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chronically-ghosted · 2 months

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stay sexy and don’t get murdered

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 6K

summary: Trapped behind a secret wall to hide from a murderer, the close proximity forces you and Dieter to confront feelings you rather bury underneath your case to prove your favorite neighbor didn’t commit suicide.

(This is the Only Murders in the Building smut fic in the chaotic stylings of Dieter Bravo.)

warnings: brief moments of tv-appropiate terror, arguing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death/murder, but more importantly: smut (like half of this is smut), oral (f!receiving), dieter’s bare ass nearly catching on fire, too many feelings for something that started as a crack fic idea

a/n: this is my submission for the Dieter Brainrot Club server challenge! Thank you so much to @sp00kymulderrr for putting this together!

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On the other side of the false door, the floor creaks. Fear arches up the back of your spine, your fingers digging into your thighs, your heart pounding somewhere near your ears. The threads of light that struggle through the nearly invisible cracks fade and emerge as heavy boots cross back and forth over the wooden floor. A thousand panicked thoughts pierce one after the other –

Did you shut the door all the way?

Could the intruder see the seams in the wall?

What were they waiting for?

And then, like a red, bright flare barreling through your brain: what the fuck were they after in Dieter’s apartment?

Another step closer to the false door and dread smothers every thought in your head, until you can hear the thundering of your own heart, the quick draw of your breath that is obviously so loud, the intruder has to hear it.

Another bootfall, another creak, less light – he’s coming right for you you’re drawing him in – you inhale sharply, fear beating your heart against your breast bone the closer and closer the shadow comes – all the light is gone – and –

His hand slips over your mouth and draws you against his chest. The chill of the hidden crawl space dissipates against his warm skin, his solid forearm like a protective barrier over your chest, his fingers suddenly around your wrist as if to catch you. Your body must think it's falling because your hands grip him around the forearm, pulling him even tighter, his warmth a balm to the sinking cold of fear.

Shhh . . .

Maybe he says it or maybe you just hear it in your head, his lips against your ear, not a gust of air between your bodies, his own breathing so faint you vaguely think he might be holding his breath. The heady scent of his muted cologne – days old at this point – mixed with the zing of something citrus-y has your head fogging up faster, fear dripping away like melting ice. You want to keep your eyes trained on the cracks of light, keep your muscles tense and ready for a fight when that door inevitably opens – but you swallow against his fingers when you realize that underlying smell of spice coming from him is the smell of Takis sticks and how much it turns you the fuck on.

In the silence, the footfalls stop. The pressure and overpowering heat at your back makes sweat peak at your hairline, heartbeat at a low thrum. You’re entirely sure both of you have stopped breathing, just waiting, hoping –

You squeeze your eyes shut –

And then the boots turn away. Heavy, lurking, but in the opposite direction. The invader paces up and down the length of the apartment, never coming near the secret door again. And then, as quickly as he came, the front door opens and shuts.

There is quiet, a ringing silence.

“Oh thank fuck,” Dieter gasps out. He lets you go, giving you space again, and you are instantly cold. He drops his hands to his navy sweatpants over his knees, head dropping down against his chest. “Holy shit I thought we were gonna die.”

Your lips are still warm from his hand so as if to give it back because you don’t want anything from him, you pout them out.

“If you didn’t fight with me about hiding, we would have had more time. Why are you physically incapable of listening to me?”

You watch sweat roll down his temples and you realize your back is also damp. Your knees quake as the adrenaline subsides. The droplet from his hair continues down his throat, catching on his collarbone between the two folded edges of pink-and-black see-through kimono he wore like it was a totally normal thing. Of course this is his painting outfit.

If Dieter catches you oogling, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he straightens up and rubs his eye with the back of his wrist, still a bit out of breath.

“You know, when someone with tits like yours pushes me into a dark closet, I’m not really one to argue, but I think I should get some credit for not calling the cops on the first person who broke into my apartment today. What the fuck were you doing in there?”

You’re not quite sure what makes you flush harder: that he caught you doing something highly illegal or that he thinks your tits are dark-closet worthy.

“Your apartment is one of the few original rooms built as part of the Rhododendron,” you answer defensively, arms crossed. “And since these passageways never showed up on any later building plans, I figured no one knew they were here.”

Dieter frowns as he wipes the back of his neck with his palm and your eyes definitely don’t track it.

“You’re saying there have been people living in my walls, watching me jerk off and I never knew?” His dumbstruck look melts into one of lewd satisfaction. “Nice.”

No, see, this was why nothing was ever going to ever happen between you two.

“God, Dieter, you’re disgusting.” You shove past him and lean into the door. “People aren’t living down here. Didn’t you hear what I said? Hardly anyone knows about this at all – and they aren’t waiting around – to watch – you come –,”

Three hard pushes and the door remains firmly shut. What the fuck? Your fingers skim the seams, looking for a latch or a handle, something.

“You can yell at me once we get back inside.” He shudders and wraps his arms around his chest. “I’m freezing my nips off in here.”

“I’m trying, Dieter, but it won’t open –,” you push harder, using even more force than you did to open it on the other side. “It’s stuck.”

“Move, I’ll do it –,”

“Fuck you, Dieter, I got it.”

“We’d be outta here by now if you did.”

“Just help me–,”

“Ugh – fine – on the count of three – one –,”

“Two –,”

“Three!”

Nothing. He slumps to the floor, his bare feet sprawled out in front of him.

“For this much grunting and sweat,” he pants, “we should definitely be fucking.”

You flick his ear, glaring at him, the heat of exertion sparking up to your cheeks at his words. He scowls up at you and claps a big hand over his ear as if to protect it from further assault.

With a huff, you take out your phone and slide on the flashlight. As suspected, the crawlspace continues on, long into the dark.

“C’mon, there has to be a way out somehow.”

“You’re not serious,” he snaps from behind you. “Even I know in an emergency situation you have to stay put and wait for the authorities.”

“Oh, you mean the authorities that don’t know we’re here and probably will never know, with my –,” you check your phone for emphasis, “zero bars!”

His hands fly to his pant pockets and groans. “Fuck, I don’t have mine.”

You step back, hinging at the waist in a low bow. “Then lead the way.”

“Fuck, this is not how I wanted to spend my night.” He groans again and shoves the heel of his palms into his eyes before crawling to his feet. He wraps the air-thin kimono around his torso and fixes you with a solid glare. “Fine, but I’m charging you for every toe I lose to hypothermia.”

The hallways grow colder and darker the further you go, the air thickening with dust. You walk longer and longer as the passageway narrows until his shoulder bumps yours and eventually he has to follow an inch behind you to get through. But he’s not close enough to be warm.

“Can’t believe my last fucking meal was Froot Loops,” Dieter announces to the darkness after what feels like you’ve been walking for hours. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s scowling. “Fucking nasty.”

Your jaw aches from how tightly you grind your teeth together.

“If it was so nasty, then why did you eat it?”

“I couldn’t UberEats Captain Crunch,” he sniffs and you realize how cold your own nose is. “There’s a blizzard going on outside, didn’t you hear? Or were you too busy playing Nancy Drew, Baby’s First Break in?”

“I didn’t think you’d be home so early. You usually stop painting around eight, not 6:30.”

“And just what were you hoping to find?” The casual sarcasm has been leached from his voice and genuine anger crackles over your shoulder. “I told you Mags gave me that key to her apartment of her own free will –,”

“– which you just conveniently forgot to mention–,”

“– she gave it to me months ago and, so, yeah, sue me for forgetting!” You want to bite back with something, something to make the painful ache in your chest when you found out he had been lying to you go away. Something to scrape the taste of shame and disappointment off your tongue. But you know everything you’d throw at him would be unfair and childish. You stew so long in a bottle of your own rage and hurt that you don’t realize the silence has stretched on far too long.

When Dieter speaks again, he’s several steps behind you. You shine the flashlight on him and he barely flinches. You can see his broad shoulders shivering and you do think his feet look worryingly pink.

“The last time I saw Mags was just before a six month shoot. She gave me that key and told her to surprise her when I came back.” His teeth are chattering but he won’t look up at you. “I meant to call her, check in, while I was gone, but I just . . .” He shakes his head, eyes tightly shut. “I got back into town an hour after they found her body . . . which means I didn’t kill her, for the record. You can check my ticket.”

Your mouth drops open, shame spreading out like an electric shock across your skin. “Dieter, I never thought that you . . .”

His glare levels you and you wonder what his face looked like after you slammed the door behind you that night you found the key. You had spent two weeks afterwards wandering the halls looking for secret tunnels to peel the image of his face just before you left in a rush from the walls of your brain. What had he done in all that time apart?

“Whatever. Let’s just go. I think you already owe me a thousand bucks.”

He tries to move forward but you block him, standing in the middle of the hallway. The light of your phone hits him from underneath and his jawline plays shadows on his chest.

“I didn’t leave because I thought you killed her, Dieter. You lied to me. I’ve been running in fucking circles over this thing for weeks and all this time you kept something from me! It felt like you were . . .”

“What?”

The heat of your anger rolls up to the back of your neck. “It . . . i-it felt like you were manipulating me. Play detective with the little idiot in 2B because you’re bored and I was . . . available. Like what we were doing, it didn’t matter to you.”

Dieter’s teeth clench on the right side of his jaw. “Of course it matters to me. Mags was the only one in this entire building who treated me like a person and not a fucking spectacle. She was important to me and I know she didn’t kill herself. I wanna get the fucker who did it as much as you do.”

“But you kissed me!” You feel the cold in the air drop down into your lungs so fast your chest aches. “You kissed me, Dieter, and then I found the key on accident – like you were hiding it from me – a-and I heard the message Anika left on your voicemail. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, but . . .” You squeeze your eyes shut, the cold from your lungs seeping into your bones. It’s nearly hard to breathe. “You and I are very different people, Dieter, and there’s not a world I can imagine you want anything to do with me, or Mags. I thought you were just . . . playing with me.”

The light of the phone hovers between you and him. Your toes are starting to ache from the ice-cold concrete and you briefly consider taking off your shoes and giving him your socks because that’s the instinct he draws from you. Despite how you fought it, how you clawed and scratched, you want Dieter Bravo to be okay, to be happy. But you can’t prostrate yourself on the altar of someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.

Not again.

“Dieter, please say something.” You can see his pant leg tremble in the blue light. “I’m sorry I–,”

“Did you ever think I like the fact that you’re different from me? From everything that my world means? That everything that makes you, you is amazing and gorgeous and I’m so fucking drawn to it, I lose sleep at night.” His voice is deep, hulking in a way that fills up the dark corridor until you feel like you are being smothered. But it’s not angry, not aggressive. If anything, his voice is thick with regret. “Anika was . . . a mistake. She knows that now. She’s seen it. So I can’t blame you for r-running the way you did, but . . . I’m not lying to you. Not about Mags, or how I feel, or anything else. I never have and I never will. You got that?”

Swallowing the grisly, meaty knot in your throat that could be mistaken for your emaciated heart, you nod. You are suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to fall to your knees and confess your own sordid past that made you the way that you are because he needs to know you’re NOT amazing or gorgeous or anything resembling someone worth losing sleep over.

He needs to know he should run from you

“I’m starting to lose feeling in my toes, seriously. We need to get out of here.”

He stands there staring, the dark shadows abandoned by the light of your phone hiding whatever is in his eyes. And then you realize he’s waiting for you to move. Your knees and elbows locked from the cold and the weight of his confession, you stiffly turn around, heading into the darkness without looking back.

About an hour later, Dieter bursts through his apartment again with a cry of relief and immediately bolts for the fireplace. He twiddles with the switch a second before a massive fire belches from behind the sleek black grate. With another deep groan, he drops in front of the fire and sticks his hands centimeters from the metal fence. He wiggles his toes and props them up on the marble lip. The stiffness recedes, the pink fading, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Either come in and shut the door . . . or leave.”

Your fingers wrap around the edge of the black door. You are cold. Your fingers are cold. The hole in your heart that’s been growing there long before you met Dieter . . . makes you step through the threshold and shut the door behind you.

Dieter wiggles his toes against the marble lip, his elbows over his knees, his eyes the color of earth in autumn. He neither tenses or relaxes when you sit down next to him, extending your own extremities closer to the fire.

The color has returned to his lips and you can’t find anything else in the room to look at.

“I’d offer you a drink,” he murmurs to the flames, “but I still can’t feel my feet.”

I lose sleep at night.

“Dieter, look, I’m . . .”

His thick fingers wrap around the bone of his wrist and he shakes his head. “Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. Don’t . . . don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“Thank you, Dieter.” You glance at him. The fire crackles in his eyes, wide in disbelief, fingers tangled together. “I mean that. I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I have without you.”

He chuckles after a pause. “That’s not what you said when I broke into the super’s storage closet for you.”

“You’re going to get us arrested,” you roll your eyes and bump your shoulder into his. With a grin that is innocent and hopeful and full of bright fire from behind the grate, his gaze drops to the plush of your mouth, the wet crease where your tongue soothes dry skin, and his bottom lip curls between his teeth.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs.”

As though his gaze has a solid presence, it licks fire down your throat, over the back of your neck, rocketing into your spine and swooping low into the peak of your thighs. It darts over your lips, your nose, your cheeks, your ears, dragging lightning in its wake.

It isn’t the first time you’re consumed by the thought of kissing Dieter Bravo and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’s the first time you are made so overwhelmingly helpless by it, the wind is knocked out of you for a second.

You wait too long to breathe, too long to tear your gaze away from his lips, too long to realize you’re leaning into him, until his broad hand redirects your forward motion up into his open mouth.

This is the first time you’ve ever kissed Dieter Bravo and dear fucking god, please don’t let it be the last.

His tongue lines your bottom lip, tasting, memorizing, marking that place that has you tilting in closer. Beneath your fingertips, the recluse beard scratches and burns and you take his jaw in both palms because you can’t wait to push it between your legs. His fingers wind into your hair and he’s leaning over you, consuming you like only your dreams of this kiss had before.

All it takes is one soft sigh, one final moan of relief, your fingers curling around the flimsy kimono, and Dieter pins you to the floor in a single fluid motion. His knee digs into your thigh, trapping your legs apart, to make room for himself in the cradle of your hips, pressing himself into you and pushing air from your lungs. You can feel him hard, the tip of his cock warm against you, and that simple fact – the fact he wants you so badly – has you slotting an arm around the back of his neck, tugging him in tighter, closer, because not even sex would bring him deeper inside you. With a grunt, Dieter’s hand leaves your cheek, running hotly down your neck, the curve of your shoulder, and into the dip of your hip. He squeezes and you whine against his teeth. He rucks his leg up under your thigh, squeezes you again, rougher, more intentional, and you tug your head back, gasping for breath, lungs on fire and mind whirling like a book flipping open in the wind.

You groan, air precious and limited, as he sinks just a hint of teeth into your jaw, your earlobe – harder, then – your throat, his tongue going flat and fat against your skin, then the valley of your collarbone. He mouths lower on your chest over your shirt, need overwhelming logic, and your fingers fly to slide up your own shirt, wriggling between his cock and the floor, and when he sees you peel your shirt up over your ribs, his mouth parts, eyes dark, framed by darker lashes.

“Fuck.”

Your back arches towards his mouth, towards his tongue and lips and teeth and the hot pant of air coming from the back of his throat. The lip of your shirt exposes your heaving tits and Dieter plants his mouth in the curve, groaning with a mouthful of your skin. He sucks, teeth prickling the skin, as if he could eat his way through you. His hips sway forward, heavy against the seam of your jeans and his nose draws up to your jaw before he’s kissing you again.

“I’m not manipulating you,” he hums out of nowhere. He blinks his bleary eyes at you, his wide hands stilling in their touch, and you want to laugh and grin and tell him he’s being silly but you can’t, you can’t over the wild beat of your heart, the sincerity in his voice a grounding force beneath the bloom of pleasure riding up from where his hips press into yours. He dips his head and drops a hot, open-mouth kiss to your throat. “‘M not, I swear, I swear–,”

“I know, Dieter.” You tug his chin up with the press of your thumb, into your seeking mouth, and he groans, tasting the transference of want, of truth, of pure desperation on your tongue. The slip of lip between his teeth turns his touch frantic.

“I want this.”

“Me too.”

Shifting over you, he kisses back down your neck, short whiskers stroking tiny burns against your skin, down your chest until he dips his head over your right breast, and bites – then soothes with his tongue. His hand nearly maps your other tit in one palm.

He squeezes as he bites again and your hips drive up into his, bliss sparkling like lightning between storm clouds beneath your skin. You aren’t sure if you moan his name or if it’s just pasted over every thought in your head. He makes you lose all sense.

With a groan he lifts his head just an inch, the cold tip of his nose drawing senseless shapes over the curves of your breast.

“Wanna see your tits – can I see your tits, please?” His hand slides up your back, between your bra band and your hot skin and digs his nails in. “Please, pretty girl, please.”

You whine your consent, nodding into the messy heap of hair that tickles your chin, and he pinches your bra off before the last dip of your head. He flings it into the darkness behind him and with a strained groan, Dieter opens his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

The corners of his mouth are still a bit cold, the heat of the fire not quite enough, and when he slurps up from the underside, the fat curve of your tit, up to your nipple again it’s like someone outlined your goosebumps in ice. You scratch at his head, begging him deeper into your chest, and he obliges with a wet, swollen hickey on the top of your tit. His teeth hurt but with each suck, it’s like he’s plucking at the string connected directly to your cunt. You throb for him.

His fingernail grazes the irate pink of your nipple, circling it again and again before he pinches and you arch, right into the flat hardness of his cock. You shake and intentionally, unintentionally, you don’t know your own body right now, rub up against his cock and Dieter, with your tit halfway in his mouth, chokes.

“Fuck, I’d ask you to do that again, but I’m gonna come like a fucking jet engine in my pants. Lemme in,” he’s babbling as his hands drop to the button of your jeans and wrench the zipper down, “I’m gonna eat you out till you’re fucking dry.”

Shoulders pressed back against the white shag carpet, you help him yank your pants down over your hips, up your calves, and off your feet. Dieter’s eyes can’t find a place to land – from the purple claim he’s laid over your tits, to the sucker pink swell of your lips, to the wettest cunt he’s maybe ever seen in his whole life –

He sits up on his heels and nearly gets caught up yanking the kimono off his shoulders. With shaking fingers, he unties his sweatpants and tugs himself out.

You’d never noticed before when your mouth flushes with spit at the sight of a good meal.

You do now.

He’s not overwhelmingly long, but he is thick, thick and a ruddy red, cream dribbling out. The sweat on his chest and stomach a few inches above sparks gold and warm in the light of the fire. In a single swipe over his palm, Dieter spreads that wet precum over his long cock, easing a few smooth strokes.

“Mhn, this is what I look like when I fuck myself at night t-thinking – thinking of you,” he groans. His hand curls around your thigh, keeping you pinned, keeping you spread. But the sight of him jerking off and moaning your name drops your knees apart and your hand on your clit. With every swipe, you circle faster until you think it’s his hand on his cock that’s doing this to you. Dieter watches, mouth open, shoulders curved as you spin yourself wetter and wetter. “Came so hard I blacked out with the thought of you like this in my head. Wait, baby, move, I wanna –,”

His hands on your knees, he shuffles closer and like you can see his words without asking, you tilt your hips up towards him, receiving him as he rubs his cock between your soaked folds. His blunt head catches your clit again and again, and you twitch, as though shocked in an electrical storm.

“Oh, fuck, baby –,”

You dig your nails into the back of his hands over your knees, using the leverage to speed up his thrusts, the ruddy tip smacking where you need him most but never inside. His eyes flutter as he feels you soak his cock, slick dripping between your thighs and the shine against your skin nearly knocks the wind out of him. He grips you harder.

“Fuck it, I gotta know what you fuckin’ taste like.”

In a move that catches your legs over his shoulders, rolls your ass up off the floor, and his body back and further down, Dieter tucks his head and latches onto your cunt, presented high near his face. He inhales as he drinks, as he eats, as he dines on the spillage down to your ass. Dieter moans and suddenly the boiling heat of pleasure rages to an inferno when he wraps his lips around your clit and licks with the flat brim of his tongue.

“Oh, oh-h-hmy fucking god, Dieter!”

It’s whiny and debauched, but it’s also a plea, a desperate bid to the last traces of your sanity. Your eyes roll back in your head and your back, flat, on the floor, but Dieter lays flat on his stomach, fingers pressing into your thighs, shoulders shoved up against the curve of your legs – his tongue still dragging breathless gasp after breathless gasp out of you. He’s tapping out nuclear launch codes with little licks of his tongue, eyes as effective at pinning you down as his thighs were.

You can feel yourself drip for him, on him, into him because his mouth is pressed right up against the seam of your pussy. Words rise and fall and die in your throat, your mind following the rising path of your orgasm into nirvana.

“Say it, baby,” he husks into your damp curls. “Tell me how good I fuck you with my tongue.”

You groan, riding his nose. “So fucking good. Oh, fuck, wait, right there – oh, shit – Dieter, baby, ahh–,”

It comes on without warning, without slowing down, without giving you a second to breathe before bliss flattens you like a train. It courses through you, singeing your blood and showering sparks behind your eyes. You spill more for him, so much for him, and he eats, like drinking honey from the source – spill, and spill until there’s nothing but a thready pulse inside your body.

