#BUT THEN he realizes he’d do the same thing if their positions were reversed…there’s no WAY he’d leave Toothless to drown

[shima-draws]

Shut up shut UP I’m FINE this didn’t make me emotional,

[decadentworld]

Hi!! Can I request Steve having his first time bottoming with reader? Im sure he would tbe the one you would have to take more time with, specialy since hes always been the top and only been with woman. I really love reading your longer fics where it all builds up. thankyou!!!

Anon, tell me why I keep making my request fills longer and longer? I hope I’m not being too exaggerated with the length of this one.

Notions.

A story divided into moments.

Steve thinks back to all the moments that lead to him being in this position. Literally.

※ Bottom Steve Harrington/Top Male Reader.

※ 23,391 words.

※ Requested by Anonymous.

※ +18. Minors do not interact.

※ Content and warnings: First time bottoming. Gentle manhandling. Praise kink. Slightest D/s dynamics (Submissive Steve Harrington/Dominant Male Reader). Brief allusion to subspace. Laughter during sex. Discussions about gender roles and stereotypes. Porn with a bit of plot. Allusions to dyslexia.

※ Both characters are canonically 18 or older.

※ Work available only on Tumblr and under ArchiveOfOurOwn pseud of the same name (DecadentWorld). Do not repost, edit, or redistribute. Do not use for TikTok videos.

I.

It’s already scary enough for Steve to be in a relationship with a man. Steve from two years ago, no, one year ago… perhaps even less: Steve from six months ago would have never imagined he’d ever have a significant other he would call a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. How curious are life’s many twists and turns. It just so happens that this latest relationship of his has been the steadiest in a good while. Just shy of three months, but Steve feels it so much different from any relationship he’s ever had.

Especially from Nancy.

How to describe the contrast between you and her? He could start by the obvious: she’s a girl, you’re a guy. That’s easy. It wasn’t that easy at first, though. Steve’s only known he’s bisexual for just a bit longer than you’ve been together. It wasn’t a smooth transition, being able to put in words that he was also interested in men. It has been like that for a long time for Steve, always noticing that maybe Harrison Ford seemed a bit more handsome to him than to other guys at school. Not that he ever said it out loud. What’s always been easy for him to understand is that he could not be saying these things out loud, lest he accidentally out himself. Even at the time he wasn’t aware of his own bisexuality.

It’s different, thinking about girls and thinking about guys —a single guy, for the moment. The girls he’s been with were usually dainty, pretty, curvaceous. Soft. All things that truly appeal to Steve.

But you? A man?

Oh, boy.

You’re nothing like them. Whereas they were small, you’re big. And while they normally let themselves be led —like they expected Steve to take the reins, because both they and Steve believed it was their and Steve’s God-given place—, you’re independent. You don’t wait for any of Steve’s cues for anything at all, because this has been discussed between the two of you, which at the time gave him the biggest realization of his life: that there’s no need for there to be roles if it doesn’t feel right for both parties.

Even as this has been said, understood, and internalized… Steve started wondering early into the relationship how it would feel like if these roles (again, non-existent if not desired) were… reversed.

And you noticed. And you started to respond in kind.

It’s something new and fun to explore.

There’s more. Steve’s a pretty tall guy, and, sure, it’s rare to find taller girls. He’s always been the one to be looked up to. That would absolutely not be a problem for him at all. He liked, when he was with girls, to lean on them, to playfully put his chin atop their head, to surprise them by hoisting them —Nancy— up when they —she— least expected it.

And now?

There was one time when you did exactly the same to him. He’ll never forget the fuzzy feeling he experienced at that moment. He gave you a screaming giggle, hoping you wouldn’t notice the strong blush on his face. (You did). And when you released him and he stumbled while looking for his footing once again, he turned around, looked up at you, and…

And made this face, see, like he was having an epiphany.

It was as if he only then realized how much taller and bigger and stronger than him you were.

It was something endearing to see, that time. Steve looked as if he didn’t know what to say. His mouth was trying to form the words, but he seemed like he was also embarrassed by his inability to speak, because he looked like he was holding in a nervous laugh at the same time. And when he realized that he was truly speechless, he could only emit a little titter, tip his eyes down with an even darker flush, and bring a hand up his head to put a lock of his hair behind his ear.

The hair behind the ear is what pretty much sealed the deal. It was at that moment that Steve thought for the first time: Is this how girls would usually feel?

“Everything okay, sweetheart?”, you asked then, if only to tease him further, because you somehow knew what he was going through.

And he could only mumble incoherently.

II.

Let’s go back to this change of dynamics for a second. Steve will never not be left reeling after he experiences any of the small pushes you give against his idea of ‘set role’. Any time he feels like his preconceptions are challenged, like when you experiment with his notion of a previously self-thought assertive person, he so gracefully takes it in stride. Enjoys it, even, which is great, and Steve senses you two are reaching an unspoken agreement of sorts:

He’s going to gradually let you take the reins of the relationship.

This is so new to him. Sometimes, it downright terrifies him how alright he is with it. He feels like he should be more combative about it, but…

Steve is curious, alright? He can’t stop recalling the time before you were together when you playfully asked him to compare hand sizes, one of the most overt romantic advances in history that he fortunately responded positively to. If not enthusiastically. And, oh, how very bothered he ended up when you actually pressed your right hand to his left one, palm to fingertips, because he only then became aware of how much bigger your hand was, compared to his. His reaction at that moment was unforgettable. It was similar to the one he had when you first surprise-hoisted him up. All blushy, unable to hide it.

One of the first few times in his life he was truly abashed.

He keeps remembering with each day that passes, with each newfound sensation he gets when he’s with you. There are a series of similar happenings he can’t get enough of. These involve the times when you’re teaching him how to cook.

Listen. Steve Harrington knows he sucks at cooking, alright? But that’s because no mother of his has ever taken the time to teach him basic stuff, such as the amount of time an egg needs to be boiled, and no father of his has ever handed him tongs or a spatula and told him how he’s exactly supposed to flip burgers at a barbecue. He knows he has some of the fault in this. His past as a spoiled brat has left him reliant on the housekeeper who always leaves the fridge stocked, with meals ready to be microwaved at a moment’s notice. And after, it’s not like he had any interest or time in reading any sort of cookbooks when he was constantly stressing over the end of the world.

The fact that every time he tries his hand at cooking he keeps burning that same meal leaves him crestfallen and uninterested in anything else.

So, when you one day visited him and saw how stressed out he was, fluttering around the kitchen, you knew you had to intervene.

“Are you okay, Steve?”, you asked worriedly, watching him turning his back to you, almost frenzied, stirring on a pot and attempting to do something else you couldn’t see from your position while also making quick glances at a book on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah. Uh, I mean…” Steve twisted his head at you and quickly back at the stove. “I mean…” He seemed to trail off, too busy and perhaps even frantic, fully focused on what he was doing.

“You sure?”, you pushed.

“Uh…” A quick turn of his head towards the book and you could suddenly feel his exasperation. “Shit! It was supposed to be half a spoonful? Not a— fucking spoonful and a half.” It was obvious that he was thinking out loud.

You approached him, then, from his left side so he could see what you were doing. A nervous and disheartened glance at your arrival told you everything you needed to know. You put your right hand on the low of his back. “Doesn’t look like ‘okay’ to me, sweetheart.”

Steve gave you a long, sad look, and turned off the dials on the stove. He heaved a brooding sigh. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I thought this’d be easier and quicker to make.”

You smiled at him. He was too sweet. “Honey. You were making me food?”

Steve looked to the side. “Yeah… but, apparently, I’m too stupid for that, too.” He didn’t want to cry over this. He thought he would look even more stupid if he did.

You knew he was spiraling, and you wouldn’t let him. You were familiar with how hard he was on himself on a good day, but you also knew how bad that would get when he was trying to give you his displays of affection. So you brought the hand you had on his lower back up to his chin, softly stroking it with your thumb, catching the gorgeous shy look he was giving you. “You’re not. I forbid you from calling yourself that.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Seriously, Steve. You’re not stupid. Whoever told you that, they’re all levels of wrong.”

His eyes strayed anywhere else, and he muttered: “I call myself that.”

“Well. You’re wrong, then.”

Steve quickly glanced up at you again. There was so much conviction in what you said that he just had to bite his lower lip to hold back a smile.

You smiled, too. You lead his head closer to yours, noticing how breathless he got, and gave him a slow and sweet kiss on his lips. When you withdrew, he was looking up at you with stars in his eyes. “You’re a sweet boy. You were cooking for me. That’s so lovely.”

Maybe you understood that he liked a little bit of praise, too, that day, if the way he looked down and to the side with the lightest dusting of pink on his face was indication enough.

But that expression was rapidly being overshadowed by dejection.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I can’t seem to follow basic instructions. It’s like the words get mixed up, or something.” He looked back at the cookbook and your hand fell from his chin.

“Hm.” You skimmed over the contents of the book, and glanced back at the previous preparations he had on the stove. “I got this one. Mind if I help you?”

Steve bit his lip. “How?”

And you—

You got behind him. Pressed your chest to his back. And took each of his hands in yours.

Steve gasped.

“Like this?”, you asked. “You might be able to learn a thing or two better if you have the muscle memory.”

Sure. Muscle memory, Steve thinks, among the haze that his mind has become. The warmth of your bigger body against his makes it hard to think of anything else. But he claws himself out of it long enough to answer: “Uh— Y-Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!”, he reiterates, with a giddy smile you can’t see and a nervous titter present in his voice.

You chuckle as well.

That day was the first time Steve sincerely felt like he was being… eased into a lighter headspace. The way you guided his hands while chopping ingredients on the cutting board, while sliding them into a pot, even while in the act of properly washing his hands under the faucet and drying them as well… It all had him almost breathless. It was the first occasion in which he didn’t mind relinquishing that previously-thought position he had believed he had to occupy, once upon a time.

And how to describe the feeling?

It felt like a weight off his shoulders. It felt like something he thought should’ve always been present in his life.

It felt natural. Not forced.

That feeling of being enveloped, not only by your bigger and warmer frame, but by this sense of a guiding hand you were giving him, was slowly turning him into mush on the inside, and setting off a fuzzy sensation inside him, like a tickling feeling. It was causing chaos inside his mind, and he didn’t want it any other way.

Which made following your instructions a lot harder, but, hey, that’s why you were being his puppeteer, right?

“Pay attention, baby.” Your murmuring next to his ear had the exact opposite effect.

“I am,” he choked out.

God. His cheeks were so red by that point. Steve found himself abashed knowing that you could see him, because your head was lying on his shoulder, right against his. And the way his heart was pounding, reverberating through his body and through yours against his, was so obvious he knew you would’ve been able to sense it even if you’d been on the other side of the room.

But he found some solace in the fact that yours was pounding, too.

That is the flashback —or rather, string of flashbacks, since you had to keep teaching him how to make different meals— that keeps him going whenever he gets too much into the particular idea that he’s doing something wrong. Because he’s not. Steve feels right when you make him feel like this, and no amount of bigoted ideas drilled into his mind since he had use of reason will stop him from coming back to those moments.

III.

And what moments. Steve has a little problem every time he remembers the first few times he was intimate with you. A man.

