you giggles only making them smile at you, the aftercare was everything you had wished for and more. But what made you feel even happier was how they both held you to sleep.

It was the best birthday gift ever indeed.

#ria:thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jay smut #heeseung smut #enha smut #kpop smut #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enha hard thoughts #enha hard hours

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slu7formen · 7 days

Note

I heard you were sad about the lack of Luke asks, so l've decided to try and help! Bare with me bc this might not be the best considering I'm think on the spot and its late over here so feel free to delete!

So, reader was with Luke when he was running away with Annie and Thalia so they're really close. Then, when her and Luke were like 16 or smth reader left on a quest and its been like 2 years so its assumed that she just failed and died on her quest. This ruined Luke bc he loved her and one night, maybe at the bonfire, he hears reader screaming his name somewhere in the foresty part of camp, just absolutely terrified. He finds her and shes hurt, I'm talkin reallyyy messed up like a massive gash across her eye, (matching scar awww) leavin her like half blind, huge claw marks, teeth marks, and other wounds. He carries her to the infirmary, shes prob passed out at this point from like blood loss. Anyways, she finally wakes up in the infirmary and a bunch of fluff ensues, yk the usual "Don't ever leave me again" "I thought you were dead" the fun stuff and obv they confess to each other! (also, is 🖤 taken?)

whoever made this request, it was so good, you’re evil and brilliant; thank you 🖤

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: wounds, injuries, blood mention, presumed death, luke being heartbroken (sorry), crying

reminder: english's not my first language so l apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Every morning, Luke woke with the same dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder of the gaping hole your absence had left in him. It was a hollow ache, a physical manifestation of the loneliness that had become his unwelcome company. Nine years old when he ran away, the world had been a harsh teacher, but three years later, when he found you, that harshness had softened, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. You, a scared, twelve-year-old with defiance blazing in your eyes and a meager weapon in hand, had become his anchor in the storm.

The streets had been a cruel way of living, but together, you and Luke had forged a bond stronger than steel. You were the same age, yet he was older by a few months, a difference that somehow granted him a silent responsibility for your safety. Thalia and Annabeth, two more lost souls swept up in the world of their demigod destinies, completed their unbalanced family. But it was you and Luke, the two eldest, who shared a silent language of understanding that went beyond words. You fought together, scavenged together, your backs against the world.

The arrival of Grover, a satyr reeking of panic, brought relief and a terrifying truth— you weren't alone. The hunt for demigods was real, and you were all in danger.

Fourteen. A year etched in his memory with the sharp point of a spear. The monsters, the desperate fight, Thalias selfless sacrifice, the agonizing transformation into the pine tree — the events played on a loop in his mind. Camp Half-Blood, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a bittersweet prison. He had you by his side then, a hand to grip in the darkness, a silent understanding in your shared gaze.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be there, by his side, facing challenges and forging a future together. He replayed the memory of your first quest announcement on a loop. The fear in his gut, a slap in the face of his fierce protectiveness. He wasn't supposed to lose you.

It wasn't fair. It shouldn't have been you, alone, facing whatever monstrous fate had befallen you. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he replayed the day you left. The forced cheer, the worry that gnawed at him, all a blur now. Training became a way to numb the ache, each swing of his sword carrying a silent plea for your sate return. But as days turned into months, the hope that had fueled him began to fade away.

News traveled slow in the demigod world, but eventually, rumors reached Camp Half-Blood. Whispers of a monstrous encounter, a lost trail, a silence that stretched too long. A year after your departure, the whispers solidified into a grim reality - you were missing, presumed dead.

Luke felt the world tilt on its axis. Denial battled with a cold, horrifying truth. You were gone.

A quest, a single solitary mission, had stolen you from him. Stolen your laughter, your warmth, your presence that had become an essential part of his world. It wasn't fair.

The quest for the Golden Apple had been a cruel twist of fate. A desperate attempt to appease his father, to offer a sliver of hope to a camp drowning in sadness, it had backfired spectacularly. Luke returned empty-handed, his body wracked with exhaustion and his spirit battered. But the most visible reminder of his failure was the jagged scar that ran from beneath his eye down to his chin, a pale testament to the dragon's fury.

He'd needed your presence then more than ever. Needed your steady gaze and the quiet strength you possessed. Needed the spark of defiance in your eyes that mirrored his own growing anger towards a world that had seemed so determined to tear them apart. He needed your touch, your hugs, he needed you.

He stood stiffly before your burial shroud, an image carved in his memory forever. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked. He ignored the concerned glances of his friends, focusing only on the phantom warmth of your hand in his, a memory more vivid than anything else.

In that moment, ravaged by grief, a single truth burned bright — he loved you. And he had lost you. The world felt a little emptier, a little colder, without you by his side.

And the first nights after you left were the worst.

At first, they were hopeful visions. He'd see you, alone on a dusty road, tending to a nasty gash on your arm with a makeshift bandage. A surge of worry would course through him, a familiar anxiety honed by years on the streets. But then, a wry smile would tug at his lips as he remembered the countless times he'd taught you how to create a tourniquet, how to patch a wound and survive on the bare minimum. A flicker of confidence, a belief in your resourcefulness, would chase away the initial fear. He just knew you'd find a way back to him.

He'd wake with a jolt, his hand instinctively reaching for the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, the air thick with the silence of your absence. But then, a flicker of hope would ignite— you were alive, you were out there.

Finally, the dreams turned into nightmares. You'd appear, but not the way he remembered you. Pale and gaunt, your eyes hollow and vacant. Sometimes, you'd be chased by monstrous shadows, their grotesque forms dissolving into a chilling whisper of your name. These dreams left him gasping for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs.

It had been a little over a year since the agonizing ceremony, the image of your burial shroud seared into his memory. But time, a supposed healer, offered no solace. In reality, it had stretched the fact of your absence even wider. Two years. Two years since he'd last seen your smile, heard your voice, felt the warmth of your hand in his.

"Luke!"

Ah, yes. He heard you sometimes. At first, it happened while he was alone; he believed it could be you, trying to contact him in some way, but it never was that way. He never found you. Then he started hearing your voice in crowded places, mistaking your voice for the ones of other campers, and his heart ached every time he realized it wasn't you.

He felt like he was going insane. Hearing you, even after years. He must be going mad. But then, it became clearer.

"Luke!"

The voice, barely audible above the crackling flames, cut through his thoughts like a knife. He froze, his hand tightening around the thin stick that held his burned marshmallow. Was it-? No. It couldn't be. He must be imagining things again.

The grief, the pain, he knew, could play tricks on the mind.

He brushed it off, attempting to rejoin the conversation, forcing a lightness to his voice that felt hollow. But then, it came again. Clearer this time, tinged with a desperate urgency.

"Luke!? Luke!"

The single word, laden with a desperate urgency, pierced through his defenses. He froze, his blood turning to ice. It was your voice. The same voice that filled his dreams and haunted his waking hours. He whipped his head around, searching the darkened forest beyond the fire's reach.

But the trees stood silent, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. Nothing. Yet, the echo of your voice lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the impossible. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs.

He glanced around the fire, catching the bewildered expressions of a few campers who had clearly heard the voice too. Their eyes mirrored the confusion and fear that clawed at him. If he said anything, they'd think he'd cracked, that the pain had finally driven him mad.

"Luke!"

But it was you.

Your voice, unmistakable and undeniably real. A wave of disbelief washed over him, followed by a surge of hope so intense it threatened to suffocate him.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the surprised yelps of his friends as he knocked over a tray of steaming hot cocoa cups. Stumbling over his own feet, he charged towards the edge of the forest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He skidded to a halt just inside the treeline, his eyes scanning the darkness. "yn!?" he called out, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. The only reply was the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

It was cloaked in darkness, making it impossible to discern any details. But there was a smallness, a fragility to its silhouette that resonated with his memory of you.

Just as doubt began to creep back in, another call pierced the silence. "Luke!" This time, the desperation in your voice was unmistakable.

He didn't hesitate any longer. "yn!" he roared, his voice raw with emotion as he launched himself into a run.

Several campers, roused by the commotion, scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with confusion and trepidation. They watched, mouths agape, as Luke bolted towards the treeline, his long strides eating away at the distance.

"Luke!" Your voice came again, closer this time, tinged with a note of panic.

"yn!" He didn't dare slow down, his heart making its way up to his mouth. He could hear the sound of others following him, their footsteps pounding on the soft earth behind him.

Through the dense foliage, he caught a glimpse of your figure — small, hunched over, moving with a limp. Hope flared bright within him, battling the tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Then, you stumbled, nearly falling. He redoubled his efforts, pushing himself to the limit. As he broke through the last line of trees, he saw you standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight.

And his breath hitched in his throat.

The sight of you, once vibrant and full of life, was a punch to the gut. Dirt and grime smeared your face, your clothes were ripped and tattered, and a sheen of sweat covered your brow. But it was the wounds that stole his breath away. Deep claw marks raked across your arms, a bloody gash marred your leg, and the most horrifying of all — a massive scar stretched across your eye, a brutal reminder of some unseen battle. The campers behind him gasped in unison, their faces etched with shock and horror.

Chiron, alerted by the commotion, pushed his way through the crowd, his brow furrowed in concern.

But your focus was solely on Luke. With a desperate cry of his name, you lurched towards him, your injured leg buckling beneath you. Without hesitation, Luke launched himself forward, catching you in his arms just before you hit the ground.

"Luke..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes, the one that wasn't obscured by the wound, flickered with a spark of relief and a hint of something else - a deep, unspoken emotion that mirrored his own.

Then, your eyelids fluttered closed, and your body went limp in his arms. Panic surged through him as he cradled you closer, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and relief. " yn? No, no, no, no, yn?" he slightly slapped your cheek, no response. He looked back to to the campers that decided to follow him, his voice cracking with desperation. "Get the Apollo cabin, now!"

The days that followed your arrival were shrouded in a suffocating silence. The once vibrant camp seemed to echo with a collective held breath. No one dared to talk to Luke.

His eyes, once playful and sparkly, now held a deep, smoldering anger. He snapped at anyone who dared to approach. Only Chiron, with his patient wisdom, Annabeth, with her loyalty, and the healers of Apollo cabin, sworn to secrecy about your condition, were able to pierce the storm raging within him.

Each day, a relentless routine unfolded. Luke would rise with the first rays of dawn, his body heavy with the weight of his own despair. He'd force down a meager breakfast, the taste turning to ash in his mouth. Then, with a heart that felt like a lead weight in his chest, he'd make the agonizing trek to the Big House, the temporary haven where you resided. He would do it multiple times a day, actually.

Lee, the son of Apollo with a mop of messy blonde hair and eyes that held a touch of empathy, would greet him at the door, a practiced neutrality masking his concern. The answer was always the same. You were alive. The healers had managed to stabilize you. But your recovery was a slow, painful journey. The wounds you bore were a testament to a harrowing pain, and the care they had taken on your body was immense.

As soon as you had fainted in his arms, you had slipped into unconsciousness. No amount of coaxing, no whispered pleas from the healers, or songs in Ancient Greek, could bring you back. Luke was devastated. The relief of having you back, a physical presence after two agonizing years, was a fragile flame quickly extinguished by the reality of your condition. Your life hung by a thread, and he was kept at arm's length.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Luke found himself face-to-face with Chiron. The old centaur, his kind eyes reflecting the turmoil swirling within Luke, gestured for him to sit.

"Luke," Chiron began, his voice soft yet firm, "I understand your pain. Your worry for yn is valid and understandable. But you must also understand, her condition is delicate"

Luke clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with suppressed anger. "Why can't I see her? Annabeth's younger than me and yet, she gets to see her. Why not me?" The words tumbled out, laced with a raw desperation.

Chiron sighed, a weary sound. "Because, Luke," he said, his voice heavy with empathy, "we fear the emotional toll it might take on you if-, if the worst were to happen."

He slumped in his chair, defeated. Grief, anger, and a gnawing helplessness battled within him.

"How long then?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "How long will it be before I can see her again?"

Chiron reached out, placing a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "We don't know, Luke" he said honestly. "But the healers are doing their best And you need to find your strength. She will need it when she wakes up.

He nodded dumbly, understanding Chiron's concern for him. But that didn't make the gnawing ache in his chest any less agonizing. He missed you. Missed the warmth of your hand in his, the light that sparkled in your eyes, the way your laughter could chase away even the darkest shadows.

A few days later, he walked by the Big House again. Lee greeted him again, just as every other day.

"How is she?" Luke asked.

Lee sighed, a gust of exasperation tinged with sympathy. He looked tired himself, dark circles under his eye and a large cup of coffee in his hand. "Little change. But she's stable. Stronger than she looks. We had some healers fainting because of how much singing they've done to her"

A muscle ticked in Luke's jaw. "Can't I at least see her?" The words came out harsher than he intended, dripping with frustration.

Lee studied him for a long moment, his own blue eyes reflecting the turmoil within Luke. Finally, he spoke. "Look, I get it. You're scared, you're angry. But you have to understand, seeing her likes this... we can't let you"

Luke clenched his fists. "I can handle it" he growled, the beast within him straining against its leash.

Lee took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Can you, Luke? Can you handle the possibility that maybe she doesn't get to wake up?"

The question hung in the air, a brutal truth that stripped away Luke's bravado. He stared at Lee, the anger draining away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that surprised even him. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to breathe.

"No" he whispered, the single word a confession of his deepest fear.

Lee nodded, a flicker of understanding softening his features. "Then trust us, Luke. Trust the healers. We're doing everything we can."

And then he remember Chiron's words. He knew he was right. He couldn't bear the thought of the last image of you being one of unconsciousness, a pale specter in a sterile infirmary bed.

The days that followed settled into a grim routine. Luke stopped asking the relentless question, 'Did she wake up?' The answer, etched into his weary soul, was a constant ache that no words could soothe. He had stopped arguing, the initial burst of rebellion replaced by a quiet desperation. He started asking more specific questions, focusing on the details of your injuries. Your eye, the massive gash that mirrored his own scar in a way that made his stomach churn, became a particular point of morbid fascination.

He couldn't bear to look at the jagged mark on his face, couldn't imagine how it felt on yours.

Not because he thought you wouldn't be beautiful —he knew you would be. But the thought of you facing the same constant reminder of pain, of vulnerability, filled him with a protective rage that simmered beneath the surtace.

But then, a shift began to occur. He noticed stolen glances exchanged between the Apollo campers, hushed whispers that died down as soon as he entered their vicinity. An unspoken secret they guarded fiercely. He tried to ignore it, burying himself in training, seeking solace in the familiar sting of sweat and exertion. Chiron's words were a constant drumbeat in his head - seeing you too soon, on the precipice of death, was a burden he might not bear.

But later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon casting the camp in an orange glow, Chiron sought him out. Luke braced himself, his heart plummeting into his stomach. His mind spun with a thousand morbid possibilities.

He met Chiron's gaze, a storm brewing in his own eyes. "What is it?" he rasped, voice breaking.

Chiron took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto Luke's with a solemn intensity. "Luke," he began, his voice thick with a mix of trepidation and hope, "she's awake."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis again. The air whooshed out of Luke's lungs, leaving him breathless. For a moment, he could only stare, his mind struggling to process the simple, life-altering statement.

Then he ran.

His feet pounded a trantic rhythm against the dusty path, each step fueled by a desperate need to see you. Chiron's protests, if there were any, were lost in the roar of blood rushing in his ears. He wouldn't be denied this. Not now. His legs pumped like pistons, fueled by a desperate hope that threatened to shatter him if it turned out to be false. He burst through the doors of the Big House, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The interior was deserted, the silence amplifying the frantic pounding of his heart.

He flung open the infirmary door, the sight inside momentarily stealing his breath. Two Apollo campers stood by the window, their hushed whispers abruptly cut short by his arrival.

But his eyes were locked on you, the very image of him defying the cruelty of fate.

You sat on the bed, a fragile silhouette bathed in the pale light, your head bent over your bandaged hands. Your hair, once a fiery mane, had grown longer, a testament to the time that had passed for him in a blur of grief. Your skin, usually kissed by the sun, was a pale canvas.

He took everything in — the fresh cuts marring your arms, the claw marks, the way your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. And you had lifted your head, startled by the sudden noise.

Your eyes, usually sparkling with life, were dull with pain, but when they met his, a spark ignited within them.

"Luke!"

The word ripped from your throat, a cry that echoed with relief and a tremor of something deeper. You lunged off the bed, ignoring the wince that contorted your face as your injured leg protested.

"yn, wait!" Lee sprang forward, concern etched on his face. Your stitches, particularly those on your thigh, were still fresh, and any sudden movement could cause them to tear.

But you didn't listen. You threw yourself at Luke, your arms wrapping around him with a desperation that mirrored his own. He caught you, the impact sending a jolt through his body. His arms tightened around you, a desperate need to hold on, to feel you solid against him.

He held you tight, the fierce possessiveness in his grip both a comfort and a warning. Your body, the way you fit so perfectly against his larger frame, sent a jolt through him. He'd grown, you realized, his broad shoulders feeling wider, his embrace stronger. In contrast, you felt impossibly small, the warrior you remembered replaced by a shell of the person you once were. His hot tears quickly started to wet your hair.

The sudden weakness in your leg, the one that had been screaming in protest since you lunged at him, finally overwhelmed you. A sharp cry escaped your lips as your body gave way beneath you. Instinctively, Luke tightened his grip, his arms morphing into a cradle to catch your fall.

The impact with the floor sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through you, but it was a dull ache compared to the overwhelming joy of finally being in his arms again. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Luke wouldn't stop sobbing now, his shoulder shaking as his arms held you into his embrace.

The Apollo campers, sensing the intimacy of the moment, mumbled apologies as they slipped out of the infirmary, leaving you and Luke alone.

He cradled you close, the scent of your hair and the warmth of your body a balm to his battered soul. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar fragrance that had haunted his dreams for so long. It was real. You were real.

"You're alive" he sobbed, the words a broken mantra against your ear. "You're alive" he repeated. Each repetition wasn't just for you, but for him, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this wasn't a cruel dream, that you weren't an illusion.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. The wounds looked clean now, stitched and bandaged, but the raw pain was etched in the lines around your eyes. The gash across your eye, a crimson scar angry and fresh, pulled at the corner of your eye, making it appear swollen and bruised. Yet, to him, you were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

It started a finger's width above your eyebrow, then, just as abruptly, it dipped down, catching the outer corner of your eye. The scar tissue pulled the delicate skin, making your eye appear slightly narrowed and bloodshot.

But despite the rawness of the wound, despite the vulnerability etched on your face, there was something undeniably fierce about you. It was a look he hadn't seen before, a look born from surviving the unthinkable.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You had always been beautiful, that much was undeniable. But now, even with a scar contrasting against your features, you were breathtaking.

He didn't mean to say it out loud, but the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.

"You look beautiful" he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand. "It hurts" you whispered, a tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I know" he murmured, his voice filled with empathy. He sniffed uncontrollably at your sight, so broken and fragile, wrapped around his arm. "But you're alive. You're here" his bottom lip started trembling before he could control it. He inhaled sharply and his voice came out shaky; "I thought you were dead" tears rolling down his cheeks.

You laughed, a weak sound that was more like a sob. "You won't get rid of me that easily"

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin. In that moment, the infirmary with its sterile smell and harsh light faded away. All that existed was the feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body against his, and the knowledge that you were alive.

"Don't ever leave me again" he pleaded, his voice thick with a mix of relief and terror. The thought of losing you again, of facing another agonizing day without you, was almost unbearable.

"I wouldn't dream of it" you whispered.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan blurb #pjo series #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke x reader #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #pjo x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x female reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagines

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marcsburnerphone · 3 months

Text

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: angsty (very minimal), mentions of readers past relationship, some bond building, smoking, some tense moments

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4!! - part 5

————-

“Captain?” Soap yells from afar to get what seems to be prices attention. When he realizes that is indeed his captain he jogs to where John stands.

“What’re ye doin’ back?” Soap question a little confused, after their last two month mission John was granted leave for three months to recoup and rest.

“Just came to turn in these files.” He says waving the Manila folders in his hands.

“You could’ve just done that online, you know.” And yes John does know and by the look he gives Johnny he also knows.

“What, trouble in paradise?” Johnny smiles widely at the guilty look on his captain's face.

“Something like that.” John replies clearly a little tense.

“Well, tell me about it.” He says waiting expectantly.

“Over some drinks Sergeant.” Price replies before making his way into the building and soap returning to the trainees.

————-

“Oh that’s fucked mate.” Ghost says.

“Captain no offense you’re a very intelligent and capable man but that is so fucking stupid.” Gaz states before taking a drink of his beer.

“You thought oh I’m catching some feelings for her, let's just ignore her.” Soap says in a mimicking voice.

“No, it's not only that, I don’t have time to entertain dense feelings and she likely doesn’t share those same feelings.” His gruff voice replies as he takes a puff of his cigar and blows the smoke out into the pub they sit in.

“Did you ask her?” Gaz asks, already knowing the answer.

“Am I twelve? What grown man asks a woman if they have feelings for them usually there’s hints and clues you can pick up on.” Ghost grumbles in agreement from price earning a slap on the arm from soap.

“And she’s done nothing that may even give you an inkling that she’s into you mate?” Gaz quips in.

“Like “oh hey captain can you help me open this jar?” Or “price can you please help me fix this?” Johnny tries his best at a womanly voice.

“First of all she doesn’t call me captain or price and second of all, yes she does that but it’s only because she needs the help.” They all look at him with blank stares.

“I bet you wish she’d call you captain.” Soap whispers but before John can reply Gaz starts.

“Captain, does she ever stutter when you talk to her?” Gaz asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“sometimes.” He excuses that as human behavior.

“When she noticed your avoidance, did she get upset?” I mean you got a little mad at him that once but that was cause he was overstepping.

“A little.” He replies not really seeing where it’s going until oh.

“Yeah cap, you're being naive.”

“You should go back there, be kinder and less weird. She probably thinks you don’t like her and if that lasts too long she’ll start to actually not like you.” Well he obviously can’t have that.

“We need a mum anyways.” Gaz says under his breath and soap agrees.

“What?”

———————

“Hey you’re back.” You can’t resist the small smile that makes its way onto your face as John walks into the kitchen.

“Told you I’d only be a day or two.” He repeats his words from a couple days ago, hands awkwardly in his pockets.

He notices there’s something different in your energy that he picks up on or maybe it’s his energy that has changed.

“Yeah but last time you said a month and we’re gone two.” He remembers that and sees your point then he thinks about the fact that you remember that.

“Well last time I really didn’t think I’d be gone that long but you know.” He says not going into detail and just waving it off.

“Well I have a job to get too.” You say closing the package of blueberries you’d been eating out of then place them back in the fridge.

“On a Saturday?” He questions the unusuality of it.

“Yeah I had a woman call me this morning, said her wedding was next week and she really wanted me to be the one to give her her dream hair so I agreed.”

“Okay then, I’ll see you later, doll.” He says as you grab your keys and purse getting ready to leave.

“Bye John.” You smile softly looking anywhere but him cause if you did the smile that lays on your face at the newfound nickname would be too evident.

————-

“Hey so we’re just doing some highlights and a cut right.” You ask the woman in your chair as you drape the cape over her paying mind to her swollen belly and button it in the back.

“Yeah I actually have some pictures if that’s okay.” She says pulling out her phone to show you.

“Great, I’d love to see them.” You say getting your equipment ready.

She shows you and by the already light tone of her hair this will be easy work. You get everything settled and ready, mixing the bleach and color and sorting through the pieces you’ll paint.

“So what made you ask me to do your hair?” This is a question you always love to ask your clients. Was it social media or a referral or maybe something else.

“My finance actually recommended you.” Her fiance.