He’s sucking directly from your tingling pussy when you finally push him back with a groan. Dieter retaliates with a huff, mhm mm, eyes black like the coals inside the grate, the entire bottom half of his face hidden from view as he hungrily tugs your hips to him with both arms. You’d never seen him quite so sure about something, so possessive.

Like he already owns your cunt. Stop me, I dare you, he taunts with his eyes.

“Dieter,” you plead, mouth dry, heart fluttering with each lick of his tongue. Your poor clit is drenched and stiff. “B-baby, I need you . . . up here.”

With one last prod that slides just barely between your cheeks, up through your leaky hole, and swiping your clit one last time, Dieter unplugs himself from you, murmuring and wiping his mouth as he goes. Your skin glistens where his mouth leads and he can’t resist shining up that purple swell as if showing off where he lanced you through the heart.

You half-expect him to shove his pants all the way down and shove himself into you, but he doesn’t. Instead the man known for his hedonism around the world and certainly within the building crawls up your body, drops a grateful kiss into the bend of your neck, and one by one, folds onto his elbows over you. His face smells like you, his aquiline nose inches from your own, his lips still damp and warm, and the soft brush of those lips high on your cheek has you shuddering in his arms, digging your nails into his expansive shoulders and tipping him into your waiting mouth.

He kisses you for a moment, breathing roughly out of his nose, before he wipes his broad palm across your forehead and pushes your hair back over your head, cupping the curvature of your skull. The motion drags your eyes open.

“Hi there, baby,” he murmurs quietly across your lips, eyes soft and a thousand miles deep. Your legs tuck up around his hips. “Can I fuck you now?”

You nod through the sudden blockage in your throat, the swelling in your chest making your heartbeat twice as hard. You think you might die if he doesn’t. Dieter presses a kiss with just a hint of teeth against your cheek before sliding back down, littering your skin with kisses full of praise and heat, and hovering above your belly button, he knees off his sweatpants, fully down from his hips, the motion bending him forward and pressing his face into the swell of your stomach.

“I wanna make this last,” he slurs into your skin, “but I don’t think I can. Fucking dreamed about you for weeks. Scared out of my mind when you didn’t pick up your phone.”

Dieter covers you with his body, his palm planted by your ear, the other hand wrapped around himself, and his words register in your brain, the desperation peeling back the fog of lust-drunk.

“W-when didn’t I answer my phone?”

His eyes, dark and wet, glance up from where you’re nearly combined and you nod, hands sliding from his biceps up to his shoulders. With a groan deep in his chest, Dieter rolls his hips forward, the blunt head of his cock sliding you apart and your mind nearly in half. You arch your back to take him more fully.

Half-way in and he drops his other hand to mirror the one by your head. He keeps pushing, keeps making room for himself, the thickness nearing choking you into blackness. You whine, incoherent syllables, and he grinds his jaw together.

“W-when you – fuck, baby, you’re so tight – when you went to that m-meat – ngh –,” he’s almost flushed against you, “that factory, ah-all by yourself.”

Are you sweating? How are you sweating already?

He ends against you, and you both groan at the sensation of his thick weight settling inside of you. You bury your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and tug – how dare you make me feel so good why haven’t you done this before please god don’t fucking stop now

“You were f-filming – Dieter! – you were in another countr-ry.”

With half a laugh, delirium twisting his mouth up into a smile, he lowers down and kisses you, your own mouth slow to follow him. He pulls back, a fraction of an inch.

“I would have dropped everything for you. Now, hush, I gotta fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

His palm cupping the back of your head, his arm curled with his hand flat on the floor, Dieter starts slow, his pace deep, curious just how much of him you can take without actually tearing apart, and his cock brushes something that sends sparks up behind your eyes, splits your mouth apart, and wrenches his name out of your mouth.

“There we go,” he hisses in your ear and speeds up his thrusts. Like music cranked up on a radio, you can feel yourself pulse, your heartbeat in your neck, as every tap of his cock overwhelms your body with pleasure. The least you can do is hold on; you wrap your arms around his heaving back, and tuck your legs up to your ribs and he squelches in deeper.

“Hm – yeah – needed that–,”

Heat builds between you: between your neck and his panting breath, between the flushed skin of his chest inches from your sweaty one, between the brush of his course curls against your clit. He’s trying to make you remember every fight you had, every touch you shared, every shallow drop of his heart when you pushed him away again and again – he fucks you like he wants you to synonymize him with the very sensation of heat itself. But you’re unspooling rapidly with every thrust of his hips – more of you leaves as more of him comes in.

For the first time in weeks, you don’t think about Mags. Or her murder. Or her blue-cold apartment. You don’t think about failure or fear, or your anger that you wield like a weapon. You don’t think of your parents or what the fuck you’re going to do with your life when this mystery is over – when Dieter inevitably tires of you – you can’t think at all. He won’t let you.

He knows you want to recuse yourself, retract and hide, but he won’t let you.

The unimaginable stretch keeps your mind unfocused, blurred, and just when you think you might stabilize under the sensation, he kisses you. Harshly, softly, any kiss he knows you need to keep you in your body, forced to receive every devastating wave of pleasure he gives you. He palms back your sweaty hair off your forehead, salt clinging to his own curls, and sucks on your earlobe, asking how’re you feeling, my good girl? from between his teeth.

Your stifled sigh is answer enough.

“Almost there, love, what do you need, huh? What can I give you?” His words, offered in a voice so lust-strained, you feel the vibrations over your skin. You palm the center of his back, muscles hot and tight, and you answer with the only thing that’s on your mind:

“You.”

Breath suddenly short in his chest, he quickens his pace – shorter, faster thrusts that send you higher, sprinting towards an inevitable, bright end. His grip shifts as he squeezes your hip, that low ache tightening and locking down, the overwhelming sense of Dieter spiraling you apart.

“Show me you mean it,” he whines, the scruff of his beard rubbing your jaw raw. “Come on this cock for me, baby, show me who you need.”

You yank on his hair again and with a snarl, he snatches your wrists from around the back of his neck and pins them above your head.

“Gonna fill you up with e-exactly what you need, gonna fuck you so full of me, your undies are gonna drip white for weeks–,”

“Mhmn, yesDieterplease, yes, m’yours, y-your –,”

Another release, this one wild and spiraling, tears through you, up your spine, out of your mouth in a wide, silent scream. Your body curls around him, clinging to him as you pulse and seize, your legs twitching. Your hands tingle with a sudden loss of sensation as Dieter squeezes down on your wrists, head tucked into your neck, and with a shuddering, “f-f-fuck,” he follows your release with his own. A rough shove and he breaches your squirming cunt with his warm cum, the feel of it tugging your own smoldering orgasm along a bit further. Basking in the last twitches of your cunt, Dieter lowers his head to your shoulder, his thumbs distractedly rubbing soothing circles around your wrist. You can’t move, can barely breathe with his weight on you, but the pounding of his heart through his chest into yours settles the haze in your brain.

You know now you can’t hide the thunderous machinations of your own heart from him either.

“Don’t wanna move,” comes the dispassionate grunt at your neck, “but my ass is on fire.”

A smile then a full body laugh, that makes Dieter lift his head. His own smile strikes you in your heart: adoration, a little sleepy, and relief. He glances over his shoulder at the exposed flames mere feet from his bare ass.

“S’ what I deserve, fuckin’ in front of an open fireplace.”

“We all must suffer for our art.”

At that he turns back to you, grinning wildly and a tad bit proud. His own ego blown up to excuse his softening cock, Dieter slides out of you and onto his back. Without his chest, the heat from the fireplace collides with your bare, sweat-slick chest and you shiver.

“Cold?” He sits up and tries to catch a loop of the sheer blanket on the back of the couch but you still him with a touch of your hand on his back. The look in his eyes, that dopey ease by which Dieter lives his life, makes your other hand on your stomach tremble.

You don’t want your overthinking to ruin a truly blissful mood, but anxiety chatters at the back of your teeth. Instead of suggesting you both go to his room to shower off, or if he thinks the police might know about the secret passageways, you ask:

“Did you mean it?”

His face softens, eyes go warm. You should specify which part, but he doesn’t need you to.

“Yeah. I did.” He leans down and kisses you briefly on the mouth, knowing you have more to say and worry over.

“But–,”

“As cute as your but is, we’re not gonna do that right now. You’re going to get under this blanket with me and we’re going to talk about what you’ve found about the case and then we’re going to solve this mystery together.” Dieter reaches back and finally snags the blanket. With a shuffle, he, sweat-streaked and cum-covered, lays down with the blanket over his shoulder and opens his arms to you as though he’d done it a thousand times. Your face hot and your eyes painfully dry, you curl up into him.

“Together,” he repeats. “Did you hear that part? That’s important. We’re going to Scooby-Doo this together.”

Silence, where all the wrong things sit heavy on your tongue, your own twisted morality desperate to push him away and run out the door – silence stretches, uncomfortable and tight and –

“I’m proud of you for that pun, and not using it like I’m gonna ‘Scooby-Doo-Screw-You’.”

“Fuck,” Dieter groans and you giggle. “It was right there!”

His chest is warm as you bury your face into his skin.

You watched true crime television specials to be prepared for the worst. You listened to podcasts about missing women to avoid making deadly mistakes. You fought and hid-away your whole life to keep yourself safe and protected, but nothing – nothing in the entire world – could have prepared you for falling in love with Dieter Bravo.

His smile is soft and he knows you well enough to know that you’re thinking about something. With a brush of his thumb over your cheek, he asks:

“What?”

And all you can do is shake your head, the deluge of words and feelings trapped behind your lips and the only noise you can make to keep them inside is a squeak.

You press your forehead into his shoulder and his arms smooth across your back, tugging you closer.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . I feel safe with you.”

Safe, and happy, and loved.

#brainrotclubserverchallenge #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #pedro pascal

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five-and-dimes · 2 months

Text

As You Always Were

A very silly fic based on a convo I had with @gabessquishytum about Dream being an idiot but in a gender affirming way lol

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~

Hob felt like a teenager in a lifetime movie, but he was choosing to lean into it.

Gripping the bathroom sink with both hands, he stared himself down in the mirror. “You can do this,” he said to his reflection, “You deserve to live your truth. You love yourself. Even if things don’t go the way you want, you’ll survive it. You’re sexy and you know it.”

Nodding to himself, he turned away from the mirror and began pacing his flat, looking for anything left to clean or organize.

He was going to come out to his boyfriend today.

It had been two months since he and Dream became official. They had known each other in some capacity for much longer. They shared a lot of mutual friends, but for a long time Dream didn’t tend to join large group get-togethers, so Hob only saw him occasionally. Then this past semester they had both ended up in a class together for the first time. Despite studying vastly different subjects, this particular course was required and both had managed to miss it when they were underclassmen. And now, as they entered their final year of university, they both needed to complete it in order to graduate. Drawn to any remotely familiar face, they had sat together, and then started talking more, and then slowly fallen for each other.

The past months had been amazing, full of sweet dates and kisses and hand holding and Dream being nothing but understanding when Hob hesitated to go any farther. But Hob wanted to go farther, had been burning out of his skin with the need to touch every part of Dream and be touched in return.

He just… needed to let Dream know what to expect when he took his clothes off.

Stalking through the living room, he moved the books on his coffee table this way and that, as if it would make any sort of difference. It’s not like it was the first time Hob had let someone know he was a trans man. He’s had plenty of experience sharing that part of his life, with family, and friends, and hookups. It’s gone good, and bad, and all the levels in between.

So why was he so nervous about telling Dream?

He was being ridiculous. It’s not like he was worried about Dream hurting him or anything…

Groaning, he put his head in his hands and allowed himself to turn and flop face-down onto the couch. What a world he lived in, where he consciously felt grateful to not worry about being murdered. Sometimes he hated everything.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, shaking his head and aggressively re-fluffing the pillows he had flattened with his brief pessimism. He wasn’t going to think about the world right now. This was just about him and Dream and their relationship. And, optimism aside- even just being logical and realistic in a way he so rarely was- he didn’t think things would go badly, per say. Dream was gay, and had always been an open supporter and ally for the trans community. Worst case scenario, even if Dream decided he didn’t want to date someone with Hob’s body, he was certain they could remain friends.

Turning on his heel, Hob speed walked to the kitchen and began wiping down the counters for the third time.

Could they stay friends? He wanted to say yes, to say they could move on from this little bump in the road, but the truth was, even after such a short amount of time, if they broke up Hob would be heartbroken. He had fallen hard for Dream… could he really go back to being friends with him after knowing what it was like to kiss him and hold him? What if it was too much, hurt too badly to take that step back, and then he lost not only his boyfriend, but his best friend? And their lives were so entwined, they shared much of the same friend group, would he lose them, too? Choosing Dream over him because Hob was clearly the one being ridiculous and overemotional?

Catastrophizing, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his therapist rang in his head.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the tentative knock on his door, glancing at the clock to see that, yes, he has spent the entire morning worrying and fussing and it is in fact the time he asked Dream to come over.

Hob honest to God straightens his shirt. As though that will help.

What does help is opening the door and seeing the subtle way Dream brightens. No matter how stoic he tries to be, Dream has always been terrible at hiding how very fond he is of Hob, something Hob is eternally grateful for. It’s nice to have the reassurance. Especially now.

“Hello Hob,” he smiles, giving him a quick peck as Hob gestures for him to enter. He takes two steps inside before halting, raising an eyebrow as he glances around Hob’s impeccable flat. He’s been here before, he knows this isn’t the usual state of things. “It seems you were productive today.”

Hob laughed nervously, which only made Dream turn his gaze to look at him curiously, “Ah, yeah, you know, the motivation just sort of hit, haha.”

Dream frowned slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding rapidly, Hob starts herding Dream into the living room, “Yeah, absolutely, I just-” Dream allows him to gently push him to sit on the couch, “I mean, I am fine, there’s just something I wanted to talk to you about,” he paces in front of Dream for a moment as his boyfriend’s head moves to follow him silently, “And it’s nothing bad. Or, or at least I don’t think it is. It just… it just is, y’know?”

He turns back to look at Dream and finds him staring, blinking slowly in carefully reigned in confusion, “No. I don’t know. What’s going on?”

Hob released a shuddering breath, dropping down to sit a respectable distance away from Dream on the couch. “Okay, I…” Hob wrung his hands together, “I had a whole speech planned, but I didn’t write it down and now I can’t remember any of my talking points, so I… I’m just gonna say it.”

Dream nodded, brow furrowed in concern as Hob closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m transgender.”

Even just saying the words made his chest feel lighter. It was out in the open now. Whatever happened, happened.

And what happened was Dream reaching out to gently cover his tense hands with one of his own.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Opening his eyes, Hob looked over, and his breath caught in his chest at the soft smile Dream was giving him, the one he only showed Hob, “I know that must have been hard,” Dream continued, running his thumb over Hob’s knuckles, “thank you for trusting me with that.”

“So,” Hob’s voice was breathless, a smile slowly creeping onto his face, “So you’re okay with it?”

“Of course!” Dream took both of Hob’s hands into his, eyes wide and anxious in a way Hob had come to recognize meant he was afraid of being misunderstood, “Of course I’m okay with it! I’m sorry if I ever made you think I wouldn’t be. I l-...” He swallowed thickly, “I care about you so much, Hob. This doesn’t change that at all.”

Hob couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the cut off confession. Dream had warned him of his struggles with love, especially with “falling too fast”. Despite Hob reassuring him that Hob also had a history of falling far faster than some would deem reasonable, Dream still tiptoed around it, always wary of scaring Hob off. So it meant something that he had come so close to slipping.

“I care about you, too,” Hob leaned forward to press his forehead against Dream’s shoulder, letting out a relieved laugh, “God, I was so nervous!”

Dream pet his hair, “Understandable. I know it’s a big deal. But I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

For a few minutes they stay pressed together, Dream a comforting presence as Hob let the adrenaline bleed from him. When he finally pulled back, they smiled at each other. Before he had a chance to lean in to kiss him, Dream spoke again.

“So,” he tilted his head questioningly, “should I use she/her pronouns from now on?”

Hob could feel the record scratch in his brain.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Shook his head, “What?”

Dream frowned, “I just meant in private. I wouldn’t change pronouns in public if you’re not ready for that. I’d never want to out you. Although I’d be more than happy to support you whenever you want to begin social transitioning.”

“Transitioning?” Hob was still waiting for his brain to restart. He felt like he was in the twilight zone. Dream was smart, Dream was studying astrophysics, there was simply no way-

“I’m sorry,” Dream bit his lip nervously, “I don’t mean to make assumptions. I just want to make sure that when we’re together I refer to you as you want. Would you prefer they/them? She/they?”

“What? No. What??” Hob shook his head rapidly as he realized that no, this wasn’t a dream, this was actually happening, “No, Dream, it’s the other way around!”

“...They/she?”

“No!” And even as he yelled the word, Hob’s face split into a grin and he burst out laughing. Dream blinked in confusion, looking like he didn’t know whether to be offended or not, and it only made Hob laugh harder.

“Dream, babe, sweetheart,” Hob gasped for breath, trying to pull himself together and failing, “I’m a trans man! I’ve already transitioned, that’s what I was trying to tell you!”

For a moment Dream just stared, blinking slowly like a cat. Like a particularly dumb orange cat.

“... He/him, then?”

All Hob could do was keep laughing.

Slowly, Dream began to giggle too, which only made Hob laugh harder, which made Dream laugh, and the vicious cycle continued until they were both doubled over with tears on their faces.

“You are the smartest person I know, how are you such a himbo?” Hob exclaimed.

“Shut up!” Dream shoved him playfully, “I was being supportive!”

Hob couldn’t resist. He threw himself forward, tackling Dream back onto the couch, allowing himself to lay on top of him as he kissed him clumsily, barely suppressing his grin enough to press their lips together, “God, I love you so much.”

A laugh caught in Dream’s throat, his eyes widening. Hob doesn’t want to pressure him, so he smiles, leaning in to rub their noses together, coaxing a soft giggle from him. He just wants to make him comfortable in the wake of a confession that he knows is a lot for Dream, he’s not expecting anything back right now.

He thinks maybe it’s that sentiment that allows Dream to look up at him and reply, “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?” Hob grinned, leaning back so he is sitting up and stradling Dream’s hips, “Even though- and I can’t believe I have to say this outloud but now I have to make absolutely sure you understand- I have a cunt?”

Dream sputtered, face flushing at Hob’s bluntness. And yet, even as he pouts, he nods, “Yes. I love you, however you are.”

“You would love me if I was a worm?” Hob teased.

Dream nodded solemnly, replying completely seriously, “I would love you if you were a worm.”

Hob’s grin softened, and he leaned down to kiss Dream again.

And then, feeling bold and brave and loved, he grinned mischievously.

“I hope you know I’ll be telling this story at our wedding.”

(Years later, Hob will end the story by telling their guests about how Dream smacked him in the face with a pillow.)

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #trans Hob #Dream is a little confused but he got the spirit #I considered waiting longer to post this since CHBB stuff literally JUST happened #but I'm impatient lol

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absurdthirst · 2 months

Text

Better Late Than Never {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.9k

Warnings: Young musician Marcus, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, confessions, murders, attempted murder, angst, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, face fucking, mentions of pregnancy/family planning, hostage situation, threats of death, shoots, death

Comments: College is amazing, fun and the best boyfriend, Marcus Pike. You dream of a life together with him. Until you witness a horrible crime and are ripped from the life you know. Years later, a theft at your art gallery brings one Marcus Pike back into your life, revealing secrets and the fact that you never stopped loving him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“And now, Sex Riot!”

You start screaming as soon as they announce the band, always willing to cheer your college boyfriend and his band on, especially since this is the biggest gig they’ve ever played. “Yay baby! Whoooooo!” You clap and then put your fingers in your mouth to whistle from your spot at the bar as Marcus, Aaron, Dominic and Anthony immediately start playing the first song. Marcus, sweet and kind, looks like every girl's bad boy dream since you added a little bit of your eyeliner and gelled up his hair. Paired with his lucky t-shirt with the pot smoking ‘shroom, ripped jeans and boots, he looks sexy and you can’t wait to take him back to your apartment after it’s over.

Marcus finds you in the crowd and grins, winking at you as he plays a few chords to warm up his bass guitar and to check he’s in tune. He looks at the lead singer, Aaron, who nods and Marcus waits for the count in from Dom. He starts to play the song, the crowd starting to jam and he feels the thrill of the performance start to hit him. You are there, grinning up at him and he loves how much you support him for every gig.

You beam as they finish the first song. Clapping and cheering as Aaron greets the crowd. You know that when he gets down, he’s going to want a beer and a kiss and you will give them to him. You are completely in love with him and tonight you are going to tell him.

Marcus is sweating when the set ends, blood racing with exhilaration and he grins as he finds You applauding him, his favorite groupie, and he grins when you blow him a kiss. Fuck, he loves you. He’s gonna tell you soon. Never one to hide his emotions, he’s gonna need to blurt out his feelings soon. He takes his final bow with the band and he finds you backstage after you rush back there, his hands finding your waist and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

Kissing Marcus Pike is like breathing, natural and all consuming. You reach up and tangle your fingers into his sweaty, longish curls. Moaning into his mouth, you don’t even hesitate to press yourself against him eagerly. Only breaking away to breathe and then you nudge your nose against his and grin. “You were amazing, baby.” You gush, giggling when you kiss him again.

Marcus slides his hands down to squeeze your ass. “You enjoyed the show?” He asks and you nod, kissing his jaw as you lean against him. “Fuck, I was nervous to sing backup vocals on the new song. Was it good?” He asks, biting his lip when he pulls back to look at you.

