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marypsue · 7 days

Text

Meet Ben

Girls, Ghosts, and Meathooks

There was no ki ki ki, ma ma ma. That was the second thing Ben realised. No tempo-twisting piano line. No children’s voices raised in a creepy nursery rhyme. No violin strings shrieking, no synth echoing. No distinctive music at all.

It felt kind of like a rip-off.

He didn’t hurt anymore. That had been the first thing he’d realised. His face, his gut – the blinding, burning pain was gone. Ben couldn’t feel the injuries he’d been so sure would kill him, anymore.

He couldn’t feel much of anything, anymore.

The rain sheeting down through the trees all around didn’t chill him. He was barely aware of the drops battering his shoulders, soaking through his cutoff jean vest and favourite tee shirt – the one with the skull with a dagger through its eye sockets and a snake twisting around both lovingly hand-painted on the front – and plastering his carefully-teased tangle of bleached curls to his face and neck. The moaning wind seemed to blow right through him, without leaving any trace of its passing.

What he did feel, more strongly than anything physical, was almost a compulsion to start walking.

His feet didn’t start to hurt, as he trodded steadily and seemingly endlessly through the pitch-black woods, the lashing rain. His legs didn’t get tired. Every step felt as inevitable, as mechanical as the last. The woods and the rain didn’t grow any lighter, but he never had any doubts about where he was going. And the farther he went, the more he recognised the patch of forest he was trudging through. The more certain he was of his destination.

When the leak of light around the ill-fitted old wooden garage door gleamed yellowly between the trees, it only confirmed what he already knew.

The girl spooked when he stepped through the side door of the old garage, whirling to look directly at him. But there was something about the way she stared at the open door, banging in the wind, that told Ben she wasn’t seeing him even before she let out a nervous laugh. “Shit. Must’ve blown open.”

The boy left her side, hurrying past Ben to pull the side door shut on the wild night outside. He gave the handle two good tugs, the swollen wood shrieking against the frame as it jerked into place. Then he turned back toward the girl, a leering smile crossing his clean-cut, handsome face. “There. Now we won’t have any more interruptions.”

The girl returned his smile with a knowing one of her own, leaning back against the big rectangular shape standing under the canvas tarp in the middle of the garage, fingers brushing long, sleek brown hair back from the revealing neckline of the pretty sundress she wore. “Promise?”

The boy chuckled, a little, like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Not unless you want them to.”

The girl screwed up her face at him in a teasing frown, and then turned to pull the tarp down and reveal –

In the low yellow light of the single bulb dangling by its chain from the ceiling, Ben’s beloved 1966 VW van-turned-camper gleamed dustily. The skirls of airbrushed flame pouring from the open maw of the red dragon curled along its side door seemed to actually glow.

“Oh, my god,” the girl laughed, and the boy smacked the flat of one hand against her shoulder.

There was a too-familiar mocking note in his voice as he told her, “You just don’t appreciate fine art.”

“Hey,” Ben said, or tried to say. There was something strange about the word, a strange way it stuck in his throat, a thickness, a blurriness, in the way the sound fell on the air.

Both the girl and the boy ignored him like he wasn’t there.

“I appreciate a warm, dry place where neither of our parents are going to walk in,” the girl said, tugging on the handle of the sliding side door.

“How much you wanna bet this baby comes fully equipped with a mattress in the back?”

“I am not lying down naked on a mattress that mice have been colonising for the last thirty years.”

“Hey,” Ben tried again, even though it was strangely more difficult this time. “That’s mine.”

“Don’t try smoking anything you find back there, either,” the girl scolded, even as one of the boy’s hands found her waist, the other tugging up the hem of her skirt to reveal a smooth, tan expanse of thigh. “It’ll have lost its potency. If you’re lucky.”

“Like whatever loser drove this even smoked decent weed,” the boy said, dismissively, leaning down to kiss the girl’s neck.

A flash of the old familiar anger flared in Ben’s chest at the old familiar insult. The long gash that had slashed his stomach, the broken hinges of his jaw, pulsed with a sudden, blinding agony, swift enough to nearly knock him to his knees.

“ ‘Whatever loser’? You seriously don’t know the story?”

“The story? What is this, the first five minutes of a horror movie?”

The girl spun to face the boy, letting him pin her up against the side of Ben’s van. “This garage is on what used to be old Grover Adams’ land. They say this was Ben Adams’ van.”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “It is.”

Something was wrong. Beyond the way his words were coming out like he was trying to scream through Jell-o. Beyond the way the girl and the boy were still ignoring him like he wasn’t there. Beyond the way what he’d sworn were killing injuries, shattering his body, seemed to have vanished, leaving no trace of themselves or the blood that had ruined his favourite shirt, soaked the acid-wash of his jeans, splattered the dirty white of his beat-up Chuck Taylors. Beyond the way he could have sworn he’d been soaked to the skin from the rain still hammering the garage’s uninsulated wooden walls a minute ago, but now, looking down at himself, he was dry. Beyond the way that everything seemed to be on the other side of a thick sheet of plastic, keeping him from touching anything, feeling anything.

Why was his van so dusty? What had the girl been talking about, mice have been colonising for the last thirty years?

Where were his grandfather’s tools?

Whose things were these, the lawn forks and rakes and mower and snow shovels and sledgehammer and axe leaning up against the walls? What was that thing, with its bulky head of orange plastic and long arm ending in a black semicircle like a sheath? Who were these kids, who he’d never seen walking Holmwood High’s hallowed halls? Why were they here?

What did that girl mean, the story?

But it all suddenly seemed vague and unimportant when the boy looked uneasily up at the dark window of Ben’s van and asked, “Ben Adams? The Silent Killer?”

And when the girl nodded yes.

The wall of rage, the answering stabs of pain, rose through Ben like a tidal wave, washing him away. A part of him was dizzily amazed at how quickly, how thoroughly, it took him over, burned through the curious mechanical numbness that had driven him here, steadily through the woods, without feeling the cold or fatigue or what must remain of his injuries. Amazed, and a little afraid.

But mostly. Mostly, he was just furious.

It had been going on for as long as he could remember. As long as he and his family had lived in Holmwood. It had started before he’d been old enough to understand why, the other kids on the playground shunning him with hostile looks or taunting him with their parents’ judgments. Disgraceful trailer trash Cora Adams and her loser boyfriend’s bastard son had never been popular in Holmwood’s more rarefied circles, even before she’d run off with that vacuum cleaner salesman and the loser boyfriend had skipped town not ten days later, dumping the kid on Cora’s father.

Not that it was Ben’s parents’ fault alone that nobody liked him. Oh, no, the other kids had always made that abundantly clear. It was just their parents who hated him for who and what his mother and father were. Their wretched offspring hated him for much more important reasons, like how he dressed weird and out of date, or read too many comic books, or the wrong kind of comic books, or too many books, or the wrong kind of books, or looked at girls, or didn’t look at girls, or didn’t kill worms on the sidewalk after a rain, or did kill ants with a magnifying glass, or did, or said, or didn’t say, or didn’t do…

Oh, Ben had eventually found his own friends, outcasts and rejects just like himself, but it had been a hard-won victory. And nobody – especially not the well-dressed, well-heeled country club set like these two currently necking up against his van – had ever deigned to give him the chance to forget it.

And all of them – the kids and their parents both – all of them had just loved having him around to blame for all of their problems. They’d decided he was a delinquent, a bad seed, a loser before he’d ever had a chance to prove otherwise. They’d made up their minds about him, in the total absence of any evidence, and nothing he’d said or done had ever, ever convinced anyone of the truth. Sex, violence, drugs, rock and roll music in their good, Christian, God-fearing, Reagan-voting community? Must be that Adams brat. God knew he’d been behind every corrupt and corrupting thing that’d come into their community since before he was even born. God knew that he was the source of every evil, the font from which all bad things flow. Ben was pretty sure that some of the old bitches who ran the Sunday school were genuinely convinced he was the actual, literal Antichrist.

So maybe he’d played into it, a little. Maybe he’d taken whatever he could get, and delighted in pissing them all off with spooky clothes and loud music and – gasp – tabletop games. Maybe he’d flaunted his corrupting influence on their precious, not-really-so-innocent youth.

But. That they’d really gone so far – that they really thought he could – that they’d actually decided he could have done all of those awful, awful things to poor Leigh? To Grant, to one of his own best friends –

Even after Ben had died trying to protect people from the actual killer –

They’d decided it was him.

The spring he’d been thirteen, Ben had snuck into the theatre with a couple of other boys to watch Friday the 13th. Afterward, the others hadn’t been able to shut up about the split-second glimpse of Jeannine Taylor’s bare breasts. But for Ben, the movie had been a revelation in more ways than just the hormonal.

He felt, now, strangely like he had when the camera had put him behind Mrs. Voorhees’ eyes. Watching the camp counselors she planned to slaughter going innocently about their lives, kissing and laughing and joking around with each other without the faintest idea of the doom that dogged their every step, growing ever closer. In the theatre, part of him had wanted to call out to those kids, to warn them. But they weren’t real. They were there on the screen, a world away from him, unable to hear even if he screamed at the top of his lungs. And he was here, trapped behind the killer’s eyes, grateful it was impossible to warn the kids because he was half-sick with anticipation to see what horrible thing might happen to them next. Unable to change a thing that happened, to choose what ‘he’ did, to stop the hand that he saw as if it was his own from raising the hunting knife –

It wasn’t a hunting knife, this time, though.

And, unlike in the theatre, unlike out in the woods, Ben could feel the satiny varnish under his fingers as his hand closed over the contoured handle of the axe.

They’d all decided for him that he was a Satan-worshipping, drug-dealing, delinquent sex fiend destined for an early grave. And now they’d decided he was a killer.

Well. Fine.

He’d be the best damned killer Holmwood, Indiana had ever seen.

The girl gave a little shriek, pushing the boy off of her so she could leap away from the van when its engine suddenly roared to life. Its headlights blared on, casting Ben’s shadow, sharp and black and looming, across the garage door behind him. He couldn’t see it, standing facing the girl and the boy she was now clinging to in frozen terror, but he knew it was there.

Just like he knew the axe’s silhouette was rising in the shadow behind him as he hoisted it in both hands.

The stereo in the van burst to life, a screech of static resolving into the heavy, plodding, ominous guitar of Sabbath’s ‘Iron Man’. The only thought that managed to make it through the red fog filling Ben’s thoughts, as the boy pulled the girl back away from Ben and the girl opened her mouth to scream, was that there, at last, finally, was the music.

There was a shriek.

It took the sudden lash of rain against his back and the howl of wind tearing at his hair for Ben to realise it hadn’t come from the girl, but from the rusty sliding mechanism of the big garage door behind him.

He turned, slowly, the axe still raised.

And stopped, the rage draining out of him and swirling away into the puddle of rainwater now growing on the cracked concrete at his feet.

The girl standing framed in the movie-screen rectangle of the garage door, finely haloed by the way the headlights’ glow caught the splash of raindrops striking off her cornrowed hair and sweatshirt-clad shoulders, couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Her dark eyes flicked up to the axe Ben was still holding up, now starting to feel a little foolish, but she didn’t shrink back the way the other girl had. Instead, her eyes darted past Ben’s shoulder toward where the other girl and the boy must still be standing, and she jabbed her chin in a direction that Ben thought was toward the side door. A second later, he could hear the slap of shoes against concrete and the squeal of swollen wood against wood. They were forcing the side door open.

His hands squeezed, reflexively, against the handle of the axe.

That strange almost-compulsion, the sense that he should be following the kids even now bursting out through the side door and into the wild night, lodged restlessly between his lungs. But this time, Ben stood his ground. The feeling faded as he lowered the axe, staring at the thing the girl framed in the garage door was holding.

She took a step forward, into the shelter of the garage’s roof, as he let the axe slip between his fingers and clatter to the floor. As he reached out, instead, for his axe.

The van’s stereo hissed into static silence as the girl handed the guitar over to Ben, who took it almost reverently. Unlike his tee shirt, unlike his own body, it still showed all the scars of the battle they’d been through together. The neck was cracked almost to the headstock and snapped right in two near the body, hanging limply and pathetically by the two unbroken strings. The sleek black varnish of the body, as solid and satin-smooth under his fingers as the axe handle had been, was gouged right down to the pale wood beneath where it had briefly stopped the knife that had ended Grant’s life – and ultimately Ben’s, too. Holding it, as the girl stepped back and left it in his hands, Ben felt a tremor pass through him, like he’d always imagined an earthquake must feel.

The van’s headlights died, behind him, its engine sputtering out into silence.

“It is yours, right?” the girl in front of him said, her big, almost almond-shaped eyes fixed on his face. Studying him. Seeing him. “Ben?”

Ben turned his eyes back down to the pathetic corpse of his beloved Stratocaster.

The nod came slow and heavy. But it felt, for the first time since he’d realised he was awake in the woods and didn’t hurt anymore, like something he’d chosen to do.

“Hi, Ben,” the girl said, softly. Ben could still feel her eyes on his face. “I’m Riley.”

#girls ghosts and meathooks #mary writes #slashers #heyyyyyyy @aethersea pspsps #snippet sunday #i guess

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tparker48 · 1 year

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It was test week as Perez rushed to study for his exam, flipping through his small notes as he looked for information to grab. He flipped to the slides, speed reading through the contents as best he could, but his brain couldn't handle the length of the reading. It fried before he got to the end of the first page, pacing around the room anything that'll dismay him. That is, until Todd came into the room.

"You're freaking out bud" Todd said, closing the front door as he approached his friend.

"Freaking out? I'm off the walls! How am I gonna get this test done! I haven't studied a thing! Oh my Linebacking days are numbered."

Perez crashed upon the couch, his Thighs separating the cushions to make room for himself. He passed gas, its stench simmering through the cushions to the clear air above. Todd knew this stage of all too well, it's his coping mechanism. He grabbed a folder from the table, fanning against the stench as he guided himself to his best friend. He hated seeing him like this, the big guy really needed a breather. He transformed himself into a thin lining of tissue, carrying himself along the wing of the cool wind as he landed along his lap.

"Hanky?" Todd asked.

Among his wallowing, Perez gazed at him, picking up the corner of the tissue as he blew into it. tossing the used tissue along the pillow next to him. "Thanks.."

Todd nodded, forming back to his human form as he sat along the couch. His shirt coated with green snot, its murky stream climbing to his lap and soaking into his pants. He took off his shirt and tossed it away, turning back to Perez as he placed a palm at his shoulder. "You don't need those notes anyway, you've got me to help you out."

"The last I checked, you can't count worth for shit."

"Hey, I've got my merits. But who needs counting when you've got a transforming best friend? I can be a calculator, your shirt, even your pencil if need be. I can whisper you the notes and-" Perez clamped his fingers at Todd's lips.

"No, It has to be me who does it." He said, letting go of Todd as he slumped into the couch. Bubbles stirred through his gut like a boiler, fluttering out from his rear as it steamed into the cushions of the couch.

He's stubborn that's for sure, Todd thought, but he wasn't going to give up on his best pal so easily. There had to be some way for him to help out without him finding out. He placed a hand at his cheek, listening to the Rugby linebacker as his farts cracked beneath. Watching him fart into the couch, an idea sparked, smiling as he leaned into the side of Perez's gut.

"You know something, you're right, It does have to be you that does it. I can't do that for you."

"Glad you see it that way bud." Perez said.

"Mhm. But I can't just let ya mope about it this, it wouldn't be productive. Tell ya what, how's about you treat yourself to a best friend mat?"

Perez chuckled, turning toward Todd. "That again? didn't your nose learn the last time?"

"My nose is as resilient as my spirit." Todd winked "besides, you we both know you can't resist when I stick my face up there."

"Heh, I suppose so." Perez said. "Why not, I can't exactly think straight like this."

The cushion lifted from his thighs like a new landscape, standing to his full height as he pulled the fold bitten down by his ass crack. His rump jiggled in place to get a hold around its adjustment, Perez looking down Todd to signal he was ready. He didn't have to tell him twice, for as long as he could remember he always enjoyed his farts. But he never would admit it to him when it came down to it. He crack his finger shrinking to the couch as he formed himself into a cushion, a butt print sumk in the middle as it awaited for its fill.

The corner of the cushion tapped at the leathery couch as he aligned himself parallel to the giant backside, horizon of the crack hidden away by thin lining a white shorts. The legs began to bend over the couch. The large shadow casting over Todd as he gazed through the dented sockets. The mounds crashed upon him with a heavy thud, the air cushion within him compressed as it escaped beneath the giant weight.

Perez leaned overhead, catching the slim corner of the blue cushion. "You know can always tell me if its too heavy."

"And miss out on the holding your ass, no way." Todd replied.

Perez chuckled at the response, leaning back into the couch. His body relaxed, bubbles flowing from inside as it raced through his bowels to the end of his anus. With a squeeze, the rear blasted it gas upon Todd. Its fume was hot, tainting the clean air from the cushions pores as the weight increased harder. The smell of sulfur was nothing more than a welcoming, at least that's what Todd thought. He rubbed dented lining against the mouds, massaging the slim fabric to get a feel of the advancing backside.

Another blast came out, his through the shorts like a whisper as flowed over Todd like a cloud. But it dispersed as quickly as he came, a lifted leg releasing its bonds as it washed into the cool air. Minutes soon go by as Todd was fumed by Perez's farts, now no more flat than the cushion he sat on as he sunk into the gaps of the cushion. With the clock in the room began to ring, it came to an end as Perez yawned, getting up as he stretched his back.

"Now Look what you did, it's midnight." Perez said, fetching the pancaked cushion from the gaps of the couch.

"What can I say, you lose track of time when you're having fun am I right?"

Perez snorted, flicking playfully at the center of the cushion as Todd flinched. "Yeah well now I have to study in the morning."

"You'll be fine, I'll even wake you up." Todd said.

"Nah, you're a heavy sleeper as I am, I'm setting my alarm clocks, I have to be up extra early."

"Suit yourself." Todd Yawned. "I'm gonna hit the hay, I'll see you tomorrow."

Perez nodded, turning into his bed room as he closed the door. Todd walked around the corner, leaning an ear against the doorway to hear the 8nside. Soft steps wisped along the floor, scrunching as springs creaked behind. When he say the light leave his toes, he smiled as he approached his room, looking to the mirror that hanged on the wall.

"He's right, I might be able to help him with his test. However.." He paused, clapping his face between his palms. He rubbed over his cheeks like clay, pinching at a corner and squishing it into more folds. He removed his hands, looking in the mirror as his face disappeared, replaced by his best friend's. "The rules don't apply if he takes it himself right? Hehehe, you go ahead and sleep buddy, and your Todd will handle the rest.

**********************************************

That morning, Todd ventured to Perez's class as he made his way to the exam. He couldn't remember what Perez was studying for. Math, Geology, he couldn't put his finger on it. But as he sat in his chair, and the tests were handed out, his face flushed as he gazed at the stacks of paper. Chemistry. Sweat dripped from the corner of his face, wiping his shirt as he reached for the pen. It's probably fine, Todd thought, it's probably gonna be a few definitions is all. He flipped open the page, and paused as he read the text. Clutter of numbers stacked against pictographs and charts, bubbles selected in a row with potential answers. Looking to the heavens, he prayed as he took the pencil, circling the bubbles as he followed down the page.

That hour was like a detective case, unmarked clued lingering among the answers to the questions presented. Only he didn't have the key, jotting mindlessly at the bubbles like a machine. If it wasn't C, it was D he always mottoed, jotting to the next pages as he answered them. When he finished the last bubble, he handed the paper in and left in a hurry, dashing corridors like ghost.

