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taintandviolent · 8 months

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howlin' for you ; Kai Anderson x reader

summary: Winter throws a Halloween party, Kai dresses up as a werewolf, and “hunts” you, one of Winter’s hotter friends. How cute, you dressed up like a cat for the party. He knows that masked, it’s the only way you’d ever consider fucking him. w a r n i n g s: 3.4k words! hard to get!reader, dubcon / slight non-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, rough blowjobs, handjobs, mask kink, mentions of fucking in animal costumes, animal noises, despite all that this isn't a furry fic. a/n: [🎃 part of #lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] baby's first Kai fic... be gentler than he was to reader. full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You peel your eyes open, reaching blindly for the flat, room-temperature can of soda on the floor.

“Hello?”

A pause. You take a sip.

“Hey Winter. Yeah… yeah, I’m still coming.”

She asks if you decided on a costume.

“Yeah, I’m going to wear that kitty outfit. The one with the fur on the tummy.” You sniff, and add: “Is your fuckin’ weirdo brother going to be there?”

Winter pauses. “Yeah, Y/N… we live in the same house. I can’t lock him in his basement.”

“I fucking will, then.”

“Go for it.”

You hang up the phone.

You take a deep breath and open the door. It’s crowded and there’s bodies everywhere; undulating to the music or clustered in corners. The room smells like the inside of your trick-or-treat bag as a kid; a melange of candy, fabric and latex. There’s a fog machine going in the corner, and it hisses as you walk by.

Winter has decorated the place adorably; black and orange streamers hang from every corner and are stretched across the entire living room. There’s bowls of candy on the coffee table, flanked by little paper table toppers of various spooky characters. As you walk by, you flick one, smiling as it bobbles back and forth.

You saunter across the living room, swaying your ass back and forth. You felt hot; the little sexy kitty decision had been a good one. So far, the Grease Lord hadn’t made his presence known - maybe he locked himself in the basement and didn’t want to play with Winter’s friends. Good.

Your head turns back and forth, surveying all the costumes. Most of them are minimal effort, but you appreciate the fact that they came dressed up at all. Better than the alternative of showing up in a ‘This is my costume’ t-shirt. One costume in particular catches your eye. Big werewolf. It’s a good costume; he’s got the whole ripped and shredded clothing thing going on, boot covers, gloves with claws and fur… this dude at least put in a little more effort than the guy wrapped in nothing but a sheet and telling people he’s Caesar.

Wolf stands in the corner, leaning against the wall and offering a nod to anyone who interacts with him. Whether or not that’s a part of his wolfish act, or just the bland personality of the dude in the costume, you aren’t sure. His head turns slightly, and you assume that he’s clocked you. You cover your mouth with your kitty mittens in a dramatic gasp as you pass him, amping up the scared kitty act. You throw in a little hiss as you round the corner. Very cute.

You head for the punch bowl, hoping that Winter made it because whenever Winter makes the drinks, they're good. Much to your relief, she’s actually there, refilling it. Sick. She’s dressed as a fallen angel and the black feathers on her wings flutter as she leans over the bowl.

“Meeeeooooow,” you say, swiping at her halo with your furry mittens. She immediately recognises you and grins, happy that through all of your party fatigue from last night, you still made it to her party, too. You pull her in for a hug, swaying her back and forth. Winter was never a hugger, but you decidedly were, and made a show of it every time.

“Have you seen Kai yet?” She asks, almost nervously as she hands you a cup with red liquid quivering at the top. You take a large gulp, savouring the perfect blend of punch and alcohol.

“Oh, so he is here. Great .” You take another sip. “But no, thank god. He seems like the type to hate cats, so hopefully he’ll leave me alone.”

She quirks a brow, questioning your statement.

“Nevermind.” Not a conversation you were ready for. When you turn to look back at the wolf in the corner, he’s gone. There’s something in your gut that gives you pause, but you chalk it up as a disappointment that the wolf had lost interest in his feline prey.

“I’m gonna’ mingle,” you say, wiggling your fingers at her.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Oooh, that’s no fun.” You frown. “If you see Kai, tell him I hate him, pretty please.”

Winter looks uncomfortable. Underneath all his cringey faults, he is still her brother and your hate for him has always been extreme. She wondered if it’s something else… something less about trying to convince yourself to be nice to him and more about trying to convince yourself to hate him. She’d never dare say that to your face, though.

As you wander, there’s a few people you recognise and hold meaningless conversations with. That is, until the wolf is in your peripheral again. He’s holding a cup, but not drinking from it. Probably because he couldn’t… not without taking his mask off. Which, given his current objective, seemed counterproductive. Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and you were curious… so you ended your current conversation, darted around the corner, and picked up a casual one with a mutual friend. Thomas? Brad? Despite digging your fingers deep into your brain, you couldn’t recall the poor bastard’s name. It didn’t matter; your eyes flitted back and forth, surveying your surroundings. Not more than a minute later, he was there again, nestled into the opposite corner. Close enough that you could see him, but far away enough that you wouldn’t notice, if you weren’t paying attention. Fortunately for him, you were. Your heart skipped a beat, thudding behind your ribcage.

“Hey, hold that thought - I’m gonna’ get more punch.” They can hardly hear you over the heavy music, but nod anyway.

You race back to the kitchen, and before you get there, the wolf is waiting at the archway, one arm braced up against it. You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling an unmistakable heat in your belly. This chase is turning you on.

Shit.

“Here, kitty-kitty….”

His voice sounds familiar; it’s throaty, but there’s a medium-pitched bite to it. You can’t place it, try as you might. “Do I know you?”

He shakes his head very slowly and very honestly, the little faux-fur fibres around his ears swaying with the action. You believe him, or pretend you do, because the concept of fucking some random werewolf-masked individual is way hotter than finding out it was some dork you met twice at another party.

You turn sharply on your white high heels, and start walking in whatever direction isn’t inundated with people. Regrettably, that’s headed towards the basement. You can feel him rampaging, gaining on you, hearing his heavy steps creaking behind you. For a second, you’re almost afraid. He barks low and catches up to you faster than you anticipated, and when he backs you against the wall, he pins your arms above your head with one hand. His chest heaves as he stares at you, waiting for you to say something. You don’t. Instead, you lean your head against the wall, laughing towards the ceiling. The steps to Kai’s weirdo basement are directly to your right. You hear the TV downstairs, immediately assuming it’s something political. Maybe he’ll hear you fucking this guy. You hope he does. You really do — and you hope it irritates the hell out of him.

“Ohhh, who’s a big bad wolf?” You yank one of your hands free of his grip to feel his boner outside of his tattered jeans. It’s thick and hot, so you stroke it a little. He gives you a throaty ‘Awwooo’ and involuntarily bucks his hips into the palm of your hand, forcing heavier friction. The chase must’ve got him going. It got you going, that’s for sure. You can feel your cunt aching, and clenching every time he thrusts into your hand.

You move your hand away, pulling an angry groan from the werewolf. With a smile, you run your fingers deeply through the little tuft of grey and white fur that’s peeking out from his flannel. Fur grinds against fur as he humps your hand, heavy breaths echoing from inside the mask.

“Big…. Bad wolf…” you say again, sniggering. You’re delighted by his horny aura. That was one thing about Winter’s punch — it was strong. “You want me to blow your house down?”

He nods, and you sink to your knees, watching as he makes quick work of his jeans. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart and reaches into his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. It bounces heavily in front of your face, beads of clear collecting at the slit. Your tongue darts out of your mouth, running along the ridge on the underside of his cock before reaching the tip, and lapping the pre-cum up like the good little kitty you are. It’s heavy on your tongue, so you alleviate some of the weight by grabbing it.

His cock is hot to the touch when you grip it, and you revel in the way the warm, supple skin moves beneath your grip. You roll your fingers one by one over the tip of his cock, playing with it. He groans above you, looking down as far as the mask will allow. When it’s not enough, he bends forward, arching over you.

He has a better visual now, and his chest starts to heave with every pass of your fingers. When the teasing becomes too much, he takes a fistful of your hair, and yanks it back. Your silky hair slips easily through the rubber claws, so he pauses, and rips the gloves off, tossing them down the stairs. You hope Kai trips over them. He grips your hair again, much harder this time and forces your gaze upwards to stare at him. Stare up at the beast who could annihilate you, kill you if he wanted to. Your cunt flutters, hot and wet and leaking into the polyester fibres of your costume.

He pinches your jaws, applying pressure to force them open. His grip strength is fucking insane, and you wince, letting out the tiniest mewl. His other hand hangs at his side, and the veins are swollen, trailing up into the sleeve like thick roots. Satisfied with the way that your pretty little mouth hangs open, waiting and eager, he grips himself and wastes no time. He slaps the tip of his cock onto your tongue over and over again, before pulling your head towards it. Your throat immediately seizes up, but you force it to distend, to relax. A wave of icy panic settles over you like someone’s draped a sheet over your shoulders. He’s going to throat fuck you. You see his eyes darting around your face, watching your mouth, your eyes…

Your eyes immediately begin to water as his meaty dick violates your mouth; pressing into the back of your throat, bumping into your cheeks to stretch them out, grazing along your teeth when your jaws involuntarily close in hopes of hindering his thrusts. It doesn’t work. Both hands are pressed against the wall, fingers splayed out. He pounds into you, slipping in and out of your perfect little throat.

He fucks it harder, groaning louder and louder. The hollow sound of his cock hitting the back of your throat almost sends him over the edge. Your breath is sticky with his pre-cum, and every time you try to pull your head back for a reprieving gulp down, he slams his hips into your mouth, bumping the back of your skull against the wall with a thud.

Desperate, you reach up, wrapping your slender fingers around his cock, tightening around the base until he pulls away, looking down at you.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You ask, putting on your best coy kitty voice in hopes that it will end the merciless barrage on your throat. Your words are congealed and messy, airways still coated with his fluids. He considers this for a moment, a whole slew of thoughts playing out. Finally, he nods, and hastily brings you to your feet.

Grateful that the diversion was working, you reach down between your legs, finding the cloth covered zipper and pull it open. It was added for convenience, and it certainly served that purpose as the werewolf guided his heavy cock into your wet, waiting slit. At first, he toys with it, smearing his head over your puffy, sensitive clit and pulling desperate, whining gasps from your mouth every time he drags it upwards. But soon, that isn’t enough for him, and he buries himself in you, plunging his cock to the base. The stretch of your walls, your cunt doing her best to accommodate his girth, had you crying out. He was bigger than you’d prepped yourself mentally for, but at least your pussy was gushing with lubrication, ready for every bit of what he had to give you.

He found his speed quickly, humping you with reckless abandon. Trying to find something - anything to use as leverage to hold onto, your fingers slipped into the slit on the backside of the mask, toying with almost shoulder length strands of hair. They’re soft, and slightly wavy. Wait. Not that other guys couldn’t have wavy hair, but the thought is too overwhelming. Lightning fast, you reach for the mask, pulling it up just above his chin and Kai’s vascular hand catches yours, holding it tight. The visual is enough for you to realise.

“No fucking way.”

Immediately, he yanks the mask back down over his face and cups his hand over your mouth, suppressing the scream that he knew was coming. He’s pressing hard enough that the cartilage in your nose begins to ache. You stare hard into the eyes of the werewolf, breathing heavy through your nostrils as you’re seeing what you hadn’t seen before. Those dark, almost black brown eyes staring back at you. The same ones that you’d seen roll at you or glare at you so many times before. The same fucking ones.

You heard his chuckling breath behind the mask. He leaned forward, pressing the latex nose against your ear and began panting into it obnoxiously, like a dog. His thrusts matched his breath, his rock hard cock pounding up into you remorselessly.

You wrestle away from his hand, freeing your mouth enough to speak. “Get your fucking dick out of me, Kai.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He thrusts harder and crams his fingers in your mouth, as though he’s pulling your next words from your throat. You bite down and he groans through clenched teeth. You feel his cock twitch inside you. He likes this.

“Is that what you really want? Say it and I’ll stop.”

You struggle with the words, they won’t leave your lips the way you want them to. You can feel your own arousal leaking down your thighs in response to the way his dick is hitting every spot.

“I knew it. Always have.”

That infuriated you, but you couldn’t argue. Not with his fingers in your mouth, or the veins of his thick cock massaging your insides better than any of your dildos at home did.

“I knew you didn’t hate me,” he started. You could hear it in his voice that one of his egocentric, mansplaining, delusional monologues was on the way. Usually, you’d just roll your eyes at Winter and turn to your phone, but he had you in a position where you had to listen. He liked that, too. You let out a loud moan as he hammered inside of you, hoisting one leg up to your chest.

“The opposite, actually. You act like such dumb little slut around me, so angered by everything I do. I see through it. Your act. Much like waving a bloody steak in front of a hungry dog, your salivating is irrepressible.”

Did he really just say what you thought? “Listen, you piece of —“

He forces you to cut yourself off with another moan, pressing your leg farther into your chest. Your cunt swallows him whole with every thrust, and the hatred you have for him is leaking out of your pussy and along your thighs.

You slam your head against the wall, letting your neck go slack. It feels so good, Kai feels so good.

“Say it, say you fuckin’ like it…”

You shake your head. You won’t give him that satisfaction. His bare hand rears up, and comes down across your face. Your cheek burns with stinging, searing pain before you even have time to process that he’s just slapped you - backhanded you with months of pent up rage and frustration. Enraged, you reach for the mask, yanking it off and tossing it down the stairs where it tumbles to the bottom step. His greasy strands are separated with sweat, and a sheen of it covers his shapely nose and forehead. There it is; the face that was the receptor of so many insults, so much hatred. Every time you saw it, you ran your mouth like a schoolyard bully with a crush.

“I will fucking kill you….” Anger dribbles out of your mouth like spit. You wanted him to see you say that unobstructed.

“Yeah?” Kai challenges, reaching down to thumb your clit like the joystick of a game controller. He’s smiling, absolutely delighted by your intrinsic, feminine anger. Your recalcitrance fuels him further, and he bucks his hips up into your cunt, the head of his cock bumping deep into you, as far as it can go. You writhe under his grip, clenching your teeth. It almost hurts, but he’s building it, faster and deeper, and the burning coil in your stomach winds tighter. It burns just above your bladder. You feel like you have to piss, and Kai says,

“Defiant little slut.”

Seconds later, you’re losing it over his cock, your orgasm splashing over his jeans and your furry legs.

He doesn’t stop fucking you and within a few thrusts, you’re so severely overstimulated that your legs are quivering. Briefly, you become aware of the Halloween music that’s playing out in the living room. A salty ribbon of sweat drips into your eyes, stinging.

“S-stop, fuck… stop.”

He ignores you and keeps fucking you, drilling your swollen cunt like it’s a tournament and he’s determined to win it. And when he does, Kai grips your throat and holds your jaw in place. He assertively holds your gaze as he shoots his hot, thick load into your weeping pussy, making sure you wished that you hadn’t taken the mask off.

His once prevalent boner was now fading away, and Kai stuffs it back into his jeans, keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer before he turns and casually descends his basement steps. He stops to pick up the mask, swinging it back and forth like a child’s toy.

Doused in sweat and anger, you want to collapse to the floor and scream. Instead, you zip yourself up, wiping your slick fingers off on your thighs, and somehow manoeuvre around the crowds to the bathroom. You reel around and lock the door, before turning to the sink.

You brace yourself, holding yourself over the sink’s basin. You look at yourself in the mirror; your cute little whiskers are smeared on one side, and streaks of mascara are running down your cheeks in its place. Your black nose is rubbed off, undoubtedly smeared in Kai’s bush of pubic hair. Fucker. Your pink lipstick is practically gone, the only remnants are a faint hue around the perimeter.

As you stood there in Winter’s bathroom, head hanging over the sink, you searched for the disgust, panicking as you rifled through your mind to find the inevitable horror that you were going to experience. You were ruined by that cringe monkey — he violated you. Right? You waited for the gag, the vomit even, to hurl itself up your throat. That was what was supposed to happen after something like that… wasn’t it? The disgust? The anger?

But it wasn’t coming. In fact, something much more alarming had settled in its place. Your cunt still felt warm, and you rubbed your thighs together, smearing the mixture of cum into the soft kitty fur. You felt invigorated. You hadn’t been fucked like that…. Ever. You heaved a sigh of relief like someone who had been submerged underwater, and was suddenly let up.

