#dread x shin

[defmaybe]

Sticky

ITZY’s Shin Yuna x Male Reader

1.9k words

Prequel to Party Police

See also: Not Shy

A/N: I write this in two sittings for probably the only mommy Yuna fic lol - BFH-type shit. No editing, no beta-reading, just pure lust again.

–

The clickings of the keyboards displace silence. Again, you’re stuck in the mundane cycle of doing another proposal for the project you’re going to lead. Sighs and sighs don’t keep you from drowsiness building up inside. Others don’t seem to do better even, some even folded on their desks already. The chilly breeze from the conditioner really is relentless right now, so damn perfect for a nap.

“Miss Shin wants you,” the secretary says, keeping you from falling into slumber.

You quickly get up from your desk, pacing towards the glass-paned office. You see your other co-workers dreading their assignments, clicking on their keyboards with blank eyes. On the opposite side, you can see, through the horizontal blinds, the vibrant office with your boss, Shin Yuna, doing the decorations inside. She’s tall (well, taller than you, at least), often confident, and so energetic, contrary to the department she just got handed over a few weeks ago.

You knock on the transparent door, seeing her putting on her Lady Bird poster on the wall. She’s wearing a one-piece raven black dress, one that hugs her slim, otherworldly curvy body so well. You can see her wide hips being so prominent, stripping away your fatigue.

“Come in!” she says, looking over her shoulders as she’s finishing the touch-ups.

You open the door, greeted with the scent of her air purifier—spring. The white fur carpet on the floor welcomes you with the sensations on your soles. Her office is spacious, and the colorful decorations fit her attitude and personality so much.

“Please, sit down,” she says with a smile, hand pointing to the seat in front of her desk. Even the cluttering trinkets on her table never look crowded, they are so meticulously placed to give her a perfect amount of space left for her work.

You accept her invitation, walking towards the seat. Yuna also retreats from her sprinklings back to hers, sitting down in her chair gracefully—a charming boss.

The air hangs heavy for a while, as Yuna takes some time to clear her desk. You glance around the room like the other times. The crucial difference being the Lady Bird poster, of course, and a few more band posters that you can’t quite recall from your listening history.

“So…” Yuna breaks the silence, tapping a finger on her chin, contemplating. “I see that you’ve been looking a little tired. Is that true?”

You blabber out, “N-No! I’m not tired a-at all.” You even put your hands up to deny the allegation.

“Those eyes don’t lie, baby.” The utterance of the last word alone freezes you. Is she flirting?

Let’s pause for a bit. Shin Yuna just got promoted to being your department’s manager—now three weeks in tenure. Her bubbly and kind personality receives multiple acclaim from your co-workers. And combined with her insanely high performances in projects, you cannot see how she wouldn’t get the position. 

Now, that friendly personality can be a bit, to say the least, slightly invasive. Yuna has always been so eager to fire up a talk with people, even if it means robbing someone’s silence. She’s also always happy to help those around her, no matter the methods. You’ve heard some complaints about her vivacious nature, but with the results saying otherwise, you just cannot dislike her for that.

“A-Are you suggesting I should go home or s-something?” you ask, unable to register how she’s getting up to close the blinds, as if she’s asking for some privacy from the outside right now. The room seems to shrink.

“Oh, does it look like that? Not at all, baby,” there it is again, baby.

“As your boss, I have to make sure that you stay productive for the day’s work!” Her smile lights the room up, as she walks towards her chair and sits down again. “I can’t have my employees dreading their jobs and expect a satisfactory performance.”

“Y-You’re very kind, M-Miss Shin,” you stammer out, and she seems to be happy with your words.

“Now tell me.” Yuna leans in closer to you, giving you the fine details of her face—doe eyes, minty breath, rose-colored lips. “Are you familiar with… mommy kink?”

You freeze, not expecting such a question from your manager. The gears in your head are working their best to seek the best answer you can give her, let alone making sense of the peculiar situation.

“A-Aga-”

“I’m certain of what I’ve said, mister,” she cuts you off, stern. Her expression reduces into an emotionless state. “Mommy kink, yes or no.”

“Uh…” That’s the only answer you can give her. The prospect of fully submitting to Miss Shin Yuna seems too enticing. Yet, perhaps it’s your inhibition that’s stopping your desire from falling into places.

“Come, sit on my lap,” Yuna instructs.

You glance around the room—left, right, back—as if to delay the inevitable of her pleasuring you.

“Now,” Yuna now commands, her voice steps down a few notes. 

“And there’s no camera hidden here, I promise,” she says with a smile, comforting you a little.

You slowly get up from your seat. What if I don’t do well enough for her? You walk around her table to land at your destination, your back against her face. She adjusts her position on her chair a little to accommodate your ass.

Her thighs feel… strong—definitely a result of workouts she has had after work. The images of those sweaty, skimpy sessions are making your mouth quiver—the fluid dripping down her body, just for you to taste.

Her hands start from grabbing the both sides of your slutty hips, earning a small whimper from you.

“So yearning for mommy’s touch, aren’t you?” Yuna giggles, moving her frisky fingers to unbutton your blue shirt.

“Y-Yes, mommy.” Your breath comes out in a false rhythm.

With your abdomen being gradually exposed, she uses a hand to feel it a bit, sending shocks and shocks through your faltering body.

“F-Fuck.”

“Hmm, so needy for mommy~” Yuna then continues her groping, until the last button is freed. Your upper body is bare under the cold air of the conditioner right now, as she brings the fondling hand up to your throat.

“Do you want my lips on you, baby boy?” Yuna asks, breaths warming the back of your neck. You can only nod at her.

Consented, she plants her lips on your body, and you are sure that the rosy prints are going to stick with you until the end of the day. Still, is it a fact that you should care right now? Getting groped by your goddess of a manager, with her being your mommy, on top of it.

You shiver at her kisses.

She frees your throat  before drawing her hand down to play with your raging bulge. She can definitely feel your cock aching to be freed right now.

“Need a hand, baby?” again, she asks, hand fondling the tent in your pants.

You become a stuttering mess at this point. “Y-Yes, m-mommy, please.”

“Please… what, baby boy?” She’s playing coy with you for sure.

“P-Please use your hand on my c-cock, please,” you utter out.

She whispers into your ear, “Good boy.” 

She unzips your pants, hand then slithering into the hole. The sensations are even stronger right now, with your underwear being the only barrier between you and her.

She keeps kissing your moaning neck, printing roses wherever she can reach. Her hand is stuck in fondling your cock through the slim cloth.

“Mommy, p-please,” you whimper, desire burning too brightly.

“Say please again, baby boy, and I’ll touch your cock.” Yuna giggles, enjoying how you’re submitting to your boss so damn easily.

“Please, m-mommy.”

Yuna wastes no time to push all of your lower garments down in a single motion, exposing your throbbing, twitching cock in glory. She hums in satisfaction at the sight.

“Hmm~, baby boy, so hard for me already?” she asks, finger drawing a line on the back of your cock from the bottom to the top. It twitches in response.

“Ngh, y-yes, m-m-mommy.” Yuna seems to be happy with your answer as she strokes your cock leisurely.

Her slender fingers only do what they have to do: sliding up and down to make you shatter under her touch. She starts at a slow pace, only teasing you about what’s coming. Her other hand roams under your shirt, moving down onto your juicy ass.

“Ngh, mommy,” you utter, pleasure building up in your loins. The sensations become stronger as seconds passed.

Yuna giggles at your whimpering, “Yes, baby boy?”

“I-I-, ngh,” you cannot form any words under her spell. Fuck.

Yuna cannot hold her chuckle inside, clearly satisfied with her baby boy melting under her touch. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Faster, please,” you finally respond, slightly out of breath from the overwhelming sparks all over your body.

Yuna listens to your plea, quickening the strokes, bringing you closer to the edge. Fuck, your slutty moans are probably heard by the people outside now.

The squelches of Yuna’s strokes are filling the room, along with your needy whimpers and her satisfactory hums. “I just wanna spend the whole day jerking this cock~” Yuna expresses, your heart flutters at her words.

“And I mean it, really,” she continues, still keeping the moderate pace of her hand from behind. 

“The size, the curvature, the thickness, god, I’m sure it can stretch mommy’s cunt out so well,” she whispers, and your length just cannot get harder at this second.

“M-Mommy, would you berate me i-if I- fuck.” you struggle to lead your words out, stuttering everywhere you can. She’s still jerking your cock, nursing you with another hand roaming over your body to over stimulate.

“Fast cummer, baby?” She chuckles at your apprehension. “You’re doing well, baby. I think this is the perfect pace for us.”

“T-Thanks, mommy,” you say, feeling the tightening of your knot already. “M-Mommy, where c-can I cum?”

“Ooh, that’s an interesting question, baby boy,” Yuna laughs. “I don’t think the higher-ups would mind a few stains from us~,”

“W-Wha-”

“Shh, let mommy handle this,” she affirms. “Just stay on my lap and let me milk your cock, okay?”

Your mind goes feral, aching for release. Her hand relentlessly stroking your length and another traversing your compact frame just overloads your mind. “Y-Yes mommy.”

“Good boy, now, cum for me, please.”

And it hits, you become undone at her touch, like a lightning. Your sticky cum is shot everywhere—on her desk, on the floor, hell, even on yourself. You moan in the pleasure of her touch and the mind-shattering orgasm. “Mommy!” you shout. Yeah, everyone is going to hear that.

“Wow,” Yuna pants, before planting a kiss on your neck. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact that your seed is on her precious report right now. “You came so much for mommy.”

You try to catch your breath, before speaking out, “Thanks, mommy.”

–

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

art cred: maichiatto62 (x)

☦︎synopsis: you get chased by a dark and undetermined figure in the woods, and run toward a dreadful castle that houses a seemingly kind man, will you stay awhile?

☦︎genre: smut w/plot

☦︎tags: vampiric hypnotism, mentions of blood, biting, corruption, dialogue heavy, degradation “whore” , loss of virginity, cunnalingus, creampie, mirror

☦︎wrd cnt: 2.2k

☦︎a/n: vampires and gothic literature is my favorite so this was a dream to write and I hope anyone reading enjoys!

Twigs and thistle snap under your feet as you walk through the fruit berring bushes, feeling the low laying leaves scratch your ankles.

You lost track of time and try to find your group, you probably should have skipped this hiking trip. Or at least wore shorts that covered your knees. The night drew upon your haggard form quite quickly, and the temperature dropped significantly.

You tried your best to find the light of the campfire you knew was there before you left.

After a few minutes of silent walking, besides your rummaging footsteps, you hear a loud thud somewhere behind you.

Your back straightened up like a rod, “Hello?” Your voice echos slightly, bouncing off the trees and up toward the stars. You prayed like hell it was one of your friends, coming to your salvation.

When nobody answered you after your third call out, you kept walking.

You heard another loud noise, as if a bolder dropped straight into a big pile of leaves, trembling the ground you stood on.

Frozen in fear, like a deer, you stand in the middle of a plot of dirt surrounded by the thick trees and shrub.

Your eyes open wide and your hands balled up in fists, you survey the area until you find the source of the sound.

A tree, wounded with a big chunk missing from the side.

It still stood tall, but reckoned to snap if it had been torn just a few more inches towards the unbent side.

You wondered who could have caused such destruction, or rather what.

You would find out soon enough, when you examine the tree to find streaks of blood scattered over earthen hide.

Following the trail you discovered the remains of some animal.

Well that’s what you think it was, it had been mangled and torn in such a brutal manner there was no way to identify exactly what it could have been.

As you tried your best to figure it out, a black shadow stalked you from afar.

Red orbs visible with stillness behind a tree, slowly growing larger in your view as it approached. The dimness of the atmosphere cloaked it well.

You stepped back, shoes muddied and heavy as you ran. You ran until you saw the nearest source of light, not bothered to look behind you to whatever was chasing.

Your labored breath became cold and dryed out your throat.

You ran and ran until you found a rather tall and lucrative looking building, somewhat of a mansion or moreso fitting of a castle.

Where the hell did that come from? You’ve never seen anything like it before in all the times you’d hiked in these woods.

You didn’t have much time to question it, but ran right to the door.

It was slightly crept open, so you figured it must have been some kind of open house or exhibit.

You rushed in, shutting the grand door.

As you caught your breath, you almost screamed when you heard a man’s voice right behind you. Who you somehow didn’t see when first stepping in, as if he’d appeared from thin air.

“Good evening.” The man said, burning candle in his hand.

You turned before he could even finish his greeting, a look of utter terror in your eyes.

“Are you well dear? You’re bleeding”

You didn’t even notice, but your knees had been scrapped and dripping blood halfway down your shins.

His eyes lit a shade of red barely able to be detected, or maybe it was just the reflection of the flame? You were quite scared and paranoid after all.

“Oh- I’m so sorry, The door was open and I didn’t know anyone was here- Someone was chasing me.”

“Oh my, are you alright? Come, let me offer you safety tonight.” He beckoned you to follow him, the rays of the small flame from the wax stick guiding you as he most graciously offered you a safe heaven in his home.

You looked around at the torchlit walls, it felt dark and cold throughout the entire place.

He walked you up 2 flight of stairs, his pace was quite constant throughout, almost like he was floating on each step.

You soon arrived into a hallway full of paintings adorning the walls, hand painted it seemed. So beautiful you had to point it out.

“You have a lovely home- is this artwork all yours?” You ask.

“Yes. I have quite a bit of spare time on my hands, so I much enjoy art.” He answered. The man’s voice was deep and mellow.

You walked down the red carpet hallway to the room all the way to the end, it seemed to be one of the many dozens.

There was a large canopy bed lined with dark lace and wooden upholstery.

“Please, spend the night here until morning. I wouldn’t want you to endanger yourself.”

Before you could even agree to his much eager assistance, he walked over to a box near the fireplace side table and pulled out several glass vials and bandages.

You walked toward him, and sat down per his instruction.

“Thank you- You’ve been so kind to me. Why?”

He chuckled, kneeling down to your level and applying an ointment to the cloth.

“Why? How ever could I turn away such a frightening young lady at my door. There are dangerous things in those woods.”

His tone sounded very concerned, but horrifyingly casual.

“What is your name Sir? If it’s okay to ask.”

“It’s perfectly okay. You can call me Blade.”

“Blade…Nice to meet you” What a strange name.

“Likewise. Now please, allow me.”

You nod, before he dabs a stinging oil to your knee. One by one.

He handles you well, gently.

His cold hands held your calves as he bandaged up your wounds.

He gets up from his knelt position, seeming even taller than he is when he stands from this view.

His long black hair was so dark it seemed blue, ends dipped in a color that resembled the shade of holly berries.

He sat down on the chair opposite of you, his face framed by the fireplaces glow behind him now.

“So tell me dear, what exactly happened?” His voice dripping in concern.

“I…really don’t know. I got lost hiking with my group and I tried to find them, but then I kept hearing weird noise in the forest and I thought it could be them looking for me. But-“

You stopped, reliving the sequence you just ran from.

He waited patiently for you to continue, his sculpture like face and rich eyes giving you their utmost attention.

“I saw blood, and a dead animal, I think a wolf or something could have done it. But there was a man- in the woods. It kept staring at me and getting close. So I ran for a while until I found your- castle?” You chuckle a little, the term house seemed beneath such a grand sanctuary.

“Maybe a werewolf?” The man said, giving you an amused chuckle. He waves his hand, “But anyways…That all sounds very frightening, I’m glad you found me.”

You nod, “As am I” you assure.

Whatever it was you are safe now y/n, very safe.” He took your hands into his own, giving them a positive squeeze with smiling eyes.

You nodded, but soon a hitch in your throat appeared and you felt like your stomach got kicked.

“I never told you my name.”

A smile appeared on his face, “Smart girl.”

His eyes glowed the same shade of sanguine you saw in the forest, chasing you. You could see two sharp teeth sticking past his upper lip, his smirk revealing to you his true identity.

You quickly get up, startled enough to drop the chair behind you and fall back onto the bed.

“Who are you-“ You scream, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as he stood slowly and walked toward you.

“I already told you that, didn’t I?.”

He cupped your face, making you look straight up at him.

“Please- don’t hurt me.” You plead, tears now falling from your eyes and staining your cheeks.

“Hurt you? I just tended to your wounds, why do you think I’ll harm you dear?” His voice sounds even lower at this point, and his eyes fiery.

You kick back your leg and retreat further back into the bed, almost yelling, “You’re a vampire-!”

“And your blood smells so deliciously decadent…I almost couldn’t resist tasting you a moment ago.” He crawls toward your frame, his large hands making deep prints into the mattress.

His eyes seemed to glow in a pattern, the color deepening snd glowing slowly as he got toward you.

Your body felt weak, as if magnetic to him. Almost willing to amuse him.

“What are- what are you doing to me-“

“I haven’t done a thing. I’m just increasing the magnitude of your emotions dear. Whatever you feel at this moment is your utmost desire spilling out every orafice in your body.”

You felt your mind whirl, your body get hotter with every inch he grew closer to you.

He soon wrapped his palms behind your back, seating you in his lap.

You felt an animalistic urge settle upon you, breathing even heavier than when you ran away from him earlier.

He grazed his hand up and down your legs, taking off your shoes and socks, rubbing the sore soles of your feet.

“You must get more comfortable my dear, you seem less tense, good.” He says, slowly pressing his lips to yours as you hold his shoulder.

His tongue found yours, warm in contrast to the rest of him; tangling itself in a waltz.

He nipped at your bottom lip and pricked it, tugging at it and licking the blood that drew from it with his tongue. “Virgin blood…You are truly magnificent.”

You felt your face heat up more than your body, his presence making you feel an insatiable hunger for lust.

“Blade- please…I feel-“

“Concupiscent? I can tell, y/n”, he said, his hand trailing up to your thigh and rubbing your heat through your shorts.

You roll your hips at his touch, a small mewl escaping you.

He picks you up and plops you down further back on the bed, your head hitting the pillow softly as his large frame hovers above your body.

“I can be very thorough in relieving your…lustful desires.”

“Please- yes…” You softly gasp, feeling his lips close to your neck before they kiss you.

Hungrily he rips your top apart, as if it were made of paper.

You quiver at his touch, fear set aside and now unrelentingly yearning for all of him.

“You need not worry…I will take, good, good care of you.”

You nod, watching him soon trail his lips down to your exposed chest.

He circles the tip of his tongue around your nipple, taking it entirely in his mouth to hear you moan out; the other in his hand, his hips grinding to meet your heat as he grinds into you through the fabrics keeping you apart.

“You are a marveling beauty.” He adds, his hands finding the hem of your shorts and pulling them right down, along with your panties.

He pulled back, holding your legs apart and examining every part of you, taking in the view of his next meal.

He watched you shyly try to look away, smirking when he saw how utterly messy your cunt was, glistening and dripping juices down to the sheets.

He didn’t waste much time after that, kissing your inner thigh before planting one on your clit.

He made the most deep, sinful noises as he lapped at your cunt, his eyes not breaking contact with yours as he inserts two long and slender fingers inside you.

He seemed to almost gain more pleasure from sucking on your clit than you did, almost.

You reacted like a beast in heat, legs trembling and hands gripping the sheets as your thighs pressed the sides of his face to pull him deeper into you.

You came faster than ever before. Blade sucked every drop out of you, wiping the corner of his mouth before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

He kissed you once more, not biting this time. Yet.

Without giving you time to recoup- he shed his clothing and slapped his cock on your folds, slipping it inbetween them to get it ready for you.

“I need to taste you dear…truly taste you.”

“M-my blood?” You ask, feeling even weaker and more lustful.

“Yes” he whispers close to your lips, “You will let me drink from you, won’t you, my little temptress?”

You nod- pulling him close to you as if you’d wither without him.

“You are such an eager woman. I quite like that.” He says, before pushing his entire length deep, deep inside you. You groan, eyebrows furrowed harshly as you experience such a reveling sensation.

“Fuck-“ He breathes, “You’re so tight…do you ache for me so deep? You’re sucking me in so much…such a naughty whore you are.”

He moved in and out slowly, making you feel every vein and along his shaft.

You could feel his breathe on your chest, and soon his teeth.

He sinked them into the top of your breast, sucking the blood out of you ferociously as he rutted inside you faster now, making you cry out as tears rolled down your face in pleasure.

“Ah- Blade!…”

“It will only hurt for a moment…I’ll fuck you so deeply you won’t dare to forget it.” He spouts, his mouth dripping with your blood before going back in to take more.

You quickly notice a mirror behind Blade, you haven’t noticed it before but he wasn’t in it of course. All your blurry vision could attest was your spread apart pussy, gaping with a thick hole as you watched yourself be torn apart in the most delicious way, blood dripping down to your nipple, soon to be licked up from Blade tongue, as your body moved with the rhythm of the bed; snapping out of your trance once you heard his suckling.

He whimpered and moaned as he drank, gripping your ass harder as he thrusted into you at a pace you could nearly pass out from.

So much of your cum created a ring around his cock, squelching noises filled the room and muffled the crackling of the wood in the fire.

His grasp on the fat of your ass deepened, possessiveness overwhelming him.

“You’re mine now. You don’t belong in those treacherous woods, you will stay right here.” He commanded, imaging all the ways he’d ruin your perfect pussy, wrapped around him so well he was convinced you were destined to take him, to be his and his only to fuck, eat, and fill.

In response to his hold, you clenched your walls around him tighter until you felt warm fluid rush into your womb, nodding to his wishes profusely as you release together in the romantically gothic room, your breath huffing as you came down from an intense high.

Blade on the other hand, well the stamina of a vampire is quite impressive.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[moonsgemini]

dress - rafe cameron

summary: she’ll always wish she could enjoy the midsummer’s celebrations instead of working at it, but her secret moments with the kook prince make the bad tips worth it

warnings: rafe x pogue!reader, typical classist stuff but not from rafe, fluff, angst, mutual pining, alcohol, kissing

wc: 3.5k

an: this is based off of dress by taylor swift but my own interpretation of it I guess. If you guys want a pt. 2 with smut let me knoooow, I’m such a s!ut for rafe cameron pleaaaase

our secret moments in a crowded room, they got no idea about me and you

Midsummer was probably her least favorite day of summer. You’d think that being a bartender on the day that the whole figure eight came to the country club would bring in lots of tips right? Well wrong. During midsummer’s the drinks were complimentary and there was just a tip jar for cash tips. Kooks don’t usually carry around cash, or really tip for that matter. Also seeing all the kooks dressed in their pretty dresses and cute flower crowns made y/n go green with jealousy. She desperately wished she could attend as a guest and get to dress up and enjoy the food. Y/n would be dreading this shift if she didn’t have something to look forward to.

She had looked over herself in the mirror a million times, making sure her dress still looked as good on her as it did in the dressing room mirror yesterday. The tag was securely tucked into her side because she may have run up her credit card to be able to afford it so she had to return it after. Bartenders didn’t have as strict as a uniform as the waiters did. Her manager allowing them to wear black dresses for the night, and of course she was going to jump at the opportunity to wear something nicer than her boxy polo uniform and tennis skirt.

Her makeup and hair had been done to the best of her ability, without it seeming like she was trying too hard. Y/n would never admit to any of her friends or family that she was dressed up in order to impress a certain kook prince. The same kook prince she had spent months crushing on, and he never helped make the crush go away because he would shamelessly flirt with her every time he was at the country club. It was more like banter, she had a feeling he never really meant anything he said. But it felt so good to feel wanted.

When Rafe would see her around the outer banks he would smirk at her or give her a nod as to say hi. At parties sometimes he’d go up to her and make some small conversation. Teasing her about what drink she had or making sure that she didn’t give her number to that guy that was flirting with her. They’d be making conversation and she would take a step towards him wanting nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms and his scent. But then her friends would come and think they were saving her from the kook prince and pull her away, sending a glare Rafe’s way. She’s look back at him apologetically and he’d just give her a tight lipped smile and walk to the other side of the party.

Rafe really liked her, he liked making her laugh and smile. He wished he could make her quit her job and just come live with him, he’d take care of her. She’d never have to worry about bills or rent ever again. His friends always made fun of him for flirting with a pogue but he didn’t care. They’d say he was scraping the bottom of the barrel, that he had already gone through all the girls from figure eight so now he was entertaining a pogue. Rafe never let them get away with their jokes. He’d glare at them and punch them in the arm or kick them in the shin. He’d defend her honor saying she’s different and she’s a better friend than they’ll ever be.

All Rafe could do was think about her while he was getting ready. He knew she’d be there and he wanted to look extra nice. Tonight felt like the night he would actually ask her out. Y/n was a good listener, she was always there for him. At first he thought it was just because she was stuck behind the bar so she had to listen to him, but then he’d see her at parties and she still had that look in her eyes. That look that she was listening to him, actually listening to him. He felt like he was on a cloud with the way she looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world.

When she arrived to the country club she started getting all her things ready, the guests would start arriving in a few minutes. Stocking up on scotch and the best wines, she knew those would be the popular drinks tonight. As she worked diligently her mind wandered to Rafe, like it always did.

She wondered if he’d be the same as always despite his family being here. She wanted nothing more than to spend the night with him, but not while she served him drinks. She wanted to dance with him and drink with him, and then go home together at the end of the night.

Guests had started arriving, her eyes looking out for the dirty blonde. She was so excited and a bit anxious to see him all dressed up, knowing he’d look extra handsome. An hour had passed and she still hadn’t seen him. The country club was now filled with kooks and her tip jar only filled with about $20 when she’s certain she’s made twenty martinis and poured just as many scotch’s.

As she was handing Mrs.Weatherby her glass of merlot smiling at the older woman her eyes caught her favorite blue ones. Rafe stood across the room with Kelce and Topper. He wasn’t paying any attention to what Topper was saying as he watching y/n from across the room. When their eyes met a lopsided smile formed on his lips. Her cheeks felt hot as he looked her up and down, as much as he could despite the bar being in the way.

Y/n begged with her eyes for him to come over, to save her from the boring night. He knew her better than she thought as he started walking over, saying something to the guys that he’d be back. But as he was crossing the room his dad stepped in front of him.

Ward put a hand on his son’s shoulder, “Rafe please, don’t start drinking yet. This is supposed to be a nice night okay? Lets take it slow.” He turned him around to walk out toward the patio.

“Yeah sure dad.” He muttered not wanting to make a scene. He followed him out but looked behind him to catch the eyes of the girl he was infatuated with.

His heart sank a little as he saw her bright eyes dull a little with sadness. She tried her best to put on a smile and not show her disappointment but he knew her better than she thought. Ward had no idea of Rafe’s crush and even if he did he probably wouldn’t care. He’d probably be disappointed in his son for liking someone like her, then he’d tell him that she probably only wants him for his trust.

all of this silence & patience, pining & anticipating, my hands are shaking from holding back from you

The first few hours of the night their eyes just met, hers pleading him to come over and talk to her. Give her something to think about tonight before she went to bed. His eyes begged her to forgive him for not giving her the attention she deserved, especially in that dress. He hoped that she wore it just for him, it made her look ethereal. Rafe’s legs ached from trying to stop himself from walking over and kissing her with everything he had.

As the night went on she was always on his mind. He hated this stupid midsummer’s stuff, mostly because he couldn’t share it with the one person he wanted. It was filled with snobby people and teenager’s getting drunk on booze they had snuck in.

Rafe kept getting stuck in conversations with his dad’s colleagues, Ward wanting him to be more involved in the business. Or he’d be with Topper, Kelce, and some other guys having a meaningless conversation about lacrosse or surfing. Whenever he got the chance he’d look over at her and she’d have a smile on her face handing some old dude a drink. He knew it wasn’t her real smile, then her eyes would look over at him and that’s when her real smile would come out.

“Uh I’m gonna get a drink,” Rafe said trying to excuse himself from his friends. His dad would be fine with him having a drink now, it’s been three hours since the night started. Three hours of his fingers tingling with the want of tucking that hair that kept falling in her face behind her ear.

“I’ll go with you dude. I need a refill,” Topper said holding up his empty glass. Rafe held in the urge to roll his eyes, he wanted to go alone.

y/n was wiping down the bar when they approached. She looked up meeting eyes with her favorite boy, but then she looked over to his left and their Topper was

“What can I get you guys?” She asked looking between them, smiling at Rafe.

“Long island,” Topper said placing his empty glass down.

“Can I get a rum and coke please?” Rafe asked, resting his hands on the bar.

“Of course,” she nodded with a grin.

Rafe watched her as she prepared the drinks. Topper was trying to talk to him about who knows what, he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t pay attention even if he wanted to with that dress she had on. It fit her so perfectly, he wondered what it’d feel like under his hands. What it’d feel like to push it up as he touched the expanse of her thighs. Wondered what it’d feel like to hold her waist as he kissed her. If her skin was as soft as it looked.

“Bro you’re not even listening,” Topped said as he hit Rafe’s shoulder.

“Long island,” Y/n places the drink in front of him.

“You’re right I’m not.” Rafe rolled his eyes.

Topper took his drink without even thanking her, “Whatever dude I’m gonna find Sarah.” Finally Rafe was alone with his girl.

She placed his glass in front of him, “So where have you been all night?”

“Uh my dad didn’t want me to drink earlier,” He shrugged. He knew it was a half assed excuse.

“You don’t need to order a drink to come see me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “I-I know but my dad thought that I was just coming over for a drink.”

She laughed bitterly not at Rafe but at the whole situation, “When I’m with you I forget I’m a uh pogue.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” He reached out to touch her lightly. She leaned into his touch slightly, yearning to feel anything from him.

Her manager walked in, “Y/n, take your fifteen.” Taking over he place behind the bar, Rafe pulled his hand away from her.

“Uh yeah,” She gave him a tight lipped smile before walking to the back room. Rafe sighed and walked back out to where his friends were.

if I get burned at least we were electrified, I’m spilling wine in the bath tub you kiss my face & we’re both drunk

Y/n stood in the back leaning against the wall. She hated this town. She hated the labels everyone put on each other, it made her life so much harder. It was so easy when she was around Rafe even if it was a few minutes at a time. But then there was always something that reminded her of who she was and where she came from. It was either Ward, her friends, Rafe’s friends, her bosses. Someone always had to remind her where she was and who she was.

She rolled her eyes at herself. She walked into the back, in search of a bottle of wine. She found one she thought she’d like, popping it open and pouring herself a glass. Y/n felt like she deserved it, especially after tonight. The night wasn’t going exactly as planned, so she might as well drink.

After three full glasses of red wine her break was over. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to drink while on the clock because now everything looked a little fuzzy.

“I’m back,” She slurred to her manager.

Lisa eyed her suspiciously, “Are you drunk?”

“No never,” She gave her a toothy grin trying to hide her tipsiness. The alcohol affecting her more and more as the seconds passed.

Lisa sighed, “Y/n you can’t be like this here right now. You know how bad this would look. If you get one of these jerk offs orders wrong and they smell that merlot on your breath they’ll have you banned.” Lisa tried her best to look out for the girl because she knew she didn’t have anyone that was looking out for her.

Her eyes watered at the thought of losing the only job she had been able to get on this whole island, “I-I can’t lose this job. I need this.”

Lisa sighed, “Go home. I’ll cover for you, and you can still keep the tips okay? Only because I care about you.”

Y/n sniffled bringing the older woman into a hug, “Thank you Lisa, I owe you.”

“Get home safe okay, call someone.” Lisa said rubbing her back. She walked (stumbled a bit) to the back to grab her bag.

even in my worst times you could see the best of me

Y/n didn’t know who to call, her friends were all at parties probably drinking as well. Her parents weren’t in her life. The one person who could help her had been watching her from across the room. Concern written all over his face. She looked at him with teary eyes and he was already taking long strides towards her. She met him halfway, the tag from her dress itching her side.