“Oh I don’t actually do men’s hair, who’s your fiance?” You question a little confused but clearly he might’ve just seen you on instagram or had a friend who’s been with you.

“Brian, he said he used to know you and heard you did really good hair.” No fucking way.

“Oh yeah I know Brian old friends.” You smile through the tears that threaten to escape your eyes.

How could he? How could he give this woman everything you’ve ever wanted then send her to you to show off that goddamn-

“He says to tell you hi.” She smiles looking back at you not having a clue of who you really are.

“Oh tell him I said hello.” You reply shortly.

“How’d you two meet?” You ask curiously.

“We actually worked together and when we first started talking he was actually in a relationship but nothing serious and the more we spent time together it just became clear we were meant to be together.” Her.

“So he cheated on his ex partner?” You say in a polite tone, one a girlfriend would use.

“Well I guess you could say that but according to him their relationship was over before it was over.” You smile at her nodding in understanding.

Scream, you wanted to scream your fucking head off the rest of the appointment. But no you stood there politely and gave this woman the most beautiful hair you could’ve imagined you even took fucking pictures for her to send to you’re cheating ex.

—————

On the way home you cried out of anger not even out of jealousy, or sadness just anger at the audacity that man had and the years you wasted with such a fucking loser.

When you pulled into the driveway you turned the car off and just sat there. You sat there and pondered on everything. You’d always asked him for a baby and he’d said he would never be a father. You always wanted to get married and he would say “marriage isn’t my thing.” And yet he’ll do it all for another woman. A woman he really loves.

But in the end you're glad it’s not you. It isn’t you that has to deal with that man child, it won’t be you who’s stuck with someone who isn’t faithful. In the end you’re the lucky one and finally you feel like you can let it go.

So you dry your eyes and head inside, kicking off your shoes by the door and paying notice to John that’s currently in the living room. You walk over to the couch and sit a comfortable amount of space away from him simply testing the waters and watch the football game he has on.

“How was your appointment?” He says suddenly taking in notice of your puffy eyes.

“Good.” You reply in a whisper with a half smile.

“You’re lying.” He assumed maybe just an asshole client or the outcome wasn’t good.

“It was my ex boyfriend's new pregnant fiancé, who also happens to be the woman he cheated on me with.” You admit with a small laugh at the end with how ridiculous that sounds.

“You got cheated on?” He asks, thoroughly shocked not paying mind to the other details.

“And she’s hot.” You reply looking him in the eye. All he’s thinking is hotter than you?

“Did she know who you were?” This has to be the most mind fucking thing he’s ever heard.

“Not a clue and what's funnier is he recommended me to her.” You laugh again and it’s slightly scary how calm you seem.

“You’re not upset?”

“John I was over that man the minute he cheated on me. I’m only upset over all the time I lost wanting things he said he never wanted but what he meant was he never wanted that with me.” You say quietly between the two of you like it’s a secret.

“His loss.” he says, offering you a small smile.

“I guess.”

“No doll I know.” You don’t know what to make of that comment and just smile back at him.

————-

Later that night after a long shower you step onto the outside patio for some fresh air not noticing John smoking a cigar beside you.

“Jesus!” You jump slightly at the sight of his looming shadow.

“At this point just expect me to be everywhere.” He laughs as he exhales the puff of smoke.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” You reply before taking in the sight before you. John in Levi’s, a thermal and brown leather jacket, thick fingers holding a cigar between them lightly tapping it to drop the excess ash.

“I’m sorry, does it bother you?” He asks suddenly, concerned about whether that was in the policy or something.

“No, not at all.” You smile shivering at the breeze that blows through the air.

He offers the cigar between his fingers by gesturing it towards you, you’ve smoked cigarettes but this thing looked like a cigarette on steroids. Nonetheless you didn’t decline the offer and hesitantly wrapped your lips around it giving it a small puff letting the earthy flavor consume your taste buds as you exhale.

John watches you with longing eyes. Truthfully he expected you to grab it from him but instead you toked it straight from his fingers and shit it was hot. The way your lips wrapped around the very end had him running hot suddenly. The layers he wore were becoming overbearingly warm.

“Do you ever wish you chose a normal career?” The question left your lips before you could think about why you were asking it and he clears his dirty mind before answering.

“Not really, my job makes me feel like I have purpose and although my hands get dirty it’s for a good cause.” You nod as you look up into the blue sky that’s slowly becoming darker.

“You do have purpose outside your job though you know that right?” You look him in the eye for a mere second then back up.

He’s taken aback slightly by your statement and stays silent. He lets it settle in his thoughts and feelings. Wondering what prompted you to say it in the first place.

“Thankyou.” He replies shortly after.

“You're welcome.” You reply gently.

“I’m going to head inside, don’t be out here too long you’ll get sick.” You say sliding the door open and he laughs in return. If you even had the slightest idea of the weather he’s lived in.

———

You woke up the next morning bright and early, currently stood in the kitchen brewing hot water for tea and setting the coffee machine on. One for you, one for John. He was surprisingly still asleep although it also is still very early. He never sleeps past 7.

As you turn the heat off the stove, knocking sounds at the front door. Maybe a package you assumed as you made your way down the hall peeking through the small hole to see who’s out there and to your surprise it was a woman.

“Hi, how can I help you?” She looks at you a bit taken aback.

“Does John Price live here?” She asks as her blonde hair blows in the cold breeze.

“Yeah?”

“I need to speak to him.”

“Okay I’ll be right back.” Was this a lover of John’s, maybe an ex wife or something. You knock softly at his door and nothing so you knock a little louder. Before you hear a grunt and the squeak of the hardwood floors.

“Morning, y’alright?” He asks with a deep sleepy voice.

You take notice of His messy hair and pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips so you practically beg and will yourself to not look at his body.

“Yeah sorry there’s a woman at the door for you.” You reply smiling when you notice the sleep marks on the side of his face.

“Oh okay let me just put a shirt on, tell her I’ll be right out.” He can already guess who it is and quietly curses to himself. No peace of his ever lasted long.

You relay the message to her and offer her to come inside which she politely accepts but goes no further than the entrance.

“I’m Kate by the way.” She offers her hand to you.

“Oh nice to meet you Kate, are you a friend of John’s?” You pry.

“Oh yeah, a longtime one.” You should’ve known.

“We’ve been working together since he was a lieutenant and that was ages ago.” She laughs and you feel light with relief for whatever reason.

“Laswell.” A deep voice sighs out from behind her.

“Well don’t be too excited to see me.” She says to him.

You get the message to exit the room and do so. He walks with her to the kitchen, offers her a drink then they both go to his office and from the sound of it have a pretty heated conversation. Not that you were eavesdropping or anything.

———-

It was hours before she left and when she did John didn’t seem too happy. You walk to the door a bit after you hear it shut. John stands there running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” You stupidly ask as he rubs his forehead still standing in front of the door although she left 10 minutes ago.

“Yeah doll I’m alright.” He sounds tired and bothered.

“Okay.” You begin to turn around getting the feeling he doesn’t want you there.

“Wait, actually I have to leave tomorrow for a while..” He replies quickly.

“Oh.” You try not to sound too disappointed.

“I’ll leave you a check for six months, if I’m gone longer my checkbook is in the bedside drawer. If you need assistance with anything I have a friend you can call please don’t do it yourself or have someone else do it.” He says as you stand there not getting past the eight month part.

“Six months or longer?” He meets your eyes seeing a hint of sadness.

“Yeah that’s what I can expect.” You suck your bottom lip between your teeth for a second not really knowing how to reply.

“Are you hungry?”

“What?” He replies at the random change in topic.

“Would you like to order too much food and watch a movie?” You ask again.

“Sure?”

“I mean if you’re leaving for months and you seem upset about it then it’s serious and when’s the next time you’ll eat good food, you know?” You explain.

“Italian?”

“Italian.”

——————-

You both sit on the living room couch in the dim ambient light while “How to lose a guy in 10 days” plays on the TV, your choice. Empty boxes once filled with pasta and bread now are mostly empty. You tell John every time one of your favorite parts is coming on but not like you even needed to. He can tell by the anxious shake of your foot and slightly raised eyebrow.

“So does he ever find out that it’s for the em magazine and does she find out it’s for a bet?” He asks midway through the movie.

“You’ll have to watch it.” You whisper.

He laughs and for a moment in time he feels content, at ease for once. He feels like this is the moment he’ll recall in the next eight months when nights are cold and he’s spent.

Your eyes are drifting closed before the movie is over and he watches you find sleep then returns his attention to the tv determined to finish the movie. Once all is done he picks the containers up off the floor quietly and turns the tv off kneeling to the floor to wake you.

“Doll let’s get you to bed.” He whispers in the dark. You're slightly disappointed you fell asleep but your drowsy mind doesn’t let you think too deeply as you bid him a goodnight and head to bed.

————-

The next morning he was ready to leave at 4AM. Big duffel bag in hand and a backpack. He thinks of waking you to say goodbye and even walks to your door. But he doesn’t not because he doesn’t want to but because he won’t want to leave if he does. Internally he curses himself for wasting so much time avoiding you the previous weeks.

So he writes a quick note and of course the promised check and heads on his way.

—————-

Next chapter is already written and I’m so excited at the build up!!

Comments and reposts are always appreciated<3

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trashmouththeorist · 7 months

Text

severus snape fic recs

my personal favs

Young Snape:

a life of smoke and silvered glass: Slight AU in which Severus apologizes, tries harder, and stays friends with Lily. Severus doesn't become a Death Eater because he believes in it, Jily get married. Sweet, slightly sad ending. (So cute).

Falling Apart: Time travel fic, no pairings, Severus goes back to when James levicorpused him. (I loved this, I loved how Mary was included and Avery had a redemption arc. Severus never calls Lily mudblood.)

in glory and in ruin: Mulciber/Snape but it's not a main part of it. Basically, a Triwizard Tournament in between the school houses, and Severus gets chosen even though he's only 16. The Marauders and Lily aren't really in it, focuses on Snape's Gang, Charity and Aurora. WIP, and I LOVE it!

The Gryffindor Sort: WIP. Long. In which Severus is a Gryffindor, Lupin is hiding something, Potter and Black are the worst, and there's a Wizarding War about to erupt.

Severus and the Marauders: Long. What if instead of being insulted and excluded from the group, Severus was embraced instead. After all, it was the actions of the group that shaped history from the sidelines. So what if they shaped history a little differently?

That Awful Snape Boy: It had all happened on Wednesday 3rd of September 1973; Minerva committed the date to memory. She would always be amazed that this discussion could happen in the first place. If the boy hadn’t been unconscious, would they even have learnt anything before it was too late?

The Unwanted Boy From Spinner's End: Severus Snape’s existence is a mistake. His mother hints at it often enough with her regretful, drawn-out sighs, while his father prefers to get the message across with a good strapping and a lecture on his worthlessness. Needless to say, the twelve-year-old is not particularly inclined to trust adults, no matter how concerned or caring they claim to be. His life changes abruptly, however, one late evening in September when an illicit brewing session results in a forced trip to the Hogwarts infirmary. Not only is the truth about Severus' home life discovered, but an investigation reveals that shortly prior to his mother’s unexpected death, a single piece of parchment was deposited into her Gringotts vault—a Last Will and Testament in which Eileen Snape née Prince grants guardianship of her son to none other than Albus Dumbledore himself.

To Recollect the Future: Hindsight is 20/20, but when Harry's last steps into the forest set him back further than he'd ever thought, he never realised how grateful he'd be to have Snape there to help too.

Severus' choice: How one choice changed history's course, or the life of Severus Snape from Hogwarts to adulthood if characters were less caricatural, and Voldemort and the Death Eaters were more than bogeymen. This is an AU, events before and after may differ from the books.

the lost generation: The Marauders era at Hogwarts, Voldemort's rise to power and the subsequent war, family loyalties and dishonour, and the struggles of friendship in a difficult time.

Snily:

Come Once Again and Love Me: My favourite Snily fic ever. Snape and Lily time travel back from their individual deaths to when they were still at Hogwarts. Realistic-Lily misses James and Harry and their falling in love is slow burn too. Made me want to cry. I almost liked James!

The Fields of Summer: Short and sad. His past was bleeding into the present, just as his future was bleeding out of the gaping wound in his neck. And since memories were useless to a dead man, Snape plucked them out of his mind and gave them to The Boy Who Lived. He didn’t realize that in so doing, he’d forget her.

seventeen moons: After the werewolf prank. Severus was bitten and Lily figures it out. I hated Sirius so much and he was barely in it but he wasn't villainised-it's just the consequences of his own actions.. Loved the Snily! Short.

Surprising Lessons: Tensions run high between the students of Hogwarts in the time when Severus Snape, Lily Evans, and the Marauders are teenagers. New spells are invented, insults are traded, new bonds form, and unexpected support blooms. Short and sweet.

Vox Severus: SO cute. When Severus Snape's voice changes in fourth year, everyone notices.

Ambiguous: Order member Lily did not have a baby. Death Eater Severus did not hear a prophecy. Consequently, the Dark Lord did not fall. ...but what happens when a long forgotten prophecy suddenly shakes, and flashes through the colours of the spectrum..?

Switching Wands: Severus and Lily acted as best friends should and talked about the Whomping Willow incident. Lily is less than impressed with Potter’s behaviour from that point onward.

Her Slytherin, His Gryffindor: Lily has had enough of James' bullying ways, so she decides to finally take advantage of her Prefect status. Or, in another universe, Lily helps Severus, and they become even closer.

Sweet Root: Lily decides to get Severus drunk one summer night. Angst thereby incurred happily resolves itself into, uh, happiness.

You Don't Bug Me: “Is there any reason you’re half naked in my room?”

Snape/Sirius:

Two Sides: A time travel fic where Severus and Sirius find themselves back on the evening before they graduated Hogwarts. With no idea how and why that happened, they set out to get back to their respective timelines. After all, Sirius has to save Harry at the Minstry of Magic, and Severus needs to tell Potter about the final Horcrux. Right? Too bad that they find themselves back on that evening over and over again. (Personal thoughts: I loved this one, very in character and I loved how they 'fixed' their regrets of the past).

Broken Me Found Broken You: It’s determined that Severus Snape and Sirius Black are immune to punishment after years of near-fatal pranks, bullying, and homemade curses. The only person who thinks them capable of ending the feud and finishing their education is Professor McGonagall. For the summer of ‘77, she gives them a pair of charmed hand mirrors and an ultimatum: communicate. That’s it, a mere ten minutes every Saturday. Back at Hogwarts, when their animosity proves insurmountable, Sirius and Severus are relegated to a small, Eighth Year dormitory. The tight quarters—wandless—are intended to force them to make a peaceful reconciliation, but peace is impossible with a bloody war ramping up inside and outside the castle.

Sorry: Sirius Black decides to make amends for the horrid way he treated Snape when they were teenages. Snape is less than amenable to the idea. (Written around the time of book three/four). Basically, Sirius apologises a lot. And then some fucking.

The Sin in Your Grin (And the Shape of Your Mouth): The Order needed Sirius, but he doubted they'd mourn him very long when he finally disappeared. The first Wizarding war, Snape and Sirius are fucking. Sirius thinks Remus is the spy, Severus tells him otherwise. Canon-compliant: James and Lily die, Peter is the spy. The last line. Shaking.

Dead Reckoning: Severus Snape delivers a potion to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, holding a twenty-year-old grudge in his heart. He has yearned for revenge for so long—and he will have it. Along with something else he did not ask for.

Beyond The Veil: In one world, Sirius Black ignored Severus Snape's warning and went to the Department of Mysteries to save his godson's life. He died and went beyond the veil. In another world, Sirius Black stayed back. This made all the difference. An AU where Sirius Black survived and now knew Severus Snape's deepest secret.

Rings And Ringing Bells: A bastardisation of a traditional love story. Two men both broken by the world are at wit’s end trying not to kill each other. There’s Severus, a bitter insult who does not take fools lightly, and Sirius, a drunkard who has a habit of pressing his buttons. It involves a curse which forces them to get married, an immaculate conception, and the blurring of the line between hate and love. They fear that they have no control over their lives and are doomed to make the mistakes their parents had done before them. They’re not good for each other, but the fiasco that is their romance may be enough to teach them how to hate each other and themselves a little less.

Always (Come For Me): Snape might have been lying when he said Sirius Black wasn't punished for the prank he had pulled on him. It all started with Sirius having to live with the Snapes for the remainder of his summer...

An Interlude: Set during Order of the Phoenix. Snape comes across Black looking through some of his old school things. Memories are stirred up, grudges are held, old conflicts refuse to be resolved, and new ground might be (dis)covered. A series of conversations in the year before a death.

bite your tongue, go to the funeral: A funeral, a departure, a chance encounter, a war, a funeral (again), a snide remark, and a revival.

Two Boys Kissing: Sirius goes to a gay bar and meets the last person he expects. Under cloudy skies, two boys kiss and that one moment comes to define generations of want, need and hope.

An Occlument Heart: Snape knows that, usually, keeping a secret is the bravest thing you can do. But sometimes the bravest thing is to tell one. Complete. Canon (more or less) up to the start of Book 5, when this story begins.

Found in the Moments Between the Search: When Sirius returns from beyond the Veil with knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes, he takes on the task of finding and destroying them. Somewhere along the way he finds an unexpected ally and perhaps something more. (AU from the end of OotP, takes place during HBP period)

Walking the Monochrome: That’s what being a dog is like – it's like you’re walking the very edge of the world, where almost all colour has run out, and you know that should you miss a step, you’ll fall off that edge... Then again, you already know all about it. The edge and the falling.” AU of the first war.

Second Life: What happens when two men are given a second chance.

The Welcoming Feast: Severus opened his eyes and he was suddenly inside Grimmauld Place. His hand flew to his neck. He remembered Nagini biting him, Potter coming to him and then he closed his eyes, expecting death, but instead he was back here.

The Devil-and-All to Pay: Albus Dumbledore is mad. Severus is sure of it, when the old man sends him to persuade Sirius Black to come back to England and let the Order use his family home as headquarters. The problem, as always, is that Severus cannot say no.

Black Out: Snape and Black try something they have never done before. Talking.

eighty-twenty: In seventh year James left Severus for Lily. Best choice he could have ever made. It never would have worked out. Besides, he and Lily are married now, she's pregnant with his soon to be child and Severus...Severus is with Sirius.

First and Last and Always: Severus had his wand. He swallowed hard. His wand. Magic. His only defense, because Black outweighed him by at least three stone. But magic was more than enough. Severus had never needed physical prowess. His magical strength, and the keenness of his mind, gave him the advantage. Except when it didn’t.

Visions of Doom: Severus gets injured in the shrieking shack (his fifth year). While unconscious he witnesses some scenes from his future and realizes becoming a death eater wouldn’t bring him power and glory but pain and servitude. He spends the rest of his schooling trying to shape a different future for himself.

Anything by FabulaRasa on AO3.

Remus/Snape:

Fuel the Pyre of Your Enemies: A paired class assignment for Astronomy incites a mutually beneficial agreement between Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. An exploration of sexuality and friendships. (One of my favourite Snupin fics, really realistic. Also no evil!peter).

where the wolfsbane blooms: Remus and Severus friendship, and then more. 7000 words-short but sweet. Severus tries to cure the lycanthropy. James is constantly befuddled.

Have Your Cake and Eat It: Remus POV. Long. Incredible. Changed my world view. I cried with Remus at the end. Still kind of happy! Time travel fic. Remus lives. Realistic for the characters and especially for the seventies (although lowkey Remus is too woke for the nineties why does he know the word heteronormative). I loved Sirius in this one. Lying in hospital after the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin has a lovely lucid dream that he's gone back to his school days at Hogwarts. Only the day passes, then another, and another, and soon he must face the terrifying possibility that it isn't a dream — that he has irreparably altered the events of the past. Cunegonde is SO good!

DELOCAPONUM: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟏. A new acquaintance to the territory of teaching, an old friend to grief and misfortune, and entirely off on the wrong foot, twenty-one-year-old Professor Severus Snape reverts to an old charm of his — a charm for things that are lost — in attempt to find the one book in which he wrote it. But when the spell starts working against him and mysterious things start happening to his own students, it seems he has no choice but to form an alliance with an old schoolyard enemy in order to find a culprit, a book, and his own identity. And one thing is for certain: the irritating charm of Remus Lupin is nearly impossible to refuse.

Creature Comforts: A classic! Remus and Severus are paired to work together in Care of Magical Creatures in 6th year. Neither one is too happy with the arrangement at first.

That Awful Boy: CLASSIC! Severitus. Petunia lets slip a twenty-year-old secret, and Harry is sent to Spinner's End to study Occlumency early. Severus Snape can see no way in which this could end in catastrophe.

Not Really Here: After the werewolf prank, Severus disappears. He’s still at Hogwarts—at least, he thinks he is—and he’s probably still alive, but no one can see or hear him. Except for Lupin. Remus, meanwhile, is avoiding the other Marauders—as well as everyone else—and Snape becomes the sole exception to his self-appointed isolation. As they work together to look for answers about Severus’ condition, the unlikely pair drift toward friendship. But building a relationship of any kind presents a challenge when neither of them is sure Severus exists at all. I've only read this once but I love it. No Marauders bashing, but no pretending they're saints either. And they have a pretty big part but obvs Snupin is at the forefront.

The Heir to the House of Prince: Harry is the main character and the main ship is Harry and Theo. While Snupin is secondary it's pretty central. Summer of 4th year and Harry's all alone, dealing with his grief and the sudden revelation that James Potter is not his father. Support comes in a strange form. The form of Theo Nott, son of a death Eater. A strange friend who says he'll help him find his true father, whoever this Lord Prince might be. Technically Snily ig? But not really.

Sight Unseen: After losing his sight during the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus struggles to adjust to his new circumstances; when depression threatens to overwhelm him, he receives unexpected assistance from an unknown source.

The Other Side of The Mirror: In sixth year, Remus Lupin nearly killed Severus Snape in wolf form. Miraculously, Severus escaped unharmed. But what if he hadn't?

The Meaning of Mistletoe: What was going on was that Severus Snape had no trouble tracking down one Petunia Evans, now Dursley, to a little town in Surrey where he saw how exactly she was treating her nephew. Which somehow led to last night and Severus knocking on Lupin’s door with a toddler half-asleep in his arms.

Spymaster: Former spymaster and one time headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Severus Snape left the house just once a week on a Tuesday. Wherein Snape wears tracksuit pants and smokes too many cigarettes and Lupin is into it.

Well They're No Friends Of Mine: Whenever his friends pull a prank on Snape, Remus always looks the other way. But what if there's another option?

The Other Side of the Mirror: I haven't read this, but it's a 'what if Remus bit Snape.' 60000 words.

Artemisa Absinthium: The Rat and the Snake: AU set during the First Wizarding War. Severus has defected from the Dark Lord, and become a double agent for Dumbledore. When he learns of an informant it sends the Order into disaray. Can he uncover the identity of the traitor before his own true loyalty is revealed? What price is he willing to pay for his redemption? And can a man like Severus Snape ever be worthy of love?

Capnolagnia: Three times Remus caught Severus Snape smoking.

About Wolves and Snakes: Unfinished. Remus Lupin woke up being fifteen years old again, having no idea how or why. Upon learning that he could not return, he decided that he would try to change the way things happened.

One Thousand Galleons: It's been six years since Remus Lupin, age 25, left England after the death of his father and the slow dissolving of his friendship with the Marauders. A letter from James finds him in Canada at an opportune time, asking him to come home to meet his soon-to-be-born son. Remus never expected that his time away would give him the perfect resume for teaching at Hogwarts, nor did he expect that his return would spark both conflict and resolution. If only he could get the Potion's Professor to understand how sorry he is for the way things turned out. “What is the price for your forgiveness?” --- “One Thousand Galleons.”