You reach into your discreetly placed thigh pocket and pull your phone out, hurriedly swiping past the notifications that flooded your screen. You pull up Messages, and tap on Winter’s icon. She’s in your pinned contacts, a favourite.

I found your brother

You hit send.

Almost immediately, the status went from delivered to read, but Winter didn’t reply. You know why, and she knows why.

You might’ve hated Kai. But your pussy didn’t.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy /

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#Kai Anderson #Kai Anderson x reader #kai anderson x you #kai anderson x yn #AHS smut #lizzieshalloweenfics #myfics

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belphies-hands-around-my-throat · 6 months

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Lucifer, Belphie, Levi NSFW - The Kinks They Discovered With You/Because of You

Hello there, sweets! Happy Halloween!! 🎃

And thank you for deciding to follow this blog lol. I'm honestly kind of surprised with the engagement lol.

This is a bit late but the day has been busy haha. I hope you like my first released NSFW for this blog... And since it's Halloween, I'm not holding back on kinks~~ Sorry, if it's not up to your standards, I am very tired. 🙈

Lucifer - Cockwarming

Well, he was surprised with this because… To put it simply, he never liked mixing pleasure and work. Before you, he would always get annoyed with someone as much as trying to hit on him in a professional setting. But you… You were different. You were there for him, you supported him, and he trusted you. He knew you wouldn't let him fail, and wouldn't get in the way of responsibilities, even if he sometimes wanted you to. Would stay all night doing his work for him, if he felt overwhelmed.

It was your idea. You thought it would be relaxing. Truth be told, he didn't exactly buy it. But he would indulge you, just this once if not again and again if needed.

He would get distracted at first, feeling your warm tight hole around his cock. If he had will any weaker, he would give it up right then and there.

But he had self-control.

He leaned into it, scratching line after line into the paper.

And after a while, he discovered… It really was relaxing in a way. Your presence often had that effect on him but this… Closeness, and intimacy, even when he was otherwise distracted. Somehow… He felt completely calm.

He would lean back in his chair sometimes, push his hips further into your willing mouth, and run his gloved fingers gently through your hair.

It felt good. In a way that was different than sex, or cuddling.

Something in between.

"What a good little pet." He would whisper, unwilling to break the sleepy trance you seemed to find yourself in. "You really knew me better than myself there. Good job."

Belphegor - Dacryphilia

Oh boy. He has a complicated relationship with this one. Here's the thing he always knew about himself - he liked to be somewhere on the "mean in bed" spectrum. He perhaps had more appreciation for tears than he ought to have before. But. You were and remain to be different.

It started for him when he was still stuck in the attic, after meeting you. He would fantasize about his brother's reaction a lot at the time. And your reaction, inadvertently, as well. He imagined how satisfying and thrilling it would be to see the look of betrayal and surprise on your face. And then he started seeing you more and more. It was only natural you appeared in his mind more and more. He wanted to see you crumpled on the floor, looking up at him with pleading eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks. He wanted to tangle his hands in your hair, bring you to his level, and lick them off your face.

Except not really. That would have been gross. You were a human, he would never do anything so dirty.

He wanted, for a second, to be your God and then crush you under his heel.

It was't sexual. Really, it wasn't! So what if he woke up with an aching dick a few times after those dreams. He was just… Excited. It happened. No way he would think of a human in this way. Gross, downright disgusting.

Later though… After his plan had been realized, he found out he was an idiot for punishing you in this way, for something that was never your fault.

Well, it… Still wasn't sexual. Now your tears would make his stomach throb, and he only wanted to wipe them away. Tear apart the person that caused them. They lost their appeal after he was the cause behind them one time too many.

Or so he had thought.

He did not expect the fantasy to come back. He did not expect that him teasing you, looking up at him with a pouting flushed face, tears in your eyes, would make him feel like he was on the highest point of a rollercoaster again.

Truth be told, he felt guilty. Probably not as guilty as he ought to be though (because… He didn't need to crush you, not in the same way. You could be safe, and his, and not really suffer and break for them to flow. And hell, if that happened, he was there to protect you now. You didn't need to bear them alone now.) because he kind of… Indulged.

He would tease you, even if he knew some things would make you terribly shy. Playfully deny you when you wanted to touch him, or just play with his things. Stop at the last moment, when he knew you were just so close to cumming. Overstimulate you on purpose, when he knew you already did.

"So cute." He would breathe against your face, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright, your face caught between his soft and warm hands. "I can never get enough of it. Cry for me, just a bit more…"

Leviathan - Public+Voyuerism? Being a perv lol

Throughout his years on the planet (and various released hentai), Leviathan had a lot of sexual fantasies. Honestly, there wasn't a lot he couldn't find conceptually hot in one way or another… Well, this was it.

It was just… So embarrassing. The mere idea that he could be found out in any way was so utterly mortifying, that he sometimes had trouble with it, even within the context of his own fantasy. Let alone actually trying. He would always find himself embarrassed of PDA, screeching when something had even the tiniest potential of turning him on, turning away from revealing clothes, terrified of being called a pervert…

In retrospect, maybe that's why after all this, he found public to be such a turn-on in reality.

All the repression… Seeing you wear shorter and shorter skirts, lower necklines, coyly flashing him when you noticed him staring, pretending like you didn't notice but not only accepting his perverted gaze but revelling in it… He was never so turned on in his entire life.

The idea that you would see him as this dirty otaku pervert, see him like this and like it… He couldn't get enough of it.

He got a bit brave after a while. Not only staring but subtly brushing his chest against your back, smelling your hair, rubbing his bulge against your ass or thighs just for a moment in the school halls, before he would seriously die on the spot… Pretending like all this was just some freaky accident.

Slowly trailing his finger higher and higher on your leg while waiting in line, beyond titillated with the way your skirt hiked up, and you just stood there, red-faced, and took it.

He once couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand the thought of getting found out that riled up, and took you to the public bathroom. He covered your face with his large palm, and thrust between your thighs, with your panties lowered just beneath your ass, slowly getting wet with both of your arousal.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He would frantically chant in your ear, barely louder than a whisper. "Just for a little longer… Just let me for a little longer…"

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sserpente · 6 months

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Memories to Enemies 🎃

Synopsis: The TVA is no more—not like it was before, anyway. When the multiverse breaks free, Loki finds himself back where he belongs, on the verge of claiming the throne of Midgard and this time… this time he finishes what he started. But while he’s gained so much, he’s lost even more, for there was one thing the chaos of the timelines had not fixed—it hasn’t brought you back to him. You, the mortal he had refused to fall for until he realised it was too late all along. He never stopped searching for you after Thanos snapped his fingers and now, with so many timelines at the tip of his fingers and a tempad in his pocket… you were out there somewhere and he will find you. But when he finally does… he realises that not only are you the leader of the very rebels aiming to end his ruling, you are a Variant. And you don’t remember him.

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, people! 🎃 Requests from two anons. There are no spoilers for Season 2 in this. I’ll have some more spooky Halloween Imagines coming up this week (I hope), I just didn’t manage to get any writing done as I had initially planned because I spent the whole weekend queueing at Comic Con, haha!

Words: 2407 Warnings: smut

Additional NSFW warnings: edging, very light dub-con

“The rebels are causing trouble again, my king.”

“Which is to say you are unable to deal with a bunch of disobedient humans?” Loki looked up, legs spread on the makeshift throne in what used to be Stark Tower. He lifted his chin, his menacing glare all but intimidating the former politician, now reduced to nothing more than a lackey.

“N-no, of course not. I just thought you should know. They… they made it to the lower levels of the tower last night.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, leaning forward a little. “Who did?”

“The rebels, their leader… we caught her face on camera but… security managed to overwhelm them. I believe they were trying to plant explosives somewhere in the building.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re being held in the cellars.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You should have led with that, you fool. Send them up. No… bring me their leader. I believe it is time we have a little chat about where her… loyalties lie.”

The politician nodded and excused himself. Silence filled the room after he left and Loki sat back again and sighed. Those rebels were hardly a threat to him but if they had made it to the tower… he would have to up his game and patch the holes in his security. A spell or two should suffice. Possibly something that would make any uninvited guest grow mushrooms all over their body should they trespass.

If only… he sighed once more. If only he had you by his side. You had always loved this time of the year, made him hand out sweets for children and carve out pumpkins. After all this madness… he still had not found you again. You had been snapped away in the sacred timeline, so he had found out… and even though the now-forgotten Avengers had reversed the titan’s doing, you remained unfound, out of his reach. Wherever you were… he would tear every single timeline apart until he had you back by his side. Would you be overjoyed, to see him where he belonged? On the throne, ruling as he was meant to be?

“The prisoner, my king.” The politician returned after the metal elevator doors swung open yet again, dragging with him a young woman who carried herself quite regally despite her predicament. She lifted her head, her hair revealing her face…

Loki’s face dropped. It was you. You… you were the rebel foolishly trying to put an end to his reign? Desperation and relief paired with anger and disappointment, the sadness that had been residing deep in his heart after he had lost you not quite going away. Something was off.

“Leave her here. Get out.”

“No security, my king?”

“I can handle a mortal woman. Now get out.”

The politician nodded and left without another word all the while you kept on staring at Loki as if you were ready to plunge a dagger into his chest any moment. You probably were—and it broke his heart a lot more than he would have liked to admit.

Your eyes widened when he spoke your name. “So you already know me then.”

“Know you? I have been looking for you for years, pet.”

You blinked. “Pet?”

Loki’s face fell when he realised. You did not know. You did not recognise him. You did not… love him yet. It mattered little, now did it? He would make you love him again, he would restore your memories. Were you a Variant? Had you met him? Had Thanos’ horrors taken your memories? He had to find out, needed to find out.

“You will not believe me, of course. But you were in love with me. I lost you when Thanos snapped his fingers. My path, too, changed. That is a story for another time. Come here, pet. It is so good to see you,” he purred.

Containing his emotions and his excitement had never been so difficult. He all but longed to jump up from his throne and sweep you up into his arms, holding you close until you struggled to breathe. But he didn’t. He wanted you to come to him. Only you remained frozen in place. He could practically feel the defiance radiating from you.

“I’m not falling for your stupid tricks, Loki.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “Would you like me to prove it, pet? Ah, let’s see… I just so happen to know you love Halloween. Carving out pumpkins… handing out sweets to children… watching scary films and eating this disgusting snack you call popcorn… and of course, how could I forget, the hot chocolate with small marshmallows and whipped cream on top? It’s reserved only for months that have the letter ‘r’ in them, no?”

Loki watched with great satisfaction how your lips parted in shock. He stood, taking a step forward. “What else… ah…” He tilted his head. “There is a particularly sweet and sensitive spot on your body that has you absolutely feral for your lover. It is… right… here.” He took another step and brought his hand up to brush his thumb over the spot right below your ear. You shivered, clenching your jaw.

“Lies… y-you’re… you’re tricking me.”

“No tricks,” he purred, “only treats.”

To Hel with the restraint. With a low growl, Loki pulled you close, lifting you off your feet. Your rather pathetic resistance died quickly once you realised that you weren’t going anywhere. Loki was too strong—you’d do well to save your strength for when it truly mattered. But… did you want to?

Why, on Earth, was there a part of you that enjoyed his touch? The way he looked at you… so full of hope and lust… that could not be acted, could it? To win over the leader of the rebellion, make her compliant… was that his plan? Or was he telling the truth?

And if he was, then what would have ridden you to dedicate your life to stopping him at all cost? Heavens, last night, you had attempted an assassination.

Loki put you back down on your feet once you reached his bedroom. He had redecorated, of course. Everything was green and gold, even his bed sheets. It looked… beautiful. Homely, almost and faintly familiar.

A shiver brought you back from the depths of your mind when Loki sneaked his hand under your shirt, slowly pushing it up.

“Do you truly think it’s a coincidence you react this way to me?” He tilted his head, smirking when you flinched at his fingertips ghosting over your bare stomach. He was right. He was so right and you hated it. Part of you wanted him—right here and now. The other part was seething and then, yet another… wanted to give in to his advances out of curiosity.

“Why… why don’t I remember then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, pet. We will restore your memories. You could be a Variant—a version of yourself from another timeline who has not yet met me. We will worry about this later. I missed you.”

He sounded so… genuine, so full of relief. It was not hard to believe him. But how could you? You hated this man, you loathed how he had taken Earth for himself and declared himself its ruler… you would never kneel before him… right?

Why were you questioning yourself? Perhaps… perhaps it was for when you gazed into his blue eyes, you detected just how troubled his soul was. There was more to this than tyranny. More than a hunger for power.

You ceased to resist when he pulled your shirt off of you. Mesmerised, dazed… perhaps even charmed, you lifted your arms for him to remove it and then allowed him to make short work of your trousers. Only a few more moments passed until you stood completely naked before him, breathing heavily.

His kiss was soft when he held your chin with two fingers, almost as if testing the waters. Your eyes… your eyes fell shut. Why… how did this feel so good?

“Give in to me, pet. Let me show you.”

You bit your lower lip. “I’m supposed to hate you.”

He chuckled. “Why yes… We can speak about your little rebellion after I have had my fill of you. You always longed to be by my side, pet. What changed?”

“I don’t know you.” And perhaps that was the reason. You did not know him. Did not yet see behind the mask. Would things be different if you did? You could have tried to kill him the very moment you stepped out of the elevator. So why hadn’t you? Would you, under different circumstances, support his cause? Aid in his rule? Rule… by his side? That was such a silly thought, wasn’t it?

And yet… even though the arrogant god kept calling you his pet… the way he looked at you made you feel like he regarded you as his equal. Maybe your subconscious knew that there was more to it. Maybe your soul had recognised him.

“Then I will make you know me again. You, my darling, are the one good thing that has ever happened to me. I will not give you up.”

You swallowed, unsure of whether you should regret the words that left your lips next. “S-show me.”

“With pleasure.” Loki smirked, lifting you up once more. The warm leather of his armour against your naked skin made you whimper but it was gone within a heartbeat, melted off his body in a green hue of his magic. It felt tingly, familiar… as if you’d felt it a million times before.

The God of Mischief crawled above you, spreading your legs as he did. Skin against skin, he towered above you like the king he was, his raven hair framing his handsome face. You resisted the urge to reach up and stroke his cheek—just about, for when he leaned down and assaulted your neck with his lips, you dug your nails into the soft bed sheets instead, fighting, desperately, for composure your body was eager to give up.

Every touch, every kiss… it felt right. And you were craving more.

A gasp escaped your lips when Loki sank his length into you with but one deep stroke—it was both out of pure bliss at his size and surprise at how wet you were. How had him undressing you slowly done that?

Deep and languid thrusts soon drove you to the brink of madness. No one… no one had ever fucked you as well as Loki was fucking you right now, and the fact that he seemed to know exactly what turned you on almost filled you with fear.

The intense eye contact, the gentle touches, the soft dominance radiating from him… without a doubt he would pin you against the bed if you so much as attempted to flip around and ride him instead without… without asking for permission?

You whimpered at the thought, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You were close already. Loki was working his magic… firm and yet gentle, you felt it teasing your clit, applying just enough pressure to bring you closer and closer to climax. Once he had you there, right on the edge, the delicious pressure eased, his rhythm speeding up.

“You’re enjoying it…” Loki purred—his tone smug, if anything. You groaned.

And then, once again… he pushed you toward that blissful cliff only to stop—again—right before you could fall. You realised soon enough what he was doing. He was edging you. No one… no one knew about your filthiest desires and kinks. So how did he? He really was telling the truth, wasn’t he?

You pretended to hate this but you loved it… loved how he was in control of your pleasure, able to take it away if he so wished… urgh.

“What is it, pet, hmm? Did you want something?” His strokes were relentless—how he managed not to rut into you like a beast you had no fucking clue.

“P-please…” you choked out, “…let me cum.”

Loki tilted his head. “I think you can do better than that.”

Another grunt on your end but this time, you were ready to throw hands—only the God of Mischief above you didn’t let you. The invisible force tormenting your clit wrapped around your wrists like invisible shackles, holding them in place.

“Please…” you repeated, “…I need to cum. Stop… teasing me…”

“Let me hear it one more time, pet. Scream for me.”

A groan of frustration escaped your lips. All helpless beneath him, there was nothing you could do but endure his torturing treatment. Your toes curled, that all too familiar knot in your lower stomach tightening…

“Oh, fuck, please, please, PLEASE! Just… LET ME CUM ALREADY!” Loki chuckled—he chuckled and then, finally, the delicious pressure on your clit returned. And this time… it didn’t stop again. You tensed up, all air knocked from your lungs as your orgasm washed over you. Contracting around Loki’s cock who did not stop rocking into you for a second, fucking you right through your moment of utter bliss until he too, came.