“It was so good, baby. I love your voice.” You nod. “I love when you sing to me.” Grinning, you lift a brow. “Sing in the shower.” You tease, knowing he’s only singing in the shower when you aren’t in it with him. Normally if you come over to his place, you might catch it if he was still in the shower.

Marcus blushes, unaware that you’d heard him in the shower. It makes him wonder if you heard what else he does when you aren’t in the mood for him. “Fuck, you wanna get out of here? I’m not really in the mood for drinks. I want to go back to mine and shower…with you.” He adds, biting his lip.

“Your place?” You nod and kiss him one more time before you turn to grab your purse off the bar. You have already paid for your drink so you are ready to go. Even if the rest of the band stays and parties, it just means that you and Marcus will have the apartment to yourselves since he rooms with his band mates. “I think I want to have the bassist from my favorite band in the shower with me.” You send him a hot look. “So I can show him how big of a fan I am.”

Marcus nods, knowing the rest of the band will be okay with packing up the equipment since he’s stayed late every gig this year. He takes your hand, knowing the guys will bring his bass back, and he tells Aaron that he’s taking you home. “Have fun.” Aaron smirks, knowing exactly why you’re leaving so soon but Marcus doesn’t give him a second thought as he escorts you out to his car. Before he opens the door, he grabs you to push you against the passenger side, his lips finding yours under the street light.

In typical collegiate horny fashion, you have no problem making out with your boyfriend of nearly eight months right there. Feeling him start to harden against your hip only has you even more feral for him. One hand in the pocket of his ripped jeans, the other pushes between you so you can squeeze his thick cock, making him groan into your mouth. “Take me home, Marcus.” You demand. “I want to suck your cock and I can’t do that here.”

Marcus groans, hating to pull away from you but your promise to suck him off is never one he would deny you so he pecks your lips and pulls away from you. Shifting to open the door for you, helping you in before he jogs around the car to get into the driver’s seat. “God.” He breathes out as he starts to drive, trying to focus on the road and not the way you’re looking at him as he drives to his place.

You smirk and slide your hand down to his belt buckle. “Keep your eyes on the road, Pike.” You tease playfully as you unbuckle it. “I can’t wait until we get back to your place to feel you.” You’ve never given road head before, but for Marcus, you would do anything.

“Fuckkkk.” Marcus groans, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as you take his cock out of his pants. “Fuck baby. You’re too good to me.” He groans and you lean down to take him into your mouth. The car swerves slightly and he exhales to control himself and the car.

He’s slightly salty with sweat but like always, he tastes amazing. Musky and heady as you roll your tongue over the tip and pull back slightly before taking him deeper into your mouth. Groaning at his pulsing twitch of excitement. He loves when you suck his cock and you know that the added thrill of driving and being slightly exposed is doing something for you so it must be doing something for him. He had always kind of giggled when you watched movies where the guy gets road head, so you are happy you decided you couldn’t wait.

Marcus hisses when you suck him a little harder, taking him deeper and he swears he nearly cums but he reaches down to caress your cheek, “fuck baby. So good to me.” He coos, struggling to concentrate when you’re hollowing your cheeks.

You hum, happy he’s enjoying it. You know when you get back to his place, he will drag you in the shower and by the time you’re clean, he’ll be ready to go again. Your lips touch the fabric of his jeans and you swallow around his thick length.

Marcus can barely keep his eyes open but he forces himself, moaning again when you swallow around him and he reaches down to pat your cheek. “I’m gonna cum.” He warns you, “baby. I’m gonna cum.”

You smirk slightly, almost pulling off of him to remind him that’s the point of sucking his cock. Instead you double down on your effort, wanting him to cum down your throat. Moaning around him as the jerks and pulses of his cock tell you he’s about to bust.

Marcus pants, fucking glad he’s stopping at a traffic light. “Fuck fuck Fuck.” He hisses as he starts to cum, unable to control himself anymore as he starts to cum down your throat.

You swallow as much as you can, some of it spilling out the side of your mouth but you don’t stop swallowing. Not until every drop has been pumped into your mouth and that little sigh he always gives when he’s done comes out of his mouth. Pulling off of him lightly, you lick your lips and grin as you sit up. “How was that for your applause?”

“Fuck baby. I- just wait till we get back to mine.” He promises breathlessly. “I’m gonna - fuck. The things I’m gonna do to you.” He promises, pushing down on the pedal a little too hard when the light turns green. You tuck him away into his pants and he pulls you up to kiss your cheek, “God baby. You’re incredible.” He murmurs, focusing back on the road so he can rush back to his apartment.

You giggle quietly as Marcus races back to his apartment building, nearly squealing his tires in an effort to get there as quickly as possible. Once parked, you jump out of the car and run towards the building. “You have to catch me,” you tease over your shoulder.

Marcus chuckles, shaking his head and he scrambles to lock his car. He rushes after you, running up the stairs and he catches up to you when you are at his front door. “Gotcha.” He growls playfully, spinning you so he can push you against the door, kissing you with a smile, his hands reaching for your hands to lift your arms above your head, restraining your wrists, his hand slides back down to squeeze your tit, his tongue sliding into your mouth.

You moan into him, enjoying the taste and feeling of him pressing against you. “Marcus.” You pant when he slides his tongue out enough to let you talk. “Shower and then I want to go to bed.” You beg, knowing that you want him inside you, touching you when you tell him how you feel.

He pulls away reluctantly, wanting to touch you but he knows he has to open his door. He grabs his keys, fumbling to open the door with your lips on his neck but he manages, swallowing harshly and nearly stumbling when it swings open. “Get naked. Now.” He demands, needing you, to see all of you.

You giggle at his commanding, desperate tone. Knowing that he is close to losing control and with it, leaving some of the sweetness behind. The best thing about Marcus is that he is so kind in and out of bed, but you like when he is a little rough with you. “Yes sir.” You tease, pouting seductively as you toss your purse down and reach to unzip your dress.

Marcus groans, his eyes hungrily eating you up and he bites his lip when you toss your bra aside, stepping out of your panties. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He murmurs, kicking off his boots and he pulls his shirt over his head, pushing his jeans down. His cock is still flaccid but his eyes are drinking you in as he pushes his boxers down. “Come on baby.” He murmurs, reaching for you and he takes your hand to escort you to the bathroom. He grabs his body wash from the shelf and turns on the water.

Marcus has a runners ‘or a swimmer’s body. Long, lean lines and limbs. Still powerful, and you take a moment to appreciate that as you watch him. You know you will have to gather your clothes later, but right now you press yourself up against him when you step into the shower together and wrap your arms around his neck. “I missed you today, baby.” He had a test and then one quick half shift at his job before his gig. His parents were funding his college, which was fantastic, but Marcus was responsible enough to still have a job.

“I missed you too.” Marcus murmurs, his hands caressing your back. “Always miss you.” He promises, leaning back so he can look into your eyes. “You enjoyed the show?” He asks, always anxious that he wasn’t good enough. He plays guitar mainly but when Aaron needed a bass player, he stepped up to learn it.

“You were great.” You promise him, sliding your fingers through his hair and tilting his head back to wet it under the spray so you can wash it for him. “Every note was perfect and you looked so sexy up there.” You coo. “All I could think of was how that is my man and I get to go home with him.”

Marcus smirks, eyes closed as you grab the shampoo and his hands squeeze your ass cheeks as you lather up his locks. “Only you. No one else.” He vows, knowing his band mates take home random women but you’re the one for him. He’s never been the Casanova type, always liking to be with one woman, to have a relationship and a deeper connection than a one night stand. You rinse his hair and he leans down to kiss you again, unable to keep away from you.

"Mmmmmm." You smile against his lips and open for him, moaning softly when his tongue slides against yours and he shuffles to press you back against the shower wall. You never seem to get enough of him and you don't think. you ever will. You love him. You have decided that you want to be with him forever and you pull back to smile at him softly. "Only you." You promise back.

Marcus kisses you softly, shifting to kneel down in the shower and he grabs your leg, kissing your knee before he lifts it onto his shoulder. His eyes on you as he leans forward to nudge your mound, his tongue coming out to slide through your folds. He loves how you taste and he wants you to cum on his tongue before he fucks you in his bed.

“Marcus!” You cry out, slapping your hand against the wall and your eyes roll back in your head. Marcus’s tongue is always eager, always seemingly perfect as it carves a path through your folds and flicks over your clit. He sucks it into his mouth and hums, which always makes you moan softly.

His hands slide up to squeeze your tits, the water flowing over his back and he loves the way you moan his name. He could listen to that for the rest of his life. His hands caress and squeeze and pinch while his tongue dips back down to push inside of you with a groan.

Tilting your head up, you pant his name again, your thigh shaking and barely supporting you without his help to keep you pinned against the wall. “Oh fuck, Marcus.” You chant quietly. “Baby, you’re so good. Fuck, you’re so good.”

Marcus desperately needs you to cum, his tongue diving deep as his nose presses against your clit. His hands slide down to squeeze your ass, tilting your hips so his tongue can push deeper inside of you.

“Oh shit!” Your body bucks and you cry out wordlessly when your orgasm hits you. Pleasure and heat washing over you in successive waves as he keeps pressing deeper. Tongue curling and prodding inside you and his nose is the perfect pressure against your clit.

He works you through it, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence and he groans, pulling back to look up at you. Hair slicked back and eyes dark. He shifts to stand up after lowering your leg and he leans in to kiss you again, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

When he pulls back, you giggle quietly. “So glad I have a boyfriend who loves to eat pussy.”

You hum, reaching for the body wash and his shower mitts. Lathering them up quickly, you start to wash his body, eager to get him into bed.

Marcus lets you wash him then he returns the favor, his hands everywhere as he washes you and he groans when your fingers wrap around his hard cock. “So impatient for me.” He jokes softly, rinsing you off. “You wanna come to my bed?” He asks, kissing along your neck.

“Fuck yes.” You pant, stroking his cock with the quick, harsh motion that he enjoys. “I need you inside me, baby. Right now.” You beg.

Marcus reaches behind you to turn off the water, he grabs the towel and wraps it around you, grabbing another one for himself to dry off and then he’s dragging you into his bedroom. He pushes you onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kneels between your thighs, “wanna cum inside of you.” He murmurs, wanting to fill you up. He usually pulls out to be safe despite your birth control but tonight he wants to feel your walls pulsing around him when he cums.

You moan softly, loving the idea. Nodding, you reach up to caress his chest. “I want that baby, I’m safe.” You promise him, also keeping track of your cycle as well as your birth control. “Fill me up, I want to feel it.” You coo, enjoying the low moan as he pushes his cock through your folds and starts to break into you as he rocks his hips forward to kiss you.

Marcus groans into your mouth as you stretch to take him. You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking wet and tight. He closes his eyes as he pushes until he’s inside of you fully. “Fuck, baby girl. I - I love how you feel around me.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck as he gives you a moment.

You close your eyes, a small smile on your face as your fingers tangle into his hair. “I love you.” You murmur softly, knowing that he will hear you since his ear is right next to your lips. It’s the right moment, the perfect moment to tell him how you feel. “I love you, Marcus.”

Marcus pulls back to look at you, eyes wide. “I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much baby.” He promises. His hips start to move as he works his cock in and out of you. “I love you. I love you.” He repeats over and over between kisses to your skin.

You moan quietly as the two of you take sex and turn it to love making. Soft and sweet as he rocks into you and whispers words of love and praise. It makes you feel cherished, you know that he’s not just saying that because you did. Not because he’s inside you. This man loves you and it makes happy tears fill your eyes as you hold him tight.

He moves slow, in no rush despite the frenzy earlier. He wants you to enjoy every second of this. His hand sliding up to squeeze your breast as he shifts his weight onto one elbow so he can touch you. There’s no more words, just feelings as he rocks into you, your legs lifting higher up on his hips.

Marcus can barely breathe, let alone speak. He grunts, sighs, and leans in to press his lips to yours. His tongue sliding into your mouth to languidly kiss you. He can’t believe how lucky he is that you are his and he is yours. Never did he imagine he’d find the love of his life so soon in college but he’s glad he did. He wants to keep you forever. His hand shifts from your breast and slides down between you so he can rub your clit.

“Oh God, Marcus.” You moan, rocking your hips up to meet his hand and thrusts. “So good baby, fuck, I love you so much.” You kiss and suck on his neck, leaving a mark that you are sure will be visible for days, but you have to claim him as yours. “Gonna cum baby.”

Your gasp has him pushing deeper inside of you, desperate for you to cum. He keeps the same rhythm that has you gasping and his fingers rub your clit. "Cum for me, love. Cum for me." He pleads, wanting to feel it and his own orgasm is imminent.

You keen when you start to come apart. Shaking as your cunt locks down around him on the next thrust and you soak him in waves of your fluids. Chanting his name as if it’s the only word in the world. Knowing that you want your future to be with him as he holds you close.

"Fuck. Yes baby. Oh God." Marcus pants when you clamp down on him, soaking him, and he bites his lip, thrusting a little faster as he seeks his own orgasm. He should last, make you cum again, but your confession has him on edge. He groans and buries his face in your neck, his cock buried deep as he cums, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuck baby.” You whimper, closing your eyes in pure bliss when you feel him flood your womb. It’s crazy, stupid and not something you need, but for a brief second you wish he was getting you pregnant. That you were going to have his baby. It’s insane to think about and you quickly push it away. “I love you.” You whisper again, happy you can say it out loud now.

“I love you.” He murmurs, shifting to kiss you again while his cock pulses inside of you. He feels like he’s on fire and he can’t seem to get close enough to you. You’re everything to him and he knows he’s going to marry you one day. You are the rest of his life. He pulls out of you and shifts onto his back, bringing you into his chest. “I - I wrote a song for you.” He whispers, heart pounding still from both his orgasm and nerves.

Your head shoots up and you look at him in surprise. “You did?” Your hand that is on his chest seems to curl in, wanting to hold onto him. “What’s it about, sing it to me.” You demand, wanting to know what sort of song he would write for you.

Marcus shifts, grabbing the guitar he has propped up in the corner and he plucks the strings for a moment to make sure it’s in tune. He exhales and looks at you, “I love you baby.” He promises and starts to play, his eyes closed as he concentrates and the lyrics begin a few moments later.

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your breasts, knowing that it doesn’t matter when it’s the two of you. You listen, with your heart in your eyes and absorb the words that he has created for you. Falling in love with him a little more with every word.

He finishes the song, his hand pausing over the strings as he takes a moment before he looks up to see your reaction. You have tears in your eyes and he worries you didn’t enjoy it. “I- was it - do you like it?” He asks, voice wavering with his nerves.

Surging forward, the covers fall off your lap. Launching yourself at him and trapping his guitar between you so you can press your lips to his desperately. “I loved it.” You promise, giggling happily, almost drunk off the feeling of being in love with him. “I love you. Oh god, you have to make a tape of it for me, so I can always have it.”

Marcus smiles against your lips, so relieved and happy you loved it. “Of course, baby. I’ll make you a tape.” He promises, shifting back so he can set the guitar back on the stand and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. “I love you.” He murmurs, burying his nose in your hair to breathe you in.

Marcus curls around you, his face buried in your neck, and he closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, loving how warm you are against him and he dreams of a life together. Of having kids with you, a home, a dog. The whole nine yards.

****

“Yeah, you know Marcus. He’s great.” You tuck your phone against your shoulder as you look through the rack of dresses. He had told you that he wanted to talk you out somewhere special this weekend and to make sure that you were dressed fancy. Well, as fancy as college kids get, but you are excited. “He probably wants to celebrate saying ‘I love you’, and that’s so fucking sweet. I’m telling you girl, I’m so fucking lucky.”

He steps into the store, glancing around at the crowd and he knows that she’s in the changing room. Her location said so. He steps through the racks, making his way into the ladies changing room and pulls out the gun with the silencer. When she steps out to look in the mirror, he wastes no time shooting her, twice in the chest, once in the head. So quick she barely even registers his presence and he grabs the sunglasses and hat from his jacket, turning it inside out to change his clothing and that’s when you step out. You see her on the floor, blood pouring from her and you look up at the man, his face visible after taking off his hoodie and you scream. He raises the gun, about to shoot you for being a witness but then he hears the commotion of people hearing your scream and he needs to get out of the store before the doors are locked. He rushes off and escapes through the crowds who are panicking when they heard your scream. He can’t risk being caught. He won’t get paid. He memorizes your face and knows he has to find you. He can’t be tied to the crime if there are no witnesses.

****

“I didn’t see where he went. No, I didn’t know him. I didn’t know her.” You tell the detectives again. “But I am telling you that it was this man.” You point to the photo you had picked out of the line up they had given you. It’s been hours, taken down to the station when the police had arrived, you had been shown into the shabby, dreary room and given a single cup of disgusting coffee. “Can I leave now? I just want to call my boyfriend and go home.”

The officers glance at each other, knowing there’s nothing more you can do since you have told them the man who did it. “Fine. You can go.” They say, “but call us if you remember anything else.” He hands you his card and you nod, making your way out of the station. Once you’re on the road, you decide to head straight over to Marcus’s place and when you’re on the back road, you wince when you see the bright lights from the car behind you.

“Go around me, asshole.” You huff under your breath and tap your brakes twice. The car gets closer and then back off, blinding you again and making you hiss. The guy is riding your ass and it’s pissing you off. “Fucking pass me!” You yell, happy when the car revs its engine and you think he’s going to pass. Until your car jolts forward and you realize the crazy bastard has hit you. “What the fuck!”

He revs his engine again, hitting your car once more and you cry out, starting to get scared. His lights are still bright in your rear view mirror and he hits you again, making you skid as you lose control of the car.

Your car spins into the guardrail and the old metal gives way, sending your car down into the embankment of the tiny creek you had been about to cross. Screaming, you see your life flash before your eyes and then nothing but blackness.

He pulls over, wanting to check that you’re dead but just as he starts to pull over, there’s a car coming towards him who pulls over to help you. He speeds off, knowing he can’t risk getting out and he is certain that you’re dead. You have to be. The stranger saw everything and manages to get the plate, writing it on their hand before they get out to see if you’re alive. Thankfully, they have a cell phone and manage to call 911 when they find you unconscious and bleeding, the airbags deployed.

****

“I don’t understand.” Marcus frowns as he looks at his phone, his call going straight to voicemail again. He’s been trying to call you all night and you aren’t answering. He’s worried, you had plans to meet up for dinner tonight and you never showed or messaged him.

“She’s gonna be okay, man. Her phone probably died. She doesn’t charge it for days.” He reminds Marcus who nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. True.” He sighs and glances out of the window, his heart pounding as he imagines all the bad things that could’ve possibly happened to you and he decides to phone the police if you aren’t here or call him within the hour.

****

The first thing you see when you blink is doctors hovering over you. Your name is called and your brow scrunches. “Wha-what happened?” You groan and immediately another face appears in front of you. The detective that you had seen just a few minutes ago at the police station. “What- you?”

The detective shakes his head, “I feared something like this would happen.” He says your name and you frown in confusion at the look on his face. “The man we are looking for is in a notorious crime circle. We worry that he will find you again and kill you because you’re the only witness to his crime. We need to put you into witness protection.”

"What? No, no, I have a date with my boyfriend." You blurt out, not even absorbing what the detective is telling you. "We just said 'I love you'. He's going to be so worried about me. Can I call Marcus? I need to call Marcus."

The detective shakes his head, “I’m sorry. No. We don’t know if they are tapping the lines. Your boyfriend might be in danger and it’s best if he doesn’t know anything about what happened. You need to move. We will arrange everything.” The detective promises, “this is for your safety. Your life is in danger. As soon as we catch him and you testify, he’s in jail. You can’t risk your life, sweetheart.”

You argue with the detective for an hour, until he shows you the pictures of the people the man after you had murdered. Gruesome photos, including a wife and daughter. That’s when you agree and reluctantly check out against medical advice and let the detective lead you away.

****

It’s been days since Marcus heard from you. He’s frantic, your parents don’t know where you are. No one seems to know and the police are dismissing him, saying you’ve likely run off. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s not like that.” He argued but they wouldn’t file a missing person report. He is exhausted, hasn’t slept, and he’s been driving around trying to find you but your apartment is how you left it and your roommate is worried too.

“Marcus, I don’t know what the hell is going on.” Tisha opens the door and lets him in. “All of her stuff is here, she’s not in class, her job hasn’t heard from her. It’s like she’s dropped off the face of the planet.” She rubs her hands over her arms. “I’m worried, especially after that murder at the outlet.”

“I don’t know. She - you know she isn’t like this. I don’t understand. I’m terrified. She’s - fuck - I don’t know what to do.” He sits down, head in his hands as he struggles to figure out what to do. He’s been driving around town for days trying to find you. He’s called everyone you know. No one has seen you. It’s like you’ve disappeared from the planet and his heart breaks when he wonders if you’ve left him, decided you didn’t love him or something changed within you and you’ve left him.

****

Fifteen Years Later:

Living under a new name, having a new life, was supposed to make your life easy. You chew your lip as you sit in your office and wait. The art business was supposed to be low key. Under the radar. You are just a small gallery, although you carried some big name pieces, you are never pictured on the website. Still living under an alias, you know your identity will hold up under light scrutiny, but it still makes you nervous. It’s been a long time, nearly a year, since your handler had called you, letting you know there still is a vague contract out on your life from the asshole you had put behind bars so long ago.