An hour went by since the test, deciding to grab a bite from the diner before he returned back to the dorm. There was no class today after all, why let it waste on a test when there's a ge at home to play. He entered the dorm, Perez's friends waiting for him as they pulled the handle.

"Yo! You're back already, that test must have been quick."

Perez left? For how long? "Uh, yeah. The test was pretty great. Lots of numbers am I right."

"You're telling me, the chemical section was a nightmare. Say, you on for the ge later."

"Maybe, but first I gotta get changed, can't practice on an jeans you know." Todd padded at one of the friends shoulders, making his way into his room as he closed the door. The sond the door clicked, he melted back into himself, shedding the burly clothes he burrowed as they slumped to the floor. "Finally I can breathe."

He stretched as he eyed the gaming comtroller alomg the table, his fingers itching to tap at its buttons. But his phone started to ring, aggressively as nearly tbled off the edge. Todd picked it up, looking to the screen as he gazed at the notifications. One of the notification stuckout, Perez's contact displaying itself at the bottom of the bar.

"You're fucked." It read in caps, missed calls filling the inbox as more came.

Todd began to sweat, placing his phone in his pocket. "You know, I think I'm gonna go on a walk today."

He opened his room door, stepping into the hallway as he sneaked into the kitchen. The moment he touched the knob, the door tackled Todd as he was swatted to the ground, clinging to the kitchen chairs as he slumped to the floor. A large mass stepped through the door, a backpack on their shoulder as they glared down at Todd.

"There you are!" Perez said.

"Oh shit."

Perez lashed his hand toward him, meeting the cold floor as Todd turned into a paper bird. He flapped through the hallways like a drunk pelican, A thicker silhouette following behind as palms clicked at the air.

"Will you chill out!" Todd said, arching his back as the stubby fingers glossed at his back.

"Chill out?! You messed with my exam! I said not to help me!"

"It was a quick stop by, nothing aside from THAT!" An hand stuck to his back,flinging him to the side of the hallway as he shifted to his human.

Todd pushed off as a heavy crash boomed behind him. He ran for his room ahead, but jerked as something soft struck his back, tripping him as he fell to the floor. "A bean bag? Where did he get a bean bag?"

A shadow casts overhead, Perez jumping through the air like a whale. "Bring that ass!"

"No thanks!" Todd threw the bean bag back, colliding against their torso as they rolled into a wall.

He turned himself into a snake, coiling himself against the meat forearm. He used his tail like a paddle, swatted the growling student as he flailed his fists in confusion. Todd looked to the closed doors surrounding him, eying his room that was half open. It's a straight shot from here, but he wasn't sure if he could make it from this position. He wheesed as a fist wrapped around him, to the far wall as he transformed back.

Perez growled, throwing the bean back as it shot through the corridor like a missle. Getting to his feet, his eyes locked on him as he reached for Todd.

"Shit!" He yelped, jumping through his legs. He stammered toward his door, Heavy steps behind him as the bass from their stomps boomed at his back.

He reached the door and slammed it shut, locking it before a thud sent him back. Bang after bang, he watched as the door rattled, the hinges breaking from the wall as the frame began to wobble.

"Think think think!" Todd paced around the room, looking for a place to hide himself. He looked to the pile of clothes cluttering his ankles, underwear slipping from his feet as he kicked it away. Wait, that was it, underwear.

He held the door as he forced himself to take slow breath, a glimpse of a pair of boxers flowing through his mind as a numbness took over. He closed his eyes, Shrinking in size as he felt himself expand, his skin turning to wool as he looked at his reflection in the glass. A side of his face was pulled by gravity as he slouched into view. A pair of underwear was all that filled the reflection, his own eye staring back at the fabric. "Perfect."

The door swung open, the wooden frame fallling over as a mass of an athlete stepped inside. A foot pinned Todd to the carpet, flattening him like a compressor as toes scrunched at his back. "Come on out you coward, face the music like a man." Perez said.

Todd's lips refused to move, pinned down by the thick soles. Not that he wanted to anyway, he was already pissed off as it was. The foot lifted from him, the student approached the mattress as he threw the cover from its surface. Turning to the closet as he yanked the door open. He seemed far enough for him to get a move on, he thought. He'd best get out of sight while he could. He moved across the floor like a caterpillar, inching himself to the side of the table as he aimed for the dresser.

Perez roared behind him, shaking Todd to his core as he fell limp.

"Where are you hiding?!" Perezsaid, throwing the clothes to the ground. He groaned as he retreated back to the door. "Fine then, be a bitch. You'll have to come out eventually."

He eyed the room, scanning the pile of books and posters along the wall. He looked floor as disks scattered around, a pair of underwear restimg near the drawer. He stopped over to it, grabbing the fabric as Todd nearly yelped.

"These look custom made, think I'll keep them as part of your apology."

Crumpled in his palm, Todd looked up the burly hand, the other other unzipping the pants that choked at his waist. His cock punched through their boxers, a drizzled spot crowning the front as it soaked into it. He took them off, tossing the dirty undergarments to his pillow before he was placed to the ground, feet stepping into as the hands pulled up.

Todd felt like he was being pulled apart, his face folding over the player's backside. It was warm, the plump mounds jiggling in attempts to shake him off. It wasn't so bad though, it cushioned the discomfort away from his face, but it didn't prepare for the trunk Perez had in the front. The sound of fabric stretching filled his ears, an oblong object bulldozing its way into his hole as it pushed out.

"These things are actually pretty comfy." Perez said.

From his squinted eyes, Todd watched the world rotate as his mattress came to view, zooming out to his frame as he moved through the hall. The earthy scent behind him flowed, wisping through his nostrils to the open air. His gaze twisted around the walls, the mounds grinding his eyes into different directions.

"All that running has made me hungry. Damn you Todd, now I have to dig into my stash."

"What stash?" Todd looked to the corner of the mounds as they rolled against him like a tide.

The space grew lighter as he entered the room, the carpet changing to a tiled floor as chairs scattered around. His gaze forced to the air, the fridge opening as Perez hummed to himself.

"There's nothing but dairy in here, this underwear won't be the same. But I guess that's Todd's problem." Perez said. Cups cluttered together, Perez moving as Todd's gaze turned to the opened fridge. Cheese, Milk, and yogurt dressed the door, closing as he entered the living room. A couch aligned in front of him, the back of the student's thick legs bending down as his vision turned to black.

Cups opened above, the weight from mounds sinking into the couch as Todd. Perez chowed down, their mouth sloppishly groaning as he wolfed down the pile of dairy. This situation wasn't new, Todd thought, of their daily sitting this one was no different. Perez can't stay mad forever, and it was only a matter of time before he got bored of wearing him. Yes, then he'll transform and he'll be clear. It was perfect.

Gurgl! A sound boomed from above, the mounds bulging as something bubbly made its way down. A trumpet sound erupted, the frowsty muscle flexing at his back as warmth shrouded over him like a smaug. It burned his nose, a sour scent invading him as he scrunched his face. This smell was different compared to his normal sessions, did he hold back on his farts? Todd thought. A single adjustment from Perez flattened him back, drawing him into the line of fire as the center of his face was bombarded by fart balsts.

"Here we go again, I barely started eating. But I'll be damned If I stop now." Perez said.

The mounds dragged against his face, unsure of where he was forced to look as he twisted around the darkness. A bright glow met his gaze as Perez tilted on his side, allowing him the chance to see the corner of the couch. A hand dropped an empty cup along the counter, it's fingers folding as two darted toward him.

The two fingers stamped at his face, impacting the center of his face as he shriveled into its funnel. His eyes flattened together as the finger drove deeper. The other side of him connecting against something soft, and earthy as the fingers brushed against it. By the way the tender surface clenched at the tip, he assumed it was the source to all of its stench. His asshole.

"Whatever this thing's made of, it's itchy as hell." Perez said.

The fingers dug together. The mounds sucking Todd into the muscular valley to bring him closer. They squeezed at his own body, a monstrous roar exiting from his hole as it scoured to the rest of the couch. Eggs carried along its blast, wet in nature compared to the airy flatulence blown toward him. The muscle squeezed harder, a blockage refusing to let the gas bypass as it turned into a sharp hiss.

"Nnn! Gotta hunker down for this one.." Perez hugged at his gut, shoving his palms into his stomach. Farts came out in spurts, blasting Todd in a barrage in attempts to unclog his bowels. "Come on you..don't ..mess with me."

He shoved at his gut, a gurgle responding as bubbles slithered through his intestines. His hole opened like a water valve, a winded fart growing stronger, more watery as it humidified the finger that anchored Todd. Another surface touched him,dampening the middle of his face with a foul scent as it spread over his eyes.

It bulged out in a mini mudslide, his hole and fingers quick to retract. "Damn it, I pushed too hard."

Todd's gaze shifted to a palm scooping him into the crack. With how fast the thighs were kicking, and the grumbling above growing louder, he was about to blow at any second. A door kicked open, Perez lunging upon the toilet seat as Todd's gaze turned toward the bowl. A hand fumbled to his left side, peeling him off the massive rear as it crashed onto the bowl, and he fell to the floor.

"Mmm..shit...that's really starting pile." Perez strained, releasing the hellhates upon the toilet as its cracks pierced the air like a lightning strike.

Todd wormed his form against the giant ankles, dragged upwards as a palm fumbled to the toilet paper above. He could still smell the sour scent on him, soaking into him as it grew ripe in the wind. His mind wanted to give the jig up, and yet, his heart was..enjoying the experience. Perez never squeezed himself so hard that he sharted, even with his regular farts. Though disgusting.. He wanted to explore more of Perez's body.

He closed his eyes, the farts above firing artillery shells as he laid upon the cold ground. Perhaps taking that test wasn't a bad idea.

**********************************************

The weekend arrived, the sun casting over the bleachers as the audience cheered on the advancing players on the field. Perez ran back to the sidelines, the coach calling him to the bleachers to take a breather. They fanned at the air, ushering the player away as he marched to the booths. Passing through the crowd, he turned toward a blocky building as restroom signs rests on top. He entered inside, parking himself as he unlaced his pants.

"God it's hot today, to think the game was so packed today." He said, looking at his phone as he clicked at his university portal. There beneath the classes was the grade of the test, green numbers stacked together as a B rested on top. "As much as I still have a grudge on that bastard, I do owe him for getting me through that. But I haven't seen him in a day since morphed. Wonder where he went off to?"

Unraveling, he dropped his pants to reveal the crumpled underwear beneath. dark green stains smudged along the corners, the fabric that once tucked tightly at his backside now drooping as the middle sagged off the round glutes. There, Todd blinked as he looked to the cubicle shaped stall, his vision blurred as the sweat along his eyes turned the space green. How long has it been since he turned himself like this? He could hardly remember as he spent his time snugged beneath the layers of clothes.

A fart interrupted his train of thought, vanishing into the void of his mind as he grew drunk upon Perez's scent. He mumbled with his mouth, but found only the fabric stretching in a soft muffle. He'd moan if he had the chance, but smelling was enough to get him aroused, His gaze rolling to the back of his head in pleasure. A groan shook the mound like an earthquake, a watery fart striking his face as the damp green space turned a shade of dark brown. A hand scratched him against the musty crack, like a tissue wiping against a grease as sludge soaked into him.

His mind began to spin, the world shifting as it turned into a shadowed brown. It's good to know that his methods helped Perez pass his exam. He'd transform back into his humanself, but he's like this for a week, the feeling he gets whenever he morphs were no longer there. Ah well, he thought, he get it eventually. He himself against the large ass, Tucking against the crack as he was free to enjoy the rich smells of. farts as he rested upon the muscular mattress.

The exam was well, Perez is relaxed, and he's able to be close to him. From Todd's standpoint, this was the fruits of his labor, and he was going to enjoy it.

#farts #object tf #unaware #musk

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siremasterlawrence · 2 months

Text

Another One Bites The Dust

Barry Simone is a slave in a foreign country who is now ever so dedicated to me for the last two months because I am his one and only new Master he is bound to serve me for a lifetime. We meet online on a Skype call he looks so good to me with this bright smile as I wave to him in a state of mind and then remember a past slave who really messed with me and wasted my time. I crack up snapping my fingers as his eyes are rolling back into his head socket closing his eye lids shut, his body falls back into the chair falling deep under my spell as he sway in the back. His head slumping all the way down to his chest as he is breathing so hard shaking his body a bit out of control because nothing else matters to him as my voice leads him and he fully falls completely onto his legs. I clapping my hands as he wakes up staring straight ahead he looks directly at me like a puppet he froze in time waiting for me to take control as I command him to be my happy boy and he smiles with such a sexy and powerful bright smile. I snap my fingers as his eyes light up showcasing his teeth for me, his body lifts upward into the air till they straight up awaiting for my orders to move again as he must do whatever whim and wish for a lifetime. “Listen to me Barry my dear slave I am all you can see and all you know. Nod your head for me as you understand. He shook his head slowly in accepting and understood everything that I say no questions asked of me and he proudly with love and adoration of me. “Excellent now puppet stand up rise to his feet for me, that is correct Slave Barry your king is agreed. Continue on Slave Barry please begin to remove your clothes with your shirt, then your pants.” I demand of him as I sit in enjoyment.

“Oh Master! When can I be with you?”

“You really want to relocate?”

“Yes my king”

“How can I do with it?”

“We agreed! When I am ready”

“I know! I can’t wait “

“Not enjoying your life “

“Not without me”

“I love you “

“I love you too”

“You don’t understand “

“What are you attempting to stay?”

“I didn’t think you can comprehend this “

“Please go on”

“Oh Master! You are amazing “

“You repeat that”

“I need you “

“Don’t stop “

“I crave you “

“How much?”

“With my life “

“I want to worship “

“Desire to serve you “

“I desire to make you money”

“Master thank you for letting me be with you finally.”

“It is my utmost pleasure to”

“May I kiss you ?”

“I suppose! Are you a good kisser?”

“Teach me”

“I am your King”

“Come over here “

“Mmmmm…”

“You taste so sweet”

“Thank you Sire”

“Oh God!”

“On your knees”

“As you wish”

“Succumb to my will”

“My suck your cock “

“Unzip me”

“Gorgeous My Master”

“Go for it, that’s it and take it all in”

Barry staring in the middle no longer seeing himself because he is absolutely lost in a odd sea of beautiful colors and his body is floating away from his own self. His sole conscious is now null and void as I yank him around as I command him to continue to look in to the mirror and seeing how he truly is deep down inside. I snuck into the bath room right behind him playing both of his cheeks as he breaks out in a bright giggle into a full on gigantic smile spread over his lips. He is in ecstasy falling back into my arms, his body laying on my chest as my scent floats in to the air, and he inhales it deeply falling more in love. I kiss him as he fell to his knees, rolling over to the side as he stuck his tongue on a bit with so much love and then starts to bark like a giant puppy in need. I knelt down next to him patting his head prior to rubbing it as his hair slowly drops to his face, I kiss his cheek and slide off my socks forming a ball with them and throw it into the air as he runs ti catch it.

“It is a hour later! Perfect”

“Wake up!l”

“Uh…what?”

“Trust me and stretch”

“Yes?”

“Can you speak now?”

“Yes Master!”

“You can speak freely”

“I love you Master”

“I love you too”

“Kneel at my feet”

“You are my God!”

“Naturally so!”

“You shall submit to me”

“Succumb deeply “

“Forgetting your past”

“Embracing the future “

“How much do you love me?”

The end

#grant gustin #mind control #hypnosis #hypno slave #reprogramming #hypno submission #mind control slaves #barry allen #relocating #male transformation

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thesiblingsoftheblackandwhite · 8 months

Text

[[BODY MUTILATION, BODY HORROR, ABUSIVE PARENTING]]

Hooves legs ache as they clack toward nowhere. There is no silence this time, instead it’s echoed by faint screams he can almost place. Meaning there’s someone else here.

Wig-Wiggly!?

There is no other word for what T’noy Karaxis feels: weak. The persistent burn in his bones has only spread as his head fogs. That doesn’t mean he stops running. Yellow fizzles past his clouded eyes to something brighter and harsher. There’s no harm in trying for freedom, even if there is nothing past these walls. ‘Harm’ does not include the sickness beating through him like it always has. Tinky’s hands, pocked with age spots, twitch coldly. He almost trips over himself, eyes darting around for anything of a different shade. There was only one rule: never stay in the same spot. Whatever can be done should.

Blinky!?

He’s at the dead end he always ends up reaching. Stopping once means he might not get up again - Tinky tries to grip the wall clumsily with feeble fingers. Metal gushes into his mouth as he absently opens his mouth to let it flow out, stark against the yellow floor. Nails scratch and, as they do so, each one chips. Karaxis doesn’t stop, getting hysterical. His nailbeds bleed at the strain of separation. With a jerk, his thumbnail clatters to the floor. The exposed skin burns, but he doesn’t notice. The cracks along the rest of his nails make sure they don’t go as quickly, rooting deep into his palm with electric shudders. Every breath is a stab to each lung. Frantic in his escape plan, Tinky doesn’t hear footsteps.

“You.”

T’noy staggers around to come face to face with his favorite toy. Teddy Bear grins without enjoyment.

“I’ve been waiting for you. You fucking bastard.”

Aware of how frail he feels, Tinky backs into the corner while baring his teeth. Ted steps closer, eyes shining. T’noy did not directly interact with his Boxed victims often, and he would have been elated in any other context.

“I’m going to have so much fun, Tinker-Toy.”

There is something wrong with his grin - it's usually lopsided, with a dimple Ted’s hated since childhood. Even with his waning vision, this wasn’t right. Before Karaxis can focus on anything clearly, a shiny flash almost blinds him. In Ted’s hands is a length of piano wire. He shouldn’t have that. Tinky designed the Box so that-

T-Tinker-Toy? You’ve never…

Ted’s grin never slips - his imposing figure steps in closer, cornering his tormentor. The wire gets spun around in his fingers casually.

“Goats don’t have fingers, silly wiwwle Tinky~.”

His eyes were brown, not…

“I’m sure you miss ‘em. Your hooves. Huh?”

His tone is light. With nowhere to run, not that his legs would let him, Karaxis stares at the wire wrapping around his ring finger. But this wasn’t how things went - if his Box worked like it should or if he wasn’t just a human, he wouldn’t-

“Aw, don’t cry, little guy! I’ll save your middle finger, how’s that?”

He wheezes a barking laugh. The screams are no longer there. Prickles and needles dance on T’noy’s finger as blood beads against the wire. It’s pulling too tight to simply slide his hand away. T’noy Karaxis begs.

T-Teddsy - Ted - Spankoffski. Don’t!

Ted laughs again, and it doesn’t belong to him, A hot shock burns through Tinky’s finger and palm as the wire meets resistance.

“Like a child begging for salvation.

Bones crack as Theodore’s figure shrinks away. In his place, towering over T’noy Karaxis, is a hulking blur of shining feathers. They have no set color, switching from glints of purple to glints of pink, blue, green, orange. The skull on top of the feather cloak, unblinking, is that of a goat’s, with twisting horns and jutting teeth caked with rot and bloodied flesh. Its - His - eye sockets shine with something inside, far from hollow. Pupilless and apathetic, reflective and compound. Like thousands of cameras, they settle on their target like flies to a corpse. Perpetually watching.

After all my corrections, you are still disobedient.

Tentacles squirm quicker than before from feathered tips. He does not move.

…F-F-

You need say nothing. I apologize for my dirty trick.

T’noy scrambles back further, but the wall prevents escape. He shakes his head harshly, ears ringing.

This could not happen otherwise.

N…No-

He lifts His head higher.