Loki’s moans were quite possibly the sexiest thing you had ever heard as he buried himself inside of you as deep as he could, coating your walls with his seed, twitching and jerking.

He rested his forehead against yours then, eyes closed—content, at ease… and so unlike what you had expected from a tyrannical ruler.

This… it had felt like your bodies were made for each other. Perhaps they were.

“I want to remember. I want you to prove to me that you’re not the evil tyrant I imagine you to be,” you said, breaking the silence.

Loki chuckled. “Hmm… ever so demanding, pet.”

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Because it turns you feral, am I not right?”

You bit your lower lip. Yes, damn it, he was right.

“We will find a way to restore your memories, I swear it. You are mine.” You shivered when he spoke your name. “You are the very reason I am not a tyrant. Whatever you see, whatever you believe… Midgard is in good hands—it is your home realm, after all.”

“So I’ll just have to trust your word? The word of a Trickster?”

Loki smirked. He knew. He knew that your heart already did.

"Yes. Now then... shall we carve a pumpkin together, pet?"

A/N: Party hard tonight! 🎃

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elliehase-blog · 1 year

Text

Into the unknown

“Ah, Halloween. It makes the heart happy.” Patton turns the lollipop in his mouth, savouring the sweet taste, before removing it with a popping sound. He smiles. “There’s something about it.”

“Oh, there’s many things about it.”

Leaves crackle as Janus saunters past him. As always, he is impeccably dressed, a long coat, hat and yellow gloves. He stares into the distance and Patton wonders what he is seeing there through the autumn mist.

“Yeah, I guess you’d like it.” Patton shoots a smirk at him. “Everyone all dressed up... disguised as someone else.”

Janus spins around, eyebrows contracted in honest disbelief. “How is it that we’ve had so many of these visits and you still know so little about me!”

“Uh... ‘cause you don’t tell me anything.” Patton shrugs, his chest feeling strangely tight.

“You’re right, I don’t.” Janus’s face is illegible, and full of so many changing emotions that Patton becomes dizzy as he tries to decipher them all. “No one is disguised here. It’s just a little... make-believe.”

Janus starts to stare into the distance again, into the unknown. Silently, Patton nods, somehow uncomfortable near a Janus who is suddenly tame and attentive, not sarcastic or sharp-tongued as usual. It is so incredible, so unfamiliar, so not Janus at all, that for seconds it feels as if reality has received a crack, like a broken mirror that can only depict a distorted picture of reality.

And as if that wasn’t unusual enough, Janus begins to sing. It’s soft and gentle and Patton feels (against his will) very receptive and exceedingly charmed by so much beauty.

‘It’s exactly that,’ thinks Patton stunned. It’s the soft and gentle underneath the impregnable fortress that makes it so hard to resist him. If Janus were just cold and insensitive through and through, how much easier it would make this whole situation.

But he is not. He’s just pretending. Make-believing...

Janus lies to the whole world, just as Patton does, because what is their silence, what is their not naming their feelings other than that? A huge lie that piles higher and higher the longer it remains unspoken.

“You know, maybe things are going to be okay,” Patton says in a voice filled with hope that is bubbling hot and consuming inside him. “Maybe they aren’t... just a fantasy.”

Janus turns to him and a single painfully convoluted emotion glides across his face. “Yes,” he says, sounding softer than usual. “Maybe.”

The loveliest lies of all.

....

Oh my, this new video was so freaking cool! I loved everything about it 🍂🎃 the song, the setting, the clothes, the colours... and ofc this very adorable Janus and Patton content 💛💙 They were so soft, my heart! I just had to draw and write something about them 😊 And my apologies in advance about any mistakes in the text. English is not my mother tongue and I have no beta-reader atm.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanart #janus sanders #patton sanders #moceit #janus x patton

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george-weasleys-girl · 6 months

Note

"I just want you to be happy! And perhaps a little bit naked." with George (x f or gn!reader)

in a halloween party pleasee, the reader gets a little "insecure" to ask George to wear a couple costume

pufavo i love your blog ang let me know if u can't do that♥️🎃

After the Party

George Weasley x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, cunninilingus, face fucking

18+only

This went in a direction I didn't expect. I hope you enjoy it. 😊

~•~

Y/N paced the room, her eyes drifting back to her spur of the moment purchase, thinking it would be fun. She'd always wanted to dress up in matching Halloween costumes. And what better time to do it than during Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes annual Halloween party. She and George had been dating two years, and she finally felt confident enough to bring up the idea.

Or so she thought.

She'd just finished reading The Difference Engine and had developed a bit of an obsession with the whole steampunk genre. And then when she saw the matching steampunk costumes while out in muggle London earlier that day, she didn't even think twice.

Maybe she should have... Ugh, me and my stupid impulse buys.

Y/N'd told him about the book while she was reading it, and he definitely seemed curious, but they hadn't really discussed it beyond that. She sighed and flopped down on the bed, debating if she should return them or not.

What if he already had something else in mind? Or what if he doesn't like his costume?

It was a bit extravagant. Velvet and brocade. And leather. Her eyes drifted over to the trousers. Skin-tight, black leather that promised to show off his incredibly endowed... manhood.

Y/N face burned red hot just thinking about it. Then, she blushed at herself for blushing.

This is ridiculous. I've seen George naked plenty of times.

And yet, something about seeing him waltzing around in those pants sent a shiver of excitement down her spine and straight to her pussy. She exhaled a deep breath, fighting the urge to shove her hands down her panties.

~•~

"Is something wrong, love?" George asked. "You've been really quiet all evening."

Y/N sighed. Of course, he would notice. He always notices. "No... well, kinda... I don't know." She took a sip of her wine. "It's really stupid."

George shifted so he could put his arm around her. "It can't be too stupid if it's bothering you so much," he coaxed. "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me."

"I know. It's just... Godric, I feel like such an idiot," she stammered. "I just... I want us to wear a couple's costume for the Halloween party."

George blinked. "That's it? A couple's costume? That's a great idea, love! I'd love to do that!"

"Well, yeah," Y/N began with a nervous grin. "But I haven't told you what I have in mind."

~•~

Everyone at the party either wanted George or wanted to be him. He spent the evening prancing around, quite obviously proud of himself, while at the same time making it exceedingly clear that Y/N was the only one who got to play with the goods.

"I think you might've made a few enemies tonight," he whispered in her ear as they stood at the door bidding everyone farewell.

"Oh well," Y/N shrugged. "Not my problem."

George chuckled. "So, you don't mind that countless party-goers are going to fantasize about me tonight?" He asked with a smug grin.

"Let them fantasize all they want," she said, blithely waving goodbye to a woman whose eyes barely moved from George's crotch all night. "I'm the one you take to bed every night."

"Indeed you are," he smiled. "And I don't plan on that changing in this lifetime. Or the next."

~•~

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" George asked as he unlaced her dress. He'd already undressed down to everything but those deliciously sinful pants.

"Very much so," she grinned. "This one's going down in the books as my favorite Halloween yet."

"I'm glad. I just want you to be happy," he said. "And perhaps a little bit naked." The last lace loosened, and her dress fell to the floor, leaving her in a corset and much to George's surprise and delight, a pair of crotchless lace panties.

His already prominent bulge grew even more prominent. "You look so hot in that corset," he mummered, pulling her close and rubbing his erection against her. "I've been thinking about fucking you in it all night."

"I think that can be arranged," she grinned.

"Good," he said, leading her over to the bed. "Lie down, my sweet, and spread those pretty legs of yours."

George knelt down, tracing the outside of pussy with his finger. "So pretty," he smiled up at her before burying his face between her legs and taking one long lick from bottom to top, drawing out a breathless moan from her lips. He smiled into her cunt and continued on, using his thumbs to gently open her folds wider. He started with slow licks, his tongue roaming over every delectable inch of her, lapping up her juices. Y/N's soft breathless moans grew louder. "Oh, fuck, George!" She bucked her hips up and her hands clawed at the sheets.

"You look so fucking hot right now. You like what I'm doing, kitten?" He cooed, watching her writhe and squirm while he slowly pushed a finger inside her as his thumb teased her sensitive nub.

"That feels so good, baby!" She moaned.

"You want more?" He teased.

"Please," she gasped, pulsing around his finger.

George grinned and inserted another finger, curling them both into her g-spot. Her reaction was so intense that he thought she might start levitating and his cock throbbed painfully at the pure, primal pleasure she was experiencing. He increased the speed of his fingers, pumping in and out of her juicy cunt, driving her closer and closer to her orgasm. Y/N curled her fingers into his hair, pushing him back down. He knew exactly what she needed and he gave it to her, sucking and licking her clit, all the while still fucking her with his fingers.

"Yes, George! Right there!" She screamed as her body convulsed in ecstasy. George damn near came at the sight.

"Damn baby," he admired. "You are so beautiful when you cum."

Y/N smiled, still laid spread out across the bed, trying to catch her breath. "And you look like you're going to burst out of those pants at any moment," she teased. "Come up here and let me take care of that."

A big, goofy grin spread across George's face, and he crawled up to straddle her. She palmed his twitching erection through his pants before unzipping them and pulling out his cock, stroking its full length. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes. "Fuck, love, that feels incredible." Encouraged by his praise, she sped up her ministrations, making his hips buck uncontrollably, his soft groans grow louder.

"I wanna taste you," she said, aiming his dick toward her mouth and licking the precum dripping from his tip. "Fuck my face, baby."

George looked down in surprise, even as his already painfully hard cock grew harder. "Are you sure you’re ready?"

Y/N nodded. He'd been training her to deep throat, but she was still pretty new at it. "Georgie, I've been drooling over your cock all night. I'm beyond ready for you to shove it down my throat."

With those words, his dick went from dripping precum to spewing a steady stream that Y/N continued to happily lap up.

"Ok baby," he said, already pushing his cock into her mouth. "You know what to do if it gets to be too much." Again, she nodded, reminding herself to breathe through her nose as he slid into her, only gagging once his tip hit the back of her throat. George instinctively pulled back a little, but she grapsed his hips, holding him in place. He watched her with a mixture of desire and concern, waiting for the sign to pull out or keep going. Y/N's hands moved to his ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. He nodded once and slowly began pumping in and out of her, his eyes never once leaving her face. After a couple of minutes, she squeezed his ass again, and he picked up his pace, throwing his head back. "Fuck yeah," he moaned.

Y/N's eyes watered as she took him deeper, loving the feel of his balls slapping against her chin while his unhinged, animalistic moans reawakened her own need. She slid a hand down to rub her pulsing cunt just as his hips began to stutter. "Fuck, I'm gonna - " he groaned and pulled out, spurting his seed all over her crimson brocade corset.

After a few moments, he sat back and gazed down at her stained garment with pride. Then, looking up at Y/N, he gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry, love. I've been fantasizing about doing that all night. Just couldn't help myself."

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. "You're so silly, Georgie," she said. "Though, I have to admit, you did look damn hot cumming all over me like that." Her eyes trailed back down to his dick. "Now give me that cock of yours again, so I can suck you dry."

George didn't have to be told twice.

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyy @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe @drama-queen-fromthevault @smallsweetvanillabean @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @el-de-phi @lizzytrees @scooby-doo1995 @spididerman @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @theimpossible-girl-whowaited @ceehance @Havenater1920 @jelloangela @charmedfandomgal @loca4moony @whotfskai @netflix-addict @lunacurlclaw

#george weasley #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley smut #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #hp fandom #hp universe

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izzuku · 1 year

Text

suck the soul out of me. - 1

summary- on one scary night, your car broke down on the middle of the road. Not being able to contact anyone, you searched for a nearby place to stay for the rest of the night. After discovering an old fashioned, crumbling house you decided to lie down for a bit before waking up some time later. Who would have known that there was a special guest waiting for a prey like you.

characters- luxiem x gn! reader part 1

c/w- dub-con (reader is half asleep but it doesn't lead to anything else) , biting, mentions of blood, suggestive touching, manipulation through magic, needy ike and luxiem being mysterious and hot (sorry if it's shorter in some of them)

a/n: since I realized I don't have the time to put everyone for Halloween I decided to split it into two parts, one for the 31st and other for the 1st. Please keep in mind these are not their real personalities, all of this is fictional and it shouldn't be taken seriously! also happy Halloween lovelies, I hope you have a spooky time 🎃

VOX AKUMA

The first encounter was with a man who called himself Vox. You didn't even notice him when you entered the house. You tried to make some more calls before giving up and lighting up old wood trunks, all thanks to your handy lighter.

As the hours passed your eyes started to get droopy, tiredness enveloping your body as you slowly lay down, using your jacket as a pillow. Finally, you got used to the hardwood floor and eventually got some rest.

In the middle of your slumber, a pair of boots creaked on the stairs, following the corridor that led to the living room. A tall silhouette lurked over your body before bending down.

“You look so fresh and young darling...” a deep voice rang in your ears when his hands grabbed a hold of your waist, pulling you on his lap so he could take a good look. You responded with a shuffle, mumbling something in your sleep and earning a sweet chuckle from the unknown figure.

Tilting your head to the side, he pressed his thumb over the flesh of your neck, circling slowly seconds before pushing his tongue over the place. You just looked so tasty he could even eat you right there. “Hmm..smells delicious, love. You're gonna make me drool over you” he muttered, hearing you inhaling deeply from the touch. The way his hands touched the skin under your clothes made your eyes flutter open for a couple seconds, wondering if you were dreaming or not.

“Hush now sweetheart...close your eyes and rest” his fingers caressed your cheek, small red particles flowing over you, making you close your eyes once again. “That's it...” his face grew wider as he put you in a trance. “So good for me...”

As your conscience wandered between reality and dreamland, you felt warm lips pushing on your neck. A sweet, tender kiss linked with a slow and deep bite. His lips tremble for a few seconds, delighted by your taste. “Fucking hell you're amazing...” he whispered as he dived again onto your skin, sucking the blood out of you.

For you, it felt like a fever dream. Some vampires had the ability to turn biting into a pleasurable thing and for your luck, this man wanted you to enjoy it as much as he was. Shivers were sent down your spine, and a warm and fuzzy feeling crossed your body... It felt like a million kisses and hands touching everywhere. Almost asleep you closed your legs, rubbing your thighs against each other, looking for some kind of friction and mumbling what could be translated into needy whimpers.

The unknown man giggled while looking. A large hand going down between your legs to satisfy your need, pushing his fingers over the fabric to release the increasing tension. Hearing your tired moans and feeling your body tense made him proud of himself.

After the delightful dinner, the black-haired man put you back on the old wood, leaving his coat as a "gift" for future encounters...

“Sleep tight my love...we'll meet again very soon”

SHU YAMINO

When you encountered Shu, you weren't sure about the place. It could protect you from the possible rain and stray animals, but it was big enough for someone else to hide and try to hurt you. Either way, you decided to stay awake, at least for some hours before exhaustion kicked in.

An hour passed and you heard something fall to the ground upstairs. There was nothing to protect yourself with except a long wood plank near the fireplace. Walking up cautiously you saw the figure of someone inside one of the rooms. It was barely visible but you could see the shape of his hair, the fact that he was wearing gloves, and a...purple glow in his eyes. Oh. He was staring at you.

You gulped down, gripping the plank in your hands. “Don't come closer. Who are you and what are you doing in an abandoned house”

“I could ask the same about you. Don't you think, stranger?” The colored hair man stood in front of you, a strange force pulling you in as if someone was pushing you from behind.

“Wha-” the man hushed you with a finger on your lips, smiling softly before looking you in the eyes. “I have to say...you look very appetizing, human. Maybe we could do a deal, hmm?”

Your pulse started racing, the glow in the stranger's eyes getting more vibrant. It felt like you couldn't control your actions, your brain feeling empty. When he saw the way your body relaxed he knew he got you under his spell.

“Good...now, if you let me bite you...I'll make sure you get home safely, okay human?” His gloved hands caressed the skin of your jaw, your weight falling on it. “Sounds...like a good plan” you blurted out, blinking slowly while your hand moved to your jacket so you could move it to the side.

The pale man grabbed your hips gently, brushing your neck before biting. Your body was burning, heat spreading through all endings and you felt weak. You were like a puppet in a puppeteer's hands, fully controlled. Then, the mysterious guest stopped with a 'pop' of his lips.