Living Legend: Marauders-era fic, Snape decides he needs some "hands-on" experience and chooses Remus as his very special study partner. But there's more to these extracurricular activities than meets the eye.

Lily's Boy: With help from unexpected places, Harry starts on a journey to end the war, and reshape the wizarding world. With how much he looks like James Potter, people have forgotten one important thing about him - he is Lily Evans' son, and she was one hell of a witch. Side Snupin.

It's Not Over Til It's Done: Unfinished. Severus did not expect to survive the Second Wizarding War, but survive he did. Remus didn't either, yet due to unforeseen circumstances, Remus finds himself taking care of Severus in the wake of surviving Nagini's venom.

Ten Aprils: Severus must find a way for Harry to defeat Voldemort. Remus must find a way for Severus to free himself from the past. The Dark Lord is about to attack Hogwarts, and Harry needs to get over his rage, hate and despair in order to learn to summon the phoenix needed to defeat Voldemort. Snape must find the answers, then teach Harry how. In the next thirty minutes. Like it would ever happen.

A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love: A story in which Severus Snape is unable to sleep; a certain werewolf is impersonating Celestina Warbek and cauldrons are used as prevention, sort of.

the week that changed it all: It’s Christmas break in Remus’ 6th year of Hogwarts. Sadly, his parents aren’t home so he has to stay over at Lily’s house for the week. He makes a discovery he didn’t know was possible. The first one was that apparently, Severus lived not far away, the second one was that he started to like the boy.

A Prince By Early Frost: While preparing his chamber for the Philosopher’s Stone, Severus encounters the dark fae borne by a black glass mirror, buried deep beneath the castle. He is chosen, but unsure by what, until over a year later, when a figure from his dreams takes the Defense position, asking for a favor.

Chocolate Cake and Other Intimacies: Remus Lupin is spending his birthday alone in the hospital wing. Severus brings him his homework to cheer him up.

Basically anything by McKay on AO3.

Snape/James:

Knowledge of the Gods: Severus was either in a coma and dying, already dead and trapped in some purgatory, completely and utterly insane, or living in the body of his past self. And, perhaps most suspiciously, why did James Potter keep looking at him like that?!

A Touch, A Kiss, A Whisper of Love: After Severus Snape and James Potter find themselves stuck in an awkward detention together, an unlikely friendship forms. As their newfound friendship develops, James discovers something new about himself while Severus tries to fight his growing attraction to the Gryffindor boy.

Cake, Please!: Slight SA gives me the ick, but vaguely fun to read. A story of blackmail, the wonderful world of sexuality, and lots of cake.

Revenge is Sweet: A teenage Snape plots his revenge on James Potter for making his life hell, but little does he know that James has plans of his own that will send both their lives spiraling irrevocably out of control.

Ninety-Three: James promises Severus that if Severus has sex with him 93 times, he will break up with Lilly and advocate that she date Severus.

Absolution: What is it that draws James to Severus? A disease? A curse? A secret wish... a need? Try as he might to ignore the Slytherin, in the end, to Severus is where James always finds himself. **SLOW BUILD** Rated M for... certain kinds of scenes later on.

The Dreamer in the Well: James got the girl....finally. She even stopped being friends with Severus, whom he absolutely hated. But one day, his curiosity changes everything.

Love Is Strange: At the start of his sixth year, James Potter decides to finally stop ruining Severus' life. His friends agree to stop the bullying but what they do not know is the reason why James decided to put an end to it. They think he just matured or grew tired of it but the truth is a little more complicated than that.

A Fickle Thing: James Potter's marriage is failing- What a perfect time to disguise himself as a muggle, follow Severus Snape to what is either a makeshift dance club or a party for gay muggles, and then do a series of things he really should not do.

Rise: Severus Snape was tired of his fate, to be a lowly snake. Luckily, fate was kind to him this time and the arrival of a tournament had come. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, a moment of weakness and strength that led Severus to put his name in the Goblet of Fire. But he was chosen now, and he had no choice but to play in the game, maybe he will live or die, but either way he wasn't going to become what everyone said he would be.

Apocrypha: Two can keep a secret, if one of the two is dead.

Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown): Long, loved it, well written. James Potter starts his seventh year with a secret. He has amazing friends, Sirius is always right by his side, Lily is finally starting to warm up to him. His life is an endless cycle of partying and drinking. So what if the Wizarding World is on the precipice of war? So what if Severus Snape has disappeared from Hogwarts? That's not James's problem. Life is beautiful, and even if it's all an illusion he wants to hold on to that dream for just a little bit longer.

Colours of Redemption: Severus Snape was meant to die. Instead he was placed into hell. Trapped in timeloops, Severus tries to make sense of the future knowledge he suddenly had. If he made one bad move, everything is reset for him to try again. Being placed into a new house and everyone being nice to him, Severus is doing his best but it is hard. Especially when James Potter is noticing him in a different way.

Goeey Melting Hearts: In their 5th year James, Sirius and Remus over hear a conversation that makes them reconsider their opinions of the ‘future Death Eaters’. The Marauders stop bullying, but guilt eats at James until he decides to apologize. That summer James tracks down Severus, but sees something that crushes him.

Regulus/Snape:

Burning Doves: The first Snape/Regulus I ever read. Regulus needs help with potions and Snape tutors him. Not much Marauders, they're just offscreen assholes. Narcissa and Severus friendship which I always enjoy. It's done, but I haven't finished it yet. Whoops.

Severus and Snape: Severus Snape finds Lily dead in Godric's Hollow, her son's screams echoing in his ears, and decides to end his life with hers. Fate has other ideas. Next thing he knows, he's facing an 11-year-old Lily Evans, on their way to their first year at Hogwarts.

Snape & or / Narcissa:

Seven Days: Severus knows a lot can happen in seven days. Slash.

Living A Lie: All of her life, Narcissa Black has had to live as the perfect lady, and witch; to never reveal one's inner heart, nor ever go against the wishes of one's family. After being forced into an engagement she does not want during her sixth year at Hogwarts, Narcissa has kept the desires of her heart on ice; particularly, for a wizard her family would never in a million years have approved of: Severus Snape. Even after the birth of her son Draco, she has harbored these desires deep in her heart for the enigmatic Potions Master. But when she comes to Spinners End to ask Severus to watch over Draco at the start of the school term of 1997, she finds that she cannot keep her heart on ice for the wizard of her dreams any longer...

What Lies Beneath: "Please, Professor, I saw him-I saw Snape," Harry said, struggling to breathe, "he's hurt...we've got to find him-we've got to find him right now or he's going to die!" Severus Snape's redemption story told in the span of three books from multiple perspectives.

Snape/Others:

Redemption: Severus died that night at the hands of the Dark Lord, the man he "worked" for and was "loyal", at least that's what the Lord believed him to be, an impeccable servant. Even so, he ended up dying for his master's snake. He knew it would happen, he was sure his time was coming, just like the manipulative old goat's plan. However, what would he do when he found out that he wasn't the only one who had the memories of his past life? How would his life turn out? Better or worse?

Breaking the Mould: Everyone knew Severus' future. Everyone knew he'd become a death eater, maybe get his mastery in potions and eventually die at his master's hand. But what if they didn't know Severus as well as they thought they did? Rather than conform to the role people expected him to play, Severus takes action. During 6th year he leaves Hogwarts, joining an apprenticeship overseas that guarantees not only a future but his own happiness. Meanwhile the Marauders (minus Peter) are left regretting what can never be. They each had a secret, something none of them were willing to admit. Only now it's too late. But what happens when Severus re-emerges during the war? Not a death eater, not a teacher even. But a strong, independent and most importantly a free man. How will the marauders react?

Dinner and a Show: James takes Lily out to dinner, an unhappy evening made more difficult by the arrival of Severus and Lucius Malfoy at a nearby table.

Snape & Others:

O Mine Enemy: Severitus, long. When Harry finds an injured Snape on his doorstep and must hide him from the Dursleys, he has no idea that this very, very bad day will be the start of something good. Alternate 6th summer (and part of the school year): post-OotP; ignores HBP and DH. No slash, no romance. NOW COMPLETE!

I Know Not, and I Cannot Know; Yet I Live and I Love: Severus Snape has his emotions in check. He knows that he experiences anger and self-loathing and a bitter yearning, and that he rarely deviates from that spectrum… Until the first-year Luna Lovegood arrives to his class wearing a wreath of baby’s breath. Over the next six years, an odd friendship grows between the two, and Snape is not sure how he feels about any of it.

Second Life: What happens when two men are given a second chance. Snape & Sirius.

Not Entirely Tedious: Young Professor Severus Snape shows up for a meeting, but the only other person there is the Deputy Headmistress. He wants to leave and return later, after the other participants will have arrived, but Professor McGonagall explains why that is impossible. Cross about having his plans for the day disrupted for a meeting that’s not taking place, Snape resents having to spend the afternoon with McGonagall. She doesn’t seem very pleased, either, but is content to relax and wait. Snape isn’t so patient, and soon manages to annoy his companion.

The Young Potions Professor: The staff avoided him like the plague, ignored him, or straight up left when he went into the staff room. And the worst thing was that they didn't even try to hide their collective disgust for him. If he got into the staff room in the morning and any of them were there, they would immediately get up and go sit on the furthest side of the room, as far from him as possible.

Slytherin Career Day: The student of Slytherin House were born with everything: wealth, prestige and pure wizarding blood. Now it's Severus Snape's job to help them find the one thing they don't have: careers.

In Another Lifetime: HP AU. In a world where Tom Riddle was slaughtered, the wizarding wars did not occur, and Albus Dumbledore promoted peace in Hogwarts, Lily Evans and Severus Snape did the impossible: they remained lifelong friends. Snape meets his potential, and has a shot at happiness along the way.

immortalists with points to prove: The Snape kid is hardly a hero. Then again, neither is Alastor.

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 4 months

Text

*NSFW* The Wishing Hole (Yandere x GN!Reader)

Warning!! This is not a romance, read at your own risk CW: LONG, Dead Dove, abuse, murder, trauma, manipulation, masturbation, mutilation, unhealthy relationships, obsession

"Have you heard about the hole?"

Part I

"It's right over here!" Miranda theater-whispered to her friends as she led them through the black woods. Their flashlights bobbed in the darkness, the only light visible to the trio of twelve year olds as they trekked through the thicket. (Reader) gripped onto their envelope tightly, fearful of leaving sweat marks on it.

They had been staying the night at Brian's house when Miranda brought up the hole. A local urban legend by that point, the story of a hole that granted wishes. Brian had chastised Miranda for believing a story so stupid, but still followed her and (Reader) when they snuck out to grant their wishes.

"How do you know where it is?" He nervously hissed.

"Abby's sister Rebecca has a friend who found it. Over here." Miranda spoke as though it should have been obvious why she knew where it was.

(Reader) could do nothing but hope. They hoped hard, over and over again, wrinkling the papers in their fist as the yellow light led them to their future. All they could do was beg the universe to grant their wish. For the hole to be real.

The trees thinned and opened, revealing a small clearing with a very deep hole dug out of the earth. It was a normal looking hole, but in the dark of a moonless night to a group of children, it was ominous.

Their muddy boots all stopped a good foot away from the edge. The ground didn't look stable.

After taking a shaky breath, Miranda threw her envelope into the hole, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused all her energy on the wish written inside the letter she tossed. Brian thought about arguing, calling out his friends for littering, but instead copied Miranda, throwing his wish in as well. (Reader) felt adrenaline shoot to their finger tips as the anxiety tried to rip through their veins and escape their skin. Their packet was thicker than either of their friends', and fell harder as they chucked it in with all their strength.

The only future (Reader) wanted was nearly impossible. It would take divine intervention to get that happiness. "What did you wish for?" Miranda asked Brian behind (Reader).

"I want to know what I want to do."

"That's it?"

"What'd you wish for?"

"A hot boyfriend, who's gonna love me, and marry me."

"Well, when you're trapped in a marriage with three kids, I'll be doing what I love every day."

Miranda groaned loudly, refusing to get into another argument with her best friend. She instead looked at (Reader) who was still focusing on the hole. "What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

Their eyes seemed to be seeing something the other two couldn't see. Large pupils fixated on nothing, still filled with enough anxiety to cripple an adult.

"Someone who loves me.."

"Ugh, not you too.." Brian's voice melted into the background, almost unintelligible in the dense air. The contents of the wish filled (Reader's) head to the point that nothing else could be heard.

• 15 years later •

Another failed date.

Dark rings permanently decorated the underneath of (Reader's) tired eyes. The perpetually single adult slid down against the wall, too exhausted to continue standing. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, but he just wasn't "the one" for (Reader). He was boring and awkward, rambling about his job and future plans, bragging about his hypothetical future fortune. Nothing he did was bad enough for (Reader) to guiltlessly label him a douche, but nothing about him was their type.

They pulled out their phone, looking at the dark haired man on their wallpaper for a second too long before opening up their messages with their date. (Reader) typed up a quick message to thank Rich for the date, but that they didn't see it going any further.

The phone was tossed to the side as (Reader) struggled to stand, grabbing a beer from their fridge as the phone began chiming from the linoleum. Texts rapidly coming in were ignored by (Reader) as they cracked open their first drink for the night.

His unread messages echoed through (Reader's) shoebox apartment.

The weary adult wondered how their therapist would react next week at their appointment. It wasn't realistic for an adult to fixate on a wish they had made as a child, but just like all those years ago, (Reader) knew deep in their bones that there was no happiness for them if they couldn't have that wish come true. Rich was attractive, in an average sort of way, with straight brown hair cut a little too short for the shape of his brow. He had nice lips, (Reader) thought, but couldn't imagine kissing them.

The beer tasted like lightly bitter water. Not a promising sign; it tasted like they would need something stronger. On the way to the living room (Reader) noticed their bedroom door had some dirt on the white paint, like someone had pushed it open with filthy hands.

(Reader) felt an anxious jolt to their system. A familiar pain they hadn't felt in a long time. They pushed open the door, timidly entering their own room like a stranger nervous to be caught. But the room was empty.

"So, how'd your date with Rich go?" Adam asked hopefully. The same trio of friends since primary school sat in their local diner. It was a monthly ritual, gathering for brunch to force themselves to keep in touch. They tried to hold the meeting every week, but with work scheduling it was impossible. Adam sat with his husband, Jon, across from Brian and (Reader). Everyone had changed so much as they got older, but that was to be expected. No one can stay a child forever.

(Reader) sighed before sipping on their milkshake. Adam knew exactly what that meant, and groaned, just as dramatically as when he was a child. His hair may be shorter, but some things stayed consistent.

"What was wrong with this guy?"

"Nothing!" (Reader) replied defensively. "He just... wasn't my type."

Brian pushed up his glasses. "Maybe you should lower your standards."

"Brian!"

"-I mean, it's good to have standards, obviously, but people are real people, not characters in a book. No one is going to match your description of a perfect partner, because people aren't perfect, ya know?"

(Reader) stole a glance at their phone, admiring the black haired man behind the time. "You can say that, because your wish already came true. Both of yours."

Both Brian and Adam looked ashamed and a little uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact and fixating on their meals. Jon almost went cross-eyed trying to understand what (Reader) was implying.

(Reader) stood, tossing a couple bills onto the table. "I have to go, I'll talk to you guys later."

"Okay, have a good day! Text me when you get home." Adam said warmly, hugging his dear friend tightly while trying to shape his face into a happier expression.

"I will. Bye."

Brian gave up a small side hug, grimacing.

Jon waited until (Reader) was out of sight before asking "Were they talking about that wish you guys made as kids?"

The bespectacled young man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

"I know what Adam wished for, but what did you and (Reader) wish for?" When he mentioned Adam's wish, Adam rolled his eyes playfully and they nudged each other lightly. Their whole relationship was practically diabetic for Brian, who still after all these years didn't get the appeal in romance.

Brian adjusted his glasses again, clearing his throat. "I wanted to know what to do with my life." And he had found that calling. The summer before high school he discovered a YouTube channel centered around ornithology and sent him on a strange spiral of bird mania. His friends and family thought it was a temporary fixation that he would lose interest in after a year or so, but his newfound fascination guided him all the way through college, landing him in an animal husbandry profession taking care of cranes at (what Brian considered to be) a humane zoo. "(Reader) wished for someone to love them."

"Well, I believe there's someone for everyone. It takes some people longer to find 'the one' than it does for others, and (Reader) seems like a great person, so I'm sure they'll meet someone that fits their childhood ideal."

Although Jon meant well with his words he could see the discomfort on his husband's and Brian's faces, their eyes either focused on their drink or plate.

They never read (Reader's) wish.

But over the years the two friends had begun to piece together a picture of the kind of man (Reader) wanted.

It was a complete breach of trust, looking into a friend's past, going full internet stalker mode to investigate into the secrets (Reader) wouldn't divulge. And what they found...

Was a lot.

They didn't know how to open the conversation with their third musketeer, since the facts and speculations were all obtained without (Reader's) knowledge or permission, but if Brian and Adam were correct in their understanding of what (Reader's) wish was, they genuinely wanted to help (Reader).

They also knew where (Reader) was going. But even that was impossible to confess.

Because at that moment, (Reader) was in their car for their monthly four hour visit with the greatest man (Reader) had ever known. It was unfortunate scheduling, but (Reader) couldn't compromise the day for either party. Keeping in contact with their friends was important for their mental health (according to their therapist) but this meeting was more important to (Reader) than practically anything else in their life.

Metal fencing and high beige walls appeared through the trees like a fairy tale castle. Instead of an evil dragon guarding the entrance, however, there were armed guards. Still every bit of evil in (Reader's) eyes.

"Welcome back, Mx. (Reader)." The usual security officer greeted grimly. Before he could ask for identification, (Reader) already had it out. Although they had met many times throughout the past decade, it was still a formality required by law. The two filled out the necessary paperwork while only offering tight smiles. He opened the gate for (Reader) to drive in and park in the visitor's lot. (Reader) always felt the cameras on them whenever they entered this "castle".

Officers emptied (Reader's) pockets and scanned their body for metal. There would be no physical connection at all, but they still needed to take precautions.

(Reader) was led through the lifeless grey halls towards visitation. Each step made their heart race and fostered the smile on their lips. Approaching the room with squeaky broken stools and bulletproof glass relaxed their faux grin for a genuine tranquility. There were no other visitors at the time.

The stool creaked under (Reader) as they gently eased into the old thing, staring at the window. Shortly after they sat down, the man from their phone's wallpaper, now with more silver hair than black, shuffled in on the other side, smiling softly as he sat across from (Reader). They both grabbed the phones.

"Hi Dad."

His dark eyes with pupils so large that without direct light made them look black had deeply etched wrinkles decorating them that folded deeper as he smiled. When Donavon McElroy was arrested, the news outlets focused on his eyes like some kind of Kubrick film, fixating on how you could just see the evil in some people. It felt as though the only person in the entire country who could see how loving Donavon's eyes were was (Reader).

"Hey kiddo. I've missed you."

"I missed you too." There were only four hours of visitation allowed per month. "Have you been getting my letters?"

Greasy ringlets of hair tumbled to the side as he cocked his head. "They're still the highlight of each week." Donavon didn't blink often. Even though the lights always hurt his eyes, no matter how dim they were, he seemed like a mannequin, refusing to blink and miss a second of his precious child's face. "How have you been since our last visit? I know you said in your letters that you're still going to therapy, which is good, very good.. how's that going for you?"

(Reader) felt their smile dip a little. "Well, it's going. I don't really like my therapist, but I know it's just because I don't like what she has to say. Even if I change doctors, they'll still say the same things."

Donavon nodded understandingly. It was like that at first for him as well, receiving psychiatric treatment while in prison. "I didn't like being told that my line of thinking was.. wrong. I knew that logically my thinking was, of course, obviously wrong, but it didn't feel wrong, so having a.. professional tell me that was upsetting."

"But it's important that you continue with it. And I'm very proud of you for continuing with it."

(Reader) laughed. It was a sharp scoff of a laugh, but not spiteful. It filled their chest with hot lava to hear someone praise them for doing what they've been doing since they were ten years old. Because it was difficult. Even if (Reader) continuously told themselves that this was the bare minimum. It was still difficult.

"She has me out in the dating world." (Reader) slumped a little, only slightly enough that no one but Donavon could tell the change in their posture. "Which is.. not fun."

"It can be fun. Does that carnival still come? There used to be a traveling carnival, a pop up fair, that would set up in a parking lot of a small store in our home town, really cheap. That could be a fun first date. Tiny ferris wheel and gravitron. Elephant ears." The two adults smiled widely thinking about it, but neither of them were picturing it as a date. His smile melted when he realized this. "I wish I could have taken you there."

(Reader) imagined a different life, one where they were in his care instead of their mother's, eating pastries the size of their head and getting sick on possibly dangerous attractions in a small parking lot. Their mother never took them, but they knew which pop up fair he was talking about, riding past it on the bus many times in their life. "That sounds like it would have been fun.."

".. but like I said, dating can be fun. As long as your being safe." (Reader's) dad's smile bounced back. "What have you done so far that hasn't been fun?"

"Well, I went out for dinner. Guy named Rich. He was, uh, decent. Talked a lot. Mostly about his job, and goals."

"Sounds career focused, that's good."

"Eh.." They shrugged, eyes drifting.

"What was wrong with him?"

(Reader) sighed. "Nothing. He was.. competent. Seemed like a regular guy. He just.. wasn't my type."

Guilt began to crawl through the folds of Donavon's brain like bugs infesting his conscious. He knew it was all his fault. Everything. But if he said that out loud, (Reader) would deny it, argue and fight it. "Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"There's also plenty of trash."

Donavon pointed a finger at his kid warningly. "There's also sunken treasure. Don't give up hope."

"I don't need someone to be happy.."

"That's true.. but something tells me that when you weren't actively dating around, you weren't being content with the single life, and that's why your therapist is having you go out there. That.. maybe you were still waiting around for something that you shouldn't have, instead of living life to the fullest while alone."

The two became uncomfortably silent. This happened nearly every month. "I just want someone who loves me."

Donavon swore he could cry at that moment. "I'm sorry for-"

"Don't apologize." (Reader) cut him off. "Don't apologize for being a great dad."

"I wasn't. I wasn't a great dad. I'm-"

"-don't-"

"-a monster, (Reader). Kiddo, please, just listen to me. I'm sorry for the things I've done. The way I went about.. I wasn't in my right mind.. what I put you through was not okay. It was not, and will never be okay." He leaned forward, wishing to break through the glass dividing them and hug his kid. "I'm so sorry."

(Reader) softly responded "You're the only person who ever loved me."

"And you deserve better than that."

'No', (Reader) thought, 'there is no better than that.'

"Let's change the subject, please." (Reader) closed their eyes, forcing away the tears. "We never have enough time, and I don't want to spend the entire day focusing on sad shit."

Donavon took a shaky breath. "Okay, kiddo.." he mulled over for a second what to talk about before cracking a smile, one wide enough to show off his missing canine. "Remember Eddy?"

"Your old bunk mate?"

"Yep."

"What about him?"

"He got stabbed."

The sentence was so short and sudden that it shocked (Reader) into snorting, bringing back their genuine smile. "What? When? What happened?"

From the door an older guard smiled sadly, away from view. Donavon was liked by nearly everyone, both by the guards and the other prisoners. It was always a shame, getting to know someone who was supposed to be an evil bastard, and learning that they were just a great man who needed help. Plenty of the older guards understood that (Reader) would forever look at them with disgust and mildly veiled hatred. Because Donavon was (Reader's) hero, and the guards were just wardens unjustly holding him captive.

Their conversation continued without pause, filling the empty room with sounds of parental love and warmth. The guard at the door loved being there whenever it was time for (Reader's) visit with their dad, because it really was an incredibly beautiful and emotional scene every time he was present, but he also hated being the one on duty whenever (Reader) came, because he had to be the villain to say "Time's up" when their four hours were over.