“Rafe,” Her voice was shaky as she hugged herself looking for some comfort. She knew this was all her fault, she shouldn’t have had that wine. She felt like she was always making mistakes like this.

Rafe’s hands held her face, “What happened? Did someone do something?” He asked with worry and a bit of anger. If one of these kooks made his girl cry they’d have him to deal with.

“No no I did something. I-I drank some wine on my break. I’m drunk Rafe and Lisa told me to go home. She um she said she’ll let me keep the tips today but uh can you take me h-home?” She asked barely taking a breath.

He brushed her hair back, “Hey breathe, I’ll take you home okay baby.”

“I’m sorry Rafe, I-I shouldn’t take you away. I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. I’m glad I get to get away from this shit, especially if it’s with you.”

Ward had been watching the interaction from outside. He eyed as his son held the bar tender who he felt was trying to hard to look like she fit in with them, her dirty sneakers gave her away. In her defense you can’t really bartend in heels.

He walked over to them before they could leave, “Uh Rafe, what are you doing?” He didn’t spare a glance at the disheveled girl.

Rafe stood up straight, “I’m taking her home dad.”

“Who is this? The bartender? You can’t leave now. There’s still some guys I need to introduce you to.” He treated her like she was nothing.

“No dad I’m taking her home, this is more important.” Rafe wrapped his arm around her shoulders to lead her towards the exit.

Ward grabbed his arm as he tried to walk past him, “Don’t disappoint me son.”

He shrugged his shoulder to get him off, “You’ve made it clear plenty of times that it’s too late for that.”

They didn’t make a big scene but some people had been watching. They watched as the oldest Cameron led the girl outside, a pogue. Tomorrow word would spread all across the island just how cozy they were. Ward would berate Rafe about it but right now he didn’t care, he just wanted to get his girl away from everyone.

Y/n couldn’t believe Rafe had done that for her. He dropped everything for her, she really did feel like he was a prince.

only bought this dress so you could take it off

Rafe kept glancing over at her as he drove to her house. He was worried about her, she looked so sad and he hated seeing her sad. Her head was leaning agains the passenger window just looking out into the darkness.

“Sweetheart what’s wrong?” He finally asked breaking the silence.

She sighed looking over at him, “I feel like an idiot.”

“Why?”

“I put on this stupid dress that I can’t even afford and I got too drunk while I was working. I took you away from the party.” She shook her head at herself.

Rafe pulled into the driveway of her small house, her grandma had left it for her after she passed a few years ago. It was the perfect house for her but now she had to work overtime to keep up with bills.

“Lets talk once we get inside,” Rafe turned the car off and ran over to open her door.

They walked into her house, Rafe had never been there. This is the most time they’ve ever been able to spend alone, without anyone being able to interrupt them or pull them away from each other. He liked her house, it was very her. Warm lighting and pictures everywhere. She sat on the couch setting her bag onto the ground.

“You look amazing, this dress looks amazing on you.” He said as he sat next to her. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I wore this for you. I wanted to impress you, instead I embarrassed myself.” She closed her eyes thinking about the events of the night.

Rafe turned to her, “I would drop everything for you. I have been dying inside to spend this night with you.”

“Really?” She asked looking at him with stars in her eyes.

“Yes, baby. And this dress does look amazing on you. You look perfect. I’ve wanted you since the first day we met at the club.” He tucked her hair behind her ear.

Her face flushed at the compliments, “But why? I’m just me. I don’t have anything, I can’t even afford this dress. I’m just a bartender.”

He shook his head, “None of that shit matters to me. You actually listen to me and you care about me more than my shithead friends ever have. I only go to those stupid parties to see you.”

“Rafe, I care about you so much.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. They were slightly swollen from the few tears she had shed earlier in the night. Her lips tasted like merlot she had downed. They moved in sync as if they had been doing this forever. He smelt like expensive cologne and she wanted to drown in it, she wanted to drown in him. His lips felt so good against hers, she had been dreaming about this moment for ages.

Her hands slid up his chest and into his hair. Pulling at the dirty blonde locks to encourage him. Rafe’s hands slid up and down her waist. Finally feeling the dress he had thought about all night. As the kiss grew more passionate he grabbed her hips and tugged her towards him. He pulled her to sit on his lap, her legs on either side of him. His fingers slowly slid up her thighs pushing her dress farther up, almost fully around her hips. Y/n’s thighs were just as soft as he imagined. His mind was racing with thoughts of everything he wanted to do to her.

The small whines that left her lips encouraged him to keep going. One hand moving behind her to give her ass a squeeze. He pulled away to press kisses against her neck making goosebumps rise on her skin. Her hands moving back and forth from tugging his hair to pulling at his blazer to get him impossibly closer.

“Baby,” He mumbled against her neck. She just hummed in return, too lost in the feeling of his lips on her. Tasting her like she’s always wanted him to.

“I want to keep going, but I know you’ve drank tonight. I want you to be be a hundred percent sober when I do everything I’ve always dreamed about doing to you,” He said looking up at her. He almost regretted his words and took her right then and there when he saw her swollen lips and hazy lust filled eyes.

She took a deep breath to get herself to focus. Her senses were overloaded on Rafe, “Okay, can you stay? Please?”

He leaned forward giving her another kiss, “Of course, I’ll always stay.”

[minnesota-fats]

So I LOVE the idea of a meet the parents fic where Danny is dating one of the bat kids and he is invited over to meet the rest of the family.

Whatever batkid you like (i personally like Tim x Danny)

And dinner is going GREAT, danny is charming the hell out of everyone when he says something vaguely concerning about his home life that borders neglect (or even just straight abuse) and Danny doesnt know what he said was wrong and just keeps eating without a thought.

Maybe he complimented Alfred’s cooking and said, “man this is great! Even better when it doesn’t get reanimated by your parents experiments” or “wow, I wish my folks cooked meals for me and my sister like this.”

and Bruce just gets that look in his eye. you know the one! And whoever is next to Bruce kicks him in the shin and glares at him like, “I know what your thinking! Don’t you dare!” And bruce just looks at them like, “but I cant not adopt him!” And danny is blissfully unaware of this whole conversation.

But if damien was the one who brought danny he would immediately offer for danny to stay without consulting ANYONE. like after he says vaguely concerning things damien is just like, “move here and you don’t have to go hungry ever again.” Or “live with me and i will protect you forever.” Or even just, “bring your sister next time, i am concerned for your health if your parents can reanimate food.”

—

On the flip side: Danny bringing one of the bats home with HIM!

Jazz would be SO excited to meet Danny’s significant other! Danny had been dreading bringing his bat home with him because his parents were EMBARRASSING (absent or explosive) so there they are sitting around the table waiting for jack and maddie and eventually danny sighs and just says its ok and to start eating. Jazz almost gets up to go hound their parents about this but danny stops her and smiles. Then like a hour later an explosion in the basement shakes the house and up from the basement Jack and Maddie wearing full hazmat suits burst through the basement doors as smoke bellows out. In the possess maddie greets them and goes back to doing what she was doing. The whole time the bat is mentally cataloging very problematic behavior the Fenton’s are showing as well as thinking of ways to bring danny and his sister somewhere safe.

OR

Jack and Maddie cause a fire in the kitchen while Danny’s bat is over and the fenton kids sigh like this has happened before, danny turns to jazz “ill go get the fire extinguisher.” And jazz nods, “Ill order takeout, any preferences?”

OR

Danny comes home with their bat to Jazz looking nervous and when danny sees her he immediately realizes that it is his parents doing the cooking tonight and is about to walk right back out the door with their bat but his dad walks out and stops him with a bright smile.

The bat is intimidated by Jack’s sheer size (he is a very large man and they never thought that someone could be taller than Superman but here was Jack Fenton) and then when they sit down to eat after Jack spent an hour talking at them. But then the food is reanimated and starts to attack and so the bat fights back and impresses the fenton parents with their fighting skills.

Either way both would be a disaster and i am LIVING for it!!!!!

[sanemislittledemon]

Hello! I was reading your work and I thought they were pretty interesting! Also, I was wondering if you could do one with Gyomei and the reader where they're a bit suicidal?? It's okay if you don't do these kinds of requests and I completely understand! Looking forward to more of your works!

Omg of course! I love the big old cuddly bear Gyomei! Also if you ever want to talk my message are open okay? I hope you are doing well 🌸

It’s short but I hope you like it🌸

Gyomei x Suicidal!reader

There’s a small spoiler of Gyomeis past! 

Y/N groans as they open their eyes, the sun is already high in the sky, shinning in and ruining their peaceful sleep. Y/N looks over to the other futon and relaxes when they realize that Gyomei isn’t there ‘today is the hashira meeting’ they sign to themself. Waking up was always the worst, it’s been getting harder to pull themself out of bed, everyday the dread of waking up setting in.

It’s hard to date someone like Gyomei, people talk and judge you for being with someone as strong as the stone hashira. He was amazing in every way possible but Y/N stubbornly kept this side of them away from their partner. Sitting up sighing as they pulled themself together enough to get out of the futon to go to the bath room. Gyomeis been on missions or with his student, Genya so he hasn’t been home. they haven’t been out of bed along enough to bathe. hell they wouldn’t has eaten if it wasn’t for Genya occasionally cooking while Gyomei was away. Y/N warms the water before they started to strip off their clothing, running hands down their body as disgust fills their heart.

‘Why does he love me’

Sighing they began to clean themself then getting into the wash tub, the only part that makes this whole process seem worth it to just sit in here until the water turns cold.

Tears fell from their eyes when the thoughts came through the fog

‘you don’t deserve him’ ‘worthless’

‘You’re weak’ ‘you’re ugly’

Y/N grip their head in their hands pulling on their hair making their scalp burn while hot tears stream down their redden cheeks. “shut up!” Y/N screams

Jumping up they run out to quickly dry off and dress before running out of the stone estate barefoot “Hey! Y/N what’s wrong?” They hear a voice yell in the distance but not caring to stop they keep going through the woods. Rocks tear into their feet as they run faster until they come to an abrupt halt at a cliff and waterfall, Gyomeis training ground but he’s at the hashira meeting so he wouldn’t come to their rescue even if he wanted too. Sitting on the edge, more tears falling from their eyes. 

“I’m sorry my love” they say before sliding off the edge, closing their eyes and waiting for the impact of their sweet release but the feeling was cut short when they felt abnormally muscular arms wrap around them. Eyes shooting open they were greeted with a very distraught Gyomei, tears flowing freely from his while orbs. He holds them tightly against his chest has he lands firmly on the ground, gyomei holds them firmly but didn’t say a word as he begins to walk back through the woods.

Guilt taking its hold the only thing they could ask is “how?” Silence fills the heavy air between them before he finally spoke “Genya was worried so he interrupted the meeting. He is being effectively chewed out by Shinazugawa right now, the next time you see him you should apologize” Gyomei explained

Tears well up again and they buries their head in Gyomeis muscular chest as they apologizes repeatedly “please Gyomei I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me!” They cry

Gyomei abruptly stops walking “why in the world would I leave you?” He asks as his voice breaks

“I don’t deserve you and then I go and cause all this trouble for everyone!” Y/N screams into his chest but abruptly stops when they feel something wet drop onto their head, looking up at the man they realize he was crying. It wasn’t unusual to see the stone hashira cry but this felt different, it felt real and the guilt again took hold making their stomach turn. 

“you are the most important thing to me” he started before taking a deep breath and continuing “you are important and you are loved. I regret not sensing this sooner. I apologize” Gyomei starts walking

It didn’t take long before they were walking into stone estate, Gyomei takes them to their bed room before gently dropping Y/N on his futon “I’ll go get something to clean you up” he says before walking out and leaving them alone.

But that was short lived as he quickly came back “let me see” he joked as he lifted Y/N’s feet to clean off the dirt and blood before applying medicine and wrapping them up.

Gyomei was silent for a moment before he spoke again “I promise we will get through this together. You are not alone and I will protect you from everything”

Gyomeis voice breaks as he spoke “I failed to protect those children long ago but I promise I won’t let anything happen to you”

Y/N throws their arms around Gyomeis large frame “I’m sorry Gyomei. I promise to tell you my feelings from not on” they cry

“I love you”

“I love you too”

Gyomei lays them both back on the futon, he puts Y/N on his solid chest as he runs his hands across their back, in comfortable silence they both drifted off to sleep in each others arms. 

The next morning Y/N wakes up still on Gyomeis chest when they look up he was already awake “morning my love” he smiles at them, getting off of him she replies “morning Gyomei”

“how are you feeling? “

Y/N thinks for a moment before replaying “a little drained, but I’m all right and starving! “

Gyomei laughed “then let’s go get you something to eat” 

Hand in hand they walk through the estate talking about everything that’s been going on the days they were apart when the two reach the kitchen Genya was already there cooking a meal for the three of them “Genya!” Y/N runs up to him and wraps their arms around him making the man tense up unsure what to do but Y/N quickly pulls away “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you. I heard you were reprimanded by your older brother. Are you okay? “ Y/N asks looking over him for wounds but Genya nods “ aniki won’t seriously hurt me but I’m just glad you are okay” Genya replies and Y/N nods happily and jokes “we are just like a family” Genya blushes deeply and Gyomei let out a deep laugh “don’t let Shinazuawa hear you say that. I’ll never hear the end of it” Gyomei says. 

Gyomei smiles ‘a family, I think I like the sound of that’ he thinks before walking over to the other two, pulling Y/N to his side and patting Genya head “let’s eat” he says making them smile.

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 13 | FINALE

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: The end is the beginning is the end. Or alternatively: You finally get to have Marc's beautiful face buried between your thighs.

Content: will cause unrealistic sex expectations.

Word count; 17k (guys I'm so sorry)

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS]

Your face, small and pinched and dirty, looks back at you from the tiny mirror in Steven’s loo. The unflattering fluorescent lights aren’t doing you any favours. Eyes wide and strung out. A burst bottom lip. You look dreadful. 

Your clothes are soggy and cold underneath Marc’s somewhat drier jacket, mucky with grime and mud (and god knows what else), clinging wetly to your skin. 

You look like something the cat dragged in. 

You shiver. The idiom feels a little too on the nose, considering you were dragged across East London’s dirty concrete not even an hour ago. Just… not by a cat.  You shiver again, harder this time, trying not to think about it.

A shower. Marc sent you in here to take a shower. “Go get clean,” he’d said, “Warm up.” 

Right now you feel like you’ll never be warm again.

Marc’s jacket comes off first, and you hang it carefully on a hook, running two fingers over the cuff. You stare at it for a moment, fighting the urge to clutch it to your chest and bury your face in it. On autopilot, you reach out to undo your wristwatch instead, fingers running over the bare skin for a moment, searching, before you stare down at your wrist in confusion. 

Right. Your watch is gone. 

Or… not gone. Probably still out there in the alleyway, lying face up, cracked glass and all, on the concrete in the rain… next to the carcass of some invisible monster.  You shake your head, pushing away the image. It’s as good as gone, then, isn’t it? You’re certainly not going back out to search for it at this point. You’re bloody well never going down that alleyway again if you can help it. Hell, even going outside ever again might be off the table.

Pulling the shower curtain aside, you start the shower and peel off your ruined clothing, letting everything plop in a solid, sodden mass on the corner of the bathroom floor.

The muscles in your arms and shoulders are stiffening up and threatening to cramp up as the last bit of adrenaline abandons your system, leaving bruises and all-encompassing exhaustion in its wake. Your knees throb with the leftover pain. The water stings your scraped shin when you step under the spray. 

At least it’s warm. 

The heat of the water feels like a balm on your aching limbs, and you close your eyes, tilting your head back under the spray, trying to let the comforting warmth relax you.  

In the darkness behind your eyelids, the shower sounds like rain. Your nakedness feels like vulnerability. Like maybe you never made it back. Maybe you’re still out there, in the narrowness of the alley, under threat from an otherworldly creature that you cannot see, let alone fight. 

Your chest squeezes painfully sharp, and your eyes fly open, half expecting to see the hazy moonlit sky overhead. But no, there’s nothing but the expanse of the blank white ceiling. 

You’re still here in Steven’s shower. Safe, or as safe as it gets right now.

Dropping your gaze, you watch the blood and muck sluice down your legs and onto the tiled floor in rusty red-tinted waves to pool on the tile floor. The dirty water leaves lines of fine grit behind as the rest is sucked down the drain. 

You feel strangely numb. Like some part of your brain (probably an amenable survival mechanism) is trying to block out what happened so you don’t go mad. But maybe it’s too late for that. After all, you were a hair's width away from meeting your maker tonight at the claws of an invisible blob monster. 

It’s impossible to not think about. An irritated half-healed scab itching to be scratched. You turn it over in your mind, trying to process the fact that the supernatural is real—or those creatures were, at any rate. And apparently Marc dons a mummy costume and goes out into the night to battle them like he’s magical girl Sailor Moon. 

God. All of this is right proper insane, isn’t it? You want to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness.

You almost died; your understanding of the world as you know it has fundamentally changed; yet none of it feels real. The world itself doesn’t feel real. 

The water by your feet is running clear now. The dirt and grime finally washed off, but the film of exhaustion still clings to your limbs. Turning off the tap, you step out, grabbing the towel Marc left for you in the corner by the door. Your eyes linger on the set of clean clothes waiting for you underneath, folded into a neat square. 

You can't reconcile the man who does this for you with the same man that pummelled a supernatural monster into a whimpering pulp without hesitation. Didn’t recognise the Marc you thought you knew in the man in the alleyway standing over the creature and curb-stomping it into the ground with cold and blank disdain in his eyes. Couldn’t see that man in the Marc who escorted you home and gently bullied you into the shower. 

Reaching for the clothes, you quickly dress and pull aside the accordion door only to find the very man you were thinking of right outside the door, arms crossed and back plastered to the closest wall as he stands guard.  

You barely cross the threshold before he's already pushing away from the wall and moving in to guide you gently but firmly towards the kitchen like a particularly insistent herding dog.

There’s a fairly extensive first aid kit laid out on the counter, well used by the look of it, and you try not to think too hard about why that might be. 

"Up," Marc commands, curt as ever, swatting a hand down on the surface of the countertop, and you feel like a lamb being rounded back into the pen. 

A ‘please’ wouldn’t have hurt him, but you let it go with just a glare as you shuffle over, too drained to put up a fight over something so small.  You lift your arms to brace against the countertop, getting ready to hop up, and flinch a little as your shoulders twinge and ache. 

Marc is in front of you in a heartbeat, watching you with worried eyes and a furrowed brow. His hands hover, like he wants to help but doesn't dare to touch, and any testiness in you fizzles out at the sight of him.

You give him a small nod, barely able to complete the motion before his hands come down on your waist, lifting you. Even though you’re expecting it, the loss of ground beneath your feet feels sudden, unbalancing you, and you gasp, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. 

Part of you expects him to drop you, but he doesn’t. Marc’s warm and solid under your palms, strong muscles bunching as he perches you on the counter. 

Blood rushes to your head with furious speed. It must be from the sudden change in altitude. That’s what you tell yourself no matter how doubtful that is considering the standard kitchen counter height is not even three feet above the floor. You're not exactly climbing the Himalayan mountains. But you don’t want to think of the more probable reasons right now. 

You're still reeling from lightheadedness when he lets you go in favour of busying himself with the large tin box on the counter, rifling through the arsenal of medical supplies, and sets down what he needs next to you. Then he's dragging a nearby chair to position himself in front of you. Sitting so close he's practically nestled between your legs. 

It does nothing to help with your newly discovered vertigo symptoms. 

"I’m going to check you over for injuries now,” he says perfunctory, pulling you from your thoughts, “Left leg.”  

You stretch out your leg into the air, glancing down at him, unsure of where to rest it. There’s no space on the tiny kitchen stool. Do you just… put it down in his lap? On his crotch?!?! Or–

Marc's hand wraps around your ankle, and his executive decision-making ends your flailing, as he gently guides your foot to rest against his thigh. Then his head ducks down, and he starts to inspect the patch of scraped skin on your knee, dabbing gently at the scattered dots of blood with a square of clean gauze.

With how tender and swollen everything feels, you expect it to hurt. That at the slightest pressure on your skin, it is bound to sting and snag and tear. But it doesn't. Marc is gentle, barely pressing down and showing such minute care as he tends to you that you barely feel the brush of the cloth at all.

It's such an impossible contrast. The tenderness of his touch as he fusses over you, placing a plaster on your knee, compared to the brutality you’ve now seen him capable of.

You still can't make sense of it. What happened, or what that invisible monster in the rain was. Why Marc was out there. Or what he meant by that being "what he does." 

"Marc," you start tentatively as you lean forward to get his attention, "What happened toni--"

“Wiggle your toes,” he interrupts. 

His odd demand cuts off your line of thought. “What?”

“Try to wiggle your toes for me”, he repeats, without looking up. “Want to make sure you didn’t get any nerve damage.”

You frown, you’re not blind to the fact that his request conveniently just cut you off from asking a question that undoubtedly Marc doesn’t want to answer. Still, you comply, angling your foot upwards and wiggle your toes for his inspection. 

Whether you passed his ad hoc medical examination, Marc’s expression isn’t giving you any clues. His face is as stoic as ever as he sets down your foot. He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches over to your right side to draw your other foot into his lap. 

Marred with bruises, looking like something that got mangled in a bear trap. Your right foot does not make for a pretty sight. It’s swollen and bleeding sluggishly from long gashes where the blob monster’s claw-like grip must have broken through skin. 

It's a gruesome picture, but miraculously, the injury doesn’t seem to be too serious. It stings more than it actually hurts, and it’s not even bleeding much anymore. Not even worth a trip to A&E really, as you doubt it’s deep enough to need stitches. 

At least that’s the assessment based on your own limited medical knowledge. If you based the severity on Marc’s reaction, you’d think it needed amputation. 

The line of his shoulder is pulled taut and reminds you of a live wire. Mouth set in a grim tortured line. He has the expression of a doctor about to give the nearest kin some heartbreaking news as he’s staring down at your foot with haunted guilt in his eyes. 

"I'm all right. I’m sure it just looks a lot worse than it is," you tell him. 

He doesn't meet your eyes or reply for that matter. Instead, he begins to gently tend the wound. Mouth pressing down so tightly his lips go pale white from it. He dabs away the oozing blood, carefully applying antibiotic ointment to the worst of the broken skin, and covering them with large squares of gauze that he tapes in place. It’s all quite professional, really, the practised ease that only comes with repetition. 

You wonder how many times he has done this before. You wonder how much harder it must be for him to suture his own gashes and gaping wounds. Wonder how long he’s been doing this by himself, fighting these hellish creatures. These things that you still have no bloody fucking idea as to what they are. 

"Marc,” you start tentatively, “what was--" A ticklish sensation rushes through you. In panic, you think a centipede is crawling down the sole of your foot. You instinctively jerk your leg up and away, nearly kneeing Marc in the face before you realise what’s happened. 

Your eyes fly downwards to Marc who is entirely unfazed by the close call as you stare at him in shock. His index finger rests on the arch of your heel and you blink up at him in a dumb stupor, not believing your eyes.  

Did he just– did he just fucking tickle you?!

There’s no hint of wrongdoing in his expression. No grin, or crack in his stony facade. He is unflappable as always as he continues cleaning your wound with a straight face. 

"Needed to check if you still had sensation in that foot," he offers up as an explanation as if he thinks that tickling was a perfectly reasonable thing for him to do in the circumstances. 

You frown, biting down the tart comment bubbling in your throat. You want to call him out on it, that you know what he’s up to and he’s acting like a child. But you know that the moment you do, the conversation will derail into an argument and in the flare of your temper, you’ll lose track of your questions. You’re pretty sure Marc knows you well enough that that’s exactly what he is aiming for. 

Gathering a deep calming breath into your chest, you steady yourself before you take a second shot. 

"What was that thing in the rain?" you ask again. 

He acts like he doesn't hear you. "Roll your ankles side to side," he requests instead. 

Irritation prickles your face. This bastard is still trying to evade your questions. 

"Marc," you start again, "what was--"

"Press down your weight on my hand with your foot."

"Marc!" you bark. 

He finally drags his eyes upwards to meet yours without bothering to lift his chin, seemingly as detached and reposed as ever. But there's something else in there too. A tiny flicker as you hold his gaze, and he has to look away. 

He looks… scared. 

Scared of what you don't know. The man practically single-handedly beat three monsters straight out of a Lovecraftian horror story with his bare fists tonight. With strength like that, you don't think anything should ever be capable of scaring him. 

"Can we talk about what happened tonight?" you ask again, trying to keep your voice even. 

His head ducks back down again, and he busies himself by rechecking the bandaids on your injured ankle. 

“There's nothing to talk about,” he murmurs offhandedly, but his hands betray him. 

There's no mistaking it. Even though his shoulders are obscuring your line of sight, you don’t need to see it in order to feel how unsteady his hands are. How his fingers stutter against your skin as they trail over your ankle.

He’s not letting go, as if he’s afraid that if he wasn’t holding onto you, you’d get up and walk away.

Gazing down on him from your vantage point of the counter, Marc doesn’t look as imposing as when you were looking up at him from the rainy concrete in the alley. From up here, he looks small and scared even. 

Even though there is nothing in this flat that should intimidate him. No invisible monsters lurking in the dark shadows behind Steven’s piles and piles of books. The scariest thing in Steven’s flat is dust mites. 

No, the only thing Marc is scared of, you realise, is this conversation. 

That’s what Steven told you, wasn’t it? That 'there are things that Marc hasn't told you.' That 'once you know everything,’ Marc thinks ‘you'll walk away'. 

It’s the final puzzle piece, slotted into its rightful place, and you can finally see the picture that was blurred out before, crystallising in startling detail. 

This is it. This is the big secret. The thing that Marc hasn't told you. 

You get it now. Why he has avoided you all this time. Why he stayed away even after you told him you love him. 

Because how on earth would anyone even begin to explain what happened tonight to someone who wasn’t there? 

How could he possibly have explained any of this to you before now? How would he possibly convince you those things out there (whatever they are) were real without dragging you into danger, head first, to see it with your own eyes? 

Didn't you struggle with the very same thought when you’d first tried to tell Marc what you’d seen in the alley on your own before all hell broke loose? The fear that he wouldn't believe you. That he'd think you were insane. 

Even if he had managed to explain and get you to believe him– what then? 

You can understand it. Why he was convinced that you would leave not just him but Steven as well, causing further collateral damage, if he told you everything. You can see from where he was standing, why he’d worry. 

But this is where Marc is wrong. You still want this. Him. Them.

"What happened tonight, it doesn't change how I feel about you," you start, and his hand on your foot spasms, grip tightening. It’s how you know your guess was right on the button, so you press on. "What I told you on the phone, I still mean it. I–"  you hesitate on the word. 

The last thing you want is to spook him away again by repeating it. It might be too much too soon. Instead, you settle for second best. 

"I want you to come back. Steven and I both do."  

Marc lets go of your foot. You can see his hand shaking despite Marc’s attempt to make it stop. His fingers flex and curl in agitation until he gives up and reaches up to drag it through his matted curls in frustration. 

“You don’t want this,” he says quietly, and his face is still turned downwards, staring at the floor refusing to look up at you. 

Knowing Marc, you know that he could very well mean the situation or himself. After everything that’s happened tonight, the part that upsets you the most is that he still feels this way about himself. 

"I do," you counter, saying the words with the whole of your chest. “I. Want. You. I want all of this.”

In the face of your certainty, he flinches, face pinched as if telling him you want him is a physical slap that pains him. It takes him a second to recover, to shake his head in refusal as he stares down at the floor like it committed a great wrong against him. 

"You want a normal life. Steven can give you that if it’s just the two of you. I can't,” he tells you. His voice, low in that weary and tired tone you overheard in the bathroom. 

"I don't need you to give me a normal life. What does that even mean? ‘Normal,’” you say derisively. “I don't need or want normal if it means you're not there Marc. That's not the life I want.”

He's still not looking at you, biting the insides of his cheek, and you can almost see the walls closing in around him before your very eyes. 

"You said you wanted me safe”, you say, ducking your head to try to catch his gaze, and you manage to see his eyes peer up at you from his lashes, as you continue. “And happy. I'm telling you now, I'm not going to be happy if you're not here."

Marc’s eyes widen with alarm. “You were awake?”

"I–" you start, but he cuts you off before you finish. 

“You were pretending to be asleep?” 

"No, I thought I was dreaming, I–"

“What else did you hear,” he asks. There’s panic in his voice, and he’s already rising from his seat in preparation to flee the room. 

Fuck, how are you fucking this up this badly this fast? Seeing his distress almost makes you want to backtrack, to fold it up and call it a night, try again tomorrow maybe. Because you know in his mind Marc is already bolting for that door, ready to leg it and put as much distance as he can between you and him. 

But… your mind flashes to the weight of his gentle touch on your shoulder. To his fingers brushing away the hair on your forehead. To his quiet voice as he whispered, 'I love you too'. You know what you heard in the dark: a testament of Marc’s feelings for you, and it emboldens you. 

“Marc.” You lean forward, reaching out to take his hand in yours. He stiffens with a jolt as your fingertips brush up against his knuckles, and you can almost see the line of his shoulder vibrate. But he doesn't make any moves to pull away at your touch. 

“I want you. Do you want me?” you ask. 

He stills. Marc looks at you for a long unflinching moment. It’s the same conflicted set in his jaw when you were standing next to him in front of Gus’ tank. The same hesitation written over his face when you were watching him through the back window of the taxi as it pulled away from him in the night. That same pained look when your eyes met in your office before he fled from you. 

His mouth parts with hesitation, but then he bites down and grinds his jaw hard enough that you think you can hear his molars grate from where you sit. “What I want doesn’t matter,” he answers you stubbornly. 

It's enough to make you want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him back and forth and scream into his face. 

“It does!” you say, almost half-shouting. “Of course it matters. You matter.”

"Don't. Don't do that.” Marc shakes his head, and he moves his free hand over yours, gently prying it off of him. “Save that for Steven. He deserves it. Deserves… you. I… I don't.” 

“And what about what I deserve,” you demand, fed up to the gills with his tendency for self-sacrifice, “What I want? Don’t I deserve to decide for myself?” 

That seems to catch him off guard. For once he doesn’t have a ready response, just glares at you, his jaw still set at that impossibly stubborn angle, but his eyes are full of so much pain that it hurts you to see it. You reach out again and cup his cheek.

"Remember that night Gus died? You came to me for help. You said I was the only one you could think of to ask, and it made me so happy that you did. I want you to ask me for things.”

There’s another moment of indecision in his eyes. The upper half of his body tilts in your direction, almost like he’s reaching for you, even if he won’t let his hands do so.

"I just want to be with you,” you continue, “I want to be your person. The person you come to when you need something. Can’t that be enough?"

His eyes are glued on you, mouth gaping open. For a moment you think you've succeeded, managed to stun him into silence and maybe even convinced him. 

It doesn’t last. 

He closes his parted mouth and clamps it shut until it’s compressed into a thin determined line. Then before you can react, he’s abruptly pulling away, turning with wordless efficiency, and walking away from you.  

"Marc?" you call after him, but his determined stride doesn’t even falter,  "Marc!"

Oh goddamnit! 

You hop off the counter, your sore ankle twinging when you land on it, but you ignore the dull ache as you run after him. 

“You don’t have to do this, Marc!" you shout. Slinging your arm out, you only just manage to catch him by the back of his shirt. Your fingers grip onto the fabric for dear life to stop him from getting further away, "You don’t have to do everything on your own. You don’t have to be alone. Steven and I are here. Stop running away from us! We want to support you. Please! You can lean on us.” 

He stops, turning about sharply, fire and brimstone in his eyes. The fuse of his already short temper burnt to a crisp. 