From his view, your face was so flushed. He could even see small hearts in your eyes, mouth slightly opened from the stimulation. “So cute..” he chuckled, pressing a deep kiss on your lips to leave the salty taste of blood. The kiss made you eager for more, to just grab onto him and get rid of any possible space between your bodies, to be out of breath. It made you feel alive, but it wasn't going to last long.

“I'll be your guardian angel for a while. Now let me help you get some rest.”

IKE EVELAND

Fortunately, you found the way to a house but things didn't go as planned. The walk through the forest turned out to be way more dangerous and you ended up rolling downhill, cutting your arm with a tree branch. The wound wasn't really deep but the blood spilled either way.

After getting inside and starting the fireplace you made some effort to clean the cut but a rustling from the next room stopped you in your tracks.

“...Hello? Is someone there?” you focused your attention on the dark area, seeing something move. When the shadow grew taller you stepped back, ready to run if needed.

“S'mell..blood....need blood” a voice muttered, stumbling till it could rest its weight on the wall. It was a man; brown and blue hair, glasses, dark clothes, and a look of starvation just from the way he was holding his own stomach.

“Blood..?” you glanced back to your arm, seeing it still smeared with dry blood then looking back at the man who was now walking up to you slowly.

“I can help...with the wound” he paused for a second, taking a breath; “Let me have a taste please...I'll treat your wound after”. You couldn't decide if it was a good idea to trust the stranger but the way his hands were trembling and his eyes never left yours made you feel sorry for him.

Measuring your steps, you sat next to him, pulling up your sleeve to let him examine the cut. In your eyes, you could see him practically salivating, touching lightly to check if it hurt. Once he made sure that it was okay, he brushed his lips oh so delicately on your skin to afterward bite and suck the blood coming out of it. You let out a hissing sound at the sting that was soon replaced with a whimper.

“God...your blood” he practically moaned when he pulled back just a little. “It's...addictive” his lips kept drinking that delectable 'red wine' and your mind was filled with only his voice. “S'o good...so, so good” he panted, licking the rest of the blood that was on his lips before looking at you more relaxed than before.

With a simple touch of his fingers and small blue sparkles, he started closing the wound.

“Call me Ike...that's the least I could tell you about me..”

#izzuku #gn reader #nijisanji x reader #vox x gn reader #vox akuma #vox x reader #shu yamino x reader #shu yamino x gn reader #shu yamino #ike eveland x gn reader #ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #luxiem smut

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softlyspector · 2 years

Text

Halloween again

Summary: Halloween only comes once a year...Right?

Or,

You and the boys are inadvertently trapped in a time loop after Marc breaks up with you.

Pairing: Steven Grant x f!Reader, Marc Spector x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Word Count: ~10.8k

Warnings: memory loss, angst, loss of control

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🎃 I hope you enjoy! Please, please, please let me know what you think!

Marc remembers the moment Jake first saw you. It’s imprinted in his mind, a watershed moment for the system, a change in the season, a spear of light into the darkness.

Really, it had been Steven who noticed you first, though he hadn’t been fronting.

It had been early summer, maybe technically still spring, and unseasonably warm, and the last light of the day had been fading from the sky, casting a golden glow over everything.

Marc had, wrongly, assumed that the sepia-like filter surrounding you had something to do with the setting sun.

But that wavy quality, that otherworldly blurriness, never quite goes away. Even months later, you’re still dripping in gold, surrounded by a soft bronzed glow. Even when you’re sharp, even when you hurt, you’re bathed in that amber fade.

If Jake hadn’t been fronting, you never would have become a part of their life. Steven had been stunned into silence for a moment at the white dress swirling around you, the flowers in your grip, your raised hand as you attempted to hail a cab.

The gold that stretched and bent around you had reminded Marc a little of the field of reeds, warm and sunned and safe.

“Ay, dios mío,” Jake has said when he’d seen you, Steven’s voice directing him to look, look over there, look.

He’d looked over at the same time you had spotted him. “Sorry, are you taking rides?” Your voice, like honeycomb, like peaches soaked in syrup, and yet gaveled, rasped. A voice all three of them could listen to for an eternity, for longer than that.

“For you? Of course,” Jake had said, even though he’d declared moments before that he was done, fucking done, no more fuckin’ rides today.

The closer you came, the more you became distorted, like they were seeing you through the lens of a shitty camera.

A moment comes though, when you tilt your chin back, so your head blocks out the sun and you finally come into sharp focus. “My hero,” you’d said to Jake, “You have no idea what I just escaped from.”

“Wedding? Run-away bride?” he’d asked, and Marc had felt that part of Jake that attaches to things with a fierceness that rivaled Steven’s, rear up and latch onto you. He’d felt the protectiveness cocoon around you in Jake’s mind, gods-forbid someone had hurt this angel standing before him.

“Not quite,” you’d laughed. “Wedding? Yes. Bride? No.”

Jake had softened, crushed his smoking cigarette under his heel, and opened the backdoor of the cab for you. “That’s such a relief to hear, hermosa,” Jake had said before everything went black for Marc, shoved down and back, away from the front.

It was before Marc could say no, chant it, shout it.

No, no, no no, no, no.

Not another one.

Not another shining, crystaled thing to shatter and bend and break.

Not after he ruined things so thoroughly with Layla.

Not again, not again, not again.

It wouldn’t matter.

Not that it ever did with Marc Spector.

“- bloody brilliant, you are! No wonder Jake was so keen on my meeting you!” Steven exclaims, not worried about being too much, as coming off as too enthusiastic.

You smile at him over a cup of coffee, the steam briefly obscuring your features. “You can stop by sometime and I’ll show you how it's done if you’re interested.”

Steven is smiling again, and he’s aware he looks like a fool. “That would be brilliant.”

A laugh bubbles up out of you, and Steven thinks he’d like very much to be bathed in that sound. Your voice already mesmerized him, but your laughter is like a balm. If your voice is like a honeyed peach, your laughter is crystallized sugar. “Really, I’ve never met someone that thought what I do is so interesting.”

“You’ve got to be jokin’, love. Artifact restoration? I bet you get to handle the most interestin’ things.”

Steven wants to reach out and touch you, to cup his hand over yours but he’s not sure it would be welcome.

You’d only learned about him and Marc a few days before and besides he isn’t really sure what the boundaries were supposed to be.

Jake is silent, but watchful, making no comment on the progression of the conversation between you.

Though he has to know, has to be aware of the little squiggly feelings surfacing in Steven, at the awe that you inspire if nothing else.

“Go ahead,” Jake says.

And Steven reaches forward to take your hand. You smile, run your thumb over his skin, the filtered, golden light of you sparkling over him in waves.

You pat his hand, “You’re welcome anytime to see how it's done.”

It’s only a few days later that Steven finds himself at your place of work, carefully watching you restore a painting that must be hundreds of years old. He’s not really sure he’s actually allowed to be there with you, and so he’s quiet, careful of you, waiting for the moment the spell between you is broken as you grin over at him.

But it never really is, not ever.

Marc is nervous the first time he fronts when you’re around.

Already, he sees the danger of you, the lurking, looming hurt that you can level against him.

Jake and Steven are head over heels for you, they think about you all the time, they plan around you, they look forward to seeing you, to getting to hold your hand and kiss the corner of your mouth.

Jake in particular is love struck. He harbors such a deep affection for you that it surprises Marc sometimes.

He does everything you ask; he would walk over broken glass for you, haul himself over hot coals. He does everything you don’t ask too, brings you flowers and drives you wherever you need to go.

Evidence of your relationship, your influence in their lives, is all over the flat.

You decorate the flat differently for each season, your sweaters are tossed over the back of the chair, your spare toothbrush sits in the cup at the bathroom sink. They have cookware in the kitchen cabinets now that are a pale pastel green, compliments of you.

Not only that, but your art – your paintings – are hung on the walls now. You got Jake to paint too, one evening.

And he does it all the time now.

Badly.

But he does.

You think it’s funny, and Jake likes that you think it’s funny.

It’s baffling, it’s frustrating, it’s wonderful.

Marc wants that weirdly focused energy of yours, that sepia steeped, sunshine warmth to be pooled around him.

And so, when he finally fronts, and you greet him, with a smile that pulls at the crinkles by your eyes, he knows he’s a little bit doomed.

He wants you too much already, and he doesn’t get to keep the things he wants.

“Marc,” you breathed, like you’ve been waiting for him for a long time.

He immediately likes the weight of your attention and knows that he shouldn’t.

You’re standing there in a witch’s hat, a frown on your face, when Marc tells you they’re breaking up with you. You have gold temporary tattoos imprinted into your cheeks and along your neck and jaw, your eye makeup is dark and dramatic. The long sleeves of your dress drip down past your hands, and Marc catches the brief glimpse of your skin beneath when you flutter your hands over the corset you wear.

You make a cute witch, he thinks absently, eyes tracing down the tulle skirt, the purple and black striped tights.

You reach up and take the hat off, dropping it onto the tabletop before you collapse into the chair across from him.

The silence stretches between you.

But Marc refuses to break it.

Jake and Steven are screaming, throwing themselves against the proverbial bars of their mind.

“Pendejo!” Jake snarls at him, fearful more than angry. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, Marc! Don’t-,”

He tunes them out, already on the path to ruining everything anyways, just like he’d always known he would, just like he always told them he would.

He should have been kept out of it, for everyone’s safety, for Steven and Jake’s wellbeing. He should never have been allowed into the relationship, he’d proved a long time ago he wasn’t cut out for that.

“Marc,” Steven’s voice is much gentler, quieter. “Please, don’t do this.”

There’s a bowl of candy on the table between you, Steven and Marc and Jake’s favorites. You’d gone out of your way to find Marc’s favorite candy, a rarity in the UK. You press your thumb into the plastic of the dvd case in front of you. It’s something Marc finds weirdly endearing about you, your preoccupation with dvds despite all the streaming services.

The golden sheen of you is faded and muted in the low light of the flat, the hurt you must feel siphoning away the sun in your veins.

You look exhausted, the line of your jaw tight, the set of your mouth hard. You look like he’s plunged his hand into your chest, like he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your lungs.

“Marc,” you say, his name folded and crumbled in the fist of your voice. You pause, and you don’t say anything else for a long moment. Your voice isn’t like peaches steeped in syrup now. It’s like the cracked bark of a winter pine, hollow and gap toothed with hurt.

He watches your throat work, watches the glisten of your eyes. Marc waits, knows its torture for you that he refuses to say anything. You give a humorless chuckle, your gaze following the path of his hand as he takes a sip of whiskey straight from the bottle in his hand. “Can I - Steven and Jake -,”

“They feel the same,” he lies, voice blunt and flat and emotionless.

Steven is shouting now, his voice loud and angry and so very hurt, when Marc shoves him down, away, back. He didn’t need to see this anyways, didn’t need to see Marc upend another good thing. “Okay,” you nod, bottom lip trembling. “So, this is it?”

“You ask for too much,” Marc says harshly, because he knows it’ll hurt, it’ll sting and cut and bruise. “You take too much. You want too much from us. We can’t tell you everything.”

You don’t answer for a long moment and Marc doesn’t look up at you, the focus of his eyes shifting on the amber liquid inside the bottle in his fist.

Turning into my mother, he thinks bitterly, the swirl of the liquid disgusting him, but not enough to make him stop. Turning into my fucking mother.

“That’s fair,” you admit, like it has any kernel of truth.

He winces.

He wishes you would get angry.

He wishes you would shout that it isn’t true, that it’s his fault. He wants you to scream and fight. He wants you to tell him that he’s the problem and if he’d just fucking disappear the world would be better for it. You could have Steven and Jake then.

“It’s not fucking fair,” he snarls suddenly. “It’s not and you know it.” He looks up at you, from the grain in the table. “Why don’t you fight?”

“I don’t want to fight with you. Haven’t you fought enough?” Your voice is small. “I don’t want you to have to fight.”

He laughs, and it’s a self-hating sound, harsh and loud and so broken the shattered glass of it slices his throat open. He’s bleeding, his soul is bleeding, his heart begging. Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this, why do you always do this -

Because it was only a matter of time.

Only so long before you got it, before you see him for the broken little marionette he is. It’s only a matter of time before you see what everyone else does, the shredded tatters of him coming apart at the seams. It was bound to happen that you’d see the crushed innards, the fleshy red, raw beating heart of him. You’d see the desperation for this time to be different, you’d laugh and you’d crush what little of him that was left in your fist.

Eventually, you’d see exactly what his mother saw in him.

Weak. Cowardly. Bad.

It’s better this way, better he gets to give it a clean break rather than waiting for you to shatter it all when you realize what he is.

His throat works, tears threatening the back of his eyes.

Marc wishes you would scream, throw something. It would make more sense than this resigned, quiet love you have, than your acceptance of his knowledge of what is best for the system.

He doesn’t, he wants to tell you, he doesn’t know best and you should ask for Steven or Jake, you should demand to see them.

They know better, they know more, they don’t ruin things over something that hasn’t even happened yet.

Marc is spiraling, spiraling, spiraling.

His head spins, and he wonders again why this is more comfortable, why strife and arguments made him weirdly calm, why unconditional love and stability made him feel like he was losing control of everything.

He knows he’s spiraling and he should stop drinking and he shouldn’t have started drinking, but it's all too late, it’s all too much. He’s derailed, and nothing can stop him now.

Because you’d asked, a few days ago you had asked about his childhood and what happened to him and he had known their time with you was limited. Your voice had that golden, honey streaked tinge to it as you’d asked Steven, “What happened? You don’t have to tell me. I just wonder sometimes and Marc doesn’t talk about it.”

There had been a smear of latte foam and cinnamon on your upper lip when you asked, a scarf tucked under your chin, and Steven had reached out and wiped it away with a gentle sweep of his thumb.

“That’s Marc’s story to tell,” Steven had smiled at you, held your hand in one of his own. “You’ll have to ask him. He might not be ready quite yet, but he’ll tell you sometime, love.”

At least this time, Marc hadn’t run away, hadn’t sent divorce papers in the mail and fled without a word.

He’d faced up to you, broken it off in person.

“What are you afraid of Marc?” You ask now as you dig one nail into the wood of the table. Your voice isn’t accusatory, never demanding.

You. You, you, you.

I am afraid of you. I am afraid you will look into me and see all the sharp broken edges and you’ll decide I’m not worth it.

So, he has to do it first, even though he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want you to leave, he doesn't want to lose you. It’s why he wants you to fight and yell and -

But you aren’t that kind of person. You’d never scream at him, you’d never lay a hand on him. But that would make more sense wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it? Doesn’t he deserve it?

There are faint whispers in the back of his mind that remind him he’s supposed to be over this already. He’s supposed to know already that love did not equal a slap across the face, that the people that love you don’t hurt you on purpose.

Instead he curls his hands into fists and lies again, “Nothing. I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t trust you.”

It’s all his life is, one long lie.

Why did you have to ask Steven about the past? Everything would have been fine if-

He hears your breath catch, listens to you fight for air before you choke out a scoff. “That’s low. I - Marc - I wouldn’t make you tell me. I don’t want you to, ever, if you aren’t ready.”

No, you wouldn’t have made him, wouldn’t have made demands, and that’s what’s dangerous. Because he would have told you, and that’s when you would have turned to disgust, that’s when you would have seen how black his heart is, and that’s when you would have realized the depths of how wrong everything about him is.

Stop drinking, something in the back of his mind whispers. You didn’t want this, this isn’t what you meant to say.

Right, he’d started drinking for courage, to tell you all the bad things and let you decide because he hadn’t done that with Layla and he wanted to keep you so fucking badly but-

“I’m sorry you feel like you can’t trust me.” No, no, no, she is the only one we trust, the only person we - “I’ll sleep on the couch,” you continue. “And tomorrow I’ll…I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll have to come back for my art and some other big things though.”

The art. What will they have on the walls if your art is gone?

“No,” he hears himself say, voice choked and raw. “You can take the bed-,”

“Fuck you, Marc,” you say suddenly. “You either care or you don’t, which is it?”

Care. He cares so bad.

“That’s what I thought.” You stand and walk toward the bathroom, your voice a warble in your throat. “Happy Halloween.”

Marc lies down with the ceiling spinning above him, sad and angry and brimming with self-hatred, simultaneously wondering why he just did what he did and telling himself that it’s all for the best, for all of them.

It was impulsive. It was stupid. It was the best decision he could have made.

He hopes Jake and Steven will forgive him.

