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projectionistwrites · 3 months

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EQUIFINALITY | SUMMER

PART THREE, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (2.4k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, discussions about murder & death, age gap (not mentioned), allusions to smut DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. this part is genuinely upsetting, i’m sorry in advance. NOTES: this part takes place after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson. also, apparently i don't believe in happy endings! (or do i? stayed tuned for the final installment...)

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The edges of Joel’s vision were somewhat fuzzy, his head pleasantly buzzing with slight inebriation as he stood against the bar in the Tipsy Bison, trying his best to keep his head low and presence unnoticeable.

The party was in full swing, and the wooden tiling of the dining area had been cleared to open up a makeshift dance floor where the inhabitants of Jackson mingled and chatted. Maria jumped on any excuse to plan jovial gatherings for the town in order to boost morale and encourage strong bonds between neighbors in the small community.

In this case, the occasion happened to be Joel, himself—or rather, his and Ellie’s return. Although they had arrived back in town about three weeks prior, the weather had been tumultuous, and the spring demanded strenuous hours of labor on behalf of everyone who was capable. But now that the springtime was melting beneath the sweltering sun of summer, Maria figured it was time to welcome the two newcomers and provide a much-needed break to the overworked members of the community.

The man lifted his third glass to his lips once more, taking a long, slow sip of his liquor as his eyes skimmed the endless sea of somewhat unfamiliar faces—he spotted Ellie across the room, chatting with some kids her age, already coming out of her shell; there were younger children in another corner of the room, corralled by a few women who were idling gossiping with one another; the other adults spread out throughout the building, the air sticky with the stench of sweat and booze. Even within the mass congregation of townsfolk, all dressed in their nicest apocalyptic attire, Joel felt deeply, deeply isolated. The faces of strangers all blurred together, their voices blending into a dull hum in the background of his awareness.

“You’re sulking.”

Tommy's voice cut through the ambience, pulling Joel's attention to him. He turned his head to face his brother, scowling deeply at him as he took another swig of whiskey.

“M’not.”

He grumbled, and Tommy threw his head back with a bark of a laugh, lifting his beer bottle to his lips with the shake of his head.

“Jesus, you can be a real fuckin’ dumbass sometimes, you know that?”

Joel’s nostrils flared with frustration as Tommy smirked at him teasingly, one brow lifted in silent challenge. Joel’s eyes flickered to his left when Maria sidled up next to him, sitting in the stool across from her husband, cradling her swollen belly.

“He’s right, Joel.”

She nodded softly, eyes scanning over him carefully, and he clenched his jaw.

“What is this? Y’all drag me out here just to corner me and berate me?”

Tommy choked back a laugh, but his wife shot him a glare before turning back to the man beside her, who was looking sullen and wounded beneath his guise of anger. She sighed.

“You’ve been standing in the same spot all night, waiting for her to walk in. She’s not here, Joel. She left before you came by.”

Joel eyed Maria warily, his brows furrowing as she attempted to comfort him with the gentle tone of her voice. The man was slightly startled at her admittance—it wasn’t a secret that his sister-in-law wasn't his biggest fan, and it certainly wasn’t a secret that she wasn’t the biggest fan of his reemergence in your life.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks. Not since that day in the examination room, when you’d almost kissed him and he’d pushed you away—again. You hated him. Surely, you must.

Maria must’ve been able to read his mind—she reached out a careful hand, laying it gently on Joel’s forearm in an effort to save him from his self-deprecating spiral. She offered him a small smile.

“You should go find her.”

“You don’t want me to do that.”

Joel quipped flatly, dropping his gaze down to his boots. He heard Maria scoff incredulously, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.

“Actually, Joel, I do.”

Tommy cut her off quickly, jumping in to save the conversation from Joel’s dismissal.

“She’s right, Joel. I mean, shit, you look like a fuckin’ kicked puppy, standin’ over here all by yourself, waitin’ for her to come find you. You should go find her, man. You’re bein’ pathetic.”

Joel whipped around to shoot a glare at his younger brother, but Maria raised her hands up to gesture for him to calm down.

“Look, Joel. I know I haven’t exactly been supportive of rekindling this old twin flame or whatever, but all I really care about is that she’s happy—and lately, well...” She trailed off, and Joel felt a pang of guilt erupt in his chest.

When he elected not to respond, Maria sighed slowly, lowering herself from the stool and gesturing for Tommy to follow behind her.

“I can’t force you to do anything, but just—think about it, okay?”

The man felt the corner of his lip twitch downward in annoyance, but nonetheless he let out a grunt of acknowledgement. After sharing a knowing look with one another, Tommy and Maria finally left Joel to wallow in his own self-pity.

The night was balmy and humid. Joel’s t-shirt clung to his chest from the stickiness in the air, and the streets were eerily quiet as he trudged home alone.

He would’ve asked Ellie to join him, but she was enjoying herself at the bar, surrounded by joyful faces and a general atmosphere of positivity. He wished he could let himself indulge in the simple pleasures of community, but the gaping hole in his chest refused to heal.

Music. He heard it as soon as your house entered his line of sight. As he walked closer, he could hear the familiar guitar riffs of a Johnny Cash song echoing in the distance, just within earshot. Light flickered on your front porch, and as Joel approached his own door, he caught sight of you—reclined on your porch swing, head tilted backwards with your eyes closed, a blissful smile on your features.

He didn’t want to disturb you or your relaxation, but his legs betrayed him—his feet carried him past his own stoop and towards the concrete steps leading up to you. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots caused you to jump, body tensing briefly until your eyes landed on the perpetrator—as soon as you saw him, your eyes softened.

“Cowboy.”

Joel paused on the second step at the sound of your voice, his fingers white-knuckling the railing in an effort to ground himself.

He didn’t speak—you seemed to anticipate his silence, because wordlessly scooted towards the far end of the bench, gesturing with a nod of your head for him to join you. Hesitantly, he obliged.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You started after awhile—Joel’s brows furrowed at the statement, tongue peeking from beneath his mustache as he wet his lips.

“No, no, I—you’ve been avoiding me.”

He clarified, and you let out a humorless laugh.

“My schedule has been the same every single day for ten years, at this point. I’m at the same places at the same time every day. Hardly seems like a coincidence that our paths never crossed.”

He’d never considered that before. Of course he hadn’t intentionally been avoiding you, but then again...had he been?

“Was lookin’ for you. At—at the Bison, I mean.”

He turned to look at you, and he met your gaze, your eyes darted away.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to miss your big night, or anything. I helped set up, I just—wasn’t in the mood for mingling.”

Joel hummed at that, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. His eyes skimmed over the row of homes in front of him, shrouded with pine trees and lowly lit by a few streetlamps—picturesque.

He cleared his throat. You clearly weren’t throwing him any bones, today. You sat in the silence, shoulders sagging low, eyes misty with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. He wanted to speak, but—what to say?

“Overheard Maria tellin’ Ellie a story.”

His heart fluttered when you looked at him, curiosity successfully piqued.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ about you savin’ her from a bear attack?”

For a moment, you froze, and Joel feared he may have unknowingly struck a nerve, but then you let out a bright, bubbly laugh, your eyes crinkling with amusement.

“She’s still telling that story?”

You could barely speak through your fit of uncontrollable giggling, doubling over as you drew in a long breath.

“What? S’not true?”

Joel teased, a brow quirked as a smile tugged at his lips, and your eyes were sparkling when you gazed up at him.

“Oh, it’s true, it’s just—I saved her from a taxidermized bear in a fucking Bass Pro Shop.”

His expression pulled into one of disbelief.

“I—you what?”

You giggled again, eyes turning glassy with nostalgia.

“Yeah. That’s where I ended up, at least for awhile. The day I left, when everything went to shit, my car ran out of gas right near a strip mall, and I figured Bass Pro Shop would be as good a place as any to hole up until things settled down—things never did settle down, of course—but I was lucky to be stuck where I was.”

“You never made it to a Quarantine Zone?”

Joel questioned, slightly bewildered. The idea of you, out in the big wide world, all by yourself, terrified him. You laughed coldly.

“No one was looking for me, Joel. No one knew I was out on the backroads driving to Cali. I was lucky. Ran into this older couple at the mall, we—we made due, at least, for as long as it lasted.”

Your tone grew bitter.

“They went out to go hunting one day and never came back. So it was just me in that big department store, surrounded by moldy fish tanks and hunting rifles that I didn't know how to use.”

Joel risked a look at your face, and there were tears forming under your lashes. He let himself lean in closer to you, an attempt at providing comfort, a reminder that he was here with you, that you weren't alone. Not anymore.

You didn’t pull away.

“Been meanin’ to ask.”

He started hesitantly, and when you glanced at him, he lifted a hand to his face, gesturing across his eye in a downward stroke. Oh. The scar.

“Not a glamorous story. Saved a family from some Infected, but the eldest son—he got bit. The middle daughter shot him to save her younger brother, while the mom was unconscious. When she came-to, I told her I did it so she wouldn’t have to know it was the sister, and she attacked me. Punched me right across the face, and the diamond on her wedding ring ripped into me.”

“What did ya do?”

You shrugged, sniffing indignantly.

“I sat back and took the hits. What was I supposed to do? I can’t imagine that sort of grief. Losing a kid...”

Joel felt something twist in his gut as you trailed off, and this time, he felt you lean into him, your shoulder brushing his own.

He didn’t pull away.

“You know, I was never mad at you about my dad, Joel.”

He blinked, his chest tightening at the casualness of your tone. He stayed quiet, as he wasn’t even sure any sound would come out if he opened his mouth to speak.

“I don’t care that he’s dead. I don’t care how he died. I tried calling him the day of the outbreak, to tell him I was coming to California—only person I could reach was his fucking secretary. He never cared about me, and I never cared about him.”

The bitterness in your tone was startling, but that’s not what shook Joel. What made him falter was when you turned to look at him.

“I was mad at you because you thought that the right time to tell me about it was when I was leaning in to kiss you.”

Again, you were met with silence. It didn’t come as much of a shock to you, Joel’s lack of response, but it still made your face flush with annoyance.

“You will do anything in your power to avoid being vulnerable with me, Joel. Always have. I just thought, after all this time—maybe things would be different.”

“Why would you think that?”

A knife to the gut is what his words felt like. He knew it as soon as he said it, how your face would fall and you’d flinch away from him.

But you didn’t. Your face remained stoic, unchanged, unwavering.

“Because I’m different now, Joel. I’m not a little girl anymore. The only thing that hasn’t changed it what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

You huffed out an indignant laugh, turning to face the view of the street again. Inside, your record player scratched to a halt, casting the two of you in silence.

“’ve never been shy about what I wanted, Joel. Even after all these years, it’s always been you.”

The words settled on his chest, heavy and suffocating. Surely, you were bluffing.

“The hell is that supposed to mean? You sayin’ that even after all these years, there’s never been anyone else?"

You sighed, rolling your eyes at his brashness.

“Yeah, Joel, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He felt his mouth run dry at your confession. Twenty years, a whole lifetime, and you’d never even moved on. Was it out of stubbornness, spite, or something else entirely?

“The thing you don’t seem to understand, Joel, is I’m fine on my own. I’ve waited twenty years for a person that I thought was probably dead, or at least a person I never thought I’d see again, and I was fine with that. I’m never gonna settle for less than what I want, Joel, and that goes for you, too.”

Joel’s brows furrowed.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

There was a twitch in your brow, a crack in your impenetrable facade. You shook your head wryly.

“It means that I believe you when you say you’re not the same person anymore, Joel.”

You looked over at him once again, but there were tears in your eyes. One slipped down and traced the line of your scar as it fell.

“It means you’re not the one I’ve been waiting for anymore.”

Anger suddenly welled in the pit of Joel’s chest.

“What’dya want me to say? That you’re wrong? That I am the same person?”

You sniffled, shaking your head at his outburst.

“I don’t want you to say anything, cowboy. I just want you to realize that I’m not the same girl that fell to her knees and begged for you to love her. And I never will be again.”

You were practically snarling at him, and it was in that moment that Joel realized he might have lost you for good.

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projectionistwrites · 8 months

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REMINISCENCE

boston!Joel Miller x afab!reader

You and Joel discuss the things you miss most about life before the outbreak.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ mdni) WARNINGS: age gap, canon-typical violence, alcohol consumption, SMUT (pornography, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, mentions of masturbation) NOTES: this was meant to be a short little drabble, and then it sort of morphed into...whatever this is.

Joel didn’t gain much from his relationship from you—in terms of equity theory, the costs slightly outweighed the rewards when it came to your unorthodox companionship.

But nonetheless, he walked you home from work every single night without fail.

You were a bartender at the local undercover pub—operating (presumably) right beneath FEDRA’s noses, although it was a well-known fact that some of the officers chose to unwind in the forbidden sanctuary that the underground enclave offered.

Free booze. That was Joel’s price. It seemed silly, really—he’d brood silently at the far end of the bar all evening after he’d finished his menial jobs around the city or smuggling-related tasks, watching you smile and interact with the other patrons. He was sacrificing valuable twilight hours by sitting there, waiting for the minutes to roll by until it finally hit 2AM.

Every night as he sat there, listening to your friendly conversations with the other customers, Joel could do nothing but reprimand himself—he was being a fucking idiot, stewing off to the side all night on his lonesome, wasting precious minutes that would better be spent on more labor or catching up on his sleep. This is the last time, he’d tell himself. Get a fucking grip.

But then your gaze would flutter over to him from halfway across the bar, your lips curling up in a delicate smile as your eyes glittered, and his mind went to static. You didn’t look at any of the other patrons that way—all these men pining for your attention, and your eyes only seemed to catch on Joel.

You had to exchange pleasantries with the other customers—had to flirt and smile and giggle in order to earn your keep. But that didn’t stop your attention from constantly straying to the man in the corner, whose dark eyes never left your form as you mixed and served drinks.

Excitement always bubbled in your chest when you heard the telltale clink of his glass hitting the counter, signaling that he’d finished his drink and needed another. It was a momentary escape, a brief but welcomed reprieve from the exaggerated, inauthentic friendly demeanor that you used to placate the crowd—you took your time topping off Joel’s glass, never serving him more than about two-fingers-width worth of liquor in hopes that he’d finish it quickly so you had an excuse to visit his end of the bar again. You never spoke to each other when you were on the clock—you had to give off the impression that you were available, you couldn’t play favorites. But still, you couldn’t help but drift towards him as you wiped down the countertop, looking for absolutely any opportunity to be near him.

But it was the nightly walk home that really kept him coming back.

You were sweet. Painfully so. Bright-eyed and naive and full of life. You made him smile—sometimes, you even made him laugh. He didn’t talk much, but you didn’t mind—you filled the silence between you with mindless chatter, complaining about your job and the difficult customers or sharing stories from your life before the outbreak. Joel could listen to you talk for hours—the dulcet cadence of your voice, the light breathy laughter that escaped your lips, the twinkle in your eye as you walked by his side.

It had started when a FEDRA soldier gave you a hard time about being out past curfew—roughed you up just enough to strike fear in your heart, your temperament at work the following night distraught as you dreaded the trek back to your dingy apartment.

Joel had already been a regular at that point. He was quiet, kept to himself, never shared more than a few brief words before his gaze drifted back down to glare into his liquor, his shoulders seeming burdened with more weight than any one man should be able to carry.

He didn’t give you the same attention that the other men did—maybe that’s why you were so drawn to him. While the other patrons shamelessly flirted with you, making obscene comments and proposals in an attempt to gain your affections, Joel just treated you like a person. Maybe it was that Southern hospitality that you inferred from his Texan drawl, or maybe it was something else. But nonetheless, the mysterious bargoer was the first person to notice your change in demeanor.

“Y’alright?”

He’d asked as your trembling hands tilted the bottle of amber liquid to refill his empty crystal glass. Your eyes darted to his face at the question—it was the first time he’d ever gone out of his way to speak with you, never offering a word unless he was prompted.

You gulped, setting the bottle back down behind the counter with a slight clang. Your gaze nervously scanned over the crowded room, fearing that someone might catch you with your guard down. Luckily, the patrons all seemed to be wrapped up in their own conversations, so you allowed yourself to indulge Joel with an honest response. When you looked back at him, his dark brown eyes were already fixed on your face.

“FEDRA’s getting antsy. An officer stopped me on my way home, last night—confiscated my cards for being out past curfew, said the consequences'd be worse if it happened again.”

You’d admitted quietly, and Joel could see the fear that was crawling beneath your skin, threatening to claw through your flesh. His heavy brows furrowed.

“How far’s home?”

He asked, and you bristled, not particularly keen on the idea of sharing such personal information with someone who was practically a stranger.

He must’ve sensed his misstep and quickly backpedaled.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s a few blocks west of here, by the outpost.”

You weren’t sure what had compelled you to share such intimate details with him, but clearly it had been the right call. He nodded carefully, lifting his new drink to his lips and taking a swig before he acknowledged you again.

“My place’s on the way. I can walk you home, if ya want.”

That was nearly six weeks ago—now, it had become routine. In exchange for his chivalry, you'd offered him a night of bottomless drinks—when he realized this could be an ongoing perk, you were quick to accept his continued companionship on your midnight commutes. FEDRA soldiers knew better than to confront him about violations of curfew, so you were safe from further disturbances when accompanied by his presence.

Tonight was no different. The crowd of drunk customers was beginning to thin out as you made the announcement for last call. When the last patron finally stumbled up the stairs and out of the bar, Joel watched your shoulders sag with resignation, relieved to be free from another grueling shift.

He downed the remnants of his third pour of whiskey and stood up, stretching his legs out for the first time in hours. He wordlessly slipped behind the counter beside you to rinse and clean his own glass in the sink, watching you slump against the counter out of his periphery.

“What a long fucking day.”

You grumbled, your voice losing the artificial peppiness that you struggled to maintain in front of your customers. Joel let out a breathy chuckle as he returned his cleaned glass to the correct shelf, turning towards you.

“Then let’s get you home, darlin’.”

He’d had a rough couple of days. The night before, you’d panicked when he failed to show up by midnight—he was rarely later than ten-thirty, and his absence was enough to send you into a worried spiral.

When he’d finally stumbled through the doors, there was dried blood beneath his fingernails and a bruise forming across his jaw. As soon as he saw the unfettered alarm in your gaze, he felt guilt consume him. You were worried about him.

He struggled to sit at his usual stool, grunting as pain flared in his ribs at the movement. You were in front of him in an instant, sliding a glass of whiskey and an ice pack wrapped in a towel across the bar to him.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

You’d challenged harshly, but your voice betrayed you—although you’d attempted to convey your anger, the anxiety in your wavery tone was indisputable. Joel’s gaze dropped as he reached for his glass.

“Trade went bad.”

He offered simply, cringing slightly at the burn of the liquor at the back of his throat. When his eyes found yours again, there were tears forming across your lower lashes, and he let out a long sigh. His fingers brushed over yours as he reached for the ice pack, gaze soft as he leaned a bit closer to you.

“M’alright, darlin’. Everythin’s okay.”

Still, you could tell he was on edge, even if he refused to admit it. So, the next evening, you stopped him right before you could part ways at the entrance to your building.

“I have a surprise for you.”

You wiggled your brows theatrically as you plopped your backpack down at your feet, leaning down to unzip it and reach into the main pouch. Joel forced his eyes away from where your cleavage exposed itself to him as you bent over.

When you straightened again, you were holding a glass bottle of amber liquid, a triumphant smile on your face as you held it out for him expectantly. His brows furrowed, but when he reached for the bottle and inspected the label, his brows shot up to his forehead.

“Macallan?”

He questioned in awe, his eyes wide as they flitted back to you. Your smile was dazzling as you beamed up at him, anxiously awaiting his approval as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

“How the fuck did you swing this one?”

“Flashed my boss.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, and Joel immediately sputtered, eyes blowing wide. You just laughed at his obvious discomfort, reaching to rest a hand on his forearm in an attempt to change the subject.

“Oh, relax. I grabbed some nice glasses from the bar, too—why don’t you come up and have a drink with me? A nightcap on the roof.”

Joel hesitated. The two of you had gotten markedly closer in the weeks you’d known each other—you’d met Tess, and his brother Tommy, and he even trusted you enough to key you in on his illegal smuggling activities. But still, neither of you had ever interacted outside of the bar or your nightly walks home—this was uncharted territory.

Just as he was about to object, to deny your request and head back home, his eyes met your wide, hopeful gaze as you looked up at him so innocently. He let out a long breath through his nose before he finally nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Just one drink.”

That’s how Joel found himself here, sitting atop the concrete roof of your apartment complex, leaning back against the half-wall that corralled the stairs that led up from the top floor to the roof. You were splayed out to his left, taking careful sips of your liquor as the midnight breeze tickled your skin and left goosebumps in its wake.

The night was calm—or, at least, as calm as it could be in the Boston QZ. Distant gunshots interrupted the quiet, but neither you or Joel even flinched at the sound. Your arm was brushing against his from how close you sat together, and Joel was surprised to feel an uneasy sense of comfort wash over him as he relaxed in your company.

You drew in a slow breath before you tilted your head to gaze at him, a small smile gracing your features.

“What do you miss most about life before the outbreak?”

Joel’s entire body stiffened at your question—it was an unspoken rule between the two of you. Joel didn’t talk about his past, and you didn’t pry.

You quickly backpedaled, laughing sheepishly.

“I don’t mean who do you miss or shit like that, just—the mundane things. Things we took for granted. I miss the drive-in movie theater. Tonight would be the perfect weather to go see a show.”

Joel felt his lip twitch up at the corner on its own volition, your eyes fixed up at the night sky as your tone turned nostalgic. He took another sip of his whiskey, the taste deep and rich and smooth.

“I miss good liquor.”

He offered lazily, and you elbowed him lightly in the side.

“Hey, that doesn’t count. I got you good liquor. Sure, it cost me my dignity, but it was worth it.”

Joel laughed, then—a deep, genuine chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you.

“You really did that? Lifted up your shirt for your boss just to get your hands on the good stuff?”

You nodded cheekily, a mischievous gleam in your eyes as you grinned wickedly up at him. He chuckled again.

“Thought you were a good girl.”

He muttered, more to himself than anything, and you felt your face flood with heat at his grumbled statement. You ignored the way his words made something stir between your legs and nudged him again.

“Come on, I’m serious. What else do you miss?”

He pondered for a moment, tilting his head back to rest against the concrete behind him. There were a lot of simple things he missed about the past.

“Miss barbecues.”

He offered, and you seemed pleased with that response, letting out a giddy squeal as you agreed enthusiastically.

The conversation continued on easily for a long while—reminiscing about your previous lives, offering suggestions back-and-forth. Hot showers. Chapstick. Birthday cards. Summer block parties. Board games. Holidays. The smell of clean laundry. Road trips. Celebrity gossip.

Half the bottle of liquor was gone when you became too emboldened.

“I miss porn.”

You heard Joel choke on his drink as he coughed, lifting a hand to cover his mouth as he attempted to swallow down his shock. Your cheeks flooded with heat at your own confession, surprised at your own brazenness as the man beside you shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—that was kind of out of the blue. I’m sorry.”

Joel shook his head, although he averted his eyes from you.

“No, s’alright, just—wasn’t expectin’ that.”

Joel tried to hide his surprise. He wasn’t uncomfortable—just the opposite, actually. He was dumbfounded—you? Watching porn? Surely not. Not sweet, naive, innocent you.

He could feel the embarrassment radiating off of you as you looked down sheepishly, obviously regretting your admittance. It was shocking—the woman who flirted with all her patrons, who made a show of seducing each man she served, blushing relentlessly at the mere mention of something lewd.

You stared down at where your hands were folded in your lap, fingers fiddling together anxiously as you tried to think of something to say that would salvage the conversation. To your surprise, Joel beat you to the punch.

“I guess I didn’t realize... I mean, how old even were you when everythin’ happened?”

Neither of you were oblivious to the clear age gap between the two of you, but still, his question somewhat offended you. You scoffed slightly.

“I was twenty. I wasn’t a kid.”

Joel lifted his hands up in surrender.

“No, no, ’m not sayin’ that you were, I just—guess I didn’t expect you to—”

“—to have watched porn?”

You finished for him, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed thickly. He nodded, and you let out a breathy laugh, turning your gaze back to the hazy night sky.

“I had an older brother. Snuck into his room one time when I was, like, sixteen, and found some raunchy tapes under his bed that he rented from Family Video. Some stupid adult films.”

You explained, your embarrassment somewhat dampened by the alcohol surging through your bloodstream.

“It was funny. There was this one video that I really liked, so I kept it, and then my parents got this huge bill from the store because my brother didn't return it on time. What a fuckin’ idiot, renting porn using my mom’s credit card.”

You giggled at the memory, looking back fondly on your time with your family. You had moved to Boston for college when the outbreak happened, and you never did find out what happened to them when everything fell apart.

Joel’s voice broke you from your stupor.

“D’they ever find out it was you?”

You laughed again.

“Nope. It’s probably still under the mattress in my childhood bedroom. Watched that thing too many times to count.”

An easy silence fell over you, and you took in a few deep breaths of crisp night air, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned backward against the wall.

“It’s your turn.”

You prompted Joel, reminding him that he was up next to share something he missed from his past.

“What was it?”

He asked instead, and you blinked your eyes open, turning your neck to face him only to find his gaze already on you. Your brows furrowed.

“What was what?”

You asked for clarification, and you saw his jaw tick slightly.

“The video that you kept. What was it?”

You felt your lips part in surprise as your breathing stalled, face flushing crimson at his question.

“You—I mean—”

“M’just curious.”

He shrugged indifferently, facing forward again, but your heart was still hammering against your ribcage.

“If you liked it enough to keep it, must’a been good."

You swallowed, eyes falling to your hands once again before you finally responded.

“Honestly, I don’t even remember the plot. The guy in it, he was just—he was loud. He talked a lot, and the sound of his voice really did something to me.”

You offered sheepishly, voice faint and breathy as you recounted the film. Joel hummed in response, seemingly unbothered by the explicit content of the conversation, but you would be lying if you said that discussing sex with Joel didn't make your pulse jump.

“I didn’t even need to really watch it. Sometimes I’d sit with my back to the TV and just listen, and—well, you know.”

Joel felt his already hardening cock twitch in the confines of his jeans as he imagined you with your legs spread wide, hand shoved hastily into your pants as you played with yourself, eyes closed as you listened to the porno guiding your movements.

“What was it about his voice? Somethin’ special?”

“I don’t remember.”

You answered a bit too quickly, your response jumbled and rushed. Joel immediately noticed, his eyes landing on your face to see your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you refused to look at him, clearly embarrassed. He didn’t push it, even if he knew you were lying.

Again, another long bout of silence, the air between you thickening with tension, although something had shifted. The awkwardness in the space was wavering, replaced with something heavier, something deeper.

“I miss sex.”

You thought your neck was going to break from how quickly your head jerked to gawk at Joel, who had muttered the sentence so coolly that you were almost certain you had misheard. He didn’t look at you—kept his eyes straight forward, focused on some point off in the distance. Your fingers curled into the flesh of your thighs, trying to fight off the budding desire that was tingling lowly between your legs.

“You—but you have Tess, right?”

Your voice sounded small, meek, and Joel huffed out an indignant laugh, shaking his head somewhat ruefully.

“No. S’not like that. We’re just—partners. Keep the bed warm for each other. Nothin’ else.”

Oh.

That caught you off guard. You’d assumed the pair had been a couple, or at the very least fuckbuddies, but Joel’s confession caused butterflies to erupt in the pit of your stomach.

“What about you?”

He pressed, and you felt your lungs collapse as you struggled to breath, his dark gaze pinning you down.

“Me?”

He chuckled somewhat condescendingly, his lip pulled up at the corner.

“Yeah. You miss sex?”

Your eyes darted away from his face, swallowing harshly.

“I don’t know. Only happened a few times, with my high school boyfriend back home. Wasn’t anything great.”

You explained, and Joel hummed, relishing in the way your voice wavered and your eyes darted around nervously, lashes fluttering.

“He ever give you an orgasm?”

Joel’s casualness startled you, his language so lewd and crass that you did a double take. Your cheeks burned even brighter as you pressed your hands to your face, shielding yourself from his judgmental stare.

“No. Always had to finish myself off.”

You finally admitted, trying to ignore the way you could feel Joel's body heat radiating from beside you. "And lately, too, it’s been—it sucks. Getting off, I mean. My brain is always somewhere else. That’s part of the reason I miss porn, I guess. It’s hard to take your mind out of all of this. I can never focus long enough to actually...”

“Cum?”

Joel's voice was low as he finished your sentence, and you nodded breathlessly, somewhat bashful at your admittance.

“Yeah. And skin mags don’t help, either. It always helped when I could hear it, y’know? More than just watch. It helped me stay in the moment, I guess. More immersive.”

You shrugged, and you could feel his dark eyes boring into you as you looked down.

“You’ve got a line of men a mile long who’d jump at the chance to be with you, darlin’. You got the choice of any guy in that entire bar.”

“Not any guy.”

You corrected before you could realize your mistake. You felt Joel’s body stiffen beside you, and you outwardly grimaced, quickly catching on to the fact that you’d basically just outright confessed your feelings for the man beside you—the one man in the entire QZ who seemed completely uninterested in you.

“You were lyin’ earlier.”

You blinked away your confusion as your eyes flitted to his face—he was watching you carefully, his hands resting on his jean-clad thighs as he regarded you, his eyes dark and somewhat daunting. You swallowed.

“’bout not rememberin’ why you liked that guy’s voice so much. You can’t say you watched that porno more times than you n’count and then not remember why.”

Your eyes darted away, but then you felt warm, calloused fingers slip beneath your chin and coax your head back towards him, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He was leaning in closer to you now, close enough that you could smell the sting of booze on his breath and see the spatter of freckles that spilled across his nose.

“So tell me, darlin’. Why'd you like the way he talked so much?”

Joel knew the answer. He’d noticed the way your eyes always settled on his lips when he spoke, how you always turned bashful when his Texas charm bled through into his words.

“I—it was—it was called The Bone Ranger. Y’know, like—like the kitschy old Western show. The guy, he was—he was a cowboy.”

“So then what accent did he have, huh, sweet thing?”

You resisted the urge to squeeze your eyes shut in shame, clenching your jaw harshly as you opened your mouth. You could tell he already knew the answer—must’ve had a sneaking suspicion from the start, especially when he factored in the way you always seemed to swoon when he called you darlin’.

“I—he had a Southern accent.”

The satisfied smirk that curled on Joel’s lips made your blood boil, humiliation making your cheeks warm even hotter as your face contorted into a look of discomfort, feeling shameful and dirty.

But Joel smiled at you. Really smiled. It was somewhat wicked—a devilish sort of grin, one that awoke something deep within your core. His eyes were wild, darkened with something almost feral.

“Yeah, I bet he did. Do I remind you of him, darlin’? You like the way I talk?”

His voice dropped to a low timbre, barely more than a throaty growl, his Texan drawl exacerbated by the lust that coated his tongue. You couldn’t help but whimper at his teasing, your gaze instinctually falling from his eyes to glance at his lips.

“Bet I can make sure you stay in the moment. Help you focus. Make you cum.”

The squeak that passed through your lips was almost inhuman, and for a moment, you didn’t even realize that it was you who had made the sound. But then Joel was smirking at you again, and in an instant you were on him, fingers skating across his shoulders as your lunged to kiss him.

He met you with equal fervor, shifting slightly to pull you atop his lap, your legs sliding to cage in his waist as your fingers threaded into his graying hair. His hands pressed into you, burning your skin with each move as he grabbed at your waist, hips, thighs, ass, anything within his reach as he licked into your mouth, pressing you as close to him as physically possible.

“Oh, God—please, Joel.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you were even begging for, but when Joel pulled away long enough to glance at you through hooded eyes, gaze swimming with intoxication from both desire and alcohol, it was like he could read your mind.

“ ’ve got you, darlin’. Let me take care a’you.”

Joel lifted up his knees, allowing you to lean back slightly against his muscular thighs as you grinded your core against the sizable bulge in his worn jeans. With your weight leaned backwards, Joel matched your pace with slow, deep grinds of his hips, his cock pressing against your clit as he rutted upwards.

“Mmm.”

Joel hummed, experienced hands spread against the expanse of your back as he guided you forward for another searing kiss, swallowing the whine that passed through your lips. You squirmed when his fingers began to explore, skimming across your sides before his thumbs swept just beneath the swell of each of your breasts. Your chest immediately pushed into his hold, making him chuckle.

“Take it off for me, then. Lemme see you.”

In a matter of seconds, you were ripping the heather gray shirt from your body, tossing it carelessly to the side and letting your head fall back with a soft sigh. You squeezed your eyes shut tight so you didn’t have to see Joel’s face when he finally looked at you, but he caught on to this action quickly.

His left head reached to cup the back of your head and force it to face forward, your eyes fluttering open to meet his—his pupils were blown wide, gleaming devilishly as he slowly let his gaze draw a line down your sternum and across your newly exposed breasts. A growl rumbled in his chest.

“Filthy little thing, aren’t ya? No bra, wanted everyone in the bar to see those pretty little nipples through that thin shirt?”

There was a sort of anger laced in his words, his brows lowered as his thumbs brushed across both of your nipples with a featherlight touch, both of the nubs peaking instantaneously.

Part of you wanted to shake your head, to prove to him what a good girl you are, but instead, you let out a breathy giggle.

“I told you I flashed my tits for the boss—had to get the right liquor to convince you to come up here.”

Joel's eyes narrowed, and you hummed when he shifted one of his hands came to wrap around your delicate throat.

“You wanted me to come up here to fuck you, huh? S’that it? Sweet thing, all you had to do was say please.”

Your fingers curled into his t-shirt as you pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to him again. His teeth sank into the flesh of your lower lip, sucking it gently. He pulled away just long enough to discard his own shirt, his weathered skin hot against your abdomen.

“He didn’t deserve to see you—didn’t appreciate these pretty tits, did he?”

His lips traced a sloppy line down your throat before wrapping around your right nipple, rolling it between his teeth. You cried out, your arousal beginning to soak a wet patch straight through your jeans, skin prickling with electricity.

His other large hand kneaded the flesh of you left breast as he ravished the right one with his tongue, your back arching into his hold.

“God, fuck—need you so bad, Joel, please.”

A dark chuckle vibrated over your skin, causing you to shiver. He stared up at you through his lashes, pulling his mouth away a leaving your skin shining with his saliva.

“Yeah? You wan’ me t’fuck you, darlin’? Wan’ me to stretch ya out over my cock?”

His voice was gravelly and low, words slightly slurred through his thickening accent.

“I’m ready for you, please, please—always been ready for you—”

He shushed you quietly, straightening his legs and flipping you over gently to lay you on your back. You nearly blacked out as you felt him peel the denim from your legs, your panties with them. You stared straight up at the night sky, stars twinkling as you listening to the clink of his belt and slide of his zipper before he was on top of you, his cock nestling against your lower stomach as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Yeah, gonna give it to you good, darlin’—you just lay there and take it.”

He lifted himself off of you just enough to guide his cock through your slick folds, the smooth head tapping against your clit before sliding down to your entrance.

“Sweet, innocent little girl, thinkin’ about me fuckin’ ’er every night in the bar.”

You squirmed at his taunting, cheeks ablaze.

He let out a breathy groan.

“Fuck yeah.”

He muttered lowly, slipping just the tip through your quivering hole. Almost immediately, you were clenching around him, your body tense and resisting the intrusion. He tutted at you, and you felt tears of both shame and desire flood your eyes.

“S’okay, sweet thing.”

He cooed, his demeanor suddenly softer, comforting.

“Gotta relax. ’ve got you. Jus’ focus on the sound of my voice.”

Your bleary eyes zeroed in on his face, the slight curl of his lip upwards as he sank a few more inches of his thick cock into you, burning with the stretch. You hadn’t had someone inside you in so long, and never anyone as big as him.

“Shh, shh—doin’ so good for me, darlin’. Fuck, tha’s a tight little cunt. You can take it.”