“You and Steven were never supposed to know about me or get caught up in any of this,” he snaps. “I’ve– My life is dangerous. It’s not safe.” 

“Yeah, I noticed the red flags already, you dunce. I still care about you regardless!”

“I don’t want you to care!” Marc roars, and it hits you with the force of a punch to the chest. 

You suck in a sharp pained breath, and he must see the hurt in your face because his eyes soften slightly, but his voice is no less emphatic, “You can’t go poking around in my life. Running out after me in the middle of the night. It's dangerous! You got hurt tonight. You could’ve been killed!"

And that does it. The pain of his implied rejection, the scolding tone, the way it feels like he’s blaming you for getting yourself hurt. It all rubs you the wrong way. All of the patience you had in you up until now evaporates, replaced by a fiery heat burning up your chest until it comes to a boiling point.

“Me?” you bite back indignantly. “What about you? Running around in a bloody Halloween costume in the middle of the night. Fighting invisible monsters? What if you got hurt? What on earth were you doing out there?”

“This is exactly why you needed to stay away from me. You do not want or need my fucking mess, okay!?"  

“Yes, I bloody well do! I'll take your fucking mess, Marc—every speck of it—as long as I get to have you too.”

His gaze bores into yours, eyes dark like spilt ink and brimming with anger so stark it practically sparks. 

“You really want to know what I do? Why I was out there tonight?” he asks, voice quieter, but the anger is still there, simmering just below the surface waiting to erupt. 

The sudden change feels like a gauntlet being thrown down, challenging you to a metaphorical game of chicken, daring you to back away and run for the hills while you still can.

You stand your ground, heels digging into the floor as you nod, swallowing the anxiety you feel pressed up against your throat like an acidic heartburn.  

“I serve Khonshu. I’m his avatar,” he says matter-of-factly as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world. As if any of this is supposed to make sense to you. 

It doesn’t. It makes no fucking sense at all. 

Your mind scrambles to connect the dots. Khonshu? Avatar? What the hell is he on about? Avatar as in James Cameron’s Pocahontas in space? And Khonshu? What even… You can’t even begin to think of what that is supposed to mean. Don’t recognise it save for a passing familiarity that it’s a word that Steven has used when passionately serenading you with facts on Ancient Egypt. The connection between the two is lost to you. 

“What is… ‘Khonshu?'” you ask, and this time, you don’t have to drag the answer out of Marc. 

He answers you willingly and as plainly without varnish as before. “Khonshu’s the ancient Egyptian god of the moon. Years ago, I was stabbed and left for dead. He saved my life and in return, I work for him now.” 

There’s no hint of emotion as he says it. He’s not pleading for you to believe him despite how fantastical it sounds. Not trying to convince you of anything. Marc is leaving it to you whether or not you believe him, almost like he wishes you wouldn’t. Like this bizarre rambling will hopefully finally send you packing and out of his life. And that’s… how you know he’s not lying to you. 

“Work for him… how?” you ask. 

His eyes flick upwards, grinding his teeth as if he’s biting down on a curse, before his gaze settles back on you. 

“I swore to protect travellers of the night.”

And once again, that tells you absolutely nothing. What does that even mean, ‘Travellers of the night’? As in prostitutes?! 

Marc’s obfuscation and frankly dodgy-as-fuck explanations have your blood boiling. You’re almost positive he’s doing this on purpose to get you hacked off, and he’s succeeding. 

“Can you speak in plain English?”

“I take care of bad guys so they don’t harm good people. Protect civilians who can’t protect themselves.”

“So you’re… what? Like a supernatural police officer? A monster hunter? A guardian of the night?”

He grits his teeth. 

“Something like that.” The answer is dismissive, and so is his attitude. He folds his arms across his chest, trying to distance himself from you, casting a glance at the door. “Satisfied? We done here?”

“No! No, we’re not ‘done here.’ We are the furthest thing from done. I already told you, Marc. Nothing that’s happened tonight changes how I feel about you.”

He shakes his head, jaw set mulishly, before tearing his eyes away and turning towards the front door. 

And that just won’t do. If you let Marc walk out now, you know he’ll do everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of his life.

Moving quickly, you dart around Marc and slide between him and the door. In your single-minded hurriedness, you bump into the small table by the door, sending several things clattering over and probably adding yet another bruise to your already abused body, but you don’t care. You cannot let him leave. Plastering your back to the door, you stand tall and raise your chin, prepared to act as a physical barrier if you have to.

Marc’s eyes narrow into slits, a snarl of pure exasperation erupting from the back of his throat.  

“Move,” he orders, taking a step closer to you, but there is no real threat behind it. He doesn’t reach out to touch you; doesn’t grab you or shove you out of the way

He just looks at you like you are an actual obstacle he cannot surpass. But you know that he could move you by force if he wanted to. It’d be easy for him to force his way out of the flat with little effort. 

Between the two of you, physically he’s the stronger one. You’ve witnessed him take out supernatural monsters tonight. If he wanted to, he could shove his way straight through you. Carry you into another room and lock you in. Could easily snap every bone in your wrist in the blink of an eye.

But he won't. After all this time, if there is one thing you’ve learnt about Marc, it is that harm is only ever his last resort. 

The man is squirmish at the prospect of physically harming a goldfish. Would rather visit all the pet shops in all of London in the middle of the night to find a mythical one-finned fish to avoid that outcome. At the core of him, he wants to shield and protect, not break. 

And towards you? He would never use brute strength on you. Would never hurt you. Would give his very life to make sure you’re safe and unharmed. Happy.

In front of you, Marc takes another step forward, closing the distance. His commanding presence crowds you in against the doorframe until there’s barely any space between you anymore. 

Marc is angry. Jaw tense, shoulders tied up in a tangled knot, nose flaring like an angry bull emitting a bright and blaring warning signal for you to move. But you stay put because if he’s a bull, then that must make you a matador, practically waving a red cape at him to come charge you.

He’s staring down at you again. That look in his eyes, like he knows what is best for you. That same stern gaze when he swore you to secrecy, deciding what was best for Steven. The determination there that tells you that this is not up for discussion. 

It’s a recurring pattern with Marc. He decides what he thinks is best for everyone else, with no consideration of what the person in question actually wants. 

“Last chance,” he warns, through gritted teeth, “I won’t ask again.”

Marc probably thinks this is a threat. But it’s only because he can’t see himself, the pain-filled eyes that look back down at you. Nothing is menacing about it. 

“I’m not moving,” you tell him. 

It’s only a fraction of a second, but you catch his eyes flickering to your lips. A near-growling sound tears out of his throat, and then he’s moving forward further into your space.

What is he–?

His hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you to him, and then his lips are on yours. 

Oh.

Marc Spector is kissing you.

It’s hard and demanding, his lips crushed to yours, clearly driven by the frustration and anger that seems to vibrate just under his skin. But it doesn’t matter. You have dreamed of kissing this man for so long. Even with the harshness, you can’t help but respond to him, meeting the brutal press of his lips with your own more eager one. Mouth parting in invitation for him. 

Something shifts. 

All the fight goes out of him, leaking away like hot air out of a punctured balloon, whatever anger was there fizzles out of him, and you feel him melt against your lips. The kiss slips into something softer, sweeter. Something that steals every ounce of oxygen from your lungs. 

You don’t know how long it lasts, the only thing you know is that it doesn’t last long enough. If you could have the choice, you’d want it to last forever. 

It doesn’t of course. Marc retreats from you with an unsteady step. His eyes are etched with shock as you take him in, brows pinched and pupils wide, and you already want to kiss him again. 

The two of you have been here before. Staring at each other from so close a distance that your foreheads are inches from touching. Except this time it’s not in front of a fish tank with an imposter goldfish between you. A stray curl falls into his eyes and tickles your nose. It’s the hint of clean linen, the note of coffee you brew for him every night that he will unfailingly drink because you made it for him. It’s the smell you wake up to embedded in Steven’s sheets. 

You want this man, all of him, to be yours. 

Your face tilts up to him. So close, his lips ghost over yours.

“Marc,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker over your face. “Stop running.”

Part of you expects him to stop you again. That he will pull back, eyeing you like you’re something dangerous, the way he did that night in front of the fish tank. 

He doesn’t. 

You tip your face forward even further, your nose dragging along the bridge of his.

“I love you.” 

You can hear the sharp inhale just like last time you said it over the phone when you did not know if he was on the other end or not. When you didn't know if the sound was imaginary or real. Now you know. 

You couldn’t see his face then, but this time you get to. The pinched furrow between his brow, that look in his eyes that makes your heart seize in your chest. There’s no doubt about it now. 

"And you love me,” you say. 

His lips part, and you brace yourself for another protest or denial, but it doesn’t come. Instead, his head does the slightest tilt forward. A nod, you realise. 

“Yeah.” He whispers it so quietly you nearly miss it at first. 

You smile. Happiness surges through your insides, weaving through your ribs until you think that your chest might burst. 

Marc Spector loves you. 

You swallow in relief, smiling even as you feel a sting prickle the corner of your eyes. Then Marc leans down and closes that infinitesimal space between you, bringing down the final barrier of separation that he has maintained since you met him. 

It’s a soft press of his lips to yours. So soft, it’s scarcely there, but it feels perfect all the same, a fluttering warmth that you can feel down to the curl of your toes. 

It’s an admittance. An invitation. A sign of trust. 

Marc kisses you again and again with lingering kisses that he deepens with each gentle press of his mouth to yours. His hand moves to cup your face in his palm, cradling your cheek like you're the most precious thing he’s ever touched. 

You feel like you ought to be surprised by how gentle he is, but you’re not. Not at all, because of course he’s gentle.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Marc’s hardness is all smoke and mirrors, hiding the vulnerable softness that lies under the hardened skin. Beneath it all, Marc is protective and caring, kind even. 

And now, you finally get to have him in all his confounding complexities. This stubborn, kind, impossible idiot, right here in your arms. 

You pull him closer, even as you keep kissing him, fingers twisting into the brushed cotton of his shirt, and he lets you. Head leaning down as he adjusts his angle so he can slant his mouth fully over yours. He’s pressed up against every single inch of you, from his knees to his chest, your lips fused and somehow it’s still not even close to enough for you. You tug his collar, encouraging him to come even closer and he does, obedient, in a way that you’ve never known him to be before. 

Stepping forward, he follows your lead, inching closer, until the solidness of his chest presses you flush to the door. His arm comes to brace the side of your head, hand cupping behind the back of your neck, and you realise only belatedly it’s the reason why your head isn’t colliding with the hard wood behind you. 

Not that it would matter if you did. You don’t even think you’d notice if your head went through the wall right now. Too focused on the softness of his lips. Too lost in the quiet, near-silent humming sound he makes as he kisses you that sets your nerves alight. 

God, he’s perfect. His closeness is heady. There’s a growing hunger in your stomach that makes your limbs shake and tremble. After all the time he's been away, hiding from you, you feel starved for this. For him. You want to bite his neck, lick along the protruding line of his collarbone and swallow every inch of him down to the marrow if he’d let you. 

For all the gentleness that Marc is showing you, you have no intention of returning the favour. Your teeth sink in, biting down on his bottom lip, and he lets out a quiet involuntary gasp into your mouth. Your veins burn at the sound. Fuck, you want him to make that noise again, that careless pitch of pleasure that sounds so unguarded coming from him. You want to bite and nibble and scratch and claw and have him make every noise known and unknown to mankind. 

You drag your teeth along the swell of his lip, and he shivers, eyes squeezed firmly shut like he’s teetering on the very edge of his self-control. Then you nip down again. 

His hips stutter forward involuntarily, and he curses, the sound breathless and raw, like you tore it out of him before he was prepared. It’s all you want. To hear that sound again and again and again. You want to hear his tiny moans in your ear, the involuntary muffled growl as he buries his face into your neck trying to keep quiet, hear him gasp ‘fuck’ in barely audible decibels. You want everything. 

Hooking your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, you haul him closer as if he wasn’t already pressed alongside your body. Thighs nestled between yours, the coarseness of denim scraping against your bare legs. You can feel the hardening bulge trapped between you, and you want him to grind against you, to rut into you mindlessly until you can feel his cock twitch against the softness of your belly. 

But Marc isn’t showing any signs of obliging you in that department, and you’re not willing to stop kissing him in order to give him directions. Instead, you arch your back away from the wall, tilting your pelvis until you rub up against his crotch. He jolts hard at the contact, the line of his body wracked in shivers with a gorgeous groan that is cut off too soon. 

"Shit!”  

His hand leaves your neck. Then he’s pulling back and away from you in retreat. You immediately miss the warmth of his body, reaching up to try to chase after the loveliness of his lips, but he stops you. A gentle but firm hand comes down on your shoulder, pinning you against the wall. 

You stare up at him, and you’re not sure you’re breathing anymore at the sight of him. You should be used to how preposterously beautiful this man is by now. But you never are. Each time feels novel and so much worse–no, better than the last time. The collar of his shirt is stretched and askew. Curls a mess against his forehead. Lips, slick and kiss-swollen as his mouth hangs open, chest heaving as he pants. 

As stunningly pretty as Steven is when you’ve succeeded in making a mess out of him, to do it to Marc is something else entirely. This orderly, neat freak of a man who makes it his life mission to repress his emotions and jam them shut inside of himself with a tight lid. You did this. You’ve made a mess of him. It’s electric, your veins buzz with the thrill, and your brain is screaming for more. 

Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through his hair as you reel him in by the back of his neck. Your mouth finds his, kissing him hard before he has time to overthink it or, god forbid, change his mind and try to bolt again. His mouth parts, and you swallow the soft oomph of surprise that escapes his throat and lean in, licking desperately into his mouth. If this is all you get, you want to try to savour him. 

Marc doesn’t stop you this time. Instead, his hands settle on your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he’s pulling you closer. It has the whole of your back from the base of your spine to the tip of your nose tingling. 

This time he’s the one grinding into you, the hard outline of his cock pressed tight between you. Even through the thick layer of denim, you can feel how hard he is, and you shiver pleasantly.

You moan into the kiss, rising on your tiptoes to meet him. There’s not an inch of space between your bodies, and you swear you can feel his cock twitch against your hip. 

And fuck, fuck– that’s– 

You need to get him in bed now before you hitch your legs and clamber onto his thighs to climb him like the trunk of a tree. Why the fuck did the architect place the bedroom section at the opposite end of the flat.

Stepping one foot sideways, you tug at the neck of Marc’s shirt to steer him towards the bed. There’s no resistance. He shows you the same obedience as before, easily letting himself be pulled by you as you start walking blindly backwards, navigating the two of you through the junkyard of Steven’s mess. 

Any second now you’re expecting to trip over the damn ottoman, except this is Steven's flat, not yours. And this isn’t Steven; it’s Marc in your arms. Steady and composed in his every step, with none of the charming incoordination of Steven. No, Marc steers you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Arms bracketing your side to make sure your hips don’t bump into any hard-edged furniture, preemptively pushing back a teetering book from the shelf before it even has the time to leap off the ledge. 

Marc—beautiful, stubborn Marc, who is as immovable as a rock in his decisions—is letting you pull and tug him in whatever direction you’re choosing to go. Kissing you with each unbalanced step backwards, like you’re the only air he ever needs to breathe. 

There’s a flicker of light as you pass Gus’ tank, and it dims when you move past Steven’s desk and the telly. God. It’s a journey of fewer than 20 feet that should take you less than ten seconds and not the eternity that it seems to take. 

When you finally feel the fine, gritty sand beneath the sole of your foot, it feels like victory. The soft brush of the sheets pressing up against your calves is the rope of the finish line that you’d never imagined you’d reach. 

You want to memorialise this moment somehow. Etch it into your memory so you’ll never forget. Carve it into the wooden beam structures of this very flat so it’ll outlast you both. 

Marc’s hands on your hips guide you gently to a stop, and you realise with a rush of giddiness that you’ve finally reached your destination. You break the kiss long enough to sit down on the edge of the bed, and you don’t even need to tug at the corner of his sleeve for Marc to dutifully follow you down. He helps you lay back and leans in after you, the firm weight of his body settling over you, pressing you down into the mattress. 

The weight of Marc feels perfect, as his head tips down to your face, kissing over the curve of your jaw to your neck. He’s pressing open-mouthed kisses down the line of your throat and the swell of your chest. It’s tender. Reverent almost.

Marc is unbothered by the cotton layer of clothing that separates his mouth from your bare skin as he goes. His mouth grazes your knuckles, kissing the inside of your wrist. He’s soft yet insistent. Hungry but slow. God, he’s slow, infuriatingly so, to the point where you wonder if he’s taking the mick out of you. 

His lips trail a row of devoted kisses against the bare skin of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up, barely lifting the hem up and letting it ride up against your ribs as he puts his mouth there too. If it didn’t feel so good to have his mouth on you, you’d consider it torture with the pace that he’s going. You’re aching, everything inside is pulled so taught and tight you might burst out of your skin.

Those cotton soft curls tickle against your thighs on his way down, and you spread them for him in a not-so-subtle invitation. But Marc doesn’t pay you any mind, that earlier obedience that had endeared him to you is nowhere to be found now. He continues down, knees sinking into the sand lining the perimeter of the bed until he’s kneeling down in front of you on the bed. 

Then he stops. 

You hold your breath waiting for him to continue. But nothing happens, and your first instinct is that he’s changed his mind again. You’re almost lunging after him. Fully prepared to tackle him down with a wrestling move you’ve seen on the telly and pin him against the sand and wooden floor. 

But he’s not moving away from you. 

Opening your eyes to peek, you lift yourself on one arm, tilting down your head to find yourself staring back at those pitch-dark eyes. 

You’re not prepared for the sight of him. Of Marc on his knees, peering up at you through his lashes, like you’re a solemn prayer that he’s clinging onto by his fingertips. The vision of him flattens your lungs, taking any oxygen away with it. He’s looking at you like you’re something to be protected and cared for. As if you’re all he’s ever wanted and would never allow himself to have. 

Marc’s bending down again, lips brushing your skinned knee as his warm breath ghosts over the raw skin. He goes over every scrape and scratch with his mouth. It’s his way of atoning for ever letting you get hurt. 

And as good as that feels, as much as you never want him to stop. You need more. More than this torturous, drawn-out pace that he’s giving you, or you think you’ll tear your hair out by the roots and go mad with it. 

“Marc.” You’re trying to say it with urgency, maybe even hint at your annoyance, but it comes out as a high-pitched, delirious plea, “Marc please, I need–” 

He doesn’t answer you with any words. Instead, his hands come to the side of your hips, fingers slipping into your sleep shorts, hooking the hem of your knickers with them as he pulls them down. 

“Lift,” he commands, in the same brusque way he had before when ordering you to sit on the kitchen counter. But this time you’re only too eager to comply. 

You’re so excited you nearly deal a high kick to his face, miraculously missing him by only a couple of inches. 

From the corner of your eye, you swear you catch an amused half-smile quirking the corners of his lips. But before you can take a better look to confirm it, he ducks his head back down, even though you think you can see the line of his shoulders shake from what might very well be laughter. 

But your mind doesn't get to linger on it for long. His hand curls over your thigh, and he settles your leg on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the inner side that his mouth can reach. Then he hooks your leg over his back, and sharp heat settles deep in your stomach.

His warm breath fans against the bare skin raising goosebumps in its wake. He continues to lick  over the softness of your belly. Nipping at your hip and the insides of your legs, covering every inch of you he can reach with his mouth. Purposefully avoiding the slick ache between your legs where you need his mouth and tongue most. 

Fuck, you could kill him for that. 

“Marc.” His name is a whine between your lips. It sounds pathetic to your ears, but you don’t care. You’re not above begging. Not if there’s a chance it will get you more of this, of him. 

“Please, Marc, just– I need you to–” 

“Baby,” he murmurs, cutting off your pleas. It’s almost reproachful, but it doesn’t matter because that’s not what your mind is focused on. This is the first endearment Marc has ever used for you and it sounds so sweet on his lips. Makes you feel loved and cared for despite the admonishing tone. 

“Be patient,” he scolds, but there’s so much fondness in his voice for you, it makes you lightheaded. “I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

There’s only a brief second as you catch a peek of the pink tip of his tongue, glistening against his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he dips down. Heat crackles throughout your limbs, and your lungs pull tight in anticipation. The air around you thins, and for a moment as you try to desperately swallow down the air in your throat, the room seems to tilt. 

Then he gives you his mouth, and as cliche as it sounds, it’s heaven. A long, controlled press of his tongue through your wet and slick folds. Endorphins rush through you to the top of your head, and you can’t help how your body reacts, arching up against his mouth with a gasp that is punched out of your lungs. 

Then he does it again, and somehow, though you can’t even fathom how it’s not defying the laws of science and time as you know it, he goes even slower. The velvet softness of his tongue drags with an unhurried press across the seam of your pussy until he reaches the apex and licks with a silken glide on your wet clit. You nearly swallow your tongue to tamper the whine trapped in your throat. 

This is not the pace you were expecting. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on your part, but you thought he’d be impatient. Almost anticipated that his movements would be sparse and efficient like every other aspect of his life, pushing you to a high-speed climax like a carcrash.  

This is not that. This is Marc taking his own sweet time. His tongue is a slow decadent drag against your clit, and you feel his warm breath ghost over you, inhaling the scent of you as he takes you in. 

Sweet heady pleasure climbs up the back of your thighs, filling your stomach with it. It’s so much, you don’t know if you can fit it all within, all the emotions that are welling up in your chest to spill out of you. Your fingers grip his solid shoulders to anchor yourself. You roll your hips against his mouth in an attempt to urge him on, but he refuses to take the hint. His tongue makes a slow, thorough exploration, interrupted only by the open-mouthed kisses that he presses against your mound, your hip, your cunt. 

You can feel the tension in his shoulder under your thigh. Can hear it in the quick rasp of his breath, but still, his pace remains slow and measured. Steadily kindling the smouldering heat beneath your skin, lick by torturous lick. 

It’s perfect. Hot as sin and twice as glorious, but you could scream with how agonisingly glacial the build-up is. A strange, high-pitched sound escapes you. An unflattering blend between a moan and a sob. It sounds like you’re in pain when all you feel is pleasure, and then you hear Marc shushing you again. This time softer, comforting even. 

“It's alright. You're alright. You can take it for me,” he says into your skin, mouth pressed against your clit with a warm hum that rumbles through your flesh. Your veins drip with something sweet and honeyed at his tone. 

Marc is so exacting, not at all like Steven’s wild hunger. His tongue laves at you, warm and wet, with an unceasing gentle pressure, gliding over and around your clit. Decadently slow, but never stopping. The feeling is intense and unrelenting. Somehow dragging you closer and closer to the edge but never quite enough to push you over. 

Digging your heels into his back, you tilt your hips as far as the strain in your muscles will allow you to get closer. You rock yourself against his mouth, and Marc groans, a pleased, encouraging sound, even as his hands grip the flesh of your waist and hold you firm against the pillowy softness of the bed to make sure you don’t try to ride out your own pleasure against his face at a faster pace than he has set for you.  

You could scream with frustration. If the left hemisphere of your brain responsible for speech wasn’t so severely compromised by Marc, you would be screeching until your throat goes raw with it. Instead, you hiccup a broken sob, his name quiet and cracked on your lips. 

"That's right. You're alright," he soothes, as he presses his forehead against your stomach. If you didn’t know better, his voice almost sounds a bit shaky, slurring on the last word as he bends back down and puts his mouth back between your thighs, onto your sensitive flesh and gently sucks. 

Those unruly curls tickle against the soft skin. You only meant to brush his hair away, but as soon as your fingers curl into the soft heat of them, you can’t help but grip tighter at the silky touch. Carding your hand through the curly locks. 

You don’t mean to tug, but the careful drag of his teeth against your clit sends a sharp electric jolt up your spine, short-circuiting your lungs and sending you clawing at his curls for dear life. It should not feel this good, and yet you find yourself chasing the sensation, nearly buckling over, as your heel digs into the firm muscles of his back to anchor yourself. 

You can’t even look anymore. Why torture yourself with the sight of him buried between your legs. Cheeks dusted crimson, and those breathtakingly expressive eyes burning into yours as if he’s trying to memorise every minute detail of your expression. You can see his jaw working on your pussy. Can feel him as his tongue keeps sliding hot and insistent without reprieve against your overstimulated clit. 

It’s so much. Too much. All your senses feel overloaded. Your vision goes blurry. You’re not sure if it’s tears that are stinging behind your eyelids or if they cross at the back of your head as everything dims and darkens, like a fuse box blowing out. It’s all too much, and you’re being dragged under and drowning in the sensations. You need to pull up above the surface to breathe again or you’re sure you’re going to die. 

You grab at Marc’s hand like he’s your life preserver, and he weaves his fingers between yours. It’s surprisingly intimate, as he squeezes your hand back, pressing your intwined hands to your hip bone, reassuring you he’s right there and—fuck, it’s… It’s so much, too much. 

It’s chaos. A mayhem between your violently beating heart and burning lungs. You think there must be something wrong with you. Can’t possibly contain the pleasure that keeps pouring and pouring into you. For a fraction of a second, as your mind is torn apart by the sensations, and you are convinced that you must be having a heart attack. What other explanation could there possibly be?

“Ma–Marc, I–I’m– Fuck, oh god, oh fuck."

Marc eases back, “It’s okay.” He presses his mouth to your clit and kisses it, and the slick sound his mouth makes have you trembling and shaking so hard you’re convulsing against the sheets. “You’re okay,” he soothes. “Let go. I’ve got you. Come for me.”

Warmth floods your veins touching every part of your body, humming through every nerve and cell as your orgasm washes over you. It’s hard and unforgiving. Your body is trying to claim revenge on you for allowing it to take so long as it did. Everything else around you disappears, pulling you under with a vengeance that blots out your vision and all sounds with it. 

But it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters to you anymore is how everything in you tingles pleasantly. It lingers long after it’s over, and you can still feel it from the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes as you come down on Marc’s tongue. 

His face is still buried between your thighs. His tongue curled against your entrance as he laps every drop of slick out of you. Drinking you down and swallowing every trace of your pleasure. He doesn’t let up for long moments until finally he’s satisfied and drags his head up your body. 

“Did so good,” he praises, voice raspy and raw as his tongue trails a long affectionate line down your femur. 

He presses his mouth to your knee with the same gentle care he did when he’d applied plasters. It’s intimate. Sweet. 

Part of you feels silly to feel this affected by such a simple affectionate gesture considering what preceded it, but your heartbeat flutters at the touch. 

It doesn’t matter that you’ve barely just come down from your orgasm or that you’re still throbbing and sensitive between your legs. Limbs so wrung out, they’re tingling and numb. You’re already craving the closeness of him all over again. 

“Marc,” you call out for him, arm outstretched in an invitation for him to join you on the bed. 

He doesn’t move, and it takes you a few moments, your mind fuzzy around the edges with the afterwaves of your orgasm to register that something's wrong. Everything is blurry and obscured by a warm haze, and you have to blink through the watery periphery of your vision before you can see him a bit more clearly. 

Still on his knees, Marc’s mouth parts slightly open, like he maybe wants to say something but he doesn’t know how. There’s hesitation there in the tenseness of his jaw as his eyes flick away from your gaze, as if there’s still some invisible barrier that he won’t let himself cross.  

It is a little bit ridiculous. After all, what barriers between you are there possibly left to cross? You and him nearly died together tonight. You love him, and he loves you too. Bloody hell, he’s just spent the better half of this night with his head buried between your thighs. There’s no stone left unturned.

But you know it’s not that simple. There’s a deeply embedded seed in Marc, buried under his skin and flesh and left to sprout for decades, long before you came along. Making him doubt himself and his place with you. It doesn’t matter how far you two come. He might always struggle with letting himself have what he wants guilt-free. Because he still doesn’t think he has a right to, that he doesn’t deserve it. 

You plant an elbow on the mattress to raise yourself. But your arms have turned into boneless gelatine, wobbling under your weight, and you nearly topple over. Marc moves so fast, you only register a blur of movement, before he’s by your side. Steadying you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“Easy. Lie back,” he says, eyes narrowed and worried, as he’s ushering you back down. The man’s got a protective streak a mile wide. 

“Marc, please—” you start, but you don’t have to finish. 

He breaks with your plea, and his knee dips into the bed, fully climbing in. His arms brace your sides as he lowers himself onto the bed. 

“What, baby? What do you need? Tell me.” He says it like you only have to speak the words, and then your every wish will be his command.  

There’s no fight left in his tone anymore. Voice gone soft. Any internal doubts have melted out of him. The look in his eyes as he gazes down on you tells you that Marc would give you anything you ask for. This man would insist on throwing himself under a double-decker bus if he thought it would make the ride a tiny bit smoother for you. 

And oh… You get it now. 

It’s taken you far too long, but you might have finally solved the puzzle that is Marc Spector. For all his aversion to let himself have even a morsel of happiness, there’s always been one overriding drive. There’s one thing that towers above the shame and guilt. One thing that’s more important to him than everything else. It’s in the way he’s always trying to meet the needs of those he cares for. Their happiness. Steven’s. Yours. 

All you need to do is ask for him. 

“You. I need you. Want you. Please.” 

You can see it in real time as it happens. How the last traces of hesitation in him crumble, replaced by a determination that carves into those rich brown eyes. He drops forward, then he's sealing his mouth over yours like he’s signing on the dotted line, giving himself over to you.  

It's everything.

Marc leans back again, fingers hooking into the hem of his t-shirt and dragging it off over his head in a single fluid motion. There’s no tangling of fabric, and it doesn’t get snagged as he tugs it over his head. There’s none of the clumsy adorableness of his alter. Marc undresses with practised ease like it was choreographed for the sole purpose of making your heart race faster. 

Good fucking grief, you might’ve already seen this man before you naked on more occasions than you can count. But as he towers above you, skin golden in the dim light, the sight of his bare chest feels novel in a way that has your heart dropping to your lungs that must be entirely medically unsafe. You can’t help but stare shamelessly. 

Chiselled and hard from the top of his head to his toes. You remember being surprised by how fit Steven was the first time, but somehow on Marc, it seems right. His physique reminds you of mythic Greek heroes memorialised in marble, and you're taken aback at how soft and warm he is under your hands. That he's human, made out of flesh and bone, and that he shivers as you drag your palms across the bare skin of his chest and stomach. 

The anticipation crackles in your thighs, burning with a searing intensity at the thought of undressing him, gingerly unwrap him like a decadent present. But you’re greedy and have none of Marc’s patience. You wrench at his belt with little to no finesse, reaching down and wedging your fingers along the hem of his jeans to shove them down forcefully against the generous curve of his ass. You tug hard enough that you hear Marc choke out a wheezed breath, but you’re not even paying it any attention. 

His hardened cock slaps against his stomach with a heavy thud and everything in you roars to attention at how thick and swollen he is for you. You feel heavy with need at the sight of it, and your brain is on autopilot, acting without conscious thought as you’re already reaching forward. Your knuckles skim down over his stomach before greedily wrapping your hand around his cock. 

A deep groan tears out of his chest, and his hand snaps up to grab your wrist, holding you still. He clamps his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, inhaling heavily through his nostrils, breathing in and out with great struggle.  

As much as you enjoy getting a rise out of him, you’re not trying to make things difficult for Marc on purpose. At least you don’t think you are. But you can’t look away from his cock. You can feel it straining and twitching in your hold, can see the trickle of glistening precome welling up from the flushed tip. 

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, practically salivating as your thumb gently drags over the slick wetness there. The touch has his hips bucking, stuttering into your hands with a sound that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper. Your cheeks burn and tingle, your whole body flashing hot. 

“Fuck,” he snarls and knocks your hand away, “You fucking ruin me, you know that?”