Hoo, boy. It’s so different with a guy. The change —or rather, lack— of dynamics would make for interesting situations in bed. And on the couch. And by the entrance door. And…

Well. You can’t blame Steve. It’s as if this new relationship, this new revelation, re-awakened his high libido he thought broken after the whole supernatural shebang. At first, it was he who would eagerly turn you around against the wall after you initially did, turning the previous make-out session into something hot and heavy that would leave him bothered. You would let him, because you understood how new and inexperienced he was with a male, and wanted him to be fully comfortable. He would fall into place and push his own hips against yours, feeling thoroughly thrown off in the best way at feeling something similar growing and pressing against himself. Then he would do it faster, harsher, getting light-headed when he’d feel your big hands on his lower back, urging him until he would muffle a shout in your chest and cum in his pants like it was the first time he’d ever had an orgasm.

But then, as more times followed, and more items of clothing would gradually disappear, Steve would find himself as the recipient of these same actions. The first time was the exact same situation: against the wall. Only, he was the one trapped against it and your body, and he was the one to be rutted against.

And this peculiar feeling of confinement wasn’t unpleasant.

The second time was on your couch. There was excitement in the fact that you two were slowly turning more horizontal. He tentatively let you arrange him to be sitting against one of the arm rests with his legs extended while you kneeled in the space between them. There was also comfort in the fact that you would check on him every five or so minutes, so that Steve would understand that that position was a choice fully of his own, and that he could tap out at any moment if he needed to. And so, the fun would heighten, and he would totally feel out of his depth when he understood that he didn’t have that much space or momentum to rut against you, and that he would have to receive more than he had to give.

He would have to take it.

And this knowledge made his heart beat so fast it’d feel like it was coming out of his chest, and it turned his face into the most appealing shade of pink, and it would pull the prettiest moans and the prettiest expressions out of him, and it made his legs shake like they had never before with a girl, and it had him coming in his pants and covering his mouth in shame at the loud moan that threatened to escape him.

And the third time was the first time he had the courage to ask to undress you, and you responded in kind and asked if you could undress him in turn, and suddenly you’d both be on your bed, only one layer of clothing left.

Steve would take off the last item of clothing of his by himself, the first time he’d ever be sheepish in a sexual encounter. You would compliment his size, because it was a very nice-looking cock indeed. There was no doubt over why he’d been called King Steve in the past.

But when your own underwear was off, he gasped and sat up in shock. In alarm, perhaps. Because, sure, he was King Steve, who was the subject of mainly nice rumors…

But you?

It was ridiculous. There had to be a limit.

So, understanding how apprehensive he was, you would comfort him, tell him you didn’t have to do anything if he changed his mind.

But Steve surprised you, and he smiled timidly, seeming to cover his mouth with one hand while he simply looked at it.

He would exhale, almost as if he was chuckling. Nervously, of course. “It’s…”

“Yeah. I know.” Your apologetic smile put him just a teeny bit more at ease.

Steve looked at your cock, then at you, then at it again, one jittery hand hovering in the air close to your body. “Um…”

“D’you wanna touch it?”, you encouraged him. You grabbed his right hand with all the softness in the world. You leant up on your right elbow and laid your head on your hand, trying to transmit as much ease as you could to him.

“Yeah. Okay,” he answered shyly, and he shortened the distance until his hand was gently palming your half-hard cock.

Steve heaved in a breath. It felt…

It felt so similar, yet so different. New. Exciting. He stroked with an open palm up and down once, releasing a small titter at your pleased hum.

You would not leave him unattended, of course. Your own left hand slowly approached him, first resting on his folded left leg. Your big hand stroked up and down his thigh twice, hearing his excited shaky breath, and came to rest on the juncture of his leg and hip.

You looked at him, noticing he was biting his lower lip in anticipation. So you didn’t tease him anymore, and finally wrapped your hand around his erect cock.

Steve released a silent moan and his eyes closed on their own for one moment, until he felt your initial first strokes and just had to watch you. He released a disappointed little noise that made you smile when you let his cock go, only to go red as a cherry afterward when he realized his little slip-up.

You chuckled. It was clear that this situation was so new to him, so much so that he didn’t know how to handle his own reactions. “Cute.”

Steve tried to hide. Impossible. His pink flush covered every part of his head, down to his neck and hairy chest. “‘M not cute.”

You straightened until you were sitting up, used one hand on the bed and another one on his thigh as leverage, and closed up on him, until you were leaning into him. Steve looked at you from under his lashes when you did this, biting his lip in anticipation, because the point of contact on his thigh, so very close to his hard cock, was making it hard to think about anything else. “You are.” The other hand that wasn’t on his thigh then slid to the back of his head, and you ran your fingers through his hair. He exhaled heavily. “There’s no fighting me on this.”

That’s how you slowly guided him into a steamy kiss, at the same time that you took hold of his cock once more, feeling more than hearing his muffled moan against your mouth. You stroked him, softly, just so enough that he would push his hips towards your hand, aching for more.

You were feeling particularly mean that day. Your hand kept its slow pace and you felt just how much that agitated Steve. He withdrew from the kiss and gave you this expression, like he was all but holding in the biggest pout ever. You only raised your eyebrow at him, secretly thrilled at his neediness. “Want anything?”, you teased him.

“Yeah. You know.” Steve’s face was so pink. You knew how much of a novel it was for him to have to actively ask for something, rather than simply do it himself, if only because he was still getting used to this fun change of dynamics.

“Oh, but I don’t. Do enlighten me.” You got all close and personal with Steve by this point, noticing his averting eyes. “Use your words, baby.”

At that, Steve could only bite his lip. He mumbled something, too low for you to hear.

“Sorry. What was that?” You smirked at him, because it was obvious that he was enjoying being teased so much.

“Do it faster,” Steve reiterated, unable to look at you by then.

“Do what faster, exactly?”

Steve made this embarrassed noise, something between a grumble and a whine. He hid his red face in the pillow under him while you chuckled. “Stroke me. Faster.”

You bit your lip while he couldn’t see you. You thought it was too early to test the waters for it, even though you were extremely sure he was starving for praise, so you settled with telling him: “Good.”

Steve’s eye peeked from the pillow’s soft cotton when you said this, and you knew you had hit the nail right on the head, if the way his face softened when you said it was indicative enough.

Then you complied with his request. Steve went from an embarrassed mess to a shameless one after only a few seconds of intense stroking. He shifted on the bed until his face was fully visible again, and you were able to see the way it transformed from his pleasure before your eyes. With no clothes to act as a hindrance, he could feel everything.

And even then, he took you by surprise. Without warning, he started stroking you with the same speed you did to him. You met his eyes. He had a particular glint in his that led you to understand he was feeling competitive.

You raised an eyebrow.

He bit his lip, like he was holding back a smile, even as his moans were momentarily muffled. Then, he gave you that same verbal confirmation for your thoughts, even though it was quite far off from what you had been expecting:

“You want me to go faster? Use your words.”

But he said it with such a waver in his voice and with such a deep shade of pink on his face that you couldn’t help but cackle at him. Steve’s face turned pouty as you did, but he knew you weren’t being mean on purpose. It was just so fun to think that he wanted to return to his former place on top, like he was trying to flip your own game on you.

How wrong he was to think that you would go down without a fight.

You chuckled a bit more. “Cute.”

“What?”, he asked with a shaky voice, subtly pushing his hips into the tunnel of your left hand.

“It’s cute that you think you can win this game.”

Steve’s face got impossibly redder. He closed his eyes for a second while his mouth opened in a silent moan, but tried to compose himself afterward. You leered at him, each time more convinced that he did have a little bit of a praise kink. He steeled his face as much as he could afterward, intently looking at you. “It’s not— It’s not a game if you’re not even trying to beat me.”

You smirked. “Oh, so you want me to put up a bit of a fight?”

“I mean,” Steve started, trying to look nonchalant. “…if you’re not a coward.”

You chuckled lowly at him. Then, you got close to him, trying to blanket his body with yours, but he was ready for it and met you in the middle. He kissed you hard, attempting to overpower you. That made you chuckle within the kiss, something that made him grunt in something similar to annoyance in response. Your hand moved faster and harder on his cock, a heavenly feel to him as the amount of pre-cum he was leaking made things easier, resulting in an intense handjob, made all the more vivid from your rough and calloused hands.

Even as he moaned freely in the kiss, he was still trying to get you to lie under him. His hand imitated your own’s movements, though you could feel the slight tremor his was showing. He tried to overcompensate by opening your mouth and pushing his tongue onto yours.

You raised your eyebrows at this, but kept this little game he didn’t know he had lost before he had even started. On one twist of your hand, his hips pushed up higher up and his cock accidentally brushed against yours, making him yelp and making you grunt. You withdrew to look at him and noticed the redness of his face overtaking his neck and chest now. Clearly, he was trying to keep up, but the haze of pleasure was making it difficult.

Still, he pushed on and attempted to lay the expanse of his body on yours, still stroking you fast. It seemed like he forgot how much stronger than him you were, because you didn’t even budge an inch.

As this dawned upon him, you did the same to him while in his stupor, gently pushing forward to lay him down until he was completely horizontal on the bed. He put his free hand on your chest, and you stopped in your tracks, wondering if he wanted to stop.

But when he started trying to push you back and to the side, you understood it was all still part of the game. Steve’s face took on an annoyed expression, like he was truly bothered about not being strong enough to overpower you.

He decided to up the ante and released your cock, using now both hands to attempt to subdue you, opting to clutch your hips with his legs to gain enough momentum to toss you aside.

You didn’t move at all. Instead, all that did was rub your cocks together.

Steve moaned, starting to understand that it was a lost battle.

And you chuckled again, releasing his cock to hold yourself up over him. “See, I think it’d be easier if you just admitted defeat.”

Steve groaned, but it was clear that he was trying to hold back a smile. “Not a chance.” He thrashed on the bed, putting all his strength in his limbs for a strong shove.

He managed to push you aside for a second thanks to the momentum, but as soon as he wanted to imitate your previous position, you were on him again. You wrestled on the bed for some seconds. You were delighted with the small giggles he was releasing, knowing how fun this change felt to him.

You laughed back at him once you were just like before: holding yourself up over him. This time, your hands held his shoulders softly, but firmly, pressing him down into the mattress.

Steve’s hands shot up at you, but you quickly grabbed his wrists and put them to the sides of his head. When you did this, he quieted down, and his face took on an even darker shade.

You softened the grip on his wrists just to make sure he was alright with it, but he didn’t move them an inch. Instead, his body went lax under you.

It was such a heady sight. “I win.”

Steve blinked out of his stupor for a second. “Y-Yeah. I guess.” He tried to look annoyed, but he just looked like he was holding back a nervous smile.

“Do you surrender?”, you drawled out, getting close to him, close enough to breathe the same air as him.

His heart was beating so fast. “I guess,” he mumbled, trying to look like this was a hassle for him, but the pink on his face wasn’t receding.

“You guess?”

Steve gave you a look, like he was annoyed. Then, he thrashed once again, attempting to use the element of surprise to overthrow you once more, but you were prepared.

With the grip on his wrists, you held his writhing body down and turned him around on the bed, softly, an intoxicating contrast to what he was expecting.