He knows they will, eventually.

The ceiling continues to rotate.

Marc doesn’t move.

He watches you emerge from the bathroom in your pajamas.

It’s the first time he’s seeing you sleep in something other than one of their shirts.

Your makeup has been wiped away, the smoky look around your eyes gone, the temporary tattoos scrubbed roughly away. You don’t look at him, but he hears you sniffle, he sees how red rimmed your eyes are.

You lie down on the couch with the blanket that lies across the back.

You flick out the light and Marc pretends he can’t hear you crying.

His last thought, before he falls into an alcohol induced stupor, is that Halloween is your favorite holiday, and he’s ruined that, and he regrets everything.

Steven’s chest aches when he wakes, the thick squeeze of the previous night’s emotions clutching at his lungs until he feels like he can’t breathe. His heart is sore, a dull ache radiating out in little pulses.

He bloody hates being the one to wake up when Marc goes off drinking much more than he should, but to his surprise, the only thing that hurts is his broken heart. He feels betrayed by Marc, angry with himself that he’d let Marc say what he had, that he hadn’t been stronger.

He sits up gingerly, still surprised that no pain comes, that his mouth isn’t filled with cotton, his head isn’t spinning, sick isn’t crawling up the back of his throat. He curls his fingers into the comforter over his body, glancing around the empty flat. A low, flat, graying light filters in the windows, casting everything in shadow.

He wonders how early in the morning you must have left, to already be gone before the sun has fully risen.

A tear slips down his cheek before he can stop it.

“Hermano,” Jake says, his voice gentle in a way it usually isn’t. “It’s okay. Maybe we can explain to her.” Steven turns and looks into the mirror next to the bed, nodding at Jake who looks back at him.

“Marc?”

Jake just shakes his head and Steven sighs.

Marc did what he thought needed to be done to save them all, to spare them hurt and rejection, only for Steven to be left with the emotional turmoil of it all.

“Think she’d listen to us though? After what he said…” Steven asks, voice trailing off as he turns the duvet back and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “What on earth?” Steven mumbles, glancing down at himself.

“What?”

Steven glances back at Jake, who is watching him carefully, and gestures to himself, “In your memory, has Marc ever gotten himself ready for bloody bed when he was in that state?”

Jake frowns, eyes flicking down Steven’s pajama clad body, “No.”

“Right, and tucked himself in as well, can’t have been…” You were too upset last night, you would not have tucked Marc in, you wouldn’t have even spared him a glance after the things he said to you. Maybe you would have slipped a blanket over him, but you certainly wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of yanking down the duvet and negotiating Marc beneath it.

Steven leans in and sniffs the sheets, and notes the absence of the stale scent of whiskey that was always present after a night like the one they’d just had.

“Jake…” Steven trails off, something about it all feeling ever so slightly off, like reality has shifted in a way he can’t understand yet.

The flat is still decked out in all your Halloween decorations, things that you and Steven and Jake and Marc had taken turns putting up together. Steven squints at the window, the early morning light seems to be fading instead of intensifying. He reaches over and flicks on the bedside lamp just as the sound of someone clipping down the hall echoes down the corridor.

A rattle of keys follows, and then the door is swinging open and you are there.

That glow of gold that surrounds you, the crisp, honeyed peachiness of your voice that swaddles Steven in a happiness he didn’t know he could have, radiates around you.

The lights on the other side of the flat flip on, and you shoulder the door closed behind you, carrying a few shopping bags in your hands. “Hey, baby!” You call, smiling at him. “Why’s it so dark in here? Were you napping? It’s a little late for that, you won’t sleep properly. Or were you just getting a few winks in before our movie marathon?” You say cheekily.

Steven breathes out your name at the same time that Jake does, stunned.

He stands and approaches you slowly, fingers knitting nervously together before him, Jake’s voice in his ear, coaching him, telling him that everything might be okay.

You turn and smile at him. “Can Marc hear me? Look what I found at that shop down the road,” you rifle through one of the bags you’d deposited on the table. “It’s that candy he loves that I can never find anywhere. And just in time for Halloween!” You finally find one of them and hand it to Steven. “Already well stocked on you and Jake’s favorites,” you pat his cheek gently before moving away.

Steven is so bewildered he can’t answer you. A terrible curl of déjà vu sweeping through him.

He distinctly remembers you saying the exact same thing yesterday, sans the bit about the lights being off.

“I remember that too,” Jake says. “I remember her fuckin’ saying that.”

Steven shakes it off, ignores it.

In any case, you should be angry, you should hate him, you should hate all of them. You should not be smiling and happy, you should not be casting your sunshine yellow glow around the flat.

Maybe you forgot something.

Maybe you were here to tell them off, to tell them you never wanted to speak with them again.

But then why did you have candy? Marc’s favorite, no less.

“I - I thought you would have already been gone by now,” he offers weakly in return, testing your mood.

You frown at him over your shoulder, slipping your jacket off your shoulders. “Gone? Where would I have gone?” The frown sticks on your face as you turn back to him. “Oh no, is this your way of telling me you’ve been called away by Khonshu?”

“No, I - we - Marc,” he stutters to a stop. You’re watching him with your head tilted to the side, a genuinely confused look contorting your features.

It’s then that Steven notices you’re still wearing your Halloween costume. You still have the little gold tattoos on your cheeks and neck. “You - Marc broke up with you. You were going to move out.”

The confusion in your eyes softens out, shifts toward sympathy. “Maybe you had a nightmare Steven,” You say gently. “I’m right here.”

“No,” he says, flustered. “You don’t understand. It - Marc was upset because he thought he…it doesn’t bloody matter what Marc was upset about. The point is he broke up with you for all of us.”

You take a step closer, lying your hand on his arm, “Steven, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not a dream,” Marc says suddenly from the reflection in the window, his presence like a shot to the heart. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Steven pointedly ignores Marc, tangling his fingers with yours instead, tugging you closer to him, inhaling the warm, spiced scent of you. “Marc and Jake are saying it wasn’t a dream either.”

“Okay,” you say calmly, pressing yourself into his arms, tilting your chin into his. You smile, and carefully press a kiss into his mouth. “But I’m still here. And I’m real.”

He locks his arms around you, feels Marc trying to nudge his way to the front. “Real,” he agrees.

But the candy.

And the costume, your cute little witch hat.

The tattoos on your cheeks that you’d wiped away with your eye makeup the night before.

“Dear heart,” Steven murmurs. “Why are you still dressed for Halloween? Didn’t you pick up the candy yesterday? Shouldn’t you be at work-,” But a glance out the window shows that the heather gray light has now faded to black, the glow of streetlights and traffic on the road below the only source of light filtering in the window.

“Steven,” you tilt your head at him, nudging your nose against his. “I’m just getting home from work. Today is Halloween.”

The way you say it grounds him, a fact that he can hang onto in this moment of uncertainty.

Steven releases you when you tug away, fishing your phone out of your work bag to flash the time and date at him.

Monday, October 31 18:09

“What the -,”

Steven steps away from you, rattles around the flat until he can locate his phone, and finds the date and time the same.

“What the fuck?” Marc mutters, clutching the phone tight in his fist. He spins around to find you lighting candles, the witch hat tilted to the side on your head.

He feels unsteady as he watches you, because this is the exact moment yesterday that he’d decided to break up with you, rather than to tell you the truth and have your rejection curl on the back of his tongue.

Only yesterday, he’d been drunk and he hadn’t spoken to you yet, hadn’t commented on you finding his favorite candy.

“Marc!” Steven is hissing at him from the reflection in the black screen of the phone in his hand. “Marc! Don’t you dare even think -”

Marc ignores him, tossing the phone down on the bed and crossing the room back to you. You’re dumping the candy into a large bowl, yesterday’s stack of dvds to your left, before you turn and plug the holiday string lights in, glowing little pumpkins coming to life where they hang in ropes from the ceiling.

“Baby,” Marc says, and he can hear the desperation in his own voice.

You turn and smile at him. “Hey, Marc.” You proffer the bowl to him, “Found your favorites. Are you sure I can’t convince you to wear a costume?”

“I broke up with you yesterday. It wasn't a dream. You were gonna move out today. You hate me and I deserve it. And now it’s not morning, its night, and its fucking Halloween again.”

You lie a hand against his arm. “Marc,” and his name is so alluring on your tongue, like the sweet sugar of a love he most certainly does not deserve. “I could never hate you. I’m here. I love you. You say it's not a dream, fine, but honey, I don’t remember it.”

Marc stares at you, let’s you cup his jaw in one hand. Your skin is warm against his, you smell like lavender and sage.

“Do over,” Jake says quietly, and when Marc glances over at the mirror he meets the fiercely irritated gaze of his alter. “Somehow we’re getting a fuckin’ do over,” he stabs a finger at Marc. “Do not mess this up, pendejo.”

“Do over,” Marc murmurs, turning back to meet your eyes. “Is this a do over?”

A second chance.

Marc Spector is not worthy of second chances.

You shrug, and Marc is struck by you, about how you don’t insist that what he remembers is a dream, you accept that to him it's real, and that it upset him.

“I don’t know,” you say. “All I know is that it’s Halloween and I want to watch movies with all of you and carve that last pumpkin,” you point to the last unmutilated pumpkin sitting by the front door. “Can we do that?”

Marc cups your face between his palms, eyes trailing over the temporary tattoos stenciled over your cheeks, gold and curling over your jaw and down your neck. “Yeah,” he says, feeling lighter, like everything might be okay, like maybe he hasn’t fucked everything up. “But I wanna tell you about something too. If you’ll let me.”

You smile, eyes crinkling, teeth a shine in your mouth. “Sure.”

Marc dips down, presses his lips to yours in a lingering kiss, sliding one hand down your side to curl around your waist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into you. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve done nothing to be sorry for, Marc,” you say kindly, reaching up to stroke your fingers over the blade of his cheekbone.

If only you knew how undeserving he is of that sentiment.

Marc decides not to question the gift he’s been graced with, has the urge to pour that bottle he’d been sipping out of last night down the drain.

“I’m still sorry,” he persists, even though you don’t know what he’s apologizing for and he doesn’t explain it, instead tugging you impossibly closer, until the line of him touches every edge of you, his lips brushing against yours with each word. He needs you to know, he needs you to know even if you don’t remember it. “I need you to know that. I’m sorry and I didn’t mean a fucking word I said.”

“Okay, baby,” you coo, as he watches the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. “I forgive you, okay? Whatever you did, it’s not unforgivable.”

His throat goes tight, a lump that he can’t swallow sitting on the back of his tongue. “Yeah,” he croaks. “But-,”

“It’s okay, Marc,” you sweep your thumb over his cheek again before you bump your nose against his. “I’ll get the movie on, if you order the pizza and put some popcorn on.”

“Deal,” he nods. “I got it.”

You grin and kiss him gently, before moving away from him.

Marc turns toward the kitchen counter, takes a few deep breaths before he goes searching for that bottle.

When he finds it, it’s nearly full, exactly as it had been yesterday.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Steven asks nervously. “Why doesn’t she remember yesterday?”

“It’s better not to question miracles,” Jake interjects before Marc can say something depressing. “We’re getting a second fuckin’ chance.”

Marc doesn’t comment, dumps the alcohol down the drain without preamble, the smell of it making him sick, his mother’s face flashing behind his eyes.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself after the bottle is discarded in the trash. “Popcorn. Pizza.”

Jake takes you to bed at the end of the night, cradles you tight against his chest, tucks you in close.

It’s late and you’d given yourself a stomachache from eating too much candy and giggling through the Scream movie because you’ve seen it a million times and laughing at the carving of Khonshu Steven had done on the last remaining pumpkin, depicted as a literal pigeon with a staff.

Marc’s determination to tell you about his past had waned and Jake had reassured him that he had time, it did not have to be that night.

“I don’t want to lose her,” he says to Jake as he holds your pliant body close. “I don’t want to lose her like everyone else. Leaving first, it's easier.”

Jake understands. “We don’t have to be alone anymore, Marc,” is the only response he can formulate. “We don’t have to hide from her. We don’t have to run away.”

He tucks your head under his chin, pressing his nose against your temple. The scent of you is grounding, like sage and lavender and orange, accompanied by the spun sweetness of the mass amounts of candy you’d consumed.

You tangle your fingers into his shirt, your breathing is even and deep.

Jake allows himself to relax, reassures himself that this was all some horrible dream.

Tomorrow would come, and you’d still be there.

Marc wakes to graying light and an empty bed.

Confusion washes over him, and then a sense of despair.

He knows it immediately, deep in his bones.

Something is wrong.

He shoves the comforter back and sits up, glancing around the flat. You’re nowhere to be found.

“Marc?”

“Steven,” Marc breathes. “Do you feel -,”

“Yes,” he’s nodding in the mirror across from the bed. “Something’s wrong. I think – feels like yesterday again, yeah?” His voice is high and nervous.

Marc pushes himself up out of bed, scrambling around the bookshelves to access the rest of the flat.

The pizza boxes from the night before are gone, the pumpkin is back by the door, the surface of it smooth and uncut, there are no dishes left in the sink, or candy wrappers in the trash.

And, when he rips open the kitchen cabinet, the bottle of whiskey is back, nearly full.

“What the fuck?” He growls, slamming the bottle down on the counter with enough force to crack the glass.

He curses again, and tilts the thing into the sink.

Then.

Keys in the door.

Marc slowly turns to face the door, horror slowly dawning on him.

“Hey, baby!” You greet, checking the door closed with your shoulder. “Why’s it so dark in here? Were you napping? It’s a little late for that, you won’t sleep properly. Or were you just getting a few winks in before our movie marathon?”

“No, I-,”

“Look what I found at that shop down the road,” you say excitedly, just like yesterday, before you search through one of the bags. “It’s that candy you love that I can never find anywhere. And just in time for Halloween!” You find one of the candy bars, holding it out to Marc proudly, shaking it at him until he takes it from you. “Already well stocked on Steven and Jake’s favorites,” you pat his cheek gently before moving away.

Marc can only breathe out your name, fingers curling around the candy in his hand, confusion burrowing down into his gut. “Is today Halloween?”

You turn and frown at him, shimmying out of your jacket. You’re still in that witch costume, gold tattoos shimmering on your skin. “Yeah, did you forget? You promised we’d watch scary movies together.” And then your gaze softens, “Oh no, is this your way of telling me you’ve been called away by Khonshu?”

The déjà vu that sweeps through him almost knocks him down.

Marc shakes his head, steps back from you, feeling a bit sick, “Sorry, sorry, I’m-,”

He’s not okay.

He’s confused.

He half wonders if he’s finally lost his mind, that you really left on Halloween and that it broke him and now he’s doomed to re-experience that night over and over, all of the things he should have done instead of breaking things off with you for no real reason.

Sense and nonsense, your brain is a pendulum swinging between a very difficult reality, he hears someone whisper in the back of his mind.

He shakes his head, trying to get that voice, Harrow’s voice, out of his mind.

Organizing principle.

No.

No, this is real.

You are real.

But then…why the fuck is it Halloween again?

Steven turns and smiles at you as best he can. “Hi, dear heart, how was work? Do you have the time? We did fall asleep for a bit.”

Just like yesterday, you smile and dig for your phone in your work bag before you toss it to him.

Monday, October 31 18:09

“Bollocks.”

“You okay?” You peer at him closely, popping the witch hat onto your head at a jaunty angle as you step nearer until you can touch the corner of his jaw. Your fingers are cold, like slivers of ice pressed into his skin. There are crescent shaped bruises beneath your eyes, like you haven’t slept. “What’s going on?” The corner of your mouth twitches, “Did Jake tell you I wanted you to dress up?”

Steven stares at you, at the golden haloing, loopy-ness of you. But something about you is off, acrid, like the flaxen buttercup of you has been poisoned, like there’s a sulfuric edge to you.

“No,” he says softly, because this is different from yesterday’s Halloween. You had made no mention of a costume for him, not even when he’d fronted to carve the Khonshu pumpkin.

Though, hadn’t you said something to Marc about it?

Are you sure I can’t convince you to wear a costume?

“No,” Steven repeats carefully, “he didn’t.”

“And would you be willing to dress up with me?”

Even though you’re smiling, something about it seems wooden, like you’re rehearsing lines in a play. Your smile is just a bit too stiff, your energy stale.

Before Steven can answer, you’re turning away, lighting the candles and plugging in the smiling pumpkin lights, lifting the stack of dvds to flip through them, humming when you land on Scream.