You want to retort that he’s the one to talk. Point out that he’s left you a dripping slick mess that’s soaked into the bedsheets and mattress and made them unsalvageable; that your thighs are an aching mess and you’re still swollen and sensitive from his mouth. But all vocabulary flies out of your head at the sight of him, as he replaces your hand with his own, wrapping one large hand around his cock.

Your heart stutters somewhere in your chest, and the breath in your lungs still with anticipation as he drops down to settle himself into place between your legs, knees nudging against your thighs to spread you wider for him as he notches the fat tip against your slick entrance. 

His eyes lock on yours, the tip of his nose brushing alongside yours. He leans down to kiss you again, mouth warm and slick. You can still taste yourself on him, tart and almost sweet. Then he pushes inside of you, and your mind goes numb.

The first slide of him inside you is perfect. A sweet filling stretch that threatens to blot out everything else into nothingness.

Even though it’s your first time with Marc, your body already knows him. Craves every inch of him, and he’s willing to give that to you now, inch by slow maddening inch as he eases inside. Large hands clutching your sides, as his hips press forward and he works himself inside you. His cock pushes deep until he’s buried  to the hilt. Then he stills, shuddering. 

“Shit—,” he groans, dipping his head to press his face into your shoulder. “You gotta be kidding me.” His voice sounds shaky and strained. You’re not entirely sure what he means or what he finds so implausible. If he can’t believe he’s finally inside you after all this time or how good it feels. You just know you can’t believe it either. 

It's flawed logic, but you’re not exactly coherent at this moment. Lungs squeezing tight in your diaphragm, you’re only capable of sobbing nonsensically at the consuming sensation of him filling you. Can barely focus on the warm tingle on your spine that settles over you. Your mind has been filled with cotton, soft and hazy as he’s completely sheathed inside, as deep as he can physically be.   

Marc holds there for a long moment, his breath hot on your skin where he pants against your collarbone. He doesn’t move. Hips pressed flush against yours, taking his time to let your body adjust to the girth of him. 

His mouth is on your bare skin, pressing kisses to your lips and then the apples of your cheek, before he drags himself downwards to mouth at the side of your neck, and under your jaw. Hands roaming along your ribs and hips like he cannot stop touching you. It’s devoted, loving even, the gentleness to his touch. It makes everything all the more overwhelming for you. He’s ruining you, with every caress on your flesh, and kiss to your skin, and he has barely even moved yet. 

And god, you need him to. 

"Marc."

He doesn't seem to hear you, mouth continuing to dot lazy kisses across your clavicle. 

"Please.” You arch your back towards him, but you don’t get very far with his weight flattening you down against the bed. 

“Marc, need you to move," you try again, voice high-pitched and needy, but you could be pleading to a stone wall for all the good it seems to do. His hips don't move from his position, immovable like a boulder. Instead, his palms fan out against your ribs, fingerprints permanently searing into your skin with the heat of his touch. 

You can’t take it anymore, everything inside you is screaming, bursting at the seams for more and you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to force him deeper. To move. 

Your heels dig into the rounded curve of his ass, and he jerks and gasps. You can feel his cock twitching inside you, as those stupendously gorgeous eyes flutter open. He’s looking at you again, stirred from the spell and the soft expression on his face hardens with determination. 

"Yeah, baby. I got you," he says, and he finally complies. His hand comes to rest on the small of your lower back, tilting you up to him as he moves again. The hard drag of his cock slides out of you until only the blunt tip rests inside, and then he thrusts back, unhurried and deliberate. 

Slow simmering pleasure bubbles up in your veins and you have to swallow it down with a hiccup of a sob. It's still the same ruthlessly slow and thorough pace. The one that tells you he won't be rushed, won't be hurried, even as he's giving you exactly what you asked him for. 

Stubborn. Unreasonable. Maddening. You won't survive him. 

The next thrust is demanding. It strikes heat along your spine and squeezes the air out of your lungs, until there's none of it left so you can fit more of him inside. A strange squeaky noise punches out of your throat, and in panic you clamber onto him.

He does it again. Hips dragging back as he pulls himself away, altering the angle of your hips with a small adjustment as he cants your hips upwards again. This time he lifts you further up than before and he pushes his way in with an almost testing stroke. His eyes narrow as he gazes down on you, brows furrowed in concentration and you realise what he’s doing. 

Marc is slow and exacting, studying your every reaction, learning the best way to intricately pull you apart. 

Staring up at him like this feels like you’re witnessing your own demise as it unfurls. Those unwavering eyes are focused on you, watching your every expression. He’s tilting the angle of his thrusts until he drives the pleasure deeper inside you with devastating precision until there is nothing left of you. Until tears are stinging in the corner of your eyes because you’re sure that you can’t fit more within you — the pleasure and him— and then he does somehow. 

He catches your leg, hitching them higher so that he can slide a few inches deeper. The angle shifts, striking against something raw and overwhelming. You think you go blind with it and you swear you see stars collapsing behind the darkness of your eyelids. 

"Yeah, there we go." His voice in your ear is calm, but he also sounds proud and pleased, and you're not sure if it's with himself or you. It’s all you can hear, and then he’s moving again.

A rich pleasure fills you at the slow glide of his cock dragging out of you, and then he pushes inside again, deep and determined, until his cock is kissing that deep perfect spot that robs you of your ability to breathe. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Can feel–” he groans, rolling his hips into yours, and it’s fucking devastating. 

Your mind goes blank. A clean slate with no thought left in you except how good it feels. All you can do is moan and whimper, hands clutching desperately to his shoulders. "Oh– Oh, god. Marc, I– oh!"

He groans, slanting his mouth over yours and swallows the words down, cradling your head with his fingers. Soft doting presses of his lips to yours. 

"Fuck, you feel so–" His sentence is cut off, and you never get to hear the rest of what he was going to say. 

His mouth is on yours again and it’s nothing like the starved and overwhelmingly eager kisses you’re used to from these lips when it’s Steven who’s kissing you. This is slow and measured. Patient and deliberate as he takes his time with you. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to tell you a secret. Like he’s entrusting you with something important, to protect and to keep for him. 

His finger rubs small circles under your ear, his hips slow and consuming as he fucks his cock into you. His arms never leave your side. Mouth never lifting from yours. His whole body pressed as deeply into you as he physically can. 

It feels like a confession. 

The ‘I love you’ that he can’t bring himself to say in front of you and can only admit to in the dead of night when he thought you were asleep. 

His kiss is a soft and devoted touch. A complete contrast to the rest of him, as he continues to thrust into you, fucking his cock deeper inside you and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up. 

It’s pleasure. It’s aggravation. It’s love and a defeat and a million other contradictory emotions between you and Marc that may never be resolved. 

And you’re not going to try to. You’re happy to take him as he is, cracks and all. You accept it, his lips pressed against yours. Accept his demanding rhythm as he drives himself into you deeper and deeper. Accept the insistent heat that curls at the base of your spine, until it is a searing and smouldering burn and sparks like ember, numbing your legs with it. It is threatening to consume your very being and burn you into ashes as it flares bright in your lungs and you can no longer breathe as the pleasure of it is ready to overspill, and—

“Baby, you close again?” 

And fuck, that’s—that’s— Your stomach tenses up again. The warmth spreads, twining and branches out along every single vein flooding it with blinding bliss until you’re dizzy with it. 

You’re trying to say yes, trying to nod, but your body isn’t responding to your will anymore. It has a mind of its own, and all it wants is to be closer to Marc, to grab onto him and never let go. Your limbs are wrapped all around him, legs locked around his waist, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders so hard you know you’re breaking skin. The only thing you’re still in control of is to helplessly squeeze down tight on his cock as it slides thick and heavy in you. 

“Oh fuck, that’s–” his voice sounds pitched and almost vulnerable, the arm curled around your leg, squeezing tighter. 

Pleasure builds in you like the tide, rising slow and steady but inexorable, filling you until there's no room for oxygen or thoughts or anything else except the consuming push of Marc’s cock inside of you. 

And then it breaks, ecstasy streaking out along your every nerve, overwhelming and inescapable, threatening to wash you away with it, except that you’re pinned, held safe by the grounding weight of Marc’s body and the reassuring press of his forehead against yours as you come on his cock.  

You open your eyes to find yourself staring up at him, still bleary-eyed and drunk on bliss. You can only make out the colour of his eyes, the dark ink of his hair. But blurry as he is, you’re intimately aware of how he can see all of you. The glazed look that you must be holding in your half-open eyes as wrought out with pleasure as you are. The hair plastered to your forehead. The absolute mess of a state he’s left you in, and how debauched you must look in front of him. Face to face, all of you bare and uncovered, there in its unembellished form for him to see. 

But that means you can see Marc too. As your vision clears, you can pick out every small detail of his expression. The subtle tic of the muscle in his jaw. The furrow in his brow. How his mouth is slack with pleasure. Those rich eyes of his are blown wide open until they’re left exposed. You can see it clearly now, how he’s clearly trying and struggling to hold back. The vulnerability that he’s been trying to hide from the world the entire time you’ve known him. 

Not for the first time, as he holds himself above you, you find yourself marvelling at how beautiful he is. Identical to Steven, yet worlds apart. 

Steven is hope and light and the curve of a gentle smile. Marc is sharp lines and dark shadows and heat behind his pained eyes. Jagged edges to Steven’s soft curves. Jaded cynicism to Steven's cheerful enthusiasm. Dark secrets and carefully hidden skeletons lurking in closets to Steven's forthright honesty.

And god help you, you love them both beyond measure.

The weight of his body is pressing down against you now. Every inch of the smooth golden skin pinned against yours, warm and flushed against your heated flesh. He grinds himself against you, needy, and desperate. There’s no longer any rhythm or logic to it. Just an instinctual primal need to get closer. You spread your legs as wide as you can to welcome him deeper, to take all of him as much as you can even as your thighs ache in protest from overexertion. 

His mouth moves against yours, stuttering and trembling, and it takes you far too long to register the words that are coming from him. 

“Fuck, baby, fuck I’m–” he chokes out brokenly against your lips, his hands on your hips holding on tighter. 

He stills, and you think maybe this is it, that he’s about to come. Anticipation rises in your chest, and you hold him tighter, body clenching down in preparation. 

But he doesn’t come. Just holds himself there, shuddering against you, his forehead against your chin, panting breaths, hot and humid, against the base of your neck. His cock is pulsing where it’s buried thickly inside you. Thighs quivering and barely able to keep them upright where they’re pressed between yours. You know that he wants to come. Needs to come. You just don’t understand why he’s refusing to give in. 

“It’s okay, Marc. You can let go. Come for me,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your voice hoarse and scraped raw in your throat. 

There’s a long moment of stillness, then he heaves a sigh so weary it makes your heart clench, as he starts shaking his head.

“No,” he grits out, voice low and determined as it so often is.  His head comes up, dark, fuck-drunk eyes meeting yours, jaw set at that stubborn angle you’ve come to know so well, and he says it again. 

“No. I– I’m not–“ He cuts off, shaking his head again. “Not yet,” he says. Then he rallies through, lifting his body away from yours and drives himself deep inside you with a shudder. “Not ready for this to end.”

It sounds like a plea, and you’re not sure who he’s pleading with, you or himself, and there is a pang of pain in your chest for him. Because this idiot still doesn’t get it. 

It’s like he’s never known softness. Hardness forged from a lifetime of a man who’s always had to hold himself up without respite. There’s a loneliness in it, of being the one who always has to take care of everyone else with nowhere to put down his burdens. 

Fondness swells up in you and there is nowhere to direct it except for the object of your affection. You wrap your arms tighter around him, smoothing one palm over the sweat-slick, heaving muscles of his back, and whisper reassurances into the hair above his ear. 

“Marc,” you breathe out and at the sound of you calling his name, his eyes snap up to yours. “Nothing’s ending.” 

His arms buckle and he lets out a small choked sound that almost sounds like a whimper. He looks like he can barely hold himself up anymore.  

“You have me,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his. You kiss the arch of his jaw and mouth at the column of his neck. “Have had me for a long time.” 

He tenses at your words, whole body trembling above you. But he still refuses to let go. 

How many times will you have to keep reaching out to this impossibly stubborn man before he starts believing that you mean it?

Your hands come to the sharp edge of his cheekbones, cradling this face that you have fallen in love with twice over. Not just because it is Steven’s face. Not just because he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. But because it’s Marc too. 

“I love you.” 

At your words, those determined eyes pitched with dark concentration blanks into a stupefied daze.  

His head tilts slightly, a movement so small it doesn’t register at first that he’s nodding. Then his face drops closer, pressing his lips to yours. The line of his shoulder softens under your locked arms, lowering himself down onto you. His hips sink into you, his cock dragging thickly inside you as deep as it goes. 

You watch in awe as his mouth falls open, eyes rolling back, and you can feel it as he comes inside you. Pulse after devastating pulse. 

And god, he’s so beautiful like this; unruly curls wild and ruined, cut cheeks a faint crimson, skin slick with glistening sweat in the dim light. So perfectly undone and at peace. The pulse of his cock inside you as he spills himself deep inside you is almost secondary.

You bask in it. The warmth of his arms caging you in, his forehead pressing down firm against yours. The feeling of him so deep inside you, you’ll happily drown in the feeling of this man after waiting for him so long. His body slumps, dropping his weight on yours, completely depleted. 

His cock is still hard, arms still trembling when Marc shifts on top of you, trying to raise himself on one elbow. It's too soon for him to move, you don't want him to move, want him to lie on top of you forever.

Logically, you know it’s out of consideration. He’s probably worried that he’s squishing you, but an irrational fear swoops low in your stomach at the idea that he’s going to leave again. Your fingers dig into his forearm, dragging him back towards you. 

He lands on top of you with a quiet and tired grunt in your ear, but there’s no other protest from him. Marc lets you, shifting ever so slightly to make sure that his elbow doesn’t jab into your ribs as he settles on top of you. Then he stays, and you get to listen to the slow steadying of his breath, as the erratic rise and fall of his chest ease into something more even. 

The two of you stay this way for a long time, staring up at each other, with half-lidded eyes worn from exhaustion without speaking, and you catalogue his face as it cycles through a series of micro-expression with each second that ticks by. 

If this was when you’d first known Marc, at first glance, each expression would have looked the same to you. But you know him well enough now that you can tell that the tiny pinch of his brow means something is troubling him. That the narrowing slant of his eyes means he can’t find the right words to express it. That him biting the inside of his cheeks means he’s hesitating on whether he would be offloading on you. Every detail says just as much as Steven’s openly variable animated expressions. 

His eyes blink in quick succession, and Marc takes a deep heaving breath as if bracing himself. Then he’s lifting himself up and away from you by his forearms, slipping out of you to a sharp pained hiss as you whine in response at how empty you feel at the loss. 

He rolls to the side of the bed next to you and settles there, and you feel a bit nervous about what’s going to happen next, because you don't know what is going to come.

“Is this still what you want?” Marc asks. 

He’s looking at you as he says it, but somehow you feel like he’s looking through you, eyes not quite meeting yours. His voice sounds impassive, and if you haven’t spent so much time with him by now, it could easily be mistaken for disinterest or even boredom, instead of the defence mechanism that you know it is. 

“Yes, of course, it is,” you say without hesitation.  

There’s no response from Marc, he’s lying so still next to you. So quiet you can’t even hear him breathing anymore. If it turned out that he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open you wouldn’t be surprised. 

You turn onto your side so that you can scoot even closer to him as you watch him. One sole stray curl is draped across his forehead, and it’s fallen into the line of his big gorgeous brown eyes. So ridiculously pretty, this one. 

Yeah. This is definitely what you want. Him.  Steven. Both. All of them. 

“You’re– okay with all this?” he asks hesitantly, and he looks genuinely puzzled as to why you would be. “With... what happened earlier too?” 

A breathless huff pushes its way up your chest. “I don’t know if ‘okay’ is the right word here, Marc. I’m not sure how to deal with the revelation that gods and monsters are real, and there’s a very high chance I’ll freak out about it tomorrow or next week. But…”

You press a kiss to the side of his cheek as you draw your eyes up and meet those rich expressive eyes of his. There’s no mistaking it, you feel it, in the same way that you do for Steven. Even if it’s different… there’s no doubt in you, haven’t been for a long time about this. 

“What I’m sure of is that I want to be with you. You and Steven. No matter what. I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said. I want to be your person as well as his. And– and I hope you can be mine.”  

Marc tentatively draws his hand towards you, fingertips searching across the length of your arm until he finds your fingers and weaves them with his. 

The palm of his hand is warm and sturdy, sending a pleasant buzzing sensation across the back of your neck. It’s your favourite thing in the world, whenever Steven does this, and you’re pretty sure it’s going to be your shared favourite when Marc does it too. 

“Yeah”, he finally says after a long moment, “I’d like that.” His voice is soft and quiet, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies swoops your stomach at his warm tone filled with affection.  

Tilting your head upwards, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. It’s sweet and tender as his hand cups your cheeks protectively, like a promise that he’s not going to run anymore and it makes your toes curl into the sheet until you’re giddy.

You clutch at him, hands cupping the back of his neck and lace your fingers into those ridiculously soft curls of his. Marc shivers against you, and you smile like a loon as he ducks his head and buries his face into the crook of your neck contentedly, and exhale deeply. 

Who would have guessed that post-sex, the man would be the world's most grumpy cat turned soft and cuddly, asking to be petted. You comb through the matted locks and the blunt tip of his nose nuzzles into your damp skin. He makes a quiet, content little sound somewhere from the back of his throat like he doesn’t want you to stop and who are you to deny him? 

Your fingertips trail his scalp, from the nape of his neck to the crown of his head, when it occurs to you that you should probably be more careful with his head. 

He was flung several feet in the air and landed head-first into a concrete wall with a bone-cracking sound that still makes you sick to your stomach. You continue to card through his hair, mapping him out in search of any signs of injuries, but you can’t find any and your fingers still. 

It doesn’t make sense. You weren’t put through the ringer in any way near what Marc was tonight and you’ve still ended up with your fair share of scrapes and bruises. But there’s nothing on Marc. 

No swelling, no bumps. No wounds. 

On top of it all you’ve spent the better part of this evening, pulling and tearing at his hair. Your nails had been digging so deep into his shoulders you might as well have been excavating for gold and he hasn’t so much as hissed or flinched in pain even once. 

There’s a faint muffled sound of complaint from Marc as he lies on top of you. It’s so distorted that it takes you a few moments to appreciate that they’re words.

“What's wrong?” Marc asks. 

“You don’t have any injuries. You were hurt.” 

“I was wearing the suit,” he answers in his typical deadpan manner. No background information, no context, no painting out a scene for you. To Marc, the limited information he’s given you should make perfect sense to you. 

You grimace, and you’re just about to have a moan at him, when Marc seems to realise how confusing that explanation must be. He lifts his head from your neck as he continues. “Khonshu’s ceremonial armour. It protects me. Heals me when I need it.” 

An image of the swirl of bandages wrapping itself around Marc’s body to form an otherworldly magical suit plays out behind your mind, and you can’t resist teasing him. 

“So you transform like Sailor Moon and then fight evil at night?”

Marc lifts his eyebrow inquisitively, with a completely blank expression. “I don’t know what that is.” 

“Really? Sailor–” you sputter, shocked he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “Steven would know that reference.”

“Steven has too much free time,” he sighs, but the fondness hiding under his gruff tone is unmistakable. 

The playful jab at Steven brings a small smile to your face. The levity of it is a nice change of pace from the whirlwind of seismic events and paradigm shifts tonight, because there’s been a lot to take in. Much of which, you’re pretty sure you haven’t fully taken in… Don’t even know how to start to process it. 

Ancient Egyptian gods are real, and your boyfriend—(boyfriends? Just exactly how involved is Steven?)—is some kind of indentured fighter priest who battles invisible monsters—also real—for one of them. 

What is the correct reaction to a revelation like that? How does one even begin to mentally process that? 

“Any other questions? Now’s your chance,” Marc says. 

There is no hostility like before and this time you don’t have to drag it out of him with the persistence of a detective in an interrogation room interviewing a suspect as you ordinarily have to. 

You’re not entirely sure how you feel about that, except that you’re a little bit stunned and you realise that something has shifted between you and Marc. 

He’s… opening up to you. 

You look up at him, and he meets your eyes steadily. There are a million things you still want to ask: What’s the deal with his and Steven’s mum? What did he and Steven go through while they were away? How did he almost die, and how on bloody earth did he manage to just stumble upon an ancient Egyptian God to end up in his service?

Marc hasn’t moved from the spot as he observes you. Still seemingly expressionless, except… 

There’s a tension to the set of his shoulders, isn’t there? And he’s too still—even for Marc… It hits you all at once he’s holding his breath, the line of his lips set in a thin nerve-biting straight line.

He’s waiting for you.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, there’s only so much his body language can repress. The ring of his eyes is dilated and vulnerable. 

He’s nervous. 

Marc’s jaw tightens in anticipation and maybe something a little like fear, and it makes your chest ache with an overwhelming need to protect him. Those other questions can wait. You have all the time in the world together. Right now you want to make him feel as safe and cared for as you do. You want to make him smile. 

"So..." you begin, and you see him stiffen, watching as he braces himself like he’s expecting a blow. It’s how you know you’re making the right decision. "Do you actually like my coffee?"

His eyes widen and he sputters out "You– Your–" then barks out a laugh. 

Even in the dark, you can see it, a soft smile on his face that illuminates the darkness of the room with it. A gentle curve, as the dimple of his cheeks carve a deep dent into those hollowed cheeks, the soft crinkle of lines around his eyes. It’s like nothing you have ever seen before. It’s bright and uninhibited. An electrical socket has been plugged in and every nerve in you is flicked alight with excitement. 

It stuns you and takes your breath away, and for the longest moment, you forget about everything else. 

Because god, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life. 

It takes you several seconds, maybe even a full minute to compose yourself enough to ask him again. 

"Well...?" you prompt, and you’re gifted with the pleasure of watching him try and fail to hide that perfect smile.

"It's… a little more complicated than that," he says, and you narrow your eyes at him, trying to look playfully peeved while tampering your own smile that’s twitching at your lips and failing.

"I like that you make it for me," he tries.

"That wasn't the question, though."

Marc shifts in the bed, scooting closer to you until he’s brushing up against your knees. That small but near-magical smile is still on his face. 

"Tell you what,” Marc murmurs, as he tightens his grip around you, pressing his forehead to yours, sweat-slicked curls tickling your nose. “Tomorrow, let's make it together." 

His voice is so assured, it feels like he’s promising you a certainty, and you trust him with every inch of you. 

A warmth spreads in your chest, and you can feel the dopey grin pulling at your lips until your cheeks almost hurt, but you can’t stop yourself and you don’t think you want to either. 

There is so much that is still unresolved, so many more things you need answers to, but it’s a good start and that’s good enough for tonight. After all, as Steven would tell you: you have all the time in the world.

“That sounds perfect,” you tell him. 

When you wake, the morning light is filtering in through the large windows. The sun is blinding and makes it difficult to see anything at all. 

Reaching out your hand, the spot next to you is cold and empty, any residual heat long gone from the sheets. You’re alone in bed again. 

Marc has really got to stop fucking doing that. 

“Marc?” you call out, but there’s no response. You hesitate for a second before adding, “Steven?”

“Here.”

Then you hear familiar noises coming from the kitchen, and the tension in your chest melts away at the sound of porcelain clinking together. There are no folded clothes by your side, but to your surprise, your watch sits on the nightstand, cracked face turned up, waiting for you. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your stomach warms at the sight. Marc must have gone back to retrieve it while you were asleep. 

You sit up on the bed, bending over to grab a discarded shirt from the floor as well as your knickers from last night, and pull them on, smiling to yourself as you start to make your way across the flat to join him in the kitchen. 

The familiar sweet, bread-like smell wafts out to greet you, and you falter.

Pancakes? That isn’t right. Today’s not Sunday. 

In the bright morning sun, you see him standing, with his back turned against you over the kitchen stove. Wearing only his jeans, bare from the waist above, the carved muscles of his back flexing as he flips the frying pan with a dramatic flair. Even before he speaks, you already know what’s happened.  

“Morning, sweetheart,” he greets you. He's turning his head just enough to throw you a quick glance, and a one-sided crooked smile. 

You stop in your tracks. The cadence is alien, the smile off, but you recognize it immediately. 

Not Marc. Not Steven. But you have met this man before. 

That first night at Steven’s; the man you woke up to who looked at you like you were a stranger; the man who followed you to the lift to return your watch; the same man who towered over the invisible creature with nothing but cold contempt in his eyes as he snuffed out its time on earth with precision and brutality.

All this time, you thought that the first night you’d spent with Steven was also your first encounter with Marc. 

But Marc doesn’t call you sweetheart. Marc doesn’t flirt. Marc doesn’t smirk like he’s trying to imitate something he’s seen on the telly. 

This is detached and impersonal, like he’s not really smiling at all. When Marc smiles it’s snow thawing in the spring.

 It’s funny how you didn’t see it until now. Marc was never the wolf. 

You cross your arms against your chest, planting your feet firmly on the floor, standing up straight and tall as you confront the man before you. 

“You’re not Marc, and you’re not Steven,” you say and you shift on your legs, puffing out your chest in a display of put-on courage. “Don’t you think it's time you introduced yourself, seeing that you’re in my boyfriends’ flat?” 

The man huffs out a laugh, and his accent is different when he speaks again. A New York accent, you think, but almost cartoonishly so, like he’s watched one too many Martin Scorcese movies. It’s oozing out of every word as he speaks with a slow and nasal hum. 

“Nothing gets past you, does it, sweetheart?” 

He sets down the frying pan on the stove, turning it off before he wipes off his hand on a flower-patterned tea towel and extends it towards you, a polite invitation to shake. 

“Name’s Jake Lockley.”

You take a step towards him, and maybe you should be nervous—afraid of this stranger wearing your boyfriends’ face—but the panic and fear from that first night you met him is absent. That painful pounding in your chest is no longer there. 

You accept his hand, looking up into this man’s familiar eyes that are staring down at you in an entirely unfamiliar way. Not Steven’s wide and adoring gaze. Not Marc’s protective and gentle attention. No love resides in those eyes for you at this moment, just curiosity. 

But you’re not scared this time. 

Because come what may, you already know the most important part. Whatever happens next, whoever this Jake turns out to be, it’s not going to change your mind about Steven or Marc.

You’ll take them as they are. Red flags and all.

THE END.

Author's notes

This is the end. I wish I was more coherent to write a meaningful and heartwarming message about what this story has meant to me. How grateful I am to everyone reading it, but I do not think I have any words that can do it justice.

The only thing I can say is thank you. Thank you for reading this, whether you've read this from the first chapter, or whether you only read the first chapter or you've only read bits and pieces. Whether you've commented or liked or reblogged or simply just lurked-read, from the bottom of my heart thank you for giving this story your time, I'm really grateful to you all.

A big thank you to my friends who have listened to me whine and bitch and moan and generally emotionally terrorised them with this story, and especially thank you to my cowriter: thirstworldproblemss who has been put through the ringer with this story and suffered alongside with me. I love you the moooooooooooooooooooosetest

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

[midnightlazule]

{NSFW} Teratophilia [Katakuri x AFAB!reader] (Mythology AU / 2023 KT)

Summary | Being followed by a dangerous man, and offering your virginity for protection, you meet a mysterious deity that wishes you to be his wife.

CW | AFAB reader / she/her pronouns / mentions of death / loss of virginity / first time / monster fucking fic / p in v sex / size difference / marking / double penetration

Katakuri x female reader / third person POV / implications of death / mentions of virginity / first time / mentions of snakes / smut

It was dark, far too dark for your liking as you walked home, clutching your dress in your hands. It had been a long day out in the fields, pushing along sheep and harvesting all of the ready crops, you had decided to take a nap under one of the many trees that spotted the fields.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed until you woke up, being met with no sheep, and no daylight. The walk through the field was a long one, with the threat of coyotes you were already on edge. The shepherd dogs would be far gone by now, with the sheep that were probably on the other side of the field.

Trying to keep your anxiety under control, you walked through the barren streets of the town you lived in. Not at all appreciating how long it took to get to your house, regardless of the dim lights that spotted the streets, you still felt heavily unsafe. It was so much better in the mornings, not having to worry about dark alleyways that swirled with inky black abysses, or the fear inducing footsteps you heard not too far behind you.

Your heart stopped in that moment, realizing that the footsteps you were hearing were in fact there, and very very real. It wasn't a trick of your ears, nor your anxiety. You could hear their shoes hitting the ground, a small clank of something metal followed right after, could it be a weapon?

Continuing on the path, albeit a little faster now, you tried to keep your breathing leveled. Fear gripping at your heart, and you were no longer worried about the monstrous things that could be lurking in the alleyways.

The sound of the footsteps grew a little more rapid, meaning they had also picked up the pace. You had hoped that maybe it was another random townsperson that was out for a walk, maybe someone who would depart on their own separate path. But those hopes were quickly tossed away when they kept on your tail. You tried to take a few sudden turns, but to no avail.

Suddenly, whoever it was, came running at you. Kicking up dirt you scrambled to get out of the way, their hand narrowly missing your hair by mere inches. They fell back and hit the nearest building with a grunt, knocking over some pottery and causing a commotion.

You used this moment to turn tail and run as fast as you could, sandals digging into the ground as you cried out in fear. Your eyes were wide, tears threatened to spill. The uneven grounds paid no mercy to you, almost twisting your ankle as you tried to get away. Dread settled stronger in your stomach as the lights had vanished, you had taken a road that didn't lead where your home resided.

It was too late to try and go back, you could hear your pursuer catching up.

The wind had picked up, causing your hair to slip out of its restraints, getting in your eyes and mouth you sputtered. The momentary blindness cause you to run and trip onto something hard, a yell of surprise and pain sounded as you hit your head on the rough pavement below you. Scrambling to your feet, you ignored the dull pain in the side of your head and shins.

You had made your way to one of the few unkept temples that littered the area, seeking refuge inside you quickly hid yourself behind one of the far back pillars. The footsteps of whoever was following you echoed as their shoes hit the pavement.

Placing your hands over your mouth, you tried to calm your breathing, trying to stay as quiet as possible in order to keep yourself hidden. Multiple prayers of protection echoed in your head as you asked whatever deity that resided in this temple to help you, promising your forever gratitude and worship.

Tears were streaming down your face, the prayers weren't working. Growing more desperate as the footsteps grew closer, you chose to offer the one thing you had that you knew would entice any deity.

Your virginity.

A loud boom of thunder roared as you made this prayer, the temple itself shook from the sheer pressure. Soon another presence made itself known, the tall and large man was covered in shadows, but his crimson eyes glowed with fury.

Your ears popped from the pressure this being exhibited, having to press your hands to your ears, you curled up into a ball and shut your eyes as hard as you could. The winds grew harsher, and you swore you could've felt something slithering over your feet and legs.

The sound of screaming prompted you to curl yourself up even tighter, tears left your eyes in stream and your body shook with fear.

But just like that, it had ended.

The pressure was gone, the screams had stopped, and the wind died down. You shook as you got to your feet, sniffling. Looking around cautiously, you didn't see a single soul. The man who was following you was gone, and the being who had appeared vanished.

With shaking hands, you laid them atop the stone altar that was in the back middle of the temple, giving a soft thank you before limping out of the temple. The night seemed more calmer now, almost as if you were promised a safe walk home.

You had completely missed the mangled body that sat off to the side of the temple, covered in slithering snakes that watched as you left.

----

A few weeks had passed after your terrifying encounter, you had begun to feel safer, almost as if you had an angel with you at all times, protecting you. During the days when you had time, you brought freshly baked goods, a pitcher of water, and dried herbs to the temple where you were saved.