…’No’.

Tinky shakes his head again, neck aching. He cannot move. The figure leans forward, eyes rotating.

Even now? Agitated about a talk?

Cold tentacles slide over his cheek, pulling gently, startling in contrast to his temperature. They leave behind glowing blue muck.

You were always so quiet after the Box. Why did it ever stop?

He cocks His head to one side, though there is no expectation for answers. Tinky’s throat tightens as his mouth breathes out too harshly. Everything blistered, but only His presence was piercing. Regardless, there was an answer; one that he swears is there.

S-

His voice is high and garbled, but he forces his lungs to get air in as he stammers.

S-sib-li-siblings.

There is quiet where he believes he’s won. The flame sizzles on his skin. He says nothing; the air is heavy with copper. Then, voice low,

What siblings? I don’t recall making any others. Certainly not for you.

There are no names to bring up, with no memories to think of. There is nothing. Blankness ranging millennia.

W-

T’noy mouths something; it might be a name or it might be a plea, but either way he can’t get the word out.

Little fake things to keep you company…how can I expect power from a future Lord who hallucinates?

Tinky whines, the guttural noise tearing through his dry throat. No one else was supposed to be in the Box. This was his punishment alone. Just his.

Your time here is getting to you, Bastard. But somehow you’re still useful. Relieving…isn’t it?

Here - the Box. Karaxis knew it well. Its maze twisted every second with rich yellow dousing every corner. Constantly spinning and weaving through itself like a…

W-Webby-

He chokes as hot blood overwhelms his senses, letting it fall down his chin.

What, this?

His tentacles wiggle around a tiny white spider. It zooms around the tight confinement desperately without glowing. Tinky inhales sharply, trailing its movements. His foot falls an inch forward as he wants nothing more than to get it away from Him.

W~Web-

The cage gets smaller. The spider spasms, bloated with blood. Its legs kick once pathetically before they go limp with a spurt of blue-tinted gore. The crushed thing is dropped, dead.

Pests. You know that, I expect.

Karaxis’ stomach churns as he keeps looking at her.

Y-ou ki…

Like a clock that doesn’t tick.

You act horrified. Did I do something wrong?

The corpse disappears under the myriad of feathers. Tinky can’t move further.

It’s like how you play with your replacement - I thought you would like that.

Colors fill his eyes. T’noy doesn’t reach as high as what would be His chest, lacking the strength to look up. His heart pounds in his ears.

You were always so sensitive. A complainer and a coward. I have naught for cowards. Too weak for godhood. Look, you’ve already hurt yourself.

T’noy Karaxis crumples to the floor in a heap, hitting the ground with a thwack. Ice swallows each molecule in his sweltering body. He sees no yellow or colors, just white as his eyes roll back in their sockets. He jerks up, stiff, skin blistering and boiling under his clothing.

Pity.

The wall keeping Karaxis shifts away. Incoherent, he falls onto his back. It lights up with stabbing pain as he sobs.

They will be sorely disappointed. How will you help them? Stupid, stumbling, creature.

There’s creaking as hot breath makes his face scrunch.

Shoo.

The word is a gunshot. Scrambling away, ignoring the excruciating agony as his limbs sting, Tinky flings himself into the maze pathway. Completely blind, groping with bleeding fingers, he can only reach for obstacles.

Hff…hff - nghk-

Nothing gives chase. A low and penetrating hum blares in his ears as a warm stickiness spreads down Tinky’s forehead. He blinks his sight back. It teeters between white and black, catching yellow flashes. A cough brings up something warm and bitter.

Your town is a rotting poison. At its roots it twists into a shrewd picture. Did you think they worried about your absence? There is no difference - you are mine.

He speeds up his crawl after seeing lights shining from the end of the hall. They blink brightly, multicolored. He’s in marginally less pain.

Ah-ah~.

A thin, cold, sharp thing eases in between two ribs with a squelch. Karaxis shudders, gasping, as warmth seeps below him. His chest heaves through a punctured lung with gritted moans. His tone rises, booming.

Ungrateful. Do you understand the PRIVILEGE I’ve given you? The CONTROL I can rip away if I wish? You’ve seen it already. Ask that trifle of yours.

N~o…P-ea-

His brain melts against all logic. Blood drags on the floor behind his decomposing form, already long dried. Teeth loosen with no choice but to fall out of thin gums. As everything clouds, His voice rings in Tinky’s head.

Go back to your brothers. Tell them how good of a protector you were.

#The Lords in Black #T’noy Karaxis #Their Holy Father #ask blog #rp blog #hatchetfield rp #tw body horror #tw mutilation #(Please inform me if I an missing any TW tags! /srs //OOC)#Blog Event: Hatchetfield Citizens

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peachysunrize · 19 days

Note

- 🧸

https://au.pinterest.com/pin/1058697824879461165/

^ that's what i mean by Aemond (Ewan) having a great arse, and that's just sweats which he's wearing!? nothing skin–tight, not gym shorts just regular trackies!

i'm also guessing that you're not really into ass play, or out of being a thighs, breasts, arse or personality person you're not choosing ass which i really 'hope' *isn't* the case (if it is, 100% valid bcs it's your preferences) because i wouldn't want to annoy you w/ my asks solely being based on having unfinished business with Aemond's (Ewan's) arse and if you *aren't* into that please ignore this msg/ask x

but... imagine you're sucking at Aemond, reader bobbing her head as she slides with the added slick of her saliva up and down, up and down as his pre stores at the corner of her stretched out mouth and he's elevating his hips up from their shared bed. bucking, rutting, thrusting, grinding whilst continuously hitting the back of our throat with his neck thrown backwards, eye rolling back into his socket, sweet silver–y locks sticking to his forehead as his silent cries choke their way out

his hand wound in reader's hair, intertwined in our locks as he uses us as if a puppet, tugging at our scalp to somehow be closer as if we're not already smack–bang at his navel, nose scrunched up against the heady scented skin. then, reader's hand reaches to fondle with his sac not having to worry about balance since he's holding us up–right with a iron fist on our scalp and we're squeezing, stroking, massaging the sensitive balls before detouring our focus... reader's hand trails just behind to his perineum, applying pressure there before she's disturbed by a hitched intake of breath before stopping all–together, still as her pace, rhythm and movement come to a halt before hearing a "K–keep d.. doing that!... Don't s–stop!" and Aemond is obviously referring to the stimulation at his prostate but he doesn't know that that pleasure comes from his own hole inside and now reader is sneaking her middle finger (the longest of the 5) to snake it's way inbetween his smooth globes teasing the pinkish rim...

(the rest you can add onto or imagine for yourself 🤭)

also the *new* theme made me blush, kicking my feet in the air as i giggle into my pillow... #i'mjustagirl

I’m so glad you like the new theme baby🥹🥹🥹🥹

Also… you’ve also assumed correctly😭😭😭 I’m not really into ass play… I’m a bit… not sure about it and it’s not my thing… So I don’t usually go there but I’d absolutely indulge in your thots baby!!!!🥹🫂

#inbox open #🧸 anon #aemond thots

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hypocratic · 11 months

Note

you’re just trying to save yourself.

i know what you did last summer sentence prompts.

"I'm afraid—" A poor turn of phrase. Easily construed as a Freudian slip. Or, at least, a Freudian trip—the hand that holds his cane flinches like his body is ready to catch itself; that flexed tension gathers and pinches the skin of his right ring finger into fat folds stuck between his middle knuckle and the gold band of his class ring. His thumb instinctively slides the ring down, kneading out the skin and relieving its constriction. Frederick smiles, as quick as a pulse; the mood of poor circulation: it does not reach his eyes. He reopens his mouth, breathes in, and restarts: "Bats have... laid claim to my office fireplace." His eyebrows raise and his head bobs to the side; needless, but able to clarify and naturally yielding to the opportunity: "The desk-side fireplace."

"My staff considerately lent me this, uh," Frederick's gaze tours the dark, gaunt area, "considerable wing—for the time being." A lie. He has a second office. This section of the hospital inexplicably lost power two weeks ago. Security is still searching for the cause. All patients held in this wing have been temporarily relocated to another facility. "Lent or not, some areas remain authorized personnel only." His head tilts sideways to peek beyond the row of metal bars separating the control booth from the corridor—himself from Hannibal. "Exempli gratia." His arms fan out, almost curtsey-like, as an exhibitory gesture to the booth. Some electrical elements deemed vital still work, having fallen to the back-up generator.

Frederick, with intentional, weaponized slowness, tests each switch. Emergency lights, working. Intercom, not working. Automated locks, working. Landline phone, working. Monitors, not working. Security cameras, he chose, not working (it would be a futile expense: they can't see in dim lighting). Alarm sound, working. Alarm lights, working. He pauses halfway through the panel and peers up, now swathed in alarm-blue beacon lighting, to gauge Hannibal's patience. Cuts of blue-black seem to burrow and re-burrow into the sharp shapes of Hannibal's eye sockets, his cheeks, his temples. Seeing him is a dark prediction. Frederick's expression shivers slack.

#ic #vylingas #*ask.#i also wrote this with the option that it could be in response to your other ask of 'you realize… you’ve put me in a very bad position.'

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sassenashsworld · 2 years

Text

Second skirmish between Nick and Nora

Nick have short cut, Nora crave for contact Explosive result

Is it fear creeping into my circuits? It's only possible, that? In the space of a moment, everything merges in my head. I see things that have already happened, as if it were happening right in front of me. The blood, the lifeless body of a determined and vibrant woman who had given me so much happiness...

“Jenny, no!”

Silver shoves me aside and we fall backwards through the smashed window of an old coffee shop. She pulls me by the collar before I can get up and tackles me behind a counter. As I come to my senses, she glances down the street.

“I can know— "Sorry." “Shit, Nick! You're getting serious brain damage, there.”

At least the fear (his fear, to the other Nick) has evaporated. I shake my head, still mystified by what just happened. How could the human Nick's past transcend time and my circuitry to take control of me so easily?

Silver leans over me to examine me carefully, her eyebrow furrowed, her pout on her lips. She's gonna kick me out if I don't do something.

"It's okay, a short circuit." “Will you run a diagnostic, please? We don't need you to have a bug in the middle of the enemy camp. I've got your back.”

Okay, she has no intention of leaving me there. It's better than nothing. She resumes her lookout position and I proceed. However, I can comb through all my codes, but I can’t find any reason for the programming flaw. Nothing wrong with the systems. Well, apart from the few scratches I already know by heart.

“Everything is spot on.” "So, what was that?"

I wonder myself. After a moment of reflection, I honestly draw my conclusions.

“Tampering with my internal memory at the Memory Den and then the socket in my processors must have caused a short and for a moment...”

No, I can't go there. I thought I was reciting a program and here is this ol’ Nick giving it a go by sending me a vivid video of the young lady of his time. Her wheat-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Her smile. I can't stop my hand from wanting to cup the thin line of her chin, from gently stroking her cheek so fresh under my fingers, sliding those fingers through the silky curls of her hair...one last time.

The awakening is brutal when I take a rifle butt in the face. Instead of the soft laughing blue of Jenny's eyes, two bright green round of rage stare at me in the dust-soaked atmosphere as if I were vermin.

Wait, what did I just do?

“Dare to touch me just one more time like this, I grind all the synthetic cells in your body in the first engine I come across. And if I should take you apart piece by piece to do it, I will take great pleasure.”

Her counterpart to silence is horrible!

But did I really fondle her?

I try to sort it out and it turns out I can ignore the memory of Ol’ Nick. I realize what just happened in 2287. My own hand, at least the one still covered in synthetic skin, tenderly caressing part of Nora's neck, moving up towards her cheek, in her hair.

But worst of all; Nora closing her eyes and sliding into my hand, lost for a moment, hungry for sensory contact. Affective? Then the wild part when she suddenly opened her eyes realizing what WE were doing, her hands instantly positioning themselves on the barrel and body of her weapon, projecting her resentment as she tried to destroy what had just happened.

My wake up with a well-placed rifle butt shot.

Silver stares at me now in all her hatred. I do not blame her.

Because right now, I'm not in peace with Nick Valentine, old and new alike. The old one for sending me his memories and his emotions, the new one for not having managed.

At least Nora's feelings for me are crystal clear now.

I see her gaze slip from my face to her hands still holding her gun defensively between us. And I pick up her tremor, then another.

I finally really understand better what just happened.

Notwithstanding my little mislead, SHE had a weakness SHE cannot forgive herself.

I finally straighten up, reaching into my coat pocket to pull out my pack of cigarettes. Our friends on the outside are obviously not in sight and I don't want to leave things as they are. I light up with pleasure because this old reflex relaxes me.

"No offense, I know better than drag my hands over any female's body."

Sometimes what most wastelands lack is a camera. I love the expression which is painted on her face, and I would like to immortalize it in order to cherish the memory forever. She wrinkles her nose as she replies tac-o-tac.

“Any female in your path would envy this body.” “Not false (have to give it). But not interested. Reproduction is not really integrated into my basic program.”

I grab myself a good latte and spit it out in her face. As she coughs and tries to catch her breath, I continue, unable to stop a very vicious need to hit her back where it hurts.

“Besides, if I can easily explain what just happened to me with a system error...”

I take the time to half get up, placing my mechanical hand properly on her thigh, leaning into her ear to whisper the grand finale.

"How do you explain it's not horror that's wetting your pussy?"

I leap out of her reach in time and her second shot hits the void. I feel really hilarious even though she is shouldering and aiming at me. I know she'll never dare so I take the time to savor the smoke I still have in my hand, chuckling.

The cigarette jumps out of my hands as the bang hits my ears.

Not even afraid.

Hey! Me, I know some things are falling apart in my head because of ol’ Nick, I'm not the person in denial here.

"You're a motherfucker!" "At your service, ma'am."

I bow in front of her, and she spits on the floor in front of me. She opens her mouth as if she would like to add more, and God knows she would have to add more, but a small oval object takes the opportunity to come and land between the two of us, interrupting our conversation.

I dive on my side to take cover behind a bench, fumbling for my gun as everything explodes where the lady and I were standing a moment earlier.

I don't have time to worry about Nora, I aim and shoot the star launcher who had the audacity not to hide. I burst the few teeth he had left to laugh at his misdeed and his skull with it.

Where is Nora? And Dogmeat?

Through a window, I see one of these decapsulated going around the building to take me from behind. A .45 ammo in the heart sends him foot forward. Then I hear Dogmeat moan.

They hold the dog!

I walk out the side door and find my two targets trying to kick off what their filthy mutts started. It's going to be hot. I must miss no target.

Inside the ear of the one on the right, between the two eyes of the one on the left who turns to me while drawing, behind the shoulder of the four-legged monstrosity which turns around in my direction and finally in the chest of the last hairless dog who let go of poor Dogmeat's neck to move on to another target (me).

I don't hear any thunder. No .308 came to support my shots. I don't even remember having been able to shoot solo since the damsel rescued me from Skinny Malone (or once but it was small vermin).

As soon as I see Dogmeat shaking himself, proving me he’s okay, I walk around the restaurant and find myself facing a mountain of debris.

Damn, that was where Nora and I had our altercation.

She can't... no!

She can't be dead!

Not stupidly like that!

Not like Jenny! (And don't tell me Jenny was shot in the back instead of a grenade in the teeth, that's not the subject).

The last thing she said was I was a motherfucker. Are those really her last words? Nothing to add, end of Nick Valentine's last partnership?

I forage in the pieces of counters, sheet metal and torn beams where this good old dog scratches while complaining.

There, a piece of blue... a piece of blue!

No, the piece is attached to a leg, attached to a body, and the body begins to move. I managed to pull her away when she was just starting to panic, and I saw it in her eyes.

Her relief.

As she must read mine on my face. I stretch her my good hand and she grab it without a word, still too shocked.

“Then you suddenly decide you don't have enough scars?”

Anyone would go home for less, but for now, she said nothing. She buries her face in the fur of her dog who has come to help me get her out of there and she lets go of me, wrapping her two arms around Dogmeat's neck.

“Good little one. Good boy." “Hey! I did all the work!”

She gets up, looking empty, then pats the top of my hat two or three times as she passes me.

"Good boy."

Then she sets off again.

One day soon, when her brain will completely fry, I will be accused.

…And I think I'll deserved it.

#nick valentine #nora fo4 #fallout 4

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milazka · 4 years

Text

not the greatest feeling ever | 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: fuck it, i’m not doing a summary, i’m so bad at it. oh! there’s smut btw.

warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of blood, underrage drinking

last thought: i’m proud of this one, took me a lot of time to write, but i think it was worth it! enjoy your reading! love, milz.

─── ° • ❀ ───

The gentle breeze twirls her golden locks in all directions. She hums the lyrics of You never can tell, having watched Pulp Fiction for the hundredth time last night. Her irises are fixed to the slightly damp roadside covered with fresh fallen leaves from this morning rainstorm. The last rays of sunlight caress her baby-like skin as they disappear into the horizon, painting the sky in a mixture of orange and rose.

“C’mon grandpa, you’re slow as hell!” she teases Marcus, turning her head back to stick her tongue out at him. Standing on his skateboard, he sends her the finger, scraping the pavement with his over-used black vans to gain speed and eventually catch up with her.

“That’s how the turtle won the race, dumbass,” he gently nudges her shoulder with his hand as he rides his board besides her. She gives a sharp turn of the handlebars to move her tires out of the sand and back on the pavement, giving him a death glare.

“I almost fell in the ditch, shithead!” he simply laughs, his head falling backward. His dark colored hairs, normally slicked back, are ruffled by the warm September wind, giving him a laid back look that fits him perfectly. She adores hearing his laugh; it's one of the purest and most delightful sounds. It was only recently that she heard him laugh again, having not heard it for months after the day they lost the third musketeer of their trio. It was one of the hardest moments of their lives, but sharing this kind of experience brought them closer than ever. Charlie was there for him when he hit rock bottom, stroking his back while he cried on the shower floor, freezing water running down their damped bodies. She was also by his side the first time he went to therapy, soothingly squeezing his hand before he entered the office.

“If someone had to fall in a ditch, it would be me.”

“You know that Max and I made bet on how long it would take you to fall in a ditch?” she replies, checking his reaction at the corner of her cerulean eyes. He grins.

“How much did you bet?” he curiously asks, one eyebrow arched.

“Fifty bucks,” his eyes almost snap out of their sockets. He stops, stepping off his board.

“Fifty bucks?! That’s insulting, thought I was worth more than that,” he shouts as she makes a u-turn, retracing her steps, stopping in front of him.

“I’ll give you half of it if you wait ‘till June,” Charlie sarcastically says to him, elbows leaning on the handlebars of her bicycle. He caught a glimpse of light in her gaze; a twinkle of amusement he always finds in the corners of her softly crinkled eyes when she smiles truthfully.

“Deal,” he winks at her, drawing a small laugh from her slightly parted lips. He picks up Charlie's polaroid from the basket at the front of her bike, signaling for her to ride so he can immortalize the moment for her. Marcus knows she keeps those famous polaroids in an old converse box as a source of happiness; they're memories of moments she doesn't want to forget.

He takes the little camera to his eyes, snapping a picture when Charlie turns her head to the side to look at him, smiling like there is no tomorrow. As the picture is slowly developing, he hears a squeal of tires and a squeal of surprise from the distance.

“Fuck Charlie!” he shouts, running towards her as she sits, holding firmly her right forearm. His heart tightens at the sight of her painful face, her traits are torn by pain and he can see tears gathering at the corner of her squinted blue eyes. Marcus hates to see her in pain; he knows she's not the type to complain about anything so when he sees her azure eyes filling with water, he knows it's serious.