Again.

“How about I get the movie set up and you order the pizza? Pizza and popcorn sound good, right?”

Just like yesterday.

You’re saying exactly the same things as yesterday, and the day before that, which also happens to be bloody yesterday.

“Love,” Steven says cautiously, a horrible sense of dread settling into his bones, “Do you remember yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Your voice goes high, like you’ve never heard of such a thing. “What do you mean?”

Steven pads closer to you, reaching out to touch the small of your back. “Like, this has all happened before. Yesterday was Halloween too. Do you remember that? We did all of this yesterday.”

You turn and frown at him, the expression on your face frozen and broken. It scares him, the look on your face, like he can’t recognize you. Your eyes are fractured, like you’re trapped inside your body.

“Are you feeling alright, Steven?” Your voice is like ice, and he doesn’t respond because you’ve never sounded like that, you have never sounded like there’s a dagger behind your words.

But your eyes don’t match that frostiness, and when he opens his mouth to respond, you giggle. It’s high-pitched and garish, unlike the glow of your usual sugared, crystaled laughter.

“Of course,” You say mechanically, “Of course I remember yesterday.”

Steven lets you step away, turning his phone over in his hand. Your gait is stilted, your movements stiff and hard. He watches you slot the dvd in, a smile still plastered on your face, the backlit blue glow eerie on your face.

A bead of sweat drips down your forehead, like something is costing you a great effort.

It’s then that Steven notices the silence.

Although he can see the glow of traffic in the window, he cannot hear it. He can’t hear anything, not the traffic on the street below, not the hum of the fridge, not the pop and spat of the radiator.

Nothing.

The flat is silent.

The only sound is the press and patter of you clicking the buttons on the remote in your hand.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Jake’s voice cuts through the flat’s stale air, the gray light, the soundless room. “Mi vida,” he growls, sweeping around the bookcase, “Look at me.”

The glassy look in your eyes shakes Jake to his core, your smile is petrified, the curve of your shoulders chilled beneath his touch. And even though you’re wearing make-up, those little gold tattoos on your cheeks and the dark, bold look that rings around your eyes, he can tell you’re tired.

“Organizing principle,” Marc is whispering. “Organizing principle. Is this real?”

Jake shakes you gently, says your name desperately. “What happened yesterday? I need you to tell me.”

“But why? Today is Halloween-,”

“I know, and so was yesterday, and the day before that.”

You don’t seem to hear him, continuing blandly, like you’re reciting a text. “No. Today is Halloween, Jake.” A tear slips down your cheek, though you continue to smile.

Fear wells up the back of his throat, choking him, as he wipes the tear away. “Yes, today is Halloween. What happened yesterday, corazón?”

You don’t answer, another tear sliding through the gold tattoo, tracing a line through the center of one. The tattoo is in the shape of a crow, its beak sliced in half. “Today is Halloween,” you murmur, like you’re an automaton that doesn’t have an appropriate pre-recorded answer to his question.

Something stretches and pulls at the tendons in his chest, tightening them until he can’t breathe, not really.

“Do you remember the day we met?” He asks, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Of course,” you perk up at that, brightening just a little. “Always.”

“What happened? Where did we go?”

You frown, the light flickering out of you again, “What do you mean? Don’t you remember?”

“Remember? I could never forget,” he slides a thumb against your cheek, gold flecks of the tattoos peeling off against his skin. You’re cold, your skin is like ice against his fingers, like peels of frost might flake off of your body if he wasn’t careful. “But I want to hear it from you. What were you thinking? When you saw us for the first time?”

Your smile stays in place, and you tilt your head to the slide, the witch hat sliding off and crumpling on the floor.

Anguish slowly crawls in your eyes, and Jake can feel it being mirrored back at you in his own. “I found Marc’s favorite candy in the shops on the way home.”

Jake can only nod, slowly releasing you.

He tries to remember what Marc had followed that up with the day before.

Clearly whatever was trapping them here with you in this day wanted this conversation to play out in a different way. “I love you,” he says, tipping your chin up. “We love you, querida.”

“And I love you.”

Jake takes a breath, the knot in his chest loosening a little bit.

“The breakup,” Marc supplies, his eyes desperate in the mirror. “I told her about the breakup.”

Jake nods at Marc, and then takes your hand. “I’ll order the pizza, you get the TV workin’ right.”

You smile, the wooden fractured-ness of you fading a bit, like Jake is an actor opposite you finally remembering his lines.

“Okay, baby,” You lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth, the press of your frigid lips makes him shiver.

Jake waits until you’ve eaten pizza, until you’re settled in the crook of his arm downing piece after piece of candy, to broach the subject with you.

His memory is in little pieces, scratched and scuffed and failing because he cannot remember the pizza being delivered, it simply is, it simply appeared.

As if the greasy cardboard boxes have always been stacked in the center of the coffee table.

The weird gray light still lingers, and Jake is starting to wonder what would happen if he opened the front door, if he jumped out the window to the noiseless street below.

Though, as he’d returned to the apparently planned dialogue, the sounds of the street had echoed up again, the thrum of the fridge and the crackle of the radiator too.

“Hey,” he rubs your shoulder. “I gotta talk to ya about somethin’.”

Steven had wanted to be the one to do this part, but something about the situation put Jake too on edge to even consider letting Marc or Steven front.

“Hm?” Your tired eyes turn away from the screen. “What’s that, Jake?” You smile, and it looks genuine, there is a love lodged there that can’t be faked.

“Today is Halloween,” he tells you. “So was yesterday and the day before that. Maybe we’re losing our mind or maybe it was a dream,” he tells you carefully, using the language that Marc had that first day. “But to us it was – is real.”

You nod and curl your legs over his lap. Jake slips his hand down your thigh and over your knee. “Marc broke up with you.”

“Why?”

Jake stills.

It’s not a question you asked before.

“He, uh, he thought it was for the best.”

“Does Marc hate me?” You ask it so casually, like the answer doesn’t matter. You reach forward and dip your hand into the candy bowl, pulling out a piece of chocolate that you deftly unwrap and pop in your mouth, happily chewing. “Does Steven hate me? Do you hate me, Jake?”

“No,” Jake answers, feels the echo of hurt through all three of them. “No-,”

Marc is silent, his presence a brick wall in Jake’s mind, his own pain sealed off from theirs. Steven’s quiet hurt is almost worse.

You lift and brow and unwrap another piece of chocolate, shaking your head. “I mean,” your voice is raw, your throat working hard, the tendons pulling, even though your body is relaxed. Jake knows you’re fighting, his brave girl trying so desperately not to hurt them the way this fucking time loop wants you to.

“He has to hate me,” your voice creaks and cracks and splits and this time Jake can’t answer you, he can only look at you, at the agonized, sorrowful pools your eyes have turned into, like you’re not in control of anything, like you’re trying so hard to hold the words inside. “You have to hate me too. I know Steven does.”

“No,” he shakes himself, trying to find the threads of this conversation from before. “No, we – he broke up with you because he was trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From, fuck, from us, I guess. Us.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, observing him for a long moment when he doesn’t continue. “Are you going to hurt me?” The words are so fractured, so bitten off, he almost can’t understand you.

“No, baby, never,” Jake rasps.

This is not what he’s good at, this is not something he can fight. You are not something he can fight. He doesn’t know what comes next, what he’s supposed to do now, now that you’ve sputtered off in the direction of them hurting you.

“Tell her, Jake,” Steven directs. “Correct her. Don’t let her think that.”

Jake licks his lips, nodding. “Fuck, no,” he repeats, “Marc wanted to tell you about his – our childhood.”

You just look at him, your eyes pained and waiting. Jake squeezes your knee, feels the glacial sensation of your fingers curling around his.

“But he was afraid. And he broke up with you instead.” Jake takes your hands, sweeps his thumbs over the backs of your icy fingers. “We didn’t want to.”

Yesterday, you had been understanding, kind.

Yesterday, you were warm.

The loop doesn’t want that today.

Today, on this Halloween, you say, your throat working violently, “But he did. And here you are explaining it instead.”

“Yesterday-,”

“Yesterday doesn’t count,” you spit. “Today you hurt me.”

Your eyes are empty now, like you aren’t present, like there’s nothing at all inside you. Like you stopped fighting, so you don’t have to hear what you say either.

The pattern, that Halloween, repeats and repeats and repeats, for six more days.

The system doesn’t sleep, and it’s clear that you aren’t either between the starts and ends of those terrible days.

Sometimes you are kind and understanding, other days you bite into them with a force so hateful it makes all three of them wonder if there’s a truth of it living inside of you.

But they see the way you fight with the words, the way tears slip over your cheeks, the bitten off, teeth clenched way the words travel out of you.

And they tell themselves that they know you don’t mean it.

Breaking the loop seems impossible, the conversations stalled, the chill of your skin growing by the day. One wrong word, even the tiniest off script, sends the whole thing careening away again. There’s something they’re supposed to say to you, but they can’t figure out what it is.

They watch the sunshine peeled goodness of you fade until you’re lifeless and gray, the beginning of each new day like the start of a terrible sitcom.

One evening, you ask who’s paintings dot the walls of the flat. Another evening, you can’t recall what your job is. You’re never able to tell them how you met, where you met. You’re never able to say when you first met Steven, over cups of steaming coffee as you gushed about restoration. You don’t remember the pub Jake took you to instead of your home when you hit it off that first day in the fading warm sun of late spring.

And you certainly don’t remember the first time you met Marc.

“Tell her about -,”

“No,” Steven disagrees. “She’d never want to know like this. She’d never want us to be forced to talk about that.”

Marc refuses to say anything anyways, in all the days that pass. He’s sure that it’ll all break, that this loop ends the way it started.

You will leave no matter what they say.

Jake is exhausted when he wakes on the seventh day, but he’s pissed too.

A blood red rage is running through his veins, lighting the inside of him on fire.

He throws back the duvet, curses in the silence of the flat, the flat, dead, graying light.

He doesn’t wait to hear what Marc and Steven think of his plan.

Instead he shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he sees, and wrenches open the front door. The hall looks the same as it always does.

He steps out into the hall, not sure what he’d do when he got to the street below-

The bed is soft, he doesn’t think he’s been lying down for long, the pressure on his chest having nothing to do with any physical ailment.

He doesn’t bother with shoes this time, wrenching one of the windows open, desperate suddenly to get outside.

He should know though, as soon as he opens the window that it won’t work either. The air is stale, the same temperature as the flat, and there is no noise that echoes up from below.

Jake shoves an arm out, starts to lift himself –

“Fuck!”

“I don’t think that’s goin’ to work, mate,” Steven says. “I think we’re trapped here. There’s something we need to do here, to break the circle or loop or whatever it is we’re in.”

Jake rubs a hand over his eyes. “Okay, fine. How?” He can’t keep doing this. He and Steven can’t keep doing this. There’s no reprieve it seems, between the start and stop of the loop, so they haven’t slept in days.

You haven’t slept in days.

“Bloody hell, Jake, I don’t know,” Steven paces back and forth in the mirror. Jake notes the bruises under his eyes, the sallowness of their skin.

He feels sluggish and slow, hollowed out. Jake isn’t used to shouldering emotional burdens for the system, and he wonders for a moment how Steven manages to get out of bed in the morning with the weight settled across his shoulders.

“I can’t have her lookin’ at me like that again. Like she doesn’t know us. Fuck, like we did somethin’ to hurt her,” Jake says, his voice sawed off and worn. “I can’t.”

“Maybe today will be different,” Steven says helpfully, trying for a bit of optimism. “She was different each day, yeah? Just a couple of consistencies, depending on how we approach her.”

A thrill of fear knocks up Jake’s spine, a fear that doesn’t belong to him.

Marc’s presence is like a flame, burning hot with tension, a flare in the day where he hadn't been for days now. “What if she’s angry? What if I tell her and she’s angry.”

“She won’t be-,”

“I don’t think telling her under duress is the solution, Marc! She’d hate knowing that when she’s back to herself.”

“We don’t know that,” Marc grits out, fists clenched. “We – I never thought she’d be – ,”

Some of the days you’ve been dismissive, irritated, disbelieving.

“Why don’t we focus on what we’re supposed to be fixing to break us out of this cycle, yeah?” Steven cuts Marc’s anxiety riddled rambling. “We broke up with her – ,”

“Marc-,”

“We,” Steven emphasizes. “We broke up with her. We thought we bloody fixed that the first reset but clearly not.” He swallows and turns to watch Jake back, where he still sits in the graying light of the flat. “I suppose…well, the only other thing – ,”

Jake looks to Marc, pacing around the other mirror. “Marc needs to tell her.”

“Maybe not,” Steven says, picturing your anguish over their being coerced into telling you something like that. “Maybe not everything. Just a start. Maybe just explain why it is we broke up with her, but that we aren’t ready for the rest.”

“She’s not going to want to find out this way,” Jake says as the jangling sounds in the hall, your slow pace down the hall. “Her eyes, she’s not in control. She isn’t -,”

“There might not be another choice.”

The door opens.

You are smiling, “Hey, baby!”

Jake follows the script they seem to have been set with you.

There are circles beneath your eyes, and he can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, not when you look so miserable and confused, like a puppet on strings.

The look in your eyes begs, demands that he cut the strings.

“Mi vida,” Jake says, when the first movie is finished and your eyes are slipping shut, exhaustion weighing you down. “We’re gonna break this thing here and now. I need to tell you something, if you’ll let me.”

You don’t move, your body slumped into his, eyes blank and staring at the TV as you yawn. “Shouldn’t Marc tell me?” You have been dimmed, your light gone out, your voice sleepy and so far away.

“Marc’s here,” Jake says, sweeping a hand over your forehead. “And Steven too. We all need to tell you somethin’. Not just one of us, all of us.”

There’s a long pause, like whoever has the cords of your fate in their hands is deciding if this is good enough. “Okay,” your voice is small, and your eyes are ringed with tears when you turn your gaze to his. “I’m listening.”

“Yesterday was Halloween, and a couple days before that too. But I think you know that already.” You don’t say anything, wide, brokenly tired eyes watching his. “I think you remember it all too and we’re sorry you’ve had to go through whatever this is.”

You straighten and take his hands in yours, tucking your legs into his side. “I’m listening,” you repeat, hands cold and stiff. “I’m here. I’m always right here.”

You seem startled at the words that pour forth, like they’re your own and not the repetition of something none of you can see.

“We know. We were afraid.”

“I know.”

Steven squeezes your fingers, tugging you that much closer to him. “Hi, love.”

“Hey, baby.”

The thing squeezing at his lungs, at his heart, until it feels like he might pop and deflate, eases just a bit.

You’re answering him. You, not something else.

“Marc shouldn’t have said the things he did.” A tear drips down his nose and you reach up to wipe it away, pressing your thumb to his chin. “But he did and we’re sorry for that.”

Steven captures your hand, and presses his lips to your palm, your wrist.

That magic, golden sheen of you that Steven loves, is muted and subdued. You look tired and worn and hurt. “You said I ask for too much. And maybe I do. You said you don’t trust me. And maybe I did something to make you distrust me.”

“No, dear heart,” he rushes to reassure you. “No, Marc was just upset.”

Your tongue seems to have been loosened and Steven clutches you tighter when your words seem to be your own. “I wouldn’t have made him tell me, Steven. I never meant to make him feel like it was a condition to my love.” You pause and swallow thickly. “I love you. I love all of you.”

“We know, love.”

“You still don’t have to tell me.” You shake your head, your throat straining again, “Never. Not if you don’t want to.”

“We know that too.”

“So what is he afraid of?”

Marc blinks at you, at the shape of you in his arms, and the weight of the regrets that pulled on his soul. Before he can even open his mouth, you’re saying, “It’s not your fault, Marc. This is not your fault.” You sound fierce, ferocious in your lioness defense of him.

He chuckles weakly, sliding his thumb against your temple. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah. Certain of it, actually,” You blink at him, owlish and open and waiting for him, always waiting for him. “So what are you afraid of?”

“You,” he croaks, the honesty splitting his throat open, making it raw and hot. “I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid you won’t want me. And I know that’s on me.”

You curl a hand against the back of his neck, and he closes his eyes, not able to look into the shining center of you. “I’m still not ready to tell you. But the thought of it, of when I do…I know you’ll abandon-,”

“What makes you think that? Haven’t I proven myself enough?”

He feels your breath on his lips, warm and sweet, as you press your forehead to his.

“You have.”