You still didn't know what deity had previously been worshipped in the temple, there were no pictures, no symbols. It was a plain temple with beautiful pillars and a stone altar that had beautiful engravings on it. Though the engravings were just fancy designs, you had noticed the imagery of snakes hidden within them.

Leaving offerings and gifts became a frequent occurrence, even going as far as to bringing your dinner with you to share with the mystery deity. You had begun to enjoy doing such things, it wasn't repetitive like taking care of sheep and harvesting crops was.

Sure you weren't accompanied by anyone, and no one showed up, but the reminder that someone was there for you regardless of what you had offered, was still a pleasant thing. You had been rather lonely inside this town, refusing to marry any of the men that asked for your hand in marriage.

None of them were the right ones, and you wished for true love. Your parents weren't happy with this fact, kicking you out you've learned to live by yourself until the age of 23. You've been happy ever since, no longer having them nag you about finding a lover, and that true love was overrated.

Pretty soon, weeks turned into months, and you found yourself cleaning up the temple in your free time. Cleaning out all of the cobwebs, scrubbing the dark stains on the floors to the best of your ability. You even removed all the vines that grew on the outside, which was a challenge.

You had to use a very heavy, long stick to attempt to pull the majority of them off since you didn't have a ladder.

One thing you did figure out was the crazy snake infestation the temple had, finding at least three snakes a day, you gently picked them up and shooed them out. Stating that it wasn't a place for them, and that they'd have to find a new home.

One snake in particular you found would constantly pop up.

It had dazzling crimson eyes, much like the ones you saw on the mysterious deity that had saved you. The markings on its scales were a pretty cerise color, shining beautifully in the light. Its teeth were strange, having four teeth instead of two, all of them protruded from its mouth, sitting outside of its mouth instead of curling inside like how they naturally were supposed to.

No matter how many times you tried to get rid of it, it would pop back up, almost as if the temple were its home. You had grown tired of trying to shoo the poor thing out, and instead ended up making a cozy little area for it.

You often ended up complimenting it on its beautiful scales, even though you knew it didn't understand you. You had gone far enough to run your fingers along its scales as it passed by you. It had looked back at you, its eyes watching you before continuing on.

Not once had you imagined that snake would've been anything more than a normal snake with a few peculiar defects.

----

A year had passed, and you continued to show up, you were going to be turning 26. Your visits to the temple continued, and your conversations with the snake grew more frequent, opting to talk to something that couldn't respond rather than anyone in your town.

It was nice, despite your company being nothing more than a snake, you had grown to appreciate its presence. You had even begun picking it up, letting it coil around your arm. It always looked so comfortable as it sat there, eyes watching you as you lazed about.

One thing you had never done was given it a name, always referring to it as 'snake'. You weren't the best when it came to naming things, never had been.

The day of your birthday was an interesting one, everything seemed to be going right for you. The sheep actually listened, the crops were harvested with ease, and the wind didn't torment you on your trek back.

Even the prices at the markets were surprisingly low, you would've assumed that the townspeople lowered them since it was your birthday, but knew it was far fetched. They all thought you were strange, even going as far as to call you a witch with how often you visited the temples.

Returning home with your ingredients, you got started on making your cake.

---

The hour was late when you finished making your cake, taking slices of it to the temple. You laid a plate down on the stone altar, putting your hands together you gave your thanks to the deity once again.

A deep rumble startled you from your prayer, the familiar pressure circled you, its feeling almost suffocating. Turning around, your eyes met with the deity you had seen a year ago, the same one that had saved you.

It stared down at you, crimson eyes narrowed, his face was partially covered. Your eyes traveled down from his face, to his torso, and further down. It was then you realized his lower half was that of a snake, those brilliant cerise scales shone in the firelight that lit up the temple.

It finally clicked with you, that he was the snake you had befriended, the same one you had built a makeshift bed for. Suddenly you felt embarrassed that you had given such a poorly made gift to a deity.

Without saying a word, he approached you, scales slithered quietly over the rough pavement. His eyes never left yours, lowering himself down to your height, he leveled his face with yours. Taking a few steps back, you almost fell back on the stone altar, catching yourself, you flinched as you felt your hand connect with something squishy, and slightly wet.

It smeared under your hand, getting in between your fingers. You looked down and felt the blood leave your body, you had smushed the piece of cake you were giving as offering to the very deity standing before you.

"I-i'm sorry" you squeaked, far too afraid to do anything.

His eyes flickered from your face, down to your hand. Bringing a hand up to his face he removed the large piece of cloth that covered his face. He reached forward, grabbing your arm that was so much smaller than him in comparison.

You closed your eyes, expecting the worse as he brought your cake smeared hand up to his mouth. Feeling something wet in-between your fingers you peeked at the man, face burning a bright red when you realized he was licking and sucking the cake off of each digit.

The blush only worsened when you felt a flash of heat travel down to your core, not expecting to get turned on by such things you covered your mouth with your free hand and looked away.

"Are you not scared?" a deep, smooth voice asked.

You looked over at him, still covering your mouth. He had let go of your hand, now clean from any cake residue. "Scared..?" you asked, "yes, do my features not instill fear into you?" he clarified.

"No? I mean, not really?" you said, though it sounded more like a question. "I.. I've seen you every day, even though I didn't know that it was you, I mean.. at first it was strange since I've never seen a snake that looked like that before, but I got over it, it's really just normal now-" you stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling on about the topic.

"I think you look fine" you squeaked out, feeling ready to faint from the intense gaze he was giving you. A thoughtful hum reverberated in his throat, "it is your birthday today, yes?" he eyed the cake that was smashed on his altar.

"I- yes.. it is" you said quietly, "Uhm.. y-you can have my piece" you quickly grabbed the other piece of cake that was sitting off to the side, offering it up to him. "I know it's not much given you're uh... size but.. I hope you enjoy" You were looking away from him as you offered it, too afraid that he might smack it out of your hands and devour you right there.

A gust of wind was felt, opening an eye you looked over and nearly dropped the plate you were holding. The man was now fully human, despite the scales that still covered parts of his body, and his teeth.

You looked in amazement, eyes traveling down his body you had to prevent yourself from coughing when you saw he had absolutely nothing on to cover his groin. Heat rushed to your face, he was definitely well endowed.

Feeling the plate being taken from your hands, you placed them back to your sides. "It's delicious" he hummed, "I don't think I ever thank you for the food you often brought" he murmured, your heart almost jumped to your throat at that.

"Y-you shouldn't be thanking me it was just- I was just-" you failed to find the words, suddenly feeling bad that a deity, a literal god, was talking about how he failed to give thanks. "It had been a long time since I had someone visit, you were a breath of fresh air, so you deserve my thanks" he lowered his head in gratitude.

You felt uncomfortable with his display of thanks, feeling like you didn't quite deserve it. You bowed your head in respects regardless. "Y-you're welcome" you stammered, "Um... I don't think I ever got your name?" you said, realizing that you not once had been able to figure out the name of the deity that had been worshiped here.

"Katakuri" he spoke, "but you can refer to me with whatever you please" he almost purred. He had finished the cake, setting the plate down he took a few steps up towards you. His eyes shone with something you couldn't quite make out.

His face was mere inches from yours, you could feel his breath on your lips. It smelt of the cake he had just eaten, along with something more metallic.. blood? Had he accidentally cut something on his teeth? They did look rather sharp.

Reaching up without thinking, you placed your hands on his cheeks, and traced your fingers over his fangs. Trying to be careful as to not accidently nick yourself. Katakuri's breathing seemed to deepen at the feeling of your hands on him, his eyes flickering from your eyes down to your lips.

You wondered how it would feel to have him kiss you, would the fangs hurt you? would they somehow retract? You wished to find out.

As if hearing your thoughts, Katakuri slowly lowered his face to yours, having to keep his neck at an awkward angle to accommodate your small height. Your lips touched his, and it felt as if sparks had ignited, kissing him felt.. right as if it were something meant to happen.

Katakuris hands grabbed ahold of your hips, holding you in place as the kiss grew rougher. You felt that same heat from earlier explode throughout your body, running through your veins and causing your breath to quicken.

A moan sounded from your throat, feeling his hands dig into your hips he lifted you onto the altar, siting you down on it. Neither of you broke the kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, and he pushed your back down onto the altar, crawling on top of you.

Your legs lay spread, sitting on each of his thighs. The one thing keeping you parted was your dress which covered your clothed womanhood. Placing his hands on either side of your head, he broke the kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" he looked down at you, he might've been a deity, capable of all sorts of horrible things, but he still had morals. You nodded, feeling more sure than ever that this was what you wanted, the spark of lust that ignited between the two of you was something you'd never felt before.

His hands left the side of your face, grabbing hold of your dress he shoved it over your hips. A groan left his throat at the sight of your soaked panties, the beautiful smell of your cunt was more enticing than ever before.

He had waited, waited until he was sure that it was the right moment, to finally take the very thing you had offered to him for protection. But he felt greed overtake him, the thought of having you forever, as his wife, enticed him.

You were beautiful, and much deserving of a spot in his domain, where he could make you his lover, his child-bearer. Suddenly, the thought of pumping you full of his seed, seeing you with a large belly filled with his offspring left him impatient.

He had to fill you, right here, right now.

A startled yelp fell from your lips as he ripped off your panties, grabbing hold of your thighs he ducked his head down and licked a clean stripe up your sopping cunt. Your back arched off of the altar, mouth agape as you felt something entirely new.

His tongue worked wonders against you, it was much longer than an average humans, diving deep inside of your hole. Your nails scraped at the stone beneath you, legs threatening to clamp over his head if he didn't keep them still. You were speaking incoherent words as he tasted you.

It seemed he couldn't wait any longer, licking his face clean of your juices, he pumped himself a few times before grinding his erect, warm cock against your slick cunt. You shuddered at the feeling of his cock rubbing against your clit, stimulating it in such a way that left your toes curling.

Slowly inserting his tip, he pushed in, trying to be mindful that you needed time to adjust to his large size. A light sheen of sweat covered the both of your bodies, the sound of heavy breathing bounced off the walls. A gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pushing inside, the almost foreign feeling of it had you eager for more.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pushed him forwards, a heavy feeling of need swirled in your abdomen, bringing about a sinful part of you. Moaning out at the feeling of his large girth finally fitting inside of you, you couldn't help but admire the bulge in your stomach.

Katakuri growled, hands placing your legs on either side of his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around your knees. Keeping them straightened, he started thrusting into you, groaning and tilting his head back from the pleasure of it all. Your own noises sounded like angels singing, the beautiful moans that left your plush lips enticed him to go faster, to fuck you even deeper.

Finding that this position was just not working for him, he quickly lowered your legs, lifting you with his strength he placed your chest against his. Grabbing at your hips, he started thrusting upwards into you, watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, he let out a slew of curses.

You felt so good fluttering and clenching around him like that, the way your cunt leaked juices all over his cock and balls was one of the greatest delights he'd ever had. His thrusting became more animalistic, fingers digging into your hips, and balls slapping against you with each thrust.

"H-hnng- K-kata!" you moaned, using the nickname by accident. Katakuri however didn't mind, fuck he loved the way you called his name, shortened or not.

You laid your head against his shoulder, mouth drooling all over his collarbone. You ran your tongue against his salty skin and had the sudden idea to bite down. A deep, guttural groan sounded deep from his throat as you sunk your teeth into his skin. Hips stuttering, he thrusted up into you as far as he could go, finally releasing his cum inside of you.

Removing your teeth from his skin, you looked up at him "sorry" was all you had to say, smiling sheepishly at him. Katakuri breathed heavily, watching you with lidded eyes he lifted you off of his cock, setting you down. "Face the altar" he commanded, and you obliged, feeling a little bit of fear swirl in your chest.

He grabbed his make-shift scarf from the ground, and set it on the altar, making a makeshift pillow of sorts. Grabbing the back of your neck, he pushed you down onto the altar, keeping your ass in the air he ran a hand over one of your soft ass cheeks.

A groan sounded from your throat as he brought his hand down, a 'SMACK' echoed throughout the temple, and a stinging feeling sent shivers up your spine. Your back had arched a little farther upon feeling this, much to Katakuri's pleasure. "Look at you, dirty little sinner" he hissed, rubbing his hand over the red mark adorning your ass cheek.

You said nothing as he brought his hand down once again, the sting causing you to clench around nothing. You could feel your own juices mixed with Katakuri's running down your legs.

Another gust of wind was felt, though this time, Katakuri placed his hand on your head, keeping you from moving. You felt the strange, smooth texture of his scales against your legs, knowing very well that he changed back to his original form. You weren't scared, instead you felt a strange sense of need pool to your core, the thought of being fucked by him while in his half snake form was exhilarating.

He knelt down, leaving soft kisses along your back, being mindful of his teeth. You shivered against his touch, feeling his cock press against one of your ass cheeks. It felt different, heavier, with a ribbed, larger base.

"My love.." Katakuri groaned, grinding against you, "before I begin, I must know if you're okay with this" he asked, fingers lightly digging into your sides as he held himself back. "With you in your uh.. snake form?" You didn't quite know what to call it. He chuckled, "no, no I am aware you're alright with it, I mean breeding you" he said almost matter-of-factly.

Your face flushed at the idea, "you mean having your.. kids? Would that even be y'know.. possible?" you questioned, "You're a deity and I am a mortal" you added, looking back at him with a confused stare. "Yes, but if I breed you, you become my mate for life, we will be forever bound to each other" he pondered for a moment, "that means you will take on ruling my domain with me, you will be my queen, a deity of sorts."

"I must know if you're okay with it, you have already completed your end of the deal, it is my own selfish reasons that I am asking you this" he breathed, placing another kiss on your back. You thought about it for a moment, it wasn't as if you'd be leaving very much behind...

Your parents no longer wished to see you, the townsfolk thought of you as some witch, and you disliked the heavy work you had to do each day. "I'm okay with it" you said softly, looking back at Kataukri the best you could with loving eyes.

He seemed to beam with happiness at this, eyes lighting up. Dragging his fingers across your back, he drew some kind of symbol with his fingers, feeling the light sting of something pricking your back you hissed.

"Sorry, my love" he ran his tongue over the wound, licking up the small bubbles of blood that had formed on your skin. Sliding his hands away from your back, he rested them on your hips, lifting you a bit off of the altar.

Giving no warning, he thrusted inside of you. It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs, feeling two cocks inside of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, not expecting the sudden intrusion of two cocks filling both your holes. His ribbed shaft allowed for even more pleasure each time he thrusted into you, the wet noise of him filling you echoing around the temple. Digging your fingers into the side of the altar, you cared not for any broken nails as you cried out in pure ecstasy.

The symbol Katakuri had drawn on your back began to slightly burn, going un-noticed by you, you continued to enjoy the the feeling of Kata stuffing you full. His grunts and moans intermingled with yours as they bounced off of the temple walls.

Katakuri leaned forward, pushing his hips into yours he rutted deep inside of you. Leaving kisses along your shoulder blades, he watched as tears of pleasure streamed from your face. "Just a little longer my love... Just a little longer until I fill you with my seed, you will bare such beautiful children" Kata groaned, body trembling as he worked himself closer and closer to release.

He could feel you tightening against him, knowing you were close as well, he wished to try and cum together. Blood smeared over his stomach and chest as he laid against you, the faint metallic scent of it cause his mouth to water.

"So sorry my dear.." Katakuri apologized before digging his sharp fangs into your shoulder. You screamed out, a mixture of pain and pleasure in your voice. An apologetic rumble thrummed in his throat, truly feeling bad. He just couldn't help himself.

Digging his teeth into you seemed to be the one thing that rushed you towards release, feeling the way your cunt and ass clenched and throbbed around him. It caused his own orgasm to hit its peak, giving a couple more strong thrusts he released your shoulder and moaned out, cumming deep inside of both your holes.

His vision nearly went black, slumping against you he kept himself deep inside, determined to not allow you to leak even a drop. The both of you breathed heavily, Kata looked at the bitemark on your shoulder and felt guilt swirl in his stomach.

Dragging his tongue at the bitemarks, he rubbed your side soothingly, feeling you flinch in pain with every lap of his tongue. Leaving a kiss on the middle of your back, he pulled away from you.

He was about to begin cleaning up, until he heard the nearby yells of the townsfolk that lived near his temple. Had they heard your scream?

Cleaning up the temple was no longer a choice, grabbing you and his scarf he looked around one last time before vanishing in a plume of smoke. The only evidence of you being there was your torn dress, the empty plate, and the discarded piece of smeared cake sitting on the far side of the altar.

A dozen of townsfolk approached the temple, weapons in hand as they slowly made their way inside. It was lit up by lanterns, and in the back lay your tattered dress.

[httpsryu]

my teddy bear

pairing: shin yuna x fem itzy!reader

summary: yuna is always used to seeing her girlfriend in cute, oversized clothes ever since debut

genre: fluff

a/n: i wasn't sure if you wanted y/n to be a member of itzy but i hope this will do!

Yuna rolls around in her bed, grumbling at the fact that they have to practice today for the upcoming comeback. She lazily rubs her eyes before reaching for her phone on top of her dresser. Opening her phone which shows a lockscreen of her and her girlfriend, resulting in a small smile on her face before realizing the time.

"8:40?? I'm late!" She rushes out of bed, dreading at the fact that Yeji might kill her if she doesn't arrive at the practice room at 9.

OMG OMG OMG! Why didn't anyone tell her? (all 5 of them did, she totally didn't brush it off or anything.)

Running to the bathroom in a hurry, she grabs her toothbrush and smother it with toothpaste before frantically rushing back to her room while scattering through her closet for something to wear.

GREAT! The one day where she woke up late, her clothes are all still in the washer.

With a weird noise coming from her, she takes a hairtie and uses it to tie her pajama shirt into a crop top. "This'll have to do for now, I don't have time for this."

Running back into the bathroom, Yuna spits out the toothpaste and gargles her mouth quickly with water before entering her room to grab her phone and leave the dorm.

Thank goodness her beautiful girlfriend has a pair of extra sneakers in the lockers.

Everyone in the practice room waits for Yeji while you constantly check on your phone for a text from Yuna. It's already 9:05 already and the members persuaded Yeji to grab a coffee because the cat eyed leader was continuously yawning upon arriving at practice.

You let out another sigh while dropping your phone besides you on the ground.

"Still no text?" Ryujin asks, prompting you to shake your head with a pout.

Ryujin and you are currently stretching while Jisu and Chaeryeong lie on the couch while scrolling timelessly on their phones.

"Hmm, I see Yuna hasn't arrived yet." Yeji announces from the front of the room, standing at the foot of the door with coffee.

Everyone halts with what they were doing, Jisu and Chaeryeong sits up and stands up from the couch while Ryujin and you stand up as well. All members look at their leader and with concern for Yuna in their heads; most importantly, you.

"She texted me that she was on her way." You speak up, clasping your hands together.

Ryujin snaps her head towards you before looking back at Yeji. "Yeah. She'll be here soon."

"Gosh! She's always late." Yeji huffs in frustration, walking to set her coffee on the table in the back of the practice room.

You peer over to Ryujin, signaling her to comfort the cat eyed leader in hopes of an easy practice.

"What? Why me?"

"She's your girlfriend, genius."

The short-haired female throws her head back while groaning before rushing shortly to Yeji. "Babe, you're stressing yourself out as usual. Yuna will get here and it'll all be okay."

"If she doesn't get here in 5 minutes, we'll start without her."

Chaeryeong hums in agreement while Jisu mutters a "she's probably having one of those days."

"I just know we're going all out from the beginning." The fox-resemblance female softly mutters to both Jisu and you. "All because of Yuna."

The freshly dyed blonde-haired turns to you. "How come you have no clue on your girlfriend's whereabouts? Why aren't you coming with her to practice?"

If only it was that easy to get Shin Yuna out of bed.

"Every morning, I wake her up more than three times!" You defend yourself. "Today was ten times and each time, she told me to not worry about it."

Chaeryeong tsks in a disapproving matter. "Let's hope Ryujin is able to calm down our leader."

With only a small noise of agreement coming from your mouth, you whip out your phone for the last time to check if you've gotten anything from your girlfriend. Seeing an empty screen, you could only sigh before putting the device away.

"OK! I gave her 6 minutes and she's not here!" Yeji claps her hands to get everyone's attention. "We'll start from the top! Everyone get in positions."

With all the members obeying the eldest's words, you quickly take off your quarter zip up which reveals an Adidas sleeveless crop top.

The outfit combination for today consists of low waisted gray sweatshorts and the sleeveless top which perfectly enhances your toned abs that you've recently worked out tremendously for just for this comeback.

"Oh wow, Y/N!" Yeji winks at you through the reflection of the mirrors. "Look at your abs!"

Ryujin widens her eyes, rushing towards you. "You and I work out every time, how come I've never noticed this?"

"You're crazy, Y/N!" Jisu says with a glint in her eyes.

Chaeryeong comes up to you, pinching your abdomen. "You never wear revealing clothes."

"I ran out of my usual laundry!" You laugh at the sudden changed atmosphere in the room.

The leader also lets out a laugh. "If Yuna isn't here, we have Y/N's abs."

Shin Yuna usually is never THIS late. Frankly, she doesn't know how this happened?

Frantically panting as she rushes to push on all buttons on the elevators in the JYP building. While waiting for the doors to open, the black haired takes a second to catch her breath, placing her hands on her knees.

"Yeji is sooo going to have me working overkill." She mumbles to herself, feeling sweat dripping down her forehead at the idea of the cat-eyed leader but also from sprinting crazily from earlier.

The doors finally let out a ring, opening up shortly.

"What if I just don't go?" Yuna asks to herself, proceeding to walk in.

The door shuts slowly; has it always been this slow? Her hold on the strap on her bag tightens, waiting for the elevator to switch between floors now.

The second the doors starts opening again, Yuna could've sworn she heard her own breath hitch. The loud music coming from a specific practice room already becoming a loud knock to the female.

With heavy steps full of precision yet cowardice, the tall female arrives at her designated place in a matter of a few seconds.

Curse herself for being so damn tall.

Standing right in front of the closed door, Yuna shuts her eyes to inhale and exhale.

Here goes nothing. Besides, the expected overkill.

"Hi. I'msosorrythatIwaslate. Ihonestlydon'tknowhowithappened." Yuna speaks immediately upon opening the door widely.

Now, Yuna wouldn't exactly call herself whipped for you or anything but instead of looking at the eldest member, her eyes immediately goes straight to you.

WOW.

"You're late." Yeji tries to say with a stern voice but failing after seeing the way Yuna is looking at you.

The black haired female lets out a nod, still mesmerized from how amazing you look while dancing to Kill Shot.

It was a rule enforced by the members that if anyone is getting scolded, the others will continue dancing so that way practice won't be as late when it ends.

"We're about to have lunch soon, just stand at the back for now, Yuna-ah." The leader could only say gently before turning back.

Yuna forces to break her eyes away from her girlfriend, pout slightly evident on her mouth while taking her bag off from her shoulder and setting it down on the couch.

"Okay! That was good." Yeji claps, smiling like the innocent leader she is. "How about we take a lunch break?"

Everyone lets out a satisfied sound, Ryujin rushing over to Yeji's side while Jisu and Chaeryeong lets out a gag before leaving the room.

"Babe!" Your eyes lit up at Yuna, running to her.

Yuna opens her arms as usual to hold you. "Hey baby."

"What's wrong?" You ask, slightly letting go to see more of your girlfriend's face.

The taller can only let out a sigh, still pouting. "How come you've never wore clothes like these in front of me? I have to find out you have this beautiful body during practice? And on the day I was late!"

You could only giggle at Yuna's behavior, placing a chaste kiss on her chin. "I was low on laundry and only had these."

The older lets out a hum before resting her head down into the crook of your neck. "You look beautiful so I'll let you off the hook this time."

"You do?" Wrapping your arms back around Yuna.

Yuna hums again. "Even with those toned abs, you'll always be my teddy bear."

hehe; this was cute to write

[hatsukeii]

hiii mootie congrats on the 900!!!

would love to play the guitar ^^,,, i'm thinking a first aid ear mic and a wound-kiss guitar pic.

A little birdie's told me that Denji's my biggest fan <3 (Don't tell the birdie I'm his biggest fan though bc it's a snitch)

("Did it take u this long to come up with something" Shhh shh shhhh... let's focus on u reaching 900 followers 😋🫶🏽 again CONGRATS !!!! u deserve them all mootie ur writing is so yummy ily and your creations)

oooo sick!! the band you've joined is...

kiss it right! / denji x reader

genre(s): fluff + crack!! reader is nonchalant + tired of his bs, denji not so much (he's so annoying your honour i love him i fear...) injury, kiss it better fic! giggles! blushing! kicking my feet like a teenage girl!!

warning(s): injury so blood and pain ig, heavy on the needles because reader is giving him sutures, also ik denji is a bit of a pussy which is a bit ooc but he's supposed to be super weakened after a fight so it makes a little more sense that he's really sensitive to pain here

wc: ~1.1k

your first gig is in... an ambulance?!

setlist:

🎵 someday, the strokes

🎵 calling after me, wallows

🎵 kiss her you fool, kids that fly

"Quit squirming so much, I'm not done yet!"

Denji hates stitches. You know it by the way he wriggles and tenses up with every contact the needle makes with his skin, and how he just refuses to stay still the second he sees the thread of dread. Frustrated, you smack the front of Denji's knee, a signal for him to stay still, but you hit a nerve and his leg jerks up reflexively instead, his shoe coming dangerously close to your chin. You drop the needle and thread in your hand at his sudden movement, and a groan sounds from your throat.

"Shit. Didn’t mean to do that, sorry Denji."

Denji sulks, bottom lip jutting out in an annoyed pout. Everything rattles and shakes as the ambulance rolls past a speed bump, and he almost wishes he was the one unconscious on the stretch instead of Aki. He watches you yank at the end of a spool of thread, and loop it through the head of a new needle. Your tongue pokes out from your pursed lips, holding the needle impossibly close to your face as your pinched fingers jab and poke at it. Your brows furrow in concentration, leading the thread through and tying it in place. When you reach over to grab another alcohol swab, Denji shrugs inwards again, and you take notice of his shift in posture when you turn back to see his legs crossed.

"Denji..."

"Sorry, you know I hate needles." The sole of his sooty sneaker lies on the bloody gash on his shin, and you wipe a film of sweat off your forehead with the back of your forearm.

"You'll give yourself sepsis like that."

"I dunno what that is." He mumbles, head hanging low to watch blood pool out from the torn flesh of his leg. Sepsis. That sounds bad, but not as bad as watching a needle sink into his skin, and come out on the other side.

"C'mon, you trust me, right? I make it better, every time." Denji knows you're right, so he nods, hugging his legs against his chest instead.

"Put the bad leg back down, and let me fix you up, okay?"

The ambulance makes another jolt when he lowers his leg over the edge of the seat. Cold, stinging cotton wipes at the blood that has dried around the gash, and Denji has to grip the seat until his knuckles go white to stop himself from whining. When he sees the needle reappear in your hands, he keeps reminding himself that this could, very well, all be worth the pain in the end. If he's lucky.

You slather numbing cream on the swollen flesh around his gash, before pulling the thread taut in preparation, and aligning the tip of the needle with the bottom of the wound.

"I'm trying to set a personal record, so stay still."

"What's your current record?"

"Minute and a half." You don't look up from the gash when you respond to him, not even as Denji whistles, impressed. You breathe in, eyes darting to the digital clock on the dashboard of the ambulance, and slide the needle through one side of the gash. Denji's leg tenses in his efforts to stay impossibly still, even as the thread runs back and forth through his skin over, and over, and over again. Your eyes squint, face inching closer to his bare shin as you pull the thread tight, and the split flesh comes together with ease. You look at the digital clock again, fingers twisting and tugging quickly to tie off the suture.

"Close, minute and thirty-three. Maybe next time."

When you chuck the needle out into a medical wastebin and look up, Denji is staring down at you, a grin plastered on his face. You roll your eyes as you rip the latex gloves off your clammy hands, sighing out in exasperation. He wiggles his eyebrows, pointing at the stitches on his shin.

"Don't even try."

"But I swear it works!" Denji beams like a puppy seeing its owner for the first time in years. You stand and turn away, pulling the elastic from your hair and letting it fall freely. It covers your red ears, and that's good enough.

"I'm not giving a fresh suture a kiss, Denji."

"You say that every time! I'm sure you've seen worse, right?"

He's right, you have seen worse, but that is the extent of it. Kissing a fresh wound is, quite literally, the textbook definition of immature. And unhygienic. You turn back to look at Denji, who is still pointing at his shin expectantly, and is still pleading with that stupid look on his face. He looks a little too excited for somebody who's just had his leg stitched back together.

"I guess you were good enough today."

Kneeling down again, you meet the sutures on his leg, dried blood gathering around the surface of the thread. You sigh, reaching behind for another alcohol swab, and wipe over the wound once, twice, then a third time. Denji kicks his feet merrily, but stops when his shoe almost hits you in the nose, and you send a piercing glare towards him. Holding his calf with both hands, you bring his shin towards your face, the warm breaths from your nose fanning over his skin.

When you finally, for the first time, press a kiss into Denji's wound, he giggles like a schoolgirl, and you feel a wave of heat rush from your ears to your cheeks.

"If I see you pick the sutures out again like last time, you're never getting another one, you hear me?" You pull the mask that has been sitting on your chin up to your nose, pinching it tight against your nose bridge. The mask conceals half of your face, and Denji sniffs in annoyance when he loses sight of your lips. What neither of you notice is the elastic of the mask pushing your hair behind your ears, and exposing the hot pink tips of them.

"It'll heal twice as quickly now, thanks to that."

"That's not how it works, but sure. Whatever keeps you happy, Denji."

The ambulance comes to a sudden stop, and everything inside jolts forward. You sling Denji's arm around your shoulder, holding him up as he limps off the vehicle and towards the hospital entrance. The wound barely feels like anything. In fact, he could probably walk like normal.

Someday, maybe Denji won't have to ask you to kiss his wounds better. Someday, Denji might even get a kiss without having to get hurt. But for now, Denji thinks that he'll keep pretending that the stitches hurt, so long as it gets you to kiss him.

author's note:

I am acc so ASS at writing full fluff scenarios bc tell me why this was only 1.1k words... I HOPE YOU LIKED IT THO POOKIE!!! i made sure to make denji extra whiny and extra annoying just for u <3 i love him your honour even though he's a little bitch sometimes he's my baby

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @staraxiaa @catsoupki @akaakeis @anqelfries @wishi-selfships @fiannee @bailey-reeds @kuroppiii @wyrcan @hiraethwa @stars-tonight

anyways love u guys bye bye see u soon…

[cocoreallylovesraiden]

jian dui (煎堆)

(smoke) tomas vrbada x chef!reader

this is a longer more in-depth fic, completely self indulgent (no one is surprised) this is for all the overthinking thought daughters out there!

mentions of overwork and stress; comfort and fluff fic

4.5k

12 o’clock, midnight. You fight to keep your eyelids open, your grasp on the ratty broom constantly slipping like your will to continue sweeping the floor. There had been some form of celebration in the dinner rush, one of the village elder’s ninetieth birthday if you recall correctly- you could only tell because of the long-life noodle soup and fish orders that piled in your kitchen. 

That and the sound of vivacious chatter that rang damp and faded by the time it reached the kitchen, muffled out by the popping of hot oils and staticky songs that eked out your handheld radio. But the service floor was dim and empty now, the lingering smell of leeks and alcohol the only reminder of the hectic rush hours ago.

Seeing as the teahouse had officially closed hours ago, Madam Bo and the servers left long ago- the former only leaving after promises that you wouldn’t stay up too late and would lock everything up properly. Now, you had regretted not letting her stay, the silence and darkness culminating in a rather lethargic and lonely feeling. 