Steve gasped, genuinely feeling small at the feel.

You managed to lay him down until you were enveloping his body with yours, your chest pressing against his back.

When Steve felt this, he gave you a moan he’d never heard himself make. His face was almost squished against the pillow, and the feeling of being utterly overpowered was making his thoughts go haywire.

You released his left hand while you gently twisted his right one until it was held against the low of his back. At the same time, your hard cock brushed against his right cheek on accident.

Steve gasped.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything weird right now.”

He was secretly relieved. You released his hand, which remained against his back even then, holding yourself up and your hips pushed off the bed just in case, so that your cock wouldn’t come in contact with him anymore. Steve noticed this but didn’t say anything at first, and he couldn’t after, when you took hold of his cock that was pressed in-between his belly and the mattress and started stroking it fast at once. He moaned loudly and freely.

“That’s it, baby. That’s so good.”

Steve moaned even louder at that. He didn’t know why that simple word made him feel all fuzzy inside. But you did.

He reached back with his left hand until he could touch your hips. “It’s— fine. You can…” He attempted to press you against him.

“You sure?”, you asked him; despite this, you complied immediately and pushed your hips against his ass, though you lowered your body a bit so that your cock wouldn’t be in direct contact with his ass.

“Yeah, but it’s— you can—” Steve pressed his face against the pillow from the embarrassment when he tried to push you higher up with his left hand behind him. “It’s okay if… but we don’t… Jesus, don’t make me say it.”

You chuckled. You pressed your body against him, angling your hips so that the length of your hard cock would be pressing between his cheeks, pointing downwards.

Steve almost shouted at the feel.

That was how you managed to make Steve feel even more helpless: your entire body pressed against the back of his against the bed led him to rut against your right hand in desperation.

You kissed his nape to give him some comfort. “Just this. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

The back of his neck burned with abashment. “Yeah. You’re right. I mean, I think. I mean—”

You chuckled and gave his neck more little kisses. He released a small titter because of his nervousness. “Trust me. You aren’t.”

Steve bit his lip where you couldn’t see him. You just kept stroking him, the feeling of being enveloped by you adding on to his mental haze. He tentatively shifted his hips to chase more of the feel of your hand, but in doing so he also incidentally rubbed his ass on your cock.

Steve didn’t know why that pushed him so close to the edge.

You’d never heard Steve make such a sound— he was all but whimpering deliriously. Steve realized this and covered his mouth with his left hand, grabbing onto the sheets next to his head with his right one.

He was so adorable. You knew he was embarrassed from his own reactions to this change. “Does that feel good?”, you grunted next to his ear as you shifted your hips to rub against his rear again.

Steve blubbered something unintelligible, legs folding on their own, as if he was close.

You cackled at him. “Babe. I asked you a question.”

“What— Ah, fuck— Y-Yeah. Yeah.” Steve’s was all but writhing on the bed by that point. “Wh-Why does it feel so good?”

“We can talk about it later. For now…” Your hand was a blur between his belly and the mattress while you rubbed your cock on his ass. “… I want you to cum just like this. Come on, sweetness. Make a mess.”

You knew just how nonsensical he got when he came on a good day. But you didn’t know this would be a strong orgasm, so you weren’t prepared for the way he moaned, almost like it hurt, when he had the most intense orgasm he’d had to date, spurting lines upon lines of cum, as if you’d edged him for hours. God. His face was probably the best part, but you couldn’t see him from your position. Such a shame. His little whines would probably embarrass him if he had more coherence that moment.

After coming like a literal freight train for what seemed like minutes, you knew he was done when he relaxed on the bed. His breaths were quick and deep, like he couldn’t draw in enough air.

Your hard cock was twitching from its snug position between his cheeks, but you ignored it for the while. Your mouth started making its way to his, starting from his nape, where you left slow kisses, until you reached his red cheek. Steve was too out of it to respond.

You lifted yourself off his body, and he still didn’t acknowledge you. You gently manhandled his body and rolled it around, until he was lying on his back on the bed, next to the frankly impressive cumstain on the sheets. Steve’s eyes were closed and his breathing only then started to return to normal. You kneeled between his parted legs.

Steve finally opened his eyes, seeming to just then realize that his position had been changed without his knowledge.

“Back on the land of the living?”

He breathed in and out a couple of times before he chuckled, shyly, rolling his eyes at you. “Jesus, dude.” Steve took in the hard cock that was looming over his own spent one, the heat from yours so strong that he could feel it in the proximity. He bit his lip, extending a shaky hand forward and taking your cock in it. “You’re still…”

“Yeah,” you answered nonchalantly.

“I… let me…?” Steve looked up at you in question.

As if he ever needed confirmation from you. “Whatever you want, baby.”

He steeled himself and started stroking you, slowly at first, but quickly building up the pace until his hand was a blur on you.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip. “Won’t be too long, now.” Your hips freely pushed to and fro within the tunnel of his hand.

Steve was taken aback by this at first, but the visual rapidly turned the feelings inside him into something fuzzy and hot and.

And. Big.

And when you moaned in that low voice of yours, it was like one of the few remaining notions in his mind were broken once again: the contrast between a feeble and feminine voice against this gruff and masculine one was unmistakable. He welcomed this change too much. He’d thought he couldn’t get any more flustered, but he’d been wrong.

As you leant down and held yourself over Steve on your hands and knees, Steve thought he’d never felt smaller than at that moment. His heart was pounding so hard from the feeling of being caged in, but he —even with his terrible experiences with being trapped, confined, restricted in any way— felt safe, not cornered.

You opened your eyes just in time to see another one of those epiphanies he continuously had those days. You smirked at him, and Steve glanced at you before his eyes strayed downwards again, mesmerized with the sight of your cock thrusting into his fist.

Which. Well. Might have been just the tiniest beginning of a second epiphany that day.

“‘Find out something new?”, you grunted out, already close.

Steve looked up at you once more, mouth opening but then closing, biting his lip in that shy way you were so familiar with. “Maybe…”, he mumbled.

You gave him a low laugh before you bit your lip and closed your eyes, face twisted in bliss. “Getting close.”

Steve seemed to breathe faster at that. He only nodded, almost enthusiastically, and his hand stroked you even faster. He gave you a quick sultry look, and you were left wondering what it meant before his left hand went under the one he had on your member, and rolled your testes with it.

You growled at him, hearing his intake of breath at it, before you lent forward, closer to him, hovering only shy of a foot over him. You opened your eyes to see him looking almost frantic, unable to choose between looking at your face or at your cock, before you closed the distance and gave him a short, steamy kiss.

Steve whined a little when you withdrew, because you were suddenly coming on his stomach, grunting from the release. He kept stroking you through it, drawing in breaths from his open mouth as you added to the mess on his stomach.

His cock valiantly tried to fill for a second.

Once you were done, you smiled at him, noticing his sheepish expression. You rolled to the part of the bed that wasn’t stained with his cum and lay down on your side.

Steve’s eyes were shyly straying away from yours, but he wasn’t able to look away for too long, always coming back to your own or to the mess you made on his belly.

You used the hand that wasn’t stained with his cum to stroke a finger across his cheekbone. “So? What did you think?”, you asked him, as you reached behind you without looking to grab some tissues.

“W-Well…” He looked adorable. He lowered his face down to your chest, so hopelessly trying to hide the blush on his face, but it was useless. He giggled against your skin. “It was… something.”

You chuckled in sympathy. “Baby.”

“Hm.”

“Was there any point where you didn’t like any of it?”, you asked, specifically thinking of the part where you were rubbing yourself against his ass.

Steve’s eye peeked from your chest. He bit his lip to hide a smile, even though you couldn’t see it from your position, and shook his head.

“No? None at all?”

Steve knew what you were referring to. His face only got redder. “No. Actually…” He looked like he was about to say something, but quickly lost his courage and hid his face again. “N-Nevermind.”

“It’s okay to be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

He grumbled, embarrassed. “‘M not embarrassed.”

You could only chuckle at that. You kissed his forehead, and Steve laid his head in such a way that you could see him. “Whatever you say. I’m just saying there’s a first time for everything, and I recall you seemed to like a certain part a lot.”

Steve kicked his feet against the bed and he— he whined. Like it physically hurt him to hear you say this. He mumbled: “And what about it.”

You openly laughed at him. He was just so fun to tease. “Nothing. Just saying. There’s a whole world of possibilities you might have not thought about yet.”

God. Steve’s face was steaming hot by this point. He knew what you meant, but he couldn’t verbalize it, the sole idea setting off many different reactions in him, most of which were welcome, but made his heart pound fast at the same time, gave him the shivers.

But you knew he was probably drained, so you took his silence as a gentle dismissal for the day.

IV.

That last memory could be named ‘The Beginning Of It All’, because Steve feels like something fundamentally changed in him after you both were done that day, him staying up for a while after you started dozing off, lost in his thoughts.

These same thoughts invade his mind at every point of the day the next days that pass. At work, at home —alone, like always—, while going to run some errands. He can’t get that particular moment out of his mind, and it makes his face turn so red to just catch himself starting to think about it.

Because, first of all, he’s still wrapping his head around it. It being the fact that you were right: there is truly a world of possibilities he hasn’t completely thought about up to that moment. It being the fact that he’s starting to wonder how… some things might feel, and Steve finds himself almost steaming from bashfulness when he can finally find the courage to put it into words:

Fucked. He wants to know how it would feel like to be fucked.

He runs his hands through his hair, across his face, over his mouth, anything to try to somehow erase the red tint his face gets when he thinks about it.

It never works, of course. At work, Robin gives him that squinty look whenever she catches the most minuscule shift from his normal skin tone to anything other. Like a shark to blood.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Stevie?”

“I know, Robbie. But maybe not this one?”

And his face goes the deepest shade imaginable after saying it and he tries to cover it, and Robin stews in her concern, but leaves it at that. She helps by offering to pull out the old reliable You’re Cool vs. You Suck board, to which Steve gently but exasperatedly refuses. Because he is cool, for once. He believes.

V.

Some few days after The Beginning Of It All, Steve caves in. He’s just so desperate to know more about this particular fixation of his that has his mind going haywire, but he knows it has to be different.

He’s had anal with a few of the girls he’s had sex with, so he knows the difference between vaginal and anal penetration. Obviously. He won’t be able to involuntarily self-lubricate or dilate before being penetrated. He knows that.

He just doesn’t know what it entails. Before sealing the deal.

So Steve, in his eagerness to learn more, spends one of his weekend days travelling all the way down to Columbus, where he knows no one will recognize him, an almost two-hour-long trip just to have a semblance of anonymity.

How freeing it is, to be able to walk into a —though secluded— queer-friendly sex shop, just to buy a magazine where he’ll be able to read ‘Everything You Need to Know About Anal!”, and come out of it, full-incognito. He just hopes times will change in the future and he won’t have to hide so much for something so simple.

So, two hours later, when he’s back home and with a fresh new magazine in his hands that he treasures like a family heirloom, he gets comfortable on his bed after closing the door to his bedroom —as if his ever-absent parents would barge in at any moment.

And he reads.

Admittedly, the more he reads, the more he can feel his face start to heat up, albeit for a different reason now. Because he now knows what he needs to do. Before.