A pained groan blew through your lips as he proceeded forward, your walls squeezing around him until he was finally fully seated inside of you. A long, drawn-out groan escaped his throat as he pressed himself against you, his heavy balls nestled against your ass.

“Yeah, that’s it—you feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You gasped when Joel reached between you and pressed a hand against your lower abdomen, feeling the bulge of his girth stretching you open.

“Fuck, yes—”

As soon as your cunt fluttered around him, finally accommodating his length, he offered a few shallow thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix with each movement. You mewled against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Yeah, there we go—”

Finally, Joel began to fuck you. He pulled out almost entirely before forcing his entire length back into your awaiting channel, your wetness leaking around his cock and dripping down your crack onto the concrete beneath you. The cement scratched at your bare back, but you couldn’t even feel it—Joel’s fat cock overwhelmed all of your sense and left you a drooling, crying mess.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, darlin’—so fuckin’ tight aroun’ me. Always wanted to ruin you, y’know that? Knew you’d make the prettiest little sounds, knew you’d—fuck, knew you’d squeeze me so tight.”

Each of his quickening thrusts was punctuated by a high pitched moan from your lips, your tits bouncing with each motion. His fingers began to messily circle your clit as your eyes rolled back, surrendering yourself to Joel’s control and the impending orgasm that was building within you. He pressed his lips to your ear, groaning against you.

“Yeah, gonna make you cum, darlin’—fillin’ you so good, fuckin’ you nice and deep—jus’ like you wanted, jus’ like you deserve, yeah? Fuck, oh, baby—mmm—not gonna let anyone touch you again, not gonna—not gonna let anyone look at you again—pussy’s too fuckin’ good, s’all mine, s’all—fuckin’—mine—”

You let out a shriek as your climax peaked, Joel’s dirty tongue sending you over the edge as your walls clenched around him. Your vision turned white as your toes curled, your nails sinking into the meat of his shoulders as he continued to pound into you through your orgasm, sweat beading at his hairline.

“Oh, fuckkk—yeah, yeah, jus’ like that—keep squeezin’ me like that and I’m gonna—”

His pace turned frantic, his thrusts so harsh they were almost painful as he reached the deepest part of you, prolonging your orgasm and making heat coil in your core.

“Give it to me, Joel.”

It was barely a whisper, your throat hoarse and utterly wrecked, but Joel's body tensed above you.

“Yeah, gonna—gonna give you this fat fuckin’ load, baby—mm, mm, gonna—gonna cum inside you, fill you up so full—ah, fuck, m’gonna cum, m’gonna—”

His words were interrupted by an involuntary growl as he thrusted once, twice more, before seating himself fully inside of you.

“Oh, m’cummin’ baby, fuckin’—shit—”

He exploded within your walls, his white hot seed filling you in sporadic spurts, each one punctuated by a roll of his hips into you, a mixture of both your arousals creating a stickiness around his cock.

He rolled off of you almost immediately after, bare back against the cool concrete. Another series of gunshots rang out in the distance—all you could hear was Joel’s breathing.

Silence permeated the twilight air, and you felt your chest tighten with each passing second. He was staring straight up at the sky, unwavering, brows furrowed in thought.

“I didn’t get the whiskey just so you would—you know...”

The moment you started talking, you regretted it, trailing off slowly and averting your gaze from him when his neck turned to look at you. You sheepishly sat up, reaching for your t-shirt and holding it to your chest protectively.

“It was more of a—more of a thank you, really, for—for making sure I get home safe.”

Joel nodded slowly, his lips pursed slightly—already, you could see the ghost of regret dancing behind his eyes.

Again, the night was quiet as you both got dressed, the only sound from the rustling of clothes and the clink of Joel's belt. Part of you was still reeling from the unexpected turn of events—the other part of you was ashamed and embarrassed and horrified.

“Thanks.”

You whispered in acknowledgement, and he nodded curtly.

“Glad we could help each other out.”

It was like he’d just finished with a business deal—a transaction.

When you were both fully clothed, you wordlessly began descending the stairs, Joel trailing behind as he walked you to the front door of your apartment. It was the second door to the left on the fourth floor.

As the door swung open, you paused in the threshold. You contemplated your words for a moment before sighing.

“You know what else I miss?”

Joel’s big brown eyes turned soft once again as they locked with your glassy gaze.

“I miss flirting. And dating, and—and holding hands, and romance—”

You blew out a breath, infuriated with yourself—because of the tears trailing down your cheeks, because you gave yourself up so quickly, so easily, and all it took was a man with nice hands and brown eyes and a Texas drawl that sort of resembled a porno—

You almost flinched when you felt his left hand reach up the cradle your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle and completely out-of-character. You felt the pad of his thumb swipe the tears from beneath your eyes as he leaned in—

And then something hardened in his gaze—like he was remembering himself, pulled from a stupor. A shadow crested his features as his expression turned stony.

His arm dropped back to his side, and he took a step back, his hands slipping into his pockets as he regarded you one last time.

“See ya tomorrow.”

His heavy boots grew quieter as he walked the length of the hall, and you finally let the door click shut between you.

The truth hurt—all the things you missed, you took for granted, gone and left behind in a time forgotten.

Really, though, what you missed most of all, was love.

459 notes · View notes

projectionistwrites · 10 months

Note

Literally would read any moon knight smut from you 🥵 can I request something with the boys having a marking/spit kink? I feel like it is most in Marc’s character but tbh I’m not particular heh

sorry this took so long hehe i hope you like it <3

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

Marc Spector x afab!reader (mentions of Steven Grant x reader) (2.2k)

Marc Spector didn’t fancy himself a jealous man—but you knew exactly how to push his buttons.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ mdni) WARNINGS: arguing, jealousy, SMUT (oral (f! and m! receiving), degradation, a bit of choking, facefucking, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, mean!dom!marc)

It was an accident, really—you hadn’t meant for it to slip out. And yet, there wasn’t a single part of you that felt bad about it.

Marc had already been in a bad mood when he’d woken up that morning, sulking and brooding and generally unpleasant to be around. When you’d asked him what was wrong, he’d brushed you off, insisting he was just tired and had a headache. You knew better than to believe him.

Truthfully, you had a suspicion that Marc had been feeling neglected. After he’d introduced you to Steven several weeks ago, the two of you had been inseparable—you and Marc had been dating for a year and half, so getting to know Steven was like the honeymoon phase all over again. He was sweet, and gentle, and shy, and many other things that Marc simply wasn’t. The contrast excited you, but you could tell that the puppy love between you and Steven had begun to take a toll on Marc.

When you’d gotten home from work today, you had planned on offering to cook a nice meal for you and Marc in an attempt to smooth things over and ease his worried mind, but he clearly was in no mood for reconciliation.

“Honey, I’m hooome.”

You sing-songed jokingly as you walked in the door, keys jingling in the lock. When you received no response, your joviality quickly dissipated and a deep frown etched itself into your face.

“Hello?”

You called again, brows furrowed in confusion. You took a few steps into the apartment, hanging your bag on the coatrack and slipping your shoes from your feet. Again, silence.

You went to turn the corner towards where the bedroom side of the studio apartment was, but quickly collided with a warm body as you rounded the bookshelf.

“Jesus fuck!”

You yelped as a hand came out to steady your shoulder, saving you from stumbling backwards on impact.

“You scared me....”

You hesitated, looking up at the man before you cautiously. The scrunch between his brows and hardness in his brown eyes quickly confirmed your suspicions.

“...Marc.”

Marc mistook your brief moment of pause as disappointment, and he sneered, releasing your arm with a small shove and sidestepping you.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to disappoint.”

You blinked a few times in disbelief, frozen in place as his words took a moment to sink in. When they finally did, you were left reeling, whirling around to face his retreating figure with an incredulous expression.

“What?”

Marc huffed angrily, nostrils flaring as he threw himself onto the couch, a hand reaching up to run through his dark hair.

“I said, sorry to disappoint. I’m sure you’d much rather have Steven greeting you when you get home.”

“I never said that.”

You scoffed, approaching him slowly with your arms crossed over your chest. His brown eyes darted up to your face, his lips curled into a scowl.

“You didn’t have to. You’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Where is this coming from, Marc?”

It was a stupid question—both of you knew the answer already. Marc’s nostrils flared as he averted his gaze from you, sulking silently and staring off at some point in the distance.

A pang of guilt accompanied the sigh that fell from your lips as you noticed the slight quiver of his lip, and you made your way to the empty spot next to him.

“Hey.”

You started gently, letting your hand trace across the veins of his forearm before your slid your fingers between his own.

“I’m sorry, Marc. I know—I know things have been moving pretty fast between me and Steven, and I know I haven’t made as much time for you as I should have. I’m sorry.”

You leaned into him, head ducking slightly in an attempt to catch his gaze with your own. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he drew in a long, deep inhalation, before he finally opened them again and fixed them on you.

“No, it’s—it’s okay, baby. I’m glad you and Steven are getting along, that’s exactly what I hoped would happen. And I’m sorry I—I freaked out. Just—miss you, s’all.”

He confessed, a slight blush creeping up his neck and ruddying his cheeks. Marc wasn’t often open about his feelings, so the brief moment of vulnerability was significant. You smiled softly at him, reaching up to brush your fingers through his soft curls.

“Why didn’t you just say so, huh, handsome?”

A smirk quickly made its way across his lips at the insinuation in your tone, his arms swiftly wrapping around your body to haul you up onto his lap and into a searing kiss.

It wasn’t until you were seconds away from an orgasm, Marc’s face buried between your thighs, that you’d fucked up.

“Shit, shit—”

You cried, fisting at the sheets on either side of you as Marc’s tongue swirled over your clit, two of his thick fingers buried in your weeping cunt.

“Oh, God, yes, m’gonna cum, gonna—ahh, fuck, don’t stop, yes, Steven, fuu—”

Your hips lurched off the bed when the stimulation abruptly ceased, your eyes shooting open in alarm only to come face-to-face with Marc’s hardened expression, his lips still shining with your slick.

“Fuck, why’d you—?”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He interrupted your whiny plea with his threatening words, growled lowly as his eyes narrowed at you. Your rapid heartrate only sped up when you thought back on your pleasured cries, quickly realizing your mistake. You bolted upright in an instant, your eyes wide and panicked, reaching to grip Marc’s bare shoulders.

“Oh, Marc, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He pulled away from you, rising to his knees on the bed so he loomed over you.

“Get on your knees.”

Your breath stuttered.

“What?”

You yelped when Marc lunged forward, his hand coming to twist in your hair to yank you harshly forward so you were face to face.

“I said,”

he growled, his breath hot on your face and fingers taut in your hair,

“get on your fucking knees.”

He released you with a rough shove and you scrambled off the bed onto your knees, quickly obeying his order. You watched as he slipped off his last remaining layer of clothing before he slowly made his way over to you, his figure towering over you with intimidation and malice. Excitement was beginning to swirl in the pit of your stomach—you’d never seen Marc so angry before, so domineering and unhinged. Still, a small pang of guilt shot through you at your earlier mistake.

“Marc, really, I’m so sorry—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He snapped, and you immediately obliged, eyes blowing wide at the sternness in his tone. His chest was heaving with labored breaths and his nostrils were flared, eyes alight with fury.

“You just don’t know when to stop fucking talking.”

He was right in front of you, now, languidly stroking his hardened length inches away from your face, precum beading at the slit. He reached forward and roughly grabbed your jaw in his other hand, fingers curling to squeeze your cheeks.

“You wanna keep moaning his name? Guess I’ll have to make you shut up.”

His hand migrated up and wrapped in your hair before yanking your neck back. When your lips parted with a surprised gasp, he immediately plunged his thick length into your mouth, forcing himself down your throat without warning. The sudden and abrupt intrusion caused you to gag harshly, and he pulled out only long enough for you to draw in a gasping breath before he thrusted forward again, sinking his cock all the way back into your throat and beginning a steady rhythm of fucking your face.

“Only way you’ll be quiet is if you’ve got a mouth full of dick, huh?”

He grunted, hips snapping forward. There was drool foaming at the sides of your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks as you forced yourself to sit back and let him use you, the tip of his cock bruising the back of your throat and his balls slapping noisily against your chin.

“Bet you miss him now, don’t you? Steven doesn’t treat you like this—doesn’t know how much of a fucking slut you are.”

You felt yourself grow impossibly wetter at his words, reaching up to brace your hands on his muscular thighs in order to prevent them from reaching between your legs to touch yourself. You felt his arm reach down until his fingers curled around your neck, allowing him to feel each stroke of his cock down your throat.

“Fuck, baby—such a pretty little whore.”

Finally, finally, he pulled out of your mouth, a long string of saliva still connecting the tip of his ruddy cock to your swollen lips. You gasped harshly, letting the mixture of tears and drool drip from your chin as you gazed up and him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Marc, thank you, I love you, I—”

Marc growled, his grip on your throat tightening and briefly cutting off your airflow.

“Shut. Up.”

He hissed, pulling you upwards with his hand on your neck and tossing you towards the bed. You fell backwards, immediately pliant beneath him as he reached to lift both of your ankles above your head before abruptly plunging his spit-soaked cock into your dripping folds.

A pornographic mewl escaped you at the feeling of him penetrating you, your hole still tight and unprepared for the thickness of his cock. The burn of the stretch was intoxicating, but you were quickly pulled away from the feeling when Marc’s fingers found your jaw again, squeezing your cheeks so your lips involuntarily parted.

“Open.”

He growled, and you obliged, allowing him to spit straight into your awaiting mouth. You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he kept railing into you, your mouth closing as his taste overwhelmed you.

“You don’t swallow until I tell you—you hear me?”

You nodded vigorously, eyes silently pleading as tears continued to stream down your face, the sound of slapping skin filling the room as Marc bared his teeth.

“Yeah, that outta wash his name outta your filthy fuckin’ mouth, huh?”

You could barely hear him over the static humming in your ears, an orgasm creeping up and washing over you without warning. You choked on your sob, desperately following Marc’s orders and keeping your mouth full of his saliva despite your desperation to cry out.

Marc felt you clench down on him, and his pace quickened.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby—you cum all over this cock.”

He leaned forward and sank his teeth into the flesh of your collarbone, licking and sucking bruises into your neck and up your throat. You lay helpless beneath him, body melting into the mattress as he continued to pound into you relentlessly, the sting of his lips hot against your sweat-sheened skin.

“Gonna keep you covered in these, baby—he’s never gonna forget who you fuckin’ belong to.”

He grunted in your ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth briefly before sitting back up, shifting up onto his knees and wrapping your legs around his waist before jackhammering into you once again.

He reached forward a final time to wrap his hand around your throat, now covered with red and purple bruises in the shape of his mouth.

“Swallow.”

He panted, his eyes wild and pace faltering.

"Swallow, and tell me who you belong to.”

You swallowed the fluid the had gathered across your tongue and finally let out a salacious moan, back arching off the bed as a second orgasm began building in your abdomen. You could hardly even remember what had started this thing in the first place, and you definitely didn’t care—your entire existence was overwhelmed with Marc, Marc, Marc.

"You, Marc—belong to you."

You cried, and you felt his fingers curl into your neck as he leaned over you, the heat of his body absolutely smothering you as his free hand reached between you to circle your clit. You keened.

“Again. Louder. Who do you belong to?”

“You, Marc—fuck, fuck, Marc, I belong to you, fuck—"

Your climax peaked fiercely, white hot and blinding as your toes curled and your entire body trembled beneath him. The rhythmic clenching of your tight cunt around him had Marc following close behind, his release punctuated by a sharp yelp before he buried himself to the hilt, allowing his seed to fill you completely, offering a few more deep thrusts before stilling.

Marc’s tension-laden body immediately collapsed on top of you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck as his cock stayed nestled inside of you. Your arms wrapped around his clammy torso, one hand stroking a soothing line down his spine and the other brushing through his hair, your lips planting a soft kiss to his forehead. His frantic exhales were hot against your neck.

“I mean it, Marc. I’m yours.”

You assured in a whisper, and Marc tilted his head up to look at you, his once cold eyes now softened with a familiar gentleness.

“I know, baby.”

He leaned up and pecked you on the lips.

“And now you’ll never forget it.”

You let out an airy giggle, sinking back into the comfortable and familiar weight of his body on yours. After a few moments, you bit your lip and gave him a mischievous smile.

“So...when do I get to meet Jake?”

#jake lockley #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x reader #marc spector #marc spector imagine #marc spector smut #marc spector x reader #marvel imagine #marvel smut #steven grant x reader #steven grant smut #steven grant #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight smut #projectionistwrites

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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Hi! I’d just like to say I love your fics and your blog is honestly the first I check whenever I’m on tumblr, you are truly one of my favorite writers. I hope this doesn’t come across as nitpicking or criticism of any kind and I don’t mean this to offend you or the fics you share with us. I hope this comes across as like a tip sort of? But when describing feelings of embarrassment, red cheeks/blushing sort of closes the view of it being a reader since people of darker skin tones, it doesn’t show up for us. This is absolutely not to criticize you in anyway but I hope this comes across as informative 🫶🏾across informativeinformatioinformative 🫶🏾✊🏾

this is not offensive at all! thank you so much for the correction/tip—this wasn’t even something i’d ever considered before so i appreciate the insight and will try to take this into account for my future writings! i am always looking to be as inclusive as possible, so if there’s anything else i can do to improve my work, please let me know! much love <33

#projectionistwrites

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?

hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!

IMPLODING THE MIRAGE

Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)

You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)

imploding the mirage — the killers

i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining

He was the moon, and she was the stars.

It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.

The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.

So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.

He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.

Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.

He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.

“Where to next, Moon Boy?”

She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.

He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.

“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”

Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—

“Jesus Christ!”

You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.

“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”

Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”

“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”

He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.

“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”

You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.

He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.

You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.

You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.

“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.

“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”

You frowned.

“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”

“Hell of a time for that to happen.”

He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.

“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”

Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.

“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”

Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.

“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”

Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.

“Of course Steven made you.”

A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?

You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.

You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”

You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.

She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.

Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.

“Fuck, Marc.”

She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.

“Want you—need you so bad.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.

“Shit, I—sorry.”

You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.

You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.

“It’s nothing, Marc.”

You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.

He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.

“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”

There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.

“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”

You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.

Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.

“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”

She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.

“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”

She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”

He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.

“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”

“Why do you push me away?”

She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”

He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.

You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.

You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.

You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.

You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.

Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.

“No.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.

“What?”

Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.

“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”

The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.

“I—you?”

He glowered playfully.

“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”

That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.

“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”

Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.

You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”

You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.

Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.

“But what about how you feel?”

His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”

Anger flared within you.

“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”

Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”

“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”

You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.

Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.

“No, nena. I’m sorry.”

You turned away.

“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”

You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.

“What if he breaks my heart?”

He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”

The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.

She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.

He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.

“G’mornin’, darling.”

He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.

“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”

He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.

“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”

She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.

“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”

She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.

“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”

“G’mornin’, darling.”

The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

“Steven! Shit!”

You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.

“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”

You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”

You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.

“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”

There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.

Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.

He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.

“There we are—good as new.”

He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...

Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.

“Bon apétit.”

You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.

“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”

He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.

You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.

“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”

He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.

“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”

She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.

“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”

“S’there somethin’ on my face?”

Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.

“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”

He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”

You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.

“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”

“Yes.”

You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.

He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.

“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.

“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”

She’s lying.

Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.

And how do you know that?

Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.

What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?

Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’

But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.

He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.

“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”

You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.

Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.

You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.

“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”

There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.

The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.

He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—

Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?

Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.

Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?

You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.

You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.

hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x

It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.

What if this was from his latest mission?

It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.

You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.

“Where is it?”

A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.

“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”

To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.

“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”

He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.

“I just wasn’t alone.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.

“Looking for this?”

She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.

Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.

When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.

“Thanks.”

Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.

Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.

“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”

He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.

“Marc. I mean it.”

He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.

“Yeah, I know.”

She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.

“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”

Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.

Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.

“Wake up, little star.”

Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.

“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—

“Wake up!”

With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.

When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.

He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.

“Marc?”

You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.

“Drink.”

He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.

“I—what happened?”

You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.

“What do you remember?”

He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—

“Was I kidnapped?”

You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.

“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”

He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.

“What do you mean?”

You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.

“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”

“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”

His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.

“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.

“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”

“Stop!”

He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.

“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”

“You don’t think I know that?”

Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.

“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.

“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”

His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.

“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”

You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.

“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”

“At least we’d be suffering together.”

It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.

“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”

“See you?”

He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.

“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”

You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.

“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”

Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.

“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”

His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.

“I—what?”

“I—”

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”

He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.

“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?”

You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.

“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”

Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.

“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”

“But that’s not true.”

He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.

“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”

“But you told me—”

“Well, I lied.”

He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.

“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”

Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.

“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”

“I know.”

He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.

“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”

“I’m a big girl, Marc.”

You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.

“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.

“I know.”

It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.

“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”

You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”

Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.

“He—he did?”

Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.

“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”

“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”

Marc’s brows furrowed.

“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”

You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.

“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.

“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”

“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”

You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”

You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.

“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”

“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”

His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.

“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”

You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.

“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid.”

He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.

“It’s just not true.”

“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”

She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—

“Hey. Where’d you go?”

It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.

You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—

“Sorry.”

You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.

“What were you thinking about?”

Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”

It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.

He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.

When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.

“Wait—wait.”

You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.

“I just—”

You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”

He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.

“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”

You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.

When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.

“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”

You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.

You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”

You felt a small smile find your face.

“Really?”

He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.

“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.

“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”

You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.

“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”

He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.

He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.

“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.

The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.

“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”

You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.

“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”

You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.

“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”

He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.

“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.

“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”

Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.

“You want my cum, baby?”

You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.

“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”

He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.

“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”

His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.

He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.

You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.

It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.

“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”

Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.

“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”

Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.

“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.

“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”

Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.

You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.

“Told you so.”

Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.

You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.

“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”

You nodded.

“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.

“And you called me estrellita.”

You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.

“Estrellita?”

He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it—it means ��little star.’”

You explained, and he shook his head.

“I know that, but I—hmm.”

His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”

You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.

“He fucking what?”

Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?

Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

Text

FOR SCIENCE | data analysis

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley x afab!psychologist!reader (10.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), angst, miscommunication, psychoanalyses, SMUT (oral (m! and f!receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, marc and jake are steven’s personal cheerleaders, dirty talk), lots of spanish, jake lockley stealing the show as per usual NOTES: the final installment. i actually wasn’t planning to include smut in this, but i figured i’d give the people what they want. i really love this series and i hope this conclusion is both satisfying and cohesive. ALSO—i have already decided that there WILL be at least one bonus chapter (and i’m super excited for what i have planned) so be on the lookout! love & appreciate you all so much. DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

← previous part

You thought your face was going to split in half with just how wide of a smile broke through your features.

You were wrapped in a thin silky purple robe, your hair wet from the shower you had stepped out of only moments ago. You’d scrambled out of the bathroom hastily at the sound of rapid knocking on your door.

Marc was on the other side—one hand was in his pocket, the other bearing a bouquet of wildflowers wrapped in brown parchment paper, his lips curled into a smirk when you opened the door to greet him.

Your eyes were bright when they landed on him, although you were slightly frazzled. You leaned back into your apartment to glance at the analog clock on the wall in the kitchen—5:42 PM.

“I thought we agreed on 6:30!”

You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling exposed in your thin negligee. You watched Marc’s dark eyes follow the movement, trailing down your body indiscreetly and lingering on the exposed skin of your cleavage.

“We did. I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

He said simply, and you blushed, lifting a hand to your face to shield your giddy, girlish smile at his affections. He held the bouquet up to you.

“Flowers are cheesy, I know. They were Steven’s idea.”

As you grabbed them from him, you watched as his posture shifted and his features softened, Steven emerging to front with a deep scowl etched on his face.

“Yeah, they were my idea—we would’ve been here even earlier if I hadn’t suggested we stop ’round the shops to pick them up. Marc’s been pacin’ around all day, was ready to leave by 4 o’clock—”

In a flash, Marc was back, rolling his eyes in annoyance at Steven’s intrusion. You giggled lightly after witnessing the interaction between the two alters, accepting the flowers graciously and lifting them to your face to inhale the summery fragrance.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.”

You stepped aside to invite him into your apartment, feeling a bit sheepish at the fact that you hadn't had the time to clean up the place.

“I’m sorry, I’m not even close to ready—I still have to blowdry my hair. Just give me, like—twenty minutes, okay?”

You turned around to find Marc already lounging casually on your chenille sectional, his legs spread wide in front of him as he leaned back, his eyes following you as you approached him.

“Take your time, baby. No rush.”

He smiled lazily up at you, and you felt your pulse quicken just slightly at the pet name—you were finally going on a real date. You’d been elated when he’d officially asked you out, showing up at your campus between classes with a fresh coffee and pastry from the café you frequented together. Although it was Steven who handed them to you, his hands fidgeting with skittish energy, Marc was the one who took the lead to actually extend the invitation, rescuing his anxious alter from having a nervous breakdown.

You smiled gratefully down at him, before offering him the bundle of flowers.

“D’you think you could put these in a vase for me while I go finish up?”

Marc’s expression softened, his brown eyes warm and tender as he nodded, fingers brushing your own as he grabbed the bouquet. You grinned.

“Do you know where the vases are? They’re just—”

The man stood to follow you, and you could immediately tell it was Steven when he let out a bubbly laugh.

“’Course I do—in the hutch inside your office. You almost knocked the entire bloody thing over when you got drunk off of red wine that one time—”

You facepalmed as he recounted the memory, your cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Ugh, don’t remind me, Steven, that was so embarrassing.”

He chuckled good-naturedly, and you paused in the threshold of the hallway, turning to him before you went back to your room to finish freshening up.

“I’ll just be a few minutes, okay? Make yourself comfortable.”

Steven nodded obediently, his grin doting, but when you turned to leave, you felt warm fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you back towards him. You brows raised in question, but you allowed him to pull you towards him, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his muscular form. When your eyes met his, Marc was staring down at you with a devilish grin. He captured your lips with his own in a searing kiss, earning a surprised squeak from your throat as you melted against him. You felt him lick into your mouth feverishly, pressing himself against you before you pulled away, breathless. His eyes were hooded and spit-slicked lips parted, his appearance a living, breathing temptation. You took a step back, shaking your head at him knowingly.

“Hey, careful. I’d actually like to put clothes on before your decide you want to rip ’em off.”

You teased, hips swaying slightly as you turned to walk back to your room, and you heard him let out a throaty chuckle.

“Let me know if you change your mind about that.”

He taunted back, watching you sashay into your room as the door clicked shut behind you. He heard the telltale buzzing sound of your hairdryer flick to life before he sighed, turning towards the glass doors of your study to retrieve a vase for the flowers. There was a lovesick smile on his face that he didn’t bother to try and hide.

You’re absolutely whipped, jefe. It’s pathetic.

Jake quipped internally, and Marc just shook his head.

“There’s nothing stopping you from being a part of this, too, y’know.”

He challenged in response, catching sight of Jake’s scowl in the reflection of the glass. He didn’t respond as Steven took the reins, swinging open the door to your office and flipping on the lights.

“Right, a vase.”

He muttered quietly to himself. He walked into the spacious room, eyeing the shelves lined with various novels and textbooks alike before side-stepping behind your large mahogany desk to peer into the wooden hutch behind it. He tossed the flowers down onto the top of your desk as he turned to open the cabinet doors, but was suddenly frozen when Marc abruptly seized control of the body once again.

Both of his alters watched on, confused, as Marc slowly turned back around towards the desk, eyes settling in on the thing that had grabbed his attention. A manila folder sitting atop the messy pile of papers and documents, your scribbled handwriting scrawled on the tab in red pen. SPECTOR STUDY.

Aw, no, mate—don’t do it.

Steven advised, his voice somewhat pleading as Marc reached for the folder, the file spilling papers from its opening. He blew out a cautious breath, hesitating slightly. Steven was probably right, he shouldn’t be snooping around like this, and—

His curiosity got the better of him as he flipped it open to the first page, where STEVEN GRANT was centered and bolded at the top. He drowned out the sound of Steven’s incessant protests as he leafed through the dense stack of papers, the font tiny and practically indiscernible, the words jumbling together. He finally paused when he reached the very last paper in that stapled packet, his eyes focusing in on the larger uppercased letters that were near the bottom of the page, once again in bright red ink.

UNWORTHY OF LOVE.

His alter was suddenly silent as Marc’s eyes scanned over that single line, over and over again, his brows furrowed deeply and his lips downturned into a harsh frown. His chest started to stutter with heavy panting breaths of anger as he threw down Steven’s packet and picked up the next one—his own.

Again, he hastily thumbed through the pages. His was slightly thicker than Steven’s had been, and his eyes scrutinized the blur of tiny black letters, searching for any distinguishing marks within the uniformed sea of text. He paused on the last page of this packet as well, his fingers creating a harsh indentation in the thin paper as his stare caught on a familiar red smear towards the bottom center.

UNWORTHY OF LOVE.

His teeth gritted, eyes wild with a fire of rage as he slammed the papers back down onto the desk, reaching for the last remaining docket with JAKE LOCKLEY printed on the top.

Por favor, jefe. Don’t.

Marc could barely hear Jake’s soft request over the blood pumping loudly in his ears. He didn’t even bother rifling through all of the pages, this time. He immediately turned to the last page to confirm his suspicions, but still, his hands trembled when he discovered he was correct. Those three words, bolded and italicized, notated in the same color as his bleeding heart.

UNWORTHY OF LOVE.

You wiped at the remnants of the tears on your face before you lifted your hand to knock.

When you’d emerged from your bedroom twenty minutes after you’d entered, as promised, you’d found your apartment completely abandoned. It was only when you’d wandered into your office to find a bouquet of flowers discarded on the hardwood floor and your research notes scattered atop your desktop that you finally understood what had transpired.

Your chunky black heels were dangling from the fingers of your left hand, your leather satchel slung over your right shoulder as you reached to knock again, more fervently this time. Your chest was heaving with exertion—you’d been running since you left your flat, quickly opting to forgo your shoes in an effort to expedite your pace, eyes bleary with tears as the asphalt ripped through the feet of your nylons beneath your floral dress.

“It’s me.”

You announced softly, leaning your ear towards the door to listen for any activity coming from within. You didn’t want to call out for any of the boys in particular—you weren’t sure who was fronting at the moment, although you certainly had your suspicions.

No response. Your foot anxiously tapped against the floor as you chewed the corner of your lip, waiting a few more beats before pounding your fist against the door again.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You stubbornly called, awaiting a reply but met only with stale air.

“I have a spare key. If you don’t open the door I’m just gonna let myself in.”

Footsteps on the other side made you perk up, your back straightening as you took a small step backwards in preparation. You watched as the shadows of two feet appeared beneath the crack at the bottom of the door, but it remained closed and locked tightly. You sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat.

“I can see your feet under the door. Please. I just wanna talk to you.”

Finally, the door swung inward, just enough to reveal the man behind. Jake was staring back at you, his sleek and stylish leather jacket from earlier discarded, leaving him in a tight-fitting white tee, his curls messy and unkempt as if he’d been running his fingers through them incessantly. His eyes were cold and somewhat bored as he regarded you, one brow quirking in question as he leaned into the doorframe slightly.

“Hi, Jake.”

You greeted softly, lashes fluttering slightly as you took in his disheveled appearance. The timidness of your voice surprised you, and you cleared your throat as your eyes cast downward, away from his sweltering glare.

He took in your appearance, as well—the smudges of black eye-makeup beneath your lower lashes; the frizzed, windblown curls; the tiny droplets of sweat beading along the pores of your nose; the long torn runs in your black pantyhose; the shoes that dangled from your grasp.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but he beat you to the punch.

“They don’t want to see you right now.”

His tone was flat, and cold, very matter-of-fact, but you could see the way his jaw clenched as he spoke, teeth grinding as he stared down at you. You blinked a few times as you processed his statement.

“I—”

You started carefully, but there was panic swelling in your ribcage, swallowing up your voice and weighing you down as you drew in a stuttering breath.

Jake noticed the way your eyes turned glassy again—a semblance of pity struck him briefly, and he sighed carefully, eyes scanning the hallway behind your head to avoid your eyes.

“You—You hurt them. They’re not ready to talk to you.”

They might never be ready, he thought to himself, although he didn’t dare say it aloud.

He expected his remark to be sufficient—assumed you’d nod sadly, heeding his words and tucking tail back to your apartment while your big doe-eyes welled with tears.

Instead, he watched your features turn stony, jaw setting and eyes narrowing. Your expression was contemplative, analytical, gaze sweeping over his face with careful focus. Your sudden shift in demeanor was puzzling.

“And what about you?”

His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the door at your question, his brows lifting slightly in surprise.

“What?”

“You said I hurt them, that they don’t want to see me—but what about you?”

He was suddenly speechless, winded as he opened his mouth to make a witty retort but found himself at a loss. Your eyes studied him carefully.

“Why are you here, Jake?”

You prodded again, a bit gentler this time, but he visibly bristled, feeling defensive.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I? Doesn’t matter how I feel.”

He snapped, but was somewhat startled at his own declaration, as if he was admitting something to himself, too.

You nodded at him in understanding, your face softening just a bit.

“So how do you feel, then, Jake?”

You watched his shoulders sag, a hand reaching up to run down his face with fatigue.

“I don’t. No siento nada. I’m tired, Y/N. Numb. I’m done with all of this.”

When his eyes met yours again, you could see the exhaustion eating away at him, resignation settling in over his body as he sighed heavily. You pursed your lips, shifting your weight from foot-to-foot, before you looked at him again.

“Can I come in?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned and walked back into the flat, leaving the door slightly ajar—presumably as an invitation for you to follow him inside.

Jake practically threw himself into the corner of the sofa, settling back into the cushions as his head tilted backwards in defeat. You carefully sat down on the opposite end of the couch in a familiar routine—a relentless game of cat-and-mouse.

You didn’t speak, just observed his movements and facial expressions. He pressed the butts of his palms into his eyes tiredly, his head hanging low as he leaned forward over his knees, a clear display of surrender. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but thought better of it.

“Tired? That’s all you feel?”

You prompted softly, trying to coax him into opening up to you. You watched the muscles of his biceps tense as he clenched his hands into fists.

“Carajo, Y/N, I don’t know what you want me to say. Marc and Steven are upset, they don’t want to talk to you, so that leaves me. I don’t get to hide from you.”

There was bitterness in his tone, venom tainting his harsh words and making them sting. You nodded in understanding, eyes still watching him carefully.

“Do you want to hide from me?”

He threw his hands up in frustration, brows furrowed heavily as he glared at you.

“I don’t know! ¡No sé nada! I don’t—I don’t know how I feel.”

Your silence spurred him on, and he glowered, his jaw rippling.

“I feel... I’m angry. At myself. I should have—I was supposed to protect them, and I let them get hurt. I let you hurt them. Sé algo mejor que eso.”

“That’s not your fault, Jake. You let yourself get hurt, too. All three of you put your trust in me, and I broke it. Why are you mad at yourself? You should be mad at me.”

There was a fire of pure rage brewing lowly in his abdomen, his lip twitching up into an involuntary sneer. His fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs as he curled them downward, desperately trying to hold onto some shred of composure.

“You want to know how I feel?”

His voice was terrifyingly low, threatening, nothing more than a throaty growl, but you leaned forward closer to him.

“Yes, Jake. Come on. Yell at me, get pissed, tell me how you feel—”

“Get pissed?!”

He scrambled to his feet abruptly, his nostrils flared as he towered over you, eyes ablaze with fury.

“I am pissed, cabrona. You had no right to treat me the way you did. To—To split me open, to pretend to care about me for your stupid fucking project. To show me what I need, everything I’m missing—to dangle it in front of my face only to rip it away again. Like you have the cure, you know what’s wrong with me and you know how to fix it, but you won’t. You—You can’t.”