“You got a few scratches,” he whispers, running his eyes over her legs and arms. “We’ll go to your house and clean you up, okay?” she nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Marcus tucks his skateboard under his arm, grabbing the handlebars and seat of Charlie's bike simultaneously.

─── ° • ❀ ───

“Hold still,” his hazel eyes are focused on the mid-depth cut on her forearm. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, giving him a severe, almost cold sober look. She takes a big gulp of the rich whiskey she borrowed from her father's secret stash.

“Oh fucking hell!” she swears between her clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with the exposed flesh of her forearm. “That’s not the greatest feeling ever,” she whimpers, her forehead resting on his shoulder covered by his green olive shirt.

“I know, angel, I know,” he runs his hand through her blonde hair, gently stroking her scalp in a soothing way. She keeps her head resting against his shoulder, holding back the tears that threaten to run down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m usually the one taking care of you,” he knows it refers as much to all the times he fell off his skateboard as it does to when he hit rock bottom when their friend passed away. Charlie isn't used to being taken care of; she has always been able to look after herself without anyone's help.

Crying is for the weak.

She swallows her tears, putting her mask back on with a slight smile.

“Your new neighbor saw me fall,” she changes the subject, pausing to take another gulp directly from the whisky bottle. “Great way to make a first impression,” a light laugh escapes from her lips, but she halts when she notices his gaze turning away almost discreetly. “What’s wrong?”

Over the years, she has learned to read him like the palm of her hand; she knows he looks away to the left when he is hiding something from her and that he scrapes the back of his neck when he is embarrassed.

“I-I had sex with her,” he blurts out, avoiding her gaze while he still applies pressure on the bandage covering the wound on her forearm.

“Holy shit,” her eyes widened, not expecting this kind of disclosure. “Wait, what about Padma?”

“You know she is not my girlfriend, Charlz,” he sighs, finally sustaining her non-judgmental azure irises. It' s one of the things he likes about her; she never judges him and even if she did, he wouldn't know since she hides it so well.

“Was it good?” she does not insist about Padma, knowing perfectly well that she is the first one to know. He doesn't answer, looking thoughtful as if a million thoughts are running through his head. He steals the bottle of alcohol from her, gulping down a few ounces of the throat-burning liquid.

“What aren’t you telling me, Marcus?”

He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly.

“I don’t know if I was good… God, I don’t even know if she came!” her heart tightens; he looks distraught and she knows that this is a big deal to him, after all, he just lost his virginity. He breathes heavily, his jaw as tightly clenched as his fists.

“Show me.”

“What?!” he opens one eye, eyebrows furrowed as if he was questioning if she was being serious.

“Show me what you did, I’ll tell you if it’s good,”

“You’re drunk, Charlz…I don-” he stops as soon as her silver rings coated hands grip the hem of his olive shirt, grazing the soft skin of his lower abdomen with her fingertips. Sitting on her knees, she brings her head up to his neck, pressing her lips against the skin. The feeling of her wet lips on his burning skin sends a shiver running through his spine.

“I’m sober enough to remember everything and give you my consent,” she whispers to his ear and he almost moans when she slightly nibbles his lobe. Her hands slips to the back of his neck, forcing him to hover over her as she lies on her back.

Both his hands are lingering on the buckle of her belt, struggling to undo it. She clutches his chin with one hand, plunging her reassuring gaze into his. He looks nervous, his hands trembling slightly when he takes off her jeans. She presses her lips to his Adam's apple, feeling him tense up at first, but relax as she sensuously slides her tongue up to his sculpted jaw.

“A-are you good with two figers?” he nervously asks, his right hand resting on the edge of her panties.

“Yes,” he hesitantly slips his hand into her panties, parting her legs with his other hand before sliding his index and middle fingers up and down her folds. She can see him blush when an almost quiet moan escapes her lips at the feeling of his fingers inside her core. He pumps them in and out slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her.

“Try to curl them in a ‘come here’ movement,” she demonstrates with her own fingers. He nods and mimics her actions, making her whimper under him.

“That feels good,” she encourages him. “What did you do next?” she softly asks, rubbing her thumb against his cheek to sooth him.

“Hum, well, we-um, you know, did it,” he says, blushing like a little child who just got his first kiss with the popular girl.

“You didn’t go down on her?” she asks, looking quite shocked. He seemed clueless. “I mean, you didn’t use your mouth?”

“Uh no, should I have?”

“You boys really know nothing about female pleasure,” she sights. “Try watching lesbian porn next time, you will learn A LOT more,” He almost chokes, not expecting to hear this come out of his best friend's lips while his fingers are still inside her. They've always been comfortable with each other, but not to the point of talking about the kind of porn they listen to. The idea of her best friend watching porn and getting herself off almost made him cum in his pants.

“You do know what a cunniligus is, right?”

“God, Charlz, I’m not five years old! Yes, I know what it is!” he exclaims, his ego lightly bruised by her question.

“Well, show me then, playboy,” she challenges him, a cocky smile slipping on her lips. the alcohol going slightly to her head.

He pulls her to the edge of the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed between her legs. His lips kiss the skin on the inside of her thighs, sucking it until he sees a dark red mark appear. He gets rid of her underwear in the blink of an eye before placing her legs over his shoulders. He darts his tongue out of his mouth, licking a long strip between her folds without giving her the chance to acknowledge what was going on. He stops once his tongue rests on the bundle of nerves, licking around it in a circular motion.

“Fuck,” she moans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You really think I've never watched lesbian porn?” he teases her, biting the inside of her thigh, making her body jolt. He dives back his head to her core, sucking her clit into his mouth.

At leats he know where the clit is.

"Oh my god Marcus," she moans, squirming against his grip. He places his arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her body against the mattress. She can feel his two fingers sliding back into her core, the sudden feeling causing her hips to buck up against his face.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me, hun?” he praises her, fingers curling inside her just like she taught him. She could barely feel herself, letting out a series of high-pitched moans as Marcus tongue was working on her bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, her head pressed down against the matress. Her fingers tangle in his dark hair, tucking at the roots as she let out a cry, the euphoric feeling taking over her body for a moment. Marcus looks up to see her eyes shut tightly, her legs shaking on his shoulders. He can feel her core pulsating around his fingers as she comes down from her high.

He took a mental picture of her, engraving this moment in his memory forever.

─── ° • ❀ ───

taglist; @cognacdelights @ellegotohell @janedartist

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savorysatori · 4 years

Text

— 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘. ✗

“choke me, spank me, look at me, thank me.”

— sypnosis: working as a maid in a new house is very exciting, you get the money and everything goes well. although, once you’re introduced to the son of the parents, everything goes down hill.

cw, warning: size kink (?), creep!ushi, pictures without consent, nipple play, gn!reader, non-con, somnophilia, sloppy sex, dry humping, praise, panty stealer ushi.

% wc: 2234.

↷ a/n: y’all have no idea how long this was sitting in my drafts, for fucking 5 weeks plsssss- anyways I hope you all enjoy! this was rlly fun to do. also! shoutout to daisy, this collab was really cool! congratulations on 1K bb. <//3

— @daisy-bakugo, PORNSCAPE EVENT! ilyy.

You were everything he wanted, everything he fantasized about.

[1,000.]

That’s how much they were paying.

It was enough to have you accept the job immediately. It was enough to have you choose between two of the slightly revealing maid dresses and enough for you to be standing in front of the wakatoshi mansion. Briefcase in hand with a bucket of supplies you were instructed to bring. Everything was just right, you were prepared to clean, everything would go well.

The frilly material of the skirt swayed around your thighs and glided against the softness of your thigh-highs. Glistening jewels of your gold bracelets glimmering in the hot sun shining down on your skin. The thin line of thread held up the damp clothes, shredding any of the excess water soaked into them. All of the Wakatoshi’s clothing were fancy. Gold lining stitched in the middle or at the end of the cloth, it was clear they were wealthy. But, it somehow amazed you when your eyes glided to the very end of the line — some shirts & shorts were childlike. Pictures of guns and cars were painted onto a black shirt, it looked like something a 5th grader would do. ‘Maybe they had a child?’ You didn’t know, you only met the parents. Folding up the dry ones, you’d stuff them into the cart and push them towards the other line of clothes swishing in the breezy wind.

You finished doing the daily chores, slipping into their kitchen that was designed well with a beautiful interior. Cold marble was felt up against your skin as you tipped the bottle of wine into your glass, clacking against it. Your glossy lips propped up against the cup and took small sips of the fruity flavor. It slid down your throat and surged a zing of bitterness back up to take in the taste, so sweet and yet so unpleasant at the same time. You’d lick the juice off your lips and place it down steadily on the counter, looking up to see a heady gaze sharped on you.

6’2 and steady build towering over you with dark olive hair — was the wakatoshi’s son. Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Your body stayed still, unmoving. He wasn’t anywhere near a 3rd grader - more like a full grown adult. Tongue peeking out from your teeth to lick the dryness seeping between the cracks, your eyelids hooded.

“Uh- Hello! You must the wakatoshi’s son, I’m the new maid.” Extending your hand out to meet his; his hand stayed at his side, not seeming to shift to engulf yours. You’d drop it back beside you and nipped at your lip when the silence between you both continued.

“Well, I’ll see you around. Nice to meet you.. Ushijima! Your parents told me about you.”

You’d excuse yourself away from his intimidating gaze and close the door behind you. Maybe it’s a good idea to introduce myself another time.

The same look from before followed you out of the kitchen, watching you as you’d take up the laundry basket. His eyes kept gawking at your every move. Staring with every bit of emotion nobody could decipher, Toshi wasn’t a very talkative man and it was visible. He situated himself in the shadows and looked from above, staying out of any scandals his parents were exposed to. He did keep his eye on you. Stepping out of his secure area and making every note to try and approach you without seeming like a creep. His creep intentions did creep up back into his system when you started staying at his house, sleeping in a guest room 8 feet away from his room. It was easy; so easy to sneak into it when the moon raised in the dead of night.

Soft thuds of his feet against the carpet thankfully didn’t alert anyone, giving him the time to steal peeps at your sleeping state. Comforter pulled up. Oversized shirt to cover up the intimate parts of your body he dearly wanted to explore. Soft breaths left your pink lips to breathe it in again, his cock stirring at the sound of it. Toshi knew what was right from wrong, he knew that doing something like this would cost his life — but, dear god you were everything he dreamed of. He couldn’t stop now.

His calloused hands raised the shirt for him to be able to see your tummy, sliding his fingers down to the waistband of your panties. They were so simple and adorned your skin beautifully, keeping the heat between your legs warm just for him. His free hand unzipped his jeans and let them pool at his ankles, such as his boxers. You stirred slightly at the foreign touch, brows creasing forward. He stilled until you relaxed back into slumber, his fingers separated your thighs, and slowly slid the oozing head of his cock between them.

“Ah, princess, f-fuuck.” breath ragged, eyes shut closed to take in the bliss. Contentment streamed through him, his hips rocking against you to feel more, more of you. He was greedy. Toshi was insatiable, he wanted everything of you. He didn’t just want — he needed you. It was a plea. A whine for you, a need. The selfishness ran through his family, that’s how he inherited it. From his family. Was he ashamed? No. Not when you felt so good right now, not when he was about to reach the orgasm he was climbing to.

Sweat fanned down his toned chest, abs glistening with droplets of precipitation. His hips rocked forward one last time, cum spurting from his head and between the soft flesh of your thighs. It was sticky and slimy, rolling down to cover every little spot.

The sight of you sleeping soundly while his cum leaked from between your thighs, made the flaccid touch of his cock stir. You were just so pretty, a pretty little something he wanted to scoop up for himself. And he would do it with no trouble whatsoever. His hand slid down to grab his phone from the floor, lying face down. Toshi aimed right in the frame, snapping a picture for later. He stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans and scurried away from your room, not bothering to clean up the mess of his dry cum smeared on you.

Pressing the ‘start’ button you watched the clothes in the machine swirl with bubbles of soap clouding over them. One hand on the machine and knocking it occasionally to make it turn on again. “Barely working.” You’d mutter.

Despite the Wakatoshi’s being filthy rich, their laundry room wasn’t at all cooperative. There were brown pieces of wood peeling off the wall with stains of what seemed to look like dry substance splattered on it. A bunch of plastic bags and socks were pushed to the corner of the room, dirty ones to be exact. Not much laid in the room other than the things you had listed — except for the posters of lewd manga hanging from the cluttered shelves.

The cool air of the basement door opening brushed up against you, your eyes drifting to see who it was. Standing there was Toshi. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. His expression was the same as always, stern and uninterested. You were both met with the silence from yesterday, uneasiness creeping up back to you.

Bothering not to talk, you turned back to the machine to see it at twenty-one minutes. It was almost done and you could leave to wrench away from the awkward silence you were sitting in. You could still feel his presence, you knew he was there and it was uncomfortable. So many questions were left unanswered in your head, you couldn’t understand them.

The back of your skirt was flipped up to meet your back, his clothed length pressed against you. He was hard. There was no doubt he wasn’t big, and that was what made your eye sockets almost swell out. He slowly rocked the fabric of your panties along with his bulge. Fingernails digging into your hip and pushing you up more to gain more access and spread your legs.

“Ushijima-“ words of confusion scrabbled out from your mouth quickly, “w-what are you doing?”

“Shh.” He jabbed the curve of your back and made you lay pressed against the cold exterior of the rattling washing machine. His words flustered you, it provoked you to stay quiet. You had never heard his voice before and a situation like this only shook your brain into a deeper hole of complication. “J-Just — let me do this, let me try it out. Once.”

And you did. You let him try it just once, you let him delude into the fantasy he had been dreaming of. You let him do it. Once.

You calmed down from the aftershock of his tongue sending you to see stars, arms jerking when the feeling of his hot touch pressing your face against the door of the machine. Your fingers tightening around the handle and pulling on it slightly, cheeks swelling up with heat. The sounds of your whimpers and tiny jolts sent him to push along more, arm encircling around your stomach, his voice breathy against the shell of your ear. You were like a succubus, a being he couldn’t leave nor escape, so alluring, sweet and he had just met you not too long ago.

The smack of his cock meeting his stomach caused you to crank your head back, looking over to see a beautiful sight. Ushijima’s cock was thick, curving gently upwards. The skin was a light shade of cream, and the head was large, pink, expanding tip. “Ushi-“ your voice was wavery, unsure paring with it.

He’d shush you again, angling your leg up as his lips pressed a kiss to your glistening cunt. Toshi took notice of your expressions when he slid into the warmth delves; brows creased together and little words scampering out from your lips. Latching onto the handle and pulling it ever so often when he hit a certain spot, whenever the tip of his cock caressed against your cervix- it was so beautiful seeing you be reduced to a quivering, blubbering mess. A surreal sight he would only see.

“You’re so damn tight. So wet, so willing.. just like that baby.” The pump of his hips made you lose yourself over and over again, a mixture of sounds that were all kinds of slobbery and slurred due to your dizziness. His pace picked up with renewed energy, slick and wet sounds fill the air, sweaty bodies clamping against each other. The whines and pants of his name being drowned out, so pathetic- clinging to the latch and crumbling under his touch. It drove him like a mad man, his brain clattering, the way you took him in with no problem amazed him, you were so inviting and supple.

“S’too b-big! Ushi- ah! -“

The whines of him being too big impaled itself into his brain, your shivering body and cunt wrapped around all together had already made him blank out, now with your pleas, it caused a switch in his head to flip and jack-hammer himself into you. Pump after pump. It made your eyelashes flutter with droplets of tears risking to stream down the fat of your cheeks. His hands holding you firmly, brows furrowed with grunts flowing into your right ear. A grunt rippled from him as his cock throbbed harshly inside you, the feeling making him come undone right there.

“Just like that, ah, fuck you make me feel so good.”

Wrinkled skirt falling to the floor, his cock pulling out of you slowly with globs of cum dribbling out of you, he’d shuffle around till you faced him fully now with a perplexed look on your face. The shirt becoming loose as Toshi’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple, suckling and easing any leftover moans out from your throat. His hands placing you on the machine and attaching his lips back onto your nipple, tongue flat against your sweaty skin.

“Fuck, U-Ushi! holy- fuck, just like that.” Your back straining as you leaned back, gasping and threading your fingers through his hair to balance. Toshi wasn’t one with words, his statue being quiet and still. But, words poured out from his lips at the sound of your moans, when you were so good for him.

“So, good.. pretty. pretty, like a beauty.” He pulled off of it with a squelch, standing up high and cupping your chin to stare in your love drunk eyes. “You were so good for me, yeah?”

You nodded, vision hazy and eyes occasionally blinking to peer up at him with a blurry image. Your head rested in the crook of his neck, sniffling as he picked up the soiled panties from the floor and stuffed them into his back pocket. They were red and pink, swirly designs on them, he found them so cute. He slid your legs around him and walked out of the room, leaving the washing machine to rattle in the background with soap and water overflowing onto the ground.

Ushijima just couldn’t leave you after that day, he stuck to you like glue. Who could blame him? You were everything he wanted, everything he had fantasized about.

#ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #pornscape collab!!👒#cw noncon #cw somnophilia #cw size kink

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junisfics · 4 years

Text

All This Time — Armin Arlert (2)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Part Summary: The morning after isn’t what either of them would expect, but after Reader pushes Armin away… she asks him to come right back

Content: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut

Content Warnings: Sexual Content, Mentions of Masturbation, Implied Smut

Armin couldn’t sleep, he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to lay conscious in your presence forever. So, for a while, he laid there, savoring the feeling of your warm body cuddled up next to him. He would smile to himself whenever you shifted around a little in your sleep just to nuzzle up closer to him, to toss and turn to lay your head on his chest.

He never wanted the morning to come.

He knew the moment that you wake you’d be asking questions. You’d be asking questions or you’d know exactly what happened and you’d kick him out of your bed. You’d be startled and confused and he’d have to explain to you that you were drunk and asked him to stay with you. But then you’d ask why you asked him to stay, and he’d need to explain to you that, while you were drunk, you went on a series of confessions and admissions.

When the sun had just begun to rise over the horizon, and your head was nestled into his shoulder, Armin finally allowed himself to close his eyes.

He didn’t dream. He didn’t get the chance to sleep long enough so his brain could enter that deep state of rest that would even allow him to. He only had feelings. Feelings of contentment, euphoria, nostalgia all washed over him after he closed his eyes.

He’s so in love. He’s in love with you. His heart aches every minute of the day for you, and for this brief passing moment that he has you in his arms, he’s going to pretend that you’re his. He’s going to wish on the morning sun that after this mess passes over that he’ll still have you, and he doesn’t even care if it’s as a friend. Because if Armin can still be the one you cry to at night, he would gladly be your friend over your lover.

He was so grateful as he slept, grateful that whenever he would get that glimpse of consciousness as he turned in the bed that he could still feel your body up against him. He would smile at the little sighs that would leave your lips as you stretched a little in your sleep or when you grabbed ahold of his shirt to anchor you closer.

But Armin wasn’t grateful when you woke.

You had found yourself with your right leg swung over his waist as he lays on his back, your right arm wrapping itself around his neck, and your face nestled into the crook under his jaw. You were laying on top of a chest you didn’t know who it belonged to.

You laid there for a moment, with your eyes wide and staring into the pale flushed skin of his neck as you so desperately try and recall who is in your bed and why they’re there. You were frozen… like you were scared to see who it was.

Finally, you grew the courage to lift your head slightly to peek at their face.

It was Armin. Armin.

Your best friend Armin, that you’ve been in love with for years on end was beneath you in your bed in a position that was far too intimate for you to consider that he had just stayed the night as a friend.