He giggles. He reads on. Discovers new things apart from the specific act of anal penetration, since the magazine focuses on gay sexual health in general. Is taken aback by a few things, mentally slaps himself on the face for not paying enough attention back in high school. Particularly reprimands himself for thinking that condoms are only useful for stopping pregnancies, hasn’t really thought about the possibility that there are sexual diseases and a whole epidemic going on, something that could have gotten to him even during the times that he would have sex with girls.

Finds out something that interests him way too much, another one of the things he glossed over at school, but is sure a lot more of his classmates would have as well:

‘The prostate. Just a quick stroke on this bad boy will have you seeing stars. Ask your partner to try it on you.’

Curious. Where is it, again?

Oh, right. Just about two inches into.

“Into…”, Steve mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn. He covers his face with the magazine and giggles, just like a girl with a crush. He lowers the mag until his eyes can peek from above it. His eyes stray anywhere and everywhere as he’s in deep thought.

Into. Steve hasn’t had any sort of stimulation on his behind other than some days ago, when you got him off while rubbing yourself against him, but he can clearly recall his own reaction to it. Such a strong response has to mean something. He just hopes it ends being all it was said to be.

His cock is starting to get hard from the thought. Just recalling that encounter has him feeling heady, growing inside his pants. Steve bits his lip. He lays the magazine on his chest and rubs the juncture between his thighs and groin with his hands while he thinks. The idea of fingering himself is growing more and more in his mind. He just has to give it a try.

A wild thought strays into his mind: the image of you thrusting two fingers in and out of him.

Steve releases a heavy breath. That vision has his cock throbbing.

He grabs the magazine and drops it beside him, on the mattress. Then, he quickly gets up and makes his way to the shower.

Previous preparations are done. Now comes the fun part. Hopefully.

Steve throws himself on the bed, still naked after the shower. His cock has remained on the beginnings of an erection all throughout, and it’s driving Steve crazy.

He settles until he’s half sitting up, half lying down on the center of the bed. He reaches to the side and opens his drawer, taking out the bottle of lube he has stored. Quickly, he opens it and pours a generous amount of the liquid on the fingers of his right hand, recalling what the magazine said about there never being enough lube for anal. He giggles a bit in the face of what he’s about to do.

With a heavy breath, Steve lowers his right hand down to his behind. He plants his feet on the bed to have a better approach. Then, he tentatively brushes his middle finger against the furl of his hole.

Steve bits his lip. It feels intense, and he hasn’t even started doing anything yet. He tries to relax, just in the way he’s read. Breathing in and out, he rubs the tip of his finger in circles, around his hole and occasionally venturing towards the center of it. Then, he steels himself, and starts pushing in.

He finds that the first finger enters without much trouble, perhaps a bit too easily, because he suddenly finds himself pushing it to the last knuckle on accident.

Steve gasps. It feels… equal parts good and weird. He covers his mouth with his free hand and giggles. He can’t believe he’s really doing this.

He waits for some seconds until he gets used to the feeling of his finger inside himself, and then starts pulling it out.

Okay. That feels downright weird.

Steve continues in spite of this, talking himself into enjoying this, trying to recall the feel of your hard cock rubbing between his cheeks. But it’s one thing to have another person do it to him while in a context where he was already hard, and another entirely different one to experiment with himself while he’s only now starting to feel pleasure.

He lowers his left hand to the discarded tube of lubricant on the bed. Steve does some gymnastics with his fingers, trying to open the lid with only one hand and to pour lube on that same hand, something that makes him spill some lube on the bed on accident. Oh, well. At least he gets some of it on his hand. When he’s done, he closes the lid with one wet hand and moves that same hand towards his cock. He encloses his member with his lubed hand, and that instantly brings him some pleasure.

But it’s not enough. It’s sort of difficult to stroke himself with his left hand, given that he’s right-handed.

Steve shakes his head. He thrusts his finger in and out of himself and tries to look for… anything that might give him some pleasure, but he simply can’t.

He thinks it’s because he only has one finger in him, so he puts his ring finger next to his middle one, squeezing together until he feels his rim give a little. It feels like a tight fit, but Steve pushes on, before he manages to fit the tip of his second finger inside him.

The stretch gives him pause. It certainly feels like a strain and it burns to a degree.

He doesn’t let that stop him and pushes forward, and he suddenly finds himself with two fingers inside him.

Steve breathes heavily. The stretch does something for him, but he doesn’t know if it’s something good or not. The only thing he knows is that his cock gives a little kick at the strain, but it’s too early to say if he really likes it, or if his body is just reacting naturally at this point.

So he waits and strokes himself slowly. His cock is only about half hard. Still, he holds on until he feels like he can move his right hand. He starts pulling his two fingers out and then back in at a leisured pace. There is undoubtedly something intense about the feeling. He keeps on thrusting slowly, in and out, still rubbing his cock at the same speed, and then starts a faster pace with his fingers.

Still. Nothing much.

He suddenly recalls what he read in the magazine. Right. The prostate. Two inches into.

Only, Steve doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel for. He presses forward, upward, but nothing really stands out.

Steve purses his lips, almost pouting. He was expecting something mind-blowing after the other day. He prods and thrusts some more, but it’s fruitless.

He reaches a sad conclusion: What if he doesn’t enjoy anal sex at all? Has that time just been a one-off?

Sighing, he pulls his fingers out, resigning himself to finishing himself with a mediocre handjob.

VI.

Steve’s dejected mood translates into most of his actions the next days. You’re the one who notices the most, when you visit him at Family Video today.

He’s alone in the store, Robin probably in the back room for her break, no clients in sight. He has his back to you, for once seeming to do his job and arranging VHS’s in a neat pile. That tells you all you need to know.

He senses someone behind him, but doesn’t turn around as he says: “Welcome. How may I help you?”

“I’d like the longest and horniest movie you have, please.”

Steve jumps at your voice. He quickly turns around, and whatever light scowl that might have been present in his face is instantly swapped for a nervous smile.

But you can see some slight tension on his face, so you say: “Don’t worry. There’s no other people here.”

“Yeah,” Steve starts, his voice almost tight, “…I know.”

You think his attitude is a bit strange. On any other normal day he would’ve been vibrating with energy just by having you in his proximity, but today it seems like he’s just subdued. Unhappy for some reason.

So you lean on the counter and notice his intake of breath, as well as the subtle reddening of his cheeks, something that will never change regardless of his mood.

“What’s got my pretty boy so down?”

Steve valiantly tries to grin at you, but it sort of comes out as a grimace. He hums. “I can’t really talk about it at work.”

You hum, too. “Wanna tell me about it after work?”

Steve bites his lip, like it’s a hard decision for him. Now you’re convinced that there’s something truly wrong going on. Finally, he decides. “Yeah. Same time as always?”

“Yep.” You subtly brush your fingers against his hand on the counter, the most overt thing you’ll try in public, knowing how nervous he gets about it. Steve sighs happily when you do. Then, you lower your voice, almost to a murmur. “I’ll give you an extra good time, just to see you smile. And, well. Make other sorts of faces, too.”

Your angel turns red. He giggles against his own shoulder, giving you the first display of genuine happiness.

You chuckle as well, as you turn to leave.

Later in the evening, Steve shows up in your doorstep, and you can’t help the way you practically drag him inside your house. He laughs when you do.

As soon as you close the door, you’re on him. Steve’s gasp is muffled by your lips, but he composes himself to respond in kind. You feel him opening his mouth to push his tongue onto yours, which surprises you, since he’s not usually the one to start such contact. Not that you’re complaining. You brush your tongue against his and feel his moan vibrate throughout your body. As if on instinct, his body presses against yours, but as soon as you feel the beginnings of a hard-on —which, surprisingly, isn’t yours—, he withdraws at once.

Steve gives you a nervous half-smile. “Hi,” he says, so shyly it gives you whiplash.

You chuckle. “Hey, there.” You lean down to give him one last peck on his lips. When you separate, you take his hand to start leading him further into your house. “Wanna sit on the couch? Watch a movie? Or…”

He stays in silence for some seconds, starting to look all too awkward for some reason.

You rub the hand you have in yours with your thumb, the question obvious in your face.

“Um…” Steve looks down, abashed. “Wh-Whatever you want.”

You purse your lips. “Hm. No offense, sweetheart, but that was the least convincing thing you’ve ever said.”

Steve chuckles. “You’re not wrong.” He looks up at you from under his lashes. That’s enough to get you going. “Well… we could…”

“Yeah?”

His face does a funny thing and he releases a titter. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

You want to tease him more, truly, but you feel as though whatever had him so crestfallen today might have drained him for the day, so you settle with: “Not this time, sweet thing. Let’s just go to my room so we can talk.”

“Yeah…” Steve’s face takes on a deep shade of red.

“Really,” you try to sound reassuring as you start walking to your bedroom with him in tow. “Whatever you want. We can talk… or we can talk.”

He laughs openly. “Right.”

You arrive at the door of your room. Steve looks at you, so bashful it’s almost painful to watch him.

You both cross the threshold. “Want me to close the door?”, you ask, knowing about his usual want of privacy, even though you lived alone.

He nods, meekly. So you close the door and stand in front of him, taking his hands in yours, expectant of whatever he’s going to say, because you know that he has it on the tip of his tongue. “Wanna lie down? Or sit down for a bit?”

Steve understands. He bites his lip. “Um…” He stays in silence for a while after that, so you take it as a refusal. You’re truly worried at this point.

You give him some encouragement. “Is anything wrong, sweetheart? Or was it that way at work?”

“Uh…” Steve looks skittish. You’ve never seen him quite like this. “I guess you could say so. But it’s…” He heaves out a breath and looks down. “God. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Anything you wanna tell me, baby, know that I’ll never judge you for it.” You rub circles on the insides of his wrists.

“Okay…”

God. He’s so quiet it’s almost creeping you out. You want him to say what’s on his mind so bad, but you don’t want to rush him, so you just stand there, awaiting his next words.

“So, um…” Steve purses his lips, feeling the tips of his ears burning. He still doesn’t look up. “You know the other day, when we, um…”

Your heart sinks. You’re so sure he’s going to say something along the lines of ‘I hated this and that and I didn’t want to say it at the time’. You just stand there, trying to not let the panic show on your face. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t notice, since his eyes are glued to the floor. “Wh-When we were…” He exhales, and it comes out a bit whiny. “It’s so hard to say this.”

You decide to put him out of his misery. “Something you didn’t like?”

At that, Steve looks up at you quickly in confusion. “Um. No? Actually…” He bites his lip, unable to even give you a nervous smile. “I, um… might have liked it too much.”

You try to not let the relief you feel be too obvious. “Oh.”

“Y-Yeah. So, I, um… I might have… done more research? And…” He whines from the embarrassment.

“Yeah?”, you encourage him, because this ‘research’ he’s talking about feels just too good to be true. “That’s amazing. What did you find?”

“Well…” Steve looks you in the eye for one second before he decides it’s too much for him, whines again, and hides his face in your chest.

You chuckle in compassion. You kiss the top of his head. “Go on?”

Steve takes a deep breath. He tilts his head so you can see some of his face. “Well, I kind of… tried some stuff.”