Deeming the floor clean of scraps, you set the broom and dustpan to the side and sit yourself down at a large, round table. The exhaustion of working a full day seemed to hit you all at once the moment you hit the chair, a strained sigh leaving your lips. The soft sound echoed throughout the airy building, sending chills down your spine. 

You spent many nights at the teahouse, finishing up closing- but usually it was not alone. Oftentimes, it was Madam Bo who accompanied you; with one last pot of tea brewing and ready to greet you once everything was done. The two of you would sit by the entrance, looking at the stars and quietly planning the next day’s quotas. Some nights Raiden and Kung Lao came by, usually by the latter’s plan, eager to annoy you into closing up faster. Raiden would sit at the smallest table, hat hung up neatly with some water while Kung Lao followed your every footstep, criticising for every speck of dust you left in your wake.

He’d pinch your waist, you’d kick him in the shin, and Raiden would laugh. It, ironically, often pushed you back to doing an extra hour of overtime, but the two’s company was more than welcome, even if you pretend like they were burdensome. 

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the sound of a dog barking. It’s far away enough that the sound doesn’t make you jump in your skin; you rest your head on top of your sprawled out forearm, strands of hair spilling onto the table. It was that time of night, where even the hardest of workers reached their homes and were greeted with dogs barking, warm dinner and naggy housewives. But you were here- at the teahouse, alone and stuck with a pile more chores before you could even think about going home. 

Once you did get home, everyone would probably be asleep and the house just as quiet as here. Then you’d leave at dawn, before anyone would have woken up. You turn to bury your nose into the crook of your arm, trying to bury the small feeling of dread that bubbled within you. 

You were tired, hadn’t had a day off in three weeks, and honestly couldn’t tell if a nervous breakdown and nervous breakTHROUGH was coming your way. In fact, a server had told you to try and take the next few days off, claiming to be sick or something rather. But if you were sick, who would man the kitchen? You still had that delivery of spices coming tomorrow, but then the meeting with the butcher on Tuesday, and…

Tears pool in the corner of your eyes. You pinch the nape of your neck, stifling a bitter laugh. Really? The butcher was the straw that broke your back? The laugh turns sour, and you sniff like a child ready to engage in full cry baby mode. But before you can indulge in a well-deserved cry, you catch a shadow in the corner of your eye. Human-shaped, moving at a slow speed.

A thief? You hadn’t had to deal with any thugs in a long time. Your body stiffened as adrenaline filled your arms, holding your breath as you waited for the right time. Maybe this was a sign- and you could take out your frustration with some good old combat. The moment you catch a foreign scent of leather you know the assailant’s close enough to strike, so you lash out first.

Twisting your torso you kick out the chair in front of you, knocking them back as your other leg coils back for a high kick. The trespasser is decidedly male, wearing all black, and in the blur you managed to catch of him, looked to be unarmed. You want to be confident in ending the confrontation soon, but he effortlessly catches your leg before it reaches him, gloved hands against your thigh and throws it down. The movement trajectory just about sends you to the floor but you catch yourself right before your chin collides with the table edge, nails uncomfortably jutting into the wood. 

He holds onto the back of your singlet, far too dangerously close to bare skin. Blood rushes to your ears, draining out the distant sound of the man yelling- you barely grab onto your tang jacket that had fallen onto the ground, whipping it behind you. The heavy fabric hits him in the face and has him let go of you to grasp at it, giving you precious time to regain composure and wind back a nasty cross punch. It lands beautifully, backed up with your weeks of unspoked upset, and the man falls flat on his rear, jacket slipping off his body and back to a puddle on the floor.

You stalk forward with all the intent of beating this man to a pulp and asking questions later. But sobriety shocks your limbs like cold water when you see who’s in front of you; straight nose, short silver hair-

“Tomas!” You cry out, dropping to your knees and gripping onto his shoulder. He offers a strained smile, holding onto his neck. “Oh my gods, are you alright? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Your words are accompanied by a string of apologies and frantic, fleeting hands ghosting over wherever you thought you’d hit him. Right by his jaw, where you’d landed the punch, had a patchy red mark clear as day even in the midnight darkness. You cringe looking at it; why had you gotten him with your good arm? It would turn puffy and dark by the morning.

“I mean, I did say several things, but I don’t think you were listening.” Tomas peers up at you with wide, unblinking eyes, mouth quirked in a frown. 

His words were well-meaning; and you knew that being a part of the Lin Kuei meant that he got throttled around ten times worse for breakfast, lunch and dinner- but the idea that you’d so blindly struck a friend without rationalising the situation left you feeling like an angry, primitive caveman.

Tomas got back on his feet long before you did, his shadow offering a comfortable shade from the world. He offers you a large hand, fingertips just peeking into your field of vision.

“You hit pretty hard for a chef, by the way. What are you fighting in that kitchen?” You groan, letting your forehead unceremoniously clash onto the cold floor. Tomas laughs above you, and you feel him dragging you up to your feet. “Sorry, my bad.” The words come out between the occasional giggle.

You let him sit you down on the very chair that had been launched at him not a minute ago, and he settles for standing in front of you with his arms crossed. How he can laugh so brightly with that bruise on his face, you can only wonder; maybe you ought to take a couple notes when it comes to smiling in the face of adversity. You must’ve sighed again subconsciously, because Tomas shoots you a pointed look, his once full grin mellowed into a half-pulled awkward sort of baulk. 

A brief moment of silence passes you both, neither quite sure of what to say. The gape in conversation is emphasised by a hissing wind passing by, uncharacteristically cool for the July temperature. Tomas is looking somewhere directly behind your shoulder in an effort to make eye contact, and you aren’t sure how to react; he had always been the more outgoing, conversational one, and it seemed like his energy whether sheepish or cheerful was contagious.

You crack the knuckle of your ring finger in a moment of habit, and cringe when his eyes dart to the sound with mild alarm. 

Tomas, this time with a noticeable amount of surprise, asks you if you’re going to hit him again. You debate your answer, deciding to forgo one entirely for a new question. 

“Why are you here? You know our opening hours.” Tomas scratches the back of his neck, standing with his head down like he’s being scolded. Which he wasn’t, for the record. You just happened to have a stern way of speaking, is all. He begins several sentences, always halting and rephrasing himself before any of them could come to completion. And despite the smile on his face, his hands gestures in a way that you knew meant he was uncomfortable; before he can continue, you nod sympathetically. Even without big details, once you heard the words ‘brother’ you had a decent idea of the bigger picture. 

Tomas scrunches his nose in a way that is small and meek but genuine, sitting down amicably at the chair you pat the surface of. His pale eyes follow you as you stand up, and before he can ask where you’re going you speak first. 

“ I’m coming back, with tea. Want anything else?” 

“Don’t trouble yourself for me.” 

The sound of grumbling is more honest than his words, evident by the way his cheeks flush. You let out a laugh, a first proper one in what feels like days. He rolls his eyes in an attempt to brush it off, but he looks right back at you with a new purpose- hoping you’d listen to the not-so-subliminal subliminal messages he was sending you. A promise in the form of “i’ll see what i can do” is enough to satiate him (for now), and you’re free to shuffle to the dark kitchen, only able to find your way from the dim glow of moonlight. 

As the water boils, you scavenge about for anything that might qualm the bottomless pit that was Tomas’ appetite. Having cooked for him for- how long had you been working as a cook here? Four years? Four years was enough time to know that Tomas, who you lovingly refer to mentally as big-boy, could eat as well as he could fight. There wasn’t much to offer, though. Most of the stock was fresh produce, sauces and grains, though there was a little wrapped bamboo steamer nestled in the corner behind some baskets. 

You sigh, gingerly pulling it out. Raiden had gifted them to you, from this morning, homemade sesame balls made by his mother or grandmother- the maker not as important as how delicious they were as a sweet you fell in love with, even back when you had them for the first time at ten years old. The original plan was to eat them hot during the mid-afternoon lull, but you had been so busy the entire day they’d been neglected and turned cold. Well, now was as good a time as any, you guessed. 

Once the water boiled you prepared two large mugs of… passable tea (you were a chef, not a server) and balanced it carefully along with the bamboo steamer. You only almost dropped the ensemble twice, which all things considered was pretty impressive; even if Tomas’ gleeful snickering made you feel like it was your first day on the job.

Speaking of which, from the moment you exited the kitchen, the man had been observing you like a wide-eyed owl, knees tucked to his chest and two very capable arms hanging by his sides, neither of which made the smallest move to assist you. He watches you set the mugs and steamer on the table, having the nerve to ask where the teapot was if you were going to drink tea. 

“No fancy service after hours. Be thankful I didn’t just throw the leaves into lukewarm water.” Tomas snorts at your very real threat, and you let him think you were just joking. 

You take a sip of the tea while he enthusiastically blows on him more times than necessary, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart to see if he’d gotten a reaction out of you. It earns a shake of your head, but you find yourself smiling behind the lip of your mug. 

He was trying to lighten the mood. Even after you’d been the one to deck him in the face- though to be fair he had snuck up on you. As a repayment of kindness, you nudge the steamer he’d been eyeing over to him. It’s comical, the way the mere thought of a snack could make his face light up. 

“As payment for rocking your shit.” He scoffs at your statement.

“I’ll have you know I let you ‘rock my’- Ooohhh, these look good. Are they jian dui? Do you have chopsticks?”

You laugh at how he eagerly rubs his hands together, even harder when you pass him the chopsticks you keep in your apron only to find him wrist-deep in the bamboo steamer pulling out two sesame balls. He lets out an incredulous sounding ‘What?’ before indulging himself in a hearty bite, eating the entire sweet in one fell swoop. The second one, squeezed between his middle and ring finger, is demolished right after he swallows the first bite. The only sound that comes from him is a content hum of appreciation, and then a muffled, food-filled offer of one the sweets; where you take out a single ball. 

With an amused huff you lean back in the chair, satisfied for now to watch Tomas eat so passionately. Seeing the way his previously tense face melt into genuine happiness was the kind of reaction every chef loved to see; it was also a reaction he gave you whenever he ate your food as well. It was probably why Tomas was one of your favourite people to cook for- you could even look past his shady Lin Kuei business and strange affinity with smoke bombs.

In between wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and taking a drink from his mug, Tomas asks you a very loaded question in a manner only describable as unceremonious.

“By the way, are you okay? You looked upset when I came in. ”

The question stunlocks you into speechlessness, and your change in posture was enough for him to flinch in his seat, quickly apologising if he had been insensitive. He hadn’t been, you make sure to tell him that, but you just weren’t really used to people asking you for a change. You stare lamely at your still untouched sesame ball, trying to find the right words. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d try to talk about your feelings- but you never wanted to burden your family or Madam Bo, and god knows that seriously talking about things with Kung Lao would just feel… weird. 

“I think…” You chew the inside of your cheek. “I’m tired? Not from work, I can do that fine; but- maybe it is work, and I’m lying to myself- I don’t know, I’m not making sense and it’s just complaining, probably.”

Tomas props his cheek against the palm of his hand. 

“Sometimes after training I cry.” 

The sentence, as much as it shocks you into sitting straight, comes out of Tomas like it’s nothing. Your face must’ve looked obviously surprised, because he offers you a half-shrug. 

“Not everyday, just when it gets hard. But I never know which part of it is making me miserable, so I end up crying like a kid in my room.” 

You look at him wordlessly, trying to find a response. He apologises again, saying he wasn’t the best at comforting people. And you understand- it must be hard, especially when his two older brothers aren’t exactly the role model of loving communication. But despite the blunt phrasing of it all, Tomas’ words helped you feel a little better. Knowing that someone with a lifestyle as different as yours, and one where he had to be tougher than you did, that he also felt the same way made you feel much less alone. You put your sesame ball back in the steamer and roll it amongst the sparse remaining ones. 

“I stuck my head in the icebox this afternoon so I didn’t freak out. Madam Bo came in to rush an order, and I got so scared the lid closed on me.” 

You still remember the nauseating smell of chilled meat that permeated the ice box, a scent that didn’t leave your hair for hours afterwards. Tomas laughs when you share that, and mentions how Bi Han does something vaguely similar with his ice affinities; it’s a strange image that you have trouble believing. He seems to have an equal anecdote to share for everything you tell him, which both helps you feel less ostracised for your more vulnerable moments and tells you a little more about the enigmatic character that is Tomas. You both talk idly until the mugs of tea had run dry, which seemed to give Tomas the encouragement to speak up,

“My brothers and I were in the area to meet Madam Bo, for a meeting, but I’m not sure what kind of business they had with her.” You raise your eyebrows at the change in his tone; a little more quiet and forlorn; and asking him why he wasn’t in the know only made his shoulders sag further down. “They don’t… tell me about these details. I just know when to show up and what to do.”

Tomas had always walked shoulder to shoulder with Bi Han and Kuai Liang, so for him to say that was a surprise. “I asked too many questions, and it pissed Bi Han off- you know how he is. He went on another one of his… tangents. I didn’t want to hear it, so I left, and came here.”

By the end of it he’s half-speaking and half chewing on the already raw nails of his thumb. He sounds incredibly downtrodden, but in a way where he’d been acquainted with the feeling for a while now; and even gives you the same half-hearted smile you give Madam Bo when she asks you about how you are. Bi Han’s ‘tangents’ weren’t too familiar to you, but you’d heard him angry once. Of course behind the safety of the kitchen walls you were safer than the two brothers actually speaking to him, but the boom of his voice still made you want to duck for cover. If you remembered correctly, he had slipped out something about Tomas not really being his brother- something of the likes. With how much Tomas admired him, you could only imagine how much that would hurt.

Gingerly, you pat his other hand, one that’d been fidgeting splayed out on the table. He takes your thumb, squeezing it in return. You study his hand, faded scars littering where his gloves could not cover. They vary from white to angry red, and there’s one on the joint of his thumb that’s circular, similar to an old oil burn below your knuckle. 

“We match!” Tomas seems suddenly overjoyed at the mundane discovery, bringing your smaller hand closer to him and looking over it with much precision. He even puts your hands side by side, smiling to himself when he sees that they really do line up. The warm sight is doing something to your already fragile heart, seeing him handling you so delicately- an experience you’ve missed from anyone in god knows how long; you begin to feel your throat clog up. 

He looks up at you, and instead of frantically apologising again, or trying to prevent it, he just takes your hand in both of his, soothingly running his thumbs along your fingers. 

And just like that, months of emotional suppression goes down the drain.

When the waterworks finally do turn on, you feel utterly embarrassed to be crying in the presence of a Lin Kuei member, even if he was patient in letting you pathetically gather up your thoughts in snotty blubbering nonsense. You tell him everything- or at least as well as much as you can without making yourself cry harder. Tomas doesn’t say much, only nodding and periodically affirming you when you make the odd negative comment about yourself. Right when you’re coming down from the bulk of emotional distress, you make the mistake of mentioning how upset you were that as a chef, you often went hungry and forgot to eat in favour of work. ‘

By the end of the thought you’re up and ready for another bout of tears until Tomas picks up one of the last sesame balls and feeds it to you. Well, it was more an involuntary feeding- the kind that you did to zoo animals like giraffes or gazelles, but the strange scenario of being hand fed a cold sesame ball is enough to stop the tsunami wave. You tearfully eat the sweet like a child, and everything seems to calm down until you accidentally bite Tomas’ hand and he mentions how even though you were hungry, you couldn’t eat him as well. You knew it was a light-hearted joke, but for some reason, it makes you cry again. He picks up the last one, having the gall wave it in front of you like a parent feeding their child mashed peas; it’s effective in ceasing your tears, but the offence you take from the action takes over an equal amount. 

You smack his hand away too hard by accident, sending it tumbling onto the floor and under the table. You yelp, and Tomas immediately ducks to try and pick it up, hitting his head on the table’s underside. 

A series of ‘ow, ow, ow, ow’ emits from him like a mantra as he slides off the chair onto the floor, clutching his head for dear life. You burst into watery laughter that grows in strength as he turns to side eye you from his awkward position. 

“Are they really that good?” Is a rhetorical question from you because- yes they were- but it’s one you ask to chide the silver haired man. He groans in response, ungracefully slumped over to a cross legged position, still scratching his patch of hair like he’s expecting a miraculous bald spot to have formed. “Don’t… even. Bullying me from the high ground.” he mutters. 

You then join him on the floor, knees bumping as you get yourself comfortable. Tomas scuttles momentarily before he turns over with the sesame ball, successfully retrieved, delicately held between two fingers. He blows on it once to get all the dust off, then presents it square in front of your face; you roll your eyes and make a show of blowing air on it like it’s a pinwheel. 

“Good as new!” 

“You are ridiculous.” 

Tomas sticks out his bottom lip and shrugs, and you find yourself feeling somewhat lucky to catch such a candid and free side of him tonight. You both split the last sesame ball and eat it under the table with the secrecy of children sneaking halloween sweets after bedtime, and you giggle when a dollop of the filling drops off of his half and splats right onto his shoe. He shushes you when you snort by accident, as if there were metaphorical adults downstairs ready to catch you red handed. It’s only half way through the motion he notices his own ridiculousness and relents, joining you in the delight of it all. 

Once the two of you wipe your hands, finally finished with all the sweets, you stare at the sky above you. Craning your neck to see it under the table, it looks different than it usually does- more daunting, mysterious, like it felt stargazing as a child. You’re not sure what mood overtakes you, but you lean to rest your head on Tomas’ shoulder, cheek squished against the fabric of his Lin Kuei uniform. It’s promptly followed by the feeling of him mirroring your actions on the top of your head. He radiates more body heat than you’re used to- and in the summer heat it borders on being clammy, but the feeling of his shoulders rising and falling is one that so perfectly cures your recent lack of simple human touch.

 You stay like this for a while, not moving much aside from Tomas occasionally nuzzling into you for a more comfortable position.  He suddenly speaks. 

“Sorry for scaring you.” 

“...Sorry for punching you in the face.”

“Apology not accepted.”

His voice is soft and cheeky- his usual tone. You elbow him sharply, and he doesn’t even budge. Soon, drowsiness overtakes you, the adrenaline from before melting behind the exhaustion of your work day. You let your eyes close, settling into the crook of Tomas’ neck with the intent of only resting your eyes for the time being. He huffs airly in response, sounding half-asleep himself. It’s incredibly peaceful- in a way that you haven’t felt since sneaking naps during a family reunion; and what was meant to be quiet relaxation turned into the best sleep you’d had in months. 

You wake up at the crack of dawn, to the feeling of Tomas being dragged out from under the table. He lets out a string of complaints and frantic this and that, begging the other person for mercy. The other person, as it turned out, was Madam Bo, coming in to open the teahouse. You watch in groggy amusement as he’s whacked in the head with the broom you left by the table last night; as the elderly woman goes on about Tomas being a stupid boy, and for him to leave her precious cook alone. 

Before he’s shooed away, he gives you a closed-eye smile and wave, telling you to have a good day at work. You barely have time to raise a hand in acknowledgement before it’s your turn to be dragged out by Madam Bo, thankfully with no broom this time. 

[n0tamused]

Hiya

Please can I request some hurt/comfort with Kaveh, like maybe the reader gets injured. Also I saw on one of your posts a couple months ago you weren't secure with writing him, so if you still aren't I would mind Alhaitham or Ayato <3

A/n: Hello, I'm not sure where I was going with this honestly, I haven't written for Kaveh in what feels like a decade so I hope I didn't butcher him. However, I admittedly rushed a bit so I can get back to you with it and I do hope I was able to provide some comfort to you with this. Hope you enjoy🌙

Contents: Kaveh x reader, gn, hurt angst to fluff, sensitive reader? Imo... Drabble wordvomit

“Where have you been?! Do you know how worried I was about you-” the loudness his tone reached pulled the octaves of his voice higher, unlike the sweet lilt he usually addresses you with. Turning your head sharply to look at him through the thin veil of the dark night, your tear stained cheeks stun him for a good moment, making him choke back words and audibly he stutters and sputters as his eyes widen further. His eyes flicker over your face, across your features until he follows the bend of your arms that hold your leg and foot, both hastily wrapped in bandages - if the situation wasn't as dire as it was Kaveh would've scoffed and made fun of it. 

“Where were you-” he asks again, his voice swimming in fear as a chill runs up his spine despite the scalding desert air. More than one question is squeezed into those three words as he rushes over to kneel beside you. Cautious, airy hands hover over the ankle and the shin of your leg, but he refuses to touch you, as if you break from the simplest of touches. He looks up into your eyes again, silently pleading for a response to all the questions brewing in his mind. “What happened to you? Were you attacked? W-When did this happen? Do you not know how long I've been looking for you?!-”

Mehrak swoops into the sands, releasing a little sound that was both alarm and curiosity, the blinking green dots for eyes angled in your direction. Soft little beeps come from the suitcase looking machinery, yet you have little strength to pay any attention to it. 

“I-I’m fine..! I just sprained my ankle really badly while I was looking for you and.. I couldn’t walk properly, I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it back” you explain, a breath of ease filling your lungs as you paw at your eyes with your hands to dry your tears, fear still grasping your bones with chilly hands. Not only were you dazed from the scorching sun, but now the cooling night air was slowly creeping up, already heralding a fever in your fatigued muscles. “I didn’t even know which direction to go in, everything looks the same around here” adding that, Kaveh holds his breath as he carefully takes your shin in hand to lift it from the ground, his other hand holding your foot to take a better look at it. He could smell the fear on you and he couldn’t blame you one bit for feeling so scared, he had his moments too where he thought he was lost to the dunes. But not a moment has passed before he was already gritting his teeth, saying “I shouldn’t have agreed to bring you this far out.. ugh, and to even leave you alone.. Why did you go after me? I told you to stay in the shade, I wasn't going to be away for so long and..” he sighs, nearly wincing as he trails off. 

He’s grumbling, taking the whole weight of the blame on his shoulders, again, his brows knitting together, angling in sadness as his chin lightly tips down so he could look at your foot, gently probing the skin. 

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have been so stubborn to leave the camp.. Had I gone any further out..” you trail off, dreading to think what could have happened. 

Kaveh goes to open his mouth and say something, ready to scold you and lecture you all about how Eremites could have found you, mercenaries, scorpions, and how all of it could have impact him if all he found of you was pieces hanging between a vulture’s beak. He shivers and closes his mouth, remembering the fear and glistening tears on your eyes, tears of frustration and fear and fatigue no doubt. 

Keep quiet, Kaveh, he scolds himself instead. 

“But you did not, and that is good.. that is a relief.. Would you like to try and stand, with my help of course. We still need to get back to camp” his voice mellows out towards the end, and he lets go of your ankle when you wince at one particular touch from his fingers. He lowers it to the sand slowly and turns to look at you, his elbow resting on his knee.

“No..no..I tried. But… Let me try again” you persist, suddenly feeling a wash of determination to ease his worry or perhaps prove to yourself that what you've done isn't as stupid as it was. Kaveh looks at you, unsure but he doesn't go against it as you're already grasping on his shoulder and trying to lift yourself up.

His hands fly to your waist, stabilizing you when you stumble, bringing you closer to his side so you have something to hold on to. But it all came crashing down when you accidentally went to step on your injured foot, sending a shock of pain up your body. Kaveh sighs, frustrated at the situation, and he is swift to lower you back to the ground. “You can't walk with a foot like that..” he says through his teeth, his heart constructing painfully at your own pain. For what seems like the nth time, he sighs and his arms swoop underneath you. “Hang on to me.. let's try this. One, two and- three” he tells you, and waits until you're clinging onto him before he lifts you up in his embrace. 

His arm is underneath your knees and the other supports your back, and now that you're closer to him you can feel the shaky breaths he's pulling into his lungs. He's refusing to look at you now as he begins to tread through the moving sand underfoot. 

“Kaveh…” you whisper as you look at him, greeted by the side of his face. The fine sheen of sweat is visible in the dying daylights, and his hair is a complete mess, and you can feel grains of sand throughout his scarves and clothing.  “Are you… alright?”

“I am alright.. just..” he looks to the side for a moment, his eyelids falling heavy over his dark colored eyes. “I was just really worried about you..” he confessed, as if it was hard to tell. Were it any sort of other situation, you would've teased and cackled at him, but you can feel his tense muscles begging to feel you, and you're sure he'll begin trembling at any moment.

“Oh, Kaveh…” you coo gently, creeping onto his shoulder like a shy doe, apologetic and sad. “I'm sorry.. I really am. I am fine now, okay? It's just a sprained ankle, it happened before, and this surely isn't the last time I'll sprain it”

Kaveh steals a glance at you, his eyes flickering over your face before he turns his gaze forward again, watching how Mehrak floated ahead to light the way in green and pale lime hues.  “It's alright..  I'm just glad to have found you, and that the injury wasn't any worse. But I hope you know I will not forget this, ever” his tone gains a part of its natural flare and passion, still wishing to scold you as if that would teach you a lesson and make you forget how to get hurt.

“I promise to be more careful, okay? Will that soothe you any better?” You lean the side of your head on his shoulder, feeling the tension slowly melting from his shoulders.

“Yeah, right. That's what you said last time as well, and look where that got you”

“Last time there was an accident, that guy pushed me!”

“Oh, spare me- and this wasn't an accident?-”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[juniperxyz]

How Windbreaker men would be dating women like them

Context: A refresher from the generic trope of grumpy guy x sunshine girl where their lovers share the same traits and personalities as them, causing to bring out something besides their usual behaviour

Pairing: Vinny Hong x f!reader

Content Warning: Mentions of violence, Implied domestic violence, talks of depression, Vinny may be ooc

Word count: 2,160 words

Note: Might do either Hyuk or Minu next

M A S T E R L I S T

The worries of the world he carried on his shoulders was incomparable to the dread pooling in his stomach. The moon had set long ago, street lamps acting as beacons in the pitch darkness, with the faint hue of blue in the horizon indicating the onset of sunrise.

Hours of messaging, calling, searching and panicking, and Vinny still couldn't find her. If anybody told him a year ago that he'd lose sanity trying to search for a woman, he'd simply sneer and shove them aside. Whereas now, he still held the same attitude, except now preferring to shove aside every person who didn't know her whereabouts. True, this is not a fault he can simply blame upon others. A simple beating wasn't going to fix this, so it's imperative he constrained his violence for her sake. For his girlfriend's sake.

It's not hard to guess what could keep her occupied or busy. Vinny could easily discern her innermost workings with just a glimpse into her eyes. Reading one's partner becomes a cakewalk when they are no different from oneself. It was a strikingly unexpected yet expected relationship. Expected, for they shared enough similarities to indulge in their secrets; unexpected, for no matter how far he stretched his hand, she never accepted it.

“Y/N!”,his voice was hoarse from yelling, a volume it had never reached before. That's how terrible the situation had devolved into. The phone call he coaxed out of her friends only revealed a brusque “sports practice”, but this place was too far from the basketball court and much farther from their homes.

Muttering under his breath, his fingers scrawled across the keypad, head swinging sideways as he awaited her voice. He knew things were on the rough patch for her, and while he was upset for not being relied upon, he felt more disheartened by how terribly she must be suffering in carrying the burden in silence.

“Pick up the phone…”,he gasped, eyes beginning to blur, “Please, pick up the phone!”

───※ ·❆· ※───

The night wasn't always kind to the woman. Where people would toss aside their worries and sink into blissful slumber, her insomniac tendencies would keep wide awake with regrets, worries, and nightmares.

It's that same shadow lurking over her sleep that drives her away from the bed daily, urging her to seek sanctuary elsewhere less terrifying. A shadow that culminated from all the burdens and hardships she endured, creating a hellscape she couldn't ever escape from.

A sharp pang climbed up her shins, her busted lips bitten brutally so as to hold back her screams. Her hoarse, weakened screams.

Like one should spend money within their means, perhaps she should have spent her time with different ‘means’. If her impoverished upbringing and suffocating home atmosphere weren't clear enough, then mingling with her affluent sports friends was. Their blatant obliviousness, sheer entitlement and that awful look of pity shot in her direction ….whatever self-disgust she carried only grew heavier.

Maybe she should have held back today. But anger was the only way she dealt with others’ pity. Something further exploited by those other spoiled school idiots whenever they wanna play stupid games.

Well, play stupid games and she'll give them stupid prizes.

More cramps pierced her thighs, eliciting a grunt.

And maybe she shared part of the prize with herself….

It was the same cycle she'd become habituated to since elementary. The crappy neighborhood certainly instilled its pupils with the most ‘polished’ values, thus accounting for the playground getting transformed into one for execution. It was the hot-spot where disadvantaged girls get paraded around as playthings by the rich brats. Be it in finances, or in health, or even in family, luck comically deprived her of all of these privileges.

Of the many pitfalls gorging her life path were the screams of anguish and drunken hurls of alcohol bottles. Memories of dark shivering nights next to beaten family members and the looming threat of being the next punching bag was what fueled her hatred. One can get over a heartbreak, a bullying crowd, or even failure in an exam, but they can never move past the broken household they grew up in. She couldn't move past it.

Times have changed now, with her mother earning substantially better to enroll her somewhere less destitute, but people never change. Every once in a while she'll cross paths with her old classmates, cross paths with her old darkness, those early nightmares, those memories that haunted her sleep no matter how hard she battled against them.

But she'd gone overboard now, ignoring the repetitive lullaby of her phone. No doubt Sa-rang's brothers flew to her rescue, instantly captivated by her victim complex, and were ready to hurl the first hammer into her shins. She didn't have to guess how they got her number, having long stopped changing SIM cards knowing she'll be tracked down anyways.

The moonless night swirled a hurried breeze in the streets, a wind speed so high as if it were a warning indicator. How many warning indicators had she taken for granted in her life? How many opportunities to back out or resolve situations did she overlook? This patheticness….it was all really her fault this time, wasn't it?

Something burned her eye, sealing her lids shut as tears pierced her vision. Of course it was her fault, always her fault. She was gullible to chuck her troubles onto others. Doesn't she get it yet? The hardships in life were birthed alongside her soul, permanently inscribed into her bad luck.

Her head hung between her knees, the blood coalescing with tears and dampening her already wet cheeks. In no time would Sarang and her minions stride over with baseball bats and golf clubs. Thus, she had to get up and flee or face the music as a one man army. If she's gonna die a dog's death today, at least her mother will benefit with one less mouth to fee–

“Y/N!”

Her head snapped in shock, squinting through bleary eyes suspiciously in search of the voice. Did she just hear what she thought she heard? So late into the night? In such a junkyard of space? Her spine straightened, knees rising upwards as her body positioned into a cautious stance. She highly doubted he'd care enough to–

“Y/N there you are!”,rapid huffs mixed with hard stomps, “Man, what happened to you?”

She gaped shell-shocked, half-surprised to see him of all people and half-uneasy by what reaction he'll give, “Vinny….how did you–”

“Not important.”,within an instant, his hands roamed her upper body and legs, scanning for the severity of her wounds, “Crap, Y/N, who ganged up on you? Tell me their freaking names and numbers.”

The fury alighting his eyes was unmistakable. It was Vinny. Her Vinny. The impassive man kept in the dark about her antics, so how did he find her–?

Her blackened eyes bulged, glancing at her cracked phone. No way….did he just blindly listen until he found her? And what got into him to get all worked up? Suddenly, she found herself with more questions than answers.

Thankfully Vinny began clarifying them, “I called your mom since you haven't been answering me.”,he huffed, pushing hands atop a fresh gash, eliciting a wince as he stopped the bleeding, “Then I found out you are ignoring her too. Ignoring your basketball practice. And your teacher's calls.”

“That pervert's still after me….”,she huffed, prompting a concerned frown.

“I called everyone I could.”,he stressed, brows furrowed in vexation, “And when I caught wind of some scuffle, I came running as fast as I could.”