"Mx. (Reader). Donavon."

(Reader's) eyes drooped, darkening under the shadow of their eyelashes. "Already?"

"Unfortunately."

The guard had been there so long, he remembered when (Reader) was a child, and would cry and scream whenever it was time to leave, begging him to let their daddy out.

Donavon smiled comfortingly. "Thank you for visiting me, kiddo."

"Of course."

"Maybe in another decade they'll let me have physical contact visitation." Donavon chuckled, only half serious with his hopeful statement. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too. Don't forget to write."

"I never do."

They both stood up, hanging up their phones painfully. It was the worst time of the day. His chains shook around his wrists as he waved goodbye. He never hurt a single guard in his time incarcerated, but it was a formality, a requirement, due to the nature of his crime. It didn't seem to matter how good his behavior was. Even though the guards trusted him, according to the law Donovan was still to be treated as a monster.

After being guided back out of the room, through the halls, and out to the parking lot, (Reader) finally felt like they could breathe. The air that was stolen when the guard ended their visit with their dad was greedily sucked up outside the stifling building. They finally looked at their silent phone, seeing a dozen messages from Rich. Or, who's number (Reader) assumed was Rich, since they had deleted his contact as soon as they woke up that morning.

Most of the texts were pleas for a second date, or an explanation for what he did wrong. Some of them were insults.

(Reader) sighed, deleting the conversation and blocking his number before getting into their car, allowing tears to silently fall down their warm cheeks. All that they wished for was for someone to love them, and no one would ever love them like their dad did.

The drive back was just as miserable as it was every month.

And just like every month, the tears didn't stop until (Reader) pulled up to their apartment. It was a long day, where the good moments weren't long enough, and (Reader) was ready for another beer. It wasn't Sunday, but it was their Sunday, which meant that they couldn't stay up drinking all night.

But it felt as though they had just popped open their can when someone started pounding on their door, angrily and frantically. (Reader) cursed not being able to afford to live in an apartment that had a controlled door to the building, living in a cheap one that had the stairs on the outside of the building. Which meant that there were no security measures to prevent just anyone from coming straight to (Reader's) unit.

They set the alcohol to the side and made their way to the door. The banging only stopped when the person on the other side heard (Reader) unlocking the deadbolt. A slightly sweaty man with brown hair too short to be messy stood impatiently.

"Rich?"

The slightly younger man shrugged sharply, jutting his head to the side with an attitude as if to say 'No shit, who else?'

"Are you going to let me in?" He asked impatiently.

"Uh, no?" (Reader) furrowed their brow. "How'd you find where I live?" They were too confused to even be mad or scared.

"It wasn't difficult; literally everything is online." Rich responded as though (Reader) was a fucking idiot for even asking. The disrespect was shocking, a severe shift from how he acted during their date. He shifted abruptly as though he was going to charge (Reader), so they tightened their muscles, holding the door closer to their side, which earned an aggravated huff.

"What are you doing here, Rich?"

"Well, you owe me an explanation after you ghosted me after our date the other day." His tone made it sound so obvious.

(Reader) scoffed, almost amused. "No I fucking don't."

"I was the perfect gentleman on our date considering the circumstances, you and I had a good time, but then you ghosted me? And I just want to know why." The emphasis on the 'considering the circumstances' included a wave, motioning to (Reader's) body. (Reader) didn't know if he was insinuating that their body was a problem, or if it was their gender expression, or if he just had high fashion expectations that (Reader) didn't live up to, but the little hand movement finally ticked them off.

"Okay, you're done." (Reader) tried to close the door, but Rich was stronger than he looked, and effortlessly pushed them back into their apartment and entered. (Reader) didn't fall, only stumbled, wobbling to regain balance as Rich casually closed the door behind him, pacing his hands on his hips.

"So, what did I do wrong?"

"You mean before you broke into my home?"

"I did- don't be fucking dramatic, I did not break in. I just want to know, I just want to know what I did wrong."

(Reader) slowly backed up, mentally picturing the apartment behind them to figure out where their closest form of defense was. "Nothing. It just didn't work out-"

"BULL SHIT."

"-you weren't my type."

Rich stuck out his jaw, clicking his tongue. "That isn't a reason."

"Yes, it is-"

"That isn't a reason to be a fucking dick."

'How far behind me is my knife block?'

Before (Reader) could make a move their front door violently flew open again, slamming loudly into the wall. Both Rich and (Reader) whipped around at the jarring noise.

A man stood in the doorway.

His skin was so caked in dirt and muck that his yellowish skin was almost completely painted over. Long, black hair curled due to the oil, hanging down and sticking to his gaunt face. Between the shaggy locks black eyes glared unblinkingly.

"Who the fuck is that?!" Rich nearly hollered, retreating closer to (Reader) out of fear, unable to tear his eyes away from the modified weapon in the intruder's hand.

Warmth spread throughout (Reader's) entire body; the god of love releasing a cage of butterflies into their body.

"He's here to kill me."

Part 0

Eight year old (Reader) tugged on their oversized long sleeve shirt. It was rubbing against the bruises uncomfortably. Everything about their body felt uncomfortable lately.

Their mother was late again.

Mr. Haley sighed loudly for the umpteenth time, looking at his watch as though it was (Reader's) fault their mother hadn't picked them up yet. It was warm and humid, and the sleeves of (Reader's) shirt were sticking to their arms. Despite the heat, Mr. Haley wouldn't allow (Reader) to wait inside, instead standing at the entrance of the school under a tree. (Reader) was the last child at pickup, aside from the children outside on the field for after school sports.

"Is your mom working late again?"

(Reader) didn't answer, instead watching the man walking into the nearly empty parking lot who seemed to be staring at (Reader) and their teacher. They couldn't tell exactly from how far away he was, but he didn't get any closer, keeping to the entrance, partially hidden behind a sign.

"Do you have anyone else I can call? Grandparents?" His kind voice was strained, exhaustion melting his patience.

The man suddenly ducked away from view, and shortly after (Reader's) frazzled mother sped walked into the lot, storming closer to the building. (Reader) left to meet her half way in an attempt to calm her down, but their teacher followed.

"Good afternoon, Ms. (Name)-"

"(Reader), c'mon." As soon as (Reader's) mother was close enough she immediately spun on her heel to leave again, ignoring the teacher.

"Ms. (Name), this is the third time-"

"I know!" The woman snapped, stopping abruptly, causing (Reader) to bump into her side. "I'm sorry."

"-the third time this month."

"I said I know!" She whined, throwing up her hands. "I couldn't get out of work, it wasn't that long!"

"After school activities are almost over. It's been almost an hour-"

"Don't be a dick, okay, I'm twenty minutes late."

"School ended forty minutes ago."

She crossed her arms. "So not an hour."

"Almost an hour-"

"So not an hour."

Mr. Haley sighed in defeat. He tried again, however, he was interrupted by the woman grabbing (Reader) by the arm and dragging them out of the parking lot. Her nails dug into the scabs on (Reader's) arm.

She spat out curses towards the teacher as she dragged her kid down the road towards the bus stop.

"Fucking asshole- and I told you that I was working late!" She turned her frustrations on (Reader), squeezing their arm painfully before releasing them, making (Reader) lose their balance.

"I'm sorry, Mom.." (Reader) quietly apologized, already shrinking in on themselves, head hunching into their tiny shoulders.

"Jesus, stop flinching like that. You look like I beat you or something.."

It was true, she never hit (Reader).

She just grabbed them.

Grabbed them by the back of the shirt, the front of their collar, the arms, wrists, and all parents smack their kids on the back of their heads, that's not hitting. It wasn't her fault that (Reader) bruised so easily. She didn't even hit them.

The city bus pulled up to the stop.

"Kevin's coming over for date night, so when we get home, make sure to do all your homework in your room. I'll bring you dinner and some snacks, but the adults need some alone time, okay?"

"Okay?"

"Okay!" (Reader) loudly responded, wringing their shirt in frustration.

(Reader) liked their mom when they had popcorn nights, when they made a bowl of popcorn and sat down to watch a rented movie together. But most of the time? (Reader) hated their mother.

They hated the way she dismissed them. (Reader) never seemed to be a priority in the woman's life. It didn't even feel like she hated (Reader). (Reader) was just nothing. They didn't receive hugs when they were scared, didn't get kisses when they were sick. And it wasn't one of those cases where you can't remember a single good memory because you're mad; (Reader) couldn't recall a single time their mother ever said the words 'I love you' to them.

She said it to Kevin though.

When they arrived home, (Reader) immediately went to their room, closing the door and flopping onto their mattress on the floor. They didn't feel like doing their homework, and decided instead on a quick nap. It wasn't like their mother was going to check in on them and see how they were doing anyway.

Maybe their dreams would bring a nice family for them.

CRASH!

A loud smash of glass and something heavy falling onto the thin apartment floor woke (Reader) up. They didn't know how long they were out for, but the sun was still up. (Reader) nervously bolted off the mattress and onto their feet, teetering in the middle of the room.

There was a quiet choking sound that liquefied into a gurgle before silencing.

(Reader's) handle slowly turned and their door was softly opened. A terrified looking man drenched in blood stood in front of (Reader), gazing down at them with inhuman eyes. His eyes were wide, panicked, but glassy, red, and with pupils so enlarged that he reminded (Reader) of the ghost woman from a scary movie their mother had been watching. He tried to brush his black hair out of his eyes, never looking away from (Reader's). It was the most intense staring contest (Reader) had ever been in.

He was timid in his approach, crouching down to his knees as he got closer to (Reader).

"..Hi." His voice was shaky and breathy. The man seemed to be overcome with an emotion that (Reader) didn't recognize. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, yet he still didn't blink. He swallowed hard before continuing. "My name is Donavon."

(Reader) was in an odd trance, halfway between petrified and numb. "My name is (Reader)." They didn't know why they answered.

"I know." For the first time since entering, Donavon glanced away from (Reader), searching the room for something. There were no toys in (Reader's) room. "Are you a-" His face broke trying to find the words he needed for his question. "Are you a b-?" A- a-.."

"I'm a kid." (Reader) tugged on their uncomfortable long sleeve shirt.

Donavon smiled so wide that his face looked like it completely split in half. Tears ran down his face shamelessly. The pure joy startled (Reader). "You're a kid." He sniffed back his snot and wiped away some tears, still smiling so hard that his face was turning red and he looked like he was going to laugh. "You're my kid."

He pulled (Reader) into a hug.

It wasn't like the quick hug the school nurse gave them, or the hugs their friends at school gave them; it was desperate.

He squeezed them almost too tightly, his fingers digging painfully into their ribs as he breathed in their hair. But (Reader) didn't cry out or ask him to stop. Tears had begun to fall from their eyes as well.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I should have been here. I should have been here." He started rocking (Reader) as he apologized into their scalp. "I didn't know about you, but I do now, and I'm here now."

(Reader) felt him kiss the side of their head quickly before he went back to whispering.

"I didn't know. But I do now. I'm so sorry."

It was too much, and it made (Reader) cry. They sobbed loudly, wailing into his chest as they returned the hug.

"I love you, (Reader). I love you so much. I don't know you yet, but I still love you. I should have been here for you, but I am now. And I am never letting you go. Okay? No one is ever taking you away from me."

Police sirens approached, screaming outside the building. (Reader) felt Donavon quickly reach into his back pocket, but he never let go from their right embrace.

"I never knew your mom. When I saw you with her last year, I - I tried to get into contact, but, but.. No one would listen to me, I had no proof.. I.. got a DNA test.. I -I'm your dad! I'm a father!" He started rambling, trying to explain things to (Reader), but they couldn't understand anything he was saying. And it didn't matter to them. He said he loved them.

(Reader) heard heavy boot steps and an officer loudly announce his presence.

"No one is ever taking you away from me again."

He was still only hugging (Reader) with one arm.

Someone entered the room, and a really loud sound hurt (Reader's) ears.

An officer shot Donovan in the shoulder, causing the knife he was holding to clatter onto the floor. He fell, releasing (Reader). They saw the knife and quickly put two and two together. But something happened in (Reader's) underdeveloped brain. It didn't matter that they had just met him. That man the police just shot was their dad. And he loved them.

"No!" (Reader) tried to launch themselves at Donovan to protect him, but their tiny body was caught by an officer.

"Don't worry, I've got ya!" The man tried to console (Reader), easily subduing their thrashing limbs, but his soothing voice didn't ease the pain in their heart, nor did it dampen the volume of their shrieks.

"DADDY!!"

The cop carried (Reader) out past the bodies of their mother and Kevin. Both were mutilated, lying naked near the couch in a pool of blood and spilt vodka.

Donavon was sentenced to life without parole.

He testified in court that the only thing he regretted was almost hurting his child. (Reader's) mother had taken advantage of him at a party years ago. Donavon had passed out drunk in the master's bedroom and woken up with his pants and underwear around his ankles. He told the court he didn't remember anything that happened, so although he suspected that someone had assaulted him, he had no proof and records showed that the police refused to help him when he went to report it.

It was a one in a million chance that Donavon saw (Reader) and their mother grocery shopping over a year ago, and nearly had a heart attack seeing a little kid who had his father's ears. Ears are just as unique as fingerprints, and to see a little kid with badly cut hair looking like a mixture of his father's baby photos and the woman walking beside them gave Donavon a sense of confidence that was borderline disturbing. He told the jury that he approached the woman with the intent of making polite conversation about how much alike her kiddo looked like his late father, but knew immediately that (Reader) was his, because when their mother looked Donavon in the eyes she recognized him.

"Before I could even say 'Hi', she grabbed (Reader's) arm and said 'Stay away from my child, Donavon.' I didn't even remember her face."

On the witness stand, Donavon admitted to breaking into their home so he could get access to (Reader's) DNA, stealing their hair brush. He also admitted to stalking the family, watching them as (Reader) openly showed signs of abuse. He called CPS multiple times, but nothing ever came of it.

Donavon repeated how time and time again law enforcement failed to help him get custody of his 'alleged' child, and that he had "snapped".

"I told (Reader) that no one would take them away from me again. Please, please I know I was wrong." Donavon pleaded the jury, looking past the lawyers and staring with his horrifying, never ending gaze. "Please don't put me away forever. I can get better, with help! I needed help! But my baby, my kiddo, they deserve better, please don't separate us again!"

Despite going to a decent foster family and receiving regular therapy sessions with child services, (Reader) had learned what true love was. The smiles their foster family gave them felt fake. No one could hug (Reader) tight enough to press their way into (Reader's) heart. Love was tears streaming down from the black coal eyes of a desperate father who just killed his kiddo's abusers. That was heroic. That was good. Just.

(Reader's) foster parents smiled at each other all the time, and said I love you multiple times a day. Then they divorced. Love was (Reader's) daddy, ready to kill (Reader) so they never had to be apart again.

The therapist with child services watched with a broken heart as (Reader) refused her homemade cookies. "Have you made any friends at school?"

(Reader) shrugged. They didn't see much of a point in friends. "There are these two kids I eat lunch with." Two kids who wouldn't leave them alone, no matter how much (Reader) ignored them.

"That's good! What are their names?"

"Miranda and Brian."

"Are they good kids?"

"They're weird. Brian wears glasses that make his eyes look super big, and Miranda wears a fedora."

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret. The weird kids are usually more fun to hang out with than the normal kids!" She winked while smiling, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"When can I see my dad?"

The therapist leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to control her inner turmoil before shutting her eyes. "I'm working on that, but it's very difficult. Mr. McElroy is in a lot of trouble for what he did."

(Reader) looked down at the drawing they had been making of them playing outside with Donavon. "I wish he killed me."

Part II

Warren had run away from home, again.

His left eye was swollen shut, and blood speckled the front of his t-shirt. The ten year old hadn't even done anything yet, but his father had had a bad day at work, and been drinking for a couple of hours by the time Warren was dropped off by the Saturday babysitter.

He ran into the woods, blinded by his tears and the swelling.

Because of the crying and injury to his eye, Warren couldn't see very well, and kept running even when he emerged from the trees into a clearing; running into a very deep hole.

There was a pain as his ankle popped, crashing at the bottom into the mud. Everything hurt, so he allowed himself to scream and cry as loudly as he needed. No one was going to come for him anyway.

And so he stayed in the hole and watched as the sun went down and the world went black. Even though he knew his father wouldn't come looking for him, he still wished he would. He wished someone needed him as badly as he needed them.

There was no moon that night, leaving Warren completely blind after the purple sunset left the sky. With his unusually dilated pupils Warren typically preferred the dark over the sun, but without the moon there wasn't enough light for him to see.

'Maybe, I should just spend the night in here.' The sad thought made him sniffle, threatening to release the floodgates again.

"It's right over here!" A loud whisper followed by feet tripping over branches echoed through the trees. Warren held his breath, suddenly afraid of being discovered. It wasn't logical to be frightened, but he was. There were strangers in the woods, and he was in pain and blind and alone. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum as people drew near.

"How do you know where it is?"

The voices belonged to children, probably around Warren's age, but he didn't recognize any of them. Most of what they said was too quiet to hear, until they arrived at the clearing.

"Over here."

The strangers stopped near the hole, but too far away to see Warren covered in mud at the bottom. Lights were illuminating the air, and Warren figured that they must have had flashlights with them. His eyes finally had enough light to adjust to the pitch black, and he watched a letter flutter into the hole, followed shortly by another letter, gracefully drifting in.

Then a thick envelope was chucked in, hitting Warren in the head, who had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from accidentally making a startled sound.

"What did you wish for?" Someone asked.

With that question, Warren realized where he was.

He grabbed the letter that had hit him, quietly opening it up as two of the strangers above him bickered. In the faint light he saw a lot of words, too many to read before they left, so he quickly scanned the page out of curiosity. His breath hitched when he saw a drawing of himself.

Black eyes and shaggy black hair.

Warren put the papers back in the envelope and stuck it in his pants. Someone approached the edge, and Warren caught a glimpse of hair and eyes. They didn't see him, but he certainly saw them.

"What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

"Someone who loves me.."

And at that moment, Warren believed in the hole that grants wishes.

He had no proof that the child looking down at him was the same child who threw the wish practically into his lap, but he knew that it was. Like fate, or magic.

After the trio left, Warren pulled his sore little body out of the muck, repeating (Reader's) name to himself over and over again as to not forget it. He didn't know how, but he knew that (Reader) was the one who's wish he had stolen. Warren limped home, easily sneaking in past his father passed out on the couch and up the stairs to the bathroom, where he locked the door.

He quickly pulled out the letter, opening it up in the light to read the wish in full.

"I wish someone would love me." Warren read quietly out loud, sounding out each word as his finger followed the sentence.

"He has to be just like my dad. Be - cause my dad is the only person who loves me."

"He has to have black hair and black eyes.."

Warren looked at his dirty face in the mirror, ignoring the purple around his left eye and focusing on his natural features. A proud smile crept onto his lips.

He went back to reading. "And his eyes should be deep.." Warren's own eyes were also deep set, making it look like he had bags under his eyes even after a full night's sleep. His ears started to turn pink. The picture was of the kid he saw at the hole with a tall man with black hair and eyes and a little guy who looked the same. He pointed at each person. "That's (Reader).. that's (Reader's) daddy... And that's.." he looked at himself in the mirror, tearing up with how hard he was smiling.

Someone needed him.

He turned the page over and his smile instantly fell, his blood freezing.

Pictures of bloody bodies covered the pages.

Page after page of dead people with the most intense things Warren had ever read followed the seemingly innocent wish. He hadn't been exposed to video games yet, his father didn't let him watch TV, and Warren ignored the other kids at his school, so he had never known violence outside of the terrible things his father did to him. And the words he read in that envelope were violent.

"True love is keeping me."

"If he loves me, he'll kill me."

"Don't let them take me away again."

"Together forever."

(Reader) was worried about the limitations of the wishing hole, so they felt they had to be very specific about their ideal boy. Which meant that they had to explain what love was. And to explain what love was, meant that they had to explain to the hole what their dad had done to their mother and Kevin.

It scared Warren.

But only for a moment.

He thought about the joy (Reader) would feel when they saw him for the first time, how their eyes would light up with love and adoration. In his mind, they would recognize him instantly, like their drawing come to life. Warren was their wish come true. And, in a way, (Reader) was his.

He slowly went back to his bedroom and hid the letter in his underwear drawer. The wish was like his most prized possession. Knowing that there was someone out there who needed Warren made him, for the first time in a very long time, feel hopeful for the future.

The next few years of Warren's life, however, were not pleasant in the slightest.

An anatomy book flew at Warren's face, connecting with his thin nose. He was now in highschool, and the abuse had only worsened.

"What the fuck is this?!" His father threw another medical book, terrified. In the past he used to throw and break things even though Warren's only crime was existing, but now even Warren could understand his father's disgust.

A rat laid on Warren's table, split open.

"I'm practicing.." Warren smiled, blood dripping from his nostrils.

"I should kick you out of the goddamn house!" The drunk man kicked a wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

"If you do that, I'll go to the police."

His father's eyes widened. "The fuck you just say, you little psychopath?!"

The man was very nimble for someone so swollen from years of alcohol consumption, closing the distance between himself and his son before Warren had a chance to put up his hands in defense. Large, yellowed fingers grabbed a fistful of Warren's greasy hair and lifted his dangerously underweight body off the ground; high enough where Warren couldn't touch the floor with his toes.

"Think about it. You have no proof for the cops that I killed this rat, but I have all the proof that you hit me." To emphasize his point, Warren didn't wipe away the blood that was now dripping onto the rat carcass.

Black eyes that held no light stared wide and unblinking at the disgusting excuse of a man before Warren. His father looked about the room, which was now covered in articles about some murderer from years ago and medical texts printed off at the local library.

Warren was dropped onto his ass. "Fucking freak." His father mumbled before stumbling out of the room.

It wasn't until Warren heard the drunkard smash though the hall towards the staircase that he finally grabbed some tissue to shove up his nose. It had taken him years and years of hard thinking, but Warren had finally found a way to be (Reader's) perfect husband. It was difficult, but the solution was finally discovered, a way to make (Reader's) wish come true without killing them.

He thought he would probably drop out of school, but that didn't really matter to Warren. The young man already had a part time job, and his future career as a manager for a small corner store was practically set.

Candid shots of (Reader) laid under the box of tissues. While (Reader) had continued growing into an attractive young adult, Warren was stunted. A lack of nutrition gave his unnaturally pale skin a yellow tint, and he was so thin that some of his teeth were becoming loose. But it felt as though he couldn't waste even a second thought on anything that wasn't (Reader).

"I'm sorry, Mr. Whiskers.." Warren apologized quietly to the dead rat. "I didn't mean to kill you. I'll do better next time."

Every time Warren saw (Reader) out and about, he wanted to drag them behind a dumpster and fuck them till they bled. It took incredible restraint to stick to his plan and keep to the shadows.

Their wish, laminated, hung above his bed like a prayer, one that he read and worshipped every night before bed.

Warren's father didn't notice when he stopped going to his classes.

He also didn't notice the muffled screaming from the basement, when Warren evolved his experiments from rats to people.

It wasn't until the smell became unbearable that he finally sobered up enough to go down and investigate.

As he searched the house for the cause of the smell, the aging, dying man briefly wondered when the last time he had been down in basement was. Or, when he last saw his good for nothing son.

The stairs to the lowest level creaked under his shoes, and an anxiety he had never before known trickled up through his bones.

At the bottom of the stairs, a door held back the stench like a leaking flood gate. Opening the squealing door wafted a wave of nausea inducing gas right into the man's face.