“Some stuff?”, you press on, almost desperate to know more. “That’s great, babe. What’s wrong with it?”

At the reminder that there is something wrong, Steve seems to deflate. “I’m getting there.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

He chuckles softly. Next, he encircles your torso with his arms, noticing how you’ve done the same to him. “I kind of… I don’t know… liked it but also didn’t, so it was kind of disappointing. And I got really bitchy afterwards because I thought I had it down.” Steve looks up at you with the saddest, most adorable eyes from his position on your chest as he kept speaking freely. “And I’m also kind of mad at myself because I think I did it right, but it wasn’t what I expected. And…” He seems to get shy again. “And I wanted to… do more… with you… but I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong, or if it’s something I really don’t like.”

You card your fingers through his hair, knowing how hard it is for him to talk about something like this. You lift his head, with your right hand under his chin, and let his pretty face look at you. “You’re so brave for telling me this, honey.” You give him a slow, sweet kiss on the lips that seems to soothe his nerves. Now, you let him know just how supportive you are. “Just to make sure, is this something you want to like? Or is it something you feel like you have to like to make me happy?” You raise your eyebrow at him, jokingly scolding him, and he knows what you’re about to say, because he looks equally exasperated and amused. “What did we say about expectations and roles?”

“I know,” he says, a small genuine smile on his face. He bites his lip. “I want to like it. For myself.”

“Good.”

Steve unconsciously catches his breath at that and carries on. “I’m just not sure if I’m doing it right.”

“Okay,” you conclude. “So let’s get this straight: you’re talking about…” Your hands lower down his back, until your fingertips are touching the rim of his pants. “Playing with this?” They stray lower, until you can feel up his cheeks on your hands, over the denim. “As in, anal?”

Steve’s face gets so red once the word is out. He nods.

“Okay. Did you use a toy? Or fingers? Something else?”

He hides his face in your chest again. “F-Fingers.”

“Cool. What did it feel like?”

Steve’s eyes stray downwards, and he chews on his lower lip, trying to find the words. “It was… sort of intense? It was kind of good but also weird. And I was expecting it to feel a lot better since, you know…” Steve looks like he’s about to break into nervous laughter. “But… I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly.”

You purse your lips in thought. “Did you reach your prostate?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. I know about it since I read— I mean… during my research…” His lips tremble in a shy smile.

You chuckle. He was just so adorable. “What would this research be, if I may know?”

“Well. Kind of… a magazine?”

“Ooh. And did it tell you where it was?”

“It did. But I just couldn’t find it for some reason.”

You hum while carding your fingers through his hair. You’re almost sure this entire talk might be doing something to Steve, but you don’t want to push just yet. “That might be a very good reason why you didn’t like it that much. The prostate is extremely important for this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. If you’ve never felt naturally inclined to do any sort of anal play, it’s most probable that you might not feel pleasure just from anal itself. You’d need something more.”

Steve puts the tiniest bit of space between you two to look at you better. In doing so, you notice his state of arousal, which proves that he is a bit pent up over this.

When he realizes this, he shifts in place, subtly trying to cover himself, looking at you sheepishly.

You chuckle, grabbing his chin and laying a hot kiss on his lips. “Baby. ‘This talk doing something for you?”

Steve bites his lip and shyly nods.

Your hands tentatively slide under his shirt, resting on the sides of his hips within it. “Tell you what. Someday… if you want, that is… I could help you with this. We could play a little to see if we find a fix.”

At this, Steve sucks his lips into his teeth, like he’s trying not to laugh, and his face takes on a deep shade of pink. “Um… well…”

“Yeah?” You’re eager now, knowing he’s onto something.

“You could… right now, if you want?”

“Oh, babe.” Your hands slide underneath his polo shirt until they reach the middle part of his back. “You mean…?”

“I… kind of… today, I… before I came here…” Steve fidgets with the rim on the back of your shirt. “Again. W-With fingers— Like— I tried to see if…”

You give him a steamy kiss to put him out of his misery. He whines lowly within it, and moans when you open his mouth to rub your tongue against his. You separate too soon for his liking. “Yeah? Played with yourself?”

Steve is so abashed he can only nod.

“That’s so hot. I bet you’re so pent up right now.” Your hands return to the rim of his polo, and start pulling it up to his midriff, looking at him in question, to which he eagerly nods. You take off his shirt and leave it on the bed.

He’s on you the moment you return to him. His sudden kiss leaves you breathless, but it only makes you chuckle. His jittery hands pull at the rim of your shirt and you comply, quickly taking it off.

After some moments of haste, you’re both completely bare to each other, returning to that prolonged kiss you can’t get enough of. Your hands stray lower and lower down his back.

You withdraw long enough to breathe out: “Cool if I do this?”, before lowering your hands to the top of his cheeks.

Steve gasps. He nods, almost vibrating against you.

You chuckle, and take each of his glutes in a firm handful each.

He whines as you play with him, looking at you from under his lashes. You lean forward, and lay heavy kisses down his neck.

“Oh, fuck.” A little bite has his legs twitching on the floor. “Fuck!” A long lick from the hollow of his clavicles to the side of his jaw while you massage each handful has him moaning intelligibly.

Two fingers of your right hand suddenly rubbing against his hole have him jumping almost a foot in the air. “Okay?”

Steve’s moans are airy. “That’s…” He breathes in and out as you rub up and down the sensitive skin. “G-Good.”

You finish this with a steamy kiss on his lips, before laying your hands on his hips. “Let’s go to the bed?”

“Yeah.”

After you’re done leading him to the side of the bed that has the night table next to it, you both sit down and continue kissing and caressing each other for some seconds.

You know Steve’s impatient. You have to make this good for him, have to prove to him that he could totally like this, so, after you withdraw from his lips, without taking your eyes off him, you reach out and open the drawer, taking out a tube of lube and a condom.

Steve’s eyes land on the square packet, almost nervously.

“Don’t worry, babe. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

He bites his lip. “Um… what is it, then?”, he asks, apprehensively.

“Let me tell you.” You leave the objects in the space between you and Steve on the mattress. With your right hand, you shift Steve’s legs to part them. He lets you, albeit hesitantly, unsure of what you’re planning. You grab the condom and show it to him. “Sometimes, people who have any sort of anal play with others might use condoms for whatever they’re gonna be inserting into the other, even if it’s not a dick.”

“Really?”, he sighs out, almost relieved.

“Yeah. They might use it for toys or even fingers. So I’m asking you now: do you want me to wear this when I’m fingering you?”

Steve’s face burns at your bluntness, but he takes the time to think it over. “Hm. Is it necessary?”

“Not as much as it is for anal sex per se. Depends on how worried you are about contracting STI’s, which is pretty much a null possibility. Our results looked pretty good, if you ask me.”

Indeed. The doctors cleared you both something like a week ago.

“It’s whatever you want, babe. I’m okay with either.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maybe you could not wear it? I kind of… need to feel it properly if I’m gonna be doing it later on my own.” Steve turns giggly as his face darkens.

You chuckle as well. “Now, that’s a pretty picture.” You start leaning forward into Steve, hearing his giddy intake of breath when he feels you rearranging him on the bed, until he’s half lying down in the center of it. You muse for a second. “In fact… I’d be totally okay if you tried that right now.” Steve’s mouth quirks in a demure smile. “You know, to see what you’re doing wrong.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Just for that.” He bites his lip, pink on the face, because he will do it, just because your encouragement makes him all warm inside. He grabs your lube, pouring some on the fingers of his right hand, and then leaves it aside. “Fair warning, though. It might be kind of unsexy. I’m gonna be flagging.”

“That’s normal. It’s not easy to remain hard just from anal.”

He smiles. “Yeah, well…”, he trails off.

And he starts. He lowers both hands to the area near his groin, his left one going for his cock, stroking himself in order to relax, before rubbing the lubed fingers of his right hand on his hole. He exhales.

You wonder at the sight. Steve lightly squirms from your pointed gaze, but he continues on nonetheless. His middle finger enters him without much trouble, due to having played with himself previously. He doesn’t make much noise, apart from the occasional exhalation.

“How’s that feel?”, you ask him.

“Underwhelming.” Steve’s expression resembles a grimace, but he valiantly tries to give you a little grin. He quickly makes way for a second finger, which takes a bit longer to enter, but when he does, you can see the subtle shift in his features. He looks like it’s a bit of a strain for him. “It feels only sort of better right now.”

“Because of the stretch?”

“Yeah.”

You hum. The visual is breathtaking. If only Steve could see himself right now, he’d know that you don’t need much more than this to go. Still, you feel kind of bad for thinking this when he’s clearly not enjoying it thoroughly. “Try to search for your prostate. It should feel like a spongy patch.”

“I’m trying, now.” Steve shifts his hand, probably moving his fingers inside him.

After some seconds, you see his shoulders slump.

“I can’t.” He sounds petulant about it.

You click your tongue. “Poor baby. Maybe I could do it for you?” And his face takes on the red hue it’d lost during his act. He bites his lip. “If you want, of course.”

Steve licks his lips. That certainly sounds nice. He nods, biting his lip as he takes his fingers out, wincing at the empty feel. Once they’re out, he looks around, hand hovering in the air for some seconds, before he lays that hand on his thigh, not quite knowing what to do.

You pull some tissues from the box atop the night table and give them to him, to which he looks grateful and cleans his hand.

“Just leave it there,” you tell him, and he drops the tissue next to him on the bed.

Now, you lean forward. Just as you were expecting, he gives you that demure expression before you take his lips in a slow kiss, opening his mouth just in time for him to lay his tongue on yours. You kiss him for some moments, rubbing your hands up and down his torso, playing with the hair on his chest and his nipples until you’ve got him panting against your mouth.

Before you withdraw completely, you bite his lower lip, to which he gasps. “Now I’ve got you all hot and bothered.” Steve smiles, head tilted down to his chest. “Were you all hot and bothered when you tried to finger yourself, too?”

“Sort of. Not as much as right now.” Steve parts his legs wider, something that has you ready to go.

“I’m flattered.” Still leaning into his space, sharing the same air, your right hand sneakily goes down his belly until you can grasp his hard cock. He breathes out, minutely thrusting up and down into your fist. Your fondling doesn’t last for too long. Your right hand releases his cock and slides over his testes, lower and lower, until you’ve got four main fingers resting on the juncture of his thigh and hip and your thumb against his perineum. “I want you to feel something.”

Steve gives you a heady look, heart almost beating out of his chest at the soft contact. “What?”, he whispers.

Your thumb presses against his perineum.

Steve’s body seizes. He gives you the prettiest, loudest moan, and his body curls into your hand for a moment before dropping on the bed, at the same time that you release the pressure.

“Fuck… What the fuck is that?” He runs a hand through his hair, looking at you in wonder.

“That is your prostate.” You smile at him.

“Oh my God.” Steve laughs softly.

“Yeah. Now imagine that, but…” You muse for a second. “Ten times more intense.”

Steve gives you an almost panicked look, but you know it’s in the best way, because he finds himself muttering: “Holy fuck…”

“Now you know why so many gay men like to bottom.” Your thumb rubs the skin of his perineum without pressing forward, something that makes Steve antsy with pleasure. Then, your hand slides downward, until your thumb can rub against the tight furl of his hole.