****

“Pike.” Marcus answers his phone, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the file.

“Sir, there’s been another robbery.” His junior agent tells him and he sighs, “I’ll be right there. Send me the address.” He says and hangs up,getting his keys and he’s soon in the car driving to the address he was texted.

When he arrives, the police are already there and he introduces himself to the detective. “The gallery manager is right through here.” The detective says and Marcus makes his way into the gallery. When the officer says the alias name, Marcus looks at you and his jaw drops, your real name coming out of his mouth..

Your name, your real name, hasn’t been said in so long that it takes you a moment to respond. The ghost from your past, the man you thought you would never see again and always regretted that, stands in front of you looking like he’s seen his own ghost. Maybe he has. You panic and shake your head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know that person.” You tell him, praying he doesn’t cause a scene, although you know you have to call Marshal Smith now that your identity has been blown. Your life will be completely uprooted and you had liked working in the art gallery. You tell him your cover name, the one you’ve lived with for the past fifteen years.

Marcus stares at you, knowing he’s not mistaking your face. You’re older, more refined, but he’d know those eyes anywhere. “I- no. No. It’s - it’s been fifteen years. It’s you.” He insists, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong person.” You tell him again, wondering how the hell sweet Marcus Pike became an FBI agent. You repeat your new name again for him with a tolerant smile. “Now, what questions do you have for me agent…Pike, was it?”

He shakes his head again, “no. No. I- fuck. It’s you. It’s gotta be you.” He chokes, getting frustrated. “I thought - I thought you left me. Fuck. I - I can’t do this.” He says to his partner and he rushes out of the gallery.

Your heart breaks, the look on his face was one of pure distress and you swallow harshly. “Let me go see if I can clear this up.” You tell the other agent and the detective. You can see they are curious and you know that it doesn’t matter now. Your life here is over. You hurry after Marcus and see him pacing outside. “Marcus!”

He turns away from you, “don’t. Don’t come near me.” He growls, angry with you. “Don’t - you left. You left me. Don’t - don’t play dumb. I’m not interested in your bullshit answers, okay? The change of name. Don’t - you left me. You left town. Disappeared. And now you want to pretend you’re not who I know you to be?”

He rails at you and you close your eyes at the anguish in his voice. The pain, the fear, the heartbreak of those early years coming back to you quickly. “I- I didn’t want to-“ you start to explain but he cuts you off.

“I don’t want to hear it! You left without the decency to break it off. I thought you were dead.” He is nearly shouting out on the street next to a drab government vehicle and you huff.

“I am in WitSec, Marcus!”

His eyes widen in shock, “what? You- when-? I- shit. When did you- how?” He stammers, trying to figure out what the hell happened and he needs answers. Now. The years of wondering what happened to you, what he did wrong, what he could’ve done differently.

Glancing around nervously, you lower your voice. “The day I disappeared, I saw something I shouldn’t have.” You explain, quickly telling him about the murder you had walked in on.

Marcus is shocked. You witnessed a murder. The murder that happened at the outlet mall. You called your friend - the last person you spoke to - to talk about going out for dinner with Marcus. It makes sense. It fits. Your eyes aren’t lying to him. “I- shit. Seriously?” He asks breathlessly and you nod. He knows how the system works, and dealt with enough witnesses to know you’ll be sent across the country. “I won’t tell anyone. No one will know that you’re here. I promise.

You don’t have to tell the Marshal dealing with your case.”

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you like this life here. And it’s such a relief to know that someone knows who you really are. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach because it’s Marcus. You’ve never stopped thinking about him. “You can’t use that name.” You caution him. “There’s still a contract out for my life.” You reveal. “It’s dormant, but only because there’s nothing for them to use to find me.”

Marcus nods, saying the fake name and it’s weird, it doesn’t feel right when he rolls it around his tongue. “I - I don't want you to have to uproot your life again. God, it’s been fifteen years. I- I never stopped wondering what happened to you.” He promises. “Do you- uh, do you want to maybe get dinner? Catch up?”

You freeze for a moment, surprised by the offer and find yourself nodding. “Sure.” You bite your lip. “But it should be at my place. Just in case.” You know that Roberta had an old photo of you and Marcus together from college and Marcus has obviously matured since then, but you can’t risk it. You glance around the street, a nervous habit you’ve picked up since being in WitSec, and then back at him. “Tonight? Or…uh, whenever you want.” You offer. “You have a life, I’m sure.”

Marcus chuckles humorlessly, “not so much. I- I was engaged and she - well, it’s a long story but she went off with her partner. She was a fed too.” He explains, biting his lip as he glances around, his dark eyes meeting yours again. “Tonight.” He nods, not wanting to miss out on catching up. He doesn’t want to waste a second in case you disappear again. “You wanna, uh, write down your address? I can bring take out.” He offers, grabbing his notepad.

“Sure.” You take the notepad from him and write down your address and hand it back to him. “Seven?” You ask and he nods. “So, I’m going to go back in there and talk to your partner. Tell him that you are upset you mistook me for someone else. Is that okay?”

Marcus nods, tucking the notepad back into his jacket and he swallows harshly, the sun hitting you and God, you haven’t changed. Not really. Still so goddamn beautiful. He clears his throat and gestures for you to go back inside. “I’ll tell him. We still need your story about the stolen painting.” He reminds you, stepping inside after you. “Sorry man-” He slaps his partner on the arm, “I thought she was some girl I knew in college. She disappeared and it was a shock. Not her. Just me being a dumb prick.” He jokes and his partner narrows his eyes but accepts the excuse. “So…you wanna tell us about the painting?”

Being involved with the US Marshals, you’ve learned to give a lot of detail, knowing any little thing can be important. You go through the story and try to be as clear as possible, knowing the security footage will be watched as well.

Marcus watches his partner jot down your story and eventually it’s time to go. He doesn’t mention meeting you at seven but nods your way so you know he will be there. He hopes you still like Chinese food. He leaves with your face burned behind his eyes and he’s soon pulling up outside your house, Chinese food in hand when he rings the doorbell.

You hurry towards the door, not calling out because of habit and checking the peep hole before opening. “Marcus.” You didn’t realize how nervous you were until you are looking at the man you had to leave behind so many years ago. Smiling slightly, you open the door. “Come in, you found the apartment alright?”

Marcus nods, “it’s tucked back here but I found it. I’m surprised they didn’t put you in a more secure building. Like a high risk with a security guard and coded doors.” Marcus says and you shrug, “they did at first but now…you know how long it’s been.” Marcus nods, his heart twisting with that realization. “I got you egg rolls and orange chicken. I hope you still like that.”

“That’s perfect.” You lock the door behind him and lead him back into the apartment. “Can I get you something to drink?” You ask. “I have beer, water, some wine, tea. Whatever you like.” You’re rambling, but that’s because you are nervous.

"Uh, a beer sounds good." He says, setting the bag down on the counter. God, it's awkward and he hates it. It used to be so easy with you. He used to spend all his time with you and now, it's like starting all over again even though he knows so many intimate details about you. "Plates?" He asks and you point to the cabinet while you get a couple of beers out of the fridge. He grabs the plates and sets them on the counter then gets the containers from the bag.

“So, what do you want to know?” You ask, opening the bottles and handing him one. You know he must have a million questions and it’s fair. You disappeared out of his life without a word and the thought that this might be closure for him runs through your mind.

“Everything.” He says, his eyes widening a little as he stares at you. “I want to know what you’ve been up to.” He urges and takes a sip of his beer. “It��s been so long and you just disappeared.”

“When I witnessed the murder, I was in denial about the danger I was in.” You admit. “I had left the police station and was driving to your apartment when that bastard ran me off the road. I woke up in the hospital and the detective insisted I needed protection.” You bite your lip. “They told me it was better that no one knows. That Roberta was known to use family and friends to flush out his targets. I couldn’t put you in danger. So they moved me across the country and created a new life for me.”

Marcus knows how it works, understands now how criminals work and operate, how they find people. He shudders when he imagines what could've happened if they had found you. You hand him a fork and spoon and he opens the containers of food so you can serve it up. "I - I get it but - at that time...I went out of my mind trying to find you. I tried everyone you knew, your parents...do they know?"

You bite your lip. “I sent them an anonymous post card, about ten years ago.” You admit quietly. “Just something so they would know, hopefully, that I was safe. I know I broke their hearts, but the Marshall’s are incredibly strict. Especially since Roberta is coming up for some new trial soon.”

Marcus nods, “I moved shortly after you went missing. Ended up in the academy after graduating and I couldn’t sleep. Spent so many nights wondering what happened to you. Even looked you up in the system when I could. I missed you so much. My best friend was gone all of a sudden.”

“Marcus, I-“ you sigh softly and if you had felt like you could, you would reach out and touch his hand. “I’m so sorry. I spent so long - years - wishing I could call you. To explain. Wondering how you were.” Your apology doesn’t seem like it’s enough, but it’s all you can give him. “It took me a long time to get over you, to stop mourning what might have been.”

He sighs, knowing exactly what you mean. He mourned the loss of you, his future with you, for far too long. “I- I ended up getting married. About eight years ago. It didn’t - we got divorced. She didn’t want to compete with the ghost of you.” He admits softly, averting his eyes from yours.

“I’m so sorry.” Your heart sinks, twists and aches in a way that is ridiculous. You left. Of course Marcus had moved on, and the rational side of you wanted him to. To hear that he had, and not in a way that turned out happily, it makes you sad. “Oh Marcus, I’m so sorry.” You murmur quietly, “maybe it would have been better if he had just killed me. Then you, my parents, none of you would have spent so long wondering.”

Marcus chokes on the sip of beer he drank, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. No. I - how could you say that? I would rather you be alive than me have closure. I have closure now and you’re alive. Never say that.” He almost growls, pissed off at you for even thinking it. “Did you…have you got anyone?”

You snort and shake your head. “How?” You ask, motioning around to your apartment. “I live a life that - while comfortable - isn’t mine. No one knows who I really am. I can’t make too close of friends, because I might accidentally reveal something from my real past. A lover? For more than a night or two? No. I couldn’t lie to them. My last real relationship was you.”

He hates that you’ve been alone but he’s also secretly pleased that there’s been no one since. He still feels that flutter in his heart when he looks at you. “I have missed you so much, baby.” He murmurs, setting his fork down so he can look at you properly, for the first time in fifteen years, he takes in every detail.

You smile sadly and nod. “I’ve missed you too, Marcus. I promise you.” You huff and send him a slightly embarrassed look. “I was halfway convinced I was going to marry you after we graduated. Have babies and you and your band were gonna be famous while I designed all your merch. It was my little daydream for a long time.” You admit. “Never thought you would become a Fed.”

Marcus smiles sadly back at you, reaching for your hand. “God…I- I didn’t - I would’ve taken that life in a heartbeat. I still would. I was- shit - I was gonna ask you to marry me. When I graduated. I was gonna ask you.”

It’s so bittersweet to think about that you didn’t even catch where he said he still would. Caught up in your fantasies that had kept you sane while you were scared and alone, tears start to trail down your cheeks. You squeeze his hand and try not to sob.

Marcus shifts closer, standing up so he can wrap his arms around you. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your hair. “It’s okay.” His own eyes sting with tears as he mourns the years he lost thinking you were dead.

You lean into his embrace and inhale the scent of him. The cologne has changed, matured, but the baseline is still Marcus. “I- I missed you so much.” You tell him. “I wanted to bring you. Wanted to see if you would come with me, but I couldn’t.”

“I know.” He does know. Only spouses and children. Not boyfriends. He sighs and breathes you in, “I don’t want to miss you again. Can we start again? As friends?” He asks, knowing he can’t push for more after you’ve had such a trauma and he has his own baggage he needs to divulge at some point.

Friends. You don’t want to be his friend but you nod as you pull back. “Friends.” You murmur with a small smile. “Friends should eat.” You need a moment where he’s not touching you so you can remind yourself that he’s not yours anymore. Despite the fact that you still dream about him, the boy you had loved is not the man in front of you. “And as your friend, I have to tell you that you are still gorgeous. I don’t know how you became better looking, but you have.”

Marcus can’t help it. He blushes and you giggle at the way he flushes. “You, uh, you look way better. Like - God, you look gorgeous. Always were but you seem more refined, grown up. You’re gorgeous, baby.” He promises and he settles back down at the counter so he can continue eating.

You finish your meal, sighing happily when then put your fork down and pick up your beer to finish the last swallow. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a dinner like that.” You admit, standing so you can start to clean up. “You mentioned an ex wife and an ex fiancée, so anything else going on in your love life?” You ask causally. Just because you hadn’t moved on didn’t mean Marcus hadn’t. And if you were going to be his friend, you should know.

“It’s complicated. I haven’t been seeing anyone since Teresa. She’s my ex. She, uh, I proposed to her and then she dumped me for her partner. She’s a fed too. It set me back so I have been just enjoying my alone time recently. No one - no one seems to capture my attention.” He says, looking up at you.

“Someone will.” You predict. “I bet you are still a complete gentleman, until….” You bite your lip, aware making sexual comments is well beyond appropriate. “Until it’s time not to be.” You finish lamely and turn around to load the dishwasher.

Marcus bites his lip, remembering all the times you used to moan beneath him. He was a fumbling college kid then. He knows what he’s doing now. He wonders if you’d like his matured sexuality. “You know me too well.” He chuckles softly and stands to help you when the doorbell rings.

You turn towards the door, a flash of fear washing over your face. That same dread you get every time the doorbell rings when you aren’t expecting someone. “I’m not expecting anyone.” You tell him, moving towards the corner of the dining room where you keep a baseball bat.

Marcus shakes his head, pushing you back and reaching under his jacket in habit until he realizes he locked his weapon in his glove box. He reaches for the baseball bat and takes it from you, slowly inching towards the door and opening it. He prepares to swing but there’s no one there. He steps into the hallway and sees no one around and he turns to look at you. “No one here.” He says, frowning until he sees the note on the door.

Marcus brings the note taped to the door into the apartment and your heart drops. It’s not a letter from the building, and instinctively you know it’s trouble. “Shit.” You hiss, nearly in tears. “I- open it.” You ask Marcus. “What does it say?”

He walks in and locks the door behind him, setting the bat down so he can open the note. His eyes scan it first and he hisses in frustration. “It says…it says ‘you can’t hide forever. We know where you are. The appeal is coming and you won’t testify again. We will make sure of it’.” Marcus finishes, his blood boiling that someone has put this on your door.

“Oh God.” Your stomach flips and you swear you are about to lose your dinner. “He’s found me. I- I have to call the Marshall.” Your mind whirls and the protocols that have been drilled into your head come to mind. “I’m sorry.” For a moment you pause, hating that you had found Marcus again, only to be pulled away again. You will be relocated, disappear again and forced to live another life completely different from this one. “I wish- I wish things were different.”

Marcus shakes his head, starting to panic at the thought of losing you again. “He only knows that you live here. Take time off of work. Come- come live with me. I can protect you. He doesn’t know where I am. Please, baby. I- I don’t want to lose you again.” He knows you’d be safer moving across the country again but his selfish need to have you back in his life makes him give you a desperate plea to stay with him.

“I- wha-I- what?” You shake your head. “Marcus, I can’t- I can’t put you in danger. Roberta had connections. I- I should have called the Marshal just as soon as you recognized me.” You admit quietly. You had selfishly wanted to spend a little bit of time with him. “I would never forgive myself if you got hurt because of me.”

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I’m a goddamn fed sweetheart. I can protect you. Let me protect you.I don’t - I can’t lose you again.” He says, “I can keep you safe.”

Your heart melts and you look down at the letter. “We will need to call the Marshal assigned to my case.”

Marcus nods, heart sinking that you’re going to leave again. He swallows harshly, feeling the second chance at possibly being with you slip away and it kills him. He hates it. “Uh, yeah. I’ll, um, give you some privacy. Where’s your bathroom?” He asks, needing to pee.

You show him towards the bathroom and pull out your phone to call the number you have. Taking a deep breath, you hope they will let Marcus watch over you. Your heart beats wildly as the phone rings.

Marcus stares in the mirror, his eyes wide as he thinks about losing you again. He barely survived the first time he lost you. He isn’t sure he can do it again. He swallows harshly and washes his hands, making his way back into the living room to hear what the marshal says.

“Marcus Pike. Yes- yes I know that is my old boyfriend.” You repeat on the phone to Marshal Scott. “He’s an FBI agent. He’s working on a break in at my art gallery.” You pause, your eyes sliding to Marcus as he walks back in the room. “No, no the break in was about a painting. I didn’t think I needed to call you. Yes.” You sigh. “I know I should have called you when he recognized me, but I didn’t. I just- I wanted to be me for a little bit.”

Marcus leans against your kitchen counter, not wanting to interrupt and he’s nervous about the answer. He knows how this works and he is worried about you disappearing and him never seeing you again, just like before.

“No. No, don’t do that.” You have been watching Marcus this entire time and you decide you can’t leave. Scott wants to relocate you again, like you had expected. “He’s an FBI agent. He said I could stay at his place.” That’s not exactly what Marcus had said, but your improvising. “Yes, I’m declining a relocate.” Another long pause while Scott reminds you exactly what Roberta had ordered for you. “Yes, I know. I know I’m risking my life.” You sigh and relax. “I’ll call you with the details.”

Marcus relaxes slightly, glad that you aren’t relocating yet. The marshal could change his mind but he agrees to it for now. You hang up the phone and Marcus offers you a reassuring smile. “You wanna come to mine tonight or tomorrow?”

“Can we go tonight?” You ask quietly. “I don’t like the idea they know where I am.” You shiver slightly and look towards your windows, thankfully already shut and covered. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if it was okay first.”

Marcus nods, stepping closer to you to place his hand on your upper arm. “Of course we can.” He assures you, knowing you have to be scared after so long on the run. “Come on baby, go pack what you need. I can always come back with you if you need something you forget.”

You nod and quickly make your way into the bedroom so you can pack a bag. You’ll have to close the gallery, but that has already been planned because of the break in. At your underwear drawer, you bite your lip, chastising yourself as you throw some lingerie in it. Knowing that it won’t be used, but you can’t help but want to feel a little sexy around the love of your life.

When you come back out, Marcus is already checking the vicinity outside of your window, discreetly looking for any out of place cars or people. “I think it’s clear but you need to stay close to me. We will get your car tomorrow, it needs to be checked and I don’t want them to have put a tracker on it and us not notice and lead them right to you.” He explains and you nod. “You got everything?” He asks. You nod again and he gestures for you to shift behind him. “Stay five paces behind me.”

Your eyes widen at how direct and professional he is. It’s a turn on if you are honest and he transforms from the sweet man you have loved since you were twenty, to a steely eyed agent in front of your eyes. Staying five steps behind him, you stop when he stops and watch as he scans the parking lot before hustling you to his car.

Marcus pushes you into his car and grabs your bag to put it in the trunk before he makes his way to the driver's side. He gets in and checks his surroundings before he’s pulling away from your apartment complex. “I’ll take the long way home. Looping around just in case someone follows.” He explains and he turns the radio off, wanting to concentrate. “How many times have you moved?” He asks? Wanting to know.

“Four.” You admit, nervously glancing behind you every twenty seconds. “They found me once right after they arrested Roberta. Then they followed the agents when I testified. And once more when an old high school friend ended up being in the same town.” You bite your lip. “When they followed the agents, they killed them.” You don’t want that to happen to Marcus. “Maybe it’s better if you put me in a hotel.”

Marcus shakes his head, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “No. No. I’m not sending you off. I- I can’t do that. I can’t - I’d never see you again. I know I’m being selfish but I can keep you safe. You just have to listen to everything I tell you.” He says, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Listening to him ramble, you realize how much your disappearance affected him. “I’m so sorry.” You murmur quietly, wanting to reach out and touch him, but it would distract him. “Am I-“ you break off and then take a breath. “Why did you go into the FBI, Marc?” You ask softly. You don’t want to assume that you are the reason that he changed his career goals, but it was a bit of a stretch from music and business - to appease his parents - to being an FBI agent.

Marcus sighs, biting his lip for a moment before he responds back to you. “I- I was so desperate to find you when you disappeared. Just to know what happened. If you were dead or if I did something wrong. I wanted to have closure so I figured that becoming a cop would get me access but I decided to go further and become a fed. Went to Quantico and even when I graduated and started my first job, I couldn’t find you in the system. Business wasn’t going to get me answers. Music certainly wasn’t.”

“I - I’m so sorry.” You can never apologize enough, and you can only hope that his job fulfills him. That he enjoys the work he does. “I wish I had gotten to talk to you one last time before I left. I begged them, cried for weeks and they even had to hospitalize me because I was so sick from crying. My entire world was gone and it nearly killed me.”

Marcus swallows harshly, hating to hear that. “Sweetheart, I wish - there’s so much I would change but I like my job. I like helping people and putting bad guys away. It’s fulfilling and I can help change peoples lives. I wish- I wish it was me who was sent away. I would’ve traded places with you in a heartbeat.”

“This life has been hard, Marc.” You shake your head. “It’s lonely and I wouldn’t wish that on you. You are too social. You like being around people, talking to people too much. And your parents…..” you had loved how welcoming his parents were when you met them. It would have killed them to lose their only child.

He wishes he could turn back the clock. Stop you going to that damn outlet mall and keep you safe with him so he wouldn't have missed you for fifteen years. Marcus nods, knowing he would’ve found it hard but he would’ve done it if it meant keeping you safe. “I - I could’ve dealt with it.” He says, shifting his hands on the steering wheel. “I love - I loved you so much.” He murmurs, pulling into his community.