He felt something warm and wet against his cheekbones, and he felt horror rise within him when he reached up to find tears sliding down his face, his lip trembling with ire. He turned away from you abruptly, rubbing at his eyes with force in a desperate but futile attempt to compel his feelings away. As much as he tried to hide his emotional display, you’d witnessed the tears welling in his eyes and slipping across his cheeks as he spat his cruel words. He squeezed his eyes shut, his back towards you, taking slow, deep, deliberate inhales in an effort to calm himself down.

“Yes, Jake. You’re right.”

His head perked up just slightly at your statement, his eyes fluttering open as his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re absolutely right. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

He felt his heart sink in his chest as he turned to face you again, shaking his head incredulously as his fists clenched at his sides. He let out a scoff.

“Me cago en Dios. I can’t believe you, right now.”

Your own brows pinched in surprise, and he glared at you.

“You—You’re shrinking me.”

Your head tilted to the side just slightly, your mind reeling in an attempt to discern his comment.

“I—what?”

He threw his hands up in frustration, gesturing wildly as he searched for the right words to communicate his meaning.

“You know—shrinking. Being a shrink. Therapizing me.”

Your lips rounded into an O-shape as you finally realized what he was trying to say. If the moment between you hadn’t been so heated, you might’ve cooed at how fucking adorable his unintentional misspeak was, but you realized he was right. You’d slipped into psychologist mode—completely separating yourself from the issue at hand, as if all of his intense emotions weren’t targeted directly at you. You caused this. You fucked up. You hurt him. All of them.

“You’re right. I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jake. For all of it. For everything.”

Your apologies were wet as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You looked down at your feet, where your briefcase was tucked on the floor in front of the couch. You swallowed thickly.

“Will you give me a chance to explain? Just—please?”

Jake felt his fiery anger sizzle out as you smothered it with the sincerity of your apology. He mulled your offer over in his mind for a second, shaking his head as he stared up at the ceiling, battling the contempt that was churning within him.

Hear her out, mate.

Steven spoke for the first time since they’d left your apartment. His voice was soft but insistent, and Jake could hear the hope that was festering beneath his plea.

With a defeated sigh, the man dropped back down on the couch beside you, although he didn’t so much as spare you a glance.

You were grateful for his cooperation, as hesitant as it was, and you scrambled to pop the buckle of your briefcase and pull out the manila folder that had served as the catalyst for this entire transgression.

“I figure it was Marc who read through these, right?”

Jake’s brows furrowed as his eyes darted to your face, a silent question of how did you know? You chuckled uneasily.

“Well, I just figured—you wouldn’t have cared enough to go snooping around, and if Steven had read something that upset him, he would’ve read the entire thing so he could understand the context.”

He pondered this before shrugging. Yeah, that was pretty spot on.

“Are—are the other boys listening, too?”

He tuned into the headspace briefly to gauge the mentality of his alters. Steven offered a verbal confirmation that he was paying attention, and although Marc didn’t respond, Jake could feel his looming presence silently observing the encounter. Jake offered you a small, nearly imperceptible bob of his head, and you nodded back at him in recognition.

He watched as your trembling fingers pulled out the three stapled packets, resting them atop your lap as you breathed slowly.

“You saw the last page? That’s what bothered you?”

Jake huffed, and you quickly backtracked to correct your flippancy.

“Sorry, I mean—of course it bothered you. But I just—let me show you something.”

You flipped to the aforementioned page, where Jake could see the line of red text near the bottom from his periphery. He felt his eyes begin to burn again as he replayed the three words over and over again: UNWORTHY OF LOVE. UNWORTHY OF LOVE. UNWORTHY OF LOVE.

“Jake, look at this.”

You urged, scooting a bit closer to him and holding the paper up for him to see. His eyes flickered over to it, where you pointed to the line of text directly above the crimson writing.

“Can you read what that says?”

His face inched closer, eyes squinting as he tried to make out the black lettering that was several sizes smaller than the caption.

PRIMARY COGNITIVE DISTORTION.

“Do you know what that means, Jake?”

Oh, bollocks. It means we’re a bunch of right knobheads.

The man’s brows furrowed even harder in response to the combination of the line of text, your question and Steven’s remark. Hesitantly, and somewhat bashfully, he shook his head, his eyes still focused in on the phrase you were pointing to. He felt you lean in closer to him, trying to meet his eyes.

“That means it’s not true, honey. A cognitive distortion is an error in your way of thinking, your mind creating fallacies—something you accept to be fact, even though it’s not.”

Jake sat back against the couch, his brain desperately trying to make sense of your explanation. He watched as you tossed the papers to the floor by your feet carelessly, leaning over towards him and resting a warm, reassuring hand against his bicep. You squeezed lightly.

“I figured it out. The one thing that you and the other boys have in common, what binds you together—the driving force for each of you. All three of you have this warped sense of self-worth—you genuinely, truly believe that you don’t deserve to be loved.”

The air around him seemed to solidify as he listened to you speak. The feeling of your fingers wrapped around his arm tethered him to reality, but he felt himself getting whisked off by your words.

He wanted to laugh at you—genuinely laugh in your face. He, Marc and Steven were all so different, with different insecurities and different flaws and fears.

“No te creo. You’re wrong.”

He pulled his arm out of your reach, huddling into himself as he turned away from you. But you were stubborn, persistent—you drew in a long, deep breath.

“I know it’s hard to recognize something like this within yourself, so let’s go through it one-by-one, okay? It might be easier for you to understand if you can see how it’s true for the other two alters. We’ll start with Steven.”

Jake could practically feel said alter’s breath hitch at your decision, stomach beginning to twist with dread. Still, your eyes were kind and gentle, and they practically glowed with benevolence.

“For Steven—he tries so, so hard to earn affection, like he constantly feels that he has to prove himself in order to show that he’s worth it, that he deserves to be loved. And so when someone shows him even a semblance of care, he latches onto it and doesn’t let go, does everything in his power to convince the person to stay because he doesn’t believe someone could love him for who he is, but only for what he can give them, what he has to offer.”

Christ. That’s true, innit? Is she right?

Steven didn’t receive a response as Jake digested your prognosis. Yeah. It was true. It was a perfect explanation for Steven’s clinginess, his fear of abandonment, his low self-esteem.

“And for Marc...”

We don’t have to listen to this, Jake. Shut this down. Right now.

Jake pressed his fingers to his temples to try and quell the ache that the voices in his head were causing. But if Marc’s obvious perturbation was any indicator, your words were obviously getting to him... which meant you were probably onto something.

“Marc knows how to show love, but he has no fucking clue how to receive it, so he pushes people away. He so, so desperately wants to trust someone, to let them in and be cared for, but he’s too afraid to get attached because he thinks that if someone were to truly know him, he’d scare them off and he’d be left with nothing. His self-preservation instincts forbid him from opening up because the only way he can be hurt is if he gives someone the power to hurt him.”

There was a dull, throbbing ache blooming in Jake's chest as you ran through each of your psychoanalyses. He wasn’t sure where it was coming from—if it was Steven’s or Marc’s pain he could feel, or maybe even his own.

Okay, so maybe your theory did apply to the other two alters. But not to him. Certainly not to him.

He flinched when he felt the the outside of your thigh press against his as you scooted right up against him, your body heat simultaneously sickening and intoxicating. You reached for his hand, fingers intertwining over his knuckles as you leaned forward to try to catch his eye. He refused to look at you.

“And you, Jake. It didn’t make sense to me at first either, but I get it now. You’ve convinced yourself that you don’t want love, that you don’t need it because you never believed it was something you could ever have. You push it all down because the only way to prevent yourself from getting hurt and not feeling bad is to just not feel anything at all.”

He tried to pull away from you, a lump forming in his throat as he shook his head incessantly, but you latched onto him tighter, holding him in place.

“That’s why you’re so rushed in moments of intimacy—you never know when, or if, you’re ever gonna have another chance to feel like that again, so you take what you want and then walk away. You self-sabotage constantly, Jake. You’re cold and you pretend not to care because you can’t admit that you actually care so much, but if you’re mean and convince people to not like you then you don’t have to worry that they’ll get attached. That you’ll get attached.”

“¡Alto!”

He cried, his neck snapping around so he could glare at you, his lip trembling even though he tried with all of his might to stop it.

“Stop. That’s enough.”

He closed his eyes when he saw the sentimentality on your face, the absolute and sheer kindness and understanding that you embodied as you reached forward to cradle his jaw in your hand, thumb swiping across his cheek.

“It’s okay, honey. I know it’s hard right now—I know you don’t, or can’t believe me when I tell you this, but you are worth so, so much, Jake. All of you.”

You let both of your hands reach for his, grasping them tightly in your own and squeezing his fingers. His eyes were shut tight.

“You deserve to be happy, and by God, you deserve to be loved. And maybe this started out as a project, maybe this whole thing came from a stupid science experiment, but I’m glad I found out what I did, because—because I want to spend every day proving to you just how worthy you are.”

There were tears slipping down your cheeks, your voice wavering as you watched his face scrunch up tight as he tried to block out your promises and push away your affections. You didn’t care. You meant every goddamned word.

“However long it takes. I’m going to show you that you deserve to be loved and cared for and appreciated, because you do. You really, really do. I care about you so, so much. Even if you can’t see that yet, even if you can’t see what I see—I’ll prove it to you.”

A broken sob pushed past your lips as you let your face collapse into your hands, tears wetting your palms as you hunched forward, body wracked with your weeping.

“I’m sorry.”

You offered quietly, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm yourself back down. You were normally so much better at keeping your emotions in check.

“I promise, I don’t cry during actual sessions. I really am a better therapist than this.”

The warm slide of fingers against your inner wrist pulled your attention away and your head lifted, eyes meeting the soft, warm brown of Steven’s as he gave you a gentle, soothing smile.

“But you’re more than just a therapist to us, yeah? And we’re more than just a patient.”

His voice was tender, his eyes shining brightly with adoration and compassion as he gazed upon you dotingly. He was trying to calm you down, but his words just pulled another sob from you, despite the fact that you were smiling. The words escaped you before you could even think to stop them.

“I love you, Steven.”

His eyes widened in surprise at your confession, his jaw falling slack as the gears whirred in his mind, trying to wrap his head around your statement.

“You—”

“I love you.”

You reiterated, feeling like a weight had lifted off your chest as you finally, finally owned up to your true feelings.

“I think I always have, and I think I always will. I love you, Steven Grant.”

Your voice was shaky, tears still slipping from your eyes, but even through the haziness of your vision you could see his face crack wide open with a smile, his own eyes turning glassy.

“I love you.”

He repeated, and you gasped when he yanked you into his arms, pulling you into his lap so every part of your body was pressed against him. His hold enveloped you completely, your face pressed into the crook of his neck as he squeezed you impossibly tight, trying with all his might to channel every ounce of his ardor for you into the embrace.

You immediately noticed the change in him when it happened—the way the muscles of his arms suddenly hardened, the way his body seemed to solidify beneath you, the way he suddenly held his breath. You grinned knowingly as you pressed your lips to his ear.

“And I love you, Marc Spector.”

You heard his breath hitch in his throat as he pushed you slightly away from him by your shoulders, his brown eyes searching within yours carefully. Marc’s normally intense expression was softened with adoration as he gazed at you, his eyes still glossy with tears.

He leaned forward and captured your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, your hands reaching up to fist into his hair as he molded against you, his mouth latching onto yours with desperation.

“Love you.”

He muttered against you, and you swallowed the hummed phrase with fervor, your lips twitching up at the corners as you smiled into the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, your hands found either side of his face as you caressed his jaw gently, reverently, your eyes incandescent. Marc turned his head to press a kiss to the pad of your right thumb, his own heart feeling fuller as he completely surrendered himself to his feelings for you.

He watched as your brows furrowed just slightly, and he could read the silent question in your eyes before you even said anything aloud. He offered you one last smirk before he gently shut his eyes and forced Jake to the forefront once again.

You physically felt the moment the switch took place—his legs tensed beneath you and his face pinched into a look of pain beneath your fingers. His eyes squeezed shut even tighter as he tilted his head away from you, trying to flee your touch.

“Jake.”

You whispered quietly, and he shook his head fervidly, his lips turned downward into a deep frown.

“No. Don’t. Please.”

His chest was heaving with labored breaths as he helplessly resisted you, refusing to open his lids in fear of getting sucked into the gentle encumbrance of your eyes.

“I’m only gonna say it once, Jake, and then I won’t say it again until you’re ready. But I need you to know. I need you to listen.”

“Stop. No puedes. You’re hurting me, mi vida.”

His words were raw, throat hoarse with strain as he continued to fight against the temptation. He wouldn’t succumb. He wouldn’t let himself. He couldn’t.

But then he felt your thumbs stroke over his cheekbones, and your warm breath against his face as you spoke.

“Open your eyes, Jake. Please. Look at me.”

He inhaled deeply, once, then twice, before slowly obliging, his lashes fluttering as he finally forced himself to look at you. The authenticity of the grin on your face was dazzling as you leaned in close to him, the tip of your nose brushing against his just slightly. He felt his breathing stutter.

“Te amo, Jake Lockley.”

The last remaining fragment of his resolve crumbled at your whispered words, tears stinging the back of his eyes as they stared deeply into yours, searching desperately for any semblance of deceit or dishonesty. All he found was sincerity.

It’s okay, buddy. You can say it.

He was surprised to hear Marc’s gentle encouragement, his internal voice more gracious than he’d ever heard it before. Finally, he had permission to feel what he felt. To surrender his defenses, to lay down his sword, to be vulnerable. To love you.

But still, he couldn’t find it within himself to say it. Maybe one day he’d be able to, but for now, the most he could do was press his lips to yours, hold you impossibly close, and simply hope that you understood.

He didn’t have a very good basis for comparison, but damn—this sure felt a hell of a lot like love to him.

He only pulled away when he felt the vibration of your giggle against his lips—when you looked up at him, it was Marc staring down at you again.

“We kinda did this whole thing backwards, didn’t we?”

Marc chuckled, too, although his eyes never left your face, carefully taking in every detail—the way your nose crinkled, the brightness of your smile, the creases at the corners of your eyes as you laughed.

“Yeah, I guess we kinda did.”

His hands fell to grip your waist, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips slightly. He leaned in closer and smiled wickedly up at you.

“You just wanted me to fuck you that bad, huh?”

His intention was to see that endearing blush creep up your cheeks as you shied away from his suggestive comment—instead, your eyes darkened, your head tilting back slightly so you could gaze at him from down the length of your nose, lashes fluttering.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

A husky growl escaped Marc’s throat as you shifted in his lap, legs parting so your thighs rested on either side of his hips, straddling him. He could feel the heat emanating from your core already, the hem of your dressed bunched up around your waist and allowing your barely-covered center to hover over his thickening bulge.

Your smirk was devilish as you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his, slowly rolling your hips down to grind against his lap.

“No more research.”

You muttered, lips beginning to trail open-mouthed kisses over the length of his jaw. He threw his head back as his eyes squeezed shut, opening up the expanse of his throat to you. You leaned down to mouth across his neck.

“No more rules. Just you, and me.”

You continued, slowly drifting back up towards his face as your teeth nibbled at his earlobe, causing his breath to hitch.

“We can do whatever we want to each other.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He challenged breathily, his voice a few pitches lower than his normal timbre. You nodded coyly at him, grinding down against him once more. You felt his fingers reach beneath the flowy fabric of your dress to slide over the bare skin of your hips, egging your movements on.

“So what is it that you want, then, hm?”

He almost regretted asking when he saw the devious twinkle in your eyes, feeling your hands slide over his pecs to wrap around his neck. You pressed your lips to his lazily.

“Well, if I recall correctly...”

you started, pulling away just barely to look into his hooded eyes.

“...you’re the only one I never got to taste.”

His hips involuntarily canted upwards at your statement, his body desperately searching for friction as you toyed with him. He let out a breathy groan, his head falling back against the couch cushions as he relaxed backwards, letting you grind against him freely.

“Yeah? You’d like that, baby? Want me to cum in that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You responded with a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing as your tongue explored his mouth while you desperately clawed at him.

“Please, Marc.”

You whispered against his lips, and he chuckled throatily, his diaphragm vibrating with the sound.

“You wanna get on your knees for me?”

He didn’t have to ask twice—you immediately complied, scooting back so he had room to stand in front of you, anxiously awaiting his next movements. He didn’t waste any time in standing up, fingers swiftly working to unbuckle his belt and slip his jeans down off of his legs, kicking them to the side clumsily.

“Look so pretty waitin’ for me, baby. Being so patient.”

He cooed, grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head, tossing it somewhere near his discarded pants as he finally walked the few steps towards where you were knelt before him.

As soon as he was within your reach, your hands palmed at his bulge through his boxers, sliding over the length of it as your thumb pressed against the soft head, dipping into the wet spot of his precum. He tilted his head back slightly, humming out a contented sigh as you leaned forward to place opened mouth kisses over his clothed length, tongue prodding at his tip to taste the saltiness of his arousal that had soaked through the fabric.

“There you go, baby.”

He murmured, one hand reaching up to card through your hair gently. You reached up for his waistband, pulling his briefs down and allowing his cock to spring free. It slapped against his stomach as he stepped out of his underwear, finally completely bare before you.

Your hand immediately found its place around the base of his cock, fingers wrapping around his thick length and beginning to pump it slowly in your loose grasp. He grunted at the sensation, his hips moving forward to press further into your touch.

“You wanna put it in your mouth for me?”

He coaxed, pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. Your gaze met his and the sight of you leaning forward to let the tip of his cock slip between your lips was sinful. Your tongue swiped over the length of the slit, collecting more of his precum as your hand continued to work the rest of him slowly. You began to swallow him down, bit by bit, bobbing your head as you tried your best to maintain eye contact with him, although you were getting lost in the sensations yourself. The heat between your thighs was debilitating, and you fought the urge to reach down and touch yourself as you watch Marc sink into his pleasure above you.

“Yeah, that’s it—fuck.”

He moaned, his other hand coming to grip your hair as well, holding it away from your face. He offered a few experimental thrusts of his hips into your mouth, and you accepted it all with enthusiasm, allowing him to force more of his cock down your throat easily. He pulled away soon after, taking a step back.

“It doesn’t really seem fair that you’re still fully dressed, does it?”

He teased, one brow raising in playful question. You smirked up at him, as if you knew something he didn’t—probably because you did. You slowly worked the fabric of your dress over your head and tossed it to the side, revealing your black lace lingerie set to Marc’s ravenous eyes.

“Fucking hell, baby.”

He practically whimpered, stepping forward and leaning down to palm at your barely-clothed breasts, your nipples peaking through the sheer black material easily.

“Wore it for our date tonight.”

You smiled up at him, his curls tickling against your forehead as he bent down in front of you. His eyes softened a bit as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Raincheck, okay?”

He promised, pecking you once more before standing back to his full height and towering over you once again. His hand came up to fist at his cock, jerking it as he drank in your appearance—the scandalous, revealing undergarment; the docile, alluring gleam in your round eyes; the saliva that shined against your pouted lips. You were absolutely unreal.

“God, baby.”

He groaned, the speed of his hand increasing just slightly.

“Could cum just from lookin’ at you.”

You crawled forward, reaching up to pry his hands away from his length so you could resume your own mission, sucking the tip of his cock back into your mouth as one hand came to fondle at his balls.

He tossed his head back again, pulling your tangled curls into a makeshift ponytail as you bobbed up and down over his throbbing length, one hand squeezing his sack and the other pumping the base of him, where your mouth didn't quite reach.

“Oh, fuck—’m close.”

He grunted, his hips starting to churn forward in time with your strokes. You swirled your tongue over the tip and he hissed, his fingers pulling on your hair just slightly.

“Gonna make me cum, Y/N, shit—you want it? You want me to cum down your throat?”

You nodded to the best of your ability. It was the pitiful look in your eyes that conveyed your true desperation as he looked down at you that finished him, his balls drawing up as the sight of you toppled him over the precipice.

“Oh, fuck, baby, I’m cumming, yes, m’cumming—”

For the first time, he took control of your movements and pressed your face further down onto his cock, holding you there as it swelled against your tongue, pulsing as he shot his load into your throat. You swallowed it all down greedily, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your cunt clenched around nothing, desperate for some stimulation.

When he released his hold on your hair with a satisfied groan, you let his softening cock fall from your mouth with a popping sound, drawing in a gasping breath as you wiped at the spittle that had smeared across your cheeks.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, catching your breath, staying on your knees as you slowly came back down to Earth. You yelped when a pair of strong arms scooped you up suddenly, hoisting you into the air and carrying you off in the direction of the bed.

“Wha—hey!”

You protested, and the man chuckled maniacally from behind you, your head whipping around to meet the dark gleam in the eyes of Jake.

“It’s your turn, mi vida.”

He purred, tossing you down onto the mattress as you squealed. As soon as he released you, he was already on you again, pushing you farther back up the bed so you were propped against the pillows as his lips attacked the exposed skin of your chest, latching onto any open area from your collarbone all the way down to your breasts.

“Fuckin’ love your mouth.”

You whined, almost unconsciously, and you heard Jake chuckle against your skin as he moved to toy at your peaked nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

“Te gustas mi boca, hermosa? Hm?”

You gasped when you felt the pads of his fingertips just barely ghost over the damp center of your panties, your cunt clenching at the sensation.

“Or do you like my fingers more?”

“Fuck, Jake, please.”

You whimpered, eyes round and pleading as he lifted his face up to yours again, his lips curled into a smile. He leaned forward and brushed his nose against yours, connecting your foreheads together as he whispered.

“Why don’t we see which makes you cum the hardest? ¿Vale, mi vida?"

His kiss was bruising as his touch snaked down between your bodies, cupping your mound in his hand, his middle finger brushing over your clit. He pulled away briefly to stare down at how soaked you were—your black nylons were darkened with your slick all the way down to your inner thighs, your lace lingerie bottoms not doing anything to contain your obvious arousal.

“All this, just from sucking cock?”

He tutted at you, letting his fingers stroke over the dampened material of your tights between your thighs.

“No me di cuenta de que eras una cochina.”

He practically tore the ruined nylons from your body, tossing them to the side along with your panties. He gripped your thighs in his hands and forced your legs apart, exposing your aching core to his hungry gaze.

“Mierda. So fucking pretty.”

He murmured, reaching forward to spread your folds with two of his fingers. Your hips jolted from the bed, and he took that as a sign to continue. One thick digit plunged into your quivering hole, pulling a salacious moan from your lips as you tossed your head back in pleasure.

“God, fuck, yes, Jake—”

He slowly began pumping his finger in and out of you, the pace simultaneously excruciating and exhilarating. You felt his other hand reach up to begin toying with your clit as he slipped another finger inside of you.

“This little pussy loves to be filled, eh, bebita?”

His voice was nearly a growl as he focused on the movements of his fingers, beginning to curl his knuckles forward inside of you to prod at the spot that sent you reeling. You felt your climax about to peak.

“Gonna cum, shit, honey, don’t stop, God—”

Your heels dug into the mattress as your back arched from the bed, grinding down against the movement of his hand as you orgasm washed over you.

“Yeah, fuck, cum all over my fingers.”

Jake encouraged, maintaining his pace and watching as your arousal began to trickle down the inside of his wrist, you legs quaking as your cunt clenched around his fingers.

When he felt your body begin to relax back into the mattress, he retracted his hands and immediately replaced them with his mouth, his tongue eagerly lapping at your juices as you keened.

“Fuck, Jake, fuck—”

“Otra vez, mi vida. I need another.”

He muttered into your sex, tongue prodding at your slickened entrance as his hands came to hold your legs wide open for him. Your fingers sank into his dark curls, nails scratching against his scalp as the overstimulation pushed you quickly towards another orgasm.

“Can already feel you clenching around me, hermosa. Gonna cum again? Come on, then. Dámelo."

The bridge of his nose brushed against your clit and you were reeling, your second orgasm seizing control of your body without warning. Jake greedily licked up every drop of your arousal, drinking it straight from the source as his tongue continued to dive into your entrance.

His movements were suddenly soft as you came down from your high, his face pulling away to press tender kisses to the flesh of your inner thighs, his dark eyes staring up at you in almost wonderment.

He creeped back up to your face, giving you a clear view of the shine glossing over his cheeks from his time between you legs. You tasted yourself on his lips when he finally kissed you, slotting his body between your parted legs. You could feel the throbbing hardness of his length against your belly, and you nipped at the swell of his lower lip.

“Want you inside me, honey.”

You whispered, and Jake pulled back slightly, chuckling lightly as he reached to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. The action was intimate, and it caused your breath to hitch.

“I believe you promised Steven a ‘next time,’ yes?”

Jake prompted, one brow quirking slightly. Your lashes fluttered with recognition, and he smiled softly when you nodded in confirmation. He leaned forward to give you a final kiss but you stopped him.

“But—what about you?”

You asked, brows furrowed in concern as your eyes studied his, observing his expression. He shook his head at you adoringly, nuzzling his nose against yours as your foreheads pressed together.

“Mi vida. Getting to watch you fall apart for me is more than I could ever want. Es más que suficiente.”

The sincerity in his tone made your heart flutter, and he pressed a lingering kiss to yours, asking a final question.

“Next time, ¿sí?”

You smiled against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close.

“Next time.”

A giggle erupted from your mouth when he abruptly pulled away and began to pepper your face with kisses, his lips brushing over every square inch of your face as he doted over you.

“Hi there, love.”

Steven greeted timidly, one hand coming up to stroke your cheek as he gazed down at you.

“Long time, no see.”

“Welcome back, Steven.”

You craned your neck to press a peck against the tip of his nose, which scrunched up at the action.

“Missed you.”

His eyes were impossibly warm as he smiled, pressing his body further into yours so your skin practically melded together.

“I love you.”

He whispered, kissing you softly, and a look of serenity washed over your features as you breathed him in.

“I love you, sweet boy.”

He hummed against your mouth, the languid kiss growing more heated by the second as his tongue parted the seam of your lips, his hips rutting into you of their own accord as he tasted you.

“So, about that ‘next time’...”

You started cheekily, squirming as his lips left your mouth to trail down the side of your jaw and across your throat, teeth barely scraping the sensitive skin as he kissed you.

“...I think I remember something about you wanting to make me cum on your cock.”

Steven whined at your words, brows pinching inward as his length throbbed between your bodies, excitement beginning to zip up his spine.

“Gods, yes, darling—don’t think ’ve ever wanted somethin’ so bad in my whole life.”

He confessed, face finding yours again as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, nosing at the place it met your shoulder.

“Then what’re you waiting for?”

You purred, reaching down to wrap your hand around his member and line it up with your awaiting entrance. Steven gasped at the feeling, your soft fingers brushing along his shaft as the head of his cock slid through the slickness of your folds.

“Oh, Christ.”

He breathed, rising up off of you just slightly so he could have a better angle with which to sink into you. His hand replaced yours as the tip teased apart your folds, your shared breathing stuttering at the sensation.

“You ready for me, love?”

He asked softly, muscles trembling with restraint. You reached your arms up to rest your hands on his shoulders, bracing against him.

“Please, Steven. Please, fuck me.”

His half-lidded eyes found yours as he slowly, slowly breached your entrance, the slick walls of your warm channel swallowing him as he pressed further.

“So...bloody...tight.”

He groaned, finally sinking into you fully, all the way to the hilt. Your head was pressed back into the pillows, lips parted in a silent cry. You were the most beautiful creature Steven had ever seen. Absolutely breathtaking.

“Move, please, Steven.”

You begged, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders for support. He immediately obliged, pulling his hips back and snapping them back forward, his balls slapping noisily against your ass as he began to find a steady rhythm.

“God, you’re fuckin’ incredible.”

He praised, mind foggy with bliss as his thoughts drifted far away. His thrusts were picking up speed, his pelvis meeting yours with each downward stroke, and you whined in pleasure, your legs flexing on either side of him as the coil in your stomach began to wind tighter.

He watched your face pinch up in ecstasy, and suddenly he began to panic. He was close already—the feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole was too fucking good, but he was so, so desperate to feel you clamp down around him as you came, to fuck you through your peak, but he couldn’t handle it, he wasn’t gonna be able to—

Relax, Steven. Focus on her.

Marc’s voice sounded from somewhere near the back of his mind. He listened—watching your reaction to each gyration of his hips, the way you bristled every time his pubic bone pressed up against your clit, the way your fingers dug deeper into his muscles on particularly hard thrusts.

Grab one of those pillows and put it under her hips.

Steven hesitated at Marc’s suggestion, his pace faltering just slightly as his brows furrowed. He heard Marc sigh.

I’m trying to help you, buddy. It’ll make it even better for her. Trust me.

Steven did trust him. He briefly stalled the motion of his hips to clamber for one of the pillows beside your head, your expression becoming confused until he wrapped an arm beneath your lower back and lifted your hips off the bed, settling you back down onto the pillow so your pelvis was tilted upwards.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic when Steven began to pound into you again, more fervently this time—the brand new angle pulled him in even deeper, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each hard thrust. Your back arched.

“Oh, fuck, Steven, right there.”

You cried, eyes squeezed shut at the pleasure consumed you. Steven’s jaw fell open as he began to pant, watching the way you were falling apart beneath him.

Press down on her stomach.

Steven didn’t hesitate to obey Marc’s command, and immediately you began to wail—he could feel his cock spearing up against your insides beneath his fingers, the pressure on your abdomen making the sensations even more intense.

“So fucking good, Steven, shit—so close.”

But he was close, too. He could feel his balls tightening, his abs clenching as he desperately tried to hold off his release, frantic to feel you fall apart around him.

Thumb on her clit, hermano.

It was Jake, this time, his suggestion sounding somewhat smug, but Steven didn’t care. His hand on your stomach flexed as he stretched out his thumb, pressing down atop your clit and beginning to rub crude circles on it in time with his rapid thrusts.

You saw stars.

“Oh, fuck, Steven, fuck—I’m cumming—”

Your cunt pulsed around him, walls clamping down over his cock and sucking him into you as your orgasm zapped through your body like a bolt of electricity. You were practically sobbing as your heels dug into the mattress, lifting your hips up to press against him and chase the movement of his thrusts.

“Oh, Gods—that’s so—fuck, yes!”

Steven had never felt anything like it in his entire life—the warm, wet heat surrounding his cock, clamping down tightly as he finally reached his release. He pressed himself flush against you, balls nestled tightly against your ass as he shot his load deep inside of you, hips jerking with each pump of cum that your flexing walls coaxed out of him. Your greedy cunt was milking him, breathy groans falling from his lips as he hovered above you with his eyes closed in pleasure, his spend already creating a creamy ring of white around the base of his cock as he lazily thrusted into you a few more times, his balls drawing up tight to empty every last drop of his seed.

Your vision was spotty as you blinked rapidly, your muscles finally loosening as the last aftershocks of your orgasm faded from your sore body. Steven looked absolutely wrecked—ruddy cheeks, heaving chest, sweat dripping from his curls and down his temples. You weakly reached a trembling hand up towards his face, gently running your fingers through his damp hair and pulling his attention to you. His lashes fluttered open, his hazy eyes regaining focus as they landed on your face—he smiled.

“I love you.”

He said again, feeling at peace with being as close to you as humanly possible in that moment. You pulled his face down towards yours so his forehead rested against your own.

“I love you, too.”

It was Marc who cleaned you up, redressing you in his oversized shirt and making sure you were comfortable and warm beneath the blankets. It was Steven who read Egyptian folktales to you until your eyes got droopy, your face nestled into his shoulder as he softly recited the words aloud, his reading glasses resting atop the bridge of his nose.

But it was Jake who held you while you slept. You didn’t know that, of course—he probably preferred it that way. It would take awhile for him to feel comfortable enough to admit how he truly felt about you, to openly display how much he cared.

But in the quiet solitude of the night, in the darkness of his flat, with the gentle lull of your slow breathing, and with the voices in his mind finally silent, Jake Lockley let himself feel.

He tried to memorize the way your soft body felt wrapped in his arms; the way your warm exhales fanned out across his collarbone; the way your hair tickled his bicep from where your head was cradled; the way you smelled, even through the thick stench of sex and sweat; the way you loved, so completely and unconditionally.

In the early hours of the morning, with no one to bear witness except the one-finned goldfish and the silvery moon, Jake Lockley confessed.

“Te amé desde el primer momento en que te vi.”

He whispered against your temple, words shrouded by the silence in the air.

“Te amaré para siempre.”

One day, he’d be ready for you to hear it. One day, he’d be able to look you in the eyes and repent. One day, he’d believe you when you told him he was worthy of love. One day, he’d make up for lost time and fall headfirst into your warm embrace.

But for now, this would have to do. This would have to be enough.

From within the bottomless depths of your tranquil slumber, you smiled.

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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EQUIFINALITY | SPRING

PART TWO, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (6.2k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, graphic depictions of injury & medical treatment, discussions about murder & death, age gap (not mentioned), allusions to smut DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. this part is genuinely upsetting, i’m sorry in advance. NOTES: this part takes place after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson.

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He slept for almost 36 hours straight when they finally arrived back in Jackson.

He at least had the mind to shower before he collapsed into the mattress—scrubbing away the accumulation of filth and grime that his body had collected throughout the course of the past few months with Ellie. He spent an unreasonable amount of time picking at the dried blood beneath his fingernails—mostly because he wasn’t sure if it was his own, or someone else’s.

He nearly pissed himself when something smacked him on the backside of the head, startling him awake with a jolt and immediately forcing him into a sitting position.

When he regained his bearings, he saw Ellie standing next to the bed with a cheeky grin on her face, the pillow she’d hit him with clutched tightly in her hands. Joel reached a hand to cradle the back of his head, still reeling from the sudden and abrupt intrusion on his rest.

“Now why the hell would you go and do a thing like that?”

He tried to sound angry, intimidating, but his grogginess created a more bewildered tone than anything. Ellie snickered wickedly, her eyes lit up with mischief.

“I was making sure you weren’t fuckin’ dead. You’ve been asleep for more than a day.”

Joel’s eyes darted from her figure out towards the window, where the afternoon sun was just beginning to fall, the horizon line painted with fiery shades of crimson and gold. His brow furrowed.

“We got in early this mornin’, what are you even talking about?”

He laid back down with a grunt, making a move to roll over and get some more shut-eye, but Ellie grabbed his shoulder and forced him to stay facing her.

“No, genius. We got in early yesterday morning.”

He slowly pulled himself upright in bed, again, face pinched together in confusion.

“No, that’s not—no.”

He insisted, although he forced himself to shimmy from beneath the covers and onto his feet, walking towards the window to gaze outside more closely.

Ellie watched his movements with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Seems like you really needed the sleep, huh, Joel?”

His brain felt foggy, muddied with exhaustion. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d allowed himself to sleep freely—but in the comfort of a home, with four walls and a roof, an inviting mattress with somewhat intact blankets, he finally succumbed to the fatigue that consumed him.

Joel startled when Ellie lightly smacked the pillow against his back in an effort to regain his attention.

“Your brother’s waiting for you outside. I would’ve let you sleep forever, but he told me to come wake you up.”

He ran a tired hand down his face before he settled both hands on his hips, looking down at Ellie just as her lips curled into a teasing grin.

“Besides, your girlfriend is worried about you.”

Joel blinked, his brows lowering into a glare that he aimed towards the girl.

“Knock it off. Go tell Tommy I’ll be there in five minutes.”

When she finally left him in peace, her footsteps fading down the staircase with heavy stomps, Joel sat back down on the edge of the bed, trying to quell the headache that was already forming behind his eyes. Christ, he’d really slept that long?

His mind flickered to you. He hadn’t seen you since he'd returned—of course, you were the first thing on his mind when he’d passed through the gates of Jackson, but he was too ashamed to face you. Your most recent interaction hadn’t been particularly friendly, and he wasn’t quite sure how you’d react to seeing him, even several months later.

But Ellie had already stopped in to see you—he caught sight of the butterfly bandages placed atop the gouge in her forehead, holding the wound closed with precision. He imagined the gentleness in your fingers as you’d treated the wound, the fondness in your eyes that undoubtedly sparked when you spoke with the girl—the same look you’d once held for Sarah.