Steve bites his lip to hold back his desperate moan.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll see. I bet I could make you come just from your prostate.”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out. “Is that even possible?”

“Yeah. After this, you’ll be able to do it to yourself. Trust me. Once you start, you can never stop. It just feels so good.” Your thumb presses in without much intent; you only do it to hear Steve’s frantic breathing increasing. “With time, your body might learn how to get pleasure just from penetration alone.”

“Ah, fuck. I can— I can totally see it.”

“Yeah.” You lay a heavy kiss on his lips. “I could get you all needy when you do.” Your hand now rests in front of his ass, middle and ring finger rubbing up and down his hole. His legs twitch. “Make you want a real cock in place of fingers. If you want,” you clarify when you spot Steve’s big eyes glancing at you with something that looks like nervousness, which, in reality, is pure unadulterated want.

He nods fervently. He subtly pushes his hips towards you, letting you know how ready he is for you to start.

So you do. You quickly grab the tube and pour lubricant on the fingers of your right hand. As soon as you press the tips of two fingers against his hole, his hips twitch, and he makes the smallest sound that has your cock throbbing.

“Good. Let’s just start with one since my fingers are thicker.”

God. Steve seems to only now recall this fact. It only serves to turn him even more flustered. He nods.

The tip of your middle finger starts pressing forward. To be fair, it’s not too difficult to breach him, since he played with himself using two fingers before he arrived, but doing it himself is so different from feeling someone else do it for him.

When the tip of your finger enters him, his lungs seem to run out of air. He clenches harshly around you.

“I’m gonna need you to relax, baby.”

Steve pants. “I’m trying. It’s just… so intense.”

You understand him, of course. Your left hand goes to his cock and you start stroking him at a leisured pace.

He gives you the smallest moan. Once you feel like he won’t clamp down on you, you continue entering him with your finger, until it’s down to the last knuckle.

Steve keeps on breathing heavy, but there’s a small smile on his face. “Oh my God. That’s so…”

“How is it?”

“Better than on my own.”

You nod. “I wanna put two in before I start feeling for your prostate. I promise it’s gonna feel real good like that.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods with a blush high on his face.

You pull your middle finger out until only the tip is in. Your ring finger rubs softly against his rim, next to your middle one, before you start pushing both fingers forward.

Steve clenches down, gritting his teeth from the small strain.

“Hm. Can’t have you clamping down on me like this, sweetheart. How about you try to push out a bit?”

“‘Push out’? Oh my God,” Steve laughs, embarrassed. Covers his mouth but does as he’s told.

Your two fingers push in to the last knuckle way too easily after this, so much so that Steve’s left panting, his arms buckling and ending up having to lean on his right elbow.

“Oh my God,” Steve repeats. His cock is only half-hard by now; in spite of this, he feels it kicking at the stretch.

You still your two fingers inside him, waiting for him to get used. When you hear Steve’s heavy breathing calm down, you decide to start thrusting them in and out.

He clenches down and makes small whines.

“Too much?”, you ask softly, as you stop your motions.

Steve gives you a half-smile, half-grimace. “Hm… I don’t know, honestly.”

You think you see some of his previous frustration seep into his expression, so you decide to not tease him anymore.

Your fingertips press against the upper part of his walls. Steve bites his lower lip, knowing what you’re trying to do.

It takes some long seconds of exploration, but when it happens, it’s a sight to behold.

Steve shouts. His face is the best part: pinched tight in a perfect mix between shock and pleasure. His entire body twitches against your hand. His legs kick for a second, and his cock hardens in front of you, before he slumps against the bed.

“Holy fuck,” is all he can pant out, left hand against his beating heart.

“There it is.” You smirk at Steve, and he only has a brief second to catch his breath and look at you in euphoric torment before you’re suddenly thrusting right against that spot, focusing on bringing the most prolonged and intense reactions out of him.

And you certainly fulfill this task to the maximum, if the long, whiny moans coming out of your boyfriend are indicative enough. Steve grabs at his own knees to try to keep himself as open as possible, because the forceful twitches of his body have him closing them without meaning to, too uncoordinated to do anything other than suffer from pleasure. When he can’t even coordinate his hands anymore just for that, he has no option but to thrash on the bed.

This is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Steve’s expressions are some of the prettiest, most arousing you’ve had the honor of witnessing. The way his eyebrows pinch and his eyes shut tight, mouth open to let out airy moans, is something that won’t leave your mind alone for the foreseeable future.

Steve opens those beautiful eyes just in time to beg you with them to not stop, and you don’t need any verbal ratification to understand.

Your fingers move in circles against the bundle of nerves, and his legs shake so bad you’re afraid he might start cramping at any given moment. Steve is laid out on the bed, almost unable to comprehend the amount of pleasure you’re giving him, unable to even open his eyes to witness this.

“Oh my God,” is all he can moan. It’s so endearing, the way he keeps his left hand over his chest, like he’s trying to will his heart into not beating so fast.

“Ever thought it could feel like this?”

“N-No. Not at all— fuck!” His left hand leaves his chest and goes up to his mouth, covering it, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I-It feels… Fuck, it feels kinda weird too, like I’m gonna…” Steve takes his hard cock in his right hand, gritting his teeth when he feels like there’s going to be a rush of something other than cum in any second.

You chuckle. “That’s normal.” You softly take his right hand in your free one, leaving it aside without much resistance. “Look at that. You’re all hard just from this. That’s so good.” Steve breathes out a series of short moans behind his hand after you say this, looking at you with a bit of newfound shyness, even now that he’s laid out, taking your fingers in him.

“Y-You think it’s good?” He squirms when you give slow, deep thrusts against his prostate.

“Oh, baby. It is. It’s so good. You’re doing so good for me.”

Sweet boy. Does he really think covering his face with one hand will hide him from you noticing his deep blush?

You give him the quietest chuckle. “Look at this for one second, babe?”

Steve lowers his hand until only his mouth is being concealed, looking at you while debating himself on doing it or not, but he ends up bringing it down to hold himself up on quivering arms while you give him short, less intense thrusts with your fingers.

He leans up until he’s half sitting up, looking at your wrist.

“Would you look at that,” you drawl out, pointing at your moving hand with a nod.

Steve looks. His cock releases a steady stream of pre-cum at the sight.

Because right now, he’s looking at you doing to him the same thing he used to do to so many girls: you’re finger-fucking him with the two fingers in the middle, index and pinky ones pressed flat against the sides of them.

Just like a girl.

Steve feels faint at the sight. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh, yeah?” You resume a fast, intense pace, your fingers making squelching noises when your palm meets his skin.

Steve his moaning through his teeth, unable to hold himself up anymore and leaning back on his trembling arms, on his elbows. His legs twitch restlessly, and he’s helpless to stop himself.

He grits his teeth not only at the pleasure, but at the intense feeling growing on him with each passing second. His right hand rests on his heavy cock. “I— I c-can’t— I really feel like I’m gonna…”

You know what he’s referring to. “It’s okay. Just let it happen. I promise it’s nothing bad.”

Steve trembles, writhes, sways from one side to the other one as he tries to fight the feeling. “I— can’t.”

The truth is, Steve can. He’s just too scared about the novelty of this one orgasm, because he knows it’s not going to be gentle on him, and it’s something so new it frightens him. The thought of its magnitude makes his heart beat even faster and has him terrified at the same time.

“Okay, baby.” Your left hand goes on his cock, and you start rubbing him up and down quickly.

“Ah, fuck— I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” You chuckle. “You did so good, baby.”

Steve’s body starts curling in itself. “Ah—! Did I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

Before Steve’s overwhelmed eyes, you slide down the bed until your face is at the same level as his cock.

“You were so good for me. You deserve a reward.”

And you just manage to give him a little suck while you stroke him and finger him, right on his glans, before his eyes roll back and he’s cumming harder than he’s ever had.

The noises he makes are so— animalistic. His face crumples in the most euphoric agony, and his body curls against your head, like he can’t take such amount of pleasure, like he’s trying to push you off.

But he isn’t.

He comes, and comes, and comes into your mouth, his orgasm seeming to never end, and his own body not giving him a second of respite. You just swallow as much cum as he’ll give you, because you just can’t stop giving him pleasure, either, still bobbing your head up and down in short strokes to prolong this. Your fingers haven’t stopped, either. You’re pretty sure you might be overdoing it by this point, but the way he can’t stop moaning and whimpering as you keep on rubbing circles against his gland tells you he’s enjoying this too much.

At last, his body stops twitching so much. He drops on the bed. You take this as your cue to lift off him, licking the last traces of his cum off your lips before you give his slumped face a smile, removing your fingers from inside him.

God. Steve’s eyes are so glazed over behind barely-opened eyelids that you wouldn’t be surprised if he can’t focus his sight for minutes after this. His chest heaves quickly on the mattress, left hand loosely on the left side of it, no doubt trying to calm down his thumping heart.

You can’t help yourself. You slide up all the way until you’re kneeling before him, and your right hand lowers to your painfully-hard cock.

He looks like he just got fucked.

Steve comes to only seconds after you’ve started a quick pace with your hand.

You chuckle at his barely-there expression. “That was a strong one, wasn’t it?”, you grunt out, already feeling close.

Steve’s breathing doesn��t get any slower than as it is right now. He reaches forward with a trembling right hand, hovering under your cock.

“Just rest, babe. You can barely move.”

“No, I… I need to. Didn’t even touch you yet.” He looks sheepish. “Sorry. I get so stupid when I’m horny, I forget to do anything else.”

You give him a wolfish grin. “That’s not a problem at all.” You feel a pull at your gut. “In fact, I’d say it’s hot as fuck. But if you really want to…” You take his lax right hand in yours and manipulate it until it’s circling your cock.

You then start fucking his fist.

Steve’s mouth opens in a silent gasp as he feels the friction of your cock thrusting in and out of the tunnel of his fingers. His spent cock makes a brave attempt of filling again.

Only a few more thrusts are enough to have you grunting, increasing in volume as the only warning you can give him before you’re coming long lines on his torso.

Steve gasps at this. The heat that hits his chest, along with the visual of your cock virtually fucking him, is enough to have him almost dipping into a gentler state of mind, something that makes him panic for the briefest second before he’s pulled out of that place when he hears you grunt out for the last time.

You didn’t notice his predicament, so when you come to and take note of Steve’s spooked eyes, you take his drenched hand in yours. “Babe, you okay?”, you ask him, concerned.

Steve nods, reassuring. “Yeah. That was just… kind of intense.” He chuckles. A blush sits high on his cheeks as he looks at you, at the same time that he brings his soaked hand close to his lips. “Now it’s my turn,” he says, albeit a bit uncertainly, referring to when you swallowed him.

“You don’t have to.” But fuck if the visual doesn’t make your spent cock throb again.

He doesn’t answer. Only looks at you with the most smoldering expression on his face while he opens his mouth, brings his cum-stained fingers into it, sucks, swallows, and…

Tries to hide a grossed-looking grimace. “Um.”

You openly laugh at him, dropping next to him on the bed while he still has you in stitches.