“I loved you too.” It’s easy to admit, even if all those old feelings are rushing back with astonishing speed. Not that you ever really fell out of love with him. You admire the neat brick of the stately townhomes. “Wow, you found one here?” You ask, knowing that you had never managed to find anything close to this when you had been looking.

Marcus smiles, “yeah. I…I was supposed to move in here with my fiancé but- that one. Yeah. I- I envisioned having a family here and it didn’t happen but it is what it is.” He says, sounding a little sad but he can’t help but mourn a life he could’ve had.

“I’m sorry.” It hurts to think of Marcus with someone else, but it's been fifteen years. You don’t have any claim on him. “Hopefully one day you will have the life you want. I would just love to use my name. My real name. It seems like getting married and having kids is the dream of another life. I used to look forward to it, but now?” You shrug. “Life hasn’t turned out the way either of us wanted it seems.”

Marcus nods, "I know." He murmurs and he kills the engine of his car. "Shall we go inside?" He asks, wondering if you are ready. "I'm gonna get out first and make sure there's no one in the vicinity and then I will get you in, then grab your bag." He says, leaving no room for argument when it comes to your safety.

You nod, watching as he steps out of the car and you clutch your purse. It’s overwhelming, watching his dark eyes roam over the parking lot and then he walks over to you and opens the door. He’s professional, but there’s more to it, this is personal for him and it makes you shiver. Feeling for the first time in fifteen years like you might be safe.

When Marcus opens his front door, he disarms it and locks the door behind you, telling you to wait there while he checks his home hasn’t been found. After sweeping the home, he comes back into the hallway and nods, “all clear.” He says and you make your way into his home.

Marcus’ home is exactly what you would imagine adult Marcus to have. Neat and clean, the furniture is a bit on the masculine side but there are touches of softness. A three wick candle on the coffee table, a soft looking throw over the back of the leather sofa. Comforting and inviting. You wipe your hands on your pants and sigh.

“I hope you like it here. I’m sorry it’s basic. It’s just me.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I can show you to the guest room. Let me grab your bag. I’ll lock the door on my way out.” He says and makes his way back down the hall.

You look around the living room and step into the dining room and kitchen as he opens the front door. Curious about how he lived. You open the fridge door and chuckle, not seeing much and guessing that Marcus still prefers to have someone else cook for him. He wasn’t very good at it. At least he wasn’t when you were together. Though he had all the proper cookware. Cooking had become a hobby of yours, something you could do alone. You close the door and your head turns towards the door as it opens again. Tense and hoping it’s Marcus.

He walks in with your bag, licking the door behind him, alarming the alarm system. He guides you along to his spare room, opening the door. “Hopefully it’s okay.” He says shyly, offering you a soft smile.

“It’s perfect.” It could be the couch for all you care, it’s the thought that counts. Marcus is taking you into his home. “Thank you, Marc.” Reaching out and touching his shoulder, you give him a grateful smile. “I know you didn’t have to do this. Is there any way we could have some groceries delivered? Let me cook for you to thank you?”

Marcus smiles, “yeah. I’d love that. We can arrange for groceries to be delivered.” He promises and shrugs, “I’m still as bad a cook as I ever was. It would be nice to have some home cooked meals for a change. Takeout has me doing more morning runs.” He playfully taps his stomach.

“Whatever.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You’re hotter now than you were back then.” You blurt out, feeling your face burn when you realize you said that out loud. It could be wrong, but you don’t think so. Not when Marcus suddenly ducks his head and you swear you see him blush some. “I’m assuming I’m staying here until the threat is gone?” You ask. “No work?”

He nods, “no work. We can’t risk them finding you there.” He says and you sigh but concede. “For the record, you have always been gorgeous. Even more so now.” He says, biting his lip and hoping he didn’t overstep.

“And you still know how to make a girl feel like the only one in the world.” You murmur quietly, stepping closer to him and wishing that it hadn’t been fifteen years since you had last seen him. “Do you know how much that affects a girl?”

Marcus blushes slightly, feeling like a college kid again despite a divorce and a failed engagement. He’s been around the block and he is scared to screw things up, especially when he has to keep you safe. He clears his throat and reaches for your hand to squeeze it. “I have missed you, sweetheart.”

“If it’s not something you want, or you can’t, let me know.” You start off, deciding that you want to take a leap and see if Marcus still wants you. “But…” you step closer. “If I have to be in your house, protected by you….” You smirk and bite your lip. “Wouldn’t I be safest in your bed?”

Marcus swallows harshly, a little nervous but his cock is already hardening at the thought of having you in his arms. He steps closer until his chest is pressed against yours. “I think that would probably be best.” He agrees, “that way I can ensure your well-being.” He murmurs, his eyes darting down to your lips. He knows he’s crossing so many professional lines but fuck, he wants you. “I shouldn’t but-” He surges forward to press his lips to yours, unable to stop himself.

You moan into the kiss, immediately tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on it like you used to. In an instant, you feel like you are in your twenties again, hopelessly in love and needing your boyfriend. “Marcus.” You whimper, pulling back so you can push his jacket off his shoulders and pause when you see his gun. “Take me to your bed and make love to me.”

He groans, reluctantly pulling back and he takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom. He flicks the lamp on and works on removing his gun, checking the safety and setting it down on his nightstand before he shrugs out of the holster. He pulls his tie off and reaches for you, grabbing the hem of your shirt to pull it out of your skirt, wanting to touch you after so many years. “God, you’re still so fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, his eyes drinking you in when you are in your bra.

Your fingers work the buttons of his dress shirt, trying to remember the last time you had been this excited to sleep with someone. You’ve had lovers over the years, the physical needs making it almost certain you would have them, but no one had ever compared to Marcus. “Fuck,” you can see the tent he’s starting to sport, obviously still a boxers man.

Marcus fumbles to unclasp your bra, needing to touch you and when you drop your arms to let him pull it off of you after you push his shirt down his arms, his hands immediately cup your tits. “Have these gotten bigger?” He asks, squeezing them and massaging them.

“Yes.” Your eyes flutter closed as he touches you, managing to blindly push his shirt over shoulders that seem broader than they used to be. He’s in an undershirt, of course he is, and you love it. “I’m bigger.” You joke.

He shakes his head and reluctantly releases you so he can pull his shirt over his head with one hand. Once it’s fluttering to the floor, he’s reaching for you and pulling you against him so he can feel your skin on his. “Forgot how beautiful your tits are.” He says and leans down to kiss along your neck.

“Fuck Marc.” You moan, tilting your head back so he can kiss more of your skin. “You always were a tits man.” You tease him, reaching between you to squeeze his hard cock through his suit trousers.

He groans into your skin, inhaling the sweet scent that’s purely you. Burned into his memory from all those years ago and it’s like coming home. His lips kiss along your chest until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth, his hands caressing your back and sliding down to squeeze your ass as he hunches over you.

Gasping out in pleasure, you pull him towards your breast. Enjoying the way that he suckles and bites, the way he’s remembered how you like to be touched. He switches over to the other breast and he slides his hand around you to start unbuttoning your pants.

Marcus works fast to push your skirt down your legs, groaning your name as he exposes your underwear and he kneels, pushing his nose against your mound. “God, I forgot how good you smell.” He groans and hooks his fingers in the cotton, dragging them down and you kick your panties aside after kicking your shoes off of your feet. Marcus dives back in, his nose pressing into your folds as his tongue slides through them, tasting you for the first time in fifteen years.

“Marc!” Your cry is strangled, almost choked out as you grasp for anything to keep you upright. Hand slapping against the wall as you remember exactly why you loved Marcus’ tongue so much. His skills have only improved with time and you moan when he flicks his tongue over your clit expertly.

His fingers curl around your leg, lifting it into his shoulder so he can get deeper into your pussy. His tongue pushing deep and he groans your name. “Fuck baby. So good.” He murmurs into your flesh when he pulls back for a moment, “always tasted so good.” He dives back in and slides his tongue through your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth.

Having Marcus eat you out is like a gift from God. Most men are lazy with it, or refuse to go down on someone even though they expect a blowjob. Marcus eats pussy like he was born to do it, like it’s his favorite sport in the world. Making you shiver when he groans into your folds and your leg trembles as he pushes you closer to cumming.

He pushes you further into the wall, keeping you upright and his hand slides along your leg and up your body to squeeze your tit, pinching your nipple and his other hand slides between your legs, pushing two fingers inside of you with a groan. He desperately wants you to cum for him now.

“Oh fuck, Marc baby, baby, I’m gonna cum.” You moan, your head hitting the wall with a thud and your entire body lurches forward. “Shit, gonna- gonna cum.” Your walls clench down on him and you wail his name as you soak his fingers.

Marcus hisses into your flesh as you clamp down on his fingers, soaking them, and he sucks on your clit a little harder, wanting to absorb every second of your orgasm after so many years apart. His fingers pump inside of you and he pulls his mouth away when you start to shove on his hair and he tilts his head up so he can watch you as you cum.

Desperate little gasps rip out of your throat as he keeps your body jerking and twitching for him. Knowing exactly where to press inside you cunt in order to push another sob out of you. Your eyes are closed and you start chanting his name. “Marc, Marc, Marc baby, please.”

He wants you to cum again. His fingers keep pressing and pushing inside of you, his lips kissing along your thigh and he presses his thumb against your clit. “So good for me baby.” He murmurs, needing you to cum for him.

Your eyes spring open when you realize he wants you to roll straight into a second orgasm. “Fuck!” You squeal, feeling your walls bear down on his fingers again and your body shakes as you come apart.

His fingers curl and he kisses your stomach as he enjoys the way your walls are fluttering around his fingers. He adds a third, stretching you out and his thumb rubs your clit a little harder, “so pretty. Never forgot how pretty you are like this.”

“Marcus.” You groan. “I need you.” You reach down and try to pull him up so you can kiss him. “I want you inside me.” You beg. “I have an IUD and it’s been over a year since I’ve been with anyone. More like two.”

“Cum on my fingers and I’ll fuck you.” He promises, kissing your stomach again and his free hand reaches for yours to grip it. “Cum for me again.” He pleads, wanting to see you do it.

“Three?” You gasp out, holding onto his hand like a lifeline as you try to stay upright. Your leg threatens to give out as he continues to pump his fingers into you deep and precise. Pressing against that special spot again. Your breath echoes in your ears until stars burst behind your eyes and you scream out his name.

He nearly loses it when you cum again, clamping down on his fingers and he works you through it until you are slumping over him. He withdraws his fingers, surging forward to press his lips to yours as your leg is still wrapped around his waist as he presses you against the wall while his tongue tangled with yours.

You moan, tasting yourself on his tongue and not minding it one bit. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. Needing to feel him against you as he presses you into the wall.

Marcus needs you. He scrambles to pull you along with him and soon he’s laying you down on his bed, working on his pants to push them down. He groans in relief at finally having his cock free and you whimper in response at seeing it again. He kicks off his shoes and hops out of his pants, eventually ending up kneeling on the bed.

“God, I missed you.” You whisper, drinking in the sight of him. He’s filled out, not quite as skinny as he was in college. Broader and stronger and he still turns you on more than any other man you’ve ever been with. “Come to me, baby.” You reach out for him, wanting to feel him again.

Marcus can’t deny you anymore. He shifts between your legs, his chest heaving as he grips his cock and notches himself at your entrance. His dark eyes meet yours in the lamplight as he starts to push inside of you. Shifting to his forearms so he can press his lips to yours.

It’s overwhelming and perfect. Your lips melting against his as the girth of him stretches you out. Filling you perfectly like you’ve never been able to replicate with anyone else. Your eyes flutter closed and all you can do is moan your pleasure.

He slides his tongue against yours, enjoying the way you seem to melt beneath him. There’s so much he wants to say but he can’t. He can’t tell you how much he loves you when he can show you. He moves his hips, setting a slow place, his lips shifting to kiss down your neck.

Instead of being frantic and rushed, you find the pace turning slow and steady. Making you groan as you start to rock you hips in rhythm with him. Your fingers caress his back and you feel the muscles dance underneath the skin. “Marcus.”

He should be frantic but after so many years without you, he just needs to feel all of you. He moans your name into your skin, his cock twitching inside of you when your nails dig into his back when he hits something deep inside of you. “Missed you. Missed this so much.” He murmurs, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I missed you too, baby.” You promise him, closing your eyes and smiling as he moans again. “Fuck, I - I love you.” You confess. “I’ve never stopped, it’s always been you.”

Marcus swears his heart stops at that moment. “Always been you.” He echoes, “I love you. I love you. Baby, I love you.” He declares breathlessly and his pace gets a little faster with his need to see and hear you fall apart beneath him again.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you moan his name again. “I love you.” You pant. “Marcus, I love you. Oh, it’s so good.” Your nails dig into his shoulders and your cunt squeezes him tight. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You gasp and he keeps the pace and thrust of his hips the same, not wanting to change when you tell him you’re about to cum. He wants to feel it. He wants to feel you soak him again. “That’s it sweetheart. Do it. Cum for me.”

You want to stay in this moment forever. The way that his body is slick with sweat and his grunts as he rocks into you. The warmth of his breath washing over your skin and the throbbing of the veins in his cock against your walls. Still, he had begged you to cum and that’s all you can. Your body primed for it and the next thrust as your back arching and your cry ripping from your throat.

“Fuck.” Marcus pants when you clamp down on his cock. It’s so good and he loves it. He loves everything about this moment. It’s more than anything he’s experienced since you disappeared from his life. Even his marriage could never have lived up to this. He groans, knowing he should try and make you cum again but the emotions are too much and he’s soon pushing deep inside of you, cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot seed.

Once he collapses on top of you, you can’t help but giggle. Relief, joy and happiness all roll together to make you try to catch your breath while you stroke his back and kiss his shoulder and neck. “God. I have to be dreaming.” You giggle. “This is the best dream and I don’t want to wake up.”

Marcus shifts onto his back, bringing you with him and his cock is softening inside of you. His hands rubbing your back. “Me neither. I never want to lose you again.” He murmurs, eyes closed as he breathes you in.

You hum in agreement, unable to believe that you are back in his arms and you close your eyes. Relaxing into a deep sleep, finally feeling safe for the first time in fifteen years.

Marcus holds you as you fall asleep, not able to fall asleep just yet and he shifts carefully to lay you down. You stir without his heat but he’s quick to cover you up. He sneaks into the bathroom, wetting a rag to clean you up and covers you with the duvet again. He checks the windows and doors, making sure the home is secure and the alarm is set before he grabs two bottles of water and sets one down on the nightstand for you. He slides under the covers and you immediately reach for him, curling into his chest. Wrapping his arms around you, he breathes you in and closes his eyes; deciding then and there that he will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

****

Glancing at the clock as you stir, you wonder when Marcus will be home. Grinning to yourself as you realize that you think of this townhouse as home. It’s only been a few days, but if you are scared, you don’t feel like it. You’ve been puttering around the house when he has to leave, curling up with him when he’s here. It’s been magical and it makes you yearn for the life you would have had together if you hadn’t been put into witness protection.

Marcus is exhausted, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the latest security footage where he’s trying to find Roberta. On top of trying to find the art thief, he’s personally working to try and find the gang making you conceal from the world. He feels guilty that he’s loved having you in his home, coming home to you every night. It’s like living a fantasy of what if he had proposed and you hadn’t disappeared. He loves it. He loves you. It’s hard to remind himself that you’re in danger and he has to help you otherwise it could be your life. He glances at the clock and decides to call it a day, wanting to go home to you.

The table is set and there’s a bottle of wine open to breathe. It might be a little over the top for a Tuesday night, but you have nothing else to do but work on some recipes that you have been wanting to try. A little romantic and it pairs well with the lingerie that you had decided to put on under your dress. Feeling a little like a 1950’s housewife when you hear the designated three raps on the door to say that Marcus is home.

Marcus unlocks the door, disarming the alarm and resetting it with his entrance and he makes sure the door is locked behind him before he sets his briefcase down and makes his way into the kitchen. “Hey sweetheart. God, that smells good.” He groans, looking over at the stove and he reaches for you, dragging you into his chest so he can press his lips to yours.

“Hey.” You light up when you see him again. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving. I can eat too.” He teases, smirking at you and you giggle and slap his chest. “I love you.” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours, “can’t believe I get to come home to you every night.” He confesses, “feels like a goddamn dream and I’m gonna wake up at some point.”

“I do too.” You agree softly, your hand sliding down to caress his cheek. “It’s been such a treat, as horrible as that sounds. I know I can’t go outside and my life is in danger, but I get to have you.” You lean in and kiss him softly. “How was your day, baby?”

“Don’t worry baby. I’m gonna find him. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you softly again. “Day was…laborious. I was going over the security footage and files for both cases and I- I am trying to run through accounts but the bureaucracy slows me down.” He confesses with a frown.

“Then it sounds like a good meal and a relaxing night is just.” You kiss his chin. “What.” Your lips brush his cheek. “You.” Another to his nose. “Need.” You smirk as you kiss his lips. “I’m thinking that after you eat, you need a nice, long, luxurious blow job to put you at ease.”

Marcus chuckles, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. “You’re too good to me, baby.” He shakes his head, “as long as I get to eat you out too.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss along your jaw just as the timer for your cooking goes off. He smacks your ass, “I’ll pour the wine and I’m doing the washing up. You are gonna relax after.” He insists, shrugging off his jacket to hang it in the hallway before he comes back in to get the bottle of wine.

You would protest, but you’ve cleaned as you cooked, so there’s only the final dish and the plates that would need to be cleaned up. You rush to plate up dinner and admire him as he rolls up his sleeves to pour the wine after he pulls off his tie. It’s a nice night, the two of you and a good meal, some wine and continuing to learn about each other’s lives while you’ve been apart. “Oh, before I forget, I called Scott today. Checked in. He’s still not happy, but he says you have been keeping them in the loop, so he’s content to leave me here.”

Marcus nods, setting the wine bottle down. “I know he’s not happy but it is what it is. We haven’t had any notes or any threats since you’ve been here. We’ve had a man outside your place since you left and they haven’t seen any activity. I think you’re safe. No, I know you’re safe.” He tries to assure you, “and I swear to you I’ll find the bastard and his team.”

“I know you will.” You’ve learned a lot about his career and exactly how good of an agent Marcus is. “I’m honestly-“ you shrug. “I’m happy right here. I know I’m probably intruding on your personal space, but I’ve been as relaxed as I could possibly be, given that someone is trying to kill me.” You joke.

Marcus shakes his head, reaching for you. “There’s nowhere else I want you to be than right here with me. I was selfish. You’d be safer across the country but I - I couldn’t lose you again. I love you so much.” He says, leaning in to kiss your forehead again.

Marcus chuckles, letting go of you so you can both sit down to eat. He groans at the sight of the meal you’ve cooked and his stomach rumbles. “I gotta get bigger pants. I haven’t eaten this good since I left my mom’s house.” Marcus chuckles, picking up the serving spoon. “You are too good to me.” He murmurs, looking up to meet your gaze and he serves your plate first.

“Not with all the exercise you’ve been getting.” You tease, sending him a small wink. Every night Marcus has exhausted you. Fucking you in every room of this townhouse and almost every surface with his insatiable appetite for you. Both of you collapse into bed to sleep in each other's arms. It’s like you’re twenty again. “Still sexy and fit.”

He can’t help but flush as he serves himself and sets the spoon down. “The exercise has been keeping me fit.” He says while blushing and he reaches for the glass of wine. “To still being sexy and fit.” He toasts and you clink your glass with his. “I know you are getting bored in this place. I’m doing everything I can to get this bastard so you can have your life back. See your parents. Your friends. I’m doing what I can.” He promises after you have finished eating.

“I would love to see my parents.” You admit, reaching out and gasping his hand. “Would you- would you come with me?” You ask. “When I go to see them? Explain what happened? I understand if you can’t, you’re putting off so much to help me.”

Marcus nods, “of course. Of course I’ll be there. Baby, what - this is-” He swallows harshly and squeezes your hand, “every day I allow myself to believe that this is our life together. I have a little fantasy that I’m coming home to my wife. To our family. I imagine us having a child or two. I- I want this to be forever. Like I wanted it to be forever fifteen years ago. It’s always been you.” He promises, feeling guilty for being married and engaged but those failed because those women never matched up.

He’s apologized to you for not looking for you harder, for moving on. All things that you never expected and don’t want him to be upset over. Those expressive eyes search yours and you smile softly. “It’s been my little fantasy too.” You confess. “When you find Roberta and I can be myself again, why don’t we make that a reality?” You ask. “Would you marry me, Marcus?”

“In a heartbeat.” He assures you, “I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. I- I was going to, you know, I was going to propose not long after I played you that song. I always imagined my life with you. No one else. Even when I was married, I thought of what could have been. I want to marry you.” He promises, “and I will. I’ll get Roberts and you can be Mrs. Pike. Have the life we should’ve had.”

You can’t help but grin, leaping up from your chair so you can rush around and press your lips to his in a greedy kiss. Feeling like every dream you’ve created to keep yourself sane is coming true. Marcus is your knight in shining armor and you want nothing more than for him to rescue you. “Whatever you need me to do, to help you put this behind us, I’m willing to do.” You promise him. “I want to start my life with you.”