With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet again, slipping a flannel over his black t-shirt and lacing up his boots. Much to his surprise, he found himself pausing in the entrance of the bathroom to check his appearance. There was a toothbrush, and toothpaste, and he allowed himself to indulge in the amenities the quaint household provided—rinsing his face with cool water, putting on deodorant, combing through his grown-out hair with his fingers. God, when was the last time he’d actually thought about how he looked? You always brought out the strangest parts of him.

Tommy lifted a brow when his brother finally exited the front door, closing it shut behind him.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

He teased, smirking lightly at Joel. The man rolled his shoulders back, feeling his joints pop and his bones creak in protest. He cracked his neck before fixing his eyes on Tommy.

“Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

Tommy chuckled, beginning to trek towards the town square with Joel trailing closely behind.

“I know how you are about keepin’ watch while you’re out there. When’s the last time you got more than a few hours of shut-eye?”

Joel didn’t reply, which was enough of a response for Tommy to know his assumptions had been correct.

“Where’s Ellie?”

He asked finally, immediately noticing the lack of the girl’s presence—especially considering that they hadn’t been apart for practically a year.

“At the stables. She likes helpin’ out there, gets along with the horses.”

Joel hummed in response.

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the crackling of gravel beneath their uniformed footfalls.

Tommy walked him right to the entrance to the MEDICAL facility.

“She don’t wanna see me.”

Joel grumbled, and although his eyes were cast to the ground, they quickly shot up to stare at his brother at the sound of his incredulous laughter. Tommy shook his head at him.

“Oh, please. She’s been worryin’ herself sick over your sorry ass.”

Joel’s expression softened a bit at Tommy’s admission, and the nerves that were clinging to his insides were briefly replaced with a pang of guilt. His brother sighed, leaning in a bit closer and lowering his voice.

“Look, you didn’t hear this from me, alright? But—about three days after you took off, she tried to follow you.”

Joel felt his jaw go slack at the information, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides.

Tommy took notice of his reaction, but continued nonetheless.

“Tried to sneak out between guard shifts. Luckily Maria and I caught her in time—I had a feelin’ she'd pull somethin’ like that, but—she was a wreck, Joel. Haven’t seen her so upset since her momma’s funeral.”

Joel’s eyes fell to the ground once more, his throat feeling hoarse with emotion. He didn’t deserve that. You shouldn’t have been willing to risk your life for him. Not after everything he’d done.

Tommy clapped a hand onto Joel shoulder.

“Go on, man. She’ll be glad to see you’re still kickin’—and she’ll be able to help you with all your...”

Tommy gestured to Joel’s face with a vague wave of his hand, referencing the various nicks and bruises he’d acquired along his journey.

Joel watched his brother walk away from him, hands sitting heavy in his pockets.

Someone exiting the clinic brought his attention back to the building in front of him—he watched a teenage girl with ginger hair shuffle out of the door, a plastic baggy of feminine products clutched tightly in her hands.

Joel reached to hold the door open for her, and she offered him a brief grateful smile before departing, leaving the man to enter the waiting room with his stomach churning with nerves.

There were people in there, this time. An older gentleman in a rocking chair, a dated magazine held in front of his face, and a young Asian man sitting behind the makeshift reception counter. The boy smiled meekly as Joel cautiously walked further into the place.

“Welcome in. You’re... Joel, right?”

He asked, brows raised knowingly. Joel nodded, a bit surprised that his name was already known to someone outside of his immediate circle.

The boy turned to the other occupant of the room.

“Hey, Ron? Do you mind coming back in tomorrow morning? Doc said that him and the girl get priority treatment.”

The boy jutted his thumb towards Joel in reference, and he stuttered.

“Wha—no, I don’t need—”

“No problem, Ian. Let ‘er know I stopped by, okay? Just wanted her to check on my bum shoulder.”

Ron accepted the news graciously, a bit overzealous for what the situation called for. He stood to take his leave, offering a crooked smile to the two other men.

“Tell Y/N I said to have a good night.”

He winked playfully, and Joel’s nose crinkled slightly, although Ian just laughed it off.

“You got it, sir.”

The bell chimed when the door shut behind Ron, and Ian turned back to Joel.

“She’ll just be another minute.”

He assured, subtly hinting that Joel could take a seat somewhere in the waiting room. The man awkwardly nodded in thanks before slowly making his way over to the nearest piece of furniture. Just as he went to sit himself down on the worn leather sofa, the door to the office pushed open.

“—and just let me know if you’re feeling any more discomfort, okay? Hopefully those meds will help, but if not, we can try something a little stronger.”

Your voice spilled from the open doorway, your figure following closely behind a middle-aged woman whose arm was in a sling.

“Thanks, doc, I appreciate it.”

The woman smiled, and Joel watched your eyes crinkle as you grinned in return.

“Hey, it’s no problem, really. Can’t wait to hear more about the harvest yields for this Spring.”

You sounded sincere, but Joel knew you well enough to recognize the slight sarcastic lilt to your tone, and he felt the corner of his lip twitch upward at your feigned enthusiasm.

The woman nodded gratefully, opening her mouth as if to continue the aforementioned conversation, but then your eyes flitted to Joel’s awaiting figure and you lifted a hand to cut her off.

“Sorry, Opal, but I’ve got another patient to get to. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You were gentle but firm, and the woman nodded in understanding, eyes passing over Joel briefly before she offered a modest farewell and exited the facility.

The air stagnated between the two of you, eyes simply drinking each other in without words being spoken. After a few tense moments of silence, your face turned towards Ian, although your eyes were still trained on Joel’s face.

“Hey, kid, thanks for your help today. Why don’t you head out early and enjoy the nice weather?”

Ian’s head perked up at your suggestion.

“Really? You sure?”

You glanced at him finally, smiling softly.

“Of course. This’ll be my last client for the day, anyhow. And don’t worry, I’ll still mark you off for the full shift.”

You offered, and the boy thanked you once more before grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and following in Opal’s steps as he pushed through the door.

You were alone.

Joel didn’t know what to say, but luckily, you offered him some reprieve by breaking the silence yourself.

“So. I see you’re out of hibernation.”

Your right brow quirked upward slightly, the scar on your face creasing as you smirked teasingly at him. He felt himself grow bashful.

“Yeah, I—I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was ‘til I woke up a day and a half later.”

The angelic sound of your laughter was divine as you regarded him softly, a warm smile lighting up your features.

“Hey, your body obviously needed the sleep. Heard you’ve been through Hell and back since the last time I saw you.”

His face darkened slightly, his features turning stony. He shifted his gaze away from your face, knowing that you were the only person capable of cracking him open with just a single glance.

“What all did she tell you?”

He asked quietly, referring to Ellie. You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the doorframe.

“Most of it, I think.”

Joel rolled his eyes, a low groan of annoyance escaping him.

“Can never keep her fuckin’ mouth shut.”

He mumbled to himself, but you obviously heard.

“Hey, don’t be mad at her. Like I told you before, I’m easy to talk to. That’s part of my job, anyway—70 percent doctor, 20 percent therapist.”

Your smile was lopsided as you joked with him.

“What about the other ten?”

He questioned, feeding into your playful banter. You laughed.

“Ten percent is me pretending to know what the fuck I’m doing.”

A small smile invaded his face before he could stop it, and you reciprocated the gesture, your eyes twinkling with triumph at your ability to make the seemingly unbreakable man surrender his defenses, even if just for a second.

You gestured with a slight nod of your head for him to join you in the examination room—you were a bit embarrassed with yourself when you felt your heart rate pick up when Joel started walking towards you, your face flushing when he briefly towered over you while brushing past through the door.

Without any prompting, he found his place on the steel exam table without complaint. You let the door click shut behind you as you walked towards your desk, grabbing a pair of latex gloves.

“Heard someone tried to use you for batting practice.”

You started, making your way towards him on the table. He shook his head slightly at your joke, his hand instinctually reaching up to rest over where the wound was still healing.

“Yeah. It—well, wasn’t great. Got infected, too. Told Ellie she shoulda come back here and left me, but she’s too damn stubborn for her own good.”

“Hmm. Sounds a lot like someone else I know.”

You teased, stopping a few feet in front of him. He rolled his eyes.

“Can you take of your shirt?”

Your question startled him, his body tensing as he lips parted slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face. Your inquiry was serious, he realized.

“What—I don’t—”

You genuinely hadn’t comprehended the implications of your statement—it was just standard protocol; you needed to examine his injury. But you saw a blush creeping up his cheeks beneath his patchy beard, and your body mimicked the response.

“Sorry. I mean—you don’t have to, but I need to see how everything’s healing up. You can just lift it up if that’d make you more comfortable.”

A wicked retort sprang to his mind and rolled over his tongue—he didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until he watched your eyes widen at his words.

“If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Joel’s own eyes widened as his inhale turned sharp, surprised and somewhat appalled with himself. Your expression mirrored his own, heat pooling in your cheeks as you froze, paralyzed.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry, that just—dunno why I said that, just reminded me of that time you—”

“I remember.”

You cut him off curtly, face and neck stinging with embarrassment. It was a call back to one of your prior shameless flirtation attempts when you were young—the same night your mother died, the same night he kissed you for the very first time.

“I’m… surprised, that you do.”

His brows furrowed at that. An ache settled somewhere within his ribcage, squeezing around his heart.

“Darlin’—I remember everythin’. All of it.”

You looked away, trying to keep yourself in the present moment—you could feel yourself slipping back into your memories, the night he’d left you, cold and alone on your living room floor. The things he’d said. The truth he’d spilled.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, taking a slow deep breath to combat his own humiliation. Before he could wallow in anticipation any longer, he shouldered off his red flannel and lifted the black undershirt over his head, setting it at his side.

Oh, God, you felt faint. Nauseous, even. How many times had you thought about this? Sure, you’d seen Joel shirtless on a couple occasions—at the pool a few times, when he just rolled out of bed in the morning, when the Texas heat was too unbearable. But that was years ago. And now—it felt different, now. More intimate.

You took in a deep breath, walking towards him with purpose. Focus, damnit. This is your job.

But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the newly exposed skin of his torso. His chest was smattered with faint salt-and-pepper curls, his skin peppered with white scars and abrasions that contrasted the tan of his skin. The muscles of his pectorals flexed, and your eyes wandered over the soft expanse of his stomach, before settling in on the wound on his lower right side.

“Can you lie back for me?”

Your words sounded somewhat breathless, and you cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away from his chest to meet his eyes. There was doubt swirling behind them, insecurity, and your heart yearned to comfort him, to press your lips to every inch of skin and assure him that he’s still as beautiful as he was twenty years ago, your feelings hadn’t changed, Joel, I still love—

Joel heeded your request, turning to the side and cautiously lowering himself down onto his back, the cold steel like ice against his skin, causing him to hiss.

You inhaled through your nose when you finally approached him, closing the gap and leaning in to inspect the area more closely.

It was healing up well, all things considered. The skin surrounding the wound was inflamed, but it certainly could be worse. However, the crude blue thread that had been used to stitch his skin closed was mildly concerning to you.

Joel felt your hair tickle against the skin of his abdomen, the light brush of your gloved fingers tracing over the afflicted area.

He stared up at the ceiling, trying not to focus on the way your hot breath felt against his lower stomach. The last time you’d been this close to him, you were on your knees between his legs the night before his birthday.

“You know,”

He started softly, mulling the words over in his mind before speaking.

“you seem to remember more than I thought you did, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers stilling over his skin at his statement. You knew exactly what he was referring to—the confession you’d regrettably included in the farewell letter you’d given him before he left Jackson with Ellie. You probably shouldn’t have remembered, but it was hard not to—the rest of that night was a blur, sure, your memory clouded over from the mixture of liquor and drugs in your bloodstream, but you couldn’t forget the way he’d laid beside you, his lips brushing over your fingers, your hands tracing the outline of his face so you could commit it to memory, keep it close to you. The promise he’d made.

“S’all I’ve ever wanted, Joel. All I think I’ll ever want—to be with you.”

You’d confessed with bleary eyes.

“Will you kiss me, Joel?”

The tenderness in his eyes suffocated you, smothering you with the uncharacteristic softness of his gaze.

“Tell you what,”

he’d said.

“You close your eyes, and keep ‘em closed for five minutes, and I’ll kiss you.”

“I’m gonna have to remove the stitches.”

You stated, tone suddenly cold and matter-of-fact as you pulled yourself out of your recollection.

His head lifted to look at you just as you turned towards the shelf on the wall, retrieving some supplies and setting them on a metal surgical tray.

“Why? S’healin’ fine.”

He insisted, and you pursed your lips, sliding the cart closer to you so you’d have the supplies at the ready.

“We can keep them in, if you really want, but that could lead to some serious complications down the road. This is sewing thread, Joel, it won’t dissolve on it’s own. If your skin heals over it, it could lead to more infection and a nasty looking scar.”

He grunted in acknowledgement, not particularly excited about the prospect of reopening an old wound, picking at the scab. If only he knew that’s exactly what he was forcing you to do...

“Joel? Is that okay? I’ll numb it first.”

You slid your office chair up towards his face, leaning over him slightly to catch his eyes. Your silhouette was framed by the harsh light behind your head, creating a fuzzy halo of glow around you. He nodded dumbly, somewhat hypnotized by your proximity—shit, he’d let you do just about anything to him if you looked at him like that.

He watched you slide back down towards his waist, your hand dipping into the half-empty tub of lidocaine ointment and swiping a generous amount on your index finger. Joel hissed when the cooling sensation hit his skin, your touch smoothing it over his tender flesh carefully.

“Sorry.”

You whispered absentmindedly, reaching for your forceps and a pair of small medical scissors.

“Let me know if it hurts, okay? The internal abrasion seems to be healed, it’s just the entrance wound left. It shouldn’t bleed too much and you shouldn’t be able to feel it, but there might be a slight pinching sensation. Okay?”

“Jesus, you sound like a real doctor.”

He chuckled quietly to himself, folding his hands atop his chest and trying to relax as he felt you move towards the wound. You let out a breath of a laugh.

“Yeah, well, maybe not officially licensed, but by apocalypse standards…”

Your forceps tucked beneath the loop of the first suture, gently coaxing it out from beneath the scar tissue. His abdominal muscles rippled, but you forced yourself to focus.

“I’m about as qualified as they come.”

He let you work in silence for the most part, teeth gritted and jaw clenched tightly as you pulled each stitch out cautiously. He definitely wasn’t gonna admit to you that he could feel each pull of string beneath his skin, tugging against the tender flesh of his insides.

“Ellie didn’t do half bad.”

You chuckled slightly, discarding another removed stitch on your tray.

“Might be givin’ me a run for my money.”

You heard Joel huff.

“Yeah, well, lemme tell you—you’ve certainly got a gentler touch, that’s for sure.”

That earned a giggle from you, although you immediately quieted when Joel grunted in pain as the stitch you were working on got caught on the edge of his torn skin.

“Shit, sorry.”

You whispered, one hand reaching to soothingly rub across the healthy, untarnished skin just above the wound, on his lower stomach. Joel squeezed his eyes shut tightly at the feeling of your fingers brushing across his navel, his brows pinched with pain. Or, at least, you thought it was pain. He knew differently.

When you got down to the final two sutures, your eyes grew soft.

“You’re lucky to be alive, cowboy.”

Your breathy laugh was humorless, more an expression of disbelief than humor. He shook his head in acknowledgement, humming.

“Believe me. Say that to myself that every damn day.”

“No, Joel.”

His head lifted at the sincerity in your tone as you removed the final stitch. You reached for a sterile piece of gauze, soaking it in antiseptic solution before carefully wiping away the blood that had begun to seep from the site of the removed suture.

“This... this should’ve killed you.”

His features softened just slightly as the severity of your remark dawned on him. He knew you were probably right. He’d felt himself slipping several times when he was fighting for his life on that dingy mattress in that musty basement—but he always pulled himself back.

“Couldn’t let that happen.”

He admitted quietly, letting his muscles final relax as you finished cleaning up his injury.

“Ellie... she needed me.”

You were silent as you moved to dispose of the used supplies, putting the rest back in the rightful spots on the shelf.

Joel watched your movements carefully, the contortion of your shoulder blades beneath your deep purple scrubs as you reached up on your tiptoes to put something on a high shelf. When you’d finished, you paused for a moment with your back facing him. He saw your fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically at your sides.

“M’sorry, Joel.”

You finally spoke, voice quiet.

“About everything I said. I shouldn’t have—”

“You were right.”

Joel Miller wasn’t sure he’d ever said those words aloud before—he was never one to admit he was wrong or own up to his mistakes, too prideful and headstrong for his own good. You turned to face him, your eyes cloudy as they scanned his face, scrutinizing his features carefully. He propped himself up on his elbows.

“About Ellie. About—about me. Wouldn’t’ve been able to live with myself if somethin’ had happened to her, if I hadn’t been there. I almost—”

He felt tears spring to his eyes as he thought back on the moment Ellie had rushed into his arms, face speckled with blood.

“—almost lost her, and I couldn’t—”

“—I know.”

You cut him off softly, taking a few steps towards him to sit back down in your chair and roll closer to him. He was grateful that you’d granted him a reprieve from speaking. He rapidly blinked back the tears flooding him.

“She told me. About—about David.”

Joel’s brows lifted, his eyes on yours.

“She did?”

He asked, slightly breathless and entirely surprised.

“She never—I still don’t know everythin’ that happened, she didn’t wanna talk—”

“I think that’s probably for the best.”

You nodded sadly, and Joel watched the movement of your arm as it lifted and reached for his hand, fingers wrapping around his comfortingly. The feeling of your soft skin against the callousness of his palm made his pulse jump.

“I’m—I’m glad she told you.”

He started slowly, eyes still fixated on your intertwined fingers.

“Glad she has someone to talk to.”

Your grin was small, but genuine, and you lifted your other hand to clasp his between both of your own.

“It’s good to get that stuff of your chest.”

You agreed, and Joel nodded quietly, letting his head fall back against the steel table as he stared up at the ceiling. Your next words made him falter.

“Speaking of… you ever gonna tell anyone what really happened in Salt Lake City?”

Joel’s neck almost snapped with how quickly he turned to stare at you. His mouth fell open, and you quickly backtracked at his abrupt reaction, pulling your hands away.

“I mean—it doesn’t have to be me, I’m just sayin’—it’s not good for you, to carry that all by yourself. That shit’s gonna eat you alive.”

His mind was racing, thoughts stumbling over each other at a mile per minute. You must’ve interpreted his silence as disapproval, because you sighed as you rolled your chair across the room towards your desk, busying yourself with the papers that were scattered about.

Joel pushed himself upward into a sitting position, his legs dangling off the side and his back leaning against the wall. He watched you carefully, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he reeled.

You cautiously breached the silence that permeated the room, although you still pretended to be preoccupied with another task.

“Ellie told me what you’d said—about what happened. They stopped lookin’ for a cure, there were others who were immune. Who knows, maybe that really is the truth, but I feel like I know you better than that, and I—”

“I killed them.”

It was barely above a whisper, his confession, but you heard it loud and clear. The statement rang through your ears like a church bell, vibrating within your skull. You froze, slowly turning to face Joel once again. He seemed to be staring straight through you, his face set in resolution and jaw rippling as he continued.

“All of ‘em. They—they were gonna kill ’er. The fungus, it’s—s’in her brain, they said the only way to get a sample was to... to—”

You nodded knowingly, standing up from your chair to approach him slowly, your eyes soft and sympathetic. He felt gross, disgusting, repulsive, your gaze far too tender for the atrocities he was admitting to. His breath hitched caught in his throat when he tried to speak again, the tears he had been rapidly blinking away gathering back in his waterline.

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t let them do that, I couldn’t. I mean—she’s just a kid, they didn’t understand, and—they wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I had—had to go through them, it was the only way—only way to save ‘er."

A tear fell from his left eye, overflowing until it slipped down the side of his cheek. He reached up to swipe it away as you finally reached him. You were paused in front of him, standing between his widely spread legs. Your eyes never wandered from his.

You knew what he meant—knew deep down why he did what he did, even if he wouldn’t or couldn’t admit it. He’d lost Sarah. He couldn’t lose another daughter. Not on his watch.

He flinched away when your hand reached up to cradle his face, your thumb swiping over his tear-stained cheek as your fingers slipped behind his ear, threading into his hair. No, you shouldn’t be touching him, he didn’t deserve your pity—

“You can’t tell her.”

He suddenly begged, his hand reaching up to grab your wrist desperately, his eyes wide and pleading.

“She can never know, Y/N, she’d never forgive me, I need you to—“

“It’s alright, cowboy. You have my word. Okay?”

The self-hatred he felt was sickening him, festering deeply in the pit of his stomach even as your thumb rubbed soothingly against his cheek, over his graying beard.

Why didn’t you hate him? Why were you still here? He was a monster, he was evil, sick, twisted—

“Stop.”

He finally came to his senses, using his grip on your wrist to pull your hand away from him and gently urge you to step backwards.

“Stop, don’t—don’t go feelin’ sorry for me, don’t go and—and—you don’t know all the things I’ve done, you don’t—”

“I know you, Joel.”

Even though it was gentle, your tone was firm and insistent.

“I know you. I might not know all the things you’ve done, but that doesn’t change who you are, deep down.”

He shook his head. You didn’t understand, couldn’t understand—

“We’re like trees.”

His brows furrowed at that, confusion evident on his face at your sudden and seemingly random shift in conversation.

“Tree trunks, they—they have rings. The innermost ring of the tree is the oldest, and as the trees grow, as time passes, new rings are added, but the core of it always stays the same.”

You pressed yourself closer again, meeting his resistance with ample willpower.

“It doesn’t matter if the outer layers wither, if they decay, if they’re ugly—it’s still the same tree on the inside.”

He shook his head. You and your stupid fucking analogies.

“You don’t get it. ’M not who I was. I’m—everythin’ about me is bad, Y/N, I’m—I’ve rotted straight through to my core.”

To his surprise, you smiled at him, sad but reassuring, shaking your head.

“No. You’re still here. You’re still standing. If the badness had reached all the way to your middle, you’d just be a stump.”

“Can we stop with this damn metaphor? M’not a fuckin’ tree.”

He grumbled, but then you were moving closer against him, standing between his splayed legs with your hips flush against the metal edge of the table as you pushed your chest against his bare torso. His breath hitched.

“No, you’re not. But you’re still Joel. Yeah, things are different. But I still see him in there, the person I knew, the person I—I loved. See it when you look at Ellie, and Tommy. See it when you laugh. See it in your eyes.”

No, no, no—what was he doing? You were so good, so painfully kind, and good, and his poison was going to seep into your fingertips and taint your perfect disposition.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been the person you thought I was.”

His eyes met yours, and he could see your face fall slightly before you recovered, helplessly trying to change his mind.

“Maybe not. But you already said it today—you remember. You remember the way things were, the person you used to be. Those memories, those reminders—they’re proof. Your now can’t erase the then.”

You felt dizzy, lightheaded—every fiber of your being was screaming at you to stop, back off, you’re gonna hurt yourself all over again, slam the door and walk away—but the despondency in his eyes was simply devastating. It was always his damn eyes.

His entire body seized up tight when you slowly lowered your head down towards his stomach, maintaining eye contact as your warm breath passed over his navel. He watched on silently as your lips brushed over the wound you’d just tended to, featherlight and barely-there, but the touch was searingly hot.

“The same Joel who had magic kisses.”

You raised your head again, lifting your arms to wrap loosely around his neck, coaxing him forward towards you. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He let you guide him closer into your embrace.

“The same Joel who can’t wrap a damn Christmas gift."

His lip slightly quirked up at the corner as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“The same Joel who’s never been to a college party.”

His eyelids fluttered as your nose brushed against his. You were gazing at him from beneath your lashes, tempting and so damn sweet. He felt your warm exhale across his cheeks.

“The same Joel who still owes me that kiss.”

For a brief moment, he lost himself, his mind emptying until all that was left was you, everywhere, overwhelming and all-consuming. But as you leaned forward to close the gap, he knew he couldn’t do this to you. Not again. Couldn’t let you give yourself away to someone so unworthy.

“Your dad.”

He said suddenly, his words loud and intruding in the small distance between you. You felt the vibrations on your lips when he spoke, and you drew back quickly, the haze of desire in your eyes replaced with a puzzled look.

“What?”

Joel stared you down, arming himself against your targeted attacks on his protective barriers.

“Your—your old man. He was one of the doctors at the Firefly hospital.”

His words rammed into you like a fucking semitruck, the wind momentarily knocked out of you. You stumbled back slightly, your shoulders bracing with tension as a new emotion flickered over your face—fear.

“You’re—you’re lying.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Joel's brief apathy corroded at the sight of such horror on your face, his eyes flooding with tears yet again as he squeezed them shut. He had the sudden uncontrollable urge to wrap you in his arms and shield you from the world, to protect you—but how could he? How could he possibly protect you from himself?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—by the time I’d realized, it was already too late, and I—”

“I didn’t even think he was still alive.”

His lids snapped open to look at you once more where the initial shock on your face had worn off, replaced with a frigid sort of acceptance, a jarring finality. Joel felt like he was suffering from whiplash at your abrupt change in demeanor.

“Never got close enough to see him in California. At least now I know.”

You couldn’t be fucking serious. You were just... content with this? Forgiving Joel so easily, so readily? What the fuck was wrong with you?

But then he saw the way your posture shifted, suddenly on the defensive, your stare now pierced with suspicion and criticism. The tenderness in your eyes had shifted to communicate your wariness, your distrust. For the first time, it was like you were looking into the face of a stranger.

Somehow, he felt more comfortable with this than the love you’d so shamelessly displayed for him just moments prior. This, he deserved. This, he could handle.

“Y/N—”

“I think you should go.”

You declared curtly, shutting him out completely as your turned away. You felt your heart begin to split in two all over again—you hated the sudden animosity you felt towards the man you cared so deeply for, but it was threatening to overwhelm you as you listened to him sigh heavily, his feet thumping against the ground as he slid off of the table.

You heard the rustling of his clothes as he slipped his shirt back over his head, his posture sagging lowly as he stared at your back, the distance between you two only widening with each shaky rise and fall of your shoulders.

It was better this way, Joel convinced himself. Better for you to hate him than to love him. Better for him to push you away than to let you back in. Better for both of you to keep moving forward without looking back—better to hurt you a little now before he hurt you a lot later.

He left without another word.

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

Text

FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 3

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Jake Lockley x afab!psychologist!reader (13.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, doggystyle, spanking, mean!Jake, degradation, dacryphilia, daddy/papi kink, cum eating, creampie, soft sex, needy/touch-starved!Jake, praise kink, dirty talk), lots of spanish NOTES: jake lockley deserves so much love. this was hard to write, i had so much i wanted to put into this chapter and i hope it all came through okay. also, i am not a native spanish speaker, but i worked really hard to make sure all of my conjugations/phrases were correct, but still, feel free to correct me! this is the final case study installment of this series, there will be one final concluding chapter (+ potentially a bonus part bc i’m feeling generous) DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

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CASE STUDY: JAKE LOCKLEY

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Protector

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Dismissive

CHARACTERISTICS: volatile, tenacious, arrogant, cunning, reticent; a true adrenaline junkie (engages in risky behavior in an attempt to fill his emotional deficit with a brief but intense adrenaline rush); extremely autonomous.

SPLIT FROM HOST: ??? currently unknown/unconfirmed (predicted to have emerged as a result of some feeling of physical inadequacy or repeated threats to safety; may potentially trace back to host's service in the military).

TRAUMA RESPONSE: thinks every hill is one to die on; unwilling to compromise or make sacrifices in fear of revealing vulnerability; maintains face no matter the consequence.

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: demanding, excitable, impetuous, unapologetic, aggressive; unafraid to take what he wants, but uncomfortable with affection.

Your heart was picking up speed as you knocked loudly against the door for the fifth time.

Surely he was inside. Where the hell else would he be? You’d texted with him just hours before—well, technically not Jake, since he refused to use a phone, but Marc—confirming that you were still good for your previously scheduled arrangement. Had he changed his mind? Did something happen?

Your anxiety got the better of you as you fished around in your jacket pocket to pull out your keyring. Steven had given you a copy of the key to their flat in case you ever needed it, or if you wanted to come over before he got home from work. You had yet to actually use it, but you figured this constituted as enough of an emergency to warrant your uninvited entrance.

You clumsily slipped the brass into the keyhole and jiggled it, twisting it until you heard the click of the lock. You silently prayed that Jake—or whoever was fronting—hadn’t engaged any of the other locks on the door that could only be unhinged from the inside. Fortunately for you, the knob twisted and the door swung open with ease, revealing the familiarity of the flat within.

It was... quiet. Not eerily so, but enough to make you proceed with caution. Everything appeared to be in order, undisturbed and in its place, but still, you felt a sense of uneasiness crawl up your spine.

You weren’t a stranger to the feeling, though. You often felt this way when you were in the company of Jake. You enjoyed his presence, and wanted to get to know him better, but still, he was unpredictable and volatile—you never knew what to expect when he was fronting. You couldn’t read him as well as the other two alters, and as someone who had an affinity for picking up on unspoken emotional cues, you weren't particularly fond of the element of surprise.

You heard a low buzz from somewhere off to your right, and as the door clicked shut behind you, you wandered towards the source of the noise on the other side of the apartment. As you grew closer, you recognized the previously indiscernible sound—humming.

“...Jake?”

You called out softly, and just as rounded the edge of the bookshelf that separated the living space from the bedroom, the door to the bathroom flew open.

The man in question strolled through the doorway, steam billowing behind him, whistling to himself, but he froze when he saw you standing before him. He quickly recovered from his initial shock, however.

“Bebita. Looks like you need to work on your patience.”

He teased, and you felt your mouth run dry as you took in his appearance. He’d clearly just finished up in the shower—there were still droplets of water rolling down his shoulders and the toned skin of his chest and abdomen, trailing southbound where a white towel hung lowly on his hips. You could see the dark hair of his happy trail against his navel, the towel very loosely covering his modesty. His hair was wet and tussled, curls falling across his forehead, and you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t one of the most attractive sights you’d ever seen in your life.

Much to your chagrin, he seemed to pick up on the effect that his appearance had on you. You watched as his lips curled into a devilish grin, staring at you with a depraved look in his deep brown eyes that only Jake was capable of.

“Why—Why didn’t you answer the door?”

Your voice wavered slightly, betraying you in your attempt to appear collected. His head tilted slightly in question.

“Because...I was in the shower.”

Oh. Right.

You swallowed, lips downturned into a small frown, suddenly feeling sheepish at your previous concern for his safety. However, your focus returned to Jake as he slinked forward, taking a few slow, deliberate steps in your direction.

“You’re blushing, mi vida. Am I making you nervous?”

You unconsciously shook your head at his question, although you could feel your heart racing in your chest as he drew closer to you.

“No? Hm, that’s a shame. I could’ve sworn I saw you staring at my cock.”

He paused when only a foot and a half remained between you, and you felt your face grow even redder at his statement. As much as you tried to resist, as much as you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, your gaze involuntarily flickered down to glance at his crotch—you could see the outline of his hardening member through the soft material of the towel, more prominent than it had been even a few seconds prior.

A dark chuckle escaped him, and you forced your gaze back onto his face. He was grinning wickedly, gazing at you with a carnal gleam in his eye.

“Está bien, bebita. I know how much you like it. That’s why you rushed in here, isn’t it? Didn’t want to wait for papi’s cock any longer?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your jaw fell slack at the nickname he assigned to himself—you felt your knees grow weak. Just as you’d said—unpredictable. You certainly hadn’t expected that.

But fuck, you really liked it.

His smirk turned into a toothy grin as he observed your reaction to his taunt. One more step towards you and you were only a short distance apart. You could see moisture congregating in the divot of his collarbone, and you desperately wanted to lick at the pooled water.

“Are you going to be good for me, bebita?”

You nodded dumbly at him, any cohesive thought escaping from your brain as all you could perceive was Jake, Jake, Jake. He parroted your senseless nodding, mocking you condescendingly. Without another word, he dropped the towel from his waist and it pooled around his ankles, exposing his fully-erect member to your sight, and you swooned.

His tongue traced over his lower lip sensually, looking at you through hooded eyes. A shadow crossed his face as his mouth contorted into a sneer.

“Get on your knees.”

You obeyed before you even consciously processed the command, collapsing onto your knees before him, your abrupt fall cushioned by his discarded towel. Your mouth watered as you became eye-level with the hardness of his cock, the vein beneath the underside of his shaft just begging for your attention. You resisted, instead opting to stare up at Jake’s face expectantly, awaiting further instruction. It was clear to you that he liked to be in control.

He smirked at your complacency, his hand reaching up to lazily stroke his cock a few times, watching the way your eyes followed the movement of his hands with laser focus, your lips slightly parted in anticipation. He tilted his hips forward and slapped your cheeks with the ruddy head of his cock a few times, and you whimpered at the action, eyes squeezed shut tightly with restraint.

“Stick out your tongue for me, bebita.”

You obliged, opening your mouth wide and letting your tongue loll out past your lips. He tapped his length against the slick muscle, and you savored the familiar tang of his precum on your tastebuds as he pulled back to fist at his cock again. You whined as he withdrew from you, but he just tutted at you condescendingly, slapping your cheek once more with his member.

“Oh, pobrecita. You want papi to let you play with his cock?”

You nodded feverishly, staring up at him through your lashes, doe-eyed. He pouted his lip out in a look of mock pity before removing his hand from his length.

“Go on, then, bebita.”

You lurched forward, your tongue flexing to lick a long stripe on the underside of his cock, tracing the jagged vein that had enticed you earlier. He hummed at the action, watching as you eagerly lifted your hands to begin slowly pumping the velvety skin of his shaft, your lips suctioning around the flushed tip and tongue dipping into the slit. A low groan rumbled deep within his chest as you bobbed your head, eyes never leaving his face as you studied each reaction he had to your movements.

“There you go, mi vida. So good for papi.”

You moaned around his cock at the repeated use of the title, and he chuckled at your obvious approval, one hand finally reaching up to card through your hair as you continued to work more of his length into your mouth.

“You gonna let papi fuck your pretty little mouth, hm?”

He pulled his hips back, removing his member from your touch and you gasped in a breath. You nodded in response to his question, opening your mouth expectantly, and he all but laughed at your eagerness.

“You want it bad, huh, bebita? You gonna ask nicely?”

“Please, papi.”

The word sounded foreign on your tongue, but your discomfort melted away when you saw Jake’s cock jump at the sound of your desperate pleading and he threw his head back in satisfaction.

“Please, fuck my face. Want to feel you in my throat. Please.”

He seemed satisfied with your begging as he wrapped both of his hands in your hair, tilting your head upward and guiding your towards his awaiting length. When your hands reached up to rest on his thighs, he pulled back, hissing at you.

“No, mi vida. Hands behind your back. Don’t make me tell you again.”

You clasped your hands behind yourself obediently, opening your mouth again, and you finally felt the fat tip of his cock rest against your tongue.

You practically choked when he harshly thrusted into your mouth, sinking nearly his entire length into your throat without warning. Before you could even recover, he was pulling back and repeating the motion, not giving you any time to adjust to the intrusion or ease you into a rhythm. You gagged unceremoniously as he fucked your face with reckless abandon, so you tried to slacken your jaw and just take it.

“Look at you, mi llorica. So beautiful when you cry for me, with my cock in your mouth.”

You could barely see him through the blur of tears as they rolled down your cheeks, mixing with the saliva that was foaming around your lips and dribbling down your chin. He picked up his pace, grunting with each motion, the head of his cock bruising the back of your throat with every forward thrust. He was guiding your head forward and backward in time with his movements, successfully burying himself into your face.

“You want me to cum down your throat, bebita? Going to take everything papi gives you?”