"Hey, ew what the- hey freak! You down here?! What's that smell..?" His eyes didn't have time to adjust to the dusty basement light before Warren swung a wooden baseball bat with spikes towards his father's face. One spike went through his skull near his nose and another popped open one of his eyes. But his death was due to the blunt force, cracking his head open as easily as smashing a watermelon. The junkie strapped and gagged to the table silently screamed as their one hope for salvation died in front of them.

"I'm sorry about the interruption." Warren smiled, his eyes still and unwavering. The man who had destroyed his childhood and stolen his happiness laid bleeding out on the floor, and Warren didn't feel a single thing. It was strange, part of him thought that he would feel satisfaction watching his abuser die, but he felt nothing at all. Warren only killed his father because he had interrupted his experiment with the homeless person who looked amazingly like (Reader). The young man held up a belt. "Let's continue."

Warren didn't consider himself to be a murderer. What he was doing to the people he abducted was for love. There was no evil or hatred, and if he looked at it in a certain light, he wasn't really trying to kill them at all.

Moving to the night shift gave Warren more time to stalk (Reader) during the day. Just as he had predicted, Warren became a higher member of management, and even 'owned his own home' now that his father had tragically passed. Everything was progressing perfectly, because his entire existence was a wish come true.

It hurt, hiding in the booth behind (Reader) and their friends, hearing about how they had started dating at the suggestion of their bitch therapist, but Warren decided that it was good for their relationship. It proved to him that even after all this time, (Reader) still loved him and needed him. Every time a date failed to live up to (Reader's) expectations it further fueled Warren's fantasy of how (Reader) would react when he finally revealed himself to them.

The dates also provided Warren ample opportunity to look around their apartment. Like when they went on a date with some whiny loser his age. He wasn't even (Reader's) type. Their home was small and quaint, and taking pictures of it in extreme detail helped Warren learn how to decorate the room (Reader) would be staying in once they finally started dating.

Dating.

The idea of merely "dating" caused a painful strain in Warren's chest, but he knew that it was only logical to date before he proposed. At least for a month or so. Maybe a week.

Well, whenever he did propose, Warren knew (Reader) would accept, because Warren was their wish come true. There was nothing he could do wrong, because his entire existence was due to (Reader's) will.

He didn't even bother cleaning off the dirt when he scuffed up the bedroom door. There was no point, because (Reader) wouldn't ever fear or hate anything he did, even if they didn't know he was the one responsible. Because that was fate.

(Reader's) undergarments rested on top of the dirty clothes basket.

Even that was fate.

Because why would they leave their worn underwear in plain view, if not for him? His hands with dirt crusted nails stroked the garment, imaging that he could still feel the heat of (Reader's) body on them. Warren imagined how happy (Reader) would be to learn what he did with their underwear, in their bed. He imagined their eyes glowing like an angel's as their smile graced his filthy presence.

Because this was (Reader's) wish.

And soon, Warren would finally give them their happily ever after.

Warren had put in for a week of vacation at his work; their shared bedroom was decorated; and his supplies were hidden in a backpack in the dirt behind (Reader's) complex. It was like a fairytale, when the knight came to save the dragon from the prince.

Rich approached (Reader's) front door as Warren dug up his hidden tools. Mud covered his face and gloves, but he didn't mind. In fact, it was like a mask, where only his true love would recognize him. Warren knew that his dream would come true that day, but it was even better than he had hoped for. Prince Rich was there to harass his dragon.

He had hoped it would be this easy, and the universe provided. Fate was always on Warren's side when it came to making (Reader's) wish come true. All those lives lost to Warren's experiments were not wasted.

The annoying voice of Rich was audible from outside the building, but it was difficult to feel anything negative towards to poor bastard. In Warren's mind, it wasn't Rich's fault that he was born to be such a loser; it was fate's design for the man to be sacrificed.

Warren threw open the front door, scaring the shit out of the stronger looking man. "Who the fuck is that?!"

Then, the sands of time were fused into glass by the electricity between Warren and (Reader). Their expression looked relieved, just as Warren had always hoped it would. A smile stretched across the beautiful lips Warren often fantasized about kissing. Their cheeks pulled up in the most honest grin Warren had ever seen.

Tears of joy decorated their bottom lashes like glitter.

"He's here to kill me."

Rich put up his arm as though to protect (Reader) from Warren. Again, Warren felt no anger towards the man and his silly reaction.

The bat used to kill Warren's father restarted time as it aimed for Rich's skull.

(Reader) looked up endearingly at Warren, now sitting on their knees in a pool of Rich's blood. The man before them was everything they had ever dreamt of. His black eyes never left (Reader's), even as he bludgeoned their date to death.

It took all of (Reader's) will power to not shake in their seat. Excitement flowed through their veins so quickly that it sent involuntary quivers through their muscles. Everything that they had ever wanted was finally coming true.

"I've been waiting for you." (Reader) felt their chest tighten as Warren approached.

But then he dropped his bat.

Their smile twitched a little, but (Reader) tried to not let anxiety ruin their happiest moment. The dirty man slid a backpack off and started rifling through it.

"I've been waiting for you too.." A voice that sounded oddly chipper finally responded, echoing from a wide grin that showed off yellowing teeth with a few missing on the bottom row.

(Reader) smiled harder. "You're going to kill me?" It was phrased like a question, but it was more of a plea.

"No."

"What?"

(Reader's) smile cracked in half. The adrenaline in their system turned deadly.

Warren's smile didn't fade.

"But, you have to." (Reader) began to panic. This had to be the man they wished to life. He had to be there to kill them. It was fate. He had to! "Aren't you here for me?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you have to kill me! If you love me, you have to-!"

Warren dropped his bag, revealing a hacksaw. He held it relaxed in one hand, and held a belt in the other. "Do you know how selfish you are, (Reader)?"

(Reader's) mind went numb with confusion.

"I've loved you for so long, and now that I finally have you, you think I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm not going to let anyone have you."

"Not even death."

The End

The two story house was full of trash bags. Every room in the building was full of clutter and filth, except the master bedroom.

Warren came home from a long shift, excited to have his precious spouse in his arms.

None of the guards at the prison would listen to Donavon when he tried to convince them all that something was wrong. A child suddenly not visiting their murderer of a parent in prison was not reason to go to the police and open a missing person's case. Even the officers that liked Donavon couldn't do anything.

The bedroom decorated to (Reader's) taste was unlocked by Warren as he finally climbed through all the shit. He entered their shared home with a warm expression of pure love on his face.

"(Reader), I'm home!"

In the middle of the room watching television was a wheelchair bound (Reader). Their arms and legs amputated, sitting helplessly in a soiled diaper. A drugged up, lopsided smiled sleepily tugged the corners of their mouth up.

"Welcome home, baby.."

A/N: Sorry it took so long, happy to start writing again ❤️

#yandere #yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #not a romance #cw death #cw dead animal #cw blo0d #cw trauma #thank you for waiting so patiently #i know it isn't my usual #dark #cw abuse #abduction #yandere stalker #cw rap3 #male yandere #yandere oc

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

Min Redux

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: Marc is possessed by a horny ancient sex spirit and refuses the help you're willingly offering. Sequel to Gift of Min but can be read as stand alone.

Content: sex pollen, restraints, Marc being a stubborn bastard.

Word count; 12,800 words (do not look at me)

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

There's a white, pot-bellied goose staring up at Marc expectantly with hunger. He ignores it, pretending he doesn't see it as he turns his head, eyes circling around the park.

If he ignores it, it will give up eventually.

"Oh hello there fella! You're a plump one aren't you?"

Marc resists the deeply ingrained urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Steven would acknowledge the animal.

“I think it wants us to feed it”, Steven says.

Marc hums in acknowledgment. He doesn't want to get into this right now. Doesn't want Steven distracted and excitedly buzz in their head with anecdotes about Geese and the bird wildlife in London when they're supposed to be on the lookout for their contact.

Flicking his wrist, Marc glares at his watch.

8:12am.

Twelve minutes late. You'd think Ancient Egyptian Deities would have some kind of culling process when picking their Avatars. Punctuality should be a bare minimum requirement.

He leans back against the wooden slats of the park bench, hands shoved inside his field jacket against the chill of the London air as a woman with a stroller walks by nearly running over the goose in the process (to Steven's outrage). For the umpteenth time since he sat down, Marc's fingers trace the lining until he catches at the sharp edge of the small golden trinket box, just to make sure it's still there.

Gift of Min. A tiny trinket box that's been sealing away some sex-crazed sprite serving the Ancient God of Sex for decades. One that Steven managed to accidentally free with his uncanny puzzle solving skills in just under a minute, getting himself possessed in the process.

Marc's fingers clutch at the brass-metal, until it's digging into his palms as he squeezes down. Flashes of your bare skin underneath Steven's hands, and the soft curves of your naked form pressed underneath him, pushes to the surface of his mind.

Fuck, he shakes his head. No, his mind is not going there. He needs to stay here, in the present, find the other Avatar and hand this over so it's out of your lives for good.

Get rid of it so that what happened last week won't ever repeat itself. He won’t allow that to happen, won’t risk putting you in harm’s way again.

It's all so vivid and Marc has replayed the memory of it so many times, every detail of it. Every gasp, moan and whimper of your voice. The way your back arched from the floor, the way your mouth fell open. The way your eyes would roll back right before you came… repeatedly. He’s played it like a VHS tape on repeat until it’s been so worn out from replays that the image is filled with static and he almost can't tell anymore if it was entirely Steven's experience or his as well, trapped as he was in the mind space.

Steven rutting into you mindlessly like an animal. Hips snapping against your soft plump thighs. Your legs squeezed tight around his hips, around his cock as you kept coming uncontrollably, again and again and–

"Marc Spector?"

With a jolt, Marc's pulled from his thoughts at the voice. Looking up, there's a man standing two feet away from him with a much too friendly smile on his face for someone that's—Marc flicks his watch—22 minutes late.

The man reaches out a hand in an inviting gesture to shake Marc's hand.

These Avatars always want to make pleasantries and be friends, like they're all part of the Mickey Mouse Club on account of their ostensible connection of being in indentured servitude to defunct Egyptian Gods.

Reluctantly, Marc relents, slipping one hand out of his pocket. The man's hand is bony, his grip tight like he's trying to assert dominance by crushing Marc's hand. Then he lets it go, the smile spreading even wider with that uncanny eager friendliness.

"I believe you have something for me?"

Standing up from the bench, Marc reaches into his pocket again and shoves it into the man's hand.

"Ah there it is. Gorgeous little thing isn't it?" Min’s avatar holds the box up in the daylight, inspecting it as if it were a diamond, then he tilts his head with a confused expression.

"Oh dear," he says.

At first, Marc misses the alarm in his voice, because the man practically sings out the words.

"What?" Marc asks.

Instead of answering Marc, the man hums, turning the trinket box in his hand as if weighing the contents, his friendly smile fading into a slight frown.

"What is it?" Marc repeats, irritated this time.

"Well…" the man shifts the box into his other hand, repeating the same weighing motion. Then the man holds the box up to his ear, like he’s trying to hear the ocean in a seashell.

The Avatar’s inability to give a straight answer has Marc's patience balanced on a tenuous line that he can physically hear as it snaps.

"What is wrong," Marc repeats for a third time through gritted teeth.

"The seal's been opened."

There's a tension in Marc's jaw as he grinds down on his teeth. "There was an accident. Someone opened it. But I made sure to trap the sprite back inside."

"Well whatever you did, you didn't do a good enough job.” The man says it so matter-of-factly like it’s not even an insult, and Marc has to take a deep calming breath, his hand closing into a fist.

“The puzzle sequence wasn't completed when you retrapped the spirit and thus not sealed. It must have escaped." This time, the man flips the panels in sequence of motion, in-out-up-up-down until Marc loses track. The gears in the box whir and the box opens-- and adrenaline ramps up in Marc as instincts have him backing away from the box, holding up an arm to shield his nose and mouth shut.

But there's nothing. No blue shiny smoke like last time.

It's empty.

“Wait so what does that mean?” you ask him, as you stab the fork into the thick double slice of french toast he’s made you. Double dipped in batter drowned in cinnamon sugar, just the way you like them.

Turning on the tap, Marc fills the kettle with water as he puts it on the stove to boil your morning tea.

Except it’s not morning anymore. It’s the afternoon now, almost 1pm. You slept through the whole of the morning, but considering the morning-afternoon-and parts of the evening you endured with Steven barely 48 hours ago, Marc is hardly going to begrudge you sleeping in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marc says, hoping his reassurance will allay any worries you may have. Because you don’t have to worry. He’s going to fix it—fix everything—and keep you out of trouble this time.

But as he looks up at you, the frown that borders on a glare on your face tells him that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Shit, he’s doing that thing again isn’t he? The very thing you told him not to do after the post-possession talk.

His shoulders sag. He sighs in capitulation. Right. Communication. Tell you things.

“I have to find it again. This time I’ll have Steven seal it so it doesn’t escape.”

“It’s been days, it could be anywhere, did they tell you how to find it? Do we have some kind of magical ancient artifact compass?”

Marc’s shoulders tenses at your use of ‘we.’ There’s no ‘we’ here. He’s not getting you involved in this. He’s gonna catch it. Steven’s gonna seal it. That’s the plan.

“Marc?” You ask, but he pretends he doesn’t hear you as he moves to the cupboard, to find a teapot.

“Do we know how to find it?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer.

He pretends to busy himself, foregoing the perfectly good teapots he can use that sits in the front and pushes them aside as he continues to search the cupboard.

If he ignores you, you will give up eventually.

Faintly, he thinks he can hear Jake’s (sarcastic) voice in his head. “Jefe, she’s not a Goose. Ignoring her isn’t going to cut it.”

“Stop pretending you’re looking for teapots and ignoring me. I’m just going to keep asking until you answer.”

Shit.

You’re so insistent. Worse than park geese. Worse than Steven and Jake combined.

“No compass,” Marc answers as he pulls out a random teapot in the furthest corner. Dusty from lack of use. He’s gonna have to clean this. With the way Steven cleans this apartment, it might be covered in asbestos for all he knows.

“The guy said it likes cramped small enclosed places. Tiny chests, jewelry boxes, tupperware. Anything that closes with a lid.”

“That hardly narrows it down in London!”

“Like I said, I’ll take care of it.”

Turning on the tap, he runs the teapot under water in the sink, scrubbing the dust and grime. He lifts the lid but it’s been so long since it’s been used the pot is practically sealed shut from dirt, even as Marc pushes against the top.

He can hear you approaching from behind. “You won’t get it open that way,” you offer as you turn the tap and turn it as far as it goes for hot water. Then you take the pot from him, running the lid over the running water, gripping at the base and start to turn it until he can hear it give with a quiet ‘pop’.

“Tada!”

You’re grinning at your success, and Marc has to bite the inside of his cheek to tamper down his own smile at the sight of you. Because fuck, that gloating, I-know better-than-you smile, (which should be aggravating) is infectious.

“See! This is why you need me,” you sing-song, rubbing your success in his face as you lift the lid. He’s so distracted by your easy-smile and glow of schadenfreude he doesn’t pay attention to the quiet hiss of pressure that gives from the lid.

A tendril of blue-white fog rises up, reaching towards you. Before Marc fully processes what he’s doing, he’s already stepping forward into your space. One hand clasps at your wrist as he yanks you backwards and away from the kitchen.

Gotta fucking be kidding him. That fucking thing was hiding in the teapot all this time.

It hits him like a kick in the gut. It’s like swallowing live fire into his throat except it keeps burning all the way as it travels into his chest and digs into the inside of his stomach, settling into every inch of his flesh. It’s the feeling of downing a bottle of whiskey in one sitting with none of the side sickness and nausea that he has to swallow down. It burns and crackles inside his veins.

With the intensity of the heat as it bubbles in his blood, he had expected it to hurt. It doesn’t. Instead it’s molten and slow, oozing through his system like a heated haze. He feels heady as the sensation rushes through him from the curl of his toes to the tip of his nose until it has his scalp tingling. It’s pleasant. Euphoric even if he lets his mind linger on it. He doesn’t.

From a distance he thinks he can hear your voice, and buried underneath the fog, Steven’s concerned babbling. But it’s drowned out by the blood thrashing in his ears. He tries to find you, but his vision is swimming in front of him.

Then he hears it, you’re shouting his name. You sound so worried.

He can feel you. Soft and doting hands cupping his cheeks with a tender touch that has the heat in his stomach reach a boiling point, then you tilt his face upwards to meet your worried gaze.

It’s the same expression on your face when you were tending to Steven not two days ago. Heat spikes in his lower belly, his cock twitching against the constricted confines where it’s trapped under hard denim.

‘Need you’, a voice inside his head, neither Steven or Jake’s but entirely his own, calls out. ‘Want you’.

Flashes of you, your back arching from the floor, trapped underneath him as he thrusts into you invade his vision. The phantom sensation of your wet tightness wrapped around his cock shivers through him and the ache makes the length of him pressed hard against his boxers, twitch and leak against the soft fabric.

Fuck… He can’t put you through that again.

He can’t have you here.

"Leave," he grits out, scooting backwards, dragging himself away from you by the heel of his hands along the wooden floor.

"What?"

"You need to go. Leave!" He barks out.

He tries to get up but fuck, his legs have gone all wobbly like fucking Bambi, can't steady himself, and his faulty balance has you running forwards towards him.

Marc throws out his hands, palms up as a signal for you to keep your distance.

"No! Don't get close to me. You need to go now."

He grabs at the side of one of the wooden shelves, as he steadies himself on his feet and props himself up, but fuck, everything is spinning. He feels like he's drunk, and he closes his eyes to make it stop.

"Marc," you say his name so softly, it makes the heat in his veins grow hotter. There's liquid fire pumping through his blood.

Even with his eyes closed, he sees you.

You underneath him, exhausted and fucked out. Swollen lips kissed raw and tender. Legs shiny and slick, with your come and his, as it drips over his cock in a shiny silvery thread and down the wooden floor below.

Shit! Shit! Stop, don't think of that.

His eyes fly open to the sight of you, the you in front of him right now, your pretty face mere inches from his. Lips so close he can practically fucking taste you already on his tongue from pure sense memory.

He's getting worse by the second. He's not sure how much longer he can keep his body in check. Every inch of him wants to touch you. Fingers itching to dig into your plump flesh. His cheeks tingle and all he wants is to have your thighs pressing down and enveloping his face. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and salivating at the thought of licking every inch of your soft skin, to have the familiar taste of you fill his mouth– fuck, he can’t– he needs something to restrain himself with as a precaution.

His eyes flicker to the bed, and of course, it's not there. Where is Steven's stupid ankle bracelet when it’s actually needed?

Shit.

Wait, the cuffs. Jake keeps some cuffs here, where did he – his eyes roam the space, until he spots the shiny metal glinting from underneath Jake's cap that he's carelessly slung against the shelf behind him.

"I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. Let me help," you say and his eyes linger on your pouty lips, the way they open and close as you bite your lower lip in worry. He wants to sink his own teeth into them until you whine for him. Slip his aching cock between them, until his hard cock is enveloped by your softness.

He shakes his head, taking a step back as he looks around himself, planning his exit route. The front door is behind you, which means he'd have to get past you to get out.

Crap. Stubborn as you are, you'd try to block him in a heartbeat, and unless he's gonna tackle you (out of the question) this is going to get him nowhere.

"You can't help with this," he says, eyes continuing to scan the room until he spots the open door to the bathroom.

You frown, eyes narrowing in irritation. "I can actually. We've been here before Marc. I helped Steven remember?"

And fuck does he remember, can't forget. That's part of the problem.

Your hand reaches for him, fingertips brushing over his fisted knuckles, and the touch of it tingles with a burning ache.

"It'll feel better if you let me help you," you say.

Marc takes a step back, arm reaching behind him, until he feels the cold metal against his hand and grabs the cuff.

"I'm not going to do that to you," he says. Before you get a chance to respond, he's already turning around. He's leaping on his feet, darting to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

His fingers are trembling, cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he fumbles locking the door.

From behind the door he can hear your panicked voice calling for him.

"Marc? Marc!!"

The rickety panel door rattles and shakes against the frame with your effort to slide it open. “Marc, did you lock the door?! Marc!”

You sound so worried, and a small pang digs under his skin when he hears you.

It’s so stupid. He knows you’re safe, that the worry in your voice is meant for him, and yet every instinct in his body is screaming out for him to check on you and make sure you’re okay. He fights it. Eyes darting around the tiny confined space to search for something, anything, permanently affixed to the wall that he can cuff himself to.

“Marc, open the door or I’m gonna kick this bloody thing down. I swear to god.”

Marc doesn’t have much to work with. There’s the toilet, the sink, with nothing he can attach the cuffs to, and the railing to the shower head that looks… flimsy at best. Still beggars can’t be choosers.

Forcing his stupidly shaky hands to bring the cuffs to the shower, he tightens one end to his wrist until he can feel the sharp metal dig through his skin, hard enough that it’s probably going to cause the blood flow to constrict.

Stupid, he’s so stupid, he knows better than this, but his coordination isn’t cooperating and if Marc is honest with himself, the blunt pain helps.

Helps his mind to sharpen and to distract himself from the burning heat that’s riding him hard at the sound of your voice on the other end of the door calling his name.

Helps him to shove down the pathetic need that sings in his vein to tear off the flimsy panel door and run into your arms and beg you to help him.

Helps him find the will in himself to clasp the other end of the cuffs around the metal rod before it clicks satisfyingly to let him know the deed is done.

Safe. the metal click tells him. You’re safe from him now. He couldn’t get his grubby hands on you even if his weak will breaks.

The rattling of the door has stopped now. The room fills with silence and you’re no longer shouting for him. Marc turns back and sees the shadow of your feet under the spring as you walk away from the door. You’ve finally given up on him.

Good. That’s good.

You should get as far away from him as possible. With any luck, you’re already halfway down the stairs towards the tube.

He knows you’re pissed. Probably slamming the front door on your way out. But that’s ok. He’ll take your anger over your worry. He can deal with anger, knows how to handle it like an old shitty friend he wants to cut ties with but never can. What he can’t take is the way you sounded when you were calling for him.

The worry. The care. You always care. And it’s wasted on him. All that’s ever earned you since you got involved with him is trouble.

If you weren’t involved with him then you wouldn’t have been in their apartment that morning when Steven opened the stupid thing. If you weren’t there, Marc would’ve taken over, would’ve taken care of himself instead of — instead of–

‘Steven, fuckfuck Steven–’ the phantom memory of your voice rings hauntingly sharp in his ears. Slurred and honeyed, the feel of you, slick and dripping between your thighs, clamping down tightly on his Steven’s cock.

His whole body aches. Skin flushed and burning and his brain feels feverish and rubbed raw with heat at the fraying edges.

A shower. A cold shower will help.

Marc takes a shaky breath, as his fingers fumble with the taps. Turning the cold water as far as it goes. He thinks he’s prepared for it but he’s not. It’s a shock to the system. The cold water slams down on him with a heavy punch. Cold and piercing and bitter as it wraps all around his feverish skin and strangles his lungs with it.

His eyes are closed, but instead of the blank darkness all he sees are your big eyes staring back up at him. Dazed and out of it, fuckdrunk, on him.

His skin burns. Blood boiling inside his veins until it’s painful. The icy water is still pummelling down at him punishingly, and he’s grateful for it because he thinks he’s going to incinerate from the inside out if it wasn’t. His cock is hard and heavy against the clammy and cold wet denim that’s pressing up against his searing skin. It’s uncomfortable, painful.

The memory of you refuses to leave him. The silky feel of you wet and hot and writhing on his painfully hard cock. Fuck, fuck, why does he do this to himself. One hand comes up to his face, and he scrubs it hard with the freezing water, rubbing his thumb into his eyes to help with the throbbing heat that’s growing at his temple. It doesn’t help. Can’t scrub out the image of you, mouth parted, head thrown back as you squirm on his cock, as you grind yourself on him and come… again, and again, and– again. His eyes slam open, until he’s staring at the grungy white tiles of the wall.