Marcus pulls you into his lap, cupping your cheek so he can kiss you again. “I love you.” He murmurs, nudging your nose, and he will do anything he can to keep you safe. Even if it means laying down his own life. He will do it to keep you safe.

“Baby, don’t worry about cleaning up, let’s go to bed.” You beg, caressing his cheek. “I need you. I need you so much.”

Marcus can’t refuse you. He nods, shifting to stand up with you and he takes your hand, dishes abandoned as he guides you to the bedroom, your now shared bedroom. When he is holding you after you’ve made love and you’re asleep, he’ll stare at the ceiling, trying to think of anything that he read in the files to help him catch the bastard that’s after you.

You decide that you don’t want Marcus to undress you. Pulling away from him with a smile, you’re happy you decided on a wrap dress that is easily removed. Most morning Marcus leaves you in the bed, pulling away quietly so he doesn’t disturb you and when you wake up, it’s because of the shower. So he didn’t see the lingerie you had chosen for him.

Marcus groans when you unravel your dress. His eyes drinking in the silk and lace clinging to your body and his cock is now throbbing in his slacks. “Fuck baby. You look so good.” He murmurs, “so good. I’m so lucky to have you.” He declares and surges forward to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close so he can press his lips to yours, pushing the dress off of your shoulders.

Moaning softly, you smile into the kiss, just as eager. Just as wanting as Marcus. Your fingers memorizing how many buttons it takes to strip off his smart dress shirts. Eager to feel his warm skin underneath. “Make love to me Marcus.” You beg.

He won’t say no, couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. He wants you. Fuck, he wants this for the rest of his life. When your hands touch his chest, he groans your name and he unclasps the pretty lace bra, “so pretty. Look so pretty in this.”

“I think you like me in anything.” You tease him, giggling quietly. “But you love me in nothing.” You work on his belt to unclasp it and unhook his pants to reach down and squeeze his cock. Groaning when you feel how hard he is.

“Love you in anything and nothing at all. Love every inch of you.” He promises, “I love you. You.” He murmurs, sliding his hands along your back and then your arms as he slides the straps down your arms until he’s ducking down to take your nipple into his mouth.

There’s something about Marcus, he’s thorough. He wants his partner to be satisfied and he finds what makes them tick. Your moan of his name is soft, accompanied by your wrist twisting, starting to pump his cock as best you can. “Baby, no foreplay. I just need you.” You whine.

He whines back, having wanted to eat you out but he doesn’t deny you. He nods, guiding you back towards the bed and he lays you down while he shrugs out of his pants and throws his clothes on the floor. His hands trail along your legs until he’s hooking his fingers into your panties to drag them down.

“Marcus.” You whimper, rocking your hips up as he stands straight and strips his trousers down. His boxers have a large tent in the middle with a wet spot and you groan at the sight. “Fuck, I want you to fuck me, but I want to suck your cock.”

Marcus smirks, “tell me what you want baby. Whatever you want is yours. I’m yours.” He promises and reaches down to shove his boxers down. His cock bouncing as he kicks them aside.

“Fuck.” You moan, biting your lip before you turn around and tilt your head off the end of the bed. “Fuck my throat, baby. I want to feel you gag me before you fuck me stupid tonight.” Making love takes various forms, after all.

“Jesus. Such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?” He coos, shuffling closer and he caresses your neck before gripping his cock. He pushes the head between your lips and you take him inside of your mouth, making him groan. “So damn good.” He murmurs, watching you as you take him deeper, his hand immediately going to your neck so he can feel the bulge from his length.

You moan, enjoying the look on his face until your vision is blocked by his body. Letting him use your throat as you try to open it up more for him. Marcus is girthy and it’s a lot, tears leaking out of your eyes and rolling back into your hair, but you love it.

“Jesus Christ. This is - fuck. You’re gonna make me cum.” He grunts, pulling out of your mouth. He wants to try that again another time when he can properly fuck and cum down your throat but that night isn’t tonight after you’ve confessed you want a future with him. You pant, trying to catch your breath and he caresses your cheek. “How do you want me?” He asks, wanting you to decide.

So much of the time, Marcus is in control. Giving you pleasure and making sure that you enjoy yourself. Right now, you want to take care of him. “I want to ride you baby.” You decide, sitting up and reaching for him. “Let me take care of my future hubby tonight.” You coo, grinning at how that sounds.

He grins, nodding as he shifts to lay down on the bed, watching you move to your knees. “Come here, my love.” He beckons you over, needing to feel every emotion he’s withheld over the past fifteen years. He wants you to take what you want from him.

You go eagerly, crawling up his body and dropping random kisses. There’s nothing about Marcus that you don’t love. When you straddle his waist, your waist no time in dropping a kiss on his lips while you reach between the two of you to grasp his cock and quickly sink down on him.

“Shit.” Marcus hisses, his heart about to beat out of his chest and he swears he could die then and there and be a happy man. His hands find your hips as you take all of him inside of you and he groans your name, surging up to deepen the kiss as his tongue slides into your mouth.

You start off slow. Rolling your hips while you groan into the kiss. Circling them and clenching down on Marcus to hear the lovely little gasp he gives. Your fingers find his hair and you swear you could live right here. “Love you.” You promise, sliding your hands onto his chest and pushing upright. “Whenever someone touched me, it felt so wrong. You’re my love, my lover, my soulmate.”

Marcus slides his hands along your back as you start to rock on his cock. "I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart." He murmurs, caressing you and his dark eyes watch you as you move on top of him. "You're everything. My everything." He promises, heart thumping in his chest.

“One day I want to have your babies.” You promise him, moaning softly at the thought. “You were made to be a daddy, and I can’t wait to see you holding our baby.” You clench down around him again at the thought.

Marcus groans, cock twitching inside of you at the thought. "Fuck." He grunts, hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. "Fuck yes. I want - God, I want to get you pregnant." He confesses, "always imagined you as the mother of my children."

You know it ticks off some primal things for Marcus, it does for you too. You moan softly again and rock forward to kiss him. “I want that. At least two.” You pant into his mouth, imagining the two of you as new parents. Building the life you had daydreamed about when you were incredibly lonely.

“At least.” He agrees, knowing he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you when he gets you pregnant. “God, I love - I can’t not love you. Haven’t stopped since you left. No one was you. They were never you.” He confesses, helping you rock on his cock.

Your heart melts at that sentiment. Smiling against his lips as he continues to help you ride him. Slowly speeding up to where his cock hits perfectly inside you. Feeling him twitch every time he is seated deep as if he is ready to fill your womb with his seed.

"Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart? What do you need? Tell me what you need to soak my cock?" He asks, wanting to feel it, he needs to feel it.

“Just you baby.” You gasp, slapping your hands down in his chest and starting to rock faster. “Gonna cum baby, fuck, you feel so good.” You moan. “So full, fuck, you’re so thick, baby.” You always love how thick he is and how well he fills you up. “Love you, so fucking much.”

“That’s it. That’s it sweet girl. Fuck, that’s it. Cum for me.” He begs, sweat beading on his forehead as he watches you rock your hips a little faster. Those little whines and whimpers escaping your mouth tell him you’re close and he slides his hand down to rub your clit.

Your toes curl and you cry out, your orgasm slamming into you and making you lurch forward. Collapsing again this chest and chanting his name over and over as your body spasms.

Marcus groans at the way you clamp down on his cock and he moves fast to lay you on your back. Grabbing your thighs to lift them onto his waist so he can sink deep into your quivering cunt. He groans your name, his cock twitching inside of you as he gets close but he needs you to cum more time for him.

“Baby!” You squeal, feeling your body tense up as you ride out your orgasm. You would beg him to cum but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he has no intention of cumming until you do again. Marcus prides himself on making you cum multiple times. “Fuck baby.” Your nails scratch down his back and you tighten your thighs around him, closing your eyes and feeling your core start to tighten again as he rockets you to another orgasm.

Marcus pushes deeper, harder, the affection from before replaced with pure lust. Driven by the need to claim you, he thrusts into you over and over again. “Cum.” He chokes, needing to feel it and when you clamp down on his cock for the second time, he can’t help but paint your walls with his hot seed as he orgasms with you.

Moaning his name softly, you stroke his back as he groans. Enjoying the softness of his embrace as you both start to relax. “I love you.” You murmur quietly. “I can’t want to start our life together.”

Marcus presses his forehead to your chest, breathing you in, and he murmurs, "me too baby. I can't wait. Once you're safe, it's the two of us for the rest of our lives." He promises, kissing along your neck. "I love you."

After you’ve cleaned up and settled against Marcus, you fall asleep. Wondering when the shoe is going to drop and worrying that you might lose him again.

****

Marcus checks the time, knowing he should be calling you to touch base. He likes to call every hour or so to make sure everything is okay at home. He picks up his cell, dialing the burner phone he got you and he waits for it to ring. No answer. Weird. He doesn’t like that. He tries again. No answer.

At first, you thought Marcus was home, until there was no rap at the door. Abandoning the meal you were prepping, you grab your phone, your heart pounding in your chest as you race up the stairs as quietly as you can. Reaching the second floor just as the door opens and the blare of the alarm sounds out, though it’s quickly silenced. The phone buzzes but all you can think is that you need to hide, as fast as possible and call Marcus. It’s seems as if you’ve been found.

When you finally answer the phone, Marcus can’t help but ask if you’re okay. Frantic when you answer and don’t actually speak. “Baby. Tell me. Tell me if you’re okay. Please. I -talk to me. Talk to me.” He begs, needing to hear that you’re okay.

Your mouth is dry and you can barely whisper. “Marcus.” You manage. “He’s here. Someone’s in the house.” You try to keep your voice as low as you can, terrified that you will give away your hiding spot under the bed.

Marcus’s blood runs cold when he hears your whisper and he fears for your life. He grabs his work landline, dialing his team to get people over to his house right away. He’s terrified for you. “Just hold on baby. Stay on the phone. I’ll be right there.” He promises, standing up from the desk so he can get home.

“Hurry.” You breathe out, turning the volume down and holding your breath as you hear the first signs of someone downstairs since the alarm went off.

Marcus shoves himself away from his desk, heart pounding as he rushes towards his car after telling his team about how he has to get to you. He can’t lose you again. His heart pounds and he speeds, his team following as he gets to his home in record time.

You never realize how loud you are when you breathe until you are trying to be completely silent. Scrunching back under the bed as far as you can go and slowly sliding the storage boxes in front of you so you are well hidden. Listening for the creak on the third stair that Marcus groans about having repaired.

Marcus has you on the phone, having switched lines for a mere moment

to get a team to his house within the next ten minutes. He speeds along the roads of D.C to his home, running through reds with no care except that it’s clear. “I’m coming baby.” He promises, “I’m coming.”

You can’t acknowledge him, too terrified to make a sound as you hear someone creep up the stairs. Your blood runs cold when you hear a voice say your name. “I’ve been looking for you. Come out and I’ll kill you quickly.” He taunts. “Make me find you….well, I’ve been in prison a loooooooong time because of you.”

Marcus drives faster, pulling into his neighborhood and he hears your scream. Slamming his brake, he puts the car in park, uncaring of his engine still running as he grabs his gun and rushes through the front door. He freezes when he comes across Roberta, his gun pressed against your forehead.

He had found you, screaming and fighting, he had dragged you out from under the bed with a curse and hopefully a bruised shin. Until he had pressed his gun against your forehead and ordered you downstairs. Feeling like you were going to die. Until the door opens and Marcus busts in. “Marc!”

Marcus’s finger is over the trigger. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Pike. I’ll blow her pretty head off. I want you to know that I’ve been watching. Listening. All those little promises of the future. Having kids. Getting married. It’s so sweet it’s sickening.” He coos sarcastically. “And now that future is gone.” He says and Marcus shakes his head, “you’ve served your time. You could walk away. Leave her alone.” He counters and Roberta growls, “no! She is the reason I served so long. She’s gonna die.” He promises, pushing the barrel into your head.

You squeeze your eyes shut and then you have to open them. Needing to see Marcus one last time. The idea that this man has been stalking the house, listening to your conversations and plans for the future, listening to you making love, is sickening. “I love you Marcus.” You promise him, watching his eyes slide from Roberta to you. “It’s always been you. Always.”

Marcus feels like he’s gonna be sick. “She hasn’t done anything. She’s been alone for so long. She has suffered enough. You both have.” He lies, “let her go and you won’t be arrested. You can walk free. Start again. I won’t come after you. Just let her go and you are a free man.”

You feel the tension rising in the room. Something is about to happen. Something that will end in the death of one of you. “If it weren’t for her, this bitch, I wouldn’t have gone to jail!” Roberta hisses and you know he won’t walk away. He won’t quit until you are dead. You remember one self defense move that had been taught to you by the Marshal’s office. Playing dead. “I’m sorry.” You tell him, watching his eyes slide from Marcus to you and you let your knees give out and drop to the ground.

Roberta isn’t quick enough and the gun goes off, embedding the bullet in the wall. The next thing you know, Marcus’s team are storming the house and they don’t waste time killing Roberta. His head jerks back as the bullet enters his head. The gun falls to the floor and Marcus is quick to grab it. Marcus pulls out the magazine and empties the chamber, the bullet rattling to the floor. The bullet that could’ve killed you. He reaches for you once Roberta is dead on the floor and he pulls you into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You’re shaking. Once the guns started firing, you flinched in anticipation of the killing shot and now you can’t stop shaking. “I- I- I don’t- I don’t know.” You admit truthfully, throwing your arms around him and starting to sob as the reality of what could have happened hits you.

His hands check you over, rubbing your body to see if you’re hurt and when he doesn’t see any damage, he’s pulling you back into his arms, kissing your forehead. The team wants you out, into the van and away so they can check Marcus’s home. “We are going to a safe house for a couple of nights. The team will check the house for any bugs or anything I didn’t pick up on. And clean it up for us.” Marcus explains once you are on the way.

“I didn’t go out.” You stress, almost desperate for him to believe you. “I didn’t call anyone and tell them where I was. No one.” You cling to him, unable to let him go as you try to calm yourself down. “I promise, I didn’t.”

Marcus shakes his head, “it’s not your fault baby. These people…they have ways of finding out where you are. It’s not your fault.” He promises, “he found you and now he’s dead. It’s over. You can reinstate your identity.” He tells you, “you can be you again.”

“I can be me.” You whisper softly, eyes wide when you realize that it’s truly over. After fifteen years, you are finally free. “Oh my God.” Happy tears fall down your cheek and you start to giggle.

Marcus grins, relieved for you and happy after knowing everything you’ve been through. “I love you so much.” He murmurs, caressing your cheeks, “you can see your parents. You can - you’re free.”

“Marry me.” You beg quietly. “As soon as I am legally myself, I want to be Mrs. Marcus Pike.”

Marcus’s eyes widen and he nods, “yes. Yes. God - baby - as soon as we are able to, I wanna marry you.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you softly, his thumbs wiping away your tears.

You smile, unable to believe that your life has taken such an incredible turn. Your future had been changed by a madman, forced into hiding and completely altering your path. Somehow brought back to Marcus by complete coincidence and now, you are able to take your life back and spend it with Marcus.

****

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The officiant declares and Marcus surges forward to kiss your lips, his hands tenderly cupping your cheeks. The crowd cheers, made up of your parents, his parents, and the friends you have made together since Roberta was killed and the ones from college who were shocked to see you after you made your official appearance back in the world. It’s been a long journey, fifteen years in the making, but you and Marcus are finally where you were meant to be all along. Married and in love. Next thing on the agenda? Getting you pregnant.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike imagine

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marishoodie7 · 7 months

Note

Hey! Don’t know if requesting is open but could i request a smut with Ethan Landry where the reader is super innocent and Ethan is her best friend. The reader accidentally slips how she is attracted to ghost face during one of their late night phone calls. Ethan is ghostface in this still btw. Then he calls her as ghostface one night and does a guided masturbation with her, like telling her what to do. But then accidentally turns his voice modulator off and she finds out he is ghostface?

a/n: this is SUCH a good request! Sorry it took me a while to answer :( I’ve been pretty busy lmao. Phone sex is smthn I’ve been wanting to write for a while 🤍 Ghostface!ethan holds a special place in my heart tbh

Ghostface!Ethan x Innocent!Reader

Warnings: phone sex, masturbation, dubcon!

╰┈➤here we go!

“So if he’s not your type, then who is?” Ethan asked with a smirk.

You had been paired up with some guy in your Econ class, who had been hitting on you. Ethan, your best friend, flanked you outside to question you about him.

You laughed, “Well, I guess I like guys will low voices. Oh, and I want them to like horror movies just as much as I do,”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Sounds like your describing that Ghostface guy to me,” he joked, and you playfully hit his shoulder as you two sat down on the grass under a tree.

“Come on Eth, don’t joke like that. That Ghostface freak already killed my film professor,” You deadpanned, Ethan’s face was still wearing a sly smile.

“You never answered my question,” he smirked, and laid down under the sun, crossing his legs and folding his arms under his head.

“Well,” you sighed, unsure whether or not to confess to him. You two were best friends, so you did trust him. Ultimately you gave in, “I guess so,”

“I knew it!” Ethan gasped.

“Wait, wait a second!” You cut in, “I always thought Ghostfaces voice in the movie was kinda hot…sexy, you know?”

“Alright,” Ethan shrugged, still not buying your cover up. You stayed under the tree with Ethan for a few more minutes, talking about anything, until you saw Anika run up. You two were going to eat lunch together, so you waved bye to Ethan and went the rest of the day without seeing him, which was strange, but you didn’t think much of it.

~ Anika had left to go on a date with Mindy, leaving you alone in your dorm to finish up homework. A few moments later your phone began to vibrate on your desk next to you. You checked the screen. No caller ID. You hesitated a second before answering, remembering Tara’s motto of living in the wild side. It would be funny if you pranked a scammer and told the story to your friends the next day.

“Hello?” You asked when you were met with silence from the other end. You heard what you thought sounded like heavy breathing before a high squeal echoed in the background. It sounded like a machine being turned on.

“Hello, y/n,” An unmistakable voice said from the other end. You scoffed. Of course Ethan would disappear for the rest of the day only to mess with her later. Him and Chad were probably laughed at you over your confession from earlier.

“Hey Ethan, I know you think your funny, but I’m really not laughing,” You said dryly.

“Oh, I assure you no one’s going to be laughing,” The voice said dangerously from the other end, as if he was hinting at a big surprise.

“I know you and Chad are having fun over your little joke,” You were a little hurt over Ethan exploiting what you said in private.

“I know what you think of me y/n, I’m very flattered,” The voice said sarcastically.

“Cut the shit Ethan!” You exclaimed. You were getting a little sick of this. It was a calm night until he called, the last thing on your mind was finishing your homework, but at this point you really just wanted to get back to it.

“This isn’t Ethan!” The voice snapped at her, outraged. Your lips parted and you struggled to form words. The voice wasn’t just a nameless prankster, it was cold blooded murderer and for all you knew, you could be next on the victim list.

“Well then who is this?” You managed, a pit growing in your stomach.

“If you're lucky you’ll find out,” he answered ambiguously.

“Are- Are you going to kill me?” It took your all of your courage to ask, and you were immediately regretting the answer.

“Maybe. I’ll just have to see how willing you are to do what I ask,” He replied menacingly.

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Strip,” He said plainly.

You sat in your chair, dumbfounded at the request. There was no way you had heard correctly.

“Tell me y/n, have you ever seen Stab?” Ghostface asked.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Your voice waivers.

“If you’ll remember correctly, in the opening scene Casey Becker finds her boyfriend split open on her front porch. You’ll do what I ask if you don’t want your roommate to find you gutted like a fish,” His voice crescendoed from a conversational tone to a threatening one, and it terrified you.

“Now move your hands down to your pants, and stand up, face the window so I can see you,” Ghostface continued. You silently stood up and took your jeans off, slipping your hands down your panties.

You could hear what sounded like rustling clothes from the other end, “Is this good?” Your voice cracked.

“Perfect,” Ghostface purred in a raspy voice. You could feel yourself getting wet, “You can touch yourself now,” He permitted.

You slid a finger through your wetness, and let a shallow gasp escape. You moved your thumb towards your clit and rubbed your heat.

“That’s it,” He gasped, “Slip a finger in now,” His voice shook, and you could assume he was teasing himself while watching you.

You hesitated, it was a small movement, but he caught on.

“What’s the matter?” The voice asked, “I told you what to do,”

“It’s just-“ you began, “I’ve never really done anything like that before,” You confessed.

“If you value your life you’ll do it,” The voice pushed, and fear bubbles inside you again, but in some strange way it also fueled your movements. Your finger slid through your wet folds and slowly started moving.

You couldn’t help but let a few soft moans slip loose.

“That’s right, touching yourself for me,” Ghostface gasped, voice strained.

“Are you- are you doing it too?” You dared, testing the waters of this strange encounter.

“Fuck- yes,” He groaned huskily.

You dipped your finger in farther and sped your motions up, adding another when you heard his praise. You crooked your finger and continued until you felt a hot feeling travel into you.

Ghostafaces moans continued, fueled by your own sounds of pleasure. You felt yourself nearing your orgasm, if you weren’t busy paying attention to Ghostface, you would have missed a soft click.

“You look so good coming undone for me,” Ghostface said, although it didn’t sound like him. Your eyes rolled up in your head as you recognized the source, which was none other than Ethan. With that realization you immediately tipped over the edge and felt yourself come all over your hand.

Ethan let out a last groan, then a few more breathy whines, indicating that he had probably mimicked your actions.