You garbled around his length as his balls slapped against your chin, and you felt his cock throb on your tongue as he sheathed himself completely inside of you, growling out your name as he shot his load as deep into your throat as he could. Still, he challenged you more, forcing himself further and further down your throat with each spurt of cum that he released, your nose smushed against his pubic bone as you swallowed around him, trying with all of your might to prevent yourself from gagging and ruining his orgasm.

With a satisfied groan, he slowly pulled his spent member from your mouth, and you gasped harshly, sucking in a deep breath of air and finally allowing the muscles of your neck to relax. There was a soreness lingering in the back of your throat, but you relished in the feeling as you wiped the mix of spit and tears from your face with the back of your hand, staring up at the fucked-out expression that Jake offered you.

“Did so well for me, bebita. What do you say to papi?”

There was an edge to his tone, his domineering persona not faltering for even a second as your scratchy voice responded accordingly.

“Thank you, papi.”

He nodded at you approvingly, watching as you blinked up at him expectantly. He was pleasantly surprised at just how quickly you’d fallen into submission—he thought he might have to coax you into cooperating with him, but it was clear to him that you were eager to please, your eyes glistening with residual tears from one of the best goddamned blowjobs he’d ever had in his life.

He leaned down and clasped his hands on your shoulders, yanking you to your feet without a word. You saw his eyes flicker down to your swollen, spit-soaked lips, but his gaze was hard as he took a step away from you, as if to resist the temptation to kiss you.

“Strip. Hands and knees, on the bed for me. Now, bebita.”

You didn’t protest as you hastily heeded his words, shedding your layers of clothing and tossing them to the floor before you scampered back towards the bed, crawling to your hands and knees in the center, head facing towards the pillows. You could hear Jake creeping up behind you, but you resisted the urge to turn your head and follow his movements, opting instead to squeeze your eyes shut and wait.

You weren’t afraid of Jake. Of course you weren’t. You knew he’d never hurt you—not unless you wanted him to. Nonetheless, you knew what he was capable of—actually, that was the thing. You didn’t know what he was capable of, but still, you could see the thinly-veiled chaos that swirled behind his coffee-colored irises, could sense the firm restraint he forced upon himself when he was around you, holding some unnamed beast at bay on your behalf. It scared you, but also sparked something inside of you—a primitive, savage excitement as he stalked you like his prey. Was it wrong if you secretly hoped he’d unleash the mayhem that resided within him, let himself go? God only knows the man deserved an outlet in which to channel his frustrations.

You felt the mattress dip down behind you, Jake kneeling on the bed behind your bowed position—your nerves spiked at the vulnerability you displayed, exposed as you practically felt his eyes tear through your body with crazed, wanton desire.

You were surprised to feel a soft caress on your hips, his rough fingers delicately ghosting over the supple skin on your waist. It was comforting, soothing, and surprising—a needed reassurance under his scrutinizing gaze. You felt his lips brush softly against the tender flesh of your left buttock, and you relaxed slightly, letting yourself sink down to your forearms but keeping your ass raised with the arching of your back.

“Are you ready, mi vida?”

He asked quietly, and you managed to squeak out a small ‘yes’ before sinking further into the bed and shifting your hips backs toward him in anticipation. He chuckled at your obvious eagerness, greedy for his touch, and you startled when his tender hold on your hips tightened into a bruising grip, the soft press of his lip to your left asscheek morphing until he was sinking his teeth into the flesh with a playful nip.

You yelped at the abrupt shift in demeanor, the sound earning you a sharp smack to your other cheek, his palm quickly rubbing the afflicted area to soothe the lingering sting of his spanking. You pressed your forehead into the sheet beneath you, your legs beginning to quiver with desperation.

“You’re going to stay like this, and take what I give you. Don’t move. ¿Vale, bebita?”

You nodded, but were met with another harsh swat on your backside at your lack of a verbal confirmation.

“Yes! Okay, papi, okay. Just—please.”

You were practically dripping onto the mattress beneath you, your arousal slickening your needy cunt as you desperately sought out any stimulation.

The pads of his fingers experimentally swiped through your folds without warning, and you jolted, involuntarily pushing your hips back to follow the withdrawal of his touch. Another firm slap against your opposite asscheek, a whimper escaping your lips as he scolded you.

“Stay still, bebita. Stop squirming.”

His order briefly brought you back to your first time with Marc, who had requested the same thing, but the words felt heavier when they were uttered by Jake—you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to find a way to make you comply.

When his fingers made contact with your core again, you clenched your muscles, forcing yourself to remain completely motionless, and you were rewarded with the tip of his digit just barely skimming over your clit. You whined at the sensation, but held your position.

Jake was pleased with your cooperation, but you couldn’t help but quake when you felt his tongue sweep through your folds to taste you. The spank he offered was softer, taking pity on you as he leaned forward and fully sank his mouth into your awaiting cunt. You mewled, fingers twisting into the fabric of the sheets beneath you and fisting at them tightly in an effort to keep still.

He was moaning shamelessly into your sex, his method tactless, sloppy and rushed. His movements weren’t practiced and deliberate like Marc’s, nor careful and precise like Steven’s—no, Jake was eating you out like a man starved, greedily mouthing at every part of you and reveling in the sounds that escaped your lips.

His hand lifted and he sank two fingers into your entrance, curling them forward frantically as his mouth latched onto your clit. He was working you to your orgasm quickly, hurriedly, desperate to feel you clamp down around him and cry out his name.

Your thighs were beginning to tremble. He must’ve sensed you were close, because he doubled his efforts, the vibrations from his growling buzzing through your flesh and pushing you over the precipice. On its own accord, your body lurched back towards him, your cunt grinding back against his face as your eyes rolled, your walls contracting around his digits and your juices leaking onto his awaiting tongue.

You felt dizzy, faint, your efforts to hold yourself upright through your climax exhausted you, and when you came down from your intense high, you felt Jake draw himself away from you, slow and intimidating. You felt your pulse spike as you awaited whatever came next. His large hand caressed your ass, gently smoothing over your soft flesh in back-and-forth motions.

“Sabe a miel, bebita. Such a pretty little pussy.”

His touch on your skin halted, and you felt his body lean over your back, his lips coming to brush against the nape of your neck.

“But you didn’t follow my instructions, pobrecita. You need to learn how to listen.”

You cried out when his hand swatted at your abused clit, your body jumping at the painful sensation in an attempt to escape his cruel attack. You felt one arm snake beneath your stomach to hold you upright, his forearm pressing your hips back towards him and keeping you there.

“I let you cum, even after you moved when I told you not to. Do you like being a brat, hm?”

You shook your head—another smack to your cunt, and you whimpered.

“No! No, m’sorry, papi, I—”

“Don’t you think I’ve been generous? Spoiling you? And still, you’re ungrateful, bebita.”

Your body flinched in preparation for the next blow, but instead, you felt his lips tenderly brush a kiss to the flesh of your ass.

“Compórtate. I think I need to teach you how to mind your manners.”

He slapped your ass again, harder than before, and you could feel the lingering sting forming a welt across your skin. He hummed.

“What do you say to papi, hm? For being so good to you?”

“Thank you, papi.”

You whimpered, tears starting to dampen the sheets beneath your face. Your appreciation earned you a soothing hand across the flesh he'd just struck.

“That’s right. Five more times, bebita.”

You sobbed in protest, body trying to pull away from him, but his arm wrapped around your torso forced you into place. He cooed at you.

“It’s okay, pobrecita. You’re going to say thank you after every single one, and then papi will fuck you. ¿Sí?”

He didn’t wait for your response. He smacked your clit, the sting burning its way through your lower belly. You choked back another sob.

“Th—thank you, papi.”

You stuttered, voice barely audible from where your cheek was smushed into the bedding, but Jake took pity on you. Two, three, four more times—the final blow landed sharply against your cunt, and you whimpered out your gratitude, eyes squeezed shut tight and your lip starting to freckle with blood from where you’d held it between your teeth.

He placed gentle kisses on your lower back, your ass, as far as he could reach, his arm still supporting your weight while the other came to softly smooth over your hip. Your mind was cloudy, your body completely surrendering to Jake’s will as you descended into subspace, clinging to his approval.

“You want my cock, mi vida?”

He asked gruffly, and you could feel his hardened length prod against your behind as he leaned further over you to press more kisses on your shoulders. You whined.

“Yes, papi, please, want you inside me, please—”

He shushed you calmly, sitting back to kneel behind you. He lifted your hips higher in the air with his arm, and you felt the flushed head of his cock brush across your soaked folds once, then twice. You mewled.

Without warning, Jake sank into you, bottoming out with one harsh stroke as his balls pressed against your puffy clit. You cried out, legs turning to jelly and giving out from beneath you, but he held you upright, keeping you stable in his arms.

“Mierda. Your little cunt is swallowing me, bebita.”

He withdrew slowly, and you could feel each ridge of his length as he pulled out until just the tip remained. Even though you braced yourself, you couldn’t prepare for the way he slammed back into you, his pelvis flush against your tailbone as you cried, pleasure sparking at the bottom of your spine in spite of the pain.

Jake’s pace was relentless, unforgiving, hips snapping forward over and over, the sound of skin slapping skin drowned out by your pathetic sobbing as your walls throbbed around his member. His teeth were bared as he railed into you, intently watching the place his cock was splitting you open.

“Carajo, you’re squeezing me so tight—going to cum for you, bebita.”

He practically growled as he speared you, and another orgasm was ripped from you with a particularly harsh thrust of his hips. Your cunt clamped down around him as he let out a long, low whine, hips stuttering at the sensation.

He let you collapse into the bed as he began frantically jerking his cock, pulling out of you just in time to shoot his load all across the reddening flesh of your ass. He let out a series of grunts, coupled with Spanglish expletives as he thrusted into his fist, his head thrown back in bliss. You felt globs of his hot spend settle onto your skin, streaking your backside with his seed as he panted above you, falling back onto his heels as he drank in the aftermath of his intense orgasm that was now painting your skin.

The moments that followed blurred together as you drifted aimlessly in the wakes of your pleasure, eyes fluttering in their attempt to keep you awake. Jake left you for several minutes, the absence of his body heat making goosebumps erupt across your skin, but you were too exhausted to move.

When he finally returned, you felt him softly dab the remnants of his ejaculate from your back before he gently shifted you onto your back, tucking an arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders as he hoisted you into the air. You whimpered slightly at the soreness in your muscles, your head falling limp against his bare shoulder as he carried you off. You weren’t consciously aware of your surroundings, but the sensation of warm water surrounding you helped ease the ache in your bones and clear the haze that had overtaken your mind. Jake gently lowered you into the bathtub, carefully tilting your head back to rest against the ceramic edge as you let out a relieved sigh, sinking into the welcoming heat of the water.

You felt as if you’d only blinked when you awoke, the water around you now lukewarm and the candle that had been burning beside you melted to the wick. You shifted yourself upward, hissing slightly at the soreness in your thighs, but you forced yourself to stand and exit the tub.

Silence surrounded you as you leaned to pull the plug from the drain before you noticed the plush white towel that had been folded neatly and left on the lid of the toilet for you. You gratefully reached it and wrapped it around your body, noticing the pruning of your fingertips.

How long had you been asleep?

You tentatively creaked open the bathroom door and peered outside into the apartment. It was dark, and empty, for all you could see, and you took a few cautious steps out into the room.

“Jake?”

You said softly, your soft call sounding much too loud in the quiet of the space. You proceeded forward towards the bed, shrouded only in light from the single lamp that was lit from across the way. Your clothes had been folded neatly and left in a pile at the foot of the bed, and you saw a small piece of paper settled on top. A note.

You picked it up and scanned it over once, then twice. You could tell this was Jake’s handwriting—it was a messy scrawl with an evident slant, the letters each written harshly with sharp lines. It was different from Steven’s languid scribbling, his words swirling together with smooth, clean strokes, and also from Marc’s, whose blocky penmanship was unmistakable. You couldn’t marvel at the fact that all three alters had markedly distinct handwriting, though, too focused on the content of the message to give it a second thought.

Went out for a drive Text when you get home See you tomorrow.

JAKE

You frowned slightly, heart feeling heavy in your chest as you forced yourself into your clothes. You checked the time—11:28. You’d conked out for nearly two hours, and you wondered how long ago Jake had stepped out. Was he waiting for your text in order to come back home? Waiting for you to leave so he didn’t have to see you?

You had absolutely no right to be upset, you knew. You should be grateful that he was sticking to his ordinary routine after your sexual encounter in honor of your experiment, but still, a pang of hurt bloomed in your chest. You briefly returned to the bathroom to blow out the flickering lavender candle before heading out the door, your legs wobbly as you trekked the two blocks back to your own apartment.

It was nearly midnight when you finally got home. You reached for your phone and shot the boys a brief message.

made it back safely x

A response came in barely thirty seconds later.

I'm so sorry Y/N He shouldn't have done this to you M

You fell into your bed immediately, eyes skimming Marc’s words, your lips pursing slightly. You let out a long sigh before typing your reply.

it's ok marc, i promise he didn’t do anything wrong i had a nice bath! :) tell jake i said goodnight xx

You connected your phone to the charger before setting it on the nightstand, quickly turning over and sinking into your pillow, trying to ignore the tears that were stinging the back of your eyes.

Your phone buzzed with a final message.

Sleep well baby Hope you give him hell tomorrow M

POINTS OF CONTENTION:

- slowing down

- embracing vulnerability and confiding in others

- accepting intimacy and allowing raw emotion

TREATMENT: - patience, foreplay - allowing himself to feel - aftercare (!)

You were, in fact, not going to give him Hell. Just the opposite, actually.

Jake spent too much of his time letting his demons possess him. Perhaps he needed a little taste of Heaven to show him what he's missing.

“Hi, Jake.”

You greeted shyly when the door swung inward. He leaned against the doorframe slightly, looking at you down the length of his nose. He didn’t say anything—just watched you. Studied you. Observing. After a few brief moments, you cleared your throat.

“Can I—uh, can I come in?”

A beat passed before he finally sidled back into the apartment, opening the door just enough to let you slip inside. Your side brushed against his front when you passed him, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke clung to his white shirt. Oh, Steven would be livid.

You didn’t wait for an invitation before plopping down on one end of the sofa. Jake quirked a brow at your forwardness, and you signaled with the jerk of your head for him to join you on the other end. He offered a slow, dramatic roll of his eyes before seating himself beside you.

“What time did you get home last night?”

You asked quietly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his gaze. He breathed out a slow breath.

“Not too late. Hardly slept, though—your boyfriend wasn’t very happy with me. Kept me up all night, nagging at me.”

You frowned, finally noticing the deep purplish bags that had settled beneath his eyes. His curls were spilling out from beneath the brim of his flat cap.

“I’m sorry, Jake. Marc isn’t s’posed to be bothering you—it’s your weekend.”

He waved a dismissive hand, turning to settle further into the couch as he stared at some point straight ahead of him.

“No pasa nada. I’m used to it.”

He shifted in his seat slightly, his brows furrowing, and you could tell that he was receiving an earful from Marc.

“I’m—I guess I’m sorry, mi vida, if I upset you.”

You shook your head derisively.

“No, Jake, it’s—you’re fine. That’s what I asked you to do—treat me like any other girl.”

He let out a humorless bark of a laugh, knuckles rubbing over the stubbled skin of his jaw.

“Any other girl wouldn’t have gotten to see my bed, bebita.”

He noticed the perplexed look on your face and offered a sigh.

“It’s not...often, that I sleep with anyone like this. Usually it’s in the back of my cab, or a quick one in a closet—tienes suerte, mi vida. It’s rare they ever see me a second time.”

You felt a deep sadness wash over you at his confession. All Jake knew were rushed, meaningless hookups, no strings attached and no obligations. One and done.

“Is that why you didn’t kiss me, yesterday?”

Jake looked startled by your question, eyes widening marginally as his brows furrowed deeply. His lips set into a straight line, his jaw clenching tightly.

“I did kiss you. A lot.”

He insisted softly. You shook your head.

“No, Jake. A real kiss. You wouldn’t do it. Are—Is that not usually a part of your... you know?”

His knee began anxiously bouncing, his discomfort making itself evident to you.

“No sé. Never really thought about it before.”

You stood from the couch, and his stare followed your movements sharply as you crossed the short distance between you, stepping forward to stand between his spread legs. He looked up at you with dark, brooding eyes, uncertainty churning just beneath the surface. You slowly moved to sit on his lap, your thighs slotting on either side of his hips so you were straddling him. His hands mindlessly settled on your waist, his touch timid and delicate. Your fingers smoothed over his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Can I kiss you, Jake?”

His lips silently parted, a flash of fear briefly flickering over his features as he gazed up at you longingly. His nervousness was palpable, his hesitancy evident through the tension in his shoulders and the crease between his brow. He didn’t offer you a response, so you carefully began leaning your face towards him, tilting your head so your nose brushed against his. You felt his stuttering exhale fan out across your face before you finally let your lips brush over his own.

It was soft, and tentative, as if he was unsure of how to respond or worried he would somehow break you. You pressed your mouth a bit firmer to his, melding against him. You wished, hoped he could feel all your emotions come through the kiss—how much you cared for him, how much you wanted to show him that. Maybe your manifestation worked, because after his few fleeting seconds of unresponsiveness, you felt him sink into the feeling, one arm traveling from your waist up your back to cradle the back of your head in his hand.

He shifted beneath you, trying to pull you closer, as if you weren’t already on top of him. You could feel the stiffness vacate his muscles as the kiss grew feverish, desperate, his lips moving against yours hastily and messily. His free hand began to roam the expanse of your back as he pressed his torso into your own, your nose smushing against his cheek as he gripped you tighter.

He whined when your tongue swiped across the seam of his mouth, his lips immediately parting to allow you access. You dove in to taste him, the stale tobacco and faint mint of his toothpaste overtaking your senses and inebriating you with the distinctive flavor of Jake. His own tongue began to tussle with yours as he mirrored your actions, your teeth clashing messily as he all but tried to swallow you whole.

You pulled back abruptly, gasping in a breath, and his mouth chased yours in a frantic attempt to maintain contact. You felt his hips instinctually rut up against you, his hands still pulling you tightly against his body as he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling the scent of your soft skin.

“Slow down, Jake, take it easy.”

You placed both of your hands on either one of his shoulders and forced him to relax against the couch, his body following your guidance as he sank backwards at your request. His eyes were practically crazed, his lips swollen and ruddy as he looked up at you with a half-lidded gaze, chest heaving with panted breaths.

“Oh, hermosa.”

His muttered, his grip pulling you back to his chest as he surged forward to hungrily meet your lips again, his hands beginning to claw over every inch of your body he could reach, trying to feel all of you. You pushed him away again, more forcefully this time, and he fell backwards with a grunt.

“Hey, relax. It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

A flicker of sadness glinted briefly in his dark eyes, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it expression, but you caught it. You offered him a soft, assuring smile, grabbing the hat from his head and tossing it to the side so you could sink your fingers into his hair. He leaned back into your touch as your nails gently scratched at his scalp, a soft, breathless moan breaking from his lips as his eyes fell shut. You leaned forward and pressed a single kiss to the exposed skin of his throat.

“Come on, handsome.”

He was reluctant to loosen his hold on you, but you reached for his hand and clutched his fingers tightly so he could still feel you touching him somewhere. You led him over to the bed, pausing at the foot of it and gesturing with a nod of your head for him to lay down. He quirked a brow at you, lips curling into a mischievous grin.

“You going to punish me for being so hard on you yesterday, bebita?”

You weren’t oblivious to the excitement that shone in his eyes—he seemed enticed by the possibility of you torturing him in a similar vein to Marc, and you figured that was some information you could keep in your back pocket for future reference.

Instead, you let out a saccharine giggle—it was sickeningly sweet, cloyingly so, and Jake might’ve gotten a toothache from the sugar if it weren’t for the softness with which you crept over his splayed-out body, sinking your front against his as you pressed a featherlight peck on his lips.

“No, Jake. Nothing like that.”

You let your weight settle onto him, straddling his lap and letting your chest fall flush against his as you kissed him again—he mouthed at you hungrily, trying to force his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance, and you gently pulled away.

“Hey, tough guy. What’s your rush?”

His brows furrowed, gaze flickering from your eyes and down to your dewy lips, his pupils blown wide. You smiled sweetly at him.

“Slow down, okay? There’s no hurry, really. Let me just feel you.”

He blew out a huff of air before your lips were on his again, and he heeded your request, letting you take the lead as your poured all of your passion into the kiss. It was slow, deep, intimate, your fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt and across the hot skin of his torso, pushing the material up as you went. You slowly drew back to discard the article of clothing before immediately latching your mouth to his, slow movements still heavy and dripping with desire. You finally parted his lips with the swipe of your tongue, and you felt his fingers sink into your hair, tilting his head for a better angle with which to lavish you.

You could feel him getting greedier as he pressed his body up into your warmth, hands sliding down the expanse of your back and making a move to rip your shirt from your body. You pulled back suddenly, giving him a warning look.

“Hey. Slow.”

You reminded, and he stuttered out an exhale, his fingers gradually raising your shirt above your head as he tossed it to the side. His eyes ravished your body as his fingers traced along the newly exposed skin of your sides, his touch softly skimming your curves before coming up to cup at your breasts. You smiled sweetly down at him as he pressed a few fervent kisses to your collarbone. His dark eyes found yours, lips parted provocatively as he silently asked for your permission. You nodded gently, and his fingers trembled with restraint as he slowly reached around to unclasp your bra.

It was taking everything within his power not to flip you over and pound into you, but something about the look in your eye—reverent, devoted, loving—he didn’t mind too much.

When your breasts exposed themselves to him, he made a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat, leaning forward to latch onto one of your nipples hastily. You tugged at his hair and he groaned in frustration.

“Jake.”

You warned, and he pressed his face down into your cleavage, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“Mierda, bebita. You like being on top so much, hm? Like being in control of papi?”

You gently pulled at his curls again, forcing his face to lift and look up at you. You regarded him softly, one of your hands coming to delicately trace over his jaw and cheekbone.

“No, honey. None of that, okay?”

His brows furrowed, and you leaned down to press a kiss against the crease between them.

“It’s just you and me. Jake and Y/N.”

He repeated your name back to you in a low murmur, as if saying it for the very first time. Actually, now that you thought about it—maybe it was. Jake had never addressed you by your name before, only used endearments to speak with you.

He seemed puzzled by your suggestion, eyes round and questioning and lost, almost uncomfortable with the proposal of having you call him by his actual name.

“You can be on top if you really want to, Jake.”

You pressed a kiss to his nose, then atop both of his fluttering eyelids, then one in the center of his hairline.

“You just—have to be patient.”

You pressed your forehead against his, letting your eyes drift shut as you took in the soft sound of his breathing, finally settling down and evening out. You felt his head tilt up to meet yours again, and you let him kiss you, his pace steady and deliberate, easing you into a rhythm. His hands slowly crawled up your spine, cradling you close to him as he licked into your mouth, his hips bucking up just slightly when you gently tugged at his lower lip with your teeth. He pulled away, shaking his head at your flirtatious action and giving you a playful glare before mouthing gently at your jawline, down your neck and behind your ear. When you leaned into his touch, he sank his teeth in and suckled a deep red mark into your skin, earning a soft whimper in appreciation. His lips stayed pressed against you as they trailed down the column of your neck, along your collarbone and shoulder, and finally down to the flesh of your breasts.

You breathed out a low moan when he placed wet open-mouthed kisses along the top curves of your chest, slowly teasing lower until his teeth scraped your hardened nipple and his lips puckered around it. His hand came to palm at your other breast, kneading at the doughy flesh as he stared up at you seductively through his lashes.

“Fuck, Jake.”

You whimpered, and the sound of his name rolling so deliciously off of your tongue caused his hips to grind up against you once more. When he was satisfied with the array of red and purple marks he’d imprinted on your skin, he dragged his face back up to your own and pressed his lips to yours once again.

You were impressed with his restraint. You could feel the hardness in his muscles, see the tension in his thick shoulders as he forced himself to take his time instead of jumping your bones from the start. You hummed against his mouth before pulling yourself away and off of his lap, your fingers slowly trailing down the length of his torso before settling on the buckle of his jeans.

His breath stuttered at the action, his abdominal muscles contracting as he awaited your next move. You gently reached down to palm at his bulge through the layers of fabric and he groaned throatily, his eyes fluttering shut at the much needed stimulation. Your fingers deftly worked to unloop his belt before unbuttoning his jeans, and he lifted his hips to assist you in pulling them off of him.

When he was left in just his briefs, you pressed gently against his shoulder to make him lay back down and relax. He sank back into the pillows, propped up so he had a decent view of you between his legs, your fingers teasingly stroking over his length through the thin cotton of his boxers. He hissed.

“Estás una calientapollas. Please, hermosa. Y/N.”

He saw the way your eyes darted to his face at the sound of your name, your lips parting and your fingers ceasing their gentle sweeping motion over his cock. You held his gaze as you slowly reached up towards the waistband of his briefs and coaxed them down his legs, freeing his member that had been straining against the fabric.

After you’d tossed his final undergarment aside, you settled back between Jake's legs, your hands stroking each of his inner thighs softly, watching as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your left hand slowly, slowly crept upwards until it ghosted over the silky skin of his shaft, his body shuddering in response to your touch. You waited until his eyes were open again, watching you, before leaning forward and letting a pool of your saliva drip from your lips and onto his awaiting cock. He keened at the sight, his hips jerking just slightly as you finally wrapped your hand around the base and began to stroke him at a treacherously slow pace.

“Mierda. Fuck.”

He grunted quietly, trying to keep his hips still as you started to pump him a bit faster, glittering eyes staring up at him reverently. It was dizzying, the way you gazed up at him with such infatuation. It almost made him nauseous.

You slowly leaned down and licked the precum from his leaking slit before letting your lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue languidly over the tip, watching his face scrunch up in pleasure.

You briefly pulled back to press kisses up along his entire length, coupled with soft caresses of your fingertips. It was clear to you that Jake was beginning to feel frustrated—his hands were buried in his hair, head thrown back against the bed as if attempting to subdue his desires.

You took him back into your mouth, working him slowly over with your tongue and swallowing him down bit by bit, agonizingly slow. You could feel Jake’s thighs tensing around you, his hands flying from his head to fist at the sheets on either side of his body.

When you gagged around his cock, he lost his composure. You made a startled choking sound when you felt his hand against the back of your head, pressing you down onto his length as his hips bucked up to try to sink into your throat. You immediately recoiled, and Jake nearly whined, his eyes desperately pleading with you to grant him some release. You weren’t taking any pleasure in seeing him like this—this wasn’t your end goal.

“You going to edge me like Marc, huh? Want to hear me beg?”

His voice broke off slightly, his frustrations venting through his lips as he almost glared at you. You sat up, moving to straddle his waist once more so you could press your lips to his again.

“No, Jake, I told you, I’m not. I just—Let me take care of you. Wanna show you how much you mean to me, wanna—wanna worship you, wanna make you feel good—”

His brows furrowed as you rambled slightly, your eyes big and round and glassy. He was confused—what exactly was it that you wanted from him?

“Let me fuck you, mi vida—make us both feel good with me inside you, hm?”

“No, Jake, just—hang on, that’s not—”

“Then what? Want to see if I can be as vanilla as your little Steven?”

“I want to make love with you, Jake.”

His breath resembled something of a gasp as his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, disappearing beneath his curls while his eyes widened almost comically at your hasty confession. You cringed inwardly at your forwardness, taking in the expression of sheer panic on Jake’s face that had him looking like a deer in headlights. You sighed, leaning forward to press your forehead into his chest in an attempt to hide your face from view.

“Fuck. Sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush through this. I’m sorry, I just—I want—want you to enjoy it, want you to let yourself feel it, Jake.”

You could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, his lack of response smothering you after your fervent explanation. You wanted to disappear, wanted the ground to cave in and swallow you whole—instead, silence consumed you, settling across your back like a weight that you weren’t strong enough to carry.

“That’s...a new one for me.”

His voice was quiet, sheepish, and you could feel the vibrations rumbling in his chest as you lifted your head to look at him.

“I know.”

You acknowledged quietly. He was staring at you. Dark eyes searching within yours, scanning your expression, every detail of your face, as if attempting to see straight through you. Your heart was still pounding, your face rosy with an embarrassed blush—you felt his arms shift, his hand hesitantly lifting, fingers ghosting over the skin right above the waistband of your jeans at your hips, getting about as close as he could to holding you without actually touching you at all.

You’d never seen Jake Lockley at a loss for words before, and you’d certainly never seen him look so unsure. He was always so collected, nonchalant and unfazed, never dropping his guard for more than a second before that smug smirk reappeared on his face. He took things in stride, his confidence stifling as if he was always three steps ahead of the rest of the world, always knowing what came next.

But now there was vulnerability displayed across his slacken face, a certain wariness serrating his words as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, mi vida, but I don’t—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Jake, really, I promise it’s okay.”

You reached up a hand to cradle the side of his face, fingers gliding across the stubble of his jaw as your thumb brushed over his cheek. His head instinctually tilted in the direction of your hold, turning to press a soft kiss to the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry. This—I don’t know what I was thinking. This isn’t fair to ask of you at all, it wasn’t a part of the deal, and—we can stop here. Let’s—just tell me where you wanna go from here and we can do it. Anything.”

You breathed, looking into his eyes, your brows furrowed in remorse as you anxiously awaited his reply. He was still just looking at you, unwavering, his chest heaving slightly with each brash exhale.

You felt his fingers skate up your bare spine and you straightened at his touch, letting him gently pull you towards him until your noses were brushing again. His gaze never left yours as he drank you in, his lips parting so you could feel his warm breath against yours. After a few more grueling beats, your pulse jumping with anticipation, his closed the gap and kissed you with a tenderness you didn’t know he even possessed. He pulled himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around you until they enveloped you completely, your bodies melding together as his tongue traced the seam of your mouth, although he didn’t press any further—just feeling you, tasting you, savoring the sweetness that seemed to course through your veins.

You were breathless when he pulled back, although he only recoiled just enough to speak. You could feel the movement of his lips against your face as his dark eyes burned through you.

“Hermosa, I don’t—I’ve never... Nunca he hecho esto antes.”

You knew what he was saying even if you couldn’t actually understand it. Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled softly at him, sliding your palms over his chest before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

“It’s okay, honey. I—we can figure it out together.”

He blinked rapidly at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought there were tears shining across his eyes. But then he was kissing you again, so softly and sincerely that it fucking hurt.

Your body was slotted perfectly against his, flush against the contours of his current position as his hands slid up and down your spine, settling lowly on your back, just above your ass. You could feel his aching arousal pressing into your heat, rubbing against the seam of your jeans as he held you against him. You let his tongue lick inside your mouth greedily before you drew away.

“Can I—Can I keep going?”

You asked softly, grinding your clothed core up against him for emphasis. A breathy whimper fell from his lips as he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before slowly nodding. You slowly crawled down the length of his body, pressing gentle kisses all the way down until you found yourself settled between his legs once again, not wasting any time in wrapping your hand around his cock and giving him a few gentle strokes. He sank into the mattress, throwing his head back into the pillows as his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

“You’re supposed to enjoy this, okay? But remember, this—this isn’t just about making each other cum, it’s—wanna make you feel good. We’ll take it nice and slow. You tell me when you’re ready to—when you wanna move on, and we will, okay?”

He looked down at you, his eyes still full of doubt and hesitance, but beneath the veneer you could see the warmth of trust shining through. He nodded at you reassuringly, and the soft smile he offered was one you’d never seen from him before—so genuine and credulous that it almost resembled Steven.

Without another word, you leaned forward and let the tip of your tongue trace the driblet of precome that had begun to slide down the length of his shaft. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, suckling at the flesh as your hand began to stroke him steadily, wrist twisting just slightly to maximize the stimulation.

Jake let you toy with him for awhile, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of him in tight fists while he endured you doting on his throbbing cock.

When you reached to squeeze for his balls, your head sinking a bit lower onto his length, you felt his fingers wrap in your hair and gently coax you off of him, a low growl rumbling in his chest. You immediately ceased your ministrations, staring up at him attentively as he blinked slowly at you, his lip swollen from where he had been biting it.

“Do you—you want me to stop? Wanna—want me to ride you, or—”

He interrupted you with groan, throwing his head back against the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen rippling.

“No, mi vida, it’s alright, whenever—you can stay down there as long as you like, I just—mierda, your mouth is so good to me, hermosa. Worried I’m gonna cum.”

He confessed, a sort of pained expression on his face. You gave him a pitying look—it wasn’t mocking, not at all, but genuine sympathy. You didn’t want to make him miserable.

“Just a little bit longer, okay, honey? I know it’s hard going so slow, I’m sorry, but—but I promise, when you finally let go, it’ll be worth it, okay?”

He smiled meekly at you, nodding as he removed his hand from your hair and returned it to its position tangled in the sheets at his side. You gave him one last reassuring glance before sinking your mouth back down onto his cock and lavishing him with more attention.

For several more minutes, he let you worship him, his hips jolting and cock twitching, although he was displaying great levels of restraint when it came to letting you dictate the speed and pace of your actions. You suckled one of his balls into your mouth, watching as he squirmed, legs kicking just slightly beside you as he mewled, his face scrunched up in pleasure.

You released him with a popping sound, finally satisfied with how you’d worked him up and extolled his cock. You crawled up his body and he eagerly welcomed your proximity, pulling you to his mouth to plant a hard, desperate kiss to your mouth. You smiled into him, fingers nestled in his curls.

“Thank you, Jake, did so well.”

You whispered, pressing gentle kisses to the expanse of his jaw as his chest heaved beneath you. He hummed to acknowledge your praise, although you could feel the tension in his muscles as he impatiently awaited your signal that you could continue.

When your eyes met his, they blinked at him, docile and alluring, and he took that as his cue to roll you onto your back so he could position himself on top of you. He pressed a few kisses to your mouth, as if he was struggling to pull himself away, before his lips traveled down your neck and collarbone, his hands popping the button on your jeans to finally have you bare beneath him. You didn’t protest when he pulled them down off of you, your panties joining them soon after. He leaned up to kiss you again, his rock-hard length dipping into your sopping folds as his body rocked against yours once, then twice, earning a low whimper from your throat.

“Go ahead, honey, I’m ready for you.”

You whispered, voice sweet, and he groaned lowly. However, he surprised you by pressing a soft peck to your cheek before sinking down the length of your body, his mouth trailing a line down the center of your torso before kissing right atop your pubic bone, brown eyes watching you closely. Your breath stuttered as you wrapped your fingers in his hair unconsciously.

“Jake, you’ve waited long enough, you don’t have to—”

“Wanna do this right, Y/N.”

He whispered, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your clit, causing you to gasp.

“Make me feel so good, hermosa. Promised going slow is worth it—gonna make it worth it for you, too.”

You couldn’t dwell on the fluttering sensation in your chest when his mouth pressed against you, wet tongue meeting your dripping folds with attentiveness—you released a soft cry as he lapped at your entranced, the tip of his tongue prodding at your clit gently, causing you to squirm.

Jake liked to run his mouth, but now, he was silent. It's not that he didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to spur you on with filthy praise—he simply couldn’t find the words. He was absolutely hypnotized by the sight above him, bewitched by the expression of pure, unadulterated euphoria on your face at each ministration he offered. He’d never been witness to such a beautiful view before—any time he’d gone down on someone, watching their nonverbal responses to his touch simply wasn’t his priority. It had always been rushed, forceful, as he ripped orgasm after orgasm from his partner with greed and insatiability. But now—now it was you. He was in between your legs, pulling angelic sounds from your lips as your thighs quaked around his head. You were glowing, radiant, ethereal as you basked in the pleasure, and Jake finally realized why foreplay was so important—seeing you like this might be even better than the real thing.

He heeded your words. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, wasn’t speeding you towards your climax with rapid swipes of his tongue and fingers. He was savoring you, each brush of his mouth against your core was languid and indulgent. His lips puckered around your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing slow circles around it with his tongue as your fingers fisted tighter into his curls, offering enough of a sting to make him groan around you. His tongue dipped into your entrance, lapping at your dripping arousal, your walls fluttering around his thick muscle as your hips jerked to meet his thrusts, pressing yourself against his face to chase your mounting pleasure.