A weak chuckle drummed in her chest, “What, you're my superman now, to come rescue me?”

“Boyfriend.”,he bellowed, voice deep and stern, as if struggling to contain his overflowing desperation, “I'm your boyfriend who you should depend on to save you from anything!”

“Drop the act Vinny…”,her gaze moved past the man, fixed onto the splattered wall faintly lit by a street lamp, a light so pale it seemed to be dying, “Go play house with a better woman….I'm not the girl you should keep around.”

“What are you talking about?”,he guffawed, sweeping her damp hair to reveal more concealed bruises, “You're half beaten, half alive and asking to break up?”

A dead pair of bloodshot eyes fixed onto Vinny's, making him shudder momentarily. “Go live your life, Yubin.”,her whisper was deep and hollow, carrying an emptiness she might sink into, “Go before I hurt you too.”

The monotonous hum of flickering street lamps filled the silence, mixed with the rapid huffs of a frantic man and his morose, reclusive woman.

Her joints groaned as she moved, but a fierce hand blocked her path, “No.”

This same fight again. She didn't bother slapping off his hand from her knee, lips parted in retort, before he beat her to it.”Don't feed me that crap again, Y/N. You think you're the only one suffering? You don't even know real suffering.”

“So you’re gonna become some trauma police, right?”,her teeth gritted dangerously, “Must be nice being a man in this trash hole, at least you co–”

“Real suffering is when you let yourself be killed by loneliness. A real suffering that I had to survive through day and night.”

Her face morphed into a dumbfounded look, jaw loosened as she gaped in confusion, “Suffering?”

“It's obvious, isn't it?”,he inquired quietly, almost looking ashamed. Though nothing was revealed about Vinny's situation explicitly, in the few hospital emergencies that occurred while they dated hinted at a turbulent upbringing that he continuously breaks out from daily. Where she once linked his overzealous passion to just teenage hormones, was actually a desperation to escape from his hardships. And these were those hardships that sounded awfully familiar to her ears. It was very obvious, though very unspoken of.

“From all that I had to deal with.”,his hands paused at her ankles, having fully inspected all wounds, “You know what was the worst one?”

He raised terror-stricken eyes to her solemn ones, stealing away her breath. “That I spent all of them in silence, and risked ruining my life all because I was too prideful to ask for help.”

“You turned out well still…”

“Cause Sung was there.”,his voice was sharp and defensive, “Minu, Dom, Jay and even those sponsor freaks…but especially you.”

Again. Something stung her eyes.

His hand met hers, caressing bloodied fingers, “You were there that motivated me, that continued to push me.I don't care or know what will become of me but…but if I could become a capable man for you, I know I've succeeded.”

Her chest gradually rose rapidly, confusion whirling a storm of emotions in her heart. What was going on?

“Because Y/N,”,his face inched closer, the shadows casting a protective cape over his sharp features, “You are the only capable woman for me, the only resilient, trustworthy and beautiful woman who I want to spend a lifetime with.” Maybe she was imagining things, but his voice began to crack. And her vision started to blur, “I don't care what trash hole of a life you lived, I couldn't care less….when I could understand all of it.”

Her hand, which he held, was pushed against his chest, against his rattling, fervent heart, “Because you understood me too, right? You accepted me nonetheless too, right?”

“Vinny….”,her heart clogged her throat, hands trembling as she croaked, “I'm not a good person.”

“And I'm worse.”,his voice trembled, lips quivering, “But I still want you too.” His head softly collided with her forehead, a weak whisper escaping, “And I still love you too.”

Then the pandora's box opened, and the tsunami of emotions crashed out of her lungs, erupting into uncontrollable cries as she slumped into his embrace, consoled by strong arms that didn't abandon her for once.

It was as if all the physical and emotional pain she endured endlessly tipped over all at once, emptying her heart out on some rotting alley in the middle of the night, the only comforting night.

“I got you, Y/N, don't worry.”,he whispered in a soothing voice. His arms caged her body delicately, guiding her weakened limbs to his motorcycle, “Just sleep over at my place for the night.”

“You're too nice, Vinny…”,her lips straightened in a grim frown, to which he responded with a sympathetic smile

“We'll work through everything, don't worry.”

She sneered in disbelief, weakly glaring at his back as they drove off the deteriorated streets. At this rate, worry has become her middle name, a stress that has followed her in all walks of life. Not a moment did she spend afraid of what the future might entail like for her.

But just for tonight, as she locked arms around his waist, and nuzzled a busted chin on his shoulder, just for tonight, she brushed aside her worries, and sank into deep, peaceful, undisturbed sleep.

[white-poppie]

I wanna be yours

Synopsis: You have had a crush on your older brother's best friend for years now, Shinichiro Sano, the biggest loser there is to exist, but he shares the same pining for you?

Pairing: S.sano x gn! reader Genre: Fluff-> Suggestive-> Angst -> Fluff, SFW TW: Age gap (4 years) smoking, crying, cursing, Waka being mean, Shin being the biggest flirt ever, sooooo much tension Phew~ WC: 2k A/N: Reader is around 18 here and Shin is 23. Before you come at me saying 'omg the age gap' shush.

Song rec: Just One Day by BTS (listened to it on rep while writing.)

You frowned at the grey clouds, meandering malevolently overhead, the moisture in the air made you sniffle as you found yourself tracing your steps to Shin's shop.

A weird dread lingered whenever you came to your brother's best friend's shop. The smell of gasoline and that crooked smile on his face, smeared with oil and dirt always sent a catastrophic spurge of butterflies in your stomach.

"Sano san," you called, entering the half-open shutter. Half-open to stop the water from entering. You were drenched from head to toe, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin and the cold made you shiver.

Shinichiro peeked at you from under one of the cars. His black tresses stuck to his forehead due to the sweat and humidity under the machinery, "Hey Y/N", he drawled, his eyes squinting to adjust to brightness as he saw your pathetic and soggy state, "shit, you're soaked." He said stating the obvious.

With a slight groan, he got out from under the car, his breathy voice sending shivers down your already trembling figure.

Dusting his pants he looked at you, "Got caught in the rain?" He said with his onyx eyes seemingly undressing your soul.

You bob, "Do you mind if I stay here till the rain stops? It's really cold."

Shinchiro nods as he picks up a towel to wipe his sweat with, throwing it somewhere on one of the bikes. He looks at you for an uncomfortably long time, his inky, dark eyes raking on your drenched silhouette. He has to clench his fists to stop him from staring, he sighs and walks into the storage as you stand awkwardly, soaked like a duckling in the middle of his shop.

He comes back with a jacket, his posture straight and wide shoulders pushed back as he walks. He grabs the jacket with his hand and comes close to you, you can smell his peppermint aftershave, his chest inches away from your face as he puts the jacket on your shoulders, fixes the collar, and tucks your hair that falls loose behind your ear so that it doesn't get stuck in the zipper. It takes him all humane strength to not caress your cheek and pull you close as you look up at him with those doe eyes of yours.

"Feel warm enough?" he says softly, his voice all raspy like he is thirsty for something.

You nod and flush, looking away, feeling as if you are melting from his intense gaze.

A breathy laugh escapes from his nose as he pats your head, "So cute."

You gulp as your heart thumps in your chest. You've had a crush on Shinichiro since you first met him when your older brother Wakasa brought home a kid with a funky-looking hairstyle. You were 8 at that time and Shin was 12. You were experiencing those cliched-brother's friend trope, god you have rejected so many boys just for him.

And being so close to him, even after all these years, sent a catastrophic spurge of sparks, his voice, his scent, his gaze--it was almost painful, trying to take each breath in the heavy air.

Shinichiro breathes shakily as he looks into your eyes, he seems to be in a spell-bound trance at the sight of you...and you are so close to him, his arms itching to embrace you, his fingers parched for the sensation of your skin underneath them, it was almost perverse how his desire for something so tender and non-sexual was killing him from inside.

"Sano-" you whisper breathily, eyes flickering at the taller man

"Shin," he corrects you, his fingers still resting behind your ear, “It’s Shin for you.”

You gulp and nod softly, heart muscle thumping like a jerking light bulb, spasmodically. Your hands and feet were cold, it was like adrenaline was pumping in your body, everywhere except your face, which was flushed.

"Shin," you correct yourself softly as if relishing the syllables of his name on your tongue.

“Good job,” he says, his eyes filling with something so raw, you felt undone by it, The hand that rests behind your ear now moved to rest on your cheek as he slowly closes his eyes and leans in.

Your heart speeds up at the gesture, but there is this void in the pits of your stomach that makes you move away, “stop,” you say softly.

Shin snaps out of the trance and takes a step back, “shit, Y/n I am so fucking sorry, I should’ve asked before, is ms sorry I misread your actions.” He sighs guiltily, his stomach almost dropping at the thought that he made you uncomfortable, "I am sorry, I really am, I should have been the mature one in this situation instead of getting carried away, you are still a kid.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

Your heart hurts at the word thought that he still thought of you as a kid, you were an adult, what difference did it make if he was just a couple years older than you?

“ ‘S not why I moved away,” you say and look at the ground, knowing that if you look into those abysmal eyes, they would draw out the tears in yours. “Your explanation just proved that I did the right things- you feel as if that desire was impulsive, lust-fuelled.” Your voice cracks as you explain it to him, “I don’t want that, I don’t want that half-hearted kiss, without any romantic feelings just because of one day, I don’t want that Sano san.”

His throat felt dry at the pain in your voice, the crack in your words and the use of his family name, “who said to ya that it was a momentary thing?”

“Please,” you chuckle bitterly and sniffle, “you confess to every other girl, how am I different?”

“You are different,” he says sternly and takes your hand in his. His rough, calloused hands, the skin cracked at the intense work in the shop. “Yer’ special to me.”

“Bet you say that to every girl,” you say on the verge of crying, you would’ve died, take your feelings to your grave, but this was so much more painful.

“I don’t,” he says softly, the smile lines on his face lighting up his pale skin, “I’ve only said it to you, never seen anyone as perfect as ya'. I am addicted to you.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"Then why didn't you- why didn't you show any interest before? Why didn't you ever confess before?" You ask, harshly, there is a rawness in your voice, a slight desperation. You don't even try to hide your emotions anymore.

"I thought you'd be weirded out," he says and almost traps you at how close he is to you, you can hear how his heart is hammering against his slender frame, "I thought you'd be weirded out by the fact your nii-chan's best friend had taken a fancy in you."

"Shin," you say sternly and grab him by the collar of his work shirt. His breath hitches as he keeps a hand a few inches above the wall where you are standing, to prevent himself from stumbling into you. His breath is fanning on your face, a trembling arm propped over your head and face barely inches away, "do you really think I care? You are barely 4 years older than me, we are both adults, why are you hesitating?"

Shinichiro just looks at you, speechlessly, his eyes wavering between your eyes to your lips and then back at your eyes again, "dunno." He says, "been so attracted to you for the longest time, dunno why I am hesitating."

You gasp at his deceration, heartbeat speeding rapidly, he is just inches apart, you can feel his minty breath hitting your face, goosebumps erupting on your arms.

Shin leans in, as if testing the water, not quite close to your lips as his half-lidded eyes undress your soul, "maybe I am hesitating 'cause of Waka."

"Waka-nii always scared boys away from me, back in middle school, I never protested though, my heart was already on his best friend after all," you whisper out, your fingers holding the fabric of his

"Fuck, you've been waiting for that long?" he says, his breath a little unsteady at the proximity, "been' waiting that long for me? What did you even see in me, I had the shittiest hairstyle and was the biggest loser ever."

“I saw you, the real you,” you say softly, “I saw your soul, kind, compassionate and so caring. You say and wipe a small spec of grime against his porcelain and statuesque face. “I saw your resolve, that toothy grin, hands so caring they carry the weight of the worlds.”

His heart thumps at each sound that leaves your mouth, shivering at the chafed intensity of your words, he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move.

“You are so warm, Sano san, you are warm like the sun, I can’t help but bask in your glory,” you say with a cathartic outpour of sealed devotion.

Shinichiro Sano is silent. He breathes in your words, your presence and the reality called forth, "hell, you're gonna make me cry." He says, his nose slowly brushing in a tint of delicate pink.

"You made me cry so much more," you chuckle and shake your head.

Shinichiro's eyes gloss in empathy, " I'm so sorry. You know, I guess I'm still the old stupid Shinichiro, huh? Always making dumb mistakes. But from now on… I'll change. I'm never gonna make you cry again, I promise. I'll try and give you all the happiness I never could when we were younger. I won't ever leave you unhappy, I promise."

Your heart thumps wild against your chest, eyes filling with a warmth that you can't quite control at this moment.

Shinichiro's mind runs into an overdrive at the thought of you yearning for him for so long. These past few years were hell for him but for you? You've succumbed for so long. His mind runs to think of Waka, and how he would punch his face at knowing what transpired in his mind for so long...but it would be worth it. Waka would kill him, and break his bones, but it would be worth it. You would be worth it.

And then Shinichiro inches closer, without paying heed to the consequences of his actions. His eyes flutter to your lips, begging, starving, longing for your words of agreement before he makes an advance.

"Kiss me Sano san," you say softly, your breath fanning against his raw and bitten lips.

Shinchiro smiles, boyishly, his white pearlescent teeth, glinting under the dim light of the shop. The sound of rain pattering against the metal shutter echoes, but nothing is louder than your heartbeats, "it's Shin to you."

He says and closes the distance, finally. His lips moulded against yours, hands holding your face, shoulder hunched upwards, and head leaned towards you. His long black lashes flutter in delight as you kiss back, the pace slow, sensual and full of longing.

When you pull away, you rest your head against his, and just bask in his embrace, wordlessly, as if recollecting all the memories of all the time lost.

"WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE?" you hear a piercing shout that makes you whip your head and sweatdrop to see Wakasa.

"Finally?" Takeomi peeks from behind Wakasa with an amused grin and looks back, "Oi Benkei ya gotta pay me up!"

You hear Benkei sigh and Wakasa glares at them...everyone had a lot of explaining to do.

© white-poppie 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or translate without permission. do not claim work or layout as yours.

— TOKYO REVENGERS - Fanfictions

TAGS: @akumicchi, @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp, @rintaroubby @nanaseishiro @cleaningfairylevi, @6-022-10-23

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[aaizawashouta]

Wild

pairing: kiba x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: he's got your sent memorized. it's burned into his senses, his soul. there is no escaping him.

warnings: smut (18+, minors dni), softdom!kiba, p in v, cream pie

a/n: i had an idea. i liked it. this came out so much softer than i imagined. so here it is. enjoy!

Run.

It wakes you from your sleep. Drenched in sweat but still freezing, gooseflesh rising on your skin. It digs its nails into your consciousness. The only thing that makes sense is your sense of self preservation. You know better than to ignore your gut feeling — that fight or flight instinct. It’s late, no one sees you and your hurried steps leaving your home. Heavy breathing drowned out by the roaring storm around you. It’s your only saving grace, maybe enough to drown out your scent. You're dressed in nothing but a tank top and shorts, the wind whips your hair around your face angrily.

You disappear in the forest, holding your breath as if that would save you. But he’s got your scent memorized. It’s burned into his senses, his very soul. There is no escaping him. Kiba always finds you.

There is no time out here. You don’t know how long you’ve got until he’s on you. There’s no light, barely even a sliver of the moon. A hiss is ripped from you when branches start to tear at your skin. That isn’t good. Fuck. You can’t focus on anything other than moving forward. Breath choppy, hands pushing brush and tree branches out of the way. You're zigzagging, it’s exhausting, but it’ll keep him on his toes. The rain stings, pelting down on your exposed skin.

A grumble comes from beside you, hiding in the dense forest. Your heart drops into your stomach. There’s no way. You don’t think you’ll make it out alive this time. Lightning flashes and you see him — the giant beast beside you. Relief and dread fills you. Akamaru keeps pace with you, never letting you out of his sight. He’s been staying with you more now that he’s getting older. Or maybe it’s because Kiba feels better knowing that he’s there watching over you. Whatever it is, it’s turned Akamaru into your new best friend. Your shadow if only because you also belong to Kiba.

Akamaru grumbles again, breaking away from you. You whimper as you watch him. Would he lead Kiba straight to you? That’d ruin the game, you think. That’s what this is — a game. There are moments you have to remind yourself of that. He’s the predator and you're the prey, but he’d die before he’d ever hurt you. This was your idea after all.

“It’s okay if you run, bunny. It’s the thrill of the hunt that makes me crave you. Just remember, once I find you, your little game is over.”

So preoccupied with Akamaru and the game, you slip in the mud, your shin shredding itself on a jagged boulder. The scent of your blood was going to drive him mad. How can you possibly get away in these conditions? Cursing under your breath, you hobble along, eyes roaming around you. It’s in the air — even with the storm. The forest has gone silent.

He’s here.

Stay calm. Controlling your breathing you creep into a dense area, somewhere safe to hide for now. You would have missed it if you hadn't fallen. At least there was that to be thankful for.

“Little bunny rabbit goes hop, hop, hop.”

It’s sickening how his voice echoes around you. Hidden in the dark, dancing with the rain. Your blood is warm against your rain soaked skin as it runs down your leg. You have to bite back a whimper as your eyes rake through the dark. He’s baiting you, waiting for you to fall for the false sense of safety. As if you honestly believe he isn’t going to pounce on you at any moment. Horror burns in your stomach, heat running through your body. Numb limbs slowly turn to shadowy forest.

You see his eyes before anything else. How they shimmer and shine with desire and amusement. He’s laughing at you. You watch as that familiar smirk grows and stretches across his mouth. When he emerges from the trees, you forget your fear and bristle with irritation. Kiba takes his sweet time as he approaches you, probably waiting to see if you’ll dart like the scared bunny you are. He kneels down to your level, nose twitching before his eyes flash to your legs. You don’t miss the way the muscle in his jaw ticks at the sight of your blood.

His brows furrow when he reaches for you, and you flinch. “Are you afraid of the big, bad wolf?”

You huff. “When have I ever been afraid of you, Kiba?”

“You don’t have to lie. I can smell it on you, bunny.” He sighs, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “You ready to head home?”

“How far did I make it?”

His smirk is back. “Not even a mile.”

Kiba kisses your pout before picking you up and hoisting you onto his back. You know the real reason he wants to go home is because you’re bleeding. He’s always the one to indulge you. Especially when you’re feeling feisty, wanting to test out his senses. So you sigh, hitching a ride on his back, arms dangling over his shoulders. Warm hands hold you by your thighs, giving you a comforting squeeze every now and then.

You look down when a sudden brush is felt against your calf. Akamaru is at your side, tongue darting out to lick your leg. “You better not have sold me out.”

“He didn’t.”

You don’t know whether to laugh at the annoyance in Kiba’s tone.

The rain has stopped by the time you make it home. Now you're just wet, clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. You swallow, fingers digging into Kiba’s shirt as the warmth of your blood trails down your leg. It’s not until he walks you into the comfort of your home, sitting you on the kitchen counter that you look at the mess the forest made of you. A warm hand wrapping gently around your ankle makes you hiss. Kiba tsks under his breath, thumb spreading the blood along your calf that still hasn’t stopped.

“You’re fucking freezing, bunny.” His jaw tenses as he meets your wide eyes.

You hold his stare, your cheeks burning as you wet your bottom lip nervously. Your heart stumbles as the words fall from your lips in a bated, breathless whisper. "Then warm me up."

His brows raise, though you catch the dim flare in his eyes at the insinuation dripping from your comment. Strip me down, warm me up. He grabs your chin, tilting your head until your lips are inches from his. His thumb brushes over your lips once before his eyes catch your, searching curiously before settling on your mouth again as his thumb makes another lazy pass.

“Don’t want blood all over the bed.”

“Like that’s stopped you before.”

God, where is this coming from? Was it the chase? Adrenaline is still pouring through you. Every time you move electricity sparks at your fingertips, burning your nerves. It makes you pulse, makes you ache. You have to keep yourself from snapping your legs shut, to stop from rutting like a bitch in heat on the goddamn counter.

When he sighs deeply, your heart skips.

"Is that a yes?" You can hear the smile in your voice, and his only answer is a low groan in the back of his throat before pulling your lips to his. Breaking the kiss as quick he came, he pushes you onto your back before you can even thread your fingers through his hair. The cold, hard counter beneath you is a stark contrast to the calloused fingers cupping the side of your throat as his thumb traces the delicate line of your jaw. It's a gentle caress, and you smile at the tenderness of it, especially when you playfully nip at his lip. His returning bite isn't as gentle, and it sends an excited thrill through you.

"Never thought I'd see you play dirty, bunny rabbit." He seems amused, impressed with your scandalous negotiating skills.

"I dunno," you admit with a smile against his lips. “Might be the wild finally calling to me.”

His cheek twitches, kissing you deeper before pulling back to run his thumb across your bottom lip. "The wild." He repeats it like he wants to taste it, like he wants to remember the feel of it on his tongue. Deep-seated satisfaction flashes in his eyes as he says, "It looks good on you."

Heat climbs up your neck and pools in your cheeks, and he grins at the sight before kissing you deeply, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a low growl. It's an approving sound. One that you've found yourself searching for every time you’re alone, every time you’re tangled up like this. Your blood thrums hotter, heart careening in your chest.

The wild feels good — like fresh fallen rain on your skin, a calloused hand on your throat. Smoke and shadow and dark starry nights. It's intoxicating. Heady. Addicting.

And you can't seem to get enough of it.

You run your hands down his back, fingers tugging at the material clinging to his skin. You huff, nails scraping gently as his muscles shift beneath your touch. Kiba only pulls away far enough to help you take it off, the offending material making a plopping sound as it hits the floor. His tongue collides with yours, dominating and all-encompassing, and the heat building between your thighs flares.

"Bunny." His voice is throaty and rough, but his murmur is gentle against your lips. You smile into the kiss, realizing how fitting that is for him — roughly gentle. When he groans your name as you rock your hips against him, you can't help the smallest moan that echoes in the back of your throat at the sound. You've heard him say your name so many times now, in so many variations, but here, right now, with one hand sliding up your stomach, fingers splayed wide and the other gripping the thigh you have wrapped around his waist, this might be your favorite.

"Hmm?" You hum in response, brushing your tongue against his.

His thumb brushes over your pulse in the dip of your throat before sliding down to your chest. Your shaky inhale echoes between you as he palms your breast and skims a rough thumb over your nipple that’s peaking through your soaked shirt. The wet air bites the sensitive bud, but it's soothed every time his thumb makes a slow, teasing pass. Ice and fire, you’re drowning in both, and the contrast is sending your nerves into a frenzy. You arch your back, silently pleading for more.

His lips leave yours, heavy hands all but ripping your shirt off only to dip down to nip and suck your other nipple before rising back to your ear. His words are a whispered taunt that douses your nerves in kerosene, his thumb the lit match that sends your body up in flames. "Tell me what you want, bunny."

Your stomach tightens. You're practically naked under this man, silently pleading for him to give you an orgasm, but the thought of asking for it, saying it out loud, has the air in your lungs solidifying into ice. You thread your fingers in his hair and urge his lips back to yours, and he obliges with a ghost of a smile as you kiss him deeply, rocking your hips against his pointedly. Touch me! I want you to touch me!

A flicker of heat climbs your spine as his hand skims down your stomach, and you moan into his mouth as he slips his hand into your shorts. His teeth dig into your lip with a groan when he finds you with no panties. His thumb grazes your clit before he slides a finger into you, and the pressure between your thighs nearly explodes at the touch. He moves lazily inside you, his thumb barely brushing your clit with each slow thrust of his hand. It's enough to build the pressure in your stomach slowly, but as you rock your hips, trying to add more friction, your heart sinks at the realization that it's not enough. And he knows it.

He has you hanging by a thread.

A frustrated groan vibrates in your throat, and that ghost of a smile grows.

"Kiba." It's a breathless complaint, a begrudging plea. "Please."

"Please, what?" His voice is low against your lips, dripping with satisfaction as he nips at your jaw. "Tell me what you want, bunny."

He offers you one gloriously rough pass of his thumb over your clit as incentive, and it shatters your mind into a million desperate pieces.

"Touch me, please," you beg, unable to bite back your restless moan. It's loud enough to echo around the house, loud enough to usually set your cheeks on fire, but you're too consumed by the heat thrumming through your veins to even care. You tighten your grip on his hair and whisper a desperate, breathy plea against his lips. "Kiba, please, please just touch me; make me come."

His thumb and finger instantly find a much rougher pressure and pace, and your eyes widen, back arching at the instant rush of pleasure that shoots through you.

"Just like that," he groans against your throat. "Fuck, I'd give you anything if you asked me just like that." He captures your lips again, nipping at your lip before sliding his tongue into your mouth, and when he curls his finger, hitting the spot deep inside, the pressure in your stomach hits its peak, and your breath freezes in your throat as your orgasm surges through you.

You're on fire, engulfed in a delicious, mind-shattering flame, burning right here beneath him. An image of a moth going up in flames flashes in your mind, and you can't help but smile at the morbid thought that if this is how you’re destined to die, it's not such a bad way to go.

Death by fire — what an appropriate demise for something wild.

Opening your eyes, your heart races when you meet his molten gaze. Your body is searing, scorching, fiending for him.

Almost as much as your heart is.

You're completely, stupidly, madly in love with him. Not a sweet school girl crush. Not a lust-driven infatuation. Not a rose-colored fantasy. You have fallen for Kiba in ways you didn't even know were possible. You've fallen for the warmth of his lips on the shell of your ear as he whispers salacious sweet nothings. You’ve fallen for the feel of his cheeks pulling up into a broad smile as you cup his face, your thumbs sweeping slowly over his stubble-lined jaw. You’ve fallen for him in the quiet moments, the ones shared between you in the calm of the night, under the sunset sky, or where everything other than the two of you seems to melt away into nothing more than smoke and shadow. But you’ve also fallen for him in the loud moments — the heart-racing, lung-bursting moments, the ones that remind you of what it means to feel alive. You’ve fallen for this man's stubborn pessimism, for his wicked mouth and sarcastic tongue. You’ve fallen for him as a whole and in pieces, in his tiny details — in the way you fall in love with nature.

He presses a kiss to your neck as you slide your hand into his hair. The flames lick at your soul as you seal your fate with a single whispered confession. "Kiba, I want more." My heart seems to stagger with my breath. "I need to feel you...everywhere...all over...inside of me."

Death by fire it is.

If you weren't burning before, you are now. You’re on fire, a white-hot cinder burning in the middle of the kitchen. His deep visceral groan against your throat only drives your pulse faster, and when he pulls back to consider you, your heart aches at the sight of him — gilded in soft moonlight, the sharp angles of his face softened.

His thumb coasts along the soft line of your jaw, but you catch the amused twitch of his brow as he murmurs, "I got you."

Your eyes flutter shut when he drags his calloused thumb down your throat and along the line of your collarbone. It's the same path his lips always take, and the ache to feel his tongue drag up your throat elicits a new rush of goosebumps that race down your chest and shake your shoulders.

Lifting your chin, he brings his lips to your but pulls away just enough for you to catch his faint smile as he murmurs, "I’ve got you, pretty bunny rabbit."

He seems to sense that you’re not breathing because he waits for you to finally take a breath before connecting your lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. Keeping his lips on yours, his hands slide down your waist to and slowly slide down your legs, pulling your shorts with them. His hand guides yours to the button on his pants before finding your hip and sliding his hand down the bare expanse of your thigh. A trail of goosebumps follows in his wake, though with the heat now pulsing through your body, you both know it has nothing to do with the water still clinging to you.

"I forget how good you are at this," you murmur against his lips.

A haughty grin flashes as he breaks the kiss to laugh. "Which part? The orgasms or undressing?" He dips his head to nip playfully at your jaw, and ypu slide his button through the loop.

"At making me feel comfortable," you correct with a smile, though the word doesn't feel exactly right, and when you tug his jeans down his you, I realize why and quietly amend, "At making me feel safe."

His grip on your thigh tightens before he leans down and brushes his lips against yours. It's a heart-stopping kiss — deeper than the soft, slow kisses and infinitely more tender. You thread your fingers through his hair, drawing him closer, and when the heat in your lower belly pulses,you wrap your legs around his hips and urge him closer.

He tugs his boxer briefs down, and you watch wide-eyed as he grasps the base of his erection and slides the condom on in one smooth motion. This is hardly the first time you’ve seen his erection, but it seems even bigger now that it's about to be inside of you.

Heart racing again, you lean back against the counter, weight resting on your elbows. His lips are warm against your skin, trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts, but they aren't as soft as they were before, and when he guides your legs to wrap around his hips, you’re thankful for the dominating essence of his tongue against you. The clear, silent power dynamic, the unspoken acknowledgment that he's in charge, that he's in control here. The heat between your legs rolls hotter at the thought, and when his lips brush your throat, your breath lodges in your throat as he grips your hip gently and slides into you. You squeeze your eyes shut and dig your fingers into his back, biting back the whimper caged in your throat as the initial sting of that delicious stretch that only Kiba can give you slowly eases.

Oh, God.

Deep. He's so deep. Impossibly deep inside you.

"Breathe, baby," he murmurs against your throat.

You realize that you’ve stopped breathing until you force yourself to inhale a clipped, shaky breath. He presses another kiss to your throat before bringing his lips to yours and kissing you deeply. His tongue parts your lips, and when his hips begin to move again, the sharp jolt of pain doesn't shoot through you again. Instead, you feel the ache of loss every time he pulls out — a sensation of empty, longing, burning desire.

You moan softly into the kiss, moving your hips with his. Pulses of pleasure ripple through you, and the groan that vibrates deep in his throat sends electricity down your spine. His hand slides down to grip your ass, and he guides you into a deeper, more exaggerated roll of your hips until your clit brushes against him with each thrust.

Breaking the kiss, you roll your head back as each of your heavy pants becomes a breathy moan that echoes around the sleepy house. The muscles in his back and shoulders are taut with focused, self-restrained tension. He's going slower, softer than he usually would, and when a wave of pleasure rolls up your spine that has your mouth falling open with a moan, you don't want the diluted, desaturated version of sex with him. The version you know he’s giving you because you’re hurt. You almost roll your eyes — it’s just a scraped knee. You want to be with him, to really be with him.

Digging your nails into his back, you bask in the small twinge of pain from the stretch still lacing each thrust as you roll your hips against his, desperate to feel him. "More," you moan against the shell of his ear. "Please."

With a throaty groan, he gives you exactly what you want.

More of him. In every way.

Deep, rough strokes, a calloused hand palming the side of your throat, fingers intertwined with your own, locking arm above your head, and demanding kisses that steal the breath straight from your lungs. A complete surrender of control. Complete submission to the only man you’ve ever wanted to give your body to.

His fingers tighten around yours as he kisses a trail to your neck, and when he thrusts so deep that your heart skips a beat, you wrap your free arm around his neck, pressing your lips to his ear as delirious moans slip from your lips. You barely even realize he’s mounted you on the counter, knees braced on either side of you, ass out for the world to see. You can't focus on anything. It feels so good it hurts. It feels so good your body is writhing underneath him — a frenzy of white-hot pleasure.

"Goddamn," he murmurs against your shoulder, and a new rush of heat sears your skin at the desperation laced in the curse. Your heart is a deafening drum in your ear, but your heart stumbles over itself when he whispers against your throat so quietly you can't be sure you heard him right. "Can never get enough of you. I don’t know why you think you can run, bunny. I’d find you at the end of the earth."

His whispered words send you over the edge, and your orgasm explodes deep inside, rippling through you in swells of mind-numbing pleasure. Sated, blissful warmth courses through your veins, touching your skin as if you stepped out in the midsummer sun.