His lips were slightly parted as he breathed, his pretty eyelashes resting against his cheeks that were flushed a cute little shade of pink. His hair was all ruffled and messed, pushed out of his eyes so you could see his entire face.

You weren’t disgusted by him being in your bed… my goodness, it was far from that. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest at the revelation and all of a sudden your body was growing hot and the sheets that remained draped over you were suffocating.

At a second realization of ‘Oh my god, Armin’s in my bed’, you jerk your entire body away from him, scramble out of the bed and stumble to the floor just as he shoots upright in his wake. Your eyes were completely blown wide, your lips were pressed into a tight line and Armin could see your arms shaking at your sides. You looked mortified.

Armin lays with his arms behind him, resting on the heels of his hand as he looks to you with an equally incredulous expression.

“What — what are you doing in my bed?” You ask, voice just above a whisper. You’re too startled to speak any louder.

“You asked me to stay,” Armin says quickly, remaining still like he’s afraid you’ll be startled by any movement.

You take your eyes off him for a moment to scan them across the ground as you think over what could have possibly happened. They flit from side to side, jerking in their sockets as you look over the hardwood floor.

“Did — did we…?” You begin, your chest beginning to visibly heave as you suck in deep breaths.

You don’t know whether you want him to answer that question with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. But some sick twisted part of you was aroused by the possibility that the answer could be ‘yes’.

“No! No — you — you were drunk, I didn’t — we didn’t.” He stammers, pulling the sheets off of him and cautiously getting off the bed.

As horrible as it sounds, Armin was relieved to see that you’d forgotten everything that happened. Although he would have to work to pull that confession out of you again, it was much better than you avoiding him out of embarrassment and regret.

But as you think over what he’s said to you in regards to the night’s events, it slowly comes back to you. It’s all blurry, and for a moment you think you could be mistaking it for a dream, but you can make out the brief image of him in your doorway, then between your legs as you sit on the kitchen counter, and then on top of you on your bed.

And then you remember the conversation that had gone along with it.

“I… I asked you to stay…” You murmur to yourself, bringing your head back up to him as he finally stands on the other side of the bed, “Oh my god.”

You bring one arm around your waist and one clasps over your mouth, and for a moment, Armin’s scared you’re going to be sick. But between your fingers, he can hear you whisper a series of expletives over and over.

“Fuck, fuck — you need to go. Fuck! Armin, I’m sorry.” You exclaim, voice wavering as you take your hand from your mouth to point at your bedroom door.

Armin’s heart sinks into his stomach as he realizes that you have remembered every last thing you’d said to him. Maybe he’s the one who’s going to be sick because the terrified and regretful look on your face as his stomach churning in all the wrong ways.

“Out! Now! Oh my God!” You shout, enunciating with another point to the door. Your voice begins to tremble and…

God, please don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

Armin shuts his mouth and clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes on you as he blindly crosses your room to get to your door. He swallows hard before pausing once he gets to the door.

“y/n —”

“Get out!” You cover your eyes with your spare hand as you feel tears beginning to prick your vision.

You’ve cried in front of Armin before, both happy and sad cries. But you’ve never cried because of him, or something you’ve done to him; and never out of frustration in front of him. And you didn’t want to start now.

Armin flinches at your volume and sheepishly exits your room. You follow him, but only to close the door behind him. You swear you could hear him gasp as it slams.

It hurts your heart to see him cowering away from you, and you add that to the things that cause the tears to finally flow over. Not only did you completely humiliate yourself in front of him last night, but you admit something to him you promised yourself you’d never admit… and on top of that, you had just yelled at him.

Fuck, you yelled at him. He didn’t deserve that.

He came over to your house in the middle of the night, worried about your wellbeing because you didn’t have the nerve to tell him you were just drunk. He babied you and cared for you while you were in his way the whole time, and even though it’s the bare minimum, he didn’t have sex with you even though you begged him to.

He was too good, he didn’t deserve that.

You rest your back to the door, sliding down it until your butt hits the floor as your breathing gets choked up and you threaten to audibly sob. You let out a noise of frustration as you cross your arms over your knees and shove your face into the crook of your right elbow.

You can hear your front door shut as he leaves and it only causes you to let out another shaky groan.

The energy towards crying and groaning does no help to the painful pressure that’s already building in your head. You can feel it ache behind your eyes, throbbing along with your heartbeat and sending jolts of sharp pain through your skull when you blink.

You felt disgusting. You were covered in sweat and tears and your fingers and lips were still sticky with remnants of alcohol. You could still taste it on your tongue; the food and the alcohol. But the medicinal taste of the vodka strongly outweighs the warming remains of the melted butter.

It’s like it was telling you that your mistakes outweighed Armin’s kindness.

You didn’t exactly know why you were crying, you only knew that it came from frustration. It was all just churning around in a pot of distress. It was a vile potion of embarrassment, regret, shame, and humiliation that was being force-fed to you as you sat there on the floor.

Even though you heard Armin’s own confession, you still were overwhelmed with regret. His words were still a little blurry, you were still trying to get a grasp on the weight of them.

I’ve always wanted you too.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of it. You were satisfied with the friendship between the two of you, you never wanted it to change. It was platonic, emotionally intimate at times, but it was platonic. You were twin flames, and you didn’t want your internal desire to rip that away from you.

Being friends, best friends, with Armin was a healthy relationship. You could handle the occasional jealousy and lack of physical intimacy if it saved your friendship. You liked it that way. And now that the barriers were broken, and you had forced Armin to leave, you were terrified of losing him at the cost.

Keeping quiet about your romantic love for him was so easy when you had him in the palm of your hand and knew that he would never leave you, especially since you now know that he shared that feeling back. You both were content with the relationship you had. You both knew that neither of you was going anywhere.

It’s not that you planned to never tell him, you knew that you would eventually. But you were planning for years in the future, or maybe you were hoping to grow out of it. You would be able to sit down with him and bring it on easy, give yourself a choice in how you tell him.

But the premature and impulsive reveal of your truth had startled you and you pushed him away in the process.

So, in a way, you didn’t necessarily regret telling him… it was the way you did it.

And you weren’t the only one freaking out about the ways of your confession. Armin was an absolute mess.

In your mind, you were worried that he was taking your words as the truth, but Armin was doing the exact opposite. His thoughts were flying around like hummingbirds, wings flapping at hundreds of beats a minute. He was stuck between hitting the steering wheel out of frustration or just breaking down crying in his car.

Because in Armin’s head, you remembered exactly what you said and you had caught yourself in a lie. You had recognized that it was the alcohol talking and you didn’t mean a single thing you said; you only said it because you were lonely and needy.

And then, you had also recalled the exact words he had said to you in response. The words that were full of honesty. You had remembered the way he said it and the way he had looked at you, and you had been disgusted by it.

In your drunken lies, he had revealed his truth.

And you were regretful of your alcohol-fueled words because they led him to speak on his true desire.

Now, in his head, you were repulsed by him.

He hits the steering wheel hard, hard enough so that he’s gripping his fist with his other hand and gritting his teeth at the pain that shoots through his arm afterward. And then those tears swell in his eyes, stinging them and blurring his vision as he tries to blink them away.

He’s sucking in breaths through his teeth as he finally pulls out of your complex lot. He wipes at his eyes as he drives home as if he believes he’s not actually crying if the tears don’t fall down his cheeks.

You both were embarrassed; at what you did and what you’re doing. Both of you sniffling pathetically as you keep replaying this morning in your heads. Both of you hating yourselves; you for yelling at Armin, and Armin for what he thinks your yelling was for.

You sat on the floor for a while, eventually bringing your legs away from your chest to cross them under each other. You still sat with your head in your hands and your elbows resting on your knees as you steady your breathing before trying to continue with your day.

You wipe at your face in hopes to push the tears away, but you only spread your flaking mascara around and mix it with the sweat and oil that’s accumulated on your face. It was a gross feeling, and it was the thing that finally convinced you to get up.

Water joined your tears in wetting your face as you splash it on from the tap of your bathroom sink. You scrub a little too hard after you rub your face wash in, almost scratching at your skin to get last night’s both physical and mental remnants off your face and out of your head. The water refreshes your skin as you do a final splash to get the suds off, but it does no help to your headache. It only throbs in your head harder from leaning over the sink.

As you lift your head from spitting toothpaste into the drain, another wave of throbbing pain pulses behind your eyes. And as you stare into the mirror, you decide to prioritize getting pain medicine before continuing to refresh yourself. The cup Armin had got for you last night was still sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, and as you pick it up you let out an audible, melancholic sigh. You watch the remainder of the water swish around at the bottom of the cup as you make your way to the kitchen.

You find the pain medicine already sitting on the counter. You bite at the inside of your cheek upon the realization that he most likely placed it there last night insight of the morning.

You hate him, hate him for the way he cares for you and the way he’s so goddamn selfless. Everything about him had your heart twisting in on itself and chest tightening to where you couldn’t breathe.

That only started a few years ago, junior year of high school. You still vividly remember looking into his deep blue eyes, getting lost in their ocean as you hold his sweet face in your hands. It was after your high school had sent out emails regarding the college admission process. Both of you were unsettled with the idea of leaving.

Armin promised you, over and over, that he’d call and visit and drive to however far you go whenever you need it. And then you had grabbed his face in your hands and said to him, ‘now, don’t go replacing me’. That made him giggle a little, his cheeks heating up under your palms before he said

‘I wouldn’t dare’

That was it for you. And after he had gone home you had sat on your bed… just sitting there, wondering why your heart was feeling the way it did.

It’s been like that since. Every last time you saw him it made your whole soul ache. You fell in love with him; his voice, his touch, his mind. You were absolutely drowning in his ocean and he was holding your head underwater, but all this time you were doing the same to him.

You didn’t make breakfast. The state of the kitchen from your drunken antics was a turn-off, and the alcohol that was still swimming around in your stomach had you feeling a little too nauseous for food just yet.

Deciding to clean up the kitchen was probably the safest option for you right now. You were debating between doing as so, or returning to bed and sleeping the day away. But since Armin still lingered within your sheets, kitchen chores were decided on as you already began to shuffle away measuring spoons to their respective drawers.

As you cleaned, you allowed yourself to think forward, accepting the situation and moving on to figuring out how to deal with it. You haven’t checked your phone to see if Armin had messaged you, but you bet your chances that he hasn’t. You probably scared him, for God’s sake.

The guilt and denial were still simmering as the acceptance was poured into the pot. You knew you needed to apologize for a multitude of things that have occurred within the past twelve-ish hours, starting with the fact that you called him in the middle of the night in the first place. Armin already knows you’re sorry, he can read you like a book, but you need to say it to him. You need to call him or something.

You were at a crossroads once more; did you allow the tension to settle a little while longer, or do you apologize as soon as possible? You had to apologize before he did, because you know damn well he will eventually, even though this situation that wasn’t his fault.

When the bowl with the dry baking goods clashes with the counter and clatters to the floor, spilling its contents all around your feet, you get your answer for you. In an overflow of emotions and frustrated curses, you leave the mess on the floor and blindly search through the house for your phone. When it’s found, you call him again, sniffling and letting yourself cry in defeat.

Armin got your call not even an hour after he had arrived home. He’d ignored his grandparents as they welcomed him home, even though he knew he would regret it later, and dragged himself straight up the stairs to his bedroom to just take a seat on the edge of his bed. He had his head in his hands, heels of his palms pressing into his temples.

And he just sat. Armin sat with his teeth piercing his bottom lip and his mind telling him that he’s never going to be able to be with you the way he was before.

He looked at his phone for a few moments, watching it buzz, face-up on his nightstand. It took him a few moments to register that it was you calling him and not a spam number.

He couldn’t stop himself from picking up.

‘Armin? Armin, I’m sorry — I’m sorry for yelling, just please — please come back,’

It was safe to assume that you were crying. He could hear your hiccuping and sniffling through the phone. All sort of self-respect he had gone out the door once he heard your distress. As much as you hated him for being so kind, he hated you for having him wrapped around your finger.

“What happened?” He asks.

‘I — I need to talk to you and I spilled — spilled shit all over the kitchen. I’m just so fucking — God, Armin I’m sorry!’

The lack of communication was truly hindering both of you severely. Both of your executions were fucked and both of your receptions were equally so because of poor wording. Now, Armin didn’t know what you were mad at and you didn’t know if he was upset in return.

“Can I come help?” He says, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible.

‘Please,’ You beg, and he can still you rustling around on the other end.

Armin relaxes, but only a little, because at least he knew you weren’t mad at him. Or maybe you were, but your own guilt was outweighing it. He had a feeling you were reflecting your self-frustration onto him, he always has a feeling. He knows you too well not to.

It was almost funny how you greet him at the door you had just recently slammed in his face. You had tears running down your cheeks and you were sniffling and coughing as you tried to sputter out a string of explanations. For a moment, Armin could only stand there and watch; watch you speak nonsense while gesturing with your hands.

After a minute or so, Armin realizes that you’ve stopped. He couldn’t make out a single thing you had said, only getting an ear of something that sounded like an apology. But no matter what you had said to him, he outstretches his arms to pull your shaking body against him. And as he holds you close, as your arms wrap around his torso, you can’t stop another wave of tears that drip down your cheeks.

Armin just holds you, like he did last night when he was in your bed. Your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling into the crook of his jaw, and hands grabbing at the fabric at the back of his tee-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, “I didn’t mean to — mean to scare you or — or anything,”

His attempt to comfort you only crumbles you down more because he didn’t need to apologize, he doesn’t have to apologize.

“No, no, no Armin,” You stutter, pushing at his chest to distance yourself enough to look at his face. He lets his hands fall to your waist, keeping a tight enough grip on you to not let you escape. You look up to him for a moment before looking down to his chest, hitting against it softly out of frustration, “Don't — don’t apologize. You don’t need to apologize,”

“I want to,” He tilts his head down slightly.

“Don’t! Please. This — this is my fault. I never — I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted to see you last night. I wanted to see you because I love you. I love you, like, more than I should, and I didn’t mean to tell you last night. I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry,” You grab at his shirt again, tugging on it and stretching it out.

“y/n —” He begins.

“And I scared myself because — because I didn’t mean to say it then and — and I didn’t think you were going to say it back. I just — I don’t know,” You take in a shaky exhale before letting it out.

Armin feels like he can breathe again. You were sincere last night, you were telling the truth, and you weren’t disgusted with him. Armin could breathe again because he knew the feeling was mutual.

You let yourself bring your cheek back to his chest, bending your elbows to bring yourself close to him. Armin lets his arms slide around your waist, pulling you against him again to hopefully convey that ‘this is okay’

“I embarrassed myself… and I yelled at you because of it and — and you don’t deserve that.” You mumble a little softer, into the soft skin of his neck.

You can feel his chest shift around beneath your cheek as he breathes, and you can hear his heart beating quickly but steadily under your ear. You don’t want to leave him this time, you don’t want to jerk away from his touch. But you’re also scared of what will happen when you do have to pull away from him.

So you let yourself stay like this for a while, and Armin doesn’t protest. He continues to caress the skin of your back through that skimpy tanktop you’re still wearing and rests his cheek against the top of your head. He could stay like this forever, the same way he could have when he was in your bed last night.

“I meant what I said,” Armin says, stilling his hands until only his thumb gently circles over your shirt, “That I’ve always… wanted you — and loved you,”

With your body still pressed against him you say, “All this time… it — it was always you. I just didn’t know how to say it and I didn’t want to scare you away,”

“You could never,”

“And I was worried about what would happen after I told you. I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t feel the same way. I couldn’t lose this.” Your voice has shrunk down to an almost whisper, and you’ve shut your eye and let yourself sink deeper into his skin.

“God, y/n,” Armin can’t stop the breathy laugh that leaves his lips, “You — you have no idea,” He pushes on your shoulders gently to look at your face.

“Why are you laughing?” You look up to him, a little confused and concerned look on your face.

“I’m not. I just — you have no fucking idea how — how crazy I am for you,” Armin grabs ahold of your face hard enough so your cheeks get smushed slightly beneath his palms. Your own hands come up to his forearms, just grazing them.

“I don’t know how you didn’t see it,” He whispers, looking into your wide eyes with admiration.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and you hope that Armin can feel your cheeks heat up beneath his hands. He was so close, he was right there, he was looking down to you with his nose an inch away from yours.

“Do you — do you remember what I said last night?” You breathe, leaning forward ever so slightly.

God, how could he forget?

“Which… which part?” Armin could barely think. You were rising on your toes, your breath fanning over his lips. He could feel your body trembling as you brought yourself closer to him.

“When I said that I want you,” You mumble, looking to his lips for a brief moment. Armin catches the flit of your eyes and he can feel his stomach twist, “that I need you,”

“Yeah,” Armin can’t stop his voice from shaking, “What — what do you need from me?”

And he knows the answer, he knows the answer, he just needs to hear you say it. He needs to hear your sweet voice speak words so lewd that he’ll feel like his knees have turned to jelly.

“I want you to fuck me, just like you promised. I’m sober this time, I slept it off.” Your breathing is so shaky, your voice is all strained to the point where it could pass for a whimper.

Armin can feel your words flow straight south, swimming below his navel and hardening his cock. He looks over you, over your face and your body that’s still exposed by your revealing clothes. He wants to tear them off.

“We can talk more later. I need you, so bad.” You bring your hands to his chest again, taking the stretched fabric in your fingers and tugging him closer.

“Yeah?” Armin nods in confirmation, he would tease you if he had the courage to.

“Yeah,” You nod, biting down on your bottom lip. You rise on your toes again, bringing your body flush against his. You can feel his cock hard in his sweats against your stomach, can feel his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Can — can I have you, please.” You slide one hand down his chest, shivering at the way the lean muscles in his abdomen divet under your fingertips. When you reach his waistband, you stop, toying with the strings with your right hand.

Armin answers you by grabbing ahold of the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his. They’re soft and warm, and they make your insides go all fuzzy and you practically whimper at the sensation. Your legs were already shaking due to the close proximity but now you’re deathly afraid of your knees buckling.

He felt so right up against you, with his hands holding you close and his tongue licking at the seam of your lips. He had you melting so quickly that you cannot believe you forced yourself to wait this long to tell him.

Even though your body was all tense, something inside you relaxed. Armin was here with you, he wasn’t leaving.

#armin arlert smut #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x reader smut #armin smut #armin x reader #armin x reader smut #all this time #1k

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221bshrlocked · 3 years

Text

Show Me Your True Colors

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Words: 14092 (I swear this was supposed to be a short oneshot but it got out of hand. I'm so so sorry.)

Warnings: 28% smut, 72% plot. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Oral (male and female receiving). Fingering and Squirting due to overstimulation. Some dom/sub elements but not full-on. Creampie. Rough handling (e.g. hair-pulling, spanking, hand-binding, some more hair-pulling). I think that's all?!

Inspired by these posts [x] [x] and by this lovely artist. Thanks @danniburgh for humoring me with my thots.

A/N: I came back from my temporary hiatus to post this because I couldn't wait. And now I shall return to my little corner again. Sorry guys these school/administrative issues are taking longer to deal with so I'm for the most part still away. This is not beta'd. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments please and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy. And you can add yourself to the taglist here.

It’s such a different atmosphere, from what he remembers at least. It’s been so long since he stepped foot on a university campus, and he can’t help but smile at the spectrum of personalities all around him. While some students lounge underneath the trees and on the grass, others ran hastily to their courses. Those were probably freshmen.