“Ethan?” You murmured as you gasped for breath. You heard a startled sound, then silence. He had hung up. Your head spun as you tried to rationalize what had just happened. It could be Ethan, could it? There was no way he was capable of something like that

You heard a knock at your door, and jumped back. You frantically grabbed your jeans and pulled them up, peeking through the peep hole. From the other side you could see none other than Ethan Landrys nervous face, waiting at your doorstep.

fine

a/n: I did not expect this to turn into a series, but with that said, STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO!! 🤍

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hypnoneghoul · 2 months

Text

Down To The Ground

WC: 5k

Relationship: Swiss/Mist

Tags: Murder Ghouls, Blood and Gore, Violence, Injury, Intersex Mist, Tentacle Dick, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Blood As Lube, Vaginal Sex, Intoxication, Toxic Cum, Gill Play, Come Inflation, Scratching, Multiple Orgasms, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Thigh Humping, Objectification (if you squint), Size Difference, Cock Bulge

Swiss had finally gotten a chance to get fucked by Mist. It's a wild ride.

Notes: Commission for @sexy-sea-basss. Thank you for your support and letting me absolutely run with this heheh

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss has had his eyes on her for ages. From the moment he had met her—about a year after he was summoned, because she had been away with the Ministry’s business—he had immediately known he had to get into her bed. She was beautiful and intimidating and there were so many things he wanted her to do to him. He had thought he would do anything she would ask him of. So he had waited.

Respectfully, of course, he was not an animal, but he had been waiting for a chance for months. During those months, his desire for her had only been fueled by various stories from the ghouls that knew her the longest. With some of them Swiss had no idea if they were real or made up just to scare him. Or to turn him on.

Anyway, he had waited patiently until an opportunity would come up. It was unexpected when it did happen, but it was exciting nonetheless. He had barely even spoken to her properly before that day, but when she stormed into their common room—looking sick and stripped bare of her usual stoic demeanor—Swiss’ eyes lit up and his lips curled into a grin.

“Who’s up for a hunt?” Mist asked, her voice barely above a growl and her eyes wide.

The multi ghoul’s hand shot up, but Dewdrop sitting next to him kept him down with a jab in the ribs with an elbow. “Ow, what!? You hunt all the time. I hunt all the time.”

“She’s not offering a hunt, Swiss. It’s a hunt with her and you are not up for it. Especially unprepared, trust me,” the fire ghoul muttered into his ear, so fast the words were all jumbled together and barely understandable. Mist was waiting, after all.

“Oh, come on. I won’t break. I am up for a little fun,” Swiss shrugged and got up from the couch before Dewdrop could actually stop him. Mountain sitting on the armchair opposite from them was hiding behind a book, staying silent and not drawing any attention to himself. The multi ghoul walked up to Mist and she grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the common room with more strength than she should possess, considering her size.

The moment the two disappeared behind the corner Mountain lowered his book and looked over at Dewdrop, both of them sighing exasperatedly. “It was nice knowing him, I guess.”

In the meantime, Swiss was struggling to keep up with Mist’s pace as she dragged him outside the Abbey, anticipation warming him up from the inside.

“Uh, so…” the multi ghoul started, after clearing his throat, “what exactly does a hunt with you entail?”

“Killing something and fucking in it’s blood,” Mist growled, her sharp claws digging into his arm.

“Color me excited,” Swiss mumbled as pangs of both anxiety and arousal shot through him. Neither of them uttered any more words for a while after that.

Only when they were deep inside the woods did Mist push Swiss down to his knees and spoke, “You’re going to run and find me food. It's out there, they let it out for me. Bring it down, but don’t kill. Wait for me.”

“Yes, m– ma’am,” the multi ghoul muttered, not daring to look up at her. She didn’t really do anything to him—yet—but he was already out of his mind, cock rapidly chubbing up in his pants. Mist grabbed his horn and tugged with a growl, so hard something in his neck cracked.

“Get moving, then. Run.”

And run Swiss did, scrambling up and tripping over his own legs and roots curving up and out of the ground. He started running with no regards to the direction just yet. Mist said something was let out for her. Prey.

When the multi ghoul ran far away enough so that he was sure the ghoulette could not see him anymore—unless she had been following him—he paused, panting. He shucked off his shirt and as soon as he caught his breath again, he focused on all the scents surrounding him. There was so many layers, all the trees, animals, rich ground, the creak, and–

Fear.

The smell of fear reached his flared nostrils, raw human fear. They must have known why they were there and they must have known their fate. The ghouls were a cautionary tale to the siblings, after all. Swiss doubted this one was a sibling, though. It could have been—if they had committed a crime—but such stupid ones didn’t come along often. More likely it was someone smuggled from the city, someone who didn’t deserve a quick or a peaceful death. Usually it was rapists. Sister Imperator was not stupid, she knew that in order for the hellish beasts—quite literally living in her basement—to not turn on her and the Clergy, she had to let them indulge once in a while. A deal with dirty men in power from the cities closest to the Abbey was her way to execute that.

Swiss took off running again, following the now clear trail of the human’s stench. He wasn’t far from them, it would take him mere minutes to bring them down, fly them open and–

And wait for Mist.

The multi ghoul’s cock kicked in his pants —which reminded him he still had them on—at the thought and he slowed down, crouching down by a trunk of a thick tree. He took a deep breath and let it out with a growl on his lips. They were close.

He got out of the fabric prison and let his glamor float away a bit more. He stayed down, reduced to instinct now that the human’s fear was so close and smelled so potent and delicious. Swiss slowly stalked closer and closer to the source. It must have been clueless. It probably stopped, tired of running and already knowing there was no way for it to escape.

Swiss narrowed his eyes as he looked around, peeking from behind a tree in an attempt to gain a visual of his prey. He succeeded.

It was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, slumped, shaking and whimpering. The multi ghoul’s fangs throbbed and his mouth watered as he began to approach, staying close to the ground. He was not especially well attuned with his earth part, but it was enough to feel her rumbling, her heart beating, as if encouraging him. She could not wait to feel warm blood soaking into her. After all, she had to get a snack once in a while, too.

The next few moments were a blur, as usual. Instinct and adrenaline taking over, Swiss pounced at the human curled in on itself. It shrieked and the multi ghoul wanted to silence it by ripping its fragile little throat out with his fangs, but Mist had ordered otherwise. He dug his claws into its neck instead, crouched atop it on the ground. Not enough to damage, but more than enough to stop it from squirming as they waited for the water ghoulette.

They did not have to wait long. She appeared out of nowhere, suddenly just there.

Mist growled with her teeth bared, and Swiss backed up before she got the chance to maul him, too. He let out a submissive chatter as he scrambled to the side and knelt, his eyes hung on the other as she started the meal. There was not much thought left in the multi ghoul’s brain by now, but he still hoped he had get to eat some, too.

He was drooling down his chin and onto the ground as Mist sliced open the human’s abdomen with one claw. Its scream was like music to their ears. It did not scream for long, though, because next came its throat, ripped out with one rapid movement of the water ghoulette’s arm. She shoved her hand into the bloody fountain that was the human’s midsection and pulled out its insides, throwing them to the side. Her other side, far away from Swiss. He wasn't a fan of the guts, but he would rather have those than nothing.

Mist threw out all that she deemed not to her taste—all while growling and snarling, seemingly without a shred of humanity left in her—and on the last pull the heart came out. She stared at her price panting with wide eyes as blood trickled down her forearms and dripped down onto the ground from her elbow. Swiss whined like a kicked puppy at the sight, need and hunger twisting inside him nearly painfully.

The water ghoulette’s head snapped to the side and for a moment Swiss thought his heart would end up in her other hand and his throat in her mouth, but instead Mist had ripped off the human's leg and threw it to him. The multi ghoul grabbed it greedily and sank his aching fangs into the meat, moaning as blood flooded his mouth.

After a moment, Mist stood up and walked over to him, the human’s heart still in hand. She put her other hand on Swiss’ head, dying his locs with blood, and pushed down with so much strength the multi ghoul had no chance to not go down with the force. He braced himself on his forearms and continued gnawing at the leg as Mist grabbed his tail next and pulled it up so hard it hurt his spine. Swiss got the hint, though—even with his brain leaking out of his ears—and pushed his ass all the way up, arching his back.

His body started shaking as he waited. Naked, face down in the blood-soaked foliage and ass up in the air, his tail hooked up high over his hip. Presenting and ready for whatever it was Mist wanted from him. He heard her behind him, chewing and growling over the obscene noises of herself devouring a heart. The blood splashing. The muscle ripping.

Out of nowhere something warm and sticky hit Swiss’ ass. He was plenty wet by now, but when he realized Mist had just spat the human’s blood onto his hole, another glob of slick leaked out of it, mixing with the gore.

Fuck in something’s blood, she had said.

Then, the ghoulette was on him, claws raking down his back and settling at the fat on his hips, digging in just as he did earlier to their prey’s neck. Swiss was feeling so empty since it had started, but then there was something cool and slimy wiggling against him and–

Right. Mist was a water ghoul

That was her tentacle.

He moaned at the realization and pushed his own claws deep into the damp and soft ground below him. The tip of the water ghoulette’s tentacle pressed against his asshole and with no more preamble kept on pressing without any regards to his squirming and submissive whining. She held him still with unbelievable strength as her cock reached places inside him not even Mountain had ever reached. Neither had Aether with his quintessence. He felt so full, like she was in his throat and in his veins and between his bones.

One thing about the multi ghoul was that he liked pain. He loved it, even. He also loved being pushed to his limits and tested. Filled so full it hurt with how his insides were stretched was his idea of heaven. It was as close to heaven as any ghoul would ever get.

Swiss could barely breathe, there were tears in his eyes and blood on his tongue and he was out of his mind. He lay there as Mist’s tentacle kept going, curling and unwinding, tensing and loosening, bunching up and lengthening. It stretched his hole impossibly and it stung, even though he was so slick it was a miracle the tentacle did not keep slipping out. Only thanks to how long it was and the suckers that kept catching on his rim.

The multi ghoul barely had any idea on what was happening, panting and letting out debauched noises one after the other as his insides were being thoroughly explored by Mist’s tentacle. His whole body jostled when it thickened even more, as if it had bent in half snd twisted around itself inside him. The tip of it pressed against Swiss’ prostate and he wailed at the feeling of what—he could have only guessed—was the suckers sticking to that little, but magical, bundle of nerves inside him. He had never felt such a thing, not even with Rain.

When the tentacle seemed to have found its purpose, Mist started actually fucking him. She pulled back—the tentacle stretching—only to slam back in and push Swiss forward on the ground with the force of it. It stayed attached to him on the inside so the water ghoulette could thrust as wildly as she wanted and not risk slipping out and pausing Swiss’ torture for even a second. The constant pressure on his prostate provided him with as incessant pleasure that was only being spiked with each slam of Mist’s hips. His hole kept stretching around her cock as it bunched up to reach its maximum—Swiss hoped—thickness and filled him to the brim on every single thrust. It was maddening and there was no way the multi ghoul was coming out of these woods alive.

The water ghoulette was, seemingly, even more gone, overwhelmed by whatever animalistic instinct it was that had taken over her that day. It looked like a rut, but if she was in one, Rain should be too and he was not. It was not important, Swiss supposed, as long as he was getting fucked and, oh, was he getting fucked.

Mist pounded away into the ghoul under her with abandon, snarling and snapping her teeth over him as he moaned and whined like he a bitch in heat being at the very least skinned alive.

Well, there was not much skin left on his back. And he was a bitch.

With another particularily sharp thrust Swiss’ elbows gave out and his face ended up buried even deeper in the dirt, his chest now, too, as his back arched further. It hurt, both his muscles and the mauled skin, but it also felt good. So, so good—all of it—that the multi ghoul would jerk off to the memory of that day for years to come.

He whined and moaned and groaned and whimpered as Mist fucked him like nobody else ever had. He was out in space and deep down in the ground at the same time and the water ghoulette had really just begun. The pressure inside Swiss was pushing his brain out of him and there were no words, nothing coherent, left in his head. All he could do was pray to Lucifer that Mist would take her time, let him enjoy his torture for as long as possible. And maybe fuck him like that again in the future.

The multi ghoul’s cock was abandoned, hanging heavily between his legs and wagging with the power of Mist’s thrusts. He would come untouched and there was no doubt about that, because the tentacle latched directly onto his prostate was more overwhelming than any vibrator he had ever put up there. And he had put a lot of things up his ass.

Mist fucked him like a cheap whore, skin slapping against skin and all the wetness between then creating the lewdest sounds, accompanied by all the debauched noises falling from the wrecked multi ghoul’s mouth.

Soon enough the water ghoulette’s own grunts and moans gained in volume and pitch and she stayed inside for a little bit longer with each thrust. Swiss’ body, more than his mind, recognized it as Mist getting close to cumming, so he—as helpful as ever—clenched down on her dick with all his might, making himself shudder.

But Mist did groan loudly one last time and then Swiss felt himself get filled with something that most definitely was cum, but it felt a lot different. More slimy, thicker. And cold. Not really cold, but it was like… the first thing that came to his mind was menthol. The coolness spread inside him, as if it was absorbed right into his bloodstream. It felt weird—nothing like he had ever felt— but not necessarily bad.

Not bad at all, actually, and the way this strange thing filling him up pushed him to the very edge of an orgasm was proof of that. He felt so full, there was so much pressure inside him and it was maddening. The multi ghoul knew that if he were to look down he would see his belly all distended.

The thought made him whimper and his insides swoop, so look down he did, and sure enough he looked fucking pregnant. Swiss moaned like a true whore at the sight and clenched down like a vice on Mist’s cock again as he started cumming.

His orgasm was soul crushing. His vision went white, his whole body spasmed and debauched noises kept spilling from his lips with no filter whatsoever. The multi ghoul spilled copious amounts of cum down onto the ground and if his eyes would still cooperate with him he would see the pearly liquid mix with the still wet blood under the two of them.

Swiss was shaking. He could barely hold himself up, but he did not dare collapse while Mist’s hands were still gripping his hips tightly. He panted with his tongue lolled out, his eyelids drooping as he swayed, aftershocks rocking his body.

Thankfully, the water ghoulette let go and pulled out soon enough. Swiss felt pitifully empty out of nowhere and another whine left him at that. He also felt that strange cum-like substance slowly leaking out of him, mixed with his own slick and the dead human’s blood. Mist pushed at him and he fell to the side limply, nothing more than a ragdoll. She snarled down at him as she pushed and pulled his body—so much bigger than hers, after all—to her liking, putting her into whatever position it was that she wanted him in.

Swiss sobered up a little bit as his back suddenly hit the trunk of that fallen tree and it must have been completely shredded by now if pain that erupted all over at the impact was any indication. Mist’s unglamored claws were as sharp as knives and they left angry red welts in their wake every single time she touched and manhandled him, so it was no surprise, but he did not worry too much. Mountain would patch him up, as usual.

Everything was spinning, his nerves were on fire, there was lava in his veins and the multi ghoul was so out of it, drowning in sensation, that he barely felt Mist straddling his thigh and drenching him in all the wetness that came with it.

It was obscene, but Swiss never once failed to go insane about the famous water ghoul slick. It was addicting and if he could, it would be all he wouls drink for the rest of his eternal life.

Mist’s tentacle was wiggling around in Swiss’ lap, brushing against his sensitive cock now and then. It seemed to have a mind on its own, not caring about what its owner was up to, as the water ghoulette started humping his leg, grinding down purposefully. Her groans resonated in the relative silence of the woods and the multi ghoul was drinking them down like the finest wine.

For a while—or maybe just a moment—it went on like this, as peaceful as it would get. Mist was taking her pleasure and Swiss was… well, he just was. Laying there, so fucked out there was no brain at all in him.

At some point Mist leaned forward and Swiss went cross eyed looking intently at her tits right in front of his face. They didn’t seem to be the reason for the shift in the water ghoulette’s position, though. She reached out over his shoulder and dug her claws into the tree trunk as she curled over him.

“Gills,” she snarled, “lick ‘em.”

The multi ghoul’s brain short-circuited.

“Y– yes, m– ma’am,” he slurred and surged forward, closing his mouth over Mist’s neck. He sucked lightly, pulling the delicate flesh of her gills in between his teeth and dragging his tongue along the thin, damp slits. Mist moaned and it reverberated through him, making his spent cock kick. It was rapidly filling up again, no time to waste.

Especially with how the water ghoulette’s tentacle kept teasing his dick, slithering up and down its length, flicking the head and going back down to loosely wrap around the base and squeeze. Only to let go, then, and go up again.

Swiss was not worried about that, though, as he was making out with Mist’s neck, licking into the gills and suckling on the little fins along the openings. There was no brain left in him, but gills were his third most favorite meal both Topside and in the Pit and the multi ghoul was not a wasteful person.

Mist seemed to be enjoying it, though, and her noises and near desperate—if Swiss did not know any better—way in which she was humping his thigh were only fueling the multi ghoul’s high.

Swiss did not know if it was seconds or hours later, but at some point there was a gush of liquid over his leg and a high and wrecked moan filled his ears. Mist came again and this time it was not from her tentacle cock, only her cunt. The multi ghoul heard and felt her breathing heavily above him and he paused the ministrations of his mouth, leaving just a few more delicate kisses over the sensitive organ. If the circumstances were any different, it might have even been considered a cute gesture on his part.

The water ghoulette stood up and Swiss was not sure if the string of slick and cum linking his thigh with her sex was real or a hallucination. Both options were possible at that point, but he did not have much time to think about it, because in the next second Mist grabbed his horn again and pulled, throwing him down onto the ground fully, and then pushing his side with her foot to turn him onto his back.

Swiss was very much out of it—dizzy and basically blind and deaf—and he did not realize what the water ghoulette was doing until her wet cunt slid all the way down onto his cock, rock hard again. He sputtered, choking on air as he gasped at the sudden cool tightness and a wrecked sound left him when Mist started moving right away—no time to adjust for either of them—bouncing and grinding for her own pleasure. Her hands were clenched tightly on his thighs and the multi ghoul felt blood trickle down his skin from all ten of the small, but deep, puncture wounds.

He lifted his head clumsily, but it was too much effort to hold it up, so it lolled to one side and then another before he let it thump back against the ground below. The woods were so loud, he had never noticed it before.

Swiss lay there, sprawled out on the blood and cum soiled ground, and stared up at the trees. They were thick, the branches and the leaves, but some sun did shine through the gaps. It was pretty, although the multi ghoul would most definitely enjoy it more in different circumstances. He would have to ask Mountain out for a walk-in-the-woods date night.

Mist was bouncing away and groaning as his cock filled and stretched her out nicely. There must have been a bit of pain to it, Swiss’ cock was not small by any means, and the water ghoulette was truly tiny.

That gave the multi ghoul a thought—a rare thing nowadays, it seemed—and he tried once again to lift his head. It took a while for him to channel enough strength to the suspiciously loose muscles in his neck and even a longer while for his eyelids to go up and his eyes to clear, but once they fixed on Mist—on her stomach as she rode his cock furiously—Swiss’ vision went white again.

Every time the water ghoulette dropped back down, there was a noticeable bulge protruding from her otherwise flat and muscled stomach. Bulge caused by Swiss’ massive dick buried deep inside her cunt.

The multi ghoul gurgled, nowhere close coherent, and whined loudly as he felt another orgasm suddenly hit him like a freight train. Intense pleasure washed over him and he could not do anything about it but lay there and twitch his way through it, as his cum pumped into the water ghoulette.

The water ghoulette who did not care about it in the slightest.

Mist was fucking herself on his dick with his cum leaking out and down his shaft and balls, and Swiss was nothing but means to an end for her. He did not complain and, besides, his body felt too far away from him to have any control over, his hips could not even twitch. He did feel it all, though, and it was pure insanity. It hurt, he was as sensitive as ever, but it was glorious.

Swiss did get a chance to actually take some more active role in their… endeavor when the water ghoulette grabbed his limp hands and brought them up to her ribs, the underside of her tits. Her gills.

The multi ghoul was a little worried that he was too out of it to do anything meaningful and got scared that she would rip his throat out if he did not manage to be of any use. He would certainly try, though. And try he did.

Swiss swiped his thumbs over Mist’s pebbled nipples and squeezing her tits lightly before dragging them down and running his calloused fingertips over the little frills of her gills. He stroked up and down along the openings, focusing all his remaining willpower on steadying his big hands. He doubted that Mist would really mind getting hurt a bit, but he would rather not be the one to tear one of the most delicate parts of her just because he was cumdrunk. Even if she would not kill him for that, then Alpha surely would.

The water ghoulette let out an uncharacteristically soft sound—nearly a pretty, blissful sigh—when the tips of Swiss’ fingers dipped into her gills. They were tighter than the multi ghoul remembered Rain’s to be, but again, the size difference was significant. Mist rolled her hips, clenching down on Swiss’ cock at the added stimulation and his fuzzy brain took it as a sign to go on, press in deeper.

He had had enough practice for his gill fingering skills to be muscle memory already, so the multi ghoul let instinct take over. Not that he had much choice, he felt like he was dying. His arms were sore and tingly, like pins and needles, but he did not care, he tried so hard to focus. It was getting increasingly harder with every movement of the ghoulette on top of him.

Swiss curled his fingers, half of them sunken in to the second knuckle in between Mist’s ribs. The membrane there was leathery, but impossibly soft, and, most importantly, slick. So, so wet and slimy. The multi ghoul felt his throat vibrate as if it was his turn to groan, but he did not hear anything come out from his mouth, nor did he intend to do so.