His arms wrap around you as your muscles loosen, too heavy to lift from the aftershocks of the orgasm pulsing through you like gentle waves crashing on the shore, and with a thrust that sends another wave of pleasure through your body like a bolt of crackling lightning, he groans into your neck as his orgasm rocks through him.

Chest heaving against his, you smile at the feel of his clipped breath warming your throat, just above your racing pulse. Threading your fingers through the hair at his nape, you hold him closer, trying desperately to remember this moment — how his body feels against yours, spent and sated and dripping with a scalding sheen of carnal sweat.

He pulls out, and an instant pang of loss resonates through you, leaving a hollow feeling between your thighs. Although any sense of loss is swept away when he lifts his head from your neck, and you savor the sight of his deeply sated gaze that lingers on your flushed cheeks before meeting your own.

His thumb skims your cheek, and you lift your chin to bring your lips closer to his. Eyes dipping to your mouth, his cheek twitches as he leans down to murmur against your lips, "Come on wild one, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Your cheeks warm and he grins at the sight before kissing you and when he finally pulls away, his gaze lands on the floor and narrows slightly as he considers the wet clothes scattered across the kitchen floor. And you know he’s hating the idea of having to clean up. You know he won’t let you do it. He chased you through the forest, ran you down to where you bled, and fucked you. Yeah, you weren’t lifting a finger for the rest of the night.

“Hey,” you say lightly, tracing your finger along his cheekbone.

His sharp gaze catches yours, dark eyes moving gently across your face. You don’t need to say more. The thing with Kiba is he knows. He always knows. He bares his fangs at you, a light growl escaping him and there’s less than five seconds before he’s chasing you through the house to the bedroom where he tosses you into the shower.

Wild, you think.

[myspacebrat]

Gonna make you wonder why you even try. (hard times series)

part one masterlist

Roommate!eddie munson x Roommate fem!reader (established friendship)

summary: after getting your electricity and water shut off, you and your roommate are desperate for money, so desperate that you’re willing to have sex with each other on camera, but will your 10+ year friendship be able to with stand all the drama that comes a long with shooting a porno?

⚠️warnings: eventual smut, 18+ mdni, financial hardships, angst, use of the nickname ‘mini’ no use of y/n, unwanted pining, eventual best friends to lovers, mentions of porn, kinda mean!eddie, mentions of bullying, mentions of reader being called slurs but none specific, mentions of sex.

note: I am so sorry, this took longer than expected! I kind of hate the way I ended this but don’t worry I am going to start on pt three as soon as this is posted (remember to tip your writers with a comment & reblog)

wc: 5.5k

It’s the night you and Eddie have been dreading, Hawkins high's class of 86’ reunion. 

Let’s just say you and Eddie weren’t the most popular, actually the complete opposite. 

You were constantly bullied and harassed by your peers, specifically the jocks and cheerleaders. 

You and Eddie played dungeons and dragons, listened to “odd” music and while Eddie dressed in band tees, ripped jeans, leather and band patched denim, you wore whatever hammy downs you acquired from your older cousin, who was a boy. 

You can imagine the slurs a girl would be called that dressed in boy's clothing, but it was all you had and at that time you didn’t know yourself well enough to even care or to throw a fuss about it. You knew you weren’t what they called you so you let it roll off your back, most of the time. 

Tonight you were going to dress to impress, no oversized flannels, big T shirts and baggy jeans. No, tonight you were going to be the center of attention. 

You were finally going to catch the eye of Jason Carver. He was Hawkins highs resident golden boy and your high school crush, okay sure also your biggest bully but you didn’t care, you’d daydream about a time when you and Jason were out of high school, you’d run into each other in a grocery store or coffee shop and he’d tell you how beautiful you’ve gotten, you’d exchange numbers and eventually get married and have kids. 

Yes, a big stretch but a girl can dream. 

Eddie knew about your little crush, there was nothing you didn’t know about each other since you two had become friends. 

He had no room to make fun though as he had an ever growing infatuation with The queen of Hawkins high, Chrissy Cunningham who also happened to be Jason’s girlfriend. 

It was a fucked up situation you could definitely admit that now, but you’ve since heard they are no longer together as far as you know Jason left to NYU while Chrissy left for Berkeley. 

There is a possibility he’d met a girl in college but you were trying to stay positive. 

This was your chance to make that day dream you fantasized about your whole high school career come true and since these weird feelings you’ve been harboring recently for your best friend were beginning to deepen everyday, you needed to make your move and fast. 

“I don’t know how I can be of much help, Min,” Eddie said as he sat on your wrinkled duvet, arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe you should call ya know, a girl?” He chuckled, bringing his left shin to cross over his knee. 

“Oh come on, you’re my best friend and I really need a guy's perspective here, please?” You turn away from the mirror, putting the two dress options you were holding up to your body, to drape over your desk chair. Batting your long lashes with a slight pout to your lips, you begged. 

 “please, Eddie?” His eyes widened a bit at your plea, he scans over your face for what seemed like minutes before he looked down at his Reebok shoe that was still crossed over his knee, it must’ve fallen asleep because he was now bringing it back down to the floor, bouncing it up and down as if he was an anxious mess.

 “Fine, let’s see em” He says in a defeated tone. 

“Yay, okay close your eyes so I can try on the first one.” You eagerly say as you clap your hands together. 

Eddie rolls his eyes before dramatically covering them with both hands. 

The first one was a black mini tube dress. It was hard to maneuver over your hot curlers that were sitting in your hair, but once you finally got it on you turned to look in the mirror. The dress showed off lots of skin but that was the point, you felt hot and confident and that’s what you needed to be tonight. 

“Okay, open.” You squeak, turning around to face your best friend. His eyes almost pop out of his head as they scan over your body, you begin to feel self conscious under his lingering gaze.  

Eddie never looked at you like this but you also never wore stuff this revealing so.. the air in the room was new, an almost awkward energy coursed between you two, one you never wanted to feel again. 

“Um, yeah that’s um, that one’s nice.” He says as he gives you a weak nod of his head. 

“You sure it’s not too much?” You ask, rubbing the fabric over your thighs making Eddie’s eyes shift down to your moving hands. “I mean, it shows a lot of skin if that’s what you mean?” He chuckles before his eyes flicker back to yours. 

“Okay,” you say before grabbing the lower hem of the dress and pulling it up, exposing your panties and torso, before you could lift the dress any higher, realization set in; 

“whoaaa” Eddie shouts before slapping his hand over his eyes for a second time.

 “Shit! I forgot to tell you to close your eyes, oh my god!” You squeak in embarrassment. 

Eddie chuckles at your high pitched whine “I didn’t see much,” he smirked. 

“Wow, thanks!” You sarcastically yell at him while throwing the dress that was just adorning your body at his covered face, it drops down onto his lap, he grabs it with his other hand holding it there while his thumb rubs over the fabric.

 “No, not like that. I just didn’t get a chance to see much,” he shrugged. “Oh, nice granny panties by the way.” He cackled

 “Eddie! You asshole, You know we can’t do laundry, all I have are my bigger panties left!” You gasp in embarrassment. 

The panties in question weren’t that bad, a pale pink with a little rose on the front. Very different from the dental floss you usually wore. 

You would’ve been mortified had Eddie seen you in some skimpy little lace g-string. 

You slip the red silky fabric over your head, fixing the front area to fit over your boobs, so they’re equal parts exposed but not too much. 

Before even having to ask Eddie for his opinion, you already knew this was the one. 

A red silky strapless dress, the front was low cut showing off your assets and very nicely, might I add. The hem reached mid thigh. You would’ve never been able to wear something like this to school without being sent to the principal's office. 

“Open” you sing-song, before putting your hands on your hips in an attempt at posing.

“Damn” Eddie whispered under his breath as he took you in. It made your whole body heat up, you felt your belly fizzle like you had just downed a cold can of Mountain Dew. 

This was all so foreign and new, these reactions you were receiving from Eddie. 

Most of the time when you’d ask him how you looked, he’d take his eyes off what he was doing for a second barely even glancing your way before huffing out a “you look nice.” His attention going back on what he was doing. 

You’ve never had him look at a loss for words or like he may have thought of you in a way that was less than friendly.

“That- mm that’s the one.” He says as he clears his throat.

“Okay, I’m gonna go get ready now.” He says, not even turning to look at you again, eyes set on the floor as he walks out of your room and into the hallway. 

The ride to your former high school was one of the quietest rides you and Eddie have ever had together, aside from the music that was blaring through the speakers. 

Eddie always played his music in the van loud, but he also always made it a point to turn it down when a thought would enter his mind, and since you’re on your way to go mingle with your old classmates that caused you both hell, you would think Eddie would have a ton to say, but instead he kept his eyes on the road, a tight grip on the steering wheel and every time you’d glance at him his jaw would clench.

You wanted to ask if everything was okay, but you also didn’t want to be the first to break the ice. 

He had been weird with you after he left your room and you weren’t going to grovel at his feet to see what you did wrong. 

It hurt that he didn’t even ask your opinion on his outfit which he usually always did before an event or one of his shows. That didn’t stop him from looking extremely fucking good tonight, which just made you mad.

Eddie had on his usual black jeans, a black button up that was only buttoned below his chest, his tattoo piece on full display for everyone, he even did his hair by blow drying it instead of his usual air dry method. On his feet were his doc martens he only pulled out on special occasions and to top it all off he had that stupid dangly earring in one of his lobes, he looked damn good and he knew it. 

Being back on your old stomping grounds was bittersweet, as much as you hated it and couldn’t wait to get the fuck out, you also remember all the really good times you had, most of them being with your best friend. 

You and Eddie walk into the auditorium that has been decorated to the nines in purple and silver streamers. 

The theme was “disco night”, which resulted in disco balls being hung from almost every corner. 

First, you both had to sign in and confirm your names were on the list before you could enter. 

The line had a couple people ahead of you and every time you got a glimpse of the woman sitting behind the desk, you wondered who she was, her face was vaguely familiar but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Finally you walk up to the mystery woman, her strawberry blonde hair curled away from her face in an almost 70s’ Farrah Fawcet esk way, her blue eyes widened when they fell on you and Eddie. 

“Oh my gosh,” she giggles “Eddie and Mini, right?” You nod in confusion while the man to the right of you chirps “wow, Chrissy! Look at you!” He says with a bemused tone. 

She looks down while her cheeks turn three shades of pink. You want to roll your eyes and tell her to let you in and away from Eddie’s obvious flirting, but you don’t wanna be rude and make Eddie even more distant than he’s being. 

“If you two could just find your name and sign on this side,” She points to the blank spaces that haven’t been filled under the ‘sign in’ section—

“Then you can be on your way.” She giggles again while looking at Eddie.

You sign first before passing the clipboard over. You decide to just walk in without him, but you don’t miss him asking Chrissy if he’ll “see her in there?” Which makes you roll your eyes for a second time as you stick your tongue out in disgust. 

You’ve never been jealous or hurt when Eddie talked to other girls. Let's be honest, the man was a whore. He has had many relationships and “booty calls” since you’ve been friends, and you’ve always encouraged him in his rendezvous but something has shifted within you and it leaves an empty feeling in your stomach. You’ve never been able to not tell Eddie what’s bothering you, but this is something that you can never let him know and that kills you. 

You grab some punch before making your way to an empty round table, you didn’t feel like mingling just yet. 

As you take another sip of the red liquid a hand pats you on the back, you turn around to see Eddie with a cocky smirk on his face, you already knew what that look was about and normally you would make some smart comment and ask him why he's smiling like that, but you just can’t tonight.  

Instead he tells you anyway. “Can you believe Chrissy Cunningham was flirting with me?” He chuckles “I think she wants me, man” he says as he takes your cup and downs the rest of it—

“Hey!” You mewl before snatching your cup from his hand and stalking away for a refill. 

You make your way to the refreshments table, pour punch in the same clear plastic cup but instead of going to sit back down with Eddie, you scan the room. 

You notice a familiar silhouette in the distance, the blonde locks you’d spend hours fantasizing about touching, your feet move before you can give it much thought. 

“Hey.” You interject as you tap Jason on the shoulder to gain his attention. 

“Uh hi-” the look of confusion written all over his face, that was still very much as handsome as it was in high school, his hair a little longer as he shifted uncomfortably in his navy blue suit and tie. 

“Um, you probably don’t remember me” you said with a wave of your hand and playful roll of your eyes. 

Your cheeks couldn’t hide your embarrassment, as you grinned awkwardly. 

“Oh, Mini, right?” He mused with a snap of his fingers. 

“Yup, in the flesh.” You chuckle lamely

“How’ve you been, hot shot?” You continue trying to regain your composure as you throw in your best flirty timbre 

He chuckles back before continuing “I’ve been great actually, life’s been treating me pretty good.” His smile was so genuine you couldn’t not smile with him

“That’s great to hear.” You nod while the smile never falters 

“How about you? I mean wow look at you, you’ve really grown up.” He glances over you and your body, a little too quick for your liking. 

“I’ve been good, ya know as good as it gets while still being in Hawkins.” You playfully grab his arm as you giggle. 

“But me? Wow, look at you.” You continued to bat your lashes with a sly grin.

“You look even better than you did in high school.” Your eyes travel up to his blonde quaff of hair and all the way down to his shiny black dress shoes. 

Before you can say another word, a man you are sure you’ve never seen before comes up behind Jason. 

You don’t miss the way he puts his arm around Jason’s waist and whispers something in his ear, making him snicker. 

“Oh um, mini this is my boyfriend, David.” He gestures to him by grabbing his shoulder from behind his back, tightening his grip on the man. 

“David, this is Mini, we went well-.. here together.” He laughs as he gestures to the auditorium

“Nice to meet you Mini, is that short for something?” He questioned. 

You tried your best to hide your surprise and disappointment, it all felt like too much information at once. 

“Oh, um no,” you softly reply as you tell him your real name. 

“It was a nickname I got for being short.” You tried your best to laugh with them but you needed to get away from this. 

“I'm sorry it was so nice meeting you David and good seeing you Jason, but I have to find the ladies room.” You informed before awkwardly excusing yourself, you didn’t miss the faint nice seeing you too, before your eyes began to water. 

You felt like a complete idiot, but you were glad you found out he wasn’t interested in you before you made an even bigger fool out of yourself. 

You were disappointed your high school fantasy would never come to fruition but in a way you were happy for Jason, living his truth and not caring enough to bring his boyfriend with him to his reunion, a very drastic change from the Jason you once knew. Good for him. 

You slipped out of the auditorium to the familiar corridor, everything exactly how it used to be.  

The same tiger painted on the wall, the same banners and fliers of future events. The whole thing brought on a nostalgia you never thought you’d miss. 

You made your way further down the hall. clearly lying about needing the ladies room, you were really on a mission to find Eddie who was nowhere to be seen. 

As you continued walking you could hear two whispering voices coming from an open classroom, curiosity got the best of you as you peaked your head in to see who it was, the class was dark aside from a small lamp that sat on the teachers desk, but you could make out Eddie’s back almost anywhere, the way his perfect waves hit his shoulders and his whisper was distinct now that you’ve gotten closer. 

“You sure you want to do this here?” Eddie muttered to the girl you could only assume was none other than Chrissy fucking Cunningham. “Yes Eddie, just kiss me.” She whispers. 

You hear the sloppy smack of their lips before you could get out of ear shot. 

For a second time tonight tears were pleading to escape, but you knew you had no reason to be sad and angry, you and Eddie were FRIENDS, best friends at that, nothing more. 

You assume the non rejection, rejection from Jason is what has you feeling so down. Eddie owes you nothing, he can kiss and fuck whoever he wants. If Jason showed any interest tonight, you would’ve done the same thing. 

So you wipe your eyes and walk out of the exit door and into the fresh night air, the crickets chirp as you take small steps to the bleachers. The stars shine brighter than usual over Hawkins tonight, you scoff at the idea of it being in your favor. 

As you walk up the side steps to the bleachers you realize you weren’t alone in your idea of needing some fresh air from inside’s festivities. 

“Robin?” You burst as you clock the familiar face of someone you wouldn’t actually mind talking to at this very moment. 

“Oh my god, mini?” She quickly removes her beat up sneakers from the stand, dropping them harshly onto the floor, before standing and making her way over to you. 

She’s dressed in brown corduroy overalls over a white shirt. Her hair was best described as a long pixie cut, it accentuated her face perfectly. 

You hadn’t heard from Robin since she left for art school in Chicago, her and Steve made the move together and never looked back. You didn’t blame them. 

“You look great! Wow, I’m- wow!” Her eyes widened as she took you all in, you were slowly getting used to the reaction to your major transformation. 

“Thank you, yeah a lot has changed since high school, I mean look at you, this hair cut was made for you.” You beam up at her as you take a seat, bringing your black strappy heels up to rest on the the stand in front of you, assuming the same position Robin was in before you interrupted her. 

She takes a seat next to you, you can feel her eyes lingering on your side profile as you stare up at the stars. “Something happen in there?” She asks as she brings her shoulder to softly bump yours. 

“Eh, ya know, same old high school bullshit.” You both laugh knowingly, “so how’ve you been?” You ask.

“I’ve been okay, going through a break up so it’s been a little tough, but I’m getting through it.” The smile she gives doesn't reach her eyes, it has a lot of sadness behind it and you can’t help but to feel for her. 

“I’m sorry, Rob. That fucking sucks! But hey, if you ever want someone to hang out with or talk to, I’m always here, I always have been.” Your genuine smile and words make Robin's face flash with guilt. 

“I know, and I’m sorry I haven’t done much to keep in touch. I met her as soon as we moved to Chicago so I kind of spent all my time and energy on her and the relationship. She was my first girlfriend so I guess I lost sight of everyone else.” She wistfully says. 

“I totally understand, I’m not upset or anything, I know life gets in the way. I just wanted to let you know I’m here.” You smile as you grab for her hand that’s gripping the edge of the aluminum bench. 

You decide it was best to change the subject, “so how’s Steve?” Your hand is still clutching robins, until she shifts her body to look at you, knees kissing ever so slightly. 

“He’s good,” she says as she scratches at her arm before letting both fall into her lap. Your hands now clutching each elbow as you read the smile Rob gives you, like she wants to tell you so much but doesn’t know if it’s a good idea. 

“He’s actually here, I brought him as my date” she says as she puts air quotes around the word date. 

“Oh really? I didn’t see him.” You rejoin as you begin rubbing at your arms to combat the breeze that’s picked up. 

“You know him, he’s probably in there flirting with some poor girl.” You both chuckle at Steve’s expense. 

If Eddie was a whore back in high school then Steve was a tramp, they both used to go as far as making bets at parties to see how many numbers they could get or who could sleep with someone first. 

It was exhausting but at the time you didn’t really care about Eddie’s sexual nature, it didn’t bother you because it was something you and him rarely spoke about. 

Until you moved in with him, hearing him on multiple occasions jerking off, or him bringing girls back from the hideout. 

That’s when the weird feeling in your throat began, but you chalked it up to “who wants to hear their best friend engaging in any type of sex act?”

“I think I’m gonna go find Steve, if that’s okay?” You tell Robin before standing back up onto your heeled feet, she nods her head with a quick hum. 

“I hope I see you back in there, before I leave.” You say as you both give each other a side hug. 

But before you turn to leave she stops you, “oh hey, here’s my number just in case.” She gives you the torn receipt from some craft store in Chicago, her number written sloppily in red ink. “Thanks, it was nice seeing you Rob.” you give her one last smile before you finally turn to leave. “Nice seeing you too, Min.” She shouts back as you take your first step down the side stairs and back onto the concrete path, making your way back inside. 

Your heart rate picks up when you walk past the once opened classroom that is now closed. You continue making your way back into the auditorium, swallowing down the golf ball sized lump in your throat. You can’t feel like this, not for him. You continue to repeat that sentiment over and over again in your mind. 

Once you walk back into the gathering, you notice way more people have shown up. But you’re on the hunt for one person in particular and it was just your luck that he happened to be alone at the refreshments table, he seemed deep in thought like he was trying to decide between a chocolate chip cookie or a cupcake with the words class of 86’ written on them. 

“The cookie seems like the better choice.” You giggle, as you walk up behind him. His head whips around to see who the suggestion was coming from. 

“Oh, yeah definitely, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” He shoots you a cocky wink as he grabs for the baked good. 

“I’m Steve,” he says as he now turns to face you.

“I know who you are.” You scoff as you shake your head in amusement 

“Oh?” His eyes shoot up under his perfectly styled hair. Nobody would ever question why this man garnered the nickname “the hair” in high school.

“You don’t remember me?” You say with a pout of your lips, you lock your fingers together in front of you, the gesture pushes your boobs up more, Steve's gaze falls on them, before it continues to roam your body. 

“Mmm, I think I’d remember a pretty thing like you.” He says before taking a bite of his cookie, he licks his lips clean of any fallen crumbs before he steps closer to you. 

You were having far too much fun messing with him, “well that’s not true, cause if it was you’d remember me Stevie.” You chuckle as you watch the cogs go off in his brain, you and Eddie were the only ones allowed to call him Stevie, well so was Robin but she made a habit of just calling him dingus, which you had adopted on a few occasions. 

“Holy shit!” He gasps as his eyes do one more once over. “Mini?” He chuckles with you at the realization, “no fucking way?” He says as his head falls back in laughter, his cheeks and neck showcasing a splotchy red tinge, embarrassed that he didn’t recognize you but also that he was trying to get into your pants just a moment ago, oh who was he kidding? He was still going to try. 

“Yup” you say as you give a little spin, Steve swallows hard before he continues his praise “wow, mini you look fucking great.” He says before pulling you in by your waist for a tight hug. “Thanks, so do you!” You say as you look up at him, his hands still on your waist. 

“I’m- wow I can’t believe it’s you.” He whispers down to you, making you giggle again before shoving him playfully. “C’mon I wasn’t that bad.” You resume your stare up at him, god he looked better than ever. 

He’s also a porn star, whoa you’re talking to a porn star right now, you think to yourself before clearing your mind of those thoughts. He’s still your Stevie though, no matter what. 

“No, you weren’t bad at all, you just- I don’t know, look different. More mature, more confident.” He continues as he places one of your voluminous curls behind your ear. 

Oh he’s good. 

“Yeah? Well thank you.” You smile as your cheeks now hold a sweet dust of pink. 

“No need to thank me, beautiful.” He was laying it on thick, and to your bemusement it was working. 

“So, um how’s Chicago been treating you?” You ask as you try to put some room between you both. 

“Wanna go find a seat with me and we can catch up?” Steve suggests with a shy smile. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” You agree before he takes your hand and leads you to two empty seats at a rather crowded table. Nobody even bats an eye at the two of you before you’re plopping down on the cold orange chair, turning to better see and hear Steve over the bad 70’s disco that filled the room. 

“So Chicago?” You speak again, breaking Steve from his trance, he was looking at you like you were a cold drink on a hot summer day, it made you shift uncomfortably in your seat, you’ve never been good with lingering stares and intense eye contact. 

He clears his throat before he answers, “Chicago's nice, me and Rob have an apartment together. It’s been cool, more stuff to do and see in that city, I don’t know if I could ever move back to a small town like Hawkins after experiencing that.” He chuckles. “You should come visit sometime, I could show you all the sights.” He whispers as his eyebrows bounce up and down, suggestively. 

“Yeah, I’ll have to do that.” You say as you play with your hands nervously in your lap, all of this attention and flirting was making you flustered, totally forgetting about Eddie in the process. 

“So, I came across something the other day.” You begin as your heart rate spikes, you were even more nervous to broach the subject of Steve doing porn, but you were kind of desperate considering your electricity and water were still off and the apartment was becoming almost unbearable to live in. It was almost fate that Steve showed up in Hawkins after you found the tape at work and had the “brilliant” idea of possibly starring in one in order to pay the bills. 

“Oh yeah? And what was that?” He says as he places a hand on your crossed knee.

“Me and Eddie found one of your tapes while we were working,” you say as your eyes scan his face for any type of reaction to your words. 

“Oh?” He smiled mischievously. “Did you watch it?” 

“No, I actually didn't.” You retort as you continue “but I am curious to know how someone gets into that line of work?” Your eyebrows raise in question, no judgment in your face, just curiosity. 

“Why? Do you know someone who wants to do that?” His voice was charming yet curious. 

“Well, me and Eddie actua-” you start before you’re interrupted by a voice calling your name. 

You look over to see Eddie walking towards you, his eyes stuck on Steve’s hand that is still placed on your knee as he continues to gently rub your skin. 

“Mini? Where’d you go? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He says, making you roll your eyes but the action was not missed by Steve. 

“I’ve been here, where have you been?” You snap, a little harsher than you meant to. 

“I just told you, I was looking for you.” He snaps back, Steve could definitely tell there was trouble in friendship paradise but he wasn’t going to ask until he was alone with you, again. 

“Hey, Eddie, nice to see you too.” He cuts in with a wave of his hand, making Eddie’s harsh gaze shift towards him. 

“Hey man, sorry. Nice to see you, how’ve you been?” Eddie asks through gritted teeth, eyes returning to the hold Steve still had on your leg. 

What the fuck was his problem? 

“I’ve been good dude, how’ve you been?” Steve responds, he could clock Eddie’s jealousy a mile away, he smiled at the thought of riling him up more. 

“Hey, mini do you wanna go grab something to eat with me tomorrow before I head back home?” His eyes falling on you as he gently squeezes your leg. He could keep it there all night and you wouldn’t say a word, it’s the most action you’ve gotten in a while and being touched felt nice. 

“Sure, yeah I’d love that.” You respond before getting up to go anywhere else. Eddie’s energy was way off and it made you feel too uneasy to be next to. 

“I’ll let you both catch up, while I go to get a drink.” You suggest before shooting both men a quick smile, Steve hums before saying “I’ll get your number from Eddie, here.” You nod your head and turn on your heel, before walking back over to the table you’ve spent what seems like most of your time at. 

You glance around the room again. Chrissy catches your eye as she wiggles her hips to I wanna dance with somebody by Whitney Houston, alongside who you assume to be Jessica Carlson, another former cheerleader. She’s all smiles and giggles, the sight makes you clench your fists, you should be the happy giggly one, she got Jason in high school and now she’s gotten Eddie too, it was hard to not feel bitter towards her. 

You decide it’s best to lock those feelings away and carry on the people watching. Your eyes fall on the guy walking towards you, he’s wearing a hellfire shirt under his flannel. 

Your eyebrows furrow, as you try to rack your mind. “Oh my god, Jeff?” You beam. “Mini mouse? Whoa look at you!” The nickname made you scrunch your nose, in the cute way it used to. 

“You know I hate that.” You laugh before going in for a hug. “I know, but it’ll always be my nickname for you.” He smiles down at you. “Is Eddie here?” He asks before scanning the room, “yeah he’s sitting over there.” You nod with your head towards where Eddie and Steve are deep in conversation. 

“Where’s Grant?” You ask as Jeff turns back to look at you. “He had to work, couldn’t get the night off.” He says with disappointment. “Aw, that sucks!” You say as you cross your arms. 

Jeff and Grant live in Philadelphia, both getting full ride scholarships to Penn state after graduation, you were sad to see them go, but knew they were off to bigger and better things. What you didn’t know was that the guys begged Eddie to go with, throwing out plans to get an apartment and continue playing in the band together on weekends, he declined. His excuse was that he didn’t want to leave Wayne, but all the guys knew it was you he stayed in Hawkins for. 

Thank you for reading!

Part three coming soon…

*taglist*

If you have been removed it’s because you’re an ageless blog. I do not want interactions from minors so pls put your age on your blog!

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[demontonic]

Could you possibly do a WandaNat x FEM daughter reader where reader comes home with bruises from being bullied and tries to hide them but fails? And also that the reader is being cyberbullied please? Thank you!

Mothers Know Best

WandaNat x GN!Reader Mothers Know Best

WandaNat

tw: bullying

word count: 845

The air seemed to still once you entered your home, your legs sore and beaten as well as your hair tangled and ratty. You make a feeble attempt to smooth your hair down in the mirror by the front door, anyone who knows you however could tell you were shaken. Your arms were scratched all the up to your elbows from when you shielded your face. Mama Nat always suggested that she teach you basic combat to which Mother Wanda always declined. They both wanted to give you a normal household, keeping their abilities to a minimum to ensure regular development. In hindsight as Wanda begins to feel your overwhelming emotions, she starts to doubt her decisions.

Quietly sitting in your room, changed into a shirt with long sleeves and pj shorts, you try to process everything. Why has it always been so hard? Why was it always you? What was wrong with you? When would you stop feeling like this? Would you stop feeling like this?

“Of course you will love.” That sweet voice that had always been there when the monsters felt too real, or when you fell and hurt your shins. Her red hair came into view and the smell of vanilla and everything sweet filled your senses. You’re old enough to know about their enhancements without babbling on to everyone. Of course sometimes you hated the mind reading, but when you couldn’t face up to reality like now, it was a godsend.

“Just mean kids, a bad day, long walk home… I’m okay.” Lying right in front of Wanda was a stupid decision for anyone who dared. So when her hands grabbed your wrist and pulled your sleeve back you simply trembled. No argument or excuses to be made once her eyes zeroed in on the damage done to her precious baby.

“Who the fuck layed hands on you?” A voice you grew to both fear and respect rang like alarms in your ears. Your eyes catching on Nat’s fierce emerald pair, dread filling your stomach.

“I fell on my shortcut thr-“

“Through the creek.”

“Through the creek.”

Clearly they were tired of you defending your assaulters, it was common now. You believed that if you stopped caring they’d pick on someone who would give a reaction. Now being halfway through the school year your Moms have decided otherwise.

“Is that why you cry after getting phone calls? Are they bothering you at home now?”

“I don’t know who makes the-“

“You know the group who’s capable, that’s enough for me.” Nat took a seat behind you, cleaning off the thin scratches with a warm damp towel. Wanda sat in silence, hearing your mind race a thousand miles an hour. Her fingers brushed over your legs as she began to notice bruises, both old and some still forming.

“Tell us what happened, you know I don’t like forcing this information out of you.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“I either hack into the accounts that contact you and find their addresses, Wanda reads your mind, or you can tell us what happened.” Nat’s voice was stern, you could hear it falter as she tried to remain gentle but she succumbed to her instincts.

“It was a group of people from my art class, the teacher really likes my art so everyone calls me a teacher's pet. It only got worse when they found out I’m adopted. Today was just out of nowhere, I didn’t know they were following me. They kicked at my legs and shoved me into the bushes. That's why there’s… so much.” You ended with a hushed voice, gesturing to the visible marks.

“Those children are just that, children. They’re far less intelligent than you, emotionally and intellectually, you are different and they don’t like that.” Wanda brushed hair out of your face in order to lock eyes with you, cementing every syllable that came out of her mouth.

“So don’t let them work you up this much kid, in a few years you’ll laugh at them because they’re stuck working in fast food places.” Nat rested her hand on your shoulder while offering you a kind smile. You loved these moments, relished in them to be exact. You felt safe within their presence because you knew they’d do anything to maintain your happiness.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it like that before.”

“Sometimes you just get caught up in the moment, just know that we’re always here for you- and! We love you, always.”

“Always.” Nat added as she kissed your forehead before standing and heading towards the door.

“Now I made some really good cookies that should be ravished while they’re still warm.” The three of you smiled as you followed Nat into the kitchen, the evening following as normal. A snack, tv shows, dinner and a movie. Tonight however Natasha and Wanda spent a few minutes finding the parents of these kids to make sure you’d never have to deal with them again.

I know it’s really short however I thought it best to keep this as like a drabble/scenario. Anyways I hope you enjoyed this cute little work, I am hopeing to produce better pieces in the very near future! In the meantime please do not be afraid to send requests and look through my masterlist!