As he makes his way through the campus, he has to look at his phone numerous times to figure out where exactly he was going. That’s definitely one thing he didn’t miss about being in school, the fact that he was shit in directions and how he almost always got lost during the beginning of each semester.

When he does finally find the art history department, he silences his phone and heads to the first office he can find.

“Good afternoon, my name is Nicola. How can I help you?”

“Hi Nicola, I’m here to see Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I was wondering if you could direct me to her office please?” Marcus smiles as he unbuttons his suit jacket, not realizing that his FBI tag was now visible to the world.

“She’s currently in one of her lectures, you could-” Marcus follows Nicola’s line of sight when she grows quiet and groans when he sees that she noticed his FBI tag.

“Please, she’s not in trouble. I am part of the FBI Art Crime Team, and I’m actually coming to ask if we could get her professional opinion on an artifact. Just need her to consult on something.” He smiles at Nicola and waits for her expression to relax before he continues.

“Do you mind telling me which lecture hall she’s in?”

“Y-yes, she’s in H140. Make a right at the door and it’s the hall all the way at the end.”

“Thank you Nicola, have a good day.” Marcus nods at her before he buttons his jacket again to avoid any suspicious, terrified looks as he makes his way to the lecture hall. He walks quietly, avoiding the students walking past him as they exit the rooms. When he reaches the door, he turns the knob slowly to not make any noise, hoping that he wasn’t being too disruptive once he walks in. As he shuts it behind him and looks around, his eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

There are at least 250, maybe 300 students filling the seats of the room. He awkwardly smiles when some students look to the side and see him standing at the foot of the door. He quickly takes a seat and says nothing as the students return their attention to the large projected screen. Marcus hears what he assumes is your voice through the large speakers but he can’t place your position. As he looks at the projected images, he finally catches you through his peripheral vision as you step off the railing near the exit doors at the front of the room.

“Because of this association with the gods, many amulets used to ward off the evil eye include depictions of mythological figures and deities who are almost, if not always, female. To the Greeks and Romans, the most common fascinations with an evil eye were women in any shape or form. They were thought to have the most powerful and harmful gaze that might kill if eye contact was established. That’s basically me telling you to never look me in the eye or else I will curse the cow of your second cousin twice removed.” Laughter reverberates off the walls at your joke and only grows louder when you whisper, “just kidding...or am I?” Marcus can’t help but smile at your jokes, watching with fascination as you move up and down the stairs of one side of the lecture hall once you continue to speak.

“Now, I know what some of you are thinking...isn’t that a bit sexist? Well, to the ancients, no. And to us, it’s kind of a meh thing. I know that doesn’t sound very feminist of me but it all comes down to the culture and the ancient practices that carried over. Just remember that it wasn’t because they were women, it was because they were thought to be powerful...a glass half-full kinda thing.” Marcus watches you closely as you maintain your focus on the students before you switch the slide and stand in the middle of the stairway with your back towards the projector.

“So, we find goddesses such as Erinnyes or the Furies associated with the evil eye because of their avenging nature. Their heads were covered in serpents and their eyes were always bloodshot and one of the Furies by the name of Megaera was considered in late antiquity as the personification of envy and whose eyes were the most envious and deadly of all the Furies. She was described by poets as baskanon omma pherousa...bearing the evil eye. Naturally, many children in late antiquity constantly wore amulets of stone galactite to protect them from the eyes of Megaera, and sometimes even wore necklaces with her face on it to counteract the evil eye of someone else and have her curse the ones who tried to harm them. Basically, the ancients were playing a game of tag with the evil eye.” You descend the stairs and walk to the other side of the hall, and Marcus feels his chest tighten with how much confidence you exude, not just through your words but with how you carry yourself as well.

“Perhaps the most famous of these dangerous women is Medusa who was one of the Gorgones in Greek mythology. The Gorgones were one of many female beings such as the Harpies, the Erinnyes, the Graiae, and the Keres, who were said to be grim-faced, and who held horrible looks. Briefly, the story tells of how she was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the earth and later became hateful-looking by Athena as punishment for being raped by Poseidon in the middle of the huntress’ temple. Her hair became serpents and she was so furious that anyone who would look at her would turn into stone...at least that is the version you will hear from the “all-knowing” male scholars within this field. But, and I know I’m going on a rant here, if you’re like me, you’re more likely to argue that Athena pretended to hate Medusa. The serpents were no punishment! The goddess looked at the poor woman and gave her a weapon to use against men because unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything to avenge her...not only because she didn’t get along with Poseidon but also because he was a god as well. Anyway, back to Medusa’s amazing power which I would love to have so I could use it whenever I’m talking to some professors in this department...don’t quote me on that.” Again, Marcus chuckles at your side commentary and notices how calm and enjoyable the atmosphere of the lecture is. If only he had professors like you when he was in university.

“Even after she was decapitated by Perseus, her powers were very much alive and it is said that Athena placed Medusa’s image on her shield, once Perseus returned it, in order to use it when she hunted. This suggests that depictions of her severed head held apotropaic power and like earlier, one could use a creature who held the power of the evil eye against another being who is said to use the evil eye. Following this principle of similia similibus, it is not surprising that most of the amulets found in Greece and Rome contained illustrations of Medusa’s decapitated head on them. What was once the possessor of the evil eye became a protective symbol against the very same thing.” Just as you are about to continue with the next image, an alarm goes off and Marcus frowns in shock at how inconsiderate it was that phones weren’t silenced. But his surprise only heightens when he sees you running down the steps to your desk and picking up the phone sitting in the middle of the table.

“Ahhhh man, we were just about to get to the cavalier. That’s okay. Remember, the second response is due first thing on Friday. If you can’t turn it in during class, shoot me an email and we can work something out with my TAs. Go forth my clever spawns!” Marcus stands up and glues himself to the wall when he sees students emptying the lecture hall, his eyes on your form at the front of the class. He hopes you don’t leave out of the front exit and begins to make his way to you through the multitude of undergrads leaving. When he reaches your desk, he stands to the side until you finish chatting with one of the students and begins to collect your work.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Please, it’s just Y/N. Who are you and how can I help you today?” You almost do a double take when you look up from your bag and see the man standing in front of you. To say that you were starstruck by the man in front of you would have been the understatement of the century.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike,” he holds out his FBI tag for you and watches as you raise an eyebrow at him before you swing your bag across your shoulders and motion for him to follow you out of the hall.

“I would like to put it on record that I do not, in fact, wish to turn any of my colleagues to stone.” You joke, and Marcus senses that you are perhaps nervous at seeing his tag.

“Believe me, I would like to do that to some of mine as well...but no, not why I’m here.” Marcus clips the tag below his jacket as he walks with you.

“May I ask what I have done that caught the FBI’s attention?” You walk ahead of him, and ask him if it was okay for him to head over to your office with you.

“I’m with the FBI Art Crime Team and I’m here on a request. We would like to consult you on an open investigation and I came here to ask what your availability is.” Marcus follows you up the stairs, barely forcing his eyes to remain on your feet instead of elsewhere.

“Oh, me? That’s...wow. Of all the things I thought I would accomplish in my life, that’s definitely not one of them. May I ask what it is you need my opinion on?” You push open the doorway of the staircase and point at your office across the quiet hall.

“Unfortunately, there is a lot of paperwork you need to fill out before we get to work so I can’t disclose anything about the case until you sign in.” Marcus steps into the office behind you and watches as you set your things down before you move to your desk. He can’t help but feel his muscles loosen at the sight of the bookshelves across your room.

“This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me all year long so yes, hundred percent. I’m available for the rest of the day today as well as tomorrow and Friday after lecture which ends at the same time as today’s.” You beam up at him as you take two books out of your bag and replace them with a folder that was sitting in the middle of your desk. Marcus looks at you quizzically, marveling at how much easier this was going. He genuinely thought he was going to meet with someone who was probably a bit proud and perhaps as much of an asshole as his previous professors but you were so much different than anyone he’s ever met within this field.

“Are you sure? I understand if you need to take a week or two-”

“No please, you’ll be saving me from faculty lunches and two seminars by colleagues that I genuinely cannot fucking stand- oh, sorry. Sorry, didn’t mean to-” You swing your leather bag around your shoulder again and shut the blinds of the windows before you walk to the door.

“Please, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” Marcus chuckles at the excitement rolling off of you and bites his lower lip when he watches you quickly fix your hair.

“I might need to have lunch on the way to your office though if that’s okay?” You take a plastic container out of your bag and smile sheepishly at him as you lock your door.

“Wow...is your bag bigger on the inside or something? And, yeah fine by me.” He pushes his hands into his pockets again and walks next to you, a little corner in his heart gradually filling with hope letting him know that he should be cautious. He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

You both chat briefly on your way to headquarters and Marcus apologizes every time he looks over and sees you struggling with your food. By the time you make it to the building, Marcus can tell you are a bit nervous and he assures you once more that this was merely a consultation.

“Wait how did you even find me?” You take your jacket off along with everything in your pockets, laying them down near your bag as they go through the scanner. Marcus passes through with his badge and waits for you on the other side, picking up your things as you put your jacket back on.

“I made some calls and a friend suggested to get in touch with you because of your expertise.”

“Oh now we’re getting somewhere. You have a Greek artifact don’t you?” Marcus halts in his steps and looks over to you as he shuts his eyes in irritation. He should have watched what he said.

“S-sorry I couldn’t help it. I’ll stop until I fill out whatever paperwork you have for me.” You take your things from him and walk quietly as he leads you to the elevators.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not personal, it’s just-”

“Business I know. I know. I’m so used to watching this kind of stuff in movies that I tend to forget it’s all fake and you’re...the real deal.” You hope he doesn’t see the way your eyes trail over his taller form, silently cursing yourself when you meet his eyes and notice how he’s already staring at you with a smile.

“Sorry.” You apologize again and look straight ahead, hands tightening around the leather strap when you realize that he’s still looking at you.

Marcus fists the hands in his pockets to prevent himself from saying anything else that might make you uncomfortable, and he looks at the increasing numbers as they reach his floor. A loud ring signals your arrival and Marcus stretches out his hand so you could walk ahead of him. You wait until he tells you where to go and say nothing when he stops for a second and whispers something to another agent.

When you arrive at his office, you stand to the side and wait for him to tell you what to do.

“What’re you doing all the way over there? Come here.” Marcus calls you over to his desk and smiles, hoping to put you a little at ease. You step towards him and set your stuff on the floor as you sit opposite him on one of the two chairs. He pulls out a couple of files and sets them in front of you in four different piles.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.” You chuckle nervously as you take out a pen from your bag.

“I know, I’m sorry. But that’s why I’m here. These are the building rules and your signature is basically you telling us you’ll abide by all of them.”

“I don’t know any of them.” You respond immediately, and rub harshly at the pen between your fingers.

“I’ll be with you at all times so you don’t have to worry about that.” His smile throws you off guard and you nod before you sign the highlighted areas.

“And these are you swearing that you will tell no one of whatever you see, hear, do, etc. within the building.” You nod and sign through the stapled paperwork before sliding them his way.

“We’re almost done. These two are like the second pile but they have to do with this case specifically. And they extend to outside the premises, meaning that if I or another agent on the case tells you anything that has to do with your work here today while we’re grabbing coffee from across the street, you can’t say it to a living soul.” Marcus points at the four highlighted boxes and tells you to sign the date next to them as well.

“So I can say it to my dead cousin?” You ask as you sign the two papers and hand them to him, unable to hold your laughter when he shakes his head as he pushes the last pile towards you.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“Can’t help it.”

“And finally, these are you swearing that whatever you tell us today, be it an opinion, a fact, or anything else, is the absolute truth. Basically, you’re not fucking with us.” You raise an eyebrow at his choice in words and he shrugs his shoulders as he motions for the empty spaces again. When you’re done, Marcus collects all the files and places them in a folder before he unlocks his desk and pushes them inside.

“I don’t ever want to see my signature again.” You whisper as he leads you out of the office towards a conference room. He holds the door for you and nods ahead, waiting for you to step in before he shuts the door behind him and turns around. You try to ignore the hand pushing on your lower back as you walk in and spot three gentlemen and one woman standing towards the end of the long table.

“Wow, that was quick.” The female agent is first to speak and you say nothing as Marcus introduces you to them.

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice.”

“Of course. This is very exciting for me so I’m happy to help in any way.” You shake her hand and stand to the side as Marcus motions for you to sit down.

“This is Lydia, Ethan, Henry, and Noah.” Marcus points to each member of his team as he pulls out a chair next to you and sits down.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You nod towards them and look at the folder that Lydia hands to you. Marcus says something as you flip open the folder but you can’t respond, eyes almost falling out of their sockets as you take in the large image on the page. You look up at Marcus and everyone else before you return your attention to the picture.

“You recognize what this is then?” Ethan breaks the silence and watches as you move through the pages quickly.

“Umm, that seems like an oversimplification but yes.” You continue to study the images in front of you for another few minutes before you set them down and look up at Marcus.

“Some explanation would really help me out right now.” You tap softly on the papers, and your mind conjures up the wildest possible stories behind the images currently displayed in front of you.

“Oh right yes. We received a tip from the Smithsonian’s acquisitions department about a man trying to sell them this artifact for three million dollars,” Marcus notices your eyes widen but he continues, “but they’re not sure if it’s stolen or not. And he refuses to cooperate.”

“Which is where you come in. Have you seen anything like this before and if so, where?” Lydia stares at you as you return your attention to the pictures again.

“And the Smithsonian can’t confirm this?”

“Far from it. Marcus here is just afraid they’ll eventually get greedy and do anything to get their hands on it.” You look next to you and watch a faint blush take over the agent’s handsome features.

“I mean I don’t blame you. There are a bunch of real assholes in this field.” You laugh when he gives Lydia a ‘told you’ look.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to help you if I don’t see the actual pendant.” You shut the folder and push it away from you.

“That might be a problem.” Henry takes his glasses off and proceeds to clean them as he looks at his co-workers.

“Why? Do you not have it anymore?” Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of the FBI losing such an object.

“Oh no we have it. Our guy is afraid we’ll switch it out with a fake so he refuses to hand it to us unless he’s in the same room.”

“That’s funny. Is there a rule that says I can’t look at it while this man is in the room?” You ask Marcus and he can’t help but notice how giddy you’re being all of a sudden. Your excitement is almost palpable and he wills himself to focus on the question and not how you bite your lower lip as you wait for him.

“I mean…”

“You’re all going to be in the room aren’t you?” You cut him off before he says anything and when they all nod, you turn to Marcus once more and wait for his response.

“I guess it’s fine.” Marcus reluctantly answers before he asks Ethan and Noah to bring the man from the interrogation room he’s been in for the past couple of hours. Lydia and Henry let you in on more details and Marcus watches as you furrow your eyebrows in focus, occasionally cutting them off to ask them a question.

Fifteen minutes later and a knock on the door breaks you out of your haze. You look up just as Ethan and Noah walk in with a man in front of them. You say nothing as they bring him to your side of the room and set him down across from you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t steal it. I found it!” Your ears perk at his comment but you say nothing as he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you.

“May I see it?” You ask before anyone else says anything and the man continues to stare at you before he ignores your question.

“Please, I’m just here to confirm your story. I know for a fact there isn’t a museum out there that has this.” You notice the hardened expression on Henry’s face but he says nothing. A few long moments pass by and the man shifts to take something out of the inside his jacket. You inhale deeply and watch as he unwraps the cloth before he places the small pendant on the table in front of you.

“May I?” You ask again and if Marcus didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just trying to put the man at ease. If you were nervous around five FBI agents and you did nothing wrong, then his little thief must have been scared shitless.

When the man nods, you bring out a pair of gloves from your handbag and put them on, forcing yourself to remain calm as you pick up the pendant.

“What a beautiful work of art you are baby. Red jasper, my favorite!” Your excited words break the silence and you look up at the man in front of you with a smile, feeling your hands sweat when he slowly returns the expression.

Got you.

“Greek is marvelous...crystal clear, grammatically correct, unique placement.” It’s as silent as a cemetery and Marcus watches you closely as you narrow your eyes and adjust the stone under the light. If he wasn’t dealing with a criminal and a potentially stolen artifact, he would have told you how beautiful you looked when you were deep in the middle of a task.

“Hmm, what is this 6th century-ish spell? Oh my bad, no no no, I tend to mix them up sometimes. It’s definitely a 7th century formula.” You make an awkward face and watch as Lydia shakes her head at your little mix up.

“Now, let’s see what you got on the other side sweetheart.” You carefully turn the amulet around in the palm of your hand and barely hold back from gasping dramatically.

“My god...what a goddamn sight...oh oops sorry, that was probably blasphemous. A perfectly etched crucifixion...cross with 4 sides, with a plaque at the top...and of course, can’t forget the clothed Christ. The detail on this is truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen, down to the ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare’ around the figure. Where did you say you found it again?” You casually ask as you continue to inspect the stone, almost laughing when the man responds immediately to your question.

“Mount Athos.” Marcus turns to his team in shock. You’d managed to get the information out of him so easily while they spent an entire day trying to get him to say anything. It was a little funny how at ease the man seemed now, leaning forward towards you as you flipped the stone around.

“Ohh the hub of Eastern monasteries. Boy is this the most valuable artifact I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at then.” You set it down on the cloth and wrap it up before taking your gloves off and leaning back on the chair.

“See, told you its one of a kind. No one’s ever found anything like it before.” The man beams at you before he takes the object and puts it back in his jacket.

“Oh yeah it’s one of a kind alright...because it’s the most fake amulet I’ve ever had the misfortune of examining. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this disappointed in my life. And here I thought another one of these was out there. Did you even bother to do any research on this?” You frown at him and cross your arms in irritation, completely missing Marcus’ reaction and how he turns to Lydia to confirm that yes, you just said that it was a fake artifact.

“W-what?”

“I’d love to know where you got the red jasper because you could have fooled me with that. Let’s break this down shall we? The Greek is perfect, too perfect if I’m being honest. You never have grammatically correct syntax etched on a magical amulet, let alone proper diction. Oh and you should have probably used Classical Greek instead of modern Greek, like were you even trying? Really bad move to use a 7th century formula with a non-altered 6th century spell. The formula didn’t even exist yet!” You tilt your head to the side and watch as the man in front of you begins to fidget. His smile is replaced with a shocked expression and you watch as it slowly becomes angry.

Marcus was speechless. He never saw this coming and was looking at you with a mixture of awe and surprise at the turn of events. He could only stare at you as he took in your energy, the same confidence and intelligence he saw earlier in the day when he walked into your lecture.

“As for the back, you never get 4-sided crosses with these, only three, and the head of Christ makes up the fourth which you don’t actually see because of his head. No plaque, too detailed and non-existent in protection spells. Christ is always nude on magical amulets by the way...yes it’s weird, but it’s a fucking amulet and he was just some extra deity. And finally, never, ever, write out ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare.’ You write the acronym IXOYE.” You flip open the folder that was in front of you and grab a sharpie from Marcus’ file, circling the first letter of each Greek word and holding it up as if he was one of your students and you were trying to lecture him.

“Don’t even get me started on your provenance. Mount Athos? I mean for fuck’s sake, Constanza would have been a better option. At least we actually found amulets out there. How much was he asking for this?” You turn to Marcus and completely miss the starstruck eyes he’s giving you. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he finally realizes that you asked him a question.

“Uhhh 3 mil.”

“Oh boy...yeah, this is worth jack shit. Wouldn’t even do it’s intended job if you actually wore it as a protection pendant.” You watch as the man’s expression changes from anger to outrage and you barely have any time to push away your chair and hide behind Marcus before the man tries to jump on top of the table towards you. It takes Ethan and Noah approximately five seconds to tackle him down before they take him out of the room. You watch as they reach for the amulet in his pocket and give it to Henry just as they push him out.