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to run away,” you say softly. “You could have said that you weren’t ready, that you might never be. And I would understand. I understand some things just can’t be said.”

When Marc pulls back to look at you, your sunflower glow is back, your little tattoos are gone, and the eye make-up too. His sepia steeped girl.

You look more tired than ever, bruises underlining the space beneath your eyes, like a hollow that he personally dug out himself, like he’s cratered you.

“I don’t want to run away,” he reaches for you, digs his fingers into the purple and black tights, dragging you into him. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“And what did you do?” It’s not accusatory, just prodding. “Honey,” you coo, a kindness he doesn’t deserve breaking up your syruped voice. “What do you think you did?”

Marc hesitates, not really sure what the right answer is. Shouldn’t have broken up with you? Obvious. Shouldn’t have spoken for Steven and Jake? Yeah, definitely.

Shouldn’t have gotten drunk? Yes.

Before he can answer, you’re shaking your head, like you can hear his thoughts. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself to tell me something you weren’t ready to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Baby,” you murmur, a tear careening down your cheek, “if you have to get drunk to tell me, then you aren’t ready. If you have to force it, you aren’t ready. If you feel like you have to and not because you want to, then you aren’t ready.”

“What if I’m never ready? What if this is forever?”

“Then I’m just glad you have Steven and Jake to take care of you,” you say. “Someone to share it with.”

Your skin warms under his touch, like fire breathed to life. “And you? What about you?”

“As long as you’ll have me, I’m here.”

Marc opens his mouth, but the world goes dark.

The day after Halloween comes with a vengeance.

Steven’s mouth is cottony and dry, his head is spinning, and the sheets smell like stale whiskey, but the morning light is yellow and flickering, not pale gray nothingness.

You’re still there, sleeping on the sofa. Your things are still scattered about the flat - the paintings and sweaters and stacks of dvds. The Halloween decorations are still strung up, candles he doesn’t remember being lit burned down low, the smell of leaves and cinnamon sugar permeating the air, the pumpkin lights still plugged in.

There are pizza boxes on the table and a cracked whiskey bottle in the sink, still oozing amber liquid.

And the pumpkin by the door is carved, a pigeon shaped Khonshu.

Steven scrambles upright so fast he nearly falls out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a bang as memories flood back into his mind.

He trips across the room in his haste, lands on his knees at your side, where you’re still asleep.

“Love,” he says, not able to keep the shrill worry out of his voice. “Love, please, wake up, I -,”

“Steven,” you murmur, blearily looking up at him. “What’s the matter?”

“I - you - I,” he sutters before he gets a grip, “Do you remember yesterday?”

You slowly sit up, rubbing your fists over your eyes, before you tug him up from the floor into the space next to you. “God, which one?”

Relief as he’s never known it rushed through him. You remember. You were there with them.

Steven reaches for you, wraps you up tight against him. “Don’t go. Please. We don’t want you to.”

“I know,” your voice cracks, your hand is on his cheek. “You broke the loop. My little level-headed genius.”

Steven fits himself against you, absorbing the warmth of you. You’re no longer cold, no longer a specter in your own skin. He doesn’t answer you, can’t seem to find his voice, stuck in the back of his throat.

“Are Marc and Jake alright?” You ask. Then, voice quieter, glazed and low, “Did Marc mean it?”

Marc just holds you for a moment, pressing his nose to your temple, crushing you into him, like he might pull you inside his bones. “I’m sorry,” he whispers instead of answering you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you hold him back, dig your fingers into him hard, down into the meat of his ribs. “I won’t say it's okay, but I know.” Your other hand finds his hair, stroking back the locks, curling through the dark strands. “Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” his voice is a little squawk.

You pat his hair, and he wants to cry but doesn’t. “Did you hear what I said? You shouldn’t have pushed yourself to tell me something you weren’t ready to.”

“I-,”

“I am not going anywhere,” your voice is like a promise. “I’m not. Especially not over this.”

Marc nods, nods and nods and can’t fucking speak. “I’m here. You don’t have to push me away. I won’t ask for too much and if I do you can tell me to back off. You don't have to run away. I won't hurt you. Okay?”

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“I’m not your mother. You aren’t her either.”

And even though you don’t know the details, you’re right.

Marc can’t find his voice so he watches you, watches the glow of sun over your skin. “I love you. And it’s not easily broken. It’s not glass you can shatter.” You smile then, and press your nose to his, “and we are never ever ever watching Scream again.”

Finally, a laugh bursts out of him. He tucks you close, holds you tight, breathes in the orange and sage scent of you, tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

The sweet warmth of relief floods Marc and Steve and Jake, like they can breathe for the first time in a few long Halloweens.

#marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight #steven grant x you #jake lockley x you #marc spector x you

2K notes · View notes

talesofadragon · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 ��𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader

Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.

Word Count: 12K

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away.

Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it.

“What in the name of God are you doing?”

Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.

You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.

“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?”

You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.

“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought.

Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt.

“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.”

He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street.

“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.”

“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes.

Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.”

“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.”

“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.”

Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.”

“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.”

It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.

You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.”

“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.”

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie.

“You mean like right now?”

“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.”

Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge.

“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“…I hate that house.”

“The nice house down our street?”

“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.”

“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.”

“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted.

You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”

Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you.

“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.”

“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.”

“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist.

“It was one time!”

“For five days.”

“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.”

Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got, he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.

Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.

Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly.

“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”

“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?

“It looks like it,” Steve answered.

Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”

The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.

Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”

“For what?”

“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing.

You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud.

We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.

To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows Join the Halloween Feast Tonight

And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM

“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.

Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?”

"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."

The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.

“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.

“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something.

“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.

Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window.

And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet.

“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”

He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.

“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?”

The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side.

“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.

You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy.

“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.

Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.”

“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.”

“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.”

“I’m the Head of the Avengers.”

“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.”

You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.”

“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?”

“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.”

“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.”

“That’s too dangerous.”

“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?”

“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.”

“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.”

“And you judge me about my common sense?”

“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”

It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house.

The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.

Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.

“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.

“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”

With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.

You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.

"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"

You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness.

“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.”

“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied.

“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”

You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.”

“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said.

Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.

Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?”

The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.”

With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.

The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.

“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?”

Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan.

“Steve!” you called apprehensively.

“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented.

You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air.

You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve.

“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one.

“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.”

The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp.

The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster.

One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied.

You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash.

“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer.

“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.”

Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.”

You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs.

Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.

You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.”

“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced.

In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?

Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault.

You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground.

The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms.

You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf.

“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.”

Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!”

The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh.

“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”

“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”

Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer.

“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?

Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!”

“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys.

Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit.

Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls.

Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise?

As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.

“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.”

You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright.

A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”

You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.

“How are we gonna get out?”

“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”

The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers.

“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door.

The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements.

The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy.

“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head.

“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace.

“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”

“What question?”

You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,

“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts,

Within the breadth of darkness, I reside.

Devoid of soul, I grasp control,

In my distorted mist, your will subsides.

I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes,

Tell me, soldier, who am I?"

“Son of a bitch!”

“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”

Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.

“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is a nightmare.”

A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.”

The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind.

“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”

“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak.

The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”

“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees.

As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into.

“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”

Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic.

“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.

“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”

“Tony!”

“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”

“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”

“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”

“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”

“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.

Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!”

When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume.

Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf.

“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension.

Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”

“Like who?”

“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”

You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”

Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him.

“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"

At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”

You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance.

Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different.

“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”

Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”

The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks.

“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.”

Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.

You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.

“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”

The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.

You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.

His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.

“Steve.”

He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.

It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.

“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”

“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.

In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.

“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”

Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.

Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”

You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.

He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.

Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.

Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.

Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.

Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.

Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.

“St—?”

“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”

It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.

When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.

Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”

Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.

And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.

You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock.

Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”

You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”

Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life.

In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.

The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.

And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.

He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.

“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”

You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.

“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.

You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.

“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”

“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.

He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.

“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.

You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”

You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.

Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.

He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.

You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.

Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.

A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.

You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face.

Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer.

You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.

“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp.

You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.

“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”

Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”

He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.

“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”

“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”

“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”

“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”

He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.

Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”

You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”

Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”

“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.”

You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once.

Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.

“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.

“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”

And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions.

“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.

“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”

You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.

You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.

“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.

Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Pepper. No, I swe—”

“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”

“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”

“Then, why are we in this room?”

“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”

“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”

“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”

“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”

“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”

Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”

“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.

“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”

And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”

“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”

“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.

I'm going to hell for this.

You can also find my work on AO3. 🤍

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #kinktober 2023 #marvel kinktober #steve rogers kinktober #halloween fanfic #JamiesHalloween2023

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sunnyhalloweenzine · 6 months

Text

🎃Spooktacular News!🎃

We are thrilled to announce that the Halloween Sunny Zine is finally complete! (with a bit of a delay but we promise it's worth the wait)

We had the opportunity to work with some of the most awesomest, insanely creative people in this fandom, and it's been an absolute joy to see this project start, take shape and be finished.

So without further, we wish you a very Happy Halloween, and we hope you enjoy the Zine!!

for any questions about this zine or any future projects please don't hesitate to message @malewifemanhunter / @cowboycharmac

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braidlottie · 6 months

Text

and i used to believe, no one could love you like i do.

pairing: lottie matthews x gn!reader

summary: having dinner with your estranged mother and girlfriend beside you already sounded like a bad idea to begin with. but like always, your mother still managed to reel you in.

word count: 1.4K

tags: h/c (hurt/comfort), reader has mommy issues, soft!lottie!!!!’!! :((( like very soft and gentle :(, crying, arguing, somewhat happy ending, reader likes spongebob?! possibly self indulgent but everyone can enjoy 🩷

title inspired by voyager by boygenius

also, happy halloween!! 🎃

“you ready, honey?” your girlfriend’s voice bringing you out of your thoughts, her hand ready to ring the doorbell.

“uhh, yeah. i’m just a little nervous.” you wiped the sweat off the back of your neck. you couldn’t figure out why you were sweating in such snowy new york weather. you despised how anxious your mother made you, your heart about to jump out your chest at the sound of her name.

when your mother had called you out of the blue and asked you to have dinner, you were hesitant at first, thinking about the fight that the two of you had last easter that had your family talking for months. but lottie, being the angel she is, came along with you because she knew you needed the support. this isn’t lottie’s first time meeting the woman either. you introduced them to each other a couple months ago when the two of you first got together. your mother thought she was nice, but, she thinks she’s “way too old” for you.

“i got you, baby. i’ll be next to you this whole time, okay?”

*****

“what’s that?”

“um- a cake. i made it for you.” you smiled nervously at your mother, trying to hand it to her. “well, don’t just stand there, put it on the table. dinner’s ready, anyways.”

lottie watched the awkward and somewhat harsh interaction, a smile playing on her lips when she stuck her hand out to your mother.

“lottie, right?” it was your turn to watch this unpleasant exchange between the most important women in your life. “charlotte, actually.” lottie corrected, pursing her lips. it was silent for a while, just the sound of silverware clanging together while you were setting the table.

“hasn’t been giving you any trouble lately, i hope?” you saw your mother look back at you in the corner of your eye and lottie smiled back, trying to keep the mood light. “no, we’re just fine, thank you.”

“mom, i thought dinner was ready-”

“yeah. it is. i was just waiting for you to set the damn table.” she laughed to herself walking into the kitchen for the dish. you sat down with a huff, staring at the painting on the wall across from you. you just wanted it to be over. lottie sat in the chair next to you, taking your hand in hers and kissing it softly.

“okay, let’s eat.”

*****

“the food was fabulous.” lottie finally broke the silence. she wiped her mouth with her napkin, folding it up nicely next to her plate. “did you enjoy it, honey?” lottie put a loving hand on your shoulder. she knew you didn’t. it was spaghetti. you HATED spaghetti. ever since you were a little kid, you always shook your head at it.

you took the last sip of your beer and shrugged. “yeah, it was pretty good.” you spoke in a monotone voice, twirling your fork around in the half eaten noodles. you forced yourself to eat some, not wanting to start another unwanted fight with your mother.

“well, it looks like it wasn’t. you barely ate any of it.” she sipped her wine, shooting you a look. “yeah, because i don’t like spaghetti, mom.”

“what the hell? you loved spaghetti. it was your favorite.”

“no, i only ate it so you wouldn’t say i’m ungrateful, like you always do.”

“yeah! because you are.” your mother dropped her fork in anger, you felt the same when the unexpected sound made lottie jump.

“oh jesus christ-”

“i gave you a roof over your head, food, clothes on your back and shoes on your feet, and you act like this. so yes, that is why i say you’re ungrateful.” the women counted examples on her hand.

“that’s basic things a mother is supposed to do for their child, mom! i just wanted you to-”you clenched your jaw, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you.

“i just wanted you to reason with me. i just want to have a regular relationship with you, but you make it so difficult.”

“you’re the one making it difficult, y/n! you’re dating someone half your age, and no offense to you lottie, but y/n does not need to be in a relationship with you-”

“you can talk about me all you want, but leave my girlfriend out of it. i’m an adult, mom. okay? this is MY relationship, i don’t need any fucking body telling me that it’s wrong! because it’s not! we love each other, and you’re just upset that i’m happy.” you shot up out of your seat. lottie had never seen you so angry, she could’ve swore she saw steam coming out of your ears.

“get the hell out of my house.” your mother stood up now. “NOW. and don’t even think about coming back here without an apology.”

“not this time. i’m so sick of forgiving you and forgiving you and you end up doing the same thing i forgave you for each time.” you walked to the front door, grabbing your coat and beanie. “hope you like the cake.” you slammed the door with all your might, knocking a frame off the wall in the process and hearing it shatter from inside the house. lottie watched you walk back to her car in the blistering cold through the window, not sharing a word with your mother. she just grabbed her belongings and gave her one last look of disapproval. this time, the door was shut with a creek.

*****

lottie turned the heat on full blast, warming up the freezing car at a red light. she knew you were freezing, so was she. “you wanna go get something, sweetheart? a hot chocolate, maybe?” you shook your head and leaned closer to the window, resting your forehead on it. lottie was trying her best to cheer you up, but you just wanted to get home already so you could spend the rest of your night sulking in bed. the older woman sighed and pressed the gas, the green light glowing into the dark car. the snow had started back up, but it was light, making it okay for lottie to drive in.

the silence in the car was so loud, the two of you reliving the moments with your mother, but also trying to forget it at the same time. lottie had finally turned down her street, passing all the cars covered from roof to tire in snow. the car hummed gently as lottie parked it, chiming because she was too close to the curb.

the keys jingled in her hand when she turned off the ignition. “give me a hug, baby.” her voice scratchy, unbuckled your seatbelt, allowing you to crawl over the gear stick and into her lap. she slipped your beanie off, feeling your cold nose on her neck and how you trembled in her touch.

she kissed your temple, all that she was doing made the dam finally break behind your eyes. lottie watched you take a deep inhale, your face crumpling up and a sob fall from your mouth. “oh, my angel…” she trailed, just letting you cry it out.

lottie never wanted to say it in front of you, but she hated your mother. she hated the way she treated you. she didn’t even think you were her child because of how kind and caring you were. the two of you were the exact opposite. snow covered the windshield, your sobs muffled in lottie’s coat. you took your head out for some air, turning away from lottie. you looked into the gray night sky, resting your throbbing head on lottie’s shoulder. “i’m sorry.” you sniffled.

“don’t you dare ever apologize for something like that, you hear me? look at me,” she held you up by your arms, looking straight into your sad little eyes. “none of that was your fault, honey.” lottie wiped your cheeks, almost wanting to cry as well. you mirrored her nodded and she pulled you in for another hug. “let’s get inside and warm up, and i’ll put on a movie, okay? what do you wanna watch, darling?” the two of you got out of the car, your wet cheeks already freezing from the cold. “..spongebob.” mist came from your mouth, and did the same to lottie, when she chuckled lovingly at your answer.