Steve hits you on the chest with that same hand while he pouts. “Don’t— fucking laugh, man. I was trying to have a moment.” But he’s trying to hold back a laugh as well. “How the hell did you swallow… that so easily?”

You try to calm down enough to answer. “You just get used to the taste.”

His mouth purses, and his grimace just makes you start laughing again. “Is that what I taste like, too? Jesus. I mean—! No offense.”

Steve can only hide his own smile with a pout when that just makes you laugh harder.

VII.

Steve’s newfound good mood is contagious. Robin is almost afraid at this point. She thinks his mood swings are so over the place as of lately that he needs some sort of emotional support. Continuously, she asks him if he’s really feeling fine, to which he answers with nonchalance.

He obviously can’t tell her exactly what’s got him so happy.

It’s not just a single thing. It’s not just the fact that you helped him overcome his frustration after being so pent up.

It’s also the fact that, yes, he recently found out that he could do it himself…

And yes. He can get aroused just from penetration alone.

In fact, Steve’s almost embarrassed by how much his libido has gone up these past few days, namely because he now actually craves penetration at times.

He bites his lip on his way home from work, pupils dilated as he fights to keep his hard-on down within the privacy of his car, because he wants it right now. He wants to use his fingers on himself, wants to keep adding to feel the stretch.

Wants to get ready for you.

So he doesn’t bother to get comfortable before he climbs out his car in a haste, almost forgetting to close his entrance door with key before going up the stairs, heading straight for the shower.

Steve is splayed on the bed and has two fingers inside himself, this time from his left hand, so that he can stroke himself easily with his right one. He’s done this exact thing every single day this week, attempting to imitate your movements from a week ago, hoping to replicate that glorious moment.

It’s never the same as if you were the one doing it to him, but it still makes him come harder than all the previous years before this.

Currently, he’s scissoring himself open, gasping out at the small stretch. He has his eyes to the ceiling, picturing you instead of him. Your two thick fingers felt so amazing in him, stretching him out so much more than he could with his own.

Steve recalls the feel of your cock in his hand, so big he almost can’t close his fingers around it completely.

Oh, fuck. He always forgets how big you are. The size of it scares him a little, but when he’s so horny like this he feels like he could take you, at all costs.

Still. He needs to prepare for it if he’s really going to ask you for it later.

So he pulls his two fingers out, until only the tip of them are in, and tightly presses his index against them, gently thrusting in to get all three of them inside him at the same time. It’s a snug fit, and he finds it’s more difficult to add something as scant as a single finger inside, but he presses on.

It burns, but Steve manages to push three fingers in to the last knuckle.

And then, he wants more. Because the stretch, which has become more intense now, sets off different reactions in him that he could have never imagined.

And so he doesn’t wait long enough to get used to the current stretch, and he tries to push in the last finger, his pinky one into himself. But he finds that it’s sort of too much, the strain he puts on himself causing mixed, overwhelming sensations, but even that doesn’t stop him.

With a great amount of mental effort, he slips the last finger into himself, and—!

And it’s such a big stretch that it has him hissing behind gritted teeth, and it still doesn’t stop him as he starts thrusting in and out of himself, not waiting to get used to the pressure as he strokes his cock faster and faster—

Steve cums without even reaching his prostate. He feels his hole clench repeatedly, tight around his own fingers, at the same time he releases onto his chest, heaving in gasps from an open smiling mouth because it feels so good.

When he’s done, he slumps against the bed, fingers pulling out but pushing in one last time as he feels an overwhelming current of painful pleasure from it, and isn’t that an idea for another time?

At last, he pulls out completely, a resolute thought resounding in his mind:

Steve needs you to fuck him.

He doesn’t even attempt to wait in order to not look so pent up. He calls you only one hour later.

He breathes out: “Hi,” before you can even exchange greetings and ask who it is.

“Hey, baby,” you chuckle. “You sound eager.”

“Well… maybe.”

You hum in agreement, now eager as well, sensing he’s going to say something you’re going to like a lot. “Why would that be?”

“Um… well, you see…” The way he’s speaking tells you he’s probably blushing; you just know him like that. There’s a brief silence after this, before he continues. “Can I… If you’re free, I mean…”

“Yes?”, you say teasingly.

“I was… I was wondering if I could…”

“Yeees?”

You hear something that sounds like a mix between a whine and a groan. “You’re going to make me say it.”

“Yep.” Your voice now takes on a lower, more smoldering quality. “If you want something, you have to ask for it, baby.”

There’s an intake of breath on the other side of the line. Then, the smallest of whimpers. “Okay,” he croaks out. “Do you think I could come over?”

“Sure. Movie, snacks, and cuddles it is.”

He’s so fun to tease. You obviously know what he wants, but it’s just so fulfilling to hear the petulant groan he gives you. “Not what I meant…”, is his almost inaudible response.

“Sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Can you repeat it for me?” Your face hurts from the way you’re smiling so widely.

On the line, he groans, and you hear a series of… taps?

Oh, he’s probably kicking his feet against the floor, just in the way he does when he’s so abashed it physically hurts him.

You openly laugh at him. “Alright. No more teasing. Come over already.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

“Just don’t stretch yourself too much. I wanna have my fun, too.”

“Holy fuck—” is the last thing you hear before he hangs up on you.

You’re left laughing loudly.

At last, Steve steps foot on the threshold of your house, finally about to get what he’s been aching for.

He raises his hand to knock, but he’s taken aback when the door opens in his face before he can do so.

It seems he’s not the only eager one.

“Hey, there.”

“Hi,” he answers, bashfully. It hits him only now, that he’s about to do this. He tries to cover it with a smug expression. “Were you waiting for me behind the door?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Nooo. Why would you think that?” You put your right hand on the low of his back to guide him in before he can answer. “Just come inside already.”

Steve snorts, and his face takes on a deep shade of red as he mumbles: “Pretty sure that’s my line— I mean.”

You give him a wolfish smile. You close the door, and immediately you push him against it, leaning into his space without kissing him, only giving him a pointed look that he squirms under. “You know, you’re being a lot more overt than usual, did you know?” You lean down, your lips almost brushing his. “Why’s that? Hm? Something on your mind?”

Steve makes that shy, quivering smile and tops it off with the straying eyes. It might be seen as part of this little game, but you know Steve well enough to know that he’s feeling truly bashful right now. “You know what it is,” he whines out.

“Hm, but I don’t. I think you should spell it out for me.” Your right hand goes under his chin. You tilt his head to be facing yours in a better way, using your thumb to rub against his skin. By this point, you’re positive that you can try out something related to his glaring praise kink. “Eyes on me, sweet thing.”

He moans airily. Steve looks at you, seeming to want to obey you at all costs, even if that makes his face burn and his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Tell me, baby.” You speak with your mouth directly onto his, in a sensual caress of sorts.

Steve heaves out. “I— want you to fuck me.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, you push your lips onto his in a steamy kiss that has him closing his eyes from the intensity. His arms wrap around your neck, hands going down your back to grab at whatever part of your shirt he can. Your hands, conversely, hold onto the sides of his hips, quickly sliding under his polo to stroke up his ribs.

He moans within the kiss, which finishes too soon for his liking.

“That’s so good, baby. You’re such a good boy for me.”

Steve almost yells from how loud he moans. Rushes to lean his face on the side of your neck, almost mortified by his own reaction. The tip of his right shoe kicks softly against the floor.

You chuckle next to his ear. “You like me calling you ‘good’?”

He doesn’t remove his face from your shoulder; he only nods against it, blushing so hard you can see it spread down his nape.

You chuckle against his ear. “That’s good to hear. Now, be good and follow me to my room.”

Steve’s eye peeks from against your shoulder. He’s feeling so sheepish he almost can’t speak. “Okay,” he croaks out lowly.

You lean back some until he can no longer hide into your neck, enough that you can see the deep shade of pink his face has taken. Your right arm goes around his waist now; you use this leverage to lead him towards your bedroom. “Feeling fine?”, you have to ask while you walk, because you know that this is a very big step, and that he probably needs the highest level of reassurance.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I just… You’re kinda making me feel the way I probably made girls feel.” He laughs nervously.

You chuckle as well. Once you’re behind the threshold of your bedroom door, you close it, noticing his low intake of breath at the action. “What’s that mean?”

“Just…” Steve’s hands find yours and he plays with them to anchor himself. He shakes his head shyly, his foot twisting, like he doesn’t want to answer.

“Small?”, you venture, and his little nod and bite of the lip confirm it. That makes you smile. “That’s fine.” You rub his hands with your thumbs. Then, you pull him closer to the bed. “I’m here to make you feel nice and safe.”

Steve looks up at you with a small shaky smile. He closes the distance, giving you a soft kiss on the lips. “Thanks.”

He blushes when you chuckle at him. “Don’t thank me over that. It’s just my duty.” And he’s left breathless when you slide your hands under his polo shirt, high enough to start lifting it up to his middle. “Now… how about I take off your clothes so I can make you feel real good? Hm?”

At his shy nod, you slide his shirt up and off him, immediately going for his lips after it, gliding your rough hands over his torso, playing with the hair on his chest. Steve moans inside the kiss when he feels you thumbing at his nipples. When you withdraw, your mouth finds its way to the right side of his neck, leaving hot trails with lips and teeth. He moans softly, grabbing at the rim of your shirt and pulling it up with eagerness. You chuckle at him. You allow him to pull it off you, and the moment it’s on the floor, the pounces on you just like you’ve done to him. Steve attacks your mouth with an impatience you haven’t seen before, but that’s fine. That just makes you smile within the kiss, because you’re so glad Steve’s found something he likes that you can both passionately agree on.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, flushed, but raising an eyebrow at your obvious smile. You decide to distract him, feeling for his button and zipper, and you fulfill this mission, since you can see and hear his enthusiastic response to this. Quickly, you undo the front of his pants, and before you pull them down, you take Steve by the shoulders and gently push him down the bed, until he’s sitting down by the end of it. His hands support his weight behind him, and for this brief second, he looks up and up at you, because you standing before him forces him to lift his head to look at you, and he feels so hazy he has to subtly cross his legs at this, mindful of his now fully-hard cock tenting the front of his jeans.

But you don’t let him. Your hands push his knees outwards at the same time you lower yourself to kneel before him, and this vision has him gasping out and leaking just from that.

You wink at him from your position on the floor. Swiftly undoing his shoes and taking them off, your hands reach forward for the rim of his pants, and as he looks at you in a daze, your fingers hook right under the edge of his underwear, and you start pulling his lower garments down at once, giving him a gruff little laugh when his very hard cock is released from its confines with a small rebound.

When it’s off him and he’s bare before you, you lift yourself up using his thighs as leverage and start leaning towards him, in a low prowl, until you’re hovering over him with your hands on the sides of his head.

Steve’s nervous hands jitter down your torso, all the way to the rim of your own pants, and he makes quick work of the button and zipper. He pointedly looks at his hands, so as to not lose his nerve at your searing gaze. When he’s done, he ventures a quick glance at your eyes, but quickly looks down again as he starts slipping your lower garments off you.

You haven’t stopped looking at him throughout this. Your eyes just can’t leave his rosy face and nervous bites of his lips as you shift above him to help him undress you.