You’re still coming down from the adrenaline rush when Marcus turns around and asks you if you are alright. As soon as you see the gun in his hands, your hold on his jacket tightens and you gulp nervously when you meet his eyes. He apologizes quickly once he sees where you’re looking and quickly puts the gun back in its holster.

“You okay?” Marcus holds your wrist and rubs his thumb over your pulse point until you begin to relax. You fix your jacket and take a deep breath before you meet his eyes, almost gasping when you see how dark and oddly calming they are.

“Didn’t think a consultation would get this exciting but uhh, yeah I’m good. I think.” You try to laugh it off but looking at the object in Henry’s hand makes you realize that the last five minutes did really happen and you actually managed to piss off someone to the point where he tried to attack you.

“And we were worried it was stolen…” Lydia shakes her head when she takes the amulet and swirls it around in her hand.

“I might be wrong but I think you should try to find out who made it, especially because of the red jasper. This came real close to a fake. And you should also try to date it as well...there might be more of these out there.” You smile when Lydia agrees and collects the folders on the table, thanking you on her way out.

“My pleasure...apart from that last bit.” You laugh it off and watch as she exits the conference room with Henry.

“So…” You turn to Marcus and whisper a quick thank you when he hands you your bag.

“So, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to consult on this case. I- I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that this happened. It’s not always like this, I promise. The exciting stuff usually happens when we find guys like him in abandoned warehouses.” Marcus continues to word vomit as he leads you back to his office.

“It’s okay really. My advisor always warned me about this.”

“About working with the FBI?”

“No no, about rambling so much that I piss off someone to the point where they try to kill me.” You’re taken aback by Marcus’ laugh and can’t help but giggle along with him as he leans back in his chair and continues to laugh.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you won’t work with us again?” There’s something in his voice that doesn’t ease the butterflies in your stomach and you place your hand on your chest dramatically as you bat your eyes at him.

“Why Agent Pike, are you trying to recruit me to the FBI?” You ask sarcastically and watch as he shrugs his shoulders before shutting off his computer and standing up.

“Just a consult here and there, should we meet another Greco-Roman artifact? Or...a fake one I guess.” You swallow the lump in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you and hope that you’re not misreading any signs.

“Can I take you out to dinner? As a thank you and an apology for putting your life in danger?” Marcus is reluctant to ask but he takes the leap of faith and hopes that you wouldn’t reject him.

“I- actually...in all honesty, I don’t think I’ll do well in public after that whole thing.” You gesture towards the outside offices, and Marcus nods in disappointment and contemplates on whether he should ask you to dinner some other time. You never give him a chance to follow-up though.

“How about take-out at my place?” You stand up and smile when you see his eyes beam with excitement as he fixes his tie and motions towards the door.

“Lead the way doctor.” You flush under the title and walk ahead so he doesn’t notice the obvious effect he’s having on you. You glance at Marcus every now and then as you make your way out of the building and towards his car.

You chat about random things as he drives through the busy streets, and you feel your heart skip a beat when he says something scandalous about your favorite Impressionist artwork, not because of the comment but because of the way he winks at you as he slides his hand to your thighs and nudges them to let you know he was just joking. You hope that Marcus asks for your number by the end of the night, maybe even invite you to dinner again, because if you’re being honest, it’s been a while since you met a decent guy and he’s been checking all of your boxes all day long.

Kind. Intelligent. Hard-working. Funny. And of course, attractive. There was something about the way he smiles and you kept on replaying the moment he hid you behind him and continued to ask if you were alright.

“What do you mean you don’t like Bal du moulin de la Galette? It’s one of the most magnificent paintings out there. Best of Renoir’s if you ask me.” You unlock the door and switch on the lights, throwing your coat and bag on the wall before telling Marcus to make himself at him. He takes his jacket off and hangs it as well, turning around to continue his argument.

“Listen, I’m just not a crowd kind of guy. I’m more of a Paris Street, Rainy Day man okay so-”

“Why am I not surprised by that?” You laugh as you bring him a cup of water, hoping you were being subtle as you continued to check out the gun resting in his holster. Shaking your head, you take your phone out again and tell him that it’ll take you a few minutes to order pizza since neither of you can make up your mind.

Marcus looks around when you walk away to place the order, his eyes taking in the three bookshelves behind your couch. It’s almost as if the office space wasn’t enough so you had to make more room for all of your textbooks and novels. Maybe it was the other way around…

He takes a sip of water and glances to the side, instantly choking on the liquid when his eyes zero in on the three watercolor paintings hanging above your television. Marcus blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. He approaches the wall and looks between the three artworks, unable to tear his gaze away. He notices new details every time he focuses on a different corner of each painting, and his pants suddenly feel uncomfortable when he shifts closer.

“Pizza will be here in thirty-ish minutes and-” You almost drop the phone when Marcus jumps back and almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” When you walk closer and see the blush creeping down his neck, you can’t help but giggle and glance at your paintings, almost as if you were taunting him into commenting on your choice in decoration.

“These are...interesting.” Marcus avoids looking at them when you stand next to him, merely pointing to the side as he looks at you.

“Oh no...here we go. I know what that means. You don’t like them?” You tilt your head to the side and hold back from smiling when he takes a long sip of water before he sets down the glass.

“N-no no, that’s not...I didn’t mean- I just...it’s a bold choice.” His stutter makes you laugh even harder and you apologize when his blush deepens. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s always really funny when people come over because I get all kinds of reactions but you’re definitely the first guy that doesn’t call me a slut because I have pornographic paintings hanging in my living room.”

“Why not? The Dutch lords and the Italian merchants did it, why can’t you?” Marcus is almost offended by the remark and he forgets all about the awkwardness of the paintings when he sees you nod aggressively in agreement.

“Exactly!? Why is a guy allowed to hang an Odalisque in his home but I can’t hang some BDSM scenes?” You take the glass from the table and ask him if he wants more. Marcus shakes his head and quickly attempts to fix himself through his pants before you return.

“So you like them then?” You lounge on one chair and wait for Marcus to sit on the couch before you ask him.

“It’s a different aesthetic I think, and it somehow goes well with your bookshelves. Something about textbooks and nude paintings depicting sex just goes together...can’t explain how. And kudos to the artist too! The brushstrokes, the layering, the complementary colors...the scenes and positions are so natural. They’re perfect combinations. Did you pick them or did you commission them?”

“Oh I commissioned two of them. The third was just too good to not order. I’ll ask you this then, which ones do you think I commissioned?” Marcus glances to the canvases again and grows quiet for a few moments, his eyes switching from one painting to another before he meets your gaze.

“I think you commissioned the two on the left.”

“Why?” You try to hide how impressed you are by how he correctly figured you out, almost cringing when the question leaves your mouth before you could stop yourself. As much as you enjoy where this conversation was going, you really hope this wouldn’t lead to some misogynistic response on his part. Just as Marcus is about to respond, the doorbell rings and you tell him you’ll be right back.

Marcus thanks the heavens that the pizza arrives because he isn’t sure how he could respond to that question without accidentally giving his train of thoughts away. When you come back with plates and napkins, Marcus thanks you and proceeds to separate the pizza slices.

“It was the closest I could get to owning something that resembled the area I study.” You say through chewing and Marcus furrows his eyebrows, silently asking you to elaborate on your comment.

“Nudity I mean. I can’t afford sculptures so I settled with these.”

“They are beautiful. And the positions are-” Marcus stops abruptly when he realizes that his inner monologue just rolled off of his tongue.

“Go on, what were you going to say?”

“I- uh, I just think that the positions are intimate. And they become more intimate the longer you look at them.” He chews faster when you nod and take another slice of pizza.

“You have a favorite?” You ask and pretend you aren’t paying attention to every single word he says. You get the sense that he has a lot to say about the paintings but is choosing to hold back so you don’t get the wrong idea about why he is having dinner with you in your apartment after only knowing you for a few hours.

“Definitely the middle one.” His answer surprises you, especially because the one on the right has handcuffs and you genuinely thought he’d be into that because of his line of work.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh...I- this might sound weird but I think the scene is intense and- and close? Private? I’m not sure what it is I’m trying to say but the fact that she’s completely nude except for the panties around her thighs while he’s fully clothed and is focusing on her pleasure is- it’s intimate. And the hand on her back is a mixture of dominance and care, like he’s letting her know that she has his undivided attention but she has to behave for him.” You’re not sure when exactly you stopped eating and you clear your throat when you realize that Marcus was looking at you to gauge your reaction.

“Y-yeah that...ahuh.” Something about the way he says the word ‘behave’ twists your insides and you immediately stand up and head to the kitchen, whispering something about needing to wash down the food with something. Marcus eats quietly and hopes he hasn’t just made things even more awkward. When you come back and hand him a glass of red wine, Marcus relaxes and continues to eat.

“Have you ever drawn something like this?” You shake your head as you take a sip of the wine, laying against the back of the couch and crossing your legs.

“I wish. Human anatomy is so fascinating I think. I sometimes get this adrenaline rush when I look at the far right one and I tell myself that I’ll sketch all the risque and open positions I can think of but then I remember how long it would take me to finish one piece and I- I don’t have time for that sadly.”

“You can always start out with simpler ones? Maybe solo pieces, and move up from there.” Marcus mirrors you and sits back with the wine glass in his hand.

“Yeah, but I just love this kind of genre so much. It needs to be passionate, and sexy and out there you know.” Marcus smiles at the energetic response, feeling much more relaxed now that he’s had a cup of wine and found chatting about your choice in decoration less awkward.

“I get you. It’s why that lifestyle is interesting to so many people. The whole dynamic, whether we’re talking about the figures in the scene or actual partners, is based on that trust. You- you have to create that sense of trust and comfort for the scene to be enjoyable...pleasurable. It’s not as easy as some think it to be. As a Dom, you have to be aware of your partner at all times and the effect you have on them. And the same goes for a Sub too. You need to ensure that your Dom knows how much trust you put in them and the level of dedication that’s going into the scene. Both parties are depending on each other and it’s- it’s amazing.” Marcus smiles when he notices the intensity swimming in your eyes and he gives you a few seconds to collect your bearings before he asks his next question.

“Would you draw something as intimate as that?” He breaks the silence and watches your train of thought come and go.

“Would you?” You throw the question right back at him, holding in a breath when you see him lean forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I would...but only if I have the right model.” Marcus doesn’t know where all of this is coming from but he can’t find it in himself to break whatever bubble the two of you found yourselves in. You’re silent for a few moments, long enough for Marcus to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s crossed the line.

But then you’re smiling at him mischievously, chugging down the rest of the wine before standing up and heading towards the hallway.

“I have an easel and some 16x20 papers lying around...I hope you don’t mind working with chalk.” You throw back at him before you walk down the hallway and Marcus has to give himself a quick pep talk before he follows you. He slowly makes his way into your bedroom and stands at the doorstep until you allow him to come in.

“I think the lighting is best in this corner but you’ll be the one working so sit wherever you prefer.” You bring over a chair and set it in front of the easel before you grab the large box of supplies and pull out all the chalk sticks that you have. Marcus nods in silence as he pushes the easel closer to your bed and begins to choose which of the chalk sticks he wants. There is a variety of shapes and sizes, and he’s not sure if he should start out bold or if he should ease himself into this. It’s been a while since he’s drawn a model and he really doesn’t want to screw up, especially because it is you.

Marcus is so busy preparing his workstation that he doesn’t notice you stripping off your clothes. You keep your eyes on him and find the little scrunch he does with his eyebrows when he focuses on something endearing. Taking a deep breath, you take off your bra and panties before laying on the bed and getting in a comfortable position. Your movements are minimal, and you stretch out your legs in wait for him. You fight the part of you that’s yelling at you to cover yourself and keep your focus on him to gauge his reaction.

“Pose however you want and we can work on the postures once we-” The words die in his throat as soon as he looks up from the easel and sees your state of dress, or lack thereof. The thick chalk stick he’s holding between his fingers snaps in half and breaks the blanket of silence that fell on the room. He visibly gulps and doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes trail down your form slowly before they return to look into your dilated ones. Marcus knows for a fact that the image of your heaving chest and hardened nipples will forever be etched in his mind.

“I- uhh, are you...c-comfortable?” He hates how much he’s stuttering and you smile at him when you notice how he is focusing on the wall behind you and not you.

You look around for a few moments, grabbing a couple of pillows and placing them behind your back before you stretch out one leg and bend the other one to your chest. Marcus almost chokes on his breath when he sees how open you are being with him but he says nothing and turns his attention to the blank piece of paper underneath his hand.

“I’m ready.” Your voice brings him out of his stupor and he nods briefly as he tries to reason with himself. He cannot draw you unless he looks at you. But he is well aware of the hardening predicament he’s currently suffering from and he’s sure you probably noticed by now the effect you were having on him.

“I won’t tell you how to do your job Agent, but artists usually have to look at the models they’re drawing to...you know, draw them.” Marcus rolls his eyes at the teasing remark, briefly glancing at you with a raised eyebrow before he begins to softly outline the shape of your shoulders. His cock twitches in his pants and he tries his hardest to not squirm too much in his seat. But every time his eyes move towards your nude form laying not five feet away from him, he silently curses himself and pretends he’s fine and that he isn’t imagining pushing you down and shoving his tongue deep into your wet cunt.

“Are you usually this quiet when you’re sketching, Agent Pike?” Something about the way you’re addressing him makes him clench his jaw tightly and he unintentionally whispers a little louder than he intends in response.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Your giggles let him know that you heard his remark and he is sure his face is growing a deeper shade of red but he shrugs his shoulders and ignores your obvious amusement. Marcus swallows the lump in his throat as he shifts his focus below your neck, parting his lips when he notices the tilt of your head from his peripheral vision as he ceases all movement and continues to stare at your chest.

“Oh sorry, is my arm in the way,” you lower your arms and move them behind you to support your weight, never breaking eye contact with him as you rock your bent leg back and forth and give him a full view of your most intimate parts.

Marcus is almost shaking in his seat at the sight of your breasts, unaware that he’s harshly rubbing the chalk stick with his thumb the more your leg sways to the side and reveals the outer folds of your pussy.

“P-perfect, thank you.” He whispers and returns to the sheet in front of him, biting into his lower lip as he rolls the chalk across and sketches the curves of your breasts. For a moment, he forgets what he is doing and narrows his eyes at the shapes in front of him before he smudges the black material across to shade in the skin. He looks back and forth for a couple of minutes until he’s happy with the shading of your body.

You marvel at how he’s managing to keep it together for this long when all you can think about is begging for him to fuck you into the mattress. You thought it would be easy for him to break but ever the gentleman, he takes the task seriously and tries his hardest to not dwell on your skin for longer than necessary.

A thought comes through your mind and you smile to yourself as you shift your bent leg to the side and move the other one until it falls from the side of the bed. You stare at him and hope this is what finally does the trick. And you don’t have to wait for too long because the next time Marcus looks at you, he takes a double-take and doesn’t bother to hide how he’s only focusing on the skin between your thighs.

“I thought it would be easier for you, you know. Easier access and everything.” You’re not sure what you’re going on about but you can tell that it’s taking every ounce of control in his body to not pounce on you. You hold your breath when Marcus stands up and meets your eyes, and you think this is it. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

But then he’s freeing the paper from the easel and moving towards you, his expression never once giving his plan away. You gulp when he kneels at the foot of your bed and sets the paper between your thighs.

“You’re right, easier access,” Marcus says as he brings the chalk down on the paper and sketches your thighs, not bothering for propriety as his eyes zero in on your slit. You know you’re wet and you can feel slick easing down your folds but you don’t move a muscle, watching him as he expertly outlines your skin before he rubs the chalk with his thumb to shade the area again.

“It’s not quite how I want it…” His remark makes you shiver and you’re about to beg him to forgo the sketch when he leans forward and nudges your legs apart, perhaps a little carelessly, before he collects your arousal with his middle finger and swipes it across your folds. You’re shocked by the turn of events and barely hold back from moaning as he dips the clean finger into your pussy and rubs your walls for a few more seconds, his soft brown eyes turning dangerous as pushes his finger a little deeper and bites his lower lip when he feels you clenching around him. Marcus turns his attention back to you, his jaw tensing when he sees sheer bliss etched on your expression. Your little gasps are music to his ears and just as he feels your hips moving against him, he pulls his hand away.

You watch him like a hawk as he inspects his finger, gasping when he smudges at the chalk on the sketch to create darker shades around your center.

“Hmm, that’s more like it.” Marcus turns to you and smirks when he sees your parted lips turn into a frown.

“Do you not like it?” He feigns ignorance and raises an eyebrow when your frown deepens as you move back into your pillows. You lean back but continue to hold his gaze as you part your thighs and lazily stroke your cunt. Marcus slowly puts down the paper and chalk onto the floor and stands up just as you begin to pinch your nipples.

“Please…” Your whispered plea shoots straight to his cock and he laughs when it turns into a whine once he makes his way to the bathroom in your room. He says nothing as he quickly washes his hands and dries them before moving back and standing next to your bed.

You don’t stop touching yourself, hoping the needy sight of you is all the push he needs to take what he wants.

“What’s your safeword doctor?” Marcus keeps his hands in his pockets as he trails his eyes down your shivering body. He’s itching to touch you but he remains still and waits for confirmation that you do, in fact, want this as much as him. A part of him knows that the two of you should probably slow down and perhaps discuss whatever this is before you go any further. But it feels right being here with you. And he doesn’t want to give it up just yet.

“J-Jasper.” Your voice breaks when you see the hunger swimming in his eyes and you shift to the center of your bed as Marcus kicks off his shoes before taking off his socks.

“Hmm.” Marcus hums as he takes off the holster from his belt and quietly places the gun on your nightstand. When he turns back and sees you watching the gun and increasing your movements, he groans down at you before walking around the bed.

“Maybe another time baby...when you and I are a little more acquainted with each other.” You flush at the implications behind his words and nod at him. You watch as he begins to roll up his sleeves and your anticipation grows with each inch of skin he reveals.

“You look so pretty sweetheart, all needy and desperate for my touch. Do you want to cum baby?” Marcus asks teasingly and you nod frantically as you begin to push two fingers into your cunt.

“Nuh uh, use your words. I’ll let it go this time but from now on, you use your words if you want something from me.” His tone is less gentle and your inner walls spasm at the thought of hearing that same commanding voice telling you to get on your knees for him.

“S-sorry yes...yes please. I- I want to cum, please.” Marcus smiles in amusement as he steps closer to the bed until his knees touch the mattress.

“Good girl. Now, if you really want to cum, then you better come here and suck me off. Be a good girl for me and show me what that sweet fucking mouth of yours can do.” His chest puffs out proudly when he sees how quickly you’re moving to please him. You lay on your stomach and palm him through his pants, moaning along with him when you find him hard and ready for you.

“May I undress you?”

“Go on sweetheart, take what you want.” Marcus caresses your cheek as you excitedly unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He doesn’t dare look away as you shove his pants down his thighs before leaning forward and nuzzling your nose into the bulge of his boxer briefs.

“Fuck baby, are you trying to kill me?” You giggle and shake your head in response, purposely rubbing his length with your nose just before you feel his fingers combing through your hair and tugging on it.

“Remember sweetheart...bad girls don’t get to cum. Stop your teasing before I shove my cock down your throat.” Marcus pulls on your hair harshly and groans when he sees you smiling up at him.