“spongebob it is. let’s go sweetheart.” she held your hand, walking up the front yard to the door, kissing you reassuringly before you went in.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews fluff #lottie yellowjackets #adult lottie #lottie x reader

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munsonslove · 2 years

Note

Now that’s it’s officially October, I would like to request Eddie seeing his best friend (who he has a crush on and who never really wears skirts or dresses) in a spooky short Halloween costume with thigh highs or something and it drives him wild. Turns out she also has a crush on him and softdom!reader x sub!Eddie smut ensues (but no mommy kink pls lol) 🎃 tysm

Her Angel, His Devil

(18+ only)

a/n: thank you for the request!! i hope you like it <3 & happy spooky season everyone!

summary: It's Halloween, and you and Eddie have plans to attend a friend's party. When he sees that your costume is a little more revealing than you usually wear, the plans for the night change.

wordcount: 3.6k

tags/warnings: fem!softdom!reader, sub!eddie, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, praise kink, teasing, use of pet names (baby, babe, sweetheart), p in v penetration, L bomb dropped, no use of y/n

Eddie likes Halloween just fine, but he’s more interested in eating candy while watching scary movies (and maybe playing a prank or two on the kids) than he is in dressing up. He hasn’t been trick-or-treating since moving in with his uncle, and his friends were never the type to throw costume parties. Knowing this doesn’t stop you from asking him to accompany you to your friend’s Halloween party, and as always he agrees to your wishes. You met this girl through your job, and you know she’s only working until her dad agrees to unfreeze her inheritance. Her family is loaded, her parents just let her know they won’t be home the night of the 31st, and she is not to have anyone over. So basically, it’s going to be a rager.

Due to the party being so short notice and the fact that you and Eddie were not originally planning on doing anything in particular for the holiday, your costumes were forced to be very last minute. The stores were wiped clean of anything good, so it looked like simple and homemade was the way to go. Luckily, your friend came in clutch by offering some leftover pieces from a couple’s costume she did with her ex, but the only parts left were a headband with devil horns and some angel wings that can be worn like a backpack. Obviously, your first instinct is to let Eddie be the devil, but when you two are ransacking her closet to try and figure out what you’re going to wear, she comes across a tiny little red dress. You usually opted for a more modest look, but seeing as this would be your first Halloween since moving out, you decided to abuse the freedom of not having to hear any remarks from your family about the amount of skin showing.

You didn’t wear dresses or skirts often. In fact, although he’s been your best friend for years you don’t think Eddie has ever really seen you in a dress. And this particular one doesn’t have very much fabric. Those concerns didn’t deter your friend though, as she practically forced you to try it on right then and there. It fell just below the swell of your butt cheeks, and you had to be very careful not to flash her when stepping out of the bathroom. Feeling insecure, you tried to protest and said you would just wear all white and be the angel, but she was already shoving red accessories into your hands. The devil horns, red thigh high stockings, and red heels. Indulging her, you put everything on and turn to face the full length mirror. Admittedly, you looked incredibly sexy. The dress accentuated all of your favorite parts of yourself, and a fantasy of Eddie ripping the dress off of you in a frenzy flashed through your head.

“Don’t worry if anything gets damaged,” your friend says with a wink, and you wonder if she has mind reading powers. “I doubt Eddie’ll be able to keep his paws off you when you show up in this little number,” she finishes with a giggle, smacking you gently on the ass.

Returning the laugh, a sudden surge of confidence comes to you. Maybe you would actually finally make your move after crushing on your best friend for so many years. You call Eddie from her phone and let him know that you handled the costume situation, and to pick you up at 9:00pm the next night wearing a white t-shirt. He doesn’t ask any follow up questions, just agrees and tells you he’ll be there.

Tomorrow, the night of Halloween, he arrives at 9 o’clock on the dot and knocks on your apartment door. Your roommate was actually just leaving as he arrived, so she let him in and told him you were getting ready.

“Look who came exactly on time, in exactly what they were told to wear, only for their date to be running late,” he shouts through your door, smile apparent in his voice.

“Sorry!” you call out in response, “I’m not used to putting on makeup, so it’s taking longer than I expected it to.”

“Makeup?” he asks, thinking back to when he last saw you wearing any. It had to be years ago, maybe before high school. “Like face paint? What’re our costumes?”

“No, not face paint. Eyeliner and blush and stuff. My friend I told you about lent it to me,” you explain. “The rest of your costume is on the kitchen table.”

You hear a short “‘Kay,” then him walking away from your door. After finishing up with the lipstick, you apply one last coat of mascara and give yourself a final glance over. The dress has spaghetti straps with a low cut sweetheart neckline, and is tight up top but flares at the bottom. While it covers all the important bits, the dress is still short no matter what way you look at it, and tugging the fabric down doesn’t help much. Your legs are covered, but only barely, by sheer red stockings that come up to your mid thigh and connect to a garter belt. Dark eye makeup enhances the devilish look, and the added touch of a blood red lip really completes it. You put on the horns with care not to mess up your hair and slip into the pointed pumps (that you’ve spent all day practicing walking in) before exiting the room and sneaking behind Eddie.

He hears you, but doesn’t turn around. In his hands are the fake wings, along with a halo headband that you fashioned out of yellow pipe cleaner. It was very resourceful, if you do say so yourself.

“You know, when all you told me was ‘wear a white t-shirt’ I was expecting a greaser thing. Maybe a little Sandy and Zuko action, since I know I forgot my leather jacket here the last time I was over” he starts, clearly amused by your choice. “But this is really funny. What about me screams ang-”

His joking comes to a halt midway through his sentence when he turns around and finally sees you for the first time that night. His gaze immediately drops to your cleavage, then to your hips, then thighs, then back up to your cleavage. You try to keep the smugness you feel from being overt, but you aren’t sure he’d notice either way.

“Whaddya think?” you ask, holding your arms out by your sides and giving him a little twirl.

He’s silent for a moment, still looking you up and down with his jaw dropped. Eventually, he speaks up. “You look… uh… really nice,” he says, and your face warms at his emphasis on the word ‘really’.

“Are you sure?” you ask, feigning modesty. You can tell from the heat in his expression that he thinks you look a little bit better than ‘nice’. “I feel kinda silly, I don’t usually dress up like this.”

Eddie scoffs, like what you’re saying is ridiculous. “Babe, you look fucking incredible,” he assures you. “I mean- don’t get me wrong- you’re drop dead gorgeous when you’re in sweats and one of my band shirts. But this…” he trails off, once again blatantly checking you out.

A scheme hatches in your brain, and you have a suspicion that it’s already halfway to succeeding. You’ll have to call your coworker later and apologize about never making it to her party, but the result will be so rewarding. Stepping forward, you take the halo and he releases it from his grip without objection. After placing it on his head- the actual band piece being obstructed from view thanks to his curls- you take either of his cheeks in your freshly manicured hands and smile coyly at him.

“My angel,” you whisper, reveling in the way his eyes glued themselves to your lips.

“My devil,” he replies in an almost growl, dropping the wings to the floor before caving and meeting your mouth with his.

This has been a long time coming, and you mentally berated yourself for not pushing him sooner. After years of knowing each other, you might have guessed that he fell around the same time you did, but there was always the doubt and fear of ruining what was already a good thing. If friendship was all you could get with Eddie, then the long nights of wanting more after spending all day with him were worth it just to have him in your life. Now that he’s in your grasp, however, you were never letting go.

“Baby,” he whines against your lips, “Wanted this for so long. You have no idea.”

“I have an inkling,” you say, chuckling as he’s desperately trying to kiss you while simultaneously speaking. It’s cute how needy he became so quickly, and you plan to have fun with that. After only a short kiss and a little peek of skin, you could feel him beginning to harden. Hooking your finger into one of the belt loops on his jeans, you drag him to the open door of your bedroom and he follows wordlessly, smiling dopily the whole way there. His grin grows wider and more sure when you open the drawer to your bedside table and pull out a little foil square.

“Do you want this, baby?” you ask, your own voice surprising you with its sultry tone.

“Yes,” he answers instantly, “So bad, please.” He sounds wrecked already, and you haven’t even touched him. You can already tell he’ll be deliciously pliant under your command.

You smirk before closing the drawer and say one word. “Strip.”

Biting into the packaging and pulling out the condom, he hurriedly does as you tell him to, starting with the t-shirt then barely avoiding tripping as he kicks off his jeans and boxers. His cock springs up and rests by his belly button the second the elastic passes over it. Something about being fully clothed while he stood before you completely nude (minus the guitar pick necklace, the silly angel halo, and those rings that drive you crazy) made you feel powerful, which made you want to ruin him all the more. You step forward and ready the rubber to be rolled onto him. The latex slides down easily- something both his and your impatience is thankful for- and your hand closes around the base of his cock firmly. You just hold there for a second, enjoying the way he attempts to buck up to receive even a minor amount of friction. His tiny whimpers get somewhat louder until he snaps out of his trance and quiets down, shy about the noises escaping him.

“Don’t hold back those pretty sounds,” you order, kissing up his jaw before taking his earlobe between your teeth.

“It’s embarrassing,” he complains, still biting back moans while trying to fuck himself into your fist.

“It’s not. You wouldn’t be so shy if you knew the effect you had on me,” you whisper into his ear. “My pretty boy makes me feel so loved with his sounds, don’t you wanna make me feel loved?”

“Y- yeah…” he breathes out. His voice is broken and scratchy, and the little gasps of air shoot straight to your core. He’s moaning now- not fully unabashedly, but beautifully nonetheless. “I do, I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he told you he loved you. After all, you had been best friends for many years, and while you were too scared to be completely open you did make sure to let him know how much he meant to you and how much you cared. However, this declaration of love felt different, for undeniable reasons. The weight of his last statement hung in the air, but he didn’t seem to notice, he was too preoccupied by his desperation for you.

“So perfect for me. My perfect, sweet boy,” you coo at him, and his face brightens. The praise is light and bubbly in his chest, and heightens his sensitivity substantially.

“Please, I need you baby,” he says, his tone as serious as if this were life and death. You briefly consider going easy on him, but the fun of toying with him is too tempting.

“Beg,” you reply simply.

A long, uninterrupted groan leaves him as he throws his head back in frustration. “Please,” he tries again, “Please let me fuck you. I’m dying here.”

“So dramatic,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m gonna give you what you need, baby. Just let me take care of you.”

His disdain at having to wait is obvious, but you know he’ll do as you say anyway. You let go of his dick, causing his eyebrows to upturn in disappointment, but his excitement returns when he follows your instructions to get on the bed. Practically belly flopping onto it, he quickly turns around and lies with his legs spread wide. The sight makes your mouth water and you have to resist devouring him right then and there, still wanting to torture him by going slow.

“Look so pretty doing as you’re told,” you murmur before biting your bottom lip. Eddie squirms, messing up the sheets tautly tucked under the mattress.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments back, tone heavy with the truth he pours into it. Your heart aches at the desire you feel emanating from him. “So beautiful, everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Who knew you’d be such a sweet talker in bed,” you joke. His flattery makes you giddy, but you want to retain the upper hand in this dynamic, so you try to play it off like it’s not affecting you that much.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “Just wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long.”

“It’s okay,” you say, crawling onto the bed and into his lap, “Me too.”

Your clothed pussy makes contact with his thigh. The damp cotton slickens his skin and his nails dig into your sides over the thin fabric of your dress. It doesn’t seem to register to him that his hold is almost too tight, but you’re sure there’ll be light bruises in the shape of his hands on your waist tomorrow (not that you mind at all, the physical reminder will actually be nice). His cock twitches as you softly trail the nail of your pointer finger down his chest. Even through the condom you can tell that it’s an angry shade of red, and the slit is leaking precum. It looks sort of uncomfortable, but that doesn’t stop this view from being the best thing you’ve ever seen. Undoing the hooks on your garter belt, the elastics snap up slightly while your stockings droop a little, still mostly being held in place by the thickness of your thigh. With those out of the way, you’re able to sit up and slide your panties down your legs, and Eddie assists you in pulling them the rest of the way off when you have to fall back on your butt to get them over your knees. He takes advantage of your new position, using it to hover over you as he parts your legs. With your skirt folded up over your stomach, your cunt is on full display to him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he says, his words slurred with lust. The pad of his thumb presses onto your clit and you sigh as he rubs it curiously, his eyes never leaving your blissed out face.

As he circles the tender nub, your need to act out your many years worth of sexual fantasies on him grows stronger. “Eddie, lay down. I wanna ride you.”

Instantly obeying, he lies on his back with his head supported by your many pillows, and untangles his hair from the pipe cleaner halo before tossing it to the side. You swing a leg over his lap to kneel above him, and his cock stands up straight, begging for attention. You can’t wait any longer. Wrapping your fingers around the base once more, you hold as close to his balls as you can manage, and position it at your soaked entrance. The sound he makes when the head comes into contact with your burning hot center is euphoric, and he’s not even inside you yet. You sink onto him slowly, forcing yourself to continue this little act of control that you have going on, despite how badly you just want to take from him what you need. Eddie, on the other hand, is not capable of practicing any discipline and begins thrusting up into you with no warning.

You push down onto him as hard as you can, then pin him there, effectively ceasing his movements. “I didn’t tell you that you could do that,” you say, ignoring his cries of protest. “Don’t you want to be good for me, baby?”

“Y- yes!” he calls out, beads of liquid pooling in the lashes of his closed eyes. “But you feel so fucking good, baby. So good.” Clearly, all of his focus is being used on staying still. His face is scrunched up, and the show of determination is rather adorable.

“I know, sweet boy, I know,” you whisper comfortingly as you lean forward, his cock fully sheathed inside of you. “It’s good for me too.”

You kiss away his tears before moving on to his pouting lips, then at their corner, then his cheek and down his jaw, until you end up sucking on his neck. The red marks left behind by your lipstick look so cute covering his face and throat, you make a mental note to snap a polaroid before falling asleep. And to be honest, it was really good. The girth and length were the perfect size, and you swear you can feel the little ridges and divots massaging your insides with each shift. Your hips begin softly rocking against him, too slow to grant any real satisfaction.

“Please, please go faster sweetheart. I’m begging. Begging just like you told me to, please,” he whines. It’s bordering on pathetic, which is why how much more it turns you on confuses you. “Stop teasing, baby, please.”

“Teasing?” you say humorously, giggling into his neck. “Is that what I’m doing? I guess you’re right. I’m sorry, baby.”

He and you both know you’re not really all that sorry, but he doesn’t dare call you out on the lie in fear that you’ll prolong the buildup even more. Taking pity, you grind on him harder and faster, before sitting up and placing your hands on his chest. You’re now fully bouncing up and down, and he groans in relief.

“Ffffffuck, sweetheart, thank you,” he sobs. “Thank you, baby, thank you. That’s so good.”

The horned headband starts to slip off from the fast motions, so you rip it from your head and fling it across the room, ignoring the sound of it hitting and knocking over some of the hair care products lent to you from your work friend. Your fingers curl inward and drag down to his ribs, scratching white lines and contorting the images of his tattoos.

“You feel so good, Eddie,” you moan, “Oh my god. You’re so good.”

“I am?” he asks, and you see the hope and admiration on his face.

“Yes, sweet boy,” you say, and his toothy smile nearly has you tearing up as well. There’s a lot of meaning behind these words for him, and for you as well. “You’re so good. So perfect for me.”

Eddie tries to pull one of the straps of your dress down your arm, but it rips off and swings between the two of you. He tears the other one in the same way, showing no respect for the garment despite knowing it didn’t belong to you, then pulls the top down to reveal your bra. It was a strapless quarter cup to align with the low cut of the neckline while still offering some support, and its red satin matched the color of the dress fabric. His hands massage your chest, and the metal of his rings is cool on your flushed skin.

“Just for you, baby. Only for you,” he whines, his head thrown back and his throat now exposed. A vein on his neck protrudes from his straining, and you fall forward to flatten your tongue against it.

“Don’t hold back, baby,” you demand between licks. “I want to see my perfect boy cum. Can you do that? Can you show me how pretty you are when you cum for me?”

Before you even finish talking, his hips are stuttering beneath you, and you can feel his dick twitching inside you as he orgasms. You follow shortly behind, biting down on his neck and sucking a hickey right next to his Adam’s apple as you continue fucking him through his climax. He softens inside you, but you want to be mean a tiny bit longer, so you keep riding him until he’s shaking from overstimulation. It’s a lot for you to handle as well, but his whimpers from the pleasure that’s quickly becoming too much to bear are too beautiful to stop.

“Babe, baby, I can’t take anymore,” he cries. “It’s- shit- it’s too good.”

After a couple more pumps, you collapse on his chest and bury your head in his neck. His hair- damp with sweat- tickles your nose, and you rise and fall with him as he catches his breath, inhaling and exhaling. He winds his arms around your middle and squeezes you tight, rubbing one of his hands up and down for a moment before drawing patterns on your back above your bra. You both melt into the bed, and into each other.

“Wow,” he hums into the quietness after you start to feel yourself give into exhaustion, “You are a devil.”

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