There’s something inside his flesh, burrowing into his skin and veins. An infectious heat that slivers and crawls that drips with hunger and greed. Starved for touch and pleasure, it screams and it roars until it’s all Marc can feel too. He wants it, wants you, and nothing else will do. You and the warmth of your body and the way you always welcome him as you wrap yourself around him.

Shit, he – fuck. fuckfuckfuck.

He takes a long shuddery breath and it fogs against the cold of the room. He’s shivering but if it’s from the cold of the water stinging against his skin or the heat burning underneath it he doesn’t know anymore. Does it even matter?

Everything feels raw and painful. Sore and tangled up inside him. He wants– fuck, no fucking stop. He needs to –

“Marc.” He can hear it again. Your voice calling out his name. Not Steven’s name, his. It echoes and lingers in his mind, soft and sweet. The way it had been when he’d been the one fucking you into the bed between the soft sheets of their bed the night before the incident.

The way you’d whimpered it, while your nails were digging crescent shaped marks into his skin that were still denting the back of his shoulders when he’d looked this morning. Tiny little marks that are evidence of your love for him.

His stomach draws tight, hips hitching up without his permission, desperately searching for any friction… shit shit, it’s not enough and it’s too much, the sensation that spears through his stomach as his cock rubs against the hard seam of his jeans. Heat settles at the base of his spine and the sound that escapes him is pathetic. He’s not sure if it’s a gasp or a sob, but he grinds it down between his teeth, snuffing it out.

Why is his brain trying to murder him like this?

The heat (or the cold, he doesn’t know which anymore but it doesn’t matter, one of them) is making his mind fuzzy. The grout delineating the tiles in front of him is blurring together, and the room, Marc realizes, is starting to sway and swim. He draws in another breath into his chest, but there’s no oxygen in it. He tries again, and this time the sharp jagged breath hurts, like swallowing broken glass and needles. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. The body is panicking.

Jake’s trying to push him for the front seat. Marc can feel it, an insistent presence that lingers at the edges of his mind, trying to gain and take hold. But Marc is much better at resisting him these days. Marc’s not going to let him. He doesn’t trust that Jake will be able to hold himself back when it comes to you. Doesn’t trust that the man won’t selfishly uncuff their body and run straight to where you are. His priorities are different from Marc. Jake’s prime concern is to always take care of their body first, everything else comes secondary to that man. Marc doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust him. Not with you. He can’t risk it.

Alarm and anxiety blares bright in his veins, but he can take it. Can endure this. Can–

There’s a loud slam from behind him.

“Marc, Jesus christ!”

The sound of your voice makes him whip around. You’re standing in front of him, the bathroom door’s been shoved to the side, wide open, and you’re holding a butter knife in your one hand and what looks like the remnants of his dismantled door handle in your other.

His heart flutters erratically, a pleasant warmth trickling into his chest. You’re here.

It lasts for a heartbeat and a half, until the realization hits him harder and colder than any ice water could have. You’re here. You’re actually here.

There’s a concerned expression in your face as you take him in for a full second. Then you drop the items in your hand and rush forward to him until you’re standing under the shower with him.

“The water is bloody freezing! Have you lost your mind?” You’re shoving past him to get to the tap and turn it off entirely, as you continue to scold him. “You’re going to get hypothermia”.

Your voice might be harsh, but your hands are soft and doting, palms cupping his cheeks, and your eyes are wide and worried in that way that makes everything inside him tighten. His skin tingles where your fingertips brush up against his cheekbones and it takes everything in him to not nuzzle his mouth against your wrists, chasing into your touch for more.

“You feel like ice. We need to get you into bed, we need to–” your eyes stop at the shower rail and then trail downwards to his right hand that’s cuffed to it in disbelief. Then he hears you take a long exasperated inhale. “Of course, you did,” you murmur, “of course you’d cuff yourself to the damn shower. Where are the keys, Marc?”

His eyes flicker away from your face to stare at the tiles on his left as he grinds his mouth and jaw shut.

You sigh, then you come closer. You’re crowding in on him, pressed tight to his chest, “fine, I’ll just look myself shall I?” You stand on your tiptoes to reach for the small shower shelf behind him, lifting a shampoo bottle to check if there’s a key underneath.

Your hair tickles his nose and the familiar comforting smell of you surround him. You’re soft and warm, and amazing and he just wants to sink his teeth into your bare throat that’s inches from his jaw and bite into you like the sweetest and ripest fruit of Summer.

You shift as you reach for the highest shelf, hips rubbing up against him where they’re slotted between his thighs and fuck–fuck–

Sharp heat shoots through his stomach, white pleasure blinding and intense that rushes to his head and his knees want to fold under his weight. He groans at the touch and you freeze as he does.

For a moment both of you are silent and still. The only thing Marc can hear is his own ragged and hash breathing. His body is trying to acclimatize to the new temperature of the room as the heat from his body is quickly evaporating out of him. But the thing under his skin, poisoning his mind and sanity is still there. He feels like he’s on fire. You’re pressed up against every inch of him, and it is screaming in his ears with an ugly hungry need. Marc feels like he’s burning up. Like he’s going to die, flesh burning away until there’s only ashes left, and that’s okay the burrowing need tells him. Let it burn away every inch of resistance left within him, and then he can have you.

Marc wants that, wants you in any way he can have.

Wants you to grind up on his aching cock that’s so hard it hurts. Wants you to hold him, fingers tugging at his hair until it stings and burns. Want your legs and arms wrapped around him as he sinks inside of you, bury his cock as deep as it goes until he can never leave.

Wants you, wants you, wants you. It echoes with fury and overtakes everything else. There’s no other brain process except this, as his hand clamps down on your waist and grinds you down on him. His traitorous hips hitching up until he can feel that perfect press of your body against his trapped and pulsing cock.

You don’t stop him, hand coming up to the back of his neck and hold him close to you. You’re so fucking perfect letting him rub himself up against you, even when he’s acting like some stupid animal in heat. The pleasure sends him on the tip of his toes, chasing the high and it’s good, it feel so fucking– Fuck!

His eyes slam open, tearing himself away from you. You’re blinking up at him with a confused look.

The fuck is he doing?

With his free hand, he moves you out of the range of the shower until your back is pressed against the opposite wall.

He’s such an idiot, he’s such a fucking stupid– his cheeks burn and prickle, sweat stinging his back underneath the waterlogged shirt. He needs to cool down. Get his head straight. Needs to rid himself of this burning inferno of a hellfire that is roaring under his skin.

A shower, a cold fucking shower. He needs to calm the fuck down. Needs to– Marc moves back towards the tap and turns it back on.

“Marc! No! Stop!”

You’re leaping forward into the shower again, uncaring of being in the firing range of the cold water cascading from the showerhead, as you reach for the tap to turn it off.

“You’re fucking freezing, you need to stop. Marc, I need to get you out of the shower. We need to warm you up. Where’s the keys?”

He ignores you, tries to wrangle you away from the shower with his back and shoulders, wrestling his path to the tap again.

You slap at his hand. “Marc, no!” you bark. “Stubborn fucking –”

He knocks your hand away from the tap, turning it again as he tries to block the ensuing shower from you with his shoulders, and you growl in frustration.

“Fine, fine! You want the water on, it stays on, but you have to let me–” you shove your way back to the front of the tap, turning the hot water on. It takes a few moments but then the punishing coldness turns lukewarm and almost comforting against his stinging skin.

“There,” you murmur and back away enough until you’re both staring up at each other again. The water is hitting you too, drenching and soaking your clothes as you peer up at him cautiously.

“Should I help you take your clothes off? It’ll be more comfortable for you this way,” you say the words slowly, giving him the time to react before you move.

The logical part in him that’s still intact knows he should stop you. Should tell you to leave before he loses the last of his sanity and tries to maul you like an animal again.

But his tongue is heavy in his mouth. All his words are failing him, and as you inch closer to him, all he can do is stare up at you, silently begging you– to go, to stay, to abandon him, to touch him, to run, to help him– until he doesn’t know anymore what he wants, and ducks his head to the ground.

“I can help you if you want to,” you tell him.

His eyes squeeze shut. He’s so fucking useless. He swore to never let this happen again to you, never put you in that situation again and here the two of you are not even 48 hours later, in the exact same fucking seat. He’s no better than Steven at this. Useless at protecting you. Instead you’re the one trying to take care of him. Maybe you’d be better off with Jake in the saddle.

“You shouldn’t have to hel–” he starts, but you cut him off.

“I want to help you,” you enunciate each word and syllable, leaving no room for doubt, as you’re facing up to him in challenge. Then your eyes soften as does your voice. “But I don’t want to force anything on you that you don’t want.”

There’s a brief silence and the only thing he can hear is the water falling from the shower. Then, “Marc, look at me.” You say it softly, it doesn’t sound like an order, but not quite a request either as Marc tips his head up to meet your gaze. “I’m not going to touch you unless you want to. But I’m gonna stay here with you until this passes. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stares up at you like an idiot, eyes drawn to that determined look in your eyes that he knows he can never win against, and he feels his resolve fail him.

“Is it okay if I take off your clothes?” you ask again.

And until he gives you an answer, he realizes, you’re going to ask him again and again. You’re so persistent, more than a goose. He loves that about you and he doesn’t know how to say no to you anymore, even if he had wanted to (which he doesn't, not really).

So he doesn’t, instead he nods.

You move slow, giving him plenty of time to change his mind. Your hands come to the soggy hem of his shirt, drawing it up against his torso and over his head. Fingertips scraping under the bare naked skin underneath as you go, and it fucking tingles. It tingles and burns and smolders until his insides are on fire, and for a second, Marc is sure that his knees can no longer carry his weight and he’s going to tip over and capsize.

He leans down his head for balance, and you’re there to catch him. You ground him, as you always do. He rests his forehead against yours and for a moment, the roaring noise of blazing fire in his veins stops. It’s quiet and calm in his head.

“You okay?” you ask, staring up at him, eyes gentle, as you go slow.

“Yeah.”

His shirt is left hanging on the shower rail, where his hand is still cuffed to it. Then your fingers come to the front of his jeans, nail tapping against the metal button and his cock jerks and strains against the wet and heavy material in anticipation.

Popping open the button, you undo his fly, and the too-strict pressure of the material finally eases. He squirms, “Fuck, baby,” he gasps out, raw and broken.

You hush him, sweet and comfortingly, with your lips pressed close to his ear, “do you want me to touch you?”

His mouth feels thick and dry, everything turned into cotton against the roof of his mouth. He swallows, taking another long breath and holds it deep as he tries to get himself together. He’s weak, useless. Can’t get anything right. Can’t even say no when he knows he should.

“Marc?” you ask again and he inhales deeply to calm himself, then nods.

You smile, sweet and bright, and…relieved. You look so relieved and… happy, even. It makes it better. Makes him feel a little bit less of a colossal fuck up that you’re doing this for him when you’re smiling at him like that. Your head tips up, lips pressing up against his, and that helps too. With his eyes closed, listening to the sound of your soft hums as he licks into your mouth, he can almost pretend to himself that this is okay.

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing firm and tight in that perfect way that you know he likes. It's relief and pleasure and warmth all wrapped into one, as everything inside him buzzes with a quiet soothing noise that drowns out the rest.

Your soft lips, drags downwards, mouthing at his neck, teeth nipping at his shoulder. He’s still aching, but it feels good. It doesn’t hurt this time, instead everything lingers pleasantly as your lips drift further down, soft plushness dragging against the sore muscle, down the slope of his belly and–wait! What’re you–

His eyes fly open. He’s staring at the empty walls again. You’re no longer standing face to face with him and his head drops down. The sight that greets him slams into his ribs until he nearly doubles over. Fuck.

You’re on your knees on the wet bathroom floor, tucked between his legs. Staring up at his cock through your water-lined lashes that glitters against the harsh fluorescent light.

“Baby– wai–wait,” his words fumble and trip out of his mouth, brain unable to process the sight in front of him. He wasn’t prepared for this. “You don’t have to–”

“Marc,” you breathe, cutting him off again. From this close distance he can feel the warmth of your mouth gust over the overwrought tip of his cock, and he nearly blacks out. Your voice sounds drippingly sweet and warm. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Let me do this for you”.

He should stop you. You shouldn’t have to be on your knees and take care of him when he’s the one who fucked up and got himself caught in this mess. There’s a tight lump stuck in his throat that he tries to swallow down so he can speak, but it doesn’t ease and the words aren’t coming to him.

Your hand comes to the side of his thighs, dragging the drenched denim down his legs and discard them into a sloppy pile in the corner of the floor.

He gazes down on you, how the shower has drenched your oversized sleepshirt, until the white of it has gone see-through. The drenched cotton cling onto your skin and the curve of your breasts and his cock bobs up and strains against his stomach at the sight. Shit.

Embarrassed heat climbs his cheeks, and judging from the smile tugging at your cheeks, you definitely noticed his reaction. You lean up, mouth brushing up against the length of his cock and press a kiss to the swollen flesh. White blinding heat streaks through his chest and his stomach draws in tight. He can’t think.

It’s here again, that hungry ember that scalds hot in his veins. It’s overwhelming, his toes curl against the tiles, breath catching sharp in his lungs until he feels like the ground is going to swallow him up. His knees are giving out, the hard tiles gone soft and weightless beneath the sole of his feet. He’s panicking again. His hand flings out, clutching at your shoulders, fingers digging in, it’s too hard and too rough, and he shouldn’t be doing that – shouldn’t be doing anything of this, but he can’t help himself.

One of your hands comes to rest on top of his, and you tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“It’s okay, Marc. it’s okay,” you say, and with those words, the panic in him dissipates somewhat. Enough to have his fingers ease their hard grip on your shoulders, as you lean your back closer between his thighs.

Try as he might, he can’t pretend he doesn’t want this, want you. Your mouth is inches from his cock, and he can see the incriminating precome welling up at the tip, where it shines slick, giving him away. His breath constricts in his chest, as he waits for you.

You lean closer, and he catches the pink tip of your tongue as it darts out to lick at the liquid dribbling down the length of him. His spine seizes up at the barely there contact, an ugly noise tearing from his throat.

“Marc, you okay?” you ask, and when he blinks down at you, lips slick with him, he feels undone. “Should I keep going?”

Marc swallows down the whimper that is lingering dangerously at the tip of his tongue that wants to leap out. He nods a little bit too frantically in response and he barely has the time to meet your eyes, and how it glitters with pride at his reaction. Then your lips part and you envelop his cock in the perfect sweet warmth of your mouth.

An electrical static noise crackles in his head. Your mouth is so fucking good. Soft silk wrapped all around him. Your tongue slides softly over the ridge of his cock and sweet aching bliss twines through his limbs. It’s slow and languid, the tip of your tongue darting out with soft, fluttering licks against his oversensitive flesh as you take your time and try to murder him. You’re succeeding too.

Heat carves through him sharp and intense. With the way his heart is trying to pound its way through flesh and muscle and out of his chest, he’s pretty sure he’s only got minutes to spare before his heart entirely gives out and he drops dead on the bathroom floor.

You’re so ridiculously gorgeous. Eyes half-lidded as you stare up at him with unwavering attention.

It’s bliss. It’s torture. It’s heaven and hell. Marc doesn’t know up from down anymore. All he knows as his cock slides between your lips, wet and slippery and so fucking good, is that he doesn’t want it to stop.

For all the composure he’s trained into himself for years and decades, he can’t seem to find an ounce of it to draw from in this moment. He never can as far as you're concerned. His hands fists at his side, every muscle in him tensing, trying to stop the way his hips cants up with small thrusts into your mouth. But it’s not working. His body is betraying him, refusing to stay still.

Good, it feels so– The burning flame under his skin is back, the whole of his body is wracked in warm pleasant shivers and he wants to curl into your touch.

You hum, a small quiet little sound as you suck on the tip and he can feel the pleasant vibrations of it skitter up his entire spine. He jackknifes forward, pressing further into your mouth and fuck, he can feel the head of his cock nudge against the resistance of your throat. He stops there. Makes himself stop, ignores how every muscle in him is screaming for him to move. His cock pulses eagerly on your tongue, desperate for friction. But he ignores it.

He can’t have this for himself. Doesn’t deserve it.

“Come back up here, need to make you feel good baby. Let me- fuck let me make you feel good,” he says, even as his balls are drawing up, cock going somehow even harder, swelling and throbbing on your tongue.

Marc swears, bites down on his lip hard until he tastes blood, and clenches every damn muscle in his body as he backs away, and slides himself out between your lips. Somehow, miraculously, he manages to hold on. His damn dick jerks and bounces spasmodically, oozing precome all over the damn floor as he struggles for control. And through it all you just smile indulgently up at him, eyes gleaming, the pearly edge of your teeth digging into that perfectly plump lower lip.

He wonders if you even fucking heard him, because you’re leaning back in towards him, and wrap your mouth back around his cock. That inescapable fire is building at the base of his spine, threatening to burn him to the ground, but he can’t let himself come yet. He can’t because then it will be over, and you’ll have given this to him, and he doesn’t fucking deserve it.

Marc doesn't deserve you, period. But he definitely doesn't deserve to have you on your knees like this for his miserable ass. Doesn't deserve that warm, worshipful mouth, slicking and sliding so perfectly over his aching cock. Perfect lips stretched tight around him as you struggle to take him as deep as you can. Doesn't deserve the way your hand alternates between clutching at him and petting so gently over his skin. Doesn't deserve the loving look in your eyes. Has to close his own eyes against the sight of you or this is all going to be over in about half a second.

But somehow that's even fucking worse, behind closed eyes it makes the feeling of it all the more acute. There's nothing there to distract him. He can't escape the feel of your clever tongue and perfect wet heat of your mouth wrapped around him in the blank darkness. The way your tongue curls around him. You’re moaning just slightly with each press forward, and he can feel the vibrations of it along every throbbing inch of his dick. It's fucking killing him.

“Let me–I can’t stop, I can’t–” He’s sobbing, the sound raw and needy as it wrenches out of his throat. Pleasure sears through his entire back.

He's trying to hold still. He's fucking trying. But his legs are fucking shaking. Trembling thighs threatening to dump him on his ass any second, and he can't seem to control the way his hips are hitching forward in tiny abortive thrusts, seeking more even as he knows he should be jerking back, pulling away, and convincing you to let him make you feel good instead. but you don't seem to mind at all.

Fuck, you seem to love it, moaning louder every time he loses the battle with his instincts.

This is so wrong. He’s not in his right mind, not in control. You should be shoving him away, but instead you’re clutching at his ass with one hand, fingernails digging in as you encourage him to thrust harder, deeper. Tiny sharp bites of pain that just seem to add to the maelstrom of pleasure twisting and building in his gut.

Marc opens his mouth, determined to make one more attempt at convincing you, but then you swallow around him, moan around him, and all that comes out is a guttural groan.

"Ba-baby-," he stutters out. He tugs on your hair, trying desperately to be gentle, but he's not entirely sure he manages it. You let him pull you off, one torturous inch at a time, and he barely manages to stop the thrust of his hips, the instinctual need to chase your mouth.

You look up at him, all wide eyes and slick, swollen lips. One long shiny string of spit or precome of both still connecting the two of you.

Oh shit, how is he supposed to resist when you’re looking at him like that? Like he's actually worth a damn, when you’re the one who's worth anything, everything. He can’t, he was crazy to think he ever fucking could.

"Marc," you say, tone mildly reproachful. Your voice is hoarse... from swallowing his cock, and for a second, he thinks that's fucking it for him.

Close, so fucking close. It’s pushing and clawing at every stitch and seam inside of his skin and he is unraveling. No wonder Steven lost it. No wonder he gave in. Marc can taste his climax at the tip of his tongue, dangling precariously on the fine thread of his fragile sanity. He squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to block it out.

“Let go,” you hum, and you press your mouth to the trembling muscle on the inside of his thigh that makes him jolt up and nearly swallow his tongue. “You don’t have to hold on anymore. I want you to come. Want you to come in my mouth.”

Fuuuuck.

You kiss your way up, and he’s trying desperately to hold on, to hold back. But he can’t, not when he feels your tongue trail the underside of his cock with a long wet and devoted line. Not when you’re kissing his hips. Not when you put that perfect mouth of yours back on his cock and swallow him down.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, where your mouth can’t reach, giving it a firm stroke downwards, and his toes tingle. His whole body is shaking uncontrollably now. The pleasure is almost unbearable. his muscles jerking and twitching uncontrollably with every slide of those pretty lips.

That insidious flame flickers at the base of his spine ominously. Warning him of what’s to come. It feels too fucking good, he can’t deny himself of this anymore. His orgasm swells up, large and looming, rushing out along every nerve ending and won’t be ignored.

“Baby, fuckfuck, please– I can’t–can’t,” he opens his eyes, and looks down on you and fuck that’s such a mistake. You’re looking up at him, a dark pitch that bleeds into your blown pupils. His eyes slam back shut again because he can't survive the hungry look in your eyes.

But it’s already too late.

His orgasm is consuming, large and looming as it’s trying to eat him whole. It wraps around his flesh and licks down to the marrow. From the curl of his toes, searing through his thighs until it’s permanently carved somewhere deep into his ribs, as he comes down your throat. Leaving nothing but a tingling ache in its wake.

It feels endless, the way he keeps pulsing into your mouth. Cock twitching against your lips, riding out his oversensitivity at your lapping tongue.

He’s moaning and whimpering, toes skidding along the wet tiles as he desperately tries to find his footing. There’s nothing left but his undeniable surrender. Letting you take as much as you want from him. Until he’s empty and the blazing blue flame in his veins is sated and wrung dry from your attentive tongue.

There’s clarity again. The dust and smoke clears until there’s only a faint smell of ashes lingering in the back of his mind and he feels like he can think again. His muscles ache with the soreness, and as he takes a long inhale, oxygen floods his head with a rush. Sweet fucking relief, he can breathe again.

It doesn’t last very long. His eyes open, to see you smile up at him, bleary eyed and messy, drenched hair plastered on your forehead. The water from the shower is still running down your face as you’re trying to catch your breath.

You look like a mess. He did that to you, and you look so fucking good like this.

It’s all it takes, and the insidious heat licks at his bones, corrupting his blood again. The hunger in him returns with a devastating scream in his flesh. His mouth salivates, like what came before was only an appetizer. Now he’s gotten a taste and he’s hungrier than he was before.

It makes him gain a new sympathy for Steven and the hell the man must’ve gone through with you two nights ago.

Fuck what’s wrong with him. Marc’s already gotten one release. That should’ve sated him. But he can already feel the simmering hunger gain hold again. All it did was make that selfish hungry monster inside him more insatiable. The greedy need claws at his veins, refusing to be ignored anymore.

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that makes his heart seize up. “Do you need more? Do you want to go again?” you ask.

He swallows around the constricting lump of guilt lodged deep in his throat, blinking up at you, unable to answer. Unable to open his mouth to ask. You’ve given him too much already, he can’t ask for more.

“It’s okay, Marc. You can ask me.”

You say it with that voice. Breathless, filled with love and affection, like you’d offer him the world if he asked you for it, and it’s not right, he’s the one that should be doing that. The one to give you everything. Yet somehow he keeps finding himself in this seat where he’s the one taking and you’re the one giving.

“I’m here,” you tell him. “It’s going to be okay, I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

Shit. His chest squeezes tight. The feeling is so large and overwhelming his veins are overbrimming with it. But he never knew how to tell you with words. So he shows you in the only way he’s ever known.

He drops down to his knees, ignoring the strain in his shoulder from the hand still cuffed tight to the shower. His free hand reaches for you, cupping the back of your neck to pull you in, His mouth slant over yours, and he swallows the sweet affectionate hum between your lips.

I love you.