He fingered her gills slowly, but with precision he did not expect he would be able to muster up at this point, petting inside in gentle back and forth strokes and thrusting softly in and out as Mist was grinding down on him, giving up bouncing in favor of receiving this undisturbed, delicious stimulation from her gills.

“Close,” she growled not much later and the word all but surprised the multi ghoul. They have not been doing much talking lately, after all. He also was not sure what it was that the water ghoulette was expecting him to do with that information, but he willed his throat to let out a noise in acknowledgement.

Swiss noticed something else moving around his legs, touching him. He thought Mist’s tail was doing something to him, he thought he felt it over his thighs and lower at his asscheeks, against his hole. He was not sure about anything, anymore, though.

He thought his head hurt. So did everything, but it was—mostly—a good pain, twisting and dancing with pleasure. He did not feel much else, though, less than half conscious. His control over… anything, really, was gettin even worse, as if he was high on the worst drugs known to man.

He felt his whole body sag, his hand drop from Mist’s gills, his head loll to the side and his tongue fall out of his mouth, suddenly too thick for it. He slowly blinked up at the water ghoulette once more and she looked like she was enjoying herself, so he let his eyelids droop. The last thing he remembered was Mist’s high moan, resonating over that incessant static buzz in his brain.

Hours later, Dewdrop and Mountain were cuddling on an armchair on one of the balconies facing the woods, enjoying a nice, warm and peaceful evening. It was getting dark, but something in the distance caught their eyes.

That something was Mist walking out of the woods and back to the Abbey with Swiss—a ghoul three times her size—thrown over her shoulder. The latter was definitely passed out and the both of them were drenched in blood and covered in dirt and Lucifer knows what else from head to toe.

“We did tell him that the cum from her tentacle is toxic, right?”

“Yup.”

“I should go get him patched up, shouldn’t I?”

“Yup.”

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mist ghoulette #gill smut #hypnone's commissions

114 notes · View notes

rollingsins · 1 year

Text

all hers, part xvi

summary: Tara’s not a good patient. You should know this by now.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder, Smut (18+), vaginal fingering, pussy-eating, face-sitting. Sweet!sex, bottom!Tara if you squint.

word count: 3.8k

a/n: bringing back sexy-time, because poor Tara needs a break. as always, thanks for all the love :))

Tara’s not a good patient. You should know this by now.

She whines about not being able to stand up by herself. Snaps when her nurse - Nurse Dawson, suggests a sponge bath. Begrudgingly lets you help her shower.

She hates the hospital food and refuses to eat Sam’s organic, non-gluten, non-dairy, non-fun pasta-bake when she shows up with it. Instead, she orders DoorDash to her hospital room three nights in a row.

And on the fourth night, when the doctor tells her she has to stay another night, her fist curls, daggers in her eyes.

“You know why they’re doing this?” She says, voice hot as the slew of doctors and nurses leave the room, “It’s a money-grab. The longer they keep me here, the more money they get off of the Insurance payout.”

“They’re keeping you here because you have a stab-wound in your stomach,” You say, firmly. You smooth her hair out of her face, touch her red cheeks with your fingertips, “And I want you here too. You’re not 100%, baby, you need to rest and recover.”

“I feel fine,” She complains, with a huff, “Sure, my stomach hurts, but that’s what the Codeine is for, right?”

You lean in and kiss her, soft. Climb into the hospital bed with her, your head on her shoulder.

“Why don’t we watch a movie? That always makes you feel better.”

Tara runs her hand down your arm, presses her lips to your forehead. Then squeezes your side, suggestively.

“You know what would make me feel better?” She says, voice low, “If you took off all your clothes.”

“I’m sure Nurse Dawson would love that.” You say.

Her hand catches your wrist, trying to hold you in place.

“Please.” She murmurs, “My stomach hurts and all I want is for you to sit on my face.”

“Glad to hear you’re feeling better,” Sam interjects as she enters the room. She has another pasta-bake in hand.

Your face flames red. Tara's lips purse.

“If you think I’m eating that-”

Sam shushes her, presses her lips to Tara’s forehead.

“It’s good for you. Much better than the shit you’ve been eating. I made this one special, regular pasta, just for you.”

Tara tilts her head, looks over at the pasta suspiciously.

“It has gluten? And real cheese?”

“Real cheese and extra gluten. I made a kale and apple salad to pair with it-”

Tara groans, tilting her head back to the pillow.

“Sam, why can’t you just make regular food for regular people?” She complains, but takes a helping all the same. You sit up as Sam hands you a plate, careful not to spill it all over Tara’s bedsheets.

Sam settles into the seat next to the bed, watching.

“Ran into the Sheriff in the hall,” She says, “They don’t have any suspects.”

Sheriff Hicks’ visits had been regular since Tara got hurt. She’d seemed wide-eyed, upset, no doubt seeing Tara in a hospital bed had reminded her of her own missing son. She’d come in three days in a row, hat in hand to deliver the same news.

The police had no leads.

“I know,” Tara says, mouth full, “She won’t leave us alone, will she, YN? Keeps coming in here asking me to repeat what happened over and over.”

“She posted extra police on the door,” You say, “There’s five of them now.”

“Each as useless as the next,” Tara says under her breath. She frowns, “Sam are you sure this is real cheese? It tastes like shit.”

You’d smack her, if you weren’t afraid you were going to hurt her wound. Instead you shoot her a look.

“Babe.” You chide.

Sam rolls her eyes.

“You’re welcome.” She says, then she looks to you, “Where are your parents?”

“They’ve gone home to shower,” You say, “They’ll be back a little later.”

“Speaking of people who won’t leave us alone…” Tara mutters. You shoot her another look.

“Good,” Sam says, firmly, “The last thing you need is to be left alone when there’s a maniac running around.”

She pauses, looks at Tara, seriously.

“When you get out of the hospital, I want you to come back home. With me.”

“I’m not going anywhere without YN.” Tara says. She puts her plate to the nightstand, wiping her mouth with her hand.

“So she can come home too.” Sam says, “Richie’s not there, I’m done with him. I need to be near you, Tara, I need to be able to protect you.”

Tara looks at you.

“What do you think? Will your parents go for it?”

You chew your lip. Your Dad hadn’t let you out of his sight for less than an hour since the attack. He’d bought two more shotguns and an industrial style alarm system the night after it had happened.

“Probably not,” You say, honestly, “I think he’s seriously contemplating installing iron bars on my window.”

Tara looks back at Sam and shrugs.

“Sorry.”

Sam doesn’t look happy.

“Fat lot of good all that security did last time,” Sam says, “Ghostface slipped right in. It’s all well and good having an alarm system and a gun, but it’s not enough. You need to have someone who actually knows how to use it.”

Tara’s hand brushes through your hair.

“It would be nice to go home,” She murmurs, “Maybe you could talk to your Dad? We have an alarm at the house, and it would be easy enough to buy the same locks he has. Sam’s a good shot and she has a lot of guns.”

You sigh. The prospect of telling your Dad you’re leaving home four nights after a Ghostface attack scares you a little.

“I can try,” You say, voice resigned. If for nothing else but for poor Sam. You can’t imagine not being in the same house as Tara, not being there to protect her if needed. You know Sam must be going out of her mind.

“Thank you.” Sam says.

“No.”

You blink. You’d taken your Dad out into the hallway when he’d come back. Told him there was something you needed to tell him. And then not even got halfway into your sentence when he interrupted you.

“But Dad-”

“If you think I’m letting you go anywhere that isn’t school, you’re out of your mind.” He says, voice stern, “In fact, I’m half considering pulling you out of school all together. Mom googled some good home-schooling courses last night.”

“Dad, Sam is really worried about Tara,” You plead, “Really worried. Tara said she has an armory at the house. We’d be safe there with her.”

“The answer is no, YN.” He says, sounding aggravated, “If Tara wants to go home and be with her sister, that’s her choice. But you’re not going anywhere."

You stare.

“I’m eighteen, Dad, you can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

He stares back at you. It isn’t often you challenge him like this. You can see the wheels behind his eyes turning, like if he’s not careful you’ll storm off and never come home again. His jaw clenches, then he looks over to Sam and Tara.

He sighs.

“Look - I’m happy for Sam to come stay with us for a few days, if she’s really worried. We can make up the guest room.” He offers.

You know it's as good as you're going to get.

And so it’s settled.

Sam accepts, almost immediately. The promise of being near enough to Tara to keep her safe, alluring. She leaves that night to pack, promising to be back in the morning to help bring Tara home.

When she returns, it’s to you and Nurse Dawson trying to fight Tara into a wheelchair.

“Baby, it’s just to the car.” You say, hands firm as you lower her into it. Nurse Dawson, she’d fight, but you? She settles for crossing her arms like an angry child. You press a kiss to her forehead, and let Nurse Dawson wheel her outside.

“This is ridiculous.” Tara grumbles the entire way down, “I can stand, I’m not an invalid.”

“Hospital policy.” Says Nurse Dawson, cheerfully. She’s in a better mood than you’ve seen her in all week, no doubt relieved her moody, pouty, storm-cloud of a patient is finally being discharged. She turns to you.

“Make sure to clean the wound once a day, like I showed you. Redress and make sure she doesn’t engage in any strenuous activity. If there’s any redness or swelling, bring her right back in.”

You nod.

Nurse Dawson squeezes Tara’s shoulders, helps her up into the car, Sam at her other side.

“I can do it,” Tara snaps, retracting from both of them. She slumps down into the back seat, wincing as she hits the fabric too hard. Her hand draws to her wound.

You climb into the other side of the car, reach over to help her put on her seatbelt.

“Say thank-you.” You mumble, look pointed as Nurse Dawson hovers by the car door.

Tara huffs, looks over to the Nurse.

“Thank you.” She says, not sounding like she means it at all.

Sam takes to your family home like a moth to a flame.

She helps your Dad set up his new security equipment. Trudges in a small suitcase full of guns and offers him a pistol in lieu of his shotgun. She helps your mother make dinner - to Tara’s horror - and even clears the plates, trying to wash the dishes before your Mother shoos her upstairs.

You help Tara settle into one of the kitchen stools and grab a dishcloth, pulling out Sam’s pre-made vegan cheesecake from the fridge. Tara makes a face.

“Sam is a lovely girl,” Your mother gushes, arm deep in dishwater, “Why haven’t we met her before?”

Tara crosses her arms, frowning slightly. Pout on her lips. She’s been like this all dinner. Withdrawn. Glaring at Sam from across the table each time your Dad offers her the faintest of compliments.

“She’s fine.” Tara says, voice loaded, “Other than the drugs and the huge drinking problem-”

“Tara.” You hiss, as your mother looks back, wide-eyed, “She’s kidding Mom, Sam doesn’t have a drinking problem.”

“Oh.” Says your mother. She wipes her hands against the dish-towel, “Good.”

She pauses. Hovers.

“Excuse me a moment.”

She leaves the room in a flurry, no doubt to go and hide her bottles of aged-Sherry. You move closer to Tara, flick her hand with your finger.

“What did you say that for?” You groan, “They like Sam. That’s a good thing.”

“They like her more than me.” She says, pouting, “I’m your girlfriend, not her. They’re supposed to like me the best.”

“They like you fine.” You lie. She squints, shooting you a look.

“Who cares what they think, anyway?” You say, wrapping your arms around her waist, “I like you more than her and that’s all that matters, right?”

She considers this. Smiles, slightly.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

You lean down and kiss her.

Sam’s room is just down the hall.

She wants to sleep in your room, you can tell by the way she keeps hinting to Tara over dessert how much fun their little camping sleepovers in the living room were when they were kids.

When Sam hovers in the doorway near bedtime, Tara groans and snaps at her to go back to her own room.

“It’s safer if I’m in here with you,” Sam insists. She has her pistol holstered on her hip and she keeps touching it like she’s ready for Ghostface to jump out at any second, “I can protect you both.”

“I have a gun too.” Tara waves it about, “We’ll be fine. I’ll yell if I need you.”

“Look how well that turned out last time,” Sam says, gesturing to the bandage wrapped around Tara’s waist.

“Boundaries, Sam.” Tara grumbles, “We’ve talked about this. I can’t breathe when you’re suffocating me like this.”

Sam huffs.

“Fine.” She says, and storms back to her own room in a sulk.

“Finally.” Tara says, falling back into the pillows. She draws you down with her, “We’re finally alone.”

“And going to sleep.” You say, pointedly, “You need your rest.”

“I feel fine, baby,” Tara insists, “I feel good. And I missed you.”

“I’ve been with you this entire time,” You say, eyes fluttering closed as she presses her lips to your neck.

“I know, but I’ve missed you.”

“Tara-” You protest, slightly, “Your stomach-”

“Is fine.” Tara assures. She draws you down into a languid kiss. Squeezes your hips, trying to tilt you over, “There’s nothing wrong with my mouth.”

“That I know,” You say, raising an eyebrow, “You’ve been running it all day.”

Tara pouts. You kiss it away. Then draw your hands down her legs, gently climbing atop her. You've missed her too.

“Promise me you’ll lay back and not move too much. Nurse Dawson said no strenuous activity.”

She nods, mouth falling open slightly at the way you draw her panties down her legs.

“Good girl.” You whisper against her lips, and then you’re kissing your way down her body.

You’re gentle with her, so careful not to touch her wound, or move her in a way that will hurt her.

Her skin is soft, warm, still slightly reddened from the heat of her shower. You brush your lips down her thighs and then kiss your way to her center. She’s not wet, not yet, so you run your hands over her hips, suck lovingly on her inner thighs. Ghost your lips over her folds until you can see evidence of your efforts. Sticky, wet syrup that coats her entrance. The fruits of your labor.

“Don’t tease, babe.” Tara says, desperately. She’s on her elbows, looking down at you. You flinch as the bandage on her stomach creases.

“You promised you’d lay back,” You say, hurrying back up to press her down. She draws you in to kiss her, needy, fingers digging into your shoulders as she slips her tongue between your lips.

“Come up here,” She says, voice low, “Turn around so I can eat you out.”

Your stomach flips with arousal. She’s moving up, trying to draw you up over her face. But you resist.

“Your stomach, baby-girl,” You murmur against her lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She huffs.

“The only thing hurting me is the severe lack of pussy I’ve been not getting for the last four days-”

“Romantic.” You say, dryly, pulling away from her, “You’ll stay not getting it unless you lie back for me and don’t move. Like a good girl.”

She bites her lip. Nods, slow.

You press your lips to hers. Then tilt your way down her body. You stop at her nipples, take them between your lips and suck down until they’re pebbled, hard, and you can feel her wetness against your thigh.

“Baby.” She groans as you skip right over where she wants you to kiss the inside of her knee.

“Good girls are patient,” You remind her, drawing her legs over your shoulders.

She peers down at you, eyebrows raised, “And when have I ever been a good girl?”

She lets out a sharp gasp as you run your tongue along her folds, gently dragging her syrupy wetness up to her clit. Her head falls back onto the pillow, her hands reaching down to clutch a fistful of your hair. Her thighs around your head tighten as you gently run your tongue over her clit.

Experimental.

You resist the urge to sigh at her taste. She’s perfect. Sweet and bitter, all at once. You dip down to her entrance, wanting more of it on your tongue.

You kiss her velvety folds, drag your tongue along her length. Her fingers in your hair are insistent. She presses you down, further into her, writhing only slightly as you take her clit between your lips.

She likes it harder than this, usually. But you’re slow this time. Gentle. You want to make her cum, softly as you can, without straining her. You want to make love to her. Show her how much you adore her, how glad you are that she's okay.

The way she’s sighing, moans breathy, it seems to be working.

You alternate between sucking softly on her clit, then swirling your tongue in quiet, gentle circles. It isn’t long before Tara’s moaning out your name quietly, thighs tightening around your head.

You lick her once more, clean her up, not wanting to waste a drop of her.

When you kiss your way back up to her body, she’s slumped against the pillows, chest rising steadily.

“Are you okay?” You ask, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. You trail your fingertips across her cheek, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She shakes her head, still a little hazy.

You look down at her bandage, rub the edges of the fabric, gently. It’s still clean, no blood. You press another kiss to her lips, rubbing her hip.

“Up here.” She says, trying to pull you up, “I want to go down on you so bad.” She says, breathless. Her hands work down to pull you out of your sleep shorts, tossing your underwear to the side, carelessly. You settle into the spot next to her, take her hand and guide it between your legs.

“Let’s stay like this,” You murmur, tilting her cheek in your hand, “I want to kiss you.”

And it's true. You want her as close as possible. You want it to be romantic. You want her lips on you and her fingers inside you. You want to be encompassed by her smell and her taste. You want to be reminded that she's here. She's alive and in your arms.

She complies with a soft nod.

You close your eyes. Her hands between your legs feel like magic. You’re soaked, the way you always got after you went down on her. She rubs her fingers along your slit, coating them in your arousal. You kiss her furiously, sucking down gently on her bottom lip as her fingers work against your clit.

You groan into her mouth. This, you never got tired of. Kissing Tara, feeling the press of her bare skin against yours. Her lips are as talented as her fingers, her tongue against the seam of your lips flooding you once more as she grazes her fingers upwards, and slips them inside of you.

The angle is a little awkward, but you don’t care. You rut yourself into her hand, hand around her neck as you kiss. She keeps trying to sit up, you know she wants nothing more than to climb on top of you and fuck you into the mattress. But you hold her down, keep her where you want her.

You break the kiss as you get close, moan out into the milky skin of her neck. She curls her fingers, then uses her thumb to rub your clit, gently. It hits you like a freight train. You close your eyes, gasp out her name as stars explode behind your eyes. The shock that flushes through you is red, warm.

You all but collapse into her side, curling a protective arm around her bare waist. She kisses the top of your head, lovingly, then withdraws her fingers. Brings them to her lips and sucks you off them, eyes flashing with arousal at your taste.

“Now, can I go down on you?” She asks, hopefully.

You kiss her, “Maybe later, baby.”

She hums, a little disappointed.

“My belly hurts a little,” She says, voice small. At this, you sit up, concern flashing through your face.

“Oh, baby.” You say, looking down to inspect the wound, “I am so sorry. I knew it was too soon for this-”

“No,” She says, hurriedly, “That isn’t what I meant. You didn’t hurt me. I just meant I’d feel better if I went down on you, is all.”

You stare at her for a moment. Then you smack her arm, gently.

“You’re such an asshole. I was about to go downstairs for more Codeine.”

“No Codeine needed. Just you,” She pulls you back down to her, eyes wide, pleading, “Please, baby.”

You sigh. She’s rubbing your arm, big brown eyes wide, the eyes she flashes at you when she wants something. You press down and kiss her. How could you resist her? She’d just been stabbed for you, after all.

Her hands squeeze your hips. She sits up, tries to push you over onto the bed. Then she winces as it pulls at her wound the wrong way.

“Shh, baby, just gently.” You say, easing her back against the pillows.

You press another kiss to her lips.

“Come up to me,” She murmurs, hands around your thighs. This time you don’t resist. You tilt your body up, shuffle over her head and let her pull you down, hands locked around your thighs like she wants to keep you in place.

You grasp at the headboard.

She moans as her mouth meets your clit. Arousal flushes through you at just how badly she wants this. How badly she needs this.

She doesn’t waste any time.

You’re already soaked, body still thrumming from the first orgasm she’d given you. You close your eyes, tilt your head back as she lovingly sucks down on you, her fingers splayed against your ass, as she’s trying to pull you in as close as she can get.

You’re embarrassingly close after only a couple of minutes, body flushed red, hands on your own breasts as you ride her face. You cum with a quiet whine, let her lick and suck her way through your orgasm.

When it’s over, you slump down into the spot next to her, tilting your head into her shoulder. She licks her lips, cleans you off her. And then nudges her nose against yours, pressing the sweetest of kisses against your lips.

“I love you,” She murmurs.

“I love you, too.” You say. Kiss her again.

She’s a little sleepy. You’ve worn her out. You touch her hip, checking on her dressing once more.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, brushing the strands of dark hair out of her face.

“It never hurt, I just wanted you to sit on my face,” She admits with a yawn.

You smile, slightly, entwine your fingers.

“I know that, genius, you’re hardly Charles Ponzi.”

“Who?” Tara asks, wrinkling her nose. Her eyes droop slightly. You press one more kiss to her lips.

“Doesn’t matter. Go to sleep.”

“I’m taking first watch,” Tara says, immediately.

“You’re taking second watch, because you blew it the first time by not waking me up.” You say, settling into her side, “Go to sleep.”

She relents, dropping her head to the pillow with a tired hum.

“We should invite Chad, Liv and Mindy over tomorrow.” She says, voice suddenly weighted, “We need a plan.”

“We don’t need them to have a plan.” You say after a moment. Mindy’s obsession with finding the killer scares you a little. What if she accidentally stumbled upon the truth? You’d rather keep her out of it.

“I have a hole in my stomach, and a Sam permanently glued to my side,” Tara grumbles, “If we want to catch this guy, we need them.”

The weight of reality is back. It’s easy to let it go when it’s just you and her, entwined like this. But the moment you stepped outside this room it fell on your shoulders like an anvil.

You’re not safe, Tara isn’t safe.

Not until you catch the fucker.

#all hers #ghostface!tara #tara carpenter #scream #scream vi #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x yn #fanfic #mine #jenna ortega x yn

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