This was different than the orgasms he’d granted you the day prior—this was a simmering heat, coiling lowly in your stomach, festering and building slowly as he sought out the places that made you squirm. You could feel the intensity spiking, even though his lazy speed remained constant—the way his dark eyes stayed firmly fixated on your face was dragging you closer and closer to the threshold.

“Fuck, Jake, oh God—”

You whined, and his hands slipped beneath your ass, lifting your hips to grant him a better angle at which to devour you. Your thighs were trembling, his tongue beginning to swipe over your clit in rapid side-to-side motions—the change of pace pulled a ragged wail from within you, the muscles of your abdomen squeezing tight. He couldn’t control the shameful rutting of his hips into the mattress beneath him at the sound.

“So close, Jake, yes, fuck—”

You were right on the precipice, stars clouding your vision, but right before you tipped over the edge, you yanked your hips back, lifting Jake's head away from you with your grip on his hair. He jolted, hazy eyes suddenly wide and alert as he sat back, bewildered at your abrupt departure from his lips. You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm dissipated, your tense muscles sinking back into the mattress as the coil loosened itself. You breathed out lowly, your lashes fluttering as you opened your arms to pull Jake against you.

“Sorry, honey, I—so good, Jake, fuck, but I—wanna cum on your cock, wanna cum with you.”

A low groan escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes blinking closed to stave off the arousal that was singeing his insides.

“You—¿estás lista, mi vida? Are you sure?”

You nodded vigorously, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he let out a slow breath, hands sliding to your sides. Your brows furrowed when he pulled back, gently attempting to roll you onto your stomach. You reached up to grip his shoulders tightly, shaking your head.

“No, no, Jake, I want—wanna see you, wanna be close to you, please.”

There was turmoil churning behind his eyes as he stared down at you, brows furrowed heavily as he fought his internal battle. You realized he’d probably never done it like this before—if the fact that he was afraid to kiss you was any indication, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’d never let himself be caught in such an intimate position.

But then his eyes softened, his hand coming to cradle the side of your face, his thumb pressing up against the swell of your lower lip.

“Okay, hermosa. Por ti hago lo que sea.”

You felt his member slide between your dripping folds, the head of his cock brushing across your clit as he guided it against your center, hearing the way your breath hitched at the feel of him over your bundle of nerves. You felt it notch at your entrance, the tip just barely breaching your folds. Jake cursed lowly under his breath, eyes glued to where his cock was about to sink into you. In spite of your desperation, your hands lifted to rest on either side of his face, forcing his eyes onto you.

“Look at me, honey. Want you to look at me when you split me open.”

“Carajo.”

He muttered, closing his eyes to steel himself before opening them again to stare into yours. You watched his lips part as he pushed into you, unbearably slow, a low moan rumbling through his diaphragm as he sank into you, only stopping when he was fully-seated within your fluttering walls.

The intimacy was stifling him. He felt lightheaded, breathless, his body hovering over yours just barely as he held himself up above you, drinking in your heavenly being—your hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath you, your pink lips slicked with saliva as your gazed up at him with doe-eyes, blinking slowly as your walls clenched around him.

“God, Jake.”

You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling so he fell against you, chest flush against your own. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, staying still inside of you for a few brief moments in order to just feel the way you surrounded him.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back his hips, just barely, before pressing back inside of you, your moans echoing in unison as his balls nestled tightly against your ass again. He’d always been so busy chasing his release, relentlessly pounding into you that he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate just how perfectly he filled you, just how perfectly your walls clamped around his pulsing length.

“So good, mi vida.”

He groaned against your neck, repeating the motion of his hips at a more steady pace. Each thrust pressed against your cervix, causing you to whimper.

“Fill me up so nice, Jake, fuck, feels so good.”

He felt your walls clamp around him once more, and he pulled his head back slightly, lifting himself up a bit more so he could increase the breadth of his thrusts.

“Me vas a matar.”

He growled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as one hand came to palm at your breast, his eyes glued to the way the other bounced with each push of his hips forward. His eyes drifted back to the fucked-out expression on your face, your lips parted as you stared up at him, and his hips stuttered just slightly.

God, he was close already.

“Fuck, hermosa, me arruinas.”

You could feel him faltering, a bead of sweat dripping from one of his curls and down onto your chest, sliding between your breasts and down to your stomach. He watched it dribble downward, eyes dazed, his abdomen clenching as he attempted to stave off his impending orgasm.

His hand clumsily wedged between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in crude circles, his arm trembling just slightly. Watching him grow desperate above you was enough to spark the beginnings of your climax. You pulled him down for a bruising kiss, teeth clashing and tongues swirling as you swallowed his incessant groans.

“Wan’ you to cum with me, Jake.”

Your words were drawled, drunk on the way his cock filled you, and you could feel pleasure sparking in the base of your spine. The speed of his fingers on your clit sped up slightly, his hips struggling to maintain their cadence.

“Mierda, hermosa, oh fuck, so tight—can’t, I can’t—”

“Cum inside me, Jake.”

Your words were only a whisper as you skated along the edge of your orgasm, just barely hanging on as you desperately tried to convince Jake to let go. His eyes blew open wide at your words, grunting as his hips continued jacking forward.

“Y/N, shit, don’t—I’ve never—”

“Oh, God, fuck, I’m cumming, Jake, please, please cum with me, fuck—”

He couldn’t have stopped himself even if he tried. The rhythmic pulsing of your walls around his painfully hard cock was harrowing, gripping him so tightly that he couldn’t have pulled out even if he wanted to.

His balls drew up tight as his climax exploded.

“Oh, me vengo—mierda, fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, shit, shit, shit—”

His eyes rolled back as he nearly collapsed on top of you, his hips pistoning forward again and again as he shot his spend deep into your walls, his cock pulsing. His orgasm seemed to last minutes as his vision blacked out, brain emptying as his awareness only focused on how the pleasure zipped across his skin with each pump of cum that he released and how tightly your walls were squeezing him, milking him for all he was worth. He’d never cum so hard in his life, or so much—his seed was leaking out around his length as his body slowed to a halt, your tired cunt stuffed full of him as his cock spilled one final spurt of warm release, the head of his member settling against your cervix as he stilled, his weight bearing down on you as he went boneless.

Jake was slowly grounded back into reality at the feeling of your fingertips brushing softly across the length of his spine, your other hand buried in his curls from where his face was tucked into your shoulder. He could feel your hot lips pressed against his temple, your breathing steady and even as you regained your bearings. He forced himself to follow your inhalation patterns, attempting to slow the racing of his heart.

As the endorphins flooding his bloodstream began to thin out, his anxieties threatened to consume him once again. He pushed himself up and off of you, groaning at the soreness in his muscles and the exhaustion tingeing the edge of his movements. You could do nothing but watch him as he slowly pulled out of you, and you expected him to leave you as hastily as he had the day before—maybe he would’ve, if not for the way his eyes glued themselves to your exposed center, enthralled by the sight of his cum oozing from your fluttering hole and dripping downwards.

Your hips jumped slightly when you felt his fingers gently sweep over your cunt—his gaze never lifted as he scooped his release from where is was beginning to escape and pushed it back into you, forcing you to keep as much of him inside as you could. His eyes were dark, possessive as he tilted your hips up just slightly in an effort to stop his cum from leaking out of you.

His sudden captivation and obsession with filling you was surprising, a stark contrast from just moments before when he had desperately resisted your pleas to finish inside of you. The ghost of a smile flickered over his lips as he settled you back down, seemingly content with the show. His eyes flickered up to yours, and as soon as your gazes met, you saw the way a shadow crested his features, abruptly throwing up his guard after the unexpected vulnerability he’d just granted you.

Jake walked to the bathroom, letting the door shut behind him with a click. You pulled yourself into a sitting position, sighing as you felt the stickiness between your thighs and settling beneath you. You should clean yourself up, get dressed and head out so that—

The bathroom door swung open again and Jake walked out, a wet washcloth awkwardly held in his left hand. He stood at the end of the bed for a moment, as if unsure of what to do next. His eyes hesitantly found yours.

“Do—I’m—I haven’t done this part before, mi vida.”

He quietly admitted, offering a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. Still, your heart warmed at his efforts.

“Thought—figured I’d try what Marc does, but I don’t—”

“Thank you, Jake, that’s perfect.”

You encouraged softly, and his eyes lit up with your soft praises as he knelt down on the edge of the bed, leaning down to carefully press the cloth to your ruined core. You sucked in a sharp breath, the coldness of the water a foreign sensation in contrast to the heat that was broiling between your legs—Jake recoiled, eyes searching yours widely for direction. You offered him a lopsided grin.

“Sorry, s’just—sensitive.”

You explained, and he nodded, slowly wiping at the arousal that stained your skin. His lips were pursed as he focused on his actions, trying desperately not to hurt you. After awhile, he sighed.

“Would you—do you want Marc? Or Steven?”

Your face fell as he finished cleaning you up, tossing the towel on the floor beside the bed, before facing you, his curls falling across his forehead and into his eyes. You frowned.

“No, Jake—not unless you don’t want to—it’s okay, I can always leave if that’s—”

He let out a humorless, bitter laugh, one hand coming up to stroke at his stubbled jaw as he stared at the ceiling, clearly uncomfortable.

“No sé lo que estoy haciendo.”

You heard him mumble breathlessly, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Do you—will you come lay with me, Jake?”

You asked softly, as if you were speaking to a wild animal and were trying desperately not to scare it away. His eyes darted to your face, lips parting to protest, to make up an excuse, but then he shook his head at himself, crawling up towards you and seating himself beside you, his back resting against the headboard. You tentatively leaned into his side, nestling your head against his shoulder. You felt him stiffen beside you slightly, but then his arm moved to wrap around you, pulling you closer against his side.

You felt him release a breath he’d been holding as you lifted a hand to rest on his bare chest, drawing random shapes into the warm skin mindlessly.

“Why did you think I’d want Marc or Steven?”

You asked softly, your eyes watching the movement of your fingers on his chest. His hold on you tightened.

“This—s’not my job. I don’t do things like this.”

You sat upright, turning to face him fully. His eyes were hard as they looked at you.

“What do you mean, not your job?”

His lips pursed.

“You know, hermosa. You’re the doctor, hm? Steven and me, we’re—we both do something for Marc. S’why we’re here. Marc and Steven, they—they get to feel things, know people. I’m—I’m just here to make sure they’re safe, that they don’t get hurt.”

Tears pricked behind your eyes as his words registered in your brain. There was an aching sensation festering in your chest.

“No, Jake, that’s not—that’s not how this works. You’re a person, you have every right to experience things just like they do, you’re—”

“No pasa nada. This is the way things are, hermosa. I know you thought—thought you’d be able to come and figure us out, show us what’s what, but—but I already know who I am, what part I play.”

The dejection in his voice was unmistakable. There was bitterness in his words, resentment. The pain in your chest expanded.

“I protect. That’s what I do. Means I don’t get—I don’t get to have this, mi vida. What happened today—that’t not mine.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, so you turned and sank back into his side, hoping he didn’t catch your display of emotion. In spite of himself, he let you press against him, savoring the feeling of your soft skin against his own.

You were hoping he’d open himself up to you after your intimate tryst, but you obviously misread the situation—his walls had come back up, even stronger and more unwavering than before.

Perhaps he sensed your sadness. You felt him release a long sigh, his muscles going lax as he let his head fall against the headboard.

“Lo siento, hermosa. I—you deserve better than what I can give you.”

Your head turned to gaze up at him, finding his eyes staring straight ahead at a random focal point. You felt your heart crack a bit.

“Stop, Jake, don’t say that. That’s not true, I don’t—”

“It’s okay, mi vida. I appreciate what you tried to do for me today. Significa mucho para mí.”

He swallowed, and when he finally looked down at you, the warmth he’d been unabashedly displaying for you had been replaced by the familiar austere glint that normally resided there.

No. You wouldn’t have it. Not after all of this.

Your hand reached up to cradle his jaw, thumb swiping over the apple of his cheek as you turned his head to face you.

“I know you’ve heard me say it, Jake. To Marc and Steven. This wasn’t—this isn’t just research.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his eyes flickered down to your lips, and you felt the arm that was wrapped around you tighten its grip again.

“I care about you, a lot—”

“You don’t know me.”

His words were brazen, suddenly harsh, insistent against your admission. Your brows furrowed.

“I’m not—I’m not like the others. I’m—I’m no good, hermosa. You care about Steven, and Marc, but I’m not like them. I don’t feel things like them, I can’t—estás mejor sin mí.”

“Then let me know you, Jake. You’re a part of this system, just as much as Marc and Steven, and you deserve to be happy.”

He didn’t answer you—his jaw rippled at the conviction your tone offered, so certain with yourself. You let out a long sigh, reaching to pull at his arm as you shifted. His brows furrowed, but he let you coax him into a lying position, his head against the pillows as you once again nestled into his side, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as you pressed your front against his side, face squished against his shoulder. You placed a soft kiss to the skin there.

“I’m gonna stay with you tonight, okay, Jake?”

You felt his muscles tense in protest, every fiber of his being telling him to make you leave, to get up and go, but the proximity and warmth of your body was intoxicating. After a few beats, he finally offered a slow nod, his limbs relaxing as he sank into the bed. You reached to pull the duvet over you two, clutching onto him tightly, and even if he refused to hold you back, you could feel the way his body went pliant beneath your touch.

He shouldn’t let you so close. He’d managed to keep his distance before—but with the way your breaths slowed into gentle snores, your hair tickling against his bicep, your comforting heat seeping into his bones—he felt his resolve begin to crack beneath the pressure of your insistent affections.

Jake let himself mold against you, his head tilting to rest against the top of yours as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head—he told himself that it was okay, you were sleeping, no one ever had to know just how much you’d softened him, how deeply you’d sunk your perfectly-manicured nails into his flesh—and no one ever had to know just how much he loved it.

For the first time in what felt like ever, Jake Lockley actually slept.

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

Note

GESTALT and EQUIFINALITY are so good wtf?? just wondering when we’ll be expecting the next part!! not to rush, i assume ur very busy on the next chapter(s) and theyre going to be great! im obsessed with these fics, ur writing is incredible

thank you so much, hon! i'm working on another fic at the moment but that's almost finished so once that is posted, part two of equifinality will be next on my list :) thank you for your patience & support! <3

#projectionistwrites

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

Note

wait was the bargain that joel and the reader made?

in part four of the original series, joel tricks the reader into falling asleep by telling her that he’ll kiss her if she can keep her eyes closed for five minutes—at the time, she had been recovering from being dosed with rohypnol at a party, so joel assumed she wouldn’t remember his promise when she woke up in the morning…but she did.

#projectionistwrites

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

Text

EQUIFINALITY | WINTER

PART ONE, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (7.3k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, mentions of death and injury, age gap (not mentioned), reader is kinda harsh, no smut in this part DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. ALSO, before any joel apologists come after my head, i LOVE mister joel miller but this chapter does kind of call him out on his bullshit. try to contextualize everything with the events of the first series and remember where the reader is coming from before getting mad at me. :) NOTES: this part takes place during episode six of the last of us tv series, titled “kin.” the next installments will occur after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson.

next part →

43.4799° N, 110.7624° W.

Good luck, cowboy.

Joel’s fingers fiddled with the softening, worn edges of the cockled scrap of paper in his jacket pocket. Ellie was packing up her things further back in the cave, the crackling of the fire between them settling into a pile of smoldering embers and cinders as the sun began to rise. He didn’t need to take the note out again to know what it said—he had the entire thing committed to memory by now. He’d been mulling the numbers and letters over in his head for months, nagging at the back of his brain and gnawing an ulcer of uncertainty into his stomach.

They’d reach the coordinates within the next day. They were close. Just across the bridge over the River of Death, or whatever Ellie had taken to calling it. He wasn’t sure what they’d find—maybe Tommy and a small group, alive and well; or maybe Tommy, cold and alone; or worse, Tommy in an unmarked grave, six feet under the frigid tundra soil.

But cowboy.

The nickname felt like a punch straight to the gut, and shotgun shell straight through his chest. The message had come in three weeks after Tommy had stopped responding to his transmissions—Joel had already been planning on packing up and heading West from Boston to search for him, but he figured he’d stop to check once more with Abe. Maybe Tommy had finally responded, maybe he was alright.

But when he’d marched through the line of people in the cramped hallway and slipped the parcel of cigarettes across the table to the man in question, he was actually surprised to hear that he had, in fact, received a response.

It just wasn’t from Tommy.

“Listen, Joel, this is good news, isn’t it?”

Abe had asked, watching Joel over his thick-rimmed glasses as his eyes swept over the note in this hands.

“How d’you know it wasn’t Tommy?”

Joel breathed lowly, his chest feeling tight. The scrawled letters on the paper in his fingers were all jumbling together in his mind, eyes losing focus.

“Because I do. Came in late the other night. No signoff, no updates, no name. What you have in front of you is all I got.”

Joel’s head was swimming. Was this some sick fucking game? Would Tommy really stoop so low, to manipulate him into a false sense of hope by using that nickname, just so he’d follow in his footsteps?

“Look, Joel.”

Abe sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He leaned forward conspiratorially, taking a drag from his smoke.

“Those coordinates—I did some digging.”

He gestured for Joel to retrieve his map, and he obliged, laying it out flat on the desk in front of him. Abe picked up a dull pencil and prepared to mark.

“It ain’t too far off from where Cody Tower is—where the messages have been comin’ in from your brother.”

He made a small dot on the paper, somewhere in the middle of Wyoming.

“—and those coordinates, over here.”

He swiped another pencil stroke a short distance away, across the river on the map. He looked up at Joel.

“All open country, out there. No telling what you’ll find, and we don’t even know who it’s from—”

“Thanks.”

Joel had muttered, and it was the closest thing to gratitude Abe had ever received from the man as he stormed back out the door, the note clutched tightly in his right hand.

And now he was here. Cody Tower had been a ghost town. All these miles, all these months—he’d lost Tess, and Bill and Frank, and Henry and Sam. There was a lingering doubt in his throat—he’s come all this way. What if he didn’t find what he was looking for? What if—what if this had all been for nothing?

This wasn’t just about Tommy anymore. But then again—it never really had been, had it?

“So... who’s Y/N?”

Joel’s blood ran cold. His grip on the sniper tightened as his neck snapped around. Ellie was staring at him expectantly, fingers wrapped around the straps of her canvas backpack. His lips pressed into a line.

“The hell did you hear that name?”

A shadow crossed over his face, but Ellie knew better than to be intimidated. Still, she could tell she’d struck a nerve. She trekked forward, bumping into him playfully as she passed.

“You still mumble in your sleep. Say it a lot.”

Joel slung his backpack over his shoulder, tucking his leather jacket into the strap as he and Ellie trudged onward through the snow.

“…was she someone special?”

The insinuation in her tone was hard to miss. Joel swallowed. Months ago, he would’ve shut her down completely, probably chided the girl and iced her out, but now, after everything, he just sighed.

“Just someone I used to know.”

She knew better than to press any further. If the tick of his jaw was any indication, she had to tread lightly on the subject. They continued in silence of awhile, snow packing beneath the weight of their heavy boots, before Joel spoke again.

“S’was my neighbor. Lived next door, back home.”

“In Boston?”

Joel blew out something reminiscent of a chuckle, scratching his head.

“No. No, in—in Texas. Before—all this.”

“Hard to believe there was ever a before.”

Ellie muttered, and Joel hummed in agreement.

“Yeah. Was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

The girl's eyes narrowed as she watched him in her periphery.

“Seems like it still matters to me.”

Joel gave her a hard look, but she smiled innocently up at him, widening her gait just a bit to put some distance between them. He let out a long sigh, running a tired hand down his face. It didn’t matter—it shouldn’t matter. But he still tasted your name on his lips; still heard your laughter in the back of his mind, mingling with the innocent giggles of his late daughter; could still see the tears flooding your eyes and spilling down your cheeks as you fell to your knees before him, sobbing for him to stay, Joel, please, I am begging you, don’t do this, I love you, please—

They’d reached the bridge. Towering steel columns lined the path ahead of them, cold and unforgiving. To Ellie, cold and unforgiving seemed awfully familiar.

“The River of Death.”

She announced in a menacing voice, eyes wide for dramatic effect, and Joel shook his head, trying hard to fight the tinge of a smile that was making its way onto his face.

“What do you think is over there?”

Joel shrugged, cautiously taking his first step onto the platform before gesturing for Ellie to follow.

“Guess we’ll have to see if it lives up to the name.”

Joel could feel the familiar tightness in his chest as he clumsily swatted at the tears below his eyes, purposefully avoiding his brother’s sympathetic gaze.

The smell of sawdust once would’ve soothed his frazzled nerves, but the workshop in Jackson reminded him too much of home—a place he could never go back to.

And now Tommy had a home. And a wife. And a kid on the way—Joel had traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles to save his brother from some inevitable doom, but he was perfectly fine without him. No, it was worse—Tommy was better off without him.

I’m failin’ in my sleep.

The whole reason he’d agreed to take Ellie was because he was already planning on heading West himself—and now he was here, and it was just another dead fucking end. Another failure. All the people he’d lost, all the pain he’d suffered—it’d all been for nothing. He wasn’t rescuing his brother from something—he didn’t get to play hero. He should’ve fucking stayed in Boston. Then he’d still have Tess, and Ellie would’ve been better off with Marlene anyhow—and Y/N. Of course you weren’t here, of course Tommy had sent that radio transmission, of course Joel had been kidding himself all along—

“Come with me.”

Tommy’s voice pierced the silence that hung in the air, and Joel flinched at the sound. When his glassy eyes finally turned to his brother, he gestured with a nod of his head to follow him out of the woodworking shed and into the chill of the evening.

Joel grunted as he forced himself into the new boots Tommy had given him—they were snug, and warm, and way nicer than the weathered pair he'd been sporting up until this point. He stared down at them once he’d laced them up, wondering when in God’s name a new pair of boots had become such a fucking luxury.

“Joel.”

Tommy urged, and the man finally stood, following his brother outside and into the town square. As they walked beneath threaded strands of yellow lights, past decorated Christmas trees and families making their ways home, Joel was disgusted to feel a pang of resentment fleet briefly through his mind. Tommy had actually managed to find—create—some semblance of normalcy, of comfort, and Joel was jealous. It wasn’t fair—how could life still go on when so much had been lost?

Tommy spared him a look as he paused in front of a large wooden door, and Joel’s eyes flitted upwards to read the carved sign hanging above the entrance—MEDICAL. The building was right on the edge of the square, a decently sized structure with harshly tinted windows and a tiny handwritten card plastered beside the door—in black letters, with a tiny reversable placard beneath it.

THE DOCTOR IS: IN.

A bell chimed when Tommy shouldered the door open, holding it so Joel could step in beside him. The waiting room was cozy, filled with a mismatched collection of armchairs and recliners, a coffee table in the center with coloring pages and crayons strewn about. In the far left corner was a repurposed dining table that obviously served as a makeshift reception desk, although the chair behind it was vacant. There was only one door in the place, seemingly leading back into the examination room, and from just beyond, Joel could barely make out the sound of a child’s laughter.

Tommy lifted a hand to gesture for Joel to remain where he was before walking towards the door and slowly lifting his fist to knock. Joel felt anticipation well inside of his stomach, a swirling pool of uncertainty beginning to settle in. Tommy’s knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Hey, doc?”

He called softly, and Joel heard a woman’s voice over the sound of giggling.

“Yeah, just a sec, boss-man.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as Tommy came to stand back beside him, watching his expression shift carefully. He cleared his throat just as the door in front of them popped open and a little boy came bursting out.

Joel felt the breath get caught in his throat as two women followed the young child from the room, chitchatting animatedly with each other. One of the women was young, seemingly the child’s mother, but the other—

It was you. He watched as you threw your head back to laugh at something the woman across from you had said, you hand flying out to pat her good-naturedly on the bicep. The woman thanked you quickly before she chased after her child, the bell chiming as the pair exited—but Joel couldn’t hear it as your eyes met his.

You looked—the same. Or at least, more so than he had imagined. Your hair was shorter, and darker, not sun-bleached from long summer days spent out in the Texas heat. Your figure had filled out; even beneath the pair of pale pink scrubs you were wearing he could see that your soft curves had toned into a sturdy layer of muscle. Your eyes were lined with crow’s feet—wrinkles indicating that even after all this time, you’d never stopped smiling, never stopped laughing, and as your gaze met his, it was just...you. The same gleam in your eyes as the last time he’d seen you. The only notable change was the long, thin jagged pink line running down from your forehead and cutting into your right brow—a fully healed scar, indicative of some sort of injury from long ago.

The man was frozen, and suddenly all too conscious of his own lackluster appearance—he wondered how different he seemed to you, if behind his graying hair and deteriorating body you could still see any trace of the man you knew all those years ago. He wondered if he bared his sins through the lines on his face—if you could somehow see every horrible thing he’d done just by sparing him a glance.

But if you could, you didn’t show it. Instead, your lips flickered up at the corners, just barely, but enough that there was the notion of a grin on your still perfect pink lips.

“Joel.”

You acknowledged, although you didn’t make any move further to greet him. He was shocked at your ability to remain so collected—he was flustered, speechless, his mouth opening and closely dumbly like a fish out of water. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t know what to do. He wanted to pull you into his arms, wanted to apologize for everything he’d ever done to harm you, wanted to fall to his knees and thank a God he didn’t even believe in that somehow you’d made it.

But instead, he snapped his jaw shut and cleared his throat, shuffling his weight a bit awkwardly on his feet. Tommy glanced at his brother in his periphery—saw the tension that hovered over him and rendered him practically incapacitated. With a sigh, he decided to throw him a bone, and turned to you.

“Just thought—Just thought you two might like to, uh, catch up.”

Tommy offered sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders to display his discomfort. You leaned against the doorframe.

“Does Maria know about this?”

Joel watched as you quirked a suspicious brow at his brother, a small smirk on your face. Tommy’s eyes widened in panic.

“Well—no, but I just figured—look, please don’t tell her, I know—”

“Relax, boss-man, I’m just teasin’ you. She brought in the girl to see me earlier today.”

Joel was startled to learn that.

“You—You met Ellie?”

Your eyes snapped back over to him, as if surprised he was actually able to speak. You regarded him softly.

“Yeah, I met Ellie. She’s a fuckin’ pistol. Only fourteen?”

You clarified, and Joel nodded. You whistled lowly, smiling mischeiviously.

“Jesus, cowboy—two decades ago, you thought 22 was too young.”

Tommy’s hand flew to his mouth in an attempt to cover up the bark of a laugh that spilt out. It took Joel a few seconds to register your comment, but when he did, his entire body stiffened, eyes widening in blatant offense and, frankly, incredulity.

“The hell is wrong with you? She’s just—”

“Oh, chill out, cowboy, I was just joking.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. Joel narrowed his eyes, and just like that, the tension between you was back, but Tommy was not oblivious to it, this time. He cautiously made a move towards the door.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to—”

“No!”

You exclaimed, sounding borderline insulted.

“You’re just gonna leave? The fuck do you want me to do with him?”

Joel scoffed at the way you were referring to him, your hand gesturing to him as if he were a child you were being forced to babysit. Tommy threw his hands up in defense.

“Easy, doc. I gotta go see the missus—we’re puttin’ him up in 38, right across the street from us. Just—I don’t know, Y/N, just do your doctor thing and then walk him over there. You’re fine.”

“And whose idea was it to put him in 38?”

You glowered threateningly, the scar on your face contorting with the expression, and Tommy swallowed at your clear disdain.

“Actually, that was Maria’s.”

“Fuckin’ classic.”

You murmured angrily, and when Tommy turned to leave once more, you waved a dismissive hand towards him, scoffing in distaste. The door banged shut behind him, and just like that, you and Joel were alone.

His eyes flitted from the door and back to you, finding your eyes already on him. He could see the maturity in them—you seemed older, wiser, your gaze more calculating and scrutinizing. Even with the new scar that you adorned, you were just as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Your shoulders sagged in defeat before you jerked your head to the side.

“Come on, then, cowboy. Time for your appointment.”

Joel silently walked towards you, shuffling past you and into the examination room. He felt the heat of your body as he brushed past you, and fuck, you still smelled like—like you, all these years later. Clean, like freshly folded linens or laundry straight out of the dryer, with just a dash of citrus.

He paused in the threshold, taking in the room. It was fairly spacious, with a steel examination table pushed up against one wall and your desk on the other. The wall straight across from him was lined with shelving that contained more medical equipment than he thought existed—jars of various medications, bandages, gauze, pads and tampons, antiseptic and antibiotic ointments, and other various supplies that he didn’t even know the name of.

“Well, up you get.”

You nudged his back with the knuckles of your right hand, gesturing towards the steel examination table. He shot you a silent glare, but you masked your satisfied smirk as he hoisted himself up onto the surface, leaning back against the wall to face you.

You sat in your threadbare office chair, rolling it away from your desk so you could face him. He watched as you reached into a jar full of tiny white pills on the corner of your desk, grabbing a few and tossing them back into your mouth with ease. His jaw slackened.

“Ain’t that against your bylaws, or somethin’?”

He managed to jab, quirking his brow, and you rolled your eyes at him, chewing the tablets in your mouth.

“They’re sugar pills, dumbass. I give ’em to the kids when they get hurt—placebo effect. You want one?”

You picked up the glass jar and tilted it towards him, but he just shook his head, never taking his eyes off of your face. You rolled your eyes at him, stealing one more from the jar before tightening the lid back on and sliding it back onto the shelf.

You spun your chair back around to face him again, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. He just stared right back, jaw set stiffly, arms crossed over his chest, mask impenetrable. You pursed your lips, stubborn enough to not want to break the silence that befell you. Joel finally cracked.

“You’re a long ways from California.”

His voice was gruff and husky, but even beneath the rough edge, you could make out a hint of familiar softness. You blinked at him.

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

You started, and the man’s brows furrowed more, indicating his confusion. You laughed incredulously.

“Twenty years, you’ve had to come up with a conversation starter, and that’s what you settle on? Jesus, Joel.”

You huffed, leaning back into your chair and reclining slightly. Joel’s jaw rippled at your mockery.

“Well, hell, forgive me for not meeting your expectations, darlin’.”

He expected you to fire back at him, to humor him with the witty back-and-forth banter that he’d missed so much, but you just sighed, sinking further back into your chair and shaking your head softly to yourself.

“Took you long enough to get here. I was startin’ to think you hadn’t gotten my message.”

Joel felt his heart skip a beat, and his guarded expression briefly exposed a look of realization.

“So it was you.”

You let out a humorless laugh, avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, Joel, it was me. But I hope to God you kept that to yourself—Maria would kill me if she knew I’d contacted you.”

“Get the sense that she’s not my biggest fan.”

Joel grumbled, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. He was surprised to see your hardened eyes soften a bit, full of something resembling pity.

“She’s just—she’s protective. Tryin’ to keep me and Tommy safe.”

He tried not to read into your words too much, but he felt himself grow defensive.

“Safe. From me.”

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and drawing in a sigh in an attempt to maintain your composure.

“Well, you’ve certainly earned yourself quite the reputation, Mister Miller.”

You scoffed, and Joel felt his face fall slightly, his mouth turning into a frown.

“So you’ve heard about me, then?”

You still avoided his eyes, your own arms crossing over your chest.

“I mean, just things from Tommy, but I doubt he told me everything. Still, Maria—Maria doesn’t think you were the best role model for your brother.”

“And what do you think?”

Joel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and you swallowed, opening your mouth to reply just as the door to the clinic abruptly slammed open, the bell nearly flying off the hinge from the sudden rattling. You and Joel immediately burst into action, and you raced out of the exam room to investigate the intrusion.

Joel paused behind you when you slowed, taking in a relieved deep breath when you realized there wasn’t an immediate threat. The young boy from earlier had barged in, tears trailing down his round, rosy cheeks as he stared up at you with a look of almost betrayal. His mom was attempting to catch her breath, standing in the doorway hunched over, and young girl was standing to her right, presumably her daughter, who looked to be barely older than ten.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,”

The mother began to explain, her hand pressed against her chest to try to regulate her breathing.

“We were heading back to the mess hall for movie night but Jenny made a comment to Ben about his splinter, and—”

“Why don’t you wan’ me to get better?”

Ben interrupted, more tears falling from his wide eyes as he pouted, holding up the index finger of his left hand to showcase the bandage that you had put there earlier.

You startled backwards.

“What are you talkin’ about, Ben? Of course I want you to get better, that’s my job.”

“Then why didn’t you use your powers on me?”

He stamped his foot in frustration, and Joel stood back, watching the scene unfold before him with furrowed brows. Your eyes snapped over to his older sister, Jenny, who was trying to hide her amused smile behind her hand. Finally, you knelt down in front of the young boy, who sniffled and avoided your eyes.

“You’re right, Ben, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry. Can I fix it now?”

You asked carefully, holding your hand out for him. He contemplated for a minute before nodding carefully, offering you his left finger extended in front of him. Joel felt a weight settle onto his chest as you carefully pressed your lips to the pad of his injured finger, making an exaggerated smooching sound as you pulled away. The young boy’s face immediately brightened, and you smiled at him.

“There! Did the magic kiss make it feel all better?”

You leaned down to look into his eyes, and he nodded at you happily before quickly turning back towards the door and running into his mother, clinging to her legs.

The woman smiled at you, both apologetically and gratefully.

“Thank you, Y/N, and again, I’m so sorry—”

You waved a dismissive hand.

“No worries, Beth. Seriously, it was my fault, I should’ve remembered. Thanks for the reminder, Jenny.”

You winked at the older girl teasingly, and she hid her face further behind her hand, biting her lip to hold in her laughter. As the family turned to leave, you shouted a reminder to them.

“Be careful on the benches in the mess hall! They haven’t been sanded well and I don’t want him to get any more splinters!”

The door shut behind them and Joel watched your shoulders immediately sag when they left, your lungs exhaling a long, exhausted sigh. When you turned around to go back into the office, you jolted slightly, as if you’d forgotten that Joel was there. He studied you carefully, analyzing you, and you hastily pushed past him and back into the exam room.

“Sorry about that. You know how toddlers are.”

You settled back into your office chair, but as the door clicked shut behind Joel, he remained standing, leaning back against the wood with his arms crossed. You were looking at some paperwork on your desk before your eyes lifted to glance at him. He remained stoic, silent, and you sighed.

“Ellie’s a cute kid. Reminds me of someone.”

You gauged his reaction, watching his muscles tense and his jaw clench at your admission, his eyes casting down to his feet. He didn’t respond—you decided not to push it.

“How’d you get stuck haulin’ the walking cure across the states?”

That caught his attention. He stood abruptly upright, his eyes widening as he stared at you, a brief look of panic rising in him.

“How—she told you?”

You made a motion for him to calm down.

“Relax, it’s fine, seriously. I saw her bite marks. Pretty fuckin’ wild, though.”

“Why’d she tell you?”

Joel seemed unsatisfied with your answer, taking an intimidating step towards you, his voice low and threatening. He seemed to be forgetting the fact that his fear tactics wouldn’t work on you.

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m easy to talk to. Good at makin’ people feel comfortable. Besides, she said she’d heard my name before. Apparently you talk in your sleep?”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, his jaw clenching rhythmically and hands balling into fists. His eyes dropped to the floor, but you let out a short, bright laugh.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. That’s actually one of the first things Tommy told me when we met back up.”

Joel threw his head back with a frustrated groan, particularly annoyed when he heard you cackling from your seated position in front of him, obviously deriving great pleasure from his discomfort. When you’d finished laughing, however, the mood quickly soured once again, his dark eyes fixing you within them carefully.

“You can’t say a word to anyone about it.”

“What, about you dreamin’ about me?”

“Y/N. You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about.”