That’s what he’d say if he knew how to.

I love you and I want to be everything to you.

He cups your face in his one free hand, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as he tilts you up to his mouth and kisses you. Your mouth parts, letting him lick into into your mouth properly. You still taste of him. Tart and salty, and the taste of him on your tongue makes him lightheaded.

Needy heat rolls over his back, and he can feel it again. The demanding hunger that is consuming his insides. The one that wants him to sink his teeth into your soft and pliant flesh, lick and nip at every inch of wet skin you’ll let him as he tries to swallow you whole. It’s not enough. Kissing you isn’t enough. He wants you pressed up against every inch of him. Wants your body lined against his, your legs spread wide as he settles between them. Wants your back arching up against him, breathless and keen as he buries himself inside you.

He leans further down, pressing you downwards until he has you flat on your back against the cold and hard tiles, and he should do better by you. Should take you into bed, where it’s soft and warm. Nice and sweet. Not fuck you against the dirty floor of Steven’s dirty bathroom like some savage.

But his body isn’t listening to him, surging down to reclaim your lips as he grinds his hips and cock against the softness of your stomach. He’s hard again, or maybe he never went down for the count, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s aching for you. All of him dying to be buried inside of you to the hilt.

Pleasure sparks deep in his veins at the contact, and he does it again, grinds himself needily into you, smearing precome over the fabric of your already soaked sleepshirt. God he’s such a mess, he’s ruining your clothes.

He forces himself up again, kneeling over your body, as he stares down at you. He’s made such a fucking mess of things… of you. Your face is wet from the shower, hair matted against your forehead, and your shirt is soaked and opaque clinging wetly to your skin underneath. The sight of you makes his mouth dry with heat.

Behind him, the spray of the shower is raining down lukewarm water over his back. It should calm him, that’s why he turned the damn thing on in the first place, but it doesn’t. He can’t even feel it anymore, can barely hear the sound of the shower drizzling down like rain. Instead it’s all turned to static noise inside his head.

The only thing he sees is your pretty face look up at him, warm and affectionate, and so fucking loving, and he feels sick with want over you.

“Baby, you gotta tell me to stop,” he forces out, and his hand draws down between his legs to grip his aching cock, that’s throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“If it gets too much– you have to–”

You rise up to meet him, curling one arm around his neck until you’re face to face, so close that your nose nudges his. Your hand reaches down between you, wrapping your hand over his, and your eyes never falter from his, as you shove your panties to the side and guide his hand to notch his cock against your entrance.

Fuck, you’re dripping. He’s not even inside, and he can feel you slick and warm and wet against the head of his cock.

“Can you feel that?” you murmur, against his lips. “How wet you got me? I need this too. Need you to fuck your cock inside me, Marc.”

Shit.

He snaps. Plain and simple.

He thrusts down and into you with a long and deep consuming stroke and it’s fucking everything.

Ecstasy rushes into his bloodstream with a heady sugary rush, and he chases it with his hips, burying his cock inside as deep as you can take him, until it nudges something sweet and blissful that has you clawing at his arm with a gorgeous sob ripped from your throat.

And it’s so good, so fucking good, he wants to crawl into that sound and nestle into it. He drags himself out of you, until only the overwrought tip of his cock rests inside you, watching you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds, and that won’t do. Marc wants to hear you. Wants you to scream so loud his ears ring from pain with it. Fuck, he wants to go deaf with it. Wants the sound of your voice obliterate him until it echoes in his ears til the day he dies.

His arm moves to your leg, curling around your thigh to pull you in closer towards his torso, canting you upwards, tilting you at that angle that he knows will make you cry for him. Then he slams forward, his thighs tense, burning with the pleasure that threatens to incinerate him. You’re so fucking tight around him. It’s heaven if Marc ever believed in one.

Your fingers tighten down on him, nails digging into his skin and the biting pain only makes the pleasure of it all the more ripe and sweet as you clamp down around his cock.

He can’t stop. Hips thrusting into you with a demanding pace like his body is no longer his own, just a conduit for him to chase that mad pleasure that skitters to his brain and has him want to go harder, deeper, until he’s lodged so deep inside that you can never rid him of you.

It’s a selfish need that Marc would never allow himself to give voice to. He keeps it jammed under a lid and pretends it’s not there. That deep gnawing hunger that wants you all to himself and never have to share. The possessive streak in his veins that wants to mark you, fuck himself so deep into you until you can fucking taste him in your throat.

Your legs are wrapped all around him, clamping down around his torso until he’s sure you’re constricting his lungs from the sheer force of it and he almost can’t breathe. “Shit, baby–fuck, you’re so– I–” he grinds down on his teeth, and doesn't let himself say the words, swallowing down the groan that tears through his throat.

So good, he thinks to himself. You feel so fucking good. So warm and wet and blissfully tight around his cock. He loves you. Loves you so fucking much and he can’t stop, won’t stop– Never want to stop fucking his cock into you.

Then he sees it. That all familiar tell that lets him know you are close. Every muscle in your body goes taut, and you’re squeezing down almost rhythmically and so tight it knocks the fucking breath out of his lungs. “That’s it baby, come on my cock for me.”

Your eyes roll back, mouth parting as your back arches upward.

And there you go. You’re so fucking beautiful.

You come hard and punishingly tight as you squeeze around his cock.

The pleasure swirls hot and hungry inside his gut, and it’s all it takes to push him right over the edge with you. He spills himself inside, pulse after greedy pulse as he fills you.

He barely manages to catch himself with a palm braced next to your head on the tiles as he tries to come down.

There’s no relief this time. Not like last time, however brief it was. This time his climax only serves to fuel the pathetic need in his chest. Like someone threw gasoline over an open fire and now it’s spreading everywhere and there’s no extinguisher in sight.

More, the hunger inside his veins scream out. Again.

Wants to feel you come again. Wants to feel you squeeze tight around his cock, as your lips part and moan out his name in bliss again. Want to feel your slick drench his cock as you come again and again and again and again.

He’s still hard.

He thrusts forward, and you cry, high pitched and broken and the sound makes the blood in his veins sing.

You're slick and excruciatingly tight, but his come drips out of you, easing the tight press of his cock no matter how hard you squeeze down on him.

“It’s okay baby,” he hushes, and you sob in reply even as he bends down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. You can take it for me. Doing so good. You’re being so good,” he coos, as he cants his hips and pushes into you as deeply as he can again.

Closer. He needs you closer than this. Wants his hands to touch and grip every inch of your skin. He brings his other arm to wrap around your waist, and something tugs and restrains him from behind. It locks up his shoulder, and no matter how hard he pulls forward, he can’t quite reach you.

You blink up at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as you watch him before your eyes widen, hand reaching up for him. “Marc, wait– you’re–”

His free arm shoots out around your shoulders and reels you close as he captures your mouth, swallowing down your words. He’s trying to come down to you, to press you down against the floor with the weight of his body, and wrap his arms around you, and never let go. Hold you so tight to him until you can never leave. But something won’t let him. No matter how hard he strains forward the strength holding back his arm won’t budge.

There’s a metallic groaning noise that protests as he continues to pull against the resisting strength from behind him, as he rolls his hips relentlessly into you, chasing the pleasure. It digs sharp into his wrist with a jagged pain, but he doesn’t even care. Marc wants to hold you close, wrap his arm around your leg and squeeze it tight to his hips and lock you there.

He rips against the hindrance, with an impatient and angry snarl. The strain and resistance finally gives, and he’s free to put both his hands on you. His arms lock up tight around your waist.

There's a cacophony of sound somewhere in the distance. Of broken dishes and sharp crashing noise, but he doesn't care. The roof could be collapsing right now and it wouldn't make any damn difference to him so long as you were still here with him.

“Fuck! Marc!”

It doesn’t even register until he hears your agitated shout. He looks up in a daze at you, Your wide and alarmed eyes. Something’s wrong.

His head whips back, tearing himself away from you prepared to leap into action at the culprit. But that's not what he sees.

There’s debris on the wall. Bare cement in the large torn cracks of the tiled walls. There’s jagged pieces of cracked white porcelain on the floor. Debris and parts of the wall along with the showerhead and the metal rod he handcuffed himself to is lying in ruined shambles below, as the shower spits out water all around like a death rattle.

Well fuck.

Fuck– what is he…

Shit!

He’s completely lost control. The familiar dread and anxiety bleeds into his veins, and he can fight it all he wants, but it’s already here.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was the one who was supposed to be able to keep it together. The one who was supposed to protect you from this and keep you safe from harm. The bitter acrid taste of failure lingers on his tongue and drips down his throat until it reaches his lungs. Embarrassment clings to his cheeks and burns like fire. His body wants to curl into itself and hide, until he’s so small no one can see him anymore, least of all you.

“Marc, it’s okay,” you say as you plant an elbow against the slippery floor to you can raise yourself into a sitting position. Until you’re both at eye level with each other.

“It’s okay. Just ignore it. We’ll clean it up later,” you murmur as you crawl closer to him, until your face is within inches from his and you press your mouth to his cheek. Then you climb into his lap, the firm press of your warm body straddling his thighs and he looks up at you in dazed awe.

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask.

Despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t. That he shouldn’t ask this of you, he still nods, whimpering at the reassuring press of your body against his achingly hard cock.

“As many times as it takes, okay?” Your fingers circle around the base of his cock, and he chokes on a moan, as you position him against your entrance. You’re slick and warm and fucking dripping for him.

“Let’s keep going until you feel better. I don’t want you to hold back anymore. Is that okay?” you say.

He doesn't understand how that's a question. Of course it's okay, it's more than okay, it's all he wants. All he ever wants. He nods, and you smile at him. That warm and affectionate smile filled with love and it fills him to the brim. He feels like his heart is going to give out again. There's no more space for shame anymore, the way your smile crowds his vision and every inch of space inside him.

You lift your hips slightly, then you lower your knees, slowly sinking down on his cock until he’s buried all the way inside you, squeezing down around his cock in that perfect way you do, and he can’t fucking think.

You’re looking down at him like you’re expecting him to answer and he doesn’t even remember how to open his mouth and use vocal cords anymore, fuck he doesn’t even remember what the question was.

“Marc,” you repeat,

He still doesn’t know what you’re asking him. But it doesn’t matter does it? When it comes to you, he’s never going to say no to you. So he answers you with the only answer he has.

“Yes.”

It must be the right answer you were looking for, because you’re looking at him in that way again, smiling up brightly at him, like he’s worth a damn, worth everything to you. He knows that you’re wrong about that. He doesn’t deserve it. But it fills his chest with something sweet and heady. An antidote to the poisonous fire that’s still burning hot and bitter in his veins. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t fight the warm buzz that’s trickling slowly into his veins and lets himself bask in it.

After all, who is he to say no to you?

You roll your hips against him and your eyes flutter close with a gasp as his cock hits something deep inside, and both of you moan at the feeling as he tightens his arms around your waist.

You lean closer, lips pressed to his ear, “I love you, Marc” you whisper in the hair above his ears and his whole back shudders pleasantly.

He tilts his head upwards, his nose brushing up against your chin and cheeks as he tries to find his way back to your mouth.

Marc might not deserve you. But you deserve everything you want and more, and if Marc is one of those things (for whatever unfathomable reason that he will never understand)… then that makes things a little bit easier for him.

He wakes with a pounding headache.

The muscles in his shoulders and back are stiff and sore, cramping up with a sharp throb as he tries to get up. Every limb aches. He feels like he was hit by a fucking truck going at full speed down a highway.

“Morning,” your voice greets, as your hand comes to his forehead and rests there as if you’re checking for his temperature. It’s soft and soothing, a balm to the ache in body and he fights every instinct to not nuzzle into the palm of your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he replies. His voice scrapes against the lining of his throat, like something crawled up in there and died.

He can hear you laugh quietly at his reply, and despite how crap he feels, the sound seeps into his chest and the stiffness melts just a little bit. The bed dips as you sit down on the edge next to him.

“How long was I out for?”

“Not too long. Just a bit. You needed the rest,” you answer, and it's entirely too vague for his liking.

He anchors his elbow into the soft bedding below and despite the angry creak of the mattress and the protesting groan in his bones, he tries to get up into a sitting position. His head feels lightheaded with the sudden altitude, like he’s about to throw up all over the sheets. It’s like he’s experiencing the world’s worst hangover, the second time in less two days. As soon as he gets his hand on that sex sprite, he’s going to fling it into the surface of the sun. Don’t care how upset that will make Min’s avatar.

Bringing his hand to his face, he rubs at his temples and the blunt throbbing pain that’s killing his head, when it occurs to him. His wrist feels light and unimpeded, there’s no sharp metal digging into his wrist. He stares down at his now bare wrist, then he looks up at you in confusion.

“Jake told me where the key was,” you answer.

He frowns, but holds his tongue. That means at some point while Marc was still unconscious, Jake must've woken up without him being aware. Marc doesn’t love that. He’s still not completely at ease with Jake being around you. Especially when he’s unconscious and can’t keep an eye out to step in and protect you if something were to go wrong.

As if something hasn’t already.

Marc is such a hypocrite, talking about protecting you as if he isn’t the very wolf at your door, fangs poised at your throat.

Your thumb smooths over his knuckles, as you nudge his leg with your knees. “Should I make you some coffee? Maybe some breakfast. Can whip up some omelets for you.”

He shakes his head. “No I gotta get up. Try to catch that thing before it does more damage again.”

He should tell you to leave. It’s not safe for you here. But he knows you’re going to fight him tooth and nail over it.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” you say as you rise from the bed, “stay there for just a sec will you?”

You walk up to the Gus trio’s tank, sliding a few books around, and pick something up before you make your way back to him, holding an all too familiar brass-metal box in the palm of your hand outstretched to him.

He can see from the shape on the golden lid the puzzle sequence has been properly completed, just like that obnoxious Avatar had shown him. Locked and sealed.

“How did you–” he sputters out in shock as he eyes it.

“Steven sealed it for me.”

He blinks, feeling a little bit stunned as he takes the box from you. “How did you get it back in there in the first place.”

“You said that it liked small cramped spaces with a lid. I figured it couldn’t have gotten far from the flat like last time. So I just started opening every single item in the place with a lid. It hid in an empty shoebox this time.”

Marc grits his teeth. “That’s dangerous, it could’ve possessed you.”

You wave your hands dismissively at his concerns. “It’s alright. I had a fly-swatter,” you answer, like that answers everything and Marc’s just being silly.

“You what?”

“A flyswatter. I just swatted at it until it finally got back into the box. Had to chase it around the flat, reopening every jar and box in the flat for a good hour or so until it got the hint.”

He wants to scold you, want to point out everything that could’ve gone wrong and how you should have just ran out of the apartment and gotten yourself to safety. It’s a speech he’s made a hundred times before, but you never listened then either, and those times you didn’t have the upper hand with the argument, given that he passed out and you saved the day.

So he bites his tongue.

“Hey,” you say softly as your hand comes to cup his cheek. “Everything worked out fine alright? It’s a happy ending. You don’t have to look so sad.”

He bites the insides of his cheek. Flashes of you under him, soft and moaning, legs spread and wrapped around him, invading in startling technicolor.

“I’m…” he wants to say sorry, but the word won't come. His hand curls into a fist to his side with unease. “That shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let you stay and do that for me”.

“Marc, it’s not a punishment for me to have sex with you. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you by now, but I like having sex with you.”

He doesn’t answer you, just stares blindly at his feet at the end of the bed, as the guilt crawls in his gut and tries to consume him. Maybe he should let it. It’s what he deserves after all.

You scoot closer to him, an exasperated but fond look in your eyes as you take his hand in yours. “You see Marc, when two adults love each other very much,” you sing-song and start to jokingly explain to him about the bird and the bees.

Despite himself he can feel the smile tugging at his lips, and the gnawing anxiety fades a bit. You think you’re so fucking funny sometimes (and to Marc you are), but he isn’t going to let the laugh that wants to push up against his throat betray him. You meet his smile with your own, and that helps to take away the last of that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Can you promise me that next time something like this happens again, you won't run away… or lock yourself in the bathroom to deal with it all by yourself? We’ll handle it together alright?”

Marc meets the look in your eye. It's the same one that he keeps finding somehow even though he never quite understands why, of love and adoration for him.

A part of him wants to fight it, push it away because he doesn't deserve it... But your soft voice echoes in his ear. The weight of your arms wrapped around his shoulders still lingers from before. 'I love you', you had told him, and whether he deserves your love or not is maybe not the point. You love him regardless. And who is he to say no to you?

“Yeah,” Marc nods. “Together.”

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

Happy Moon-aversary everyone!!! I can't believe I'm still here a whole year after this show premiered. When I first saw that trailer with Oscar Isaac's strange british accent I remember telling @thirstworldproblemss I was sceptical and then I watched about 5 minutes of Steven on screen and went "oh no, I'm in love with this man" and the rest is history.

I hope you guys enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for taking the time to read it I appreciate all of you so very much.

Dedications and credit: To my co-worker, co-clown and the love of my life @thirstworldproblemss she's had a busy few months and she is everything to me please go over and send her some love if you have time!!!!

Also to my muse @guruan who draws horny sketches and the most inspiring artpieces that makes me write near 13k of blowjob for this man. That blowjob scene was particularly inspired by THIS sketch. Send her love! Send her reblogs, send her everything you have and more!

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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suguru-getos · 1 month

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Not sure if your requests are open or not, but if they are would you pretty please write a yandere Gojo who's darling is upset because he left her alone on her birthday to go "play" with his new best friend Geto instead? Like, he legit forgot it was anyone's birthday at all? But his darling tries to be sweet and understanding even though she's deeply hurt by him suddenly neglectjbg her so much? Pretty please and thank you. 😘🙏

Heyy!! I don’t take requests but I really like this prompt. Thanks for sending 🙇🏻‍♀️🩵 to be very honest Yandere Gojo would never forget his darling’s birthday. :DD Even normal Toru chan wouldn’t. ;))

Warnings: Toxic Toru :(( // Reader doesn’t really love love him but is in a major Stockholm Syndrome typa-thang. Forced fluff, implied sexual thingys.

You sighed, it’s been long past twelve and out of all the people who have wished you yet, Satoru isn’t one of them. It hurts because he could have gotten super mad and punished you for forgetting his birthday. Coming up with excuses thar you forgot the one person’s special day who should be meaning the most to you. A shiver runs through your spine to imagine the extent of his rage if that were to happen. Is it because you’re powerless compared to him? Is that why he doesn’t care about you? Why else would he go around Geto Suguru and not you.

Satoru comes back around 2 am, a little tipsy but you know he’s a lightweight so he must’ve not drunk much. He watches your tired eyes draping his form and raises a brow. “Aww, how cute? My Princess stayed up for me? You wanted to sleep with me that bad sweetheart?” Your lip quivered at his familiar, patronizing tone. It was your birthday. Your birthday! God damn it!

You looked down, trying to form the right words. “Toru, s’ my birthday today. I waited for your wish.”

It’s like he’s been anchored by the feet at rock bottom sea. He can’t breathe — surely he must not — oh fuck! He did. He forgot his sweet princess’ birthday… shit! “Oh- oh no- I’m so sorry! Oh no-” his beefy arms are quick to wrap around you, hugging you snug against his chest. “Please baby, m’ sorry. You never make a biggie out of it so I forgot.” He pouted, kissing your forehead and stealing apologetic kisses. You gnaw at your lip and looked down. “It’s okay, Toru.” Oh he knows it’s not okay.

Part of him dreads that you’d leave him & he doesn’t want to, but he’s close to acting out. “Are you going to leave me because of it, Cupcake?” He asks tenderly, though you know better & you’ve learnt better. “N-no! Of course not Toru. I’d never leave you.” You shake your head no like a trained bobblehead. Satoru takes a sigh, six-eyes trying to find out any hidden intents behind your words.

He sighed with defeat, “Pretty girl, I know, that was so careless and bad of me. Really bad. Let me make it up to you? I’d let you meet your friends!” He chirped. To live under Gojo Satoru means to live under his wing & his wing alone. He couldn’t care less if you’re lonely. All the more reason to ensure that your world revolves around him, no?

“Come here.” He craddles you against his lap, kissing your knuckles, your chin, your forehead, leaning in and kissing your clothed breasts. With Satoru, you’d never know how things might turn sexual. You do resist this time though, you don’t have the emotional capacity to endure this & be treated like a toy.

“I’m sorry Toru, can’t.” You leaned away with a subtle flinch. His brows furrow at the rejection but he knows he’s fucked up. “Alright Baby girl. I wouldn’t. Ssh~ let me make it up.” His phone comes out & he orders a cake — of course he would know your favorite flavor by now. He grins wide. “Thank god it’s still night ~ Tomorrow, I’m going to make sure you forget my fuck up! I promise!” He sounds so determined it helps you to feel less shitty. However the neglect still seeps through. Maybe because you’ve been living with him that he’s taking you for granted.

A snap of fingers shoves your trail of thoughts astray. “Ssh~ eyes here, mind here.” Satoru cooes, cupping your face and leaning his forehead against yours. “You know I love you, right? To the point of insanity.” It’s when he starts to get serious that makes you uncomfortable. You squirm a little at his words, nodding meekly.

“Then stop thinking wild thoughts or Toru has to be mean to your meanie thoughts & you wouldn’t like it.” He says it in such a delirious baby-talking way it makes you choke out on any thoughts whatsoever anyway. “Y-yeah..”

You know Satoru will make a big deal out of your birthday tomorrow. Might as well enjoy, even if it’s forced.

#gojo satoru #yandere gojo #yandere jjk #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #jjk comfort #gojo angst #gojo comfort

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pinguwrites · 17 days

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𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔' 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆 ⸻ Chapter Two

series masterlist. previous chapter. next chapter

𝒑𝙖𝒊𝙧𝒊𝙣𝒈 | francis mosses x reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 1.5k

Warnings: lowkey hating on a girl, mention of church and God bc it's the 50s and that's what they did

A/N: Would you guys rather me upload short chapters frequently or long chapters but it takes more time in between?

It was twelve in the afternoon, and you hadn’t seen Francis yet. You were worried that something had happened, maybe he got hurt in his apartment, hit his head and was bleeding on the floor, or maybe slipped and sprained an ankle, but you couldn’t just call his number to make sure — that would be unprofessional. Not only that, but the most likely case was that he left earlier than you got to work, which used to happen a lot when you first started working here.

In the meanwhile, you sat at your desk, trying to pass the time. There wasn’t much to do, and you found yourself thinking of Anastacha and what she had said last night. You reasoned with yourself that she was just getting your hopes up high. She was a little girl and didn’t know anything at all. But now that she had said what she said, you couldn’t get it out of your head. The thought of Francis liking you back . . . did he daydream about you like you did? Get nervous when talking to you? When he worked, did he miss your presence?

Ugh. How come he could torture you like this, consume your mind and heart without knowing what he was doing? It wasn’t fair. For once, you’d like for someone else to feel that way about you. To spend their every waking hour, every slumber, feeling the way you did.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the elevator bell rang. Attention perked, you hoped that it was Francis, and as if your wish was granted, it was.

He walked out, glancing over at you. You tried to look nonchalant, but inside your worries were relieved. So he was okay. Everything is fine.

Before he could approach you, however, he was blocked by another woman. You internally rolled your eyes as you saw Selenne strike up a conversation with him. The Svertch twins were models, quite famous, actually. They were well-known within the city. The most tiresome part of your job was probably shooing away the paparazzi, convincing them that it was another Selenne and Elenois who lived in Sama Place, not the celebrities they were thinking of.

Elenois was nice enough. She was a little full of herself, but you were sure that came with the job. After all, if you earned money just because of how pretty you were, you would have an ego as well. But her sister . . . oh, her sister was far worse. She was always rude to staff, making passive-aggressive comments all the time, and you knew for a fact that she didn’t like you. It may have been because you were a woman, and she didn’t like women very much, despite being one herself, but you were sure it had to do with much more than that.