“Is that a promise Agent Pike?” You know you’re pushing his buttons and don’t hold back from gasping his name as he rolls you onto your back and aggressively pushes his boxer briefs down far enough to free his cock. He’s not really a vain man but seeing you lick your lips and inch closer to him as you stare at his hard dick makes him just a little cocky.

“Go on baby, open your mouth. Part those pretty fucking lips for me.” Marcus pats your lips softly and shivers when you respond to him right before you shut your eyes and wait for him to give you his cock.

“Yes sir.”

His knees buckle for a second the moment you take his tip into your mouth and suck on it. Marcus is torn between throwing his head back to enjoy the softness of your mouth and keeping his eyes on you as you suck on his cock. He leans forward and bites his cheek when you relax your throat and take more of his cock down your throat.

“P-part your legs for me baby please. Let me- oh fuck, your mouth is made of magic sweetheart. Let me- let me see how wet that pretty cunt is.” Marcus is already breathing heavily and he furrows his eyebrows in focus, not wanting to end this night early. You swallow around him a few times and hum when you feel his hand cupping your breasts while the other rests around your throat.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you try to take him down as deep as possible just as you part your thighs and begin to play with your pussy. Marcus groans and swears above you as you work him expertly and he can’t hold back from pushing the palm of his hand a little harder on your throat. He can feel his cock passing across your pharynx and moans your name over and over again when he looks down and sees drool rolling down your cheeks.

“Ahh fuck oh god, s-sweetheart you’re a fucking dream. W-where have you been all my life?” Marcus continues to kneed at your tits, but when he gets a little irritated when he sees your fingers rubbing your clit. Without warning, he leans forward as far as he can and slaps your hand away, replacing it with his own and biting his cheek when he finds you soaking.

“Shit baby, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” You hum around him and twitch in surprise when you feel two of his thick fingers pushing past your wet folds and into your cunt. You’re already so close to coming from his teasing and you whimper when he nudges your thighs apart aggressively.

“Keep those legs open for me baby. Shit, the smell of you is fucking intoxicating. Fuck, that it’s, get on your hands and knees for me.” Marcus moves away and silences you with one look when you start to whine and reach for his cock.

“Unless you want to call it a night, you’ll get on your fucking hands and knees for me. Shit baby I’ve wanted to shove my tongue in that pussy as soon as you stripped for me.” He never breaks eye contact as he kicks away his pants and briefs before he makes quick work of his shirt. You quickly turn around and bite into your wrist as you get on all fours and try to look at him through your elbow. You reach down and ease two fingers into your cunt as you take in his broad shoulders and lean form. You swear his muscles flex the longer you stare at him and when you finally look at him, you’re a little embarrassed at being caught openly ogling him.

“Look at you, like a bitch in heat.” Regret rolls off of him as soon as he registers what he just said. An apology is on the tip of his tongue but then you’re arching your back and shifting closer to him, giving him a show as you curve your knuckles to try and hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh aren’t you the prettiest sweetheart in the world.” You moan his name when he caresses your back and kneels behind you, laying soft kisses across your back as he palms and lightly smacks your ass. Marcus removes your hand away slowly but not before licking your fingers and humming around them as the taste of you fills his mouth.

“Marcus please...I- I need you inside me.”

“What do you need from me? You want my tongue and fingers? Or do you think this cunt is ready to take my cock?” Marcus nips at your skin and pushes a hand on your lower back when you try and move away from him.

“W-whatever you want...just- need to feel you inside me. I don’t care, please. Oh fuck...please.” You squeal when Marcus spreads your cheeks apart and spits on your slit right before licking across your cunt. You fist your hands into the sheets and bite down on your wrist when you feel his nose nudge at your entrance as his tongue flicks your engorged clit.

“Good answer sweetheart,” you hear him whisper just as he kisses across your folds and dips his tongue into your core. You’re already shaking with need and rock back against him, hoping he’d end your agony and give you his fingers as well. Marcus is losing his mind and he tries his hardest to focus on pleasuring you. But it’s so hard to hold back when you’re whimpering at his touch and shoving your pussy in his face to get more friction.

“Stop moving,” Marcus growls against you, and you cry out his name when his palms land on your ass cheeks three consecutive times before he rubs the reddening skin.

“Oh god, your tongue feels so good Marcus. D-don’t stop, please. I want to cum, l-let me cum. You’re so fucking- ahh s-shit.” You think you feel him smile against you as he pushes two fingers into your pussy but you can’t be sure because you suddenly feel full. Fuck, and it’s only his fingers.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” He slowly parts you with his fingers and groans when he feels you squeezing his fingers. When you try to move against him again, Marcus slithers his hand across your back and grabs your neck, pushing your face into the bed as he leans over to whisper in your ears.

“You’re being such a bad girl tonight. I won’t give you another warning baby. Move again and I won’t fuck you.” You shiver when you hear his hoarse voice on your ears, grasping the pillows as hard as you can when he pushes his fingers as deep as possible and curls his knuckles.

“N-no please...I’m s-sorry- ahh gahd I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” Marcus is pleased with the effect he’s clearly having on you and almost gives in. But he wants you to cum before he takes you. From the looks of it, you aren’t looking for anything gentle, and with how hard he is, has been for the entire day, he doesn’t have the self-control to be anything but rough.

“Good girl...sweet fucking girl.” You force yourself to remain immobile as you feel him reaching deeper and applying more pressure on your spongy walls. The hand on your neck moves to your back and massages your heated skin. It takes you a while to realize that he’s reenacting the paintings in your living room and the thought shakes you to your core. Before you can even warn him, you feel a familiar pressure growing in the depths of your stomach and your heart hammers in your chest as you lose yourself to the sudden swelling sensation. You gasp his name over and over again as you cum around his fingers, and Marcus fists his hand in your hair when he feels you shuddering beneath him.

He’s shocked at how quickly you unravel at his ministrations and he doesn’t look away as he brushes his thumb against your clit and watches your body fight to not move away from him.

“M-Marcus wait- I...too much.” You can barely form a coherent sentence, let alone a thought, and you bite into the sheets when you feel his scruff scratch your skin deliciously as he licks off your juices.

“Use your safeword sweetheart and I’ll stop. But you came without asking so now I have to punish you...fuck, you taste as good as you smell baby, shit, maybe even better.” Marcus slows down but continues to move his digits across your tightening walls and when you say nothing, he sits up and twists his hand, waiting for your breathing to slow down before he begins to fuck you with his fingers.

“Oh oh f-fuck I- Marcus M-Marcus oh god...yes please fuck ahh I- I’m…” You try to warn him but he doesn’t slow down once, continuing his assault on your abused cunt until he feels you tightening around him again.

“Beg!”

“Can I- oh god, can I cum? Please fuck, I- I can’t s-stah ahh fuck.” You reach around and dig your nails into the hand fisting in your hair. You try to warn him again of what’s about to happen but he doesn’t give you a chance, picking up the pace just as he curves his digits and rubs at your sensitive spot.

“Drench me baby.” It’s all you need to fall over the edge again and your vision whites out as you convulse around him. Marcus smiles proudly when you listen to his command but his expression changes to one of awe when he feels you gush around his hand and wet his arm and thighs. He doesn’t stop once, completely captivated by the sight of your juices flowing around him so easily. When you try to move up the bed, Marcus lets go of your neck and pushes down on your lower back to keep you still. The damp spot beneath you is growing and something primal takes over Marcus. He wants nothing more than to soak the entire bed.

But he snaps out of his haze when you cry out his name and beg him to slow down. He looks at you as he gradually comes to a halt but keeps his fingers in your pussy. Marcus massages your muscles as he eases his wet fingers out of you and carefully maneuvers you until you’re laying on your back. You hiss at the sudden feeling of emptiness and almost jump away when you feel his tongue passing across the skin of your thighs. When you finally have enough mind to look at him, you’re taken aback by the sheer bliss written on his face as he closes his eyes and cleans you up. Your eyes widen in horror and embarrassment when you look at his glistening skin and you call for him shyly to grab his attention.

“I-I’m so sorry...I- I’ve never-”

“Don’t you dare apologize. That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen and the fact that I’m the first to make you squirt...best feedback I’ve ever gotten.” Marcus cuts you off as he licks at his forearm and fingers before he sits up behind you. You find his gaze much more intense than before and you hide behind your arm to avoid it.

“Marcus, stop.” He laughs at your sudden shyness and leans over to pull your arms away from your face.

“Please baby, don’t hide from me. Please.” You feel exposed underneath him and it’s a stupid thought considering what the two of you have been doing so far. But something about the way he’s staring at you with those deep, brown, soulful eyes makes you want to hide under the sheets. But instead, you take his hand and pull him close until he’s flush against you.

“K-kiss me.” You watch as his expression intensifies just as he leans forward and molds his lips with yours. You expected him to be rough but the way he parts his lips and allows you access to his mouth leaves you breathless. His scruff and mustache heighten the sensation and you instantly shove your tongue in his mouth when he melts against you. You hum when you finally taste yourself on his tongue and Marcus growls as the kiss grows more desperate. Just as you run out of breath, Marcus pulls away and holds back from smiling when you chase after him.

“Sweetheart, c-can I have you?” You’re amazed by how he’s still asking you if you want to do this even after the events of the past hour or so.

“Yes, please.” You respond as you push him off to resume your previous position again. Marcus feels his cock harden at the sight of you on your knees for him. But the moment shatters into a million pieces when he looks down and realizes that he doesn’t have any condoms.

“Fuck.” He hisses and begins to move away when he feels your hands reach for his thighs to stop him.

“What? What is it?”

“I- I didn’t think this would...I don’t have any condoms baby.” You stare at him for a few seconds before you break the silence and hope he doesn’t think any less of you. “I was tested after the last time and I’m clear. A-are you?” Marcus pins you with his eyes as he nods along. “I’m clean too...and, it’s been a while.” He hates to admit that last bit but he wants you to know that this, whatever it is, is serious.

“Same.” Your answer surprises him and he’s about to ask how that’s possible but forgets the question when you shift closer to him and dig your nails into his thighs to grab his attention.

“Fuck me.” The vulgar request sounds so pure rolling off of your tongue and Marcus pushes your knees wide open and settles between them. You continue to stare at him with hunger in your eyes as he strokes his cock a few times before he slides it across your wet slit. You’re already so sensitive from earlier but you can’t care less because you’ve only wanted to feel him inside you for the better half of the day. Marcus bites his lower lip and grasps your hips with one hand as he positions himself against your entrance and slowly pushes past your wet folds. He feels your walls already clenching around him and he hesitates for a moment as he moves his hands across your back to try and get you to loosen up.

“F-fuck...relax sweetheart. Relax for me please. I- I don’t- oh god, h-how are you this tight?” Your walls flutter around him when his hoarse, almost pained voice sounds through the room. “You’re doing so good baby, taking my cock in that pretty little cunt. Fuck, that’s it. Let me in sweetheart...could make you feel so good. Shit, that’s it.” Marcus cooes above you as he feels you slowly sucking him in. You sigh heavily when he finally sheathes himself completely inside you and it’s not until a few moments later that you realize he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Marcus, m-move. Fuck, just- move.” Your impatient groans make him twitch inside you and the two of you hiss when his hips jut forward at your gasped requests. His hands hold onto you a little harshly, squeezing the skin of your hips and making you giddy at the thought of seeing those bruises the following day.

“Just wait...please baby I- I don’t want to hurt you. You feel so fucking good around me and- and I...oh fuck, f-fuck...squeezing the shit out of me. Please I-”

“Fuck. Me.” You turn your head around enough to look at him and find the sight of his sweaty forehead and furrowed eyebrows intoxicating. He can sense your eyes on him and reluctantly looks down at you when you pronounce those two words, watching as you pierce him with a harsh gaze as you roll your hips against him.

“I- are you…”

“Fucking please...take what you want.” The desperate tone of your voice breaks him and he pulls away until the tip of his cock is nudged in between your folds before he snaps his hips forward aggressively.

You shut your eyes and cry into your pillows as Marcus lets go and pounds into you. He’s no longer trying to hold back and you feel proud of the effect you have on him. Thinking back to the past hour, you realize that Marcus was going out of his way to control himself and not hurt you. But with every brush of his cock against your inner walls, with every groaned swear word and whispered affirmation, you can’t help but beg for him to fuck you harder. To take you like a crazed man. Because now that you’ve had a taste of what he’s capable of, you don’t want him to ease up on you.

“Shit baby, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect. Your cunt is begging for my cock sweetheart. Can you feel how deep I am? How deep this tight pussy is sucking me in?” Marcus nudges your knees a little farther apart as he plunges into you over and over again. You’re a moaning mess beneath him and as you try to reach back to hold onto his hands, Marcus lets go of your hips and grabs your wrists, using them as leverage to fuck you deeper.

You scream his name as his thrusts become relentless, the resonating sound of skin against skin reminding you of how sore you were going to feel for the rest of the week. You can’t really pay attention to what he’s saying anymore, choosing to focus on the way his dick fills you up completely and hits your special spot with precision. The thought of knowing that you’re at this man’s mercy and that he’s using you like he owns you makes you shudder and Marcus doesn’t realize you’re coming around him until he feels a pressure push out of you. He looks down and watches your cunt gushes on his cock and thighs again, the sight somehow even prettier the second time than the first.

He waits until you’re no longer convulsing in his arms before he thrusts his cock back into your pussy. Marcus leans down and wraps his arms around your front to bring you flush against his chest. Marcus brushes your hair aside and nuzzles into your neck as he begins to roll his hips against your ass, trying to drive his cock into you even further without hurting you. You reach around and pull on his hair when he bites on the juncture of your neck.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” The confession feels more intimate than anything he’s said to you thus far and you throw your head back and smile when his hands roam your front and settle on your navel.

“Marcus...please.”

“What do you need, baby? I’ll give you anything. Tell me...oh god, I- I’m so close.” Marcus kisses across your shoulder as one hand cups your breasts while the other descends to your clit. He feels you convulse around him but he doesn’t move his hand away, wanting to feel you cum one last time around his cock.

“I- I need you to cum for me...cum inside me. Fill me up baby...wanna feel you so deep inside me. Make a mess of my cunt. Please.”

“C-can you give me another?” He’s breathless, his pace faltering when he feels your walls squeeze around him tightly with every pass of his cock against your heated core.

‘I- I don’t think I can...too much baby.”

“Please, for me. Cum for me o-one last time...oh god, I’m close sweetheart. B-but I wanna cum with you. Please oh fuck- oh god, I- I’m fucking coming.” He growls into the crook of your neck as he rubs at your clit harshly, crying your name like a prayer as he feels you milk him dry. His thrusts are desperate and you pull on his hair harder than you intend when you feel his cum fill you up. Marcus can barely breathe as he shoots his seed deep in your pussy and feels you pulse around him. He continues to buck against you, the caveman mindset telling him to breed you and fill you up until you can’t take it anymore.

He stays motionless for a few minutes before he finally registers that you probably need to rest. As carefully as possible, Marcus pulls out and cradles your body against him as he lays you on your back. He looks down at you and smiles when he sees the mess he’s made between your thighs. He tries to get off the bed to bring you a cup of water and grab a wet towel when you reach out and pull him by his wrist.

“I need to clean you up sweetheart.” He tries to reason with you but you shake your head and pull harder on his hand so he could sit next to you.

“No just- come here. I need you. Please.” Marcus doesn’t have to be told twice. He lays down next to you and kisses your forehead when you cuddle into his arms. He draws circles on your shoulder and back when he feels your fingers play with his chest hair.

“Are you alright baby?” Marcus asks and pulls his head back when you hum a soft ‘yes.’ He searches your expression for any sign of discomfort, and when he finds none, he rests his head back again and lets you explore his skin.

“Hmm...did you know that hair was used in some ancient spells to ensure that the desired outcome occurred?” You break the silence after a while and Marcus furrows his eyebrows at you when you look up from his chest and meet his face.

“Uhh should I be worried Y/N?” He asks almost immediately and laughs when you panic and try to retract what you just said.

“Oh god sorry that- I didn’t mean...Jesus, I still need to work on my bedside manner.”

“I was kidding sweetheart. I actually enjoy listening to people talking about their interests, it’s a little calming. And no, I didn’t know that. What kind of spells are we talking about here?” You’re surprised by his response but say nothing and continue to follow the soft trail of hairs down his chest.

“Well, there are lots of curses that didn’t need hair but it was better if they were added...for efficacy and such. But the most common spells that required little curls like these were love spells, which technically are also curses but it sounds better when you say that it’s just a spell.”

“Are you trying to tell me something doctor?” Marcus can’t help but tease you again and he snorts when you sit up on your elbow and try to justify what you just said. He pulls you back into his arms and brushes your hair aside to take a better look at you.

“Oh no no, I just- I tend to think about this stuff at random times. Sorry. I swear I’m too much of a wimp to actually try anything. You never know if the desired outcome has any side effects...”

“No need to apologize baby. Besides, I don’t think you’ll ever need love magic with me.” The admission is out before he can stop himself and he cringes at himself, hoping that you don’t misunderstand him.

“Oh yeah, and why is that Agent Pike?” The hint of amusement in your tone lets him know that you didn’t mind teasing him back and he blinks a few times at the ceiling before he turns to gaze into your eyes.

“Well, you’re doing fine on your own being this amazing human being. You’re mesmerizing when you’re lecturing, you’re confident in your skills and knowledge, your intelligence is- I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface with the case today. And you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen...we could work a bit on your art choices but-”

“Hey!” You slap his shoulder and try to slither away from him but he’s too quick and wraps his arms around you before you can get off the bed.

“I’m kidding, I'm kidding...your art choices are the cherry on top.” Marcus nudges your nose with his and leans down to kiss you. He smiles when you moan beneath him. But the kiss is cut short when you push him away suddenly and narrow your eyes at him.

“You never told me how you knew which ones I commissioned.”

“Ugh no please, you’re going to think I’m a pervert.” Marcus falls back on the bed and tries to hide behind his arms.

“Oh yeah?” You slowly trail your hand down his stomach and wrap it around his cock. It’s all Marcus needs to lower his arm and look down to where you’re touching him. He shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back when you lean forward and nip at his jaw.

“B-baby fuck...oh god, please. I- I need a few more minutes and-”

“Tell me, please.” You cut him off with a bite to the shoulder, giggling when he thrusts up into your loose hold to get more friction.

“I- I was picturing the two of us...fuck, re-reenacting those scenes and those two jumped out more...more than the third.” He can barely speak through the haze you’ve put him in, and moans your name when you reach down and fondle his balls just as you whisper in his ears.

“How scandalous of you Agent Pike!”

“Sweetheart, please.” Marcus whines for you, the arm around your back pulling you flush to him and giving him perfect access to your breasts. He wraps his lips around one nipple and softly sucks on it as you continue to stroke his cock.

“Hmm, I like the sound of you begging...baby. Tell me, do you by any chance have your handcuffs on you?” The question catches him off guard, and he pulls away to look at you, finding a different kind of fire dancing behind your eyes.

“Fuck…I- uhh, they’re in the car. W-wait where are you going?” Marcus regrets his answer as soon as you let go of him and jump off of the bed. He watches as you run to the bathroom without answering him, only to return a few seconds later with bright red handcuffs clanking between your fingers.

“To get my own set Agent. Like you said, you and I need to get acquainted.” You unlock them as you walk back to the bed and straddle his thighs. Marcus looks at you with adoration and softly nods at you when you silently ask him if you could cuff him to the headboard of your bed.

“I’m yours sweetheart, take what you want.”

Taglist (some aren't working):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @fan-of-encouragement @evelynseventyr

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike/reader #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal #yall don't understand how much I love this fucking character #he's literally the softest #and he deserves the world #ugh #anyway

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