He was practically growling at you, his eyes narrowed as he took another menacing step closer. You were getting fed up with his attempts at intimidation.

“I’m not gonna say anything, okay?”

“Swear to me.”

To your surprise, Joel leaned down and grabbed the arms of your office chair, spinning it so you were facing him completely. He leaned down in front of you, eyes level with yours, only a foot away as he challenged you silently with his gaze. Up close, he could see the jagged edges of the healed cut through your forehead, marring your perfect complexion.

“Swear to me, you won’t tell Maria, or anybody.”

You scoffed, surprising Joel by leaning closer towards him instead of away, not breaking eye contact as you fixed him with your own intense stare.

“I promise. Besides, you already know that I’m great at keepin’ secrets.”

He pulled away from you harshly, abruptly, your chair sliding back a few inches at his sudden release of its arms. You smirked to yourself, somewhat satisfied with your ability to still get under his skin, even after all this time.

“Now, go sit back down, and tell me everything. From the beginning.”

Joel opened his mouth the protest, but you pinned him down with a glare.

“Don’t. This is my town, Joel—you’re the outsider here, not me. Which means I get my answers first.”

He pursed his lips, trying to come up with some way to contradict you, but he knew deep down that you were right—you had the upper hand in this situation. Begrudgingly, Joel pushed himself back onto the table across from you, grunting with the effort as he settled back against the wall. You rolled your chair a bit closer to him, leaning back and watching him intently.

“Alright, then. Tell me the story about how the cowboy and the little firefly managed to survive their journey out West, searchin’ for a brother and a cure.”

Joel regarded you carefully, fighting the urge to correct you.

And searching for you.

Instead, he opened his mouth and began to speak.

Joel’s brows furrowed as you rejoined him on the gravel street from the house you had stopped by. Your arms were holding a variety of clothing items, pressed tightly to your chest as you nodded for him to follow you.

“What was that about?”

He asked, maintaining several feet of distance between the two of you as you lead him further away from the town square.

“Stopped by to see Mary-Ann. Her husband is about your size, and I figured you wouldn’t object to a new set ’a clothes.”

You jokingly looked him up and down, scrunching up your nose in disapproval at his current attire. Even with your teasing, Joel felt gratitude sneak up on him as he watched you.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He spoke lowly, and your quick pace faltered slightly at the tenderness that breached the surface of his words. Your smile wavered.

“Yeah, I know. S’really not a big deal.”

You shrugged it off, refusing to expose any vulnerability to the man. You were bound and determined to keep your head up in the face of his sudden reappearance in your life—the last thing you needed was for Joel to think he still had power over you.

“What’d you trade for it? I’m sure there’s somethin’ I can—”

“Joel, s’fine.”

You snapped, harsher than you had intended. You sighed.

“I’m the town doctor, and I treat everyone and don’t expect anything in return, so when the time comes that I actually need somethin’, people are more often than not willing to help me out.”

He didn’t respond, and you continued your trek through the snow in silence. After a few more tense minutes, you reached house number 38, pausing when you saw light peeking through the curtains in a room upstairs, the window cracked to let cool air into the stale home.

“So, this is you. Ellie’s already upstairs, m’sure.”

You paused in front of the door, turning to face the man head-on. The familiarity of looking up at him like this, his brown eyes regarding you with undivided attention, filled you with a deep sense of melancholy. The proximity was dizzying. You refused to acknowledge the sensation.

You offered him the clothes in your arms—a fleece-lined burgundy flannel, a pair of jeans, boxers, socks, and an undershirt—and he accepted them gratefully.

“Tommy and Maria are right across the way, and... I’m, uh, right next door if you need anything.”

You tried to hide the resentment that soured your lips as you told him where your own home was located, and although he didn’t say it out loud, you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes that you were, once again, neighbors. How serendipitous.

You hesitated, staring at the ground in between the gap of yours and Joel’s boots, contemplating. Finally, you figured you’d extend an olive branch.

“Listen—after you get cleaned up, if you wanted—I mean, I have to talk to Maria quick, but ’m probably gonna stay up for awhile, so if—you know, if you’re not too tired, I wouldn’t mind—”

“Thanks.”

Joel interrupted your senseless rambling, indicating that he understood your winded invitation for his company. You blew out a breath, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you met his eyes once more before stepping around him and closing the short distance to the house across the street. Joel watched as you walked away.

He was fuming, but his flaming hot anger was quickly tempered by a lingering sadness that threatened to consume him. Ellie had some fucking nerve—bringing up Sarah, trying to manipulate him into taking her the rest of the way. He felt nauseous, his jaw clenched tight as he sat on the edge of the bed in his own bedroom, his eyes flickering up to stare out the window that shrouded him in moonlight.

There was a cool breeze filtering in through the crack in the window, but when he looked out, he saw you. You were staring up at Ellie’s window, your hands buried in the pockets of your winter coat and your face painted with discomfort. It was only then that Joel realized Ellie’s window had been open, as well—how long had you been standing there? Had you heard everything?

Joel found himself rising, walking to stand up against the window. The movement caught your attention, your gaze briefly shifting as you made eye contact with him. The silvery-pink skin of your scar seemed translucent beneath the streetlights. You stared up at him, wordlessly confirming that yes, you’d heard every goddamned word before you turned and stomped over towards your own home, downtrodden and damaged.

He wasn’t consciously in control of his body as he swiped his jacket from the end of the mattress and descended the stairs, exiting the front door just in time to see yours slam shut. He swallowed, letting his exhale cloud out in front of him in the frigid air before he followed your snowy footsteps, pausing on your front porch and staring at the closed door.

You wouldn’t want him to join you anymore, surely—not after you’d been subjected to his aggression towards Ellie. Your silence signaled your disinterest, or so he told himself. Still, he hesitated. His calloused fingers brushed against the doorknob, twisting sharply, and to his surprise, the door swung open easily.

An olive branch.

The hallway before him was dark, but there was a soft yellow light emanating from deeper in your home, and he could hear the clanking of dishware and cutlery as he stepped into the threshold and closed the door behind him.

His heavy footsteps echoed loudly against the creaky wooden floor as he followed the sounds, the hallway opening up to a small kitchen where you were facing away from him, the smell of coffee filling Joel’s lungs as he breathed in deep. Real coffee. Even better than goddamn liquor.

He watched as you poured two mugs of the dark, steaming beverage, setting the pot back on the counter before picking up the mugs and turning to face him. You still didn’t speak, didn’t even look at him as you squeezed past him and set one mug on the end of the round wooden table before sitting down on the opposite side. Joel took the hint, the legs of the chair scraping the hardwood as he pulled it out and cautiously seated himself, his hands instinctually coming to cradle the warmth of the mug in front of him.

“You heard all that?”

He croaked.

You took a small sip, your head turned to stare out the back window and into the darkness of the trees outside. He waited, silently, for you to set the tone of the meeting. He watched your jaw clench as you finally opened your mouth the speak.

“Just—”

Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. There was grimace on your face, words wobbly and cautious.

“Just when I think you can’t possibly let me down even more, you somehow find a way.”

He scowled, but felt his beating heart sink, an anchor weighing him down at your confession. He didn’t say anything—just kept watching your face. Your features always betrayed you; you wore your heart on your sleeve. He could read every expression with practiced precision, and now, he studied you diligently.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes glossy and sad. He swallowed.

“You know, I—I stuck my neck out for you. To Maria. Even after all the shit I heard from Tommy, even after everything, I still thought—still thought there might be at least some trace of the man I knew all those years ago.”

“That was your first mistake.”

His gruff voice interjected, posture stiff.

“I ain’t the same person I was. And neither are you.”

“You’re wrong.”

You shook your head with such conviction that Joel faltered.

“I haven’t let the world harden me, Joel. I’ve grown, and I’ve learned, but I’m still the same person I’ve always been."

“You’re lucky to be alive, then. Naive to think that you can still care about people in a world that doesn’t care about you.”

You studied him, cold and calculated, before nodding sharply, a look of disapproval in your eyes. The scar that ran through your brow curled as you scowled.

“You just feel so fuckin’ sorry for yourself, don’t you?”

Joel was utterly taken aback, blinking once, then twice, before his eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You think—you think you can use your grief, your pain, to justify your actions, like it can excuse the person you’ve become. We don’t have control over anything that happens to us, Joel. Shit happens, and the world still spins. The only thing we do have control over is the way we react to it—how we choose to let it affect us.”

You were glaring daggers through him, resentment contorting your attractive features into a snarl, your scar pinched inward with the furrow of your brow.

“Ellie was right. You’re not the only person to lose someone. Your grief does not justify your actions. I’ve heard about the things you’ve done, Joel. The horrible things. You don’t get to say that the world forced you to become what you are—you made that choice. You let your grief consume you, you let it control your life, you let it turn you cold and callous and spiteful and cruel. That’s not the world, Joel—that was you."

He felt his chest grow tight, stunned by your words. There was anger growing in him, blazing hotter.

“Don’t—”

“No.”

You snapped, and Joel could see his own rage reflected in your eyes.

“No, Joel, you’re gonna shut the fuck up and listen to me, for once. I’ve waited too damn long to say it, and you at least owe me this.”

He silently seethed, fists clenching beneath the table as his leg began to bounce with anxiety.

“Look around you. All of these people—me, too—have suffered, have been put through so much, but we’re still here. We’re trying. We’re fighting. We found hope where there wasn’t any, in spite of everything, we’re choosin’ to move forward. So you can’t say that the only way to survive is to become as hateful as the world around you—there’s still good left.”

He stayed quiet, head silently shaking at your words. HIs jaw was rippling as it clenched. You grew silent for a moment, before hesitantly speaking up. Your tone was much softer, now.

“You’re not the only person to lose her, Joel. You’re not the only person who lost Sarah.”

His eyes snapped to you, his expression turning stony at the mention of his daughter. He despised the look of pity in your eyes—the look of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry about Sarah, I can’t even begin to understand how hard it must’ve been for you to go through that, but—but you don’t get to own that. That grief doesn’t belong to you.”

You swallowed. There were tears welling in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“Do you really think this is what she would’ve wanted you to become? What she—”

He stood abruptly, anger bubbling over and spewing from him as he shouted at you.

“You have no fucking right—”

“I loved her, too, Joel!”

You screamed, standing to meet him, and the man recoiled, flinching as tears began to track down your cheeks. You fumed.

“I loved Sarah, and I loved you, and I spent every single day missing you and hoping that by some godforsaken miracle, you—my family, was okay.”

My family. His gaze dropped to his shoes as he swallowed thickly.

“And when I heard from Tommy what had happened, I just—my heart broke for you, Joel, of course it did, but that little girl—I know she wasn’t mine, but I loved her, too. And don’t tell me I have no right to talk about her, because I did know her. I spent every day for five years with her, watchin’ her grow up, and—and I know it’s not the same, but you can’t take that from me. As hard as you try—as hard as you tried—to erase me, to push me away... I’ve never stopped loving you. Either of you.”

You turned away from him, trying to mask the pain that was erupting from deep within you—years and years of repressed anguish spilling from every pore.

Your back was to him, your shoulders rising and falling with shaky breaths, your sobs subdued by your willpower alone. As much as he tried to fight it, Joel felt guilt nesting within his soul.

“I know your world ended that night, I know you lost everything—but my world ended the night before.”

His lungs felt like they were shrinking.

“Y/N—”

“I’m gonna ask you something, Joel, and I already know the answer, but—but I need to hear you say it.”

You turned to face him once again, your sadness briefly replaced with cool calculation as you scrutinized him. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Did Sarah die that night, thinkin’ I just up and left without saying goodbye? Without knowing the truth?”

He felt the blood drain from his face, his mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. He didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. You saw it in his eyes, the silent resignation, the shadow of shame that crested his features, the way his jaw rippled. You nodded slowly, the last of your tears drying up as you sniffed, and Joel could see the resentment slowly taking control.

“Darlin’, I—”

“When I saw you with Ellie, I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was still a part of you in there that could love, that could care, that could be a father. Ellie is someone’s daughter, Joel. What if it was Sarah? You can’t—don’t turn your back on her. Please. Don’t—don’t break my heart again.”

He swallowed thickly, unable to meet your gaze. You shook your head again, an uncharacteristic calmness suddenly possessing you.

“I’ll pack you a bag and put it on my porch for you to take tomorrow morning. Some rations and clothes and everything you’ll need."

You started walking towards the door, as if ready to lead him out, and he shook his head frustratedly.

“I can't take her, Y/N, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

You clipped, a glare piercing through him as you opened up the front door for him.

“Because if you don’t, m’gonna have to listen to you bitch about how much you regret it for the rest ’a your sorry life, and I’m not willing to put up with that.”

True to your word, there was a new backpack sitting on your front step early the next morning. Joel knocked twice on your door, but if you were home, you ignored him. He rifled through the contents quickly—you’d even included a makeshift first-aid kit, a thermos of coffee and some grounds.

As he shouldered the bag, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. It was a note, messily scrawled in your familiar handwriting. He felt his heart skip a beat as he reread it, over and over, his lips parted in shock.

Cowboy—

I kept my eyes closed, but five minutes is starting to feel more like twenty years—but I'm still waiting. I'll always be waiting for you, Joel.

Good luck. Maybe when you get back, you can hold up your end of the bargain. I've learned to be patient.

Your perpetual neighbor, Y/N

P.S. I'm sorry. And I forgive you.

You remembered.

TAGLIST: @spiidergirlsworld @canpillowscry @str84pedro @daddy-din @pedropascal-whore @pppmitt @thirdoffive @elliescumsl0t @kagajgajaguwbeidheubqk (please comment to be added/removed)

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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EQUIFINALITY

sequel to GESTALT

if things had been different...would we have ended up here?

Joel Miller x afab!reader

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, mentions of death and injury, grief, eventual smut, specific warnings provided for each part DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. NOTES: this takes place during/after the events of the last of us tv series.

You should be dead. But twenty years later, the world is still spinning, your lungs are still breathing, and Joel fucking Miller is standing in front of you—it still makes your heart beat just as fast as the night he broke it.

→ part one: winter → part two: spring → part three: summer → part four: fall

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

Note

Will Gestalt continue? Just curious...

yes, it is in the works right now! it will probably end up being around 5/6 parts, and will take place 20 years post outbreak (so around the time the events of the series occur)

#projectionistwrites

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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I HEAR A SYMPHONY

Joel Miller x gn!reader (1.5k+)

Joel Miller once lived and breathed a melody, before Cordyceps came and stole the music in his heart away—but then he met someone who set his world back into tune.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: SMUT (very abstract descriptions of sex, suggestive themes), this entire thing is supposed to come across as an eloquent metaphor but it’s rushed and probably super scattered

i hear a symphony — cody fry

i used to hear a simple song that was until you came along now in its place is something new i hear it when i look at you

He strummed chords on invisible strings when he was nervous.

It was something he’d done since he first learned to play guitar, fingers absentmindedly following practiced patterns when his hands were at his sides. He'd sometimes sing along in his head—Smoke on the Water, Purple Rain, Bad Moon Rising—his fingers dancing across the frets in his mind, nimbly plucking away at familiar melodies.

For many years, Joel Miller aimed to find song in every corner of his life—it was his calling since he was a child. Even when his aspirations of being a singer faded into the background as reality settled in, music always dwelled within him, all-encompassing and ever salient. It came in the form of tinny vinyls spinning on a record player; rewound cassettes echoing his favorite albums through his tired Walkman into the early hours of the morning; the shitty radio in his old pickup that only ever picked up a signal to the country music station; humming softly to himself as he flipped pancakes for his daughter's breakfast; compulsory whistling as he and his brother worked long hours in the blistering Texas sun.

When the outbreak happened, and the familiar melody of his daughter’s laughter died alongside her, his fingertips still bore the callouses from the guitar strings and his hands still itched to follow the progressions of long-forgotten tunes—but his world had fallen silent. The once steady time signature that had helped keep his days flowing with an even rhythm and tempo was holding an indefinite fermata; the once routine symphonies of daily living devolved from a worldly tune into a cacophony of dissonance; the once musically-inclined man struggled to find any semblance of lyricism in the sounds around him when everything just seemed to be noise.

But still, his fingers reminisced what his mind had since forgotten—they continued to maintain their dexterity, strumming silent harmonies and dancing along the neck of the ghost of his acoustic guitar.

The reflexive tendencies that occupied his hands were instinctual, nothing more than an idiosyncrasy that served to synchronize the energy in his body with the rapid pace with which his thoughts traveled. He didn’t notice it anymore—the chord progressions were unidentifiable at this point, his fingers operating outside of his conscious control.

But you noticed. He wasn’t sure how, or why you were observing him so meticulously that you were able to identify the patterned movements of his restless fingers, but you noticed. The inaudible melodies that his hands persistently played had always fallen on deaf ears—but the songs seemed to echo at a frequency at which only you were attuned to hear.

A knock on his door on a brisk winter evening in Jackson—your cheeks were dusted pink as you shivered on his front steps, glowing beneath the dim shine of his porch light.

There was a guitar in your hands. Your fingers were wrapped around the neck tightly as you stared up at him, a certain innocence twinkling in your kind eyes. You were nervous—the timbre of your voice fluctuated as you explained the purpose of your surprise visit. You’d been drawn to the constant motion of his fingers, your curiosity piqued at just how fluid, deliberate, and controlled each stroke appeared to be. You’d found the instrument abandoned in the attic of the home you resided in, destined to never play another tune until you’d stumbled upon it accidentally. Joel listened to your long-winded explanation—you’d been trying to teach yourself to play, and that’s why the twitching of his fingers had caught your attention; you’d recognized the technique, as you’d been hopelessly trying to emulate it yourself.

Something awoke in him as you stood on his porch that night. It was unidentifiable at the time, even after he’d invited you inside to escape the frigid December air and you’d sat across from him at the kitchen table. He was intrigued by your interest in him, and slightly impressed at your audaciousness to confront him at his own home with nothing more than an inkling that your deductions about him had been correct. It was only after you’d passed the guitar over into his lap and he began to carefully twist the tuning pegs to tighten the strings that he finally recognized what, exactly, had changed inside his mind when you first opened your mouth to speak.

The empty static had been replaced with a note. Soft, and discreet, but he could hear it. The very first chord plucked on his guitar, signifying the beginning of a composition. An overture.

Joel began to seek you out. It wasn’t difficult to do—he just had to close his eyes and listen. The wind carried the gentle dulcet of your voice; the mellifluous trill of your laughter soon became his favorite sound; with each exhale, you conducted an elegy; your very being seemed to coalesce into an aria, everything you touched seemed to resolve itself into harmony.

Similar to his recollections of your songs, your meetings increased in frequency—his large, weathered hands guided your fingers with patience and restraint, watching the quiet concentration on your face as your fingertips grew accustomed to the bite of metal strings. He became partial to serving as your audience in the mezzanine seats—your back settled between his parted legs as you sat on the floor in front of his chair, your shoulders nestled between his knees as he observed you from above, leaning forward to coach you through your occasional mistakes. His arms would blanket your own when he’d reach to manipulate the position of your hands, his palms settling over your knuckles as he adjusted your fingers to mimic his own.

You were a fucking earworm. When he was out on patrol, when you were busy helping in the dining hall, the only thing replaying in the back of his mind was you, you, you. The way your eyes shone with wonder when he’d finally relent to your endless pleas and play you something from his past. The way your fingers would twitch from where they rested on your thighs, mindlessly trying to mirror each chord he strummed. The way your lips would part when the acoustics trapped you into a trance, your mind completely enraptured by the songs he shared.

You clung to each melody with devout appreciation, drinking them in as if they were the only remedy to quench your insatiable thirst for euphony. On the rarest of occasions, when his vulnerability peeked from behind the curtain and he allowed you to listen to the gravelly timbre of his voice, the awestruck expression on your delicate features would provide a metronome for his performance in the form of his pounding heart, beating rhythmically against his ribcage.

Crescendoing. The brush of his fingers against your skin would linger for just a bit longer each time—the cloyingly sweet redolence of your honeysuckle perfume permeated even the stench of blood and decay that sometimes followed him home after macabre patrol shifts. The refrain of your duet finally made way for the bridge on the night your lips first melded with his—the hot sting of your mouth against his, your fingers buried in his hair and your body flush against his own—he found himself continuously longing for an encore.

As more and more of your musical arrangements revealed themselves to him, he familiarized himself with his favorite pieces in your repertoire—the desperate whine subdued by a kiss when he nipped at the swell of your lower lip; the ragged panting breath that escaped you when his hands slowly removed your clothes; the carnal whimpers of need when your body demanded a faster tempo than the one he was providing; the incessant repetition of your begging as his mouth worked you over, pleading for your release; the depraved moan that accompanied the initial stretch of him breaching your entrance; most of all, the sound of his name on your lips, his favorite fucking verse, your typically melodic intonation reducing itself to a wrecked, breathy version of your voice as you chanted nonsensically—please, Joel, fuck, give it to me, yes, yes, yes—

Joel was the maestro—but you were the fucking musician. He knew how to conduct, but Christ, you knew how to play. His body was your instrument, and you knew exactly how to make him sing. With practiced flicks of your wrist and calculated slides of your tongue, each note you drew from him was deliberate and strategic, performing perfectly in unison with the conductor's gesticulations.

His life had fallen back into tune. The soft, forgiving lull of your presence had reminded him of the aspirations of his past—the reason he wanted to pursue a future of music, the way the vibrations felt low in his diaphragm when he allowed his voice to ring clear. For so long, he’d lived in a world characterized by chaos and disorder, but somehow, you’d quelled the dissonance and reintroduced the broken shell of a man to the solace of song.

He watched you strum the guitar, sitting on the bench on his front porch. Your face was illuminated by the dim yellow glow of the porch light, reminiscent of the time you’d first wound up on his stoop. As your fingers deftly plucked at the strings, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth in concentration, every wrong note that Joel had ever played resolved itself as the symphony you personified washed over him—a frisson of overwhelming magnitude possessed his body as a resounding realization dawned on him.

You were his magnum opus.

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 2

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Marc Spector x afab!psychologist!reader (11.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, squirting, creampie, bondage, intense edging, reader is very mean, facesitting/riding, 69ing, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: time for everyone’s favorite babygirl. again, i really hope i did marc’s character justice. also, you can’t tell me marc wouldn’t look so pretty crying for you. i kinda went feral on this one. <3 DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

← previous part | next part →

CASE STUDY: MARC SPECTOR

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Host / Apparently Normal Part

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Fearful

CHARACTERISTICS: cocksure, standoffish, pensive, calculating; resilient to a fault; views himself as irredeemable in the face of his past, unworthy of forgiveness or compassion; must be in control of every situation in order to feel secure.

SPLIT FROM HOST: N/A

TRAUMA RESPONSE: tendency to run when facing emotionally distressing situations

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: dominant, assertive, deliberate, practiced, indulgent; derives majority of satisfaction from his ability to draw pleasure from his partner; cognitive blockages that are reminiscent of self-sabotage (undeserving of release or pleasure).

“You’re early, Doc.”

Marc teased—he was leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk on his face, successfully blocking your entrance into his flat. You felt your face heat up beneath his devious gaze.

“I know.”

Your words were softer than you’d intended them to be, more hesitant—Marc’s eyes narrowed at your wavery response.

He wordlessly stepped to the side, allowing you to finally slip past him and into the threshold of the apartment. You paused in the entrance as the door clicked shut behind Marc. He narrowly avoided colliding into your form as he turned, his arms jutting out to brace himself against you to prevent either of you from stumbling. His hands gripped your biceps, his chest pressed against your back. Your body tensed under his touch, and he let out a low chuckle, slipping past you and further into the space.

“Jesus, you’re touchy today. Everything okay?”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied you. The movement was so easy, so casual and relaxed, as if this was just like any other time you’d hung out at his place—as if you weren’t there just to get into his pants. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you glanced down at your worn sneakers. It felt...different, this time. With Steven, you knew there would be a learning curve for both of you. You knew that, to some extent, you would be the one calling the shots, making Steven feel safe and comfortable. But now...you were intimidated. And ashamed to admit it.

You must’ve been quiet a beat too long, because the next second, Marc was in front of you, standing toe-to-toe. When you didn’t meet his eyes, his left hand came to nudge your chin upward, forcing your gaze upon him. You gulped, but his dark eyes were softened with concern.

“Hey. You gotta talk to me, Y/N. What’s on your mind?”

You blew out a breath.

“No, it’s nothing, I’m just—”

“—nervous?”

Marc finished for you, and you squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to prevent yourself from seeing the satisfied look on his perfect face.

“Yes, Marc, laugh it up. I’m nervous.”

“Hey, I didn’t even—”

“Yeah, but you were gonna.”

You snapped with a glare, but you felt guilt punch through your gut when a look of hurt crested Marc's features. You sighed.

“Shit, Marc, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“I am, too, you know.”

You blinked once, then twice.

“You’re...what?”

He rolled his eyes, huffing out a bitter, humorless laugh, as if he thought you were toying with him. When he saw the genuine confusion on your face, he threw his head back with a groan.

“You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed, but when you finally realized what he meant, you felt a small smile creep onto your face.

“Wait—you’re nervous?”

Marc shrugged sheepishly, and you could see a bit of color rise to his cheeks—was he blushing?

“You’re telling me—Marc Spector is nervous?”

“Yeah, and who’s laughing it up, now?”

He quirked a brow, giving you an accusatory look, and you giggled at him, the tension melting away from your body easily.

“I’m not laughing at you, Marc, I’m just—why would you be nervous? Especially around me?”

He shook his head at you incredulously, taking a few steps closer. You felt your back press up against the door behind you, successfully trapping you in Marc's vicinity.

“S’that so hard to believe? A pretty girl like you, coming over to study how I am in bed—even if it’s just for science?”

Marc wiggled his brows theatrically, and you laughed again, shaking your head. Still, there was blood pumping loud in your ears as he spoke, and you could feel electricity crackle in the air between you, charged with energy.

“Yeah, for science. But—you have pretty girls over all the time to see how you are in bed.”

“Yeah, but s’never been you, has it?”

The words were barely audible, muttered lowly beneath his breath, but you felt your jaw slacken at his quiet confession. Your eyes flitted up to his, and there was that cheeky, self-satisfied grin on his face again—fuck, he was too handsome, you just wanted to—

“Can I just fuckin’ kiss you, already?”

He was close, now, his warm exhales mingling with your own. His brown eyes glittered onyx as he drank you in, lips parted just slightly, the tip of his nose barely brushing your own. You felt faint, the proximity dizzying as temptation sank its teeth into your flesh. With the faintest nod of your head, Marc took the plunge.

You’d never had a kiss quite like this one before. Of course, Steven’s was great, but it was exactly what you’d expected—a desperate clash of teeth and tongue, the two of you battling your insecurities to fall into a steady rhythm. But this—this was fucking special. Marc’s hand slipped behind your head to thread through your hair, his other arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against him. You were frankly surprised at the tenderness with which his lips found yours, starting with a barely-there brush of his mouth. It was sweet, and raw, intimate, and you felt his lashes flutter against your cheek when he pulled away too soon.

You were breathless, your face following his as he drew back, desperate to maintain the contact. He chuckled at this, but remained close, eyes finding yours again.

“Still nervous?”

He asked, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes seemed darker as he smirked down at you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Your eyes flitted down to his mouth, your breath catching in your lungs at the sight. Something resembling a squeak involuntarily escaped your throat.

“Marc. Please.”

You whined, big doe-eyes glimmering, and Marc scrunched his face up as though he was in pain, eyes squeezed shut tight as he groaned. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Shit. You really gonna make it that easy for me, baby?”

He practically hissed, and a breathy laugh blew past your lips. Marc captured your mouth with his again, harder this time, the hand that was in your hair reached up to brace himself against the door above your head, successfully caging you in. You hummed against him as his tongue passed through the seam of your lips, sinking into you further. Your desperate hands reached up and clawed at his chest, gripping the navy blue fabric of his cotton t-shirt in your fingers as you held him close. He pressed himself into you, and you could feel the hardness of his bulge flush against your lower abdomen. A moan escaped you at the feeling of his arousal, your body instinctually thrusting into his hold. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Yeah? You feel what you do to me, huh, baby?”

He teased against your lips, and you tossed your head back, thudding against the door behind you. You looked down your nose at him, through your lashes, panting slightly, your hands still twisted in the material of his shirt.

“Fuck, Marc, want you so bad, just—”

Your words died on your breath when his arms abruptly slid beneath your butt and hoisted you upwards, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. One of his large hands stayed firmly squeezing the flesh of your ass, the other roamed the length of your back as he pressed his lips against yours again, turning to walk you further into the apartment.

“Jesus, this is gonna be fun.”

He mumbled at your eagerness and responsiveness, your hands threading through his brown curls as he brought you towards the bed, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You gasped when he threw you back onto the mattress abruptly, your body bouncing once at the contact, causing you to giggle. But then Marc was stalking over your body, hovering above your body with a predatory look in his eyes. He licked his lips as you blinked up at him.

“Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl. Gonna absolutely ruin you.”

You impatiently pulled his face back to yours, and he didn’t resist, kissing you back with equal fervor and desire as your own, but the moment you lifted your hips to seek friction from his body, he pulled away, tutting at you condescendingly.

“Ah, ah, ah. Relax, baby. Don’t torture yourself.”

He smirked, fingers dancing across the skin of your stomach beneath the hem of your shirt. You reacted immediately, lifting your arms above your head to allow him to pull it from your body.

“Look at you—so obedient.”

His patronizing tone normally would’ve pissed you off, but there was something about the look in Marc's eyes—completely enraptured with you, ready to give you the world—that made you want to do whatever he said. He reached behind your body to undo your bra, fingers nimbly unhooking the clasps as he yanked it off of you, his face immediately sinking into your cleavage. He groaned, lips frantically attaching themselves to the flesh between your breasts, wandering across the expanse of the newly-exposed skin and wherever they could reach.

“Oh, baby. Got such pretty tits.”

He growled, teeth playfully sinking into the skin at the top of your right breast, earning a yelp from your mouth as he quickly soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue, smirking up at you. The heat of his mouth was enough to briefly distract you from his wandering hands, but then he was yanking your pants down your legs in one fell swoop, leaving you bare save for the plain pink cotton panties you’d worn today—they weren’t particularly sexy, as you had been trying to prevent your apparel from serving as a confounding variable, but Marc still looked like he wanted to devour you.

His rough hands ran up the plush skin of your thighs, over your hips before squeezing at your tits, making your back arch up and off the bed. A dark chuckle sounded from above you.

“So eager.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to your mouth, and you felt his hands travel down your body again, teasingly fondling at the waistband of your underwear as you sighed. You let your own hands travel beneath his shirt, running your hands along the warmth of his toned abdomen, coaxing him out of the material. You were happily surprised when he honored your silent request, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. His expression flickered for a moment as you admired him, his eyes briefly shining with a certain warmth that you couldn’t decipher. He pressed his lips to yours, a soft, sweet kiss, but when he pulled away, the wicked gleam in his eye had returned.

“Gonna make you feel good, baby. You want me to touch you?”

Your nod was frantic, your head pressed back into the pillows as you forced your body to stay still beneath him, even as you desperately wanted to rut up against his jean-clad thighs.

“Yeah, you do, huh? Bein’ such a good girl for me, baby—you gonna keep behavin’ yourself? Gonna let me take care a’ you?”

You whined, desperation starting to pulse through your limbs, making you want to squirm.

“Yes, Marc, yes, just—please—”

He shushed you, his lips pressing hotly beneath your jaw before continuing down the column of your neck, down your sternum, across your breasts, and finally stopping above your navel. He hummed into your skin, the vibrations causing a chill to pass over your spine, goosebumps rising in their wake. He lifted his hands to spread your legs further apart, granting him the space to lay between them so he was face-to-face with your clothed core.

“Fuck, baby—soakin’ for me already.”

You could feel his hot breath against the cool, damp material of your panties, and you jolted when his fingers lightly pressed against the wet spot, the pads of his digits just barely swiping over your folds. Your toes curled and legs tensed, trying hard to withstand Marc's slow, relentless teasing. He seemed to be enjoying it, a dark chuckle escaping his mouth at your reaction.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

He requested lowly, hands pressed against your inner thighs to hold them apart in front of him. You tried to make your voice steady.

“Marc, please, just—”

His fingers harshly curled into the flesh of your thighs, creating divots in the soft skin as you flinched. He gave you a warning glare.

“You never struck me as the bratty type. C’mon, baby—tell me what you want.”

“You, Marc, fuck—want you so bad. Always wanted you.”

You flinched at your own confession, but Marc responded with a throaty growl.

“Oh, yeah? Thought this was just for research, hm?”

You felt his nose brush against the crotch of your panties, and you whimpered, your hips lifting of their own accord. Marc’s hands gripped your waist tightly and slammed your ass back into the mattress, pressing you down firmly.

“That’s enough.”

He warned, suddenly strict, and you swallowed, trying hard to resist the urge to sink your hands in his hair and force him towards where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ greedy little thing. I’ll give you whatever you want, pretty girl—just wanna hear you say it.”

You bit your lip defiantly, feigning confusion at his request, and he growled again, teeth sinking into the flesh of your hip right above the waistband of your panties. You jumped at the sensation, letting out a sharp cry, and you felt the vibration of his chuckle through your skin.

“Go on, Y/N. Tell me the truth. Tell me how bad you want me.”

Your resolve shattered.

“Want you so bad, Marc. Wanted you since the day I met you. Wanted you to bend me over the desk in my office, wanted—wanted to get on my knees for you right there on the bus. Got off to the thought of you fucking me so many times, Marc, shit, please, would you just—”

He practically ripped the panties from your body as his mouth finally surged forward to steal a taste of your sopping cunt. You yelped in surprise when his tongue swiped through your folds, and Marc wasted no time in sinking two fingers into your throbbing entrance, already beginning a relentless pace within you.

“Oooh, FUCK, Marc—”

You exclaimed, hips thrusting upward at the sudden stimulation, and Marc’s strong arm reached up to press down on your stomach, forcing your movements to halt.

“Sit fuckin’ still—want you to cum all over my fingers, baby.”

He muttered against your clit, lips wrapping around the bud to suck harshly. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching already, the pleasure mounting and mounting with each sudden thrust of Marc’s thick fingers, each move deliberate and practiced. You were mewling beneath him, back arched harshly as he continued his pace, dark eyes watching as your face contorted into a look of pleasure.

“That’s it, baby, can feel you squeezin’ my fingers, fuck—you gonna cum for me?”

Your climax peaked easily and you let out a long sigh as you let the waves of pleasure overcome your senses, only acutely aware of Marc’s gentle praises being muttered against your throbbing cunt as your became pliant beneath him.

Your muscles began to loosen after your sudden and intense orgasm, but the sensation didn’t last for long—Marc wasn't stopping. His tongue had replaced his fingers, thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, his nose nudging at your clit in a move he must’ve learned from Steven, the cheeky bastard...

“Fuck, Marc, shit, I can’t—”

You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, but he held you down securely, not allowing you to pull away from the intense stimulation he was still offering.

“Color.”

The sound was muffled, mixed in with the sinful slurping noises he was making, and your cloudy mind took a few moments to process his request, but as his fingers pressed harder into the divot of your hipbone, you threw your head back to respond. Stoplight.

“Green, Marc, but—God, fuck, s’too much, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.”

Your eyes met his from his position buried in your mound, and the sight of his hungry eyes and the tone of his demand were enough to send you rapidly toppling over the edge yet again. The high-pitched wail that you let out was shameful, but Marc didn’t pause, watching you closely as you came apart on his tongue yet again.

As you came back down to Earth, he finally offered you a moment of reprieve, coming up for air to press a bruising kiss to your lips. The tangy taste of your arousal on his lips made your face flush hot.

“Taste so sweet for me, baby. Gonna give me another?"

You hummed, mind still foggy with bliss, but then his fingers were ghosting over your swollen clit, swiping carefully in circular motions on your tender flesh. Your head lifted to press into his shoulder, and he chuckled wickedly, increasing his pressure as you writhed beneath him.