When you thought about how grateful you were to work in a place like this, you always forgot about Selenne, and how miserable she made you feel. Maybe that was the price of having a reasonably good job. There was always a downside to everything.

You watched as she flirted with Francis. He looked mildly uncomfortable, a little stoic in his expressions, but that was how he always looked. What Anastacha said last night was true — he was nice, but a little aloof. Maybe he was enjoying whatever conversation he was having with Selenne, only it didn’t show on his face. You wondered if that’s how he looked when he was talking to you.

“Ah, there you are!”

You looked to the side and saw your boss approaching you. His name was Samuel Brogan. He was a rather short man, with a tanned complexion and thin lips. He had coarse, straightened hair, and a stubble on his chin. He was the one responsible for hiring you. He owned Sama Place — at least, he was in charge of this specific building.

“This is where I always am,” you responded, and he laughed.

“Sorry, darling. I don’t expect a person to be able to sit in that chair all day.”

You gave a polite smile. You never really liked Samuel, call it instinct, but he was your boss, so you had to be nice.

“You’re not busy this weekend, are you?” he asked, leaning his arms against your desk. Shifting uncomfortably, you glanced over at Francis again, but he was still talking to Selenne.

“I was planning on . . .” Not able to come up with a lie quick enough, you gave up. “Not doing much. I just want to go home and relax — it’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand. You’ve been a wonderful employee, I want you to have time for yourself.”

You stared. Where was this going?

“But I need you to work this weekend,” he finally said, and your heart dropped.

“I don’t understand. What about that teenager you hired?”

On Saturday, he didn’t need someone working full-time. Sundays were reserved for Church and God, obviously, so for that one day, he hired a kid who was willing to work with little pay to just sit at the desk and make sure everything was going smoothly.

“He got sick,” Samuel explained. “It’s just an extra day, and it’s only half your usual hours.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. You were sure you wouldn’t get any compensation for it, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Oh, and I need you to run a few errands for me,” he added, setting down a list of items in front of you. “Whenever you can, but have it by the end of this week.”

He left, and you sighed.

Picking up the list, you scanned through it. Wallpaper, a toolkit, canned fruit? Surely he didn’t expect you to pay for this out of your own pocket . . .

You folded the note and put it in your pocket, just in time for Francis to approach you. You looked around for Selenne, but she was already walking out of the building with sunglasses.

“What were you two talking about?” you blurted out, feeling immediately ashamed of yourself afterward. What were you thinking asking that kind of question? What would he think of you?

Francis looked taken off guard for a moment, but he answered anyway. “Oh, nothing. What were you and Brogan talking about?”

“Nothing,” you responded pettily.

It was quiet for a moment, that kind of awkward silence that you hated.

You relented. “Alright, he wants me to work tomorrow, and run some errands. That’s it.”

“Selenne was curious about my work. I told her that I had taken a day off and was going to visit my parents,” he said.

“Now, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” you teased, reveling in the way he averted his eyes.

“No, ma’am.”

God. The way he said it. He was so beautiful, in every possible way. Sometimes, you wished you could keep him in your room forever.

“Do they live nearby?” you asked. “Your parents, I mean.”

“Somewhat. I’ll be back before nightfall. I’m sorry Brogan is making you work the weekend. If you want, I’ll convince him to change his mind.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay. It’s not like I was planning to do much tomorrow. Just fix some furniture and do a bit of housekeeping.”

“Fix furniture?” he repeated. “I don’t think you should be doing that. You could get hurt.”

You giggled. “I’m not a dainty princess.”

He frowned. “I know. I don’t mean to undermine you. You’re a very capable woman. It’s just that . . . I would feel better if someone was there to help you.”

“Mhm. And who’s gonna do that?”

Francis looked up at you with expectant eyes. “I’m free Sunday.”

You paused, not believing what he was saying. Was he offering to come over to your place? Him? Inside your house? The place you slept and changed your clothes and took baths . . . Lord, you didn’t know if you could handle this intimacy. Was it even right? Oh, who were you kidding? You didn’t care if it was acceptable or not. If Francis was offering to spend time with you (help you fix furniture, but whatever) there was no way you were going to turn down that offer.

“Yes,” you said, more eagerly than you liked. “I could give you my address and you could stop by around eleven?”

He smiled. “Mmm. Alright, then,” he agreed. “I look forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.”

He gave a slight tip of his hat, a motion you could have fainted at had you not been sitting on a chair, and left, leaving you with nothing but the anticipation of this Sunday.

Imagine him — shirtless as he nails screws and lifts planks of wood. I’d give him cool lemonade as he worked and watch him as he wipes the sweat from his forehead . . . For the rest of the day, you couldn’t get the image out of your head. You greeted your neighbors as they walked by, and helped the occasional person with a problem, but all that was floating around in your head was Francis, Francis, Francis.

Taglist: @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #francis mosses x y/n #pinguwrites #that's not my neighbor #fanfiction #lovers' syndrome

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mrsackermannx · 7 months

Text

Honey, I’m home…

GOJO SATORU X FEM READER MDNI

tags: ceo/dad/husband gojo, smut, light degradation (use of slut twice), not pet play but he calls her a kitty, exhibitionism (gojo is on a zoom call), teasing, one shot.

wc: 3.7k

a/n: after the manga and the anime last week, this was needed for me to revive (an oldie from the drafts) 😭 not to mention spanish uni is kicking my ass so satoru is keeping me sane rn hahaha 🫣

Eating breakfast alone was seldom done in the Gojo household, because Satoru liked the kind of breakfasts that looked like they do in the movies.

An assortment of brightly coloured fruits and pancake stacks, his wife by his side, a smug grin on his face as he sipped his coffee and asked everyone what they’d be doing with their day. The odd dad joke or two, or more.

You snorted quietly at the thought, pausing at the fridge door. The kids were at Megumi and Yuuji’s, so they couldn’t tease you for being sentimental, or groan at the photos their embarrassing father insisted be plastered to the fridge.

Heart shapes, letters, bunnies, an assortment of magnets stuck decades worth of fond memories to the appliance. Your daughter’s first birthday, with Satoru at her side helping her blow out the candles, your second son’s first time at a water park on Satoru’s shoulders, last Christmas vacation in the Philippines.

Your eyes crinkled as you took notice of your favourite one, stroking the scrawl of Satoru’s handwriting on the Polaroid’s border. “Mr and Mrs Gojo.”

The polaroid was the lovesick image of you and Satoru in Italy for your honeymoon.

You can remember the warmth of the evening, and how pink the sunburn was on the tip of his nose. Oh how the sun had bronzed the nape of his neck, making his white hair all the more a stark contrast. His cologne was sweet and intoxicating as his large hands dwarfed your cheeks, as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. You could feel his smile as he did so, laughing at the cheers that engulfed you both. The faces visible behind you both were flushed and merry as your hands clasped.

One of your favourite photos.

Your husband’s position as CEO of his clan’s company afforded all the luxuries a woman and a family could desire. But sometimes everybody needed Satoru. There were nights you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, only to be left with cold sheets and him muttering into his phone down the hall at the crack of dawn, Ijichi beeping just outside already.

Satoru always told you to be selfish, to put yourself first, to be bold with your desires. But you found it hard to voice when you were feeling —greedy about him. When you were feeling so possessive you wanted to drive over to headquarters when he was doing overtime, and fuck him right in his office so everybody would know that work wasn’t his only priority.

He’d been gone a mere twelve days, and he went on these trips three times a year, max—granted. And Satoru normally had his best men on them but sometimes he had to go too.

You almost scalded your lap with tea when you heard steps clicking through the foyer. You held your breath waiting for a sunny and inevitable rendition of a ‘Honey, I’m home!’

Instead you heard the surely jet-lagged mumble of your husband instead. “I forgot about it because I was overseas Nanami! You know you ought to let loose if you really think I should’ve come straight to headquarters as soon as I landed!”

He was positively barking on the line when his suitcases reached a sudden halt and he saw a peek of you in the kitchen. You grinned, jumping to your feet to greet him though he only gestured to his phone with a tired smile.

You blew him a kiss and his shoulders slackened, finally dropping his bags. “Yes, bu-I’m already home! I’m not heading through traffic just to-“

You reclined back on your stool, grinning at him when he pointed an imaginary gun to his head at Nanami’s audible ranting on the other line.

“Fine, I’ll be on the call in five!” He ripped off his jacket and headed down the foyer, “Morning babe!” he boomed, “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

His voice echoed down the hall. When you reached him you stood at the foot of the stairs, your hands on your hips. You arched one brow before you spoke through gritted teeth, “No, you didn’t.”

The deep split of your robe was exposing the planes of your smooth skin, teasing slithers of your breasts and your belly button. He wanted nothing more than to get on his knees and worship you as if it were a holy day. He wanted your thighs swung over his shoulders, and his mouth right between them.

He mentally cursed at the thought, releasing a deep sigh into his palm. “You okay, sweetheart?”

He didn’t even have the time.

“Fine, and you?”

He could hear in your voice you were on the edge of asking something, asking for more. After so many years of marriage he could smell when a bad mood was brewing from you, better yet taste it.

He tried to fool you as if it were easy, that signature grin, a smooth click of those fingers. “Nothing! Just gotta sit in on this meeting, goddess.” He winked, “Let’s catch up in a bit.”

The entire interaction had left you dumbfounded, standing in the foyer and suddenly feeling lonelier than you did eating breakfast alone. Somehow.

“Gojo fucking Satoru,” you hissed to yourself. “Do not goddess me.”

Had someone replaced your husband with a clone? Satoru could have flown halfway across the world and back, after not seeing you for more than a day was enough to make him needier than ever. He always came back, desperate and ready to devour you.

You were unsettled, but quickly renewed with courage when you approached his study half an hour later and heard him speaking. His voice was back to its usual, chirpy and light.

You wavered for several seconds, loosening your robe before you slipped inside.

He was gesturing wildly with his hands, relaying the success of his trip no doubt. But when he saw you his eyes narrowed and then darkened.

You resisted a smirk when you heard Choso’s voice seconds later. “Why’d you turn your camera off?”

Then Toji’s, husky and bored. “We don’t have to see his smug face, do we?” he spat. “Anyway, I’m fucking falling asleep here. It’s early. You gonna continue or what?”

Satoru hummed, his voice now entirely reserved for you as his eyes were all over those bare thighs of yours. You were sprawled out on his chaise lounge and scrolling through your phone.

He cleared his throat, “Bad signal, sorry about that.”

His eyes didn’t leave you, not even once. You could feel his gaze all over your skin, as scorching as the sun as you stretched and yawned where you lay. Languid and feigning innocence as you arched your back slightly and felt your robe slip enough to expose your bare breasts.

You heard a sharp intake of breath and continued stretching this way and that. But after minutes of this torment and his various sighs to grab your attention you relented and turned a fraction.

Lust was pooling in those crystalline eyes, turning them dark. If they were usually like waves sparkling in the morning sun, they were now akin to a bottomless ocean with a crescent moon’s light.

A breath passed and you rose to your feet, mischief tipping the corners of your lips up into something erotic and enchanting to your husband. He tilted his head, asking a silent question as he hummed in agreement to whatever the hell Nanami had just said.

You shifted onto your knees and crawled between his legs and he smirked as if the sight amused him. You rested your cheek on his thigh, like a needy cat waiting to be played with. How dare you act as if you were waiting in apprehension when those eyes of yours said anything but.

His eyes finally flickered with warning, but not the red-light kind of warning, the kind that oozed with a dominance so overpowering that you bowed your head and took to quietly unzipping his pants.

His teeth clenched in anticipation before he jabbed at his keyboard to mute himself, and gave you his attention. “Bored, huh? I can give you something worthwhile to do, honey. Just wanted something to suck on? Yeah?” he cooed, his voice dripping so sweetly in condescension that it made your teeth hurt.

He chuckled when you nodded eagerly, running this thumb over your lower lip as he unbuckled his belt one-handed. “I know, baby. I know. Ready for me?”

You grinned, opening your mouth for him to push his thumb into it first. “Be good to me, yeah? I don’t wanna have to cut my meeting short because you think it’s funny to tease.”

He spoke to you as if he was saying something as mundane as remember to take an umbrella today. Rather than a man who was now loudly slapping the tip of his cock on the tongue of his needy wife during a conference call.

His low groans reverberated through your core, every inch of your skin waiting to be touched by your lover. The sweet and salty taste of him kissed your tastebuds and came with a rueful delayed reaction. At first it helped soothe the aching arousal between your legs but then it made you even needier.

“How’s that for my spoiled little sweetheart? Heh heh, like a needy little cat, aren’t ya? Licking up every last drop.”

“Not as needy as you,” you purred, pulling away just in time for his arousal to drip onto your lower lip. “Meow.”

His brows knitted together at the sight, his arousal was glistening and smeared all over your lips.

“No, no. Don’t,” he hissed, before his voice sweetened. “Swallow it for me, baby. I’ve gotta get back to work.”

He winked and put a finger to his lips before asking Geto to repeat whatever convoluted question that had been background noise just moments ago.

You smiled in glee around his dick when his voice wobbled the further you took him down your throat, doing your best to remain quiet just under his desk. But as usual, it was Satoru who threatened to blow your cover—as usual.

You swelled with pride when he threw his head back, Adam's apple bobbing frantically and his chest heaving back and forth.

It was Nanami who noticed first, interrupting Geto’s presentation when he hears a shaky breath stuttering through the laptop at the end of the conference table. “Gojo? Are we boring you?”

“Ah, no!” He scrambled forward so quickly he swiped a pot of stationery clean off his desk. Not without bumbles of laughter from the meeting room of men.

“Just…working out!” he managed through gritted teeth, one hand still cradling the back of your head and guiding your sweet and unforgiving mouth back and forth.

Toji sighed, the oldest of the men and the least naive. “You choose to do that shit now?”

Choso yawned, glancing toward an agitated Nanami. “What shit are we discussing?”

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You’d know if you weren’t asleep, and Gojo save the workout for after the meeting, please. Let’s proceed.”

“Not my fault, I had to stay up and help Yuuji cram for an exam,” Choso mumbled.

“Aww! Choso-nii!” Suguru laughed, “Satoru, are you hearing this?”

You were both momentarily so grateful for his team’s ability to bicker about anything down to the probability of rain that day, that you were bringing Satoru to heights of pleasure he’d not even dared anticipate. One he was laughably jet lagged and two he was in an incredibly important meeting but he couldn’t care less.

“Oh fuck, baby. Oh—juust like that!” he spluttered, unable to think about anything else other than the way you were flicking your tongue along his shaft. You sucked and rubbed your wet lips along that sensitive spot of his that made him whimper upon contact.

You fucking devil.

Suguru burst into laughter first, without Satoru’s arm the sounds of him slapping the table in his hysterics filled the room, then followed Sukuna’s laughter. “Is that pretty little wife of yours home by any chance?” he cackled, then Satoru was sure he heard Toji’s laughter but he was already too far gone.

He hissed as he pulled you off his cock, coughing to smother the audible popping sound. His teeth sinking into his lower lip at the lewd sight of saliva drooling down onto your chest. “I hate you,” he hissed in a whisper. Before muting the call to allow you both to compose yourself, whilst Nanami scolded the team.

Then he was ready.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, “Sorry about that! My wife was giving me a quick massage before she headed out for work. You know how much sleeping on aeroplanes messes with my neck, right Nanami? Please, proceed.”

The sooner this ended the better.

Sukuna snorted first, “Are you sure you weren’t fucking her?”

“Would you refrain from referring to my wife like that, Sukuna? You are already on two strikes, aren’t you?” Satoru’s voice was so short and stern that even Nanami held his breath.

“As I said, let’s continue.”

A chorus of “yes sir” had Satoru smirking down at you on the floor. His eyes locked on you as he made quick work of the mouse and pushed his keyboard aside, tapping the edge of your desk.

You sprang to your feet to sit, the air thick with tension as he untied your robe to reveal the bare skin beneath it. “Oh baby, just look at you,” he purred, bringing his chair closer just to marvel at the sight before him.

His large hands gripped your breasts, sucking and licking until you relaxed and sank your hands into his hair, guiding him to where you needed him most. He was eager to please, his eyes not breaking from yours for even a second as he leaned forward and kissed your pussy, grinning when he found you slick and dripping for him.

He suckled on your clit until you mewled, his lips fitted to the bud as his tongue swirled and licked until you were gasping out his name. “Gojo? So, how did you find their sales department?” Nanami exhaled, “Gojo?”

He broke from you with an apologetic grin, assuming that sharp CEO voice as he flicked his mic back on. “Yeah, as I told Yaga when I was there the energy was not quite what I expected. It was interesting to see how their team implemented the techniques in which…”

But his words were lost on you, your teeth sunk into your lip as he flicked the tips of his fingers against your swollen clit. The movements were so deft and precise that they were turning your brain into mush, but they were also so tortuously light that you couldn’t handle it anymore. Heat rushed to your cheeks. Your eyes clamped shut.

Satoru removed his hand, tapping your thigh to grab your attention. He pointed to his cock with a smirk. “Ride me,” he mouthed. “Now.”

“Choso, how was your trip to Kyoto? Did you manage any meetings with the execs?” he continued, squeezing the backs of your thighs whilst you grabbed the base of him and hovered above his cock.

“Well, I took my brother so I didn’t have a lot of time to….”

You shook your head, gulping when he flicked his finger across that mouse pad once more.

“Ah? You gonna leave me hanging? That’s cruel, darling. More my style than yours. But as long as you keep quiet, we shouldn’t have a problem.” His voice was silky, and just ever so slightly mean, but it aroused you and he knew it. “Can’t have them hearing you like this, baby. Like you’re some kind of slut.”

“Satoru, I won’t be able to be quiet, I can wait till after I-“

He tutted, sweeping his hands under your thighs as his gaze hardened. “You clearly can’t, so come on darling, sit on it for me, yeah? You know I hate these fucking meetings so help me get through it and fuck me.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, until you were letting him take full control of your mouth.

“I’m just so tired baby, need you to take care of me,” he moaned into your lips. “I know you can, baby. I know your pussy needs me inside, huh?” he cooed, rutting his cock against your slicked cunt.

“Yes,” you whimpered, pulling away to find his his cheeks dusted with pink and his eyes barely open,

“Yeah?”

You nodded, slotting one arm around his neck whilst you guided him to your cunt and began to sink down on him. “Oh fuuck,” he cursed, his voice leaving him in short hot bursts of air against your neck.

“That’s it baby, go on. You’re gonna have to move for me baby. Go slow for me. Fuck me, touch me.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he guided your hands under his shirt, feeling your touch like this was enough to make him come sometimes. “Baby, fuck me. Come on.”

“Can’t. I’ll be noisy,” you whined, only a few inches full but yet struggling to focus on whatever Choso was rambling about and then promptly being interrupted by Geto and then Sukuna.

“You’ve gotta make this up to me baby, didn’t touch myself the entire time I was away. You’re gonna make me lose it. This is your fault.”

“M’ sorry! I thought you wanted it. You were hard already!”

“I always want you, baby. I always want it. Let me show you.”

He lifted his hips and filled you in one fluid moment, both of your voices embracing in one sweet and lengthy moan. Before he was moaning with every thrust, “Cause you were prancing around my office looking too pretty like that baby, I’m about to show you just how much.”

Your pussy clutched him so tight at the praise he groaned and found his lips landing on your own with a magnetic, desperate pull from within his heart. How lucky he was to come back home to you.

“Good girl, you knew exactly what I wanted, knew I wanted to come home and fuck you just like this.”

He watched your pussy drool down his cock as you moved up and down on it, tentative and hungry for him. Your pupils were blown wide, like you were drunk on him, like you had been waiting for the moment you could be like this with him.

It made his cock twitch, the sensation making you quiver and smother your noises into your palm. You stopped, his full length sheathed inside of you, the relief and pleasure that contorted your features was truly beautiful, the sight he’d been waiting for. You tried desperately to catch your breath, “Need a second.”

He brought you closer, wrapping an arm around your back as he whispered. “Huh? You needy little thing, I thought you couldn’t—fuckin’—wait.” Each word was separated by a breath as your cunt fluttered from his low, and reprimanding tone. “No way. No.”

He felt so good. He was filling you so well.

He flicked himself of mute to hum along to Toji’s thoughts of Choso’s pitch. But his breaths were growing more and more laboured. You turned to see Nanami’s face growing pink. “You falling asleep there or pumping one out before you crash man?” Sukuna asked.

“Sorry! I just—” His chest heaved, and he closed his eyes to take a breath just as your pussy was teasing his tip, so close but not close enough. You grinned as you took revenge and slammed down on him all at once, “Oh fuck!” he groaned.

“Sleeping on that plane really got my neck, just had to crack it.”

Toji leaned to look into the camera a huge smirk on his face, “Is your fucking wife with you?”

“What, of course not,” he answered, his pants surely audible the other end. “In the gym actually.”

“Are you serious?”

“Carry on with the meeting I don’t have all day.” That was his no bullshit tone. The sound of it making you throb so wildly he was all smug, a little ‘hmph’ leaving his lips as he muted the call once more.

Nanami stiffened, “Yes sir, Ijichi proceed.”

“You’re gonna pay for that, darling,” he breathed, locking your hips in place so he could pound up into you with ruthless precision. You were a whimpering mess, arms around his neck squeezing impossibly tight as you had no other choice but to take all he was offering.

“Toru, Toru! Toru!” Your voice climbed higher with every thrust, the lewd sounds of your moans only amplified by the high walls of his slick, black study.

“Please, m’ sorry. Gonna come, gonna make a mess,” you cried.

“Oh yeah? I know you will.” His thumb started on your clit, rubbing tight little circles that had your lower half jolting and squirming, as his cock hit that spot like a hammer to a nail. All too perfect, all too precise, like everything your husband did.

Closer and closer, until you were pulling on his hair, body coated so much in sweat your hands resigned to clawing down his nape instead.

“Please!”

“No baby, make a fucking mess. How could I ever say no to my wife? They all know it, you know it.”

“Important meeting…Nanami’ll get mad at me! He’ll know!”

“Fuck Nanami, fuck work, fuck everyone. Focus on me. Go on, oh? Too much?” He laughed, kissing down your throat. “You can cry baby, fuck yourself on my cock like there’s no fucking tomorrow,” he growled.

“Use me, use me, use me.”

You finally bursted but Satoru was still moving his hips like the sadist he truly was. “Feels too good doesn’t it baby, doesn’t it?”

He laughed at the fluids covering your thighs and soiling his pants. “Fuuck, baby you’re so hot.”

Kissing your temple fondly, you both startled as you came back to reality. “Gojo!”

His fingers made quick work of his mouse. “Sorry! Sorry! I had to take an important call.”

“But um, listen I’m gonna have to go.”

Luckily for him you’d slowed down so he could finally get his breaths even, chuckling and trying to sound as blasé as he could muster. “I’ve really gotta go! Nanami, update me, yeah!”

He ended the call before they could even complain.

You stood, legs shaking as you leant over to grab your robe. But Satoru was already gripping your ass from behind, “Where do you think you’re going? Shall I put another baby in ya this morning? You’re in heat after all. Clearly three aren’t enough, huh?”

He mounted you over his desk, his chest flat against your back as he filled you up all at once. “Why you so wet for, huh?” he groaned, already hitting that spot inside you that had you whining. “Because you’re a needy little slut who sucked me off—whilst I was busy working—or from squirting all over me and the desk? Come on baby! Tell me?”

#divider by @rookthornesartistry <3 #minors do not interact #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fanfic #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #being satoru’s needy wife is just my fave thing to write <333 #my loverboy <33 #he has a dirty mouth in this one hehehehe

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