“That’s it, baby, doin’ so well.”

He praised, hot lips pressed to your ear, and you could feel heat pool in your lower belly, red and hot and seething. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, hard enough that you could taste the metallic tinge of blood on your tongue as Marc sped up his pace. Your fingers wrapped around his arm, trying to pull him away, but his muscles flexed beneath your hold, and the overstimulation quickly made way for yet another stuttering orgasm, your cunt clenching around nothing as your teeth sank into the flesh of Marc’s shoulder, body twitching uncontrollably. You heard him hiss from the bite to his skin, but it quickly evolved into a groan as he turned his head to the side, littering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses as sweat dappled your face.

“There we go. Good girl, baby. Good girl.”

He cooed, finally pulling his hand away from your core. He lifted his slick-coated fingers and pressed them to your lips, and you absent-mindedly obeyed, sucking his digits into your mouth and lapping up the residual arousal from his knuckles. He hummed in approval, your face utterly fucked-out and eyes hazy. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose before sitting upright above you, his hands making quick work of his belt buckle as he pushed his jeans and boxers down simultaneously.

“Think you’re ready for my cock, pretty girl?”

Your legs were still quaking with aftershocks, your thighs sticky with wetness from your prior orgasms and Marc’s saliva. Still, even with exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, the sight of Marc’s cock standing at full height, ruddy and weeping, was enough to inspire a nod of your head.

“Want you—fuck, Marc, want you inside me, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for me, baby.”

Marc crept forward on his knees, stroking his cock with practiced precision as he slid between your split legs. You felt the head of his member slide experimentally through your folds, nudging at your clit. You bristled, the heat of his hardened length jostling your shot nerves. You nearly cried at the contact, hips pressing into the mattress and away from the pressure, but then the tip notched at your entrance and you wanted nothing more for him to sink into you. Before he pressed further, though, he slipped fingers beneath your chin, turning your head to look at him. Your lip was quivering with want.

“Color?”

He rumbled, brown eyes gentle, and your ass lifted upwards, trying to force his cock further into your awaiting channel, but Marc pulled away completely, drawing a long whine of protest from your chest.

“Easy, baby. Say the word, and I’ll fuck you just how you want. But I need to hear it.”

You swallowed, fingers sinking into his curls, and your voice was hoarse when you spoke.

“Green, Marc. Fuck me, please.”

Your swollen folds made way for his thick length as it sank into you quickly, bottoming out in one swift thrust as Marc groaned throatily.

“Oh, fuck.”

He growled, eyes squeezed shut tight at the sensation of your tight walls fluttering around him. His balls pressed firmly up against your ass, and Marc reached down to grip one of your ankles, hoisting your leg high above your head so the front of your thigh was to your chest. He offered a slow roll of his hips, his cock nestling tightly into you as he snapped them forward.

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby—so fuckin’ tight.”

His pace started to build, and soon he reached for your other leg to hold it above your head, effectively folding you in half. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper within you, the head of his cock prodding at something devastating. You were moaning shamelessly, now, incapable of forming coherent words at this point as Marc continued to pound into you, his teeth bared as his hips pistonned forward.

“Always wanted to fuck you like this, baby. Knew you’d make the prettiest noises for me, knew you’d let me do whatever I wanted to you. You gonna gimme another one, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?”

A sob ripped through you at his words, your hips thrusting upwards to meet his strokes. He had one hand wrapped around each ankle, braced over your head as he railed you into the mattress, the bedframe creaking under the strain. You felt your stomach coiling yet again, but your body was resisting, so overstrung and sensitive that your muscles felt like they were on fire. Still, Marc’s pace was relentless, and you couldn’t stave off the overwhelming need for release as you started to fall apart.

The groan that Marc offered was animalistic as your pussy clenched down on him, hard, throbbing rhythmically as you surrendered yourself to the onslaught of shockwaves that pulsed through your core. You felt faint, weightless, the crux of heat in your center exploding.

“Oh, fuck me, baby, oh my God, did you just—”

His words dissolved into a growl as he pounded into you harder, and it was only as you slowly regained your bearings that you could feel the slickness coating your thighs and Marc’s abdomen—you’d squirted all over his cock.

“Jesus, not gonna last much longer, baby, so fuckin’ good.”

His head was bowed, curls falling into his eyes as he rammed into you, balls slapping against your asscheeks with each thrust. Punched-out moans passed through your lips surreptitiously as you tried to maintain your focus, although your consciousness was slipping away.

Marc’s left hand released your leg and you felt his fingers swirl over your clit again.

“Gonna cum for you, baby, but you gotta gimme one more, first.”

You sobbed, body lurching off the bed as if you were possessed, your knee curling over his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck, Marc, I can’t, s’too much, please, just want you to—”

“Not gonna cum until you do.”

He spoke through gritted teeth, a hardened determination glinting within his crazed eyes. You drank him in—sweat dripping from his curls, nostrils flared, lips pulled up in a snarl, veins in his neck straining beneath the skin with his effort. His pace abruptly switched, his rapid thrusting replaced with a few slow, deep, and fucking bone-rattling plunges within you, the sound of his skin roughly slapping yours filling your ears. The change in tempo was too much, you were spiraling, and with a guttural cry of his name, you felt a blissful numbness erupt from within. Marc threw his head back as you clenched around him once more.

“Oh, fuck, baby, yes, yes, so fuckin’ good, God—”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled out of you hurriedly, hand reaching down to jerk his cock rapidly as he finally allowed himself to reach his release.

“Fuck, gonna cum all over you, baby, yeah, you ready? You want my cum?”

You nodded, whining greedily, your legs settling down on either side of him as you raised your hips towards him so you could feel his knuckles brush over your pubic bone with each rapid stroke of his cock. The desperation in your eyes is what hurled him over the edge.

“Fuckin’ take it, baby, I’m cummin’ for you, oh, fuck—”

His spend spilled all across your mound, spraying upwards over your stomach and some droplets even landing themselves atop your tits as he continued to jack himself off above you, deep grunts passing through his parted lips with each spurt of cum that he coaxed out. He was panting heavily, watching his white seed ooze across your skin and down his knuckles as he finally slowed the pace of his hand, squeezing one final drop of pearly liquid from the tip as he groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours to catch his breath. You hummed, unable to open your tired eyes, but the intimacy of the action was welcomed as his lips just barely brushed over your own, a silent ‘thank you’ in the aftermath of an intense moment of passion.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel simultaneously weightless but so heavy at the same time, your limbs sinking into the damp sheets beneath you as you attempted to catch your breath. Marc nestled his face into the crook of your neck—an action vaguely reminiscent of Steven’s habit of nuzzling into you—and you felt him take a slow, deep inhale against your clammy skin, his warm breath fanning out along your collarbone.

You tried to stay awake when you felt his body peel itself from atop yours, but he returned moments later with a cool damp cloth to wipe away the evidence of both of your orgasms. You whined when the cold came in contact with the swollen, sensitive folds of your cunt before he moved up to wipe away his own release—Marc easily shushed you, pressing soft kisses against the skin after he wiped each spot clean. When he was finished, he haphazardly tossed the towel aside, crawling up towards you yet again.

Marc liked to be smothered. If you could take any one thing away from this moment, that’s what you saw—he laid down beside you, flat on his back, before rolling you over on top of him, your face pressed up against his pecs as your body settled between his legs. You hummed at the new position, his arms curling protectively around you, fingers of his right hand playing with your knotted hair. Your ear was pressed up against his chest and you listened to the steady rhythmic thumping of his heart, and you easily could’ve fallen asleep in an instant. Still, you wanted to enjoy the tenderness of the moment for a bit longer.

“You okay?”

Marc finally asked, and the vibrations from his throat reverberated down through his ribcage for you to feel. You breathed in long and deep, the feeling of his soft, warm skin comforting and familiar.

“’M great.”

You whispered, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. There was a small adoring smile on his abused lips, his brown eyes sweeping over your face in a way that only Marc could do—calculating, observant, as if he was looking straight through you. Sometimes, his unusual skill for reading people made you uneasy, but now, you felt completely relaxed beneath his scrutinizing gaze. It would be hard not to, when his eyes glowed as if you’d hung the stars in the sky just for him.

“…was that okay?”

Marc rephrased, and it was only then that you caught on to the insecurity he so desperately tried to mask. The crease between his brows betrayed him, making his concern for you evident. You smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Marc, it was great. You were great. You are great.”

Maybe it was the post-orgasmic bliss that had you feeling sappy, the endorphins boosting you higher into your serenity. The look on Marc’s face was heart-wrenching—the gratitude that shone in his beaming smile, the glow of his face as it lit up with pride, the—dare I say—love, in his eyes, as he gazed upon you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, and the hand that was resting against your back reached down to pull the duvet up and over the both of you, cocooning you in its warmth. You let yourself settle further into Marc’s welcoming embrace, eyes fluttering shut as you let your exhaustion take you. You quickly spoke before you found yourself dozing off.

“So…what’s your typical post-sex ritual look like after this, hm?”

You questioned, lifting your chin slightly to see his face. His eyes blinked open to look at you, and he frowned, pursing his lips.

“Believe it or not…with most of my, uh, hookups, I—uh, I have the tendency to leave in the middle of the night so I’m not there when the girl wakes up—gotta leave ’em wanting more, y’know?”

You laughed breathily at that, but hoped to hide how crestfallen his admission made you feel.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to sneak out after you fall asleep—”

His arms tightened their grip around you, and there was a sort of pleading look in his big brown eyes as he shook his head.

“No, you don’t have to do that, really, I just thought you should—”

“It’s really okay, Marc, I don’t mind.”

You assured with a shy smile, but he shook his head more firmly this time.

“No. You aren’t just a hookup, and you aren’t just some girl.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes searching within his to try to gauge his thoughts. He seemed genuine, insistent. Your heart practically melted in your chest.

“But, I don’t—”

“Please, just stay?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, and certainly hadn’t meant to plead—this was more vulnerability than he’d ever displayed to you before, something you’d ached to see for as long as you’d known him. For him to open up to you, to trust you, to finally let you in.

You mustered up whatever strength you had left to lift yourself up and press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. You gazed up at him through tired eyes, face aglow from his apparent affections.

You didn’t give him a verbal response—you didn’t need to. Instead, you settled back in against him, curling your head into his shoulder, pressing your face against the warm skin at the side of his neck. Sleep came easy for both of you—Marc felt lighter having finally let his impermeable facade yield to you, even if just for a second.

Tomorrow, you intended to convince him to drop his guard completely.

POINTS OF CONTENTION: - relinquishing control - embracing uncertainty - asking for help

TREATMENT: - practice submission - express vulnerability - communicate needs

You briefly got déjà vu when Marc opened the door to his apartment for you, a familiar cheeky smirk adorning his handsome features. This time, however, your expression matched his own as you stood on your tiptoes to plant a peck on his lips, pushing past him and into the flat as if you owned the place. He was startled at your forwardness, and he would be lying if he said your surge of confidence didn’t make him slightly uneasy—what had gotten into you?

“Back for more?”

He managed to quip, quirking a brow at you as he shut the door behind him. You approached Gus’ fish tank and tapped the glass a few times to get his attention, leaning over to watch him swim around aimlessly for a few seconds—it gave Marc a perfect view of your ass through your yoga pants as you bent down, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared unabashedly.

“I can see your reflection in the glass, you asshole.”

You jabbed, a teasing smile lighting up your face as you met his gaze in the mirrored tank, but he didn’t stop his shameless ogling—instead, he watched you with darkened eyes, a wicked grin on his lips.

“At least I don’t have to hide the fact that I stare at your ass every time I see you, anymore.”

Your brows lifted at his confession, and you carefully straightened up, turning to face him at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hands found your hips as you studied him with an amused expression. You stood across from him in challenge.

“So you admit that you’ve checked me out? Even before this little experiment?”

Marc fought hard to keep the smirk off of his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, sizing you up carefully to gauge your seriousness. You were clearly teasing him, but he offered a subject change nonetheless in an effort to avoid the fact that he just admitted he’d been eye-fucking you since the day you’d met.

Instead, his eyes flickered down to the small black paper bag that you had set by your feet, his brow raising in question.

“I see you brought props with you, this time?”

He closed the gap between you with two large strides, bending down to snatch the shopping bag from your feet before you could protest. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he peered inside, but his eyes widened when he realized what you’d brought.

“Jesus, Y/N. You dirty, dirty girl.”

His fingers reached in to pull out a pair of black silky restraints—it didn’t go unnoticed by Marc that the receipt was in the bag and the fabric still had a tag fastened to it. You must’ve bought them just for this occasion.

The expression on his face was practically carnal as he smirked at you, but something about the look in your eyes made him hesitate. You looked up at him shyly, reaching forward to thumb at the fabric before settling your hand into his open palm atop the silk.

“They’re not for me.”

Four words, and Marc was stunned into silence. His face fell, eyes wide as they studied you, expression bemused and slightly fearful. You swore you could actually see his face drain of color.

“We don’t have to, Marc, I promise—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just spring this on you out of the blue, I’m sure it’s not something you’d normally—well, I mean, not that I know what you’re into and everything, but I just thought it might be—”

“Slow down, baby, it’s okay. I just—took me by surprise, s’all. Wasn’t—wasn’t expecting it.”

You looked up at him thoughtfully, now hyperaware of the trepidation in his features. He avoided your eyes.

“Come on.”

You grabbed his wrist softly and guided him over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and gesturing him to follow suit. He sat down beside you and carefully turned to lay out the two black restraints on the mattress behind him. Then, he turned back to you, eyes gentle. You reached over to pull his hands into your lap.

“Marc.”

You started softly, and his eyes flitted to you nervously, an uneasy lopsided smile on his face.

“Listen to me. We really, really don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable. I know it’s—it requires a lot of trust, and—well, I don’t know.”

You fell silent, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. Marc was giving you that familiar calculating stare, taking you in and analyzing every breath you took. You grew impatient with his lack of response.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

There was an apprehensive edge to your tone, your eyes round and full of worry, afraid to offend him or make him uncomfortable. You could see the gears turning in his head as he pondered.

“And this... of anything in the world you could possibly want to do with me, to me... this is the one thing you’d choose?”

You carefully nodded your head, squeezing his hands in your own.

“I think—I think this could be good for you. If—if you’re up for it, of course. No pressure.”

He hummed at your reply, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

You blinked once, then twice, surprised at his easy response.

“Wha—really? Are you sure?”

“I trust you.”

Maybe those words were just that—words. But you couldn’t help feel your eyes grow glassy as the gravity of his admission weighed on you, your heart soaring in your chest as you smiled widely at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. The glow radiating from your face made Marc’s shoulders roll back with pride—he would do anything just to see you smile at him like that.

Apparently, that really did mean anything.

You leaned over and kissed him deeply, hand sliding to cup his face as he pulled you against him, sliding you atop his lap easily as he sucked at your bottom lip.

You settled down onto his thighs, your core easing over his hardening bulge as you pressed your front into him, your pebbling nipples brushing against his chest as you kissed him feverishly. His hands held a bruising grip on your hips as you grinded against him, feeling his hold tighten with every brush of your clothed core over his growing erection.

He hummed when you pushed on his shoulders, coaxing him to lay back against the mattress as you pulled his shirt over his head easily. You guided him towards the headboard as you continued to kiss him, settling him carefully onto the pillows in the center of the bed. You drew your head back quickly, your breath catching in your throat as you drank him in—his dark umber curls a stark contrast to the white downy pillows beneath his head, his brown eyes darkening as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, spit-soaked lips parted. You’d never seen a prettier sight—and you knew how to make it even more enticing.

Your fingers traced up his chest and danced across his shoulders. You kissed him to distract from you sneaky movements as you reached behind yourself to retrieve the pair of restraints that had been discarded earlier. You let your nails skate across his nipples, causing him to hiss, before you gently pried his hands off of your hips. You grabbed each wrist carefully, intently watching his reaction as you guided them over the top of his head and towards the headboard.

You grinded down against his cock once more in an effort to relax his body—he groaned quietly, and you reached for one of the restraints, pulling his left arm straight out to the side and carefully winding the fabric around the bedpost before reaching to fasten it around his wrist. You watched his jaw ripple as you carefully looped the silk over his skin, tightening it just slightly to prevent his hand from slipping out. You tugged at the fabric lightly, testing its resistance, before you leaned back down to peck his lips.

“That okay?”

You asked carefully, nose brushing against his, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tugging against the binding before offering you a soft nod. You smiled at him graciously before repeating the action on his right arm, successfully rendering him incapacitated beneath you, his arms spread wide on either side of his body. You allowed yourself to draw back once more, the sight of him splayed out atop the mattress, completely at your mercy, caused a wave of arousal to rush straight between your legs. He must’ve felt the clenching of your thighs from where they caged his hips in, because he let out a breathy laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?”

His voice was low and hoarse, and you kissed him again, nodding against his lips.

“Yeah, Marc, I do. So pretty for me.”

You felt the warm huff of air that he let out at your praise, and you knew he secretly loved your verbal affirmations, even if he’d never admit it to you. You offered him one last kiss before slowly dragging your face back—his head followed your backwards movement, chasing the feel of your mouth against his, but he jostled at the feeling of his movement being restricted. His eyes opened suddenly at the sensation, as if he was surprised to find the restraints actually lived up to their name. You couldn’t help the tiny grin on your lips as he accustomed himself to his limited range of movement—you could feel the tightness in his muscles, his biceps flexing and tensing as he mindlessly fought to gain control back.

“Easy—you’re okay, I’m right here.”

You soothed, running your hands up his torso as his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. There was sweat beading at his hairline, his jaw grinding rhythmically as he finally opened his eyes to look up at you, forcing himself to inhale a steady breath in an effort to calm himself down. Your fingers rubbed at the tension in his shoulders and you felt him soften under your touch, becoming pliant beneath you as he allowed himself to settle back into the mattress, finally coming to terms with his current situation. You rewarded him with a kiss, leaning yourself forward so your front was pressed to his.

“Before we start, I need you to promise me something.”

His eyes followed you when you sat back upright, and he nodded for you to continue. You breathed.

“Marc. You have to swear to me that you will use the safe word if you need to.”

He rolled his eyes in response, but you squeezed your thighs together in response, putting an uncomfortable pressure against his hips. He glared at you, but you gave him a stern look.

“I’m serious, Marc. I don’t want you to think—to not use it just because you want to make me happy, or because you wanna seem like a big tough guy. You do make me happy, and I know you’re tough, regardless of whether or not you choose to tell me to stop. Okay?”

He could hear the sincerity in your tone, the genuine concern lacing your words. He swallowed. He wasn't going to lie and say it wouldn’t be hard for him to safeword—he didn’t like admitting defeat, showing weakness or cracking under the pressure. But this wasn’t some mission or fistfight with an adversary, he reminded himself—this was you. He was safe, and he trusted you, and he was supposed to enjoy this. Finally, he nodded at you, and you mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before pulling yourself off of him completely.

He watched you like a hawk, eyes trained on you intently, analyzing your every move in anticipation. You carefully reached for his waistband, and he obliged, lifting his hips from the bed to allow you to undress him. You pulled his briefs down in the same motion, discarding Marc’s final two articles of clothing and leaving him bare before you.

His cock was at full mast, resting atop his navel as he drew in slow, deliberate breaths, trying not to feel bashful beneath your scrutinizing gaze. You were still trying to fathom the fact that you had this Adonis of a man splayed out in front of you, completely surrendering himself to you.

He really had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

“Color?”

You asked, kneeling back on your heels from your position beside him, one hand resting on his abs, just above where the head of his cock was patiently waiting. He breathed out a chuckle.

“You haven’t even done anything yet.”

You raised a brow, and at your persistence, he offered a roll of his eyes.

“Green.”

“Good.”

You smiled, fingers sliding down from his stomach to ghost over the tender skin of his shaft, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. You were careful to take note of just how his body reacted to each ministration—the way his breath hitched when you finally wrapped your hand around the base, the barely-audible grunt when your thumb swiped the bead of precum from his slit.

You removed your hand briefly just to spit into your palm before you were back on him, beginning a slow and gentle pace of stroking him. He hummed at the motion, his heels digging into the mattress as he threw his head back into the pillows, fingers wrapped around each restraint tightly to give himself something to grip. Your other hand reached over to fondle his balls, and his hips jerked just slightly at the added stimulation.

“S’that feel good, baby?”

You purred, your hand gradually picking up speed as your jerked him. He groaned lowly, nodding at your question.

“Shit, yeah.”

You smirked, carefully shifting so you were kneeling in between his legs, lowering yourself down to lay on your stomach. He watched you closely, bracing himself as you leant forward and suckled one of his heavy balls into your mouth, your other hand continuing its steady pace.

You hummed around his sack and he grunted, abdominal muscles flexing as you popped it out of your mouth and traded it for his other bulb, tongue swirling around the flesh and listening to his small moans of pleasure.

He was trying to stay quiet, you noticed. You didn’t press him on the issue—you knew he wouldn’t be quiet for much longer.

You pushed yourself up and licked a long stripe from base to tip, tongue flicking over his frenulum which caused his hips to quake. You offered a few kitten licks to his slit, tasting the salty precum as you continued to stroke him steadily.

“Fuck, baby—just like that.”

He whispered, eyes squeezed shut at the sensations. He was holding himself back—you wanted him to fall apart.

You carefully drew the head of his cock past your lips, bobbing your head up and down over just the tip, matching your pace to that of your hand. He growled, and your eyes flitted up to watch his biceps strain as he tugged on his bindings, desperately wanting to bury his fingers in your hair. You sank your head lower, taking him deeper, lewd choking noises escaping your lips as you swallowed him down. His hips were weakly thrusting upward, now, his feet planted into the mattress to seek leverage in a sorry effort to fuck into the heat of your mouth. You didn’t stop him—you let him cling to the sliver of control he was desperately seeking, removing your hand to sink your head down completely, allowing him to thrust his cock into the back of your throat with his shallow movements.

“Oh, fuck, baby, fuck.”

He moaned, and you could see the muscles of his stomach clenching as you reached to fondle his balls again. You were breathing in carefully through your nose as he continued to abuse your throat, his length sliding in and out of your mouth sloppily. One sharp thrust caused you to gag and he let out a deep groan from somewhere in his ribcage—you could feel his balls tightening up, thighs flexing.

“Yes, baby, gonna cum in that pretty little mouth, yes—”

You sat up abruptly with a gasp, pulling your body from his completely as his limbs involuntarily jerked beneath you, his back arching at the sudden loss of contact. He yelped, and you could see veins bulging in his arms as he harshly pulled against the restraints.

“Jesus fuck!”

He cried out, hips falling back down into the mattress, defeated. You sat silently, watching as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked the bleariness from his eyes to fix his stare on you—there was a somewhat sadistic shine in your gaze as you met his eyes challengingly. When you didn’t back down, you were surprised when he let out a bark of a laugh.

“So this is your game, sweetheart? You gonna edge me? Really?”

He was trying to intimidate you—you could see right through him. He was mocking you, hoping to berate you into submission, into backing down. It wouldn’t work.

When you didn’t respond, he shook his head lightly, feigning composure as he lazily closed his eyes.

“Go on—have your fun.”

He offered, a small smile on his lips. You felt anger briefly flare up inside you, but you quelled it down with logic—you were in control, right now. You had all the power.

It didn’t matter how disciplined Marc’s psyche was—his body betrayed him. It told the truth. Your hand reached back up towards his shaft, and his cock jumped beneath your touch, thighs tensing just slightly. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from giggling with satisfaction—Marc’s face was set into a look of quiet concentration, lips pulled into a straight line.

You started again, the same way you had before, with your spit-soaked hand slowly escalating until your lips joined in. His noises were subdued—they came from deep within his chest, escaping through barely parted lips only when he was powerless to stop them. He writhed beneath you, responsive to your touch, and when the telltale signs of his approaching orgasm began revealing themselves again, you ceased your movement.

“FUCK!”

He yelled, back arching off the bed as he attempted to curl into a sitting position, but he was snapped back into complacency by the fabric bound to his wrists. There were veins bulging in his neck as he seethed, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline. You blinked up at him innocently as he glared at you, eyes dark and filled with disdain.

“So fuckin’ pleased with yourself, huh, baby? This what you wanted? To rile me up? God, if I wasn’t tied up right now, I’d—”

“You’d what?”

He blinked at your interruption, your voice showcasing your defiance.

“What’re you gonna do, Marc? Nothing. You’re not gonna do anything. You’re gonna sit back, and fucking take it, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

His jaw clenched down tightly, his face practically trembling with rage. His nostrils flared as he stared at you, trying to win the silent battle between you, in complete denial of the fact that you were completely in control. He wasn’t backing down, unwilling to admit that he was powerless—so you reached forward and scratched your nails down the length of his shaft. He shouted in protest, hips jolting backwards to retreat from the uncomfortable sensation, and he growled lowly in his throat before sagging back into the mattress—his eyes were still on you, but his lips were sealed shut.

“That’s what I thought.”

You antagonized, leaning down to take his cock back into your mouth. It was taking increasingly smaller increments of time to get him to the edge, and you continued—once, then twice more. On the third round, he’d nearly lost it, but you squeezed around the base of his cock tightly to force the orgasm to dissipate as it peaked.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

He snapped, and the words seemed to surprise him just as much as they surprised you. A heat of the moment utterance, offered in a second of desperation—but he didn’t take it back. Maybe you should feel hurt—instead, you felt pride swell inside you as you stared down at him wickedly.

“Such mean words from a guy who can’t even see me through his tears.”

It was true—there were tears streaming down either side of his face, eyes red and puffy as he fought viciously against your torture. He shook his head at you, overwhelmed with anger, but he couldn’t hold back the sob that practically pulled itself from his lungs when you gave a single lick up his shaft.

“Oh, fuck you, fuck—”

“You can cum whenever you want, Marc. I’m not stopping you.”

You tone was even and steady, expression blank as you studied him. His brows furrowed, his eyes suspicious as his breathing slowed again. You smiled coyly at him, innocently, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips—he didn’t kiss you back. He just watched you as you carefully resumed your position between his legs, waiting to hear your stipulation.

“You just have to beg for it.”

Marc’s venomous laugh was replaced with a long whine as you took his cock in your hands once more, stroking him a few times before simply holding him there. He sneered at you.

“I don’t beg.”

“Then you don’t cum.”

You shrugged easily, releasing his throbbing member from your grasp and allowing it to drop back down against his stomach. You could see every muscle in his body fighting for release—his heels digging into the mattress, his arms continuously straining against their restraints. You tutted at him condescendingly, your eyes mocking sympathy as you stood from the bed. He studied you carefully as you began to remove your clothes until your were completely naked. You rejoined him on the bed, loving the way his eyes turned ravenous as he admired your body.

“If you wanna torture yourself, Marc, that’s your choice.”

You purred, crawling up until you were straddling him. You watched the way his breath hitched when you were hovering over his cock, and you felt it jump beneath your cunt—but instead of dropping down, you crept further upwards until you were straddling his ribcage. He looked at you, confused.

“So what are you gonna do?”

His voice was gravelly and hoarse, raw from the moans you had been pulling from him. You leaned down and shoved your tongue into his mouth—he whimpered at the intimacy, but you pulled away soon after.

“I’m gonna ride your face, and you’re gonna be a good boy and make me cum on your tongue.”

The whine that he let out was carnal—you’d never heard anything like it in your life, and Marc might’ve been embarrassed if it weren’t for the painful arousal that was burning a hole through the bottom of his stomach. He tilted his head back as you began to position yourself over him, lips already parting in anticipation of tasting you, but you paused, your eyes turning gentle. Your hand reached down to stroke through his damp hair, and he pressed his head into your touch.

“Color?”

You whispered, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat at he swallowed. He breathed in once, then twice, before meeting your eyes again.

“Green.”

You settled your knees on either side of his head, your folds already soaking from your time toying with Marc—you shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on your awaiting cunt, and with trembling thighs, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself onto his mouth.

You lurched forward at his eagerness, his tongue immediately breaching your entrance and slurping up the arousal that was flooding your pussy. You yelped in surprise, arms reaching forward to grip the headboard as you tried to keep most of your weight off of him, allowing your face to just barely skate over his features.

He mumbled something into your core, and you lifted yourself from him in concern, worried that you'd hurt him.

“What?”

You asked for clarification, brows furrowed, but when you met his eyes from between your legs, they were dark and gleaming savagely.

“I said, sit the fuck down.”

He growled again, and you could feel the headboard bend as he strained against the fabric on his wrists, obviously wanting to grab your waist and pull you down onto his mouth with full force. You let out a breathy laugh before you eased your way back onto him, allowing yourself to relax more against his face. The thick muscle of his tongue immediately began fucking into you and it wasn’t long before you were grinding against his face, his nose rubbing up against your bundle of nerves and his mouth savoring your juices. Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, and Marc watched you from his position between your legs as you came apart on his tongue, quiet cries of his name leaving your lips as your rode out your high on his mouth.

Marc greedily lapped up all you had to offer, and he almost whined in disapproval when you began picking yourself up off of him—but then you were turning around, and he got a perfect view of your perfect ass as you slowly settled your cunt back down to his mouth and—

Fuck. He nearly cried into your pussy when he felt your lips attach themselves to his cock, and he jostled against you, hips jolting upwards of their own volition. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, trying to fight the orgasm that he was already teetering on the edge of. You hand came up and squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, helping stave off his climax.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You hissed, and Marc gulped before diving straight back into you cunt, his lips wrapping around your puffy clit as he suckled it into his mouth and flicked over it with his tongue. You moaned, you fingers beginning to stroke his cock again. When you turned your attention back to his length, however, his mouth immediately stopped its movement. You sank against him, rolling your eyes in theatrical annoyance.

“Jesus, you really can’t multitask, can you?”

“Y/N.”

He spoke your name lowly and with a warning edge, and you craned your neck to look at him—his head was peaking out from behind your asscheek, eyes desperately searching yours. You could see he was struggling to maintain his composure, but he kept his voice level and steady.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

He voice cracked at the very end of his statement, but you appreciated his honesty with you. You swiftly removed your hand from where it was wrapped around him and he let out a long sigh, steeling himself before attaching himself to your clit once more.

Your second orgasm came easily, creeping up and washing over you without warning as Marc continued to lavish your clit with his tongue, the obscene noises he was making only adding to your arousal. He slowed his movements as you came down from your high, lapping at your release as you slowly pulled you cunt away from his mouth. You pulled yourself off of him completely, kneeling at his side and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss against his lips. His face was coated in your slick and his eyes were alight with a sort of lovesickness, as if he’d completely forgotten the torture you’d been putting him through simply because he got to watch you fall apart on his tongue. You pressed your forehead against his for a moment before you swung your leg over his hip, finally settling yourself where he needed you most.

Anticipation flickered in his dark brown eyes, his body tensing beneath you as you reached between your legs to stroke his cock, using your dripping arousal as lube to give him a few tentative strokes. He hissed, his hips jumping at the touch, but he immediately froze when you pressed the head into your entrance. He held his breath.

“I’m gonna ride you now, okay?”

You asked, although it was less of a question and more of a statement. He nodded vigorously, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side as he braced himself for the feeling of your hot channel swallowing him whole.

“Marc.”

You probed softly, and he winked one eye open, looking up at you where you were paused, right in the moment before sheer bliss. You eyed him warily.

“Color?”

He smiled softly up at you, more relaxed than he’d been this whole interaction—finally, finally relinquishing his control and allowing you to take the reins.

“Green.”

The duet of moans that filled the room was intoxicating as you slowly eased yourself down onto his rock-hard length, the stretch offering a sting that was just painful enough to be pleasurable. Marc’s head was thrown back into the pillows as he began to ramble incomprehensibly.

“Oh, God, oh, fuck yes, so fuckin’ good, fuck—”

You braced yourself by planting your arms against his sturdy chest, raising up your hips until just the tip remained before slamming yourself back down, burying him to the hilt within you. A wrecked sob sounded from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, God, I can’t—”

You settled into a steady pace, angling your hips backwards just slightly so his cock rutted up against that place deep inside you that sent you reeling. You keened, grinding back and forth against him as he moaned wantonly, knuckles turning white as he pulled on the restraints with every ounce of his strength. You orgasm was rapidly approaching, and with each careful plunge of his cock into you, you felt the coil tightening.

“Fuck, Marc, gonna cum on your cock, baby.”

You whimpered, throwing your head back as your walls clenched down around him. You must’ve blacked out for a moment, your vision going bright white as pleasure speared through you—when you regained your bearings and sensation over your limbs, your ears were blessed with a sound you weren’t sure you’d get to hear.

Marc was falling apart.

“Please, oh, God, Y/N, baby, please let me cum for you, I can’t—can’t hold it anymore, please, please, please, baby, please let me cum, pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

There were sobs ripping themselves from his lips as tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, the muscles of his abdomen clenched so tightly you thought he might sprain something. The fluttering of your tight walls against him was unbearable, truly torturous—he couldn’t do it anymore.

His eyes blinked open to watch you as your hands crept up the length of his strained arms, fingers deftly untying the knots that held him hostage to the bed. His arms fell limp at his sides when released from their hold, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, glassy with tears.

You pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Been so good for me, baby. Go ahead and take what you want, Marc, it’s yours. Cum for me.”

Something snapped inside of him. A vein throbbed in his forehead as his hands flew to your hips, planting you firmly against him as he began to thrust up into you at a rapid pace, his hips slamming against your thighs loudly and roughly. You yelped in surprise at his sudden burst of energy, and he was staring intently at the place where his cock was splitting you open, hips relentlessly pistonning upwards into you as he slammed your body down against him to meet each thrust.

You didn’t expect to cum again, but the harsh drag of his cock inside of you as his hands grounded you firmly sent you hurling across the edge, your cunt clamping down on his aching length as you pulled him across the threshold with you.

“Oh fuck, yes, yes, gonna fill you up, baby, cummin’ so hard, fuuuck—”

Each harsh pump upwards was punctuated with a grunt as he spilled inside of you, his cock pumping you full of his white hot seed as he continued pounding into you relentlessly. Even as you came down from the climax that had blindsided you, and even after he’d completely emptied himself inside of your slick walls, he continued rutting up into you, his face contorted in a look of pain and determination as he gritted his teeth.

“Woah, Marc, hey, hey, slow down—”

You urged, reached to wrap your fingers around his wrists from where they were still firmly attached to your waist, the wet sounds of his cock still pumping in and out of you filling the room. His eyes finally looked up to you, the haziness clearing as your worried face settled on him.

“It’s okay, Marc, you’re okay.”

You assured, and he finally let your full weight rest down onto him, his body slowly rolling to a halt as the aftershocks of his intense pleasure pulsed through his limbs, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He was breathing heavily, his heart beating against his ribcage harshly, but his eyes watched you as you smiled down at him, reaching forward to cup his jaw in one hand as the other ran through his sweaty hair.

“There we go. There you are. There’s my handsome boy.”

All at once, he collapsed into a fit of sobs again, sitting up to pull you against his chest impossibly tight as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt your heart break as you coddled him, one hand stroking the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing patterns into the bare skin of his back. Years and years of internalized vulnerability spilled out of him in your embrace, and you held him there until his stuttering cries turned into shaky exhales, his face buried in the crook of his neck. He fell back into the pillows, pulling you down on top of him and keeping you snugly pulled against his body.

His cock was still nestled deep inside of you, and you could feel Marc’s cum leaking out and creating a stickiness between your thighs and atop his hips. When you shifted to move, he tightened his hold, his breath wavering just slightly.

“Please, don’t. Just—stay with me. Like this. For just awhile longer. Please.”

He whispered against your temple, begging for this brief moment of reprieve, of absolution, of solace. You sank into his chest, breathing in his heady scent and allowing yourself to indulge in the intimacy of this moment, too—a moment of comfort, of safety, of resolve.

Marc had one final thought before sleep overtook him.

Is this what being okay feels like?

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