Once you’re both nude, it seems to hit him that you’re both going to do this. Steve’s demeanor changes into one of agitation. He finally looks at you, a nervous, quivery smile on his mouth, though you understand that he’s looking for reassurance now, which you’ll easily give to him.

You lower your head to his and kiss his worries away. “Let’s start slowly, yeah?”, you say, almost in a whisper, all but reading his thoughts, since his torso seems to deflate at that.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

There’s a little grin on your face now. You lean back to let Steve rearrange himself on the mattress, until he’s lying in the middle of it with you on top of him.

Your hands rest on top of his knees, sliding all the way down to his groin, but before they get there, Steve lays his own on top of yours. “Wait. Before we start…”

“Yeah?”, you ask, about to be concerned.

“Um… W-Well, you said on the phone… But I’d already— Uh…”

You exhale a laugh at his little stammering. “What, sweetheart?”

“Uhhh…” Steve smiles shakily. “Y-You said…”

“I said…?”

“You s-said… you wanted to have your fun, too, but I’d already— By that point, I’d…” Steve covers his nervous giggle with his right hand and looks elsewhere.

A heavy current of pleasure drops down your belly. “Oh, baby.” Your hands lower to the juncture between his legs and groin, fondling the surrounding place without giving him what he wants, to which he whimpers. “Did you stretch yourself?”

“Ah— I mean… I called you like an hour after that?” His voice is nothing more than a whisper now.

He tries to hide from the weight of your gaze behind his hands but—

Your hands hold onto his wrists. You gently push them against the sides of his head.

Steve’s eyes glaze over.

“How many?”, comes your rumbling voice.

And he has to inhale heavily, in vain, because his response comes as a whisper. “Four.”

You use the grip on his wrists as leverage to push yourself onto him, and he allows you and welcomes you into his open mouth. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, and he has the frenzied realization that you’re virtually fucking his mouth with it.

Steve cries out. His eyes roll back as he feels himself leaking.

He tries to prolong the feel, but you pull back too soon, and he finds himself whining at the loss.

“Got yourself all nice and open for me? That’s so good, baby.” Your heavy, grumbling voice against his lips has him trying to cross his legs uselessly, since you’re in the way.

Steve bites his lip. “Sorry,” he says, moving his legs around to caress yours, urging you to do more.

“Why are you sorry?” You laugh while you take your hands off his wrists and lay them to the sides of his head. You think you imagine the disappointment in his eyes when you do this.

“You said you wanted to…”

“That was all talk, sweetness. I absolutely do not mind that we can skip that part and go straight to the main course.”

At that, Steve can only shut his eyes tightly and bite back a moan. He opens them just as quick, embarrassed at his own reaction.

You just give him a tight-lipped smile. “Not sure if this is gonna reassure you or do the opposite, but I’m pretty sure you still need more prep before we do anything else.”

Steve’s right hand rubs at his mouth nervously. “Oh my God…”, he mumbles, even though he has a small nervous smile on his face as his eyes lower to your big erection. “Right.”

“Right,” you echo with a contrite smile. “Did you forget about it?”

“N-No. Not at all.” Steve looks up and elsewhere as he mutters the following: “You have my word.”

“Do I?”, you tease, stretching towards your night table and opening the drawer.

Steve bites his nails as he watches you do this. “Mm-hm.”

When you have the objects you were looking for in your hands, you show them to him, and he centers on the one on your right hand with an hyperfocus you’ve seldom seen on him.

Steve’s eyes rest on the condom packet with apprehension and excitement at the same time.

You lay it and the tube of lubricant on the bed, between his open legs, next to you. Leaning down to rest a quick kiss on his bitten lips, you run the fingers of your right hand through his hair. “Whenever you want to stop, just say so.”

“‘Kay,” he whispers bashfully.

You lean back, staying in a kneeling position between his parted legs, and smirk at him. “Now, I would totally like to know more about this little bit of playing you did before you came here,” you say as you open the lid of the tube.

Steve covers his mouth with his right hand as he giggles. “What’s there to know?”, he asks shyly.

You pour some lube on your right hand and rub your hands together to warm it up. “Just fun stuff. Did you find your prostate?”

Steve looks elsewhere with a shy smile. “No. I mean— Not today.” His right hand lowers to his chest, resting atop his thundering heart.

“Hm? Then how…?”

“Just…” Steve clenches his eyes shut as he giggles nervously. “Just from my fingers.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your right hand lowers to his entrance while your left hand goes to his hard cock. You don’t even need to stroke him; he’s already turned on enough from your previous teasing. “Just from the penetration alone?”

Steve nods meekly. Then, as he feels your fingers spread the lube on his already tender entrance, he lays his left hand on your wrist. “I… Let me touch you, too. Don’t wanna leave you hanging like the last time.”

You chuckle. He’s just so sweet for you. You can feel his hand shaking. Lifting your left hand from his erection, you rub the unlubed knuckles from that hand onto his own. “Let me be selfish, yeah? I wanna make this about you today.”

It’s really telling for you that he doesn’t insist. “Okay… You sure?”

Your middle and ring finger prod at his hole, leading him to gasp in short breaths. “Yes. Just leave it to me, sweetheart.”

He nods resolutely, then.

Now, at the same time that you start pushing in the two fingers in the middle, your hand returns to his hard cock, which hasn’t gone down at all— You think it might actually be harder now. Steve’s jaw drops open when he feels your two fingers start pushing in, almost easily from how much he’s stretched himself before he arrived here. Even that initial stretch feels heavenly to him: your thick fingers fill him out so good, and they feel so different from his. Whereas he’s used to his own smooth, almost delicate ones, yours are hard and rough. Thicker, too. Steve bites his lower lip as you breach him to the second knuckle, choosing to still yourself to let him get used to this small stretch.

His legs twitch to the sides of you, rubbing onto yours in a sensual caress. “Come on…”, he mumbles.

“‘Want more?”, you ask, not waiting for an answer before you push the two fingers to the last knuckle.

Steve’s back arches in a beautiful curve as he gives you the most breathless and erotic moan. He quickly lets himself fall from it just to hold himself up on his hands behind himself, half-sitting up, all to see the place where you’re joined.

You give him a small chuckle. “Oh, you wanna take a look.”

He looks up at you from under his lashes, because he does. He wants to see, and he wants to feel the same way you made him feel so many days ago. Steve’s breaths are so noisy now; he can’t stop himself when he sees and feels the way you are thrusting in and out of him, two fingers at the sides of the ones inside him just like he’s fantasized about. His feet are restless, stirring next to you on the bed, increasingly rustling the bedsheets the faster you go.

Your fingers go softly now, barely coming out of him, just to rub circles along the walls inside him in a sensual massage that has him gasping out. Your other hand is barely a caress on his cock, knowing he now doesn’t need much more than your fingers.

The tips of your fingers suddenly press up against that spot. Steve’s body curls in itself.

“Fuck…”, he finds himself choking out.

His eyes are drawn to the place that connects you two, but he finds that he can’t keep looking for much longer, because you’re pulling him into a short kiss that leaves him even more breathless. When you separate, he looks at you impatiently, and his voice is nothing more than a whisper.

“Come on. Come on.”

You chuckle through your nose. “Eager.” But you pull your fingers out and press your index one against them, beginning to push in.

There’s a brief resistance, but as Steve breathes out heavily and wills himself to relax, you manage to thrust inside, this time with more pauses in-between.

Steve’s mouth opens to draw in as much breath as he can. Putting one hand on his pounding heart, he looks at you with something that can only be described as adoration.

You give him a little smile. Taking your left hand off his member, you lay it atop his own, on his chest, gently pushing him back on the bed.

“Relax.” Your low, rumbling voice is soothing for his nerves, so he obeys. He lies on the bed, growing more restless with each second that passes.

In a weak voice, he requests: “The last one— Add the last one.”

“You sure?”, you ask, knowing that he should get used to the current stretch, but you still thrust out until you’re at his rim, adding the fourth and final finger next to the other three.

Steve nods so eagerly you have to laugh.

With a lot of patience, taking his cock in hand to soothe him further, you begin to thrust four thick fingers inside him, meeting resistance right away.

Your left hand strokes him slowly, focusing on the head to bring out the greatest amount of pleasure possible. “You have to unclench for this, baby,” you mumble out.

Right after, your right thumb presses against his perineum, drawing a startled moan out of him. You feel him clamping down on you even further for a second, and then you do it again.

Steve hides his eyes under the back of his hand, already winded from this. He can feel himself surrendering to your touches, opening up to let the tips of your fingers thrust in, just far enough to breach him. “Fuck…” His moan is prolonged as he uncovers himself, looking at the general direction of your hands.

“That’s it…”, you encourage him.

Softly, you inch in, until you have four fingers seated deep inside him.

Steve heaves in a loud breath.

“There we go. So good for me, Stevie.” His moan at this is choked off when he feels your rough fingertips moving around in him. “Feels good?”

He moans again, but cuts himself off with a short cackle. “What do you think?”

That only makes you chuckle as well. “Yeah, I bet it feels real good.” You start pulling out, loving the way his legs just can’t stay still. “Just look at how much you’re leaking, baby.” Your left hand focuses on the tip of his cock at the same time you thrust back in, drawing a small shrill sound from him.

Steve tries to look at the place you’re showing him. He does. He just can’t with the way you’re suddenly pushing up, pressing against that bundle of nerves.

He shouts.

His body trembles, his hands hold onto your wrist, his legs kick against your hips, and his own hips grind onto your hand, desperate for more of that contact.

You gladly give it to him. The more you rub circles and press harshly against his prostate, the more Steve’s resolve thins out. Sparks fly behind his eyelids as he tries to process the amount of pleasure you’re giving him, feeling himself slowly drenching your hand in pre-cum.

He can’t take much longer than this. He grabs your left wrist, stopping the movements of your hand on his cock. “N-Not gonna last if you keep…”

Your left hand leaves his cock. “Yeah. You probably can come just from my fingers, can’t you?”

And you press up inside him, at the same time you press with your thumb from the outside, and he wails.

He brings himself out of it with a giddy laugh as you begin pulling your fingers out. He rests his hand on his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”

Your smile is wolfish as you wipe your hands on the sheets, lean forward, and get closer to him. “Maybe.”

And then he’s uncovering his eyes, looking up at you as you take hold of the pillow under his head. Steve shifts to help you, and when he sees you bring that same pillow at the height of his hips, he starts biting his lip with impatience. He understands what you’re trying to do. With the help of his feet, he pushes his hips up, enough for you to slide the pillow under them, leaving him in a very vulnerable position.

You lean into him once more, and when your groins just slot together, he shivers, overwhelmed all of a sudden. You understand this, and push downward, taking his lips in a soft, soothing kiss he yields to.

Steve withdraws first because he needs to take a deep breath to not lose it. His hands grab at your shoulders, unsure of how to anchor himself.

“Need a break?”, you ask him, concerned.

He just shakes his head with vigor. Biting his lip, he wraps his legs around your hips, pushing you against him. You both moan at the contact.

You laugh. “Alright, then. Let me just…” You lean back, Steve’s hands falling from your shoulders and laying on his own chest now. You grab the packet, open it, and start rolling the ring of the condom on your cock, before Steve’s hands come to rest on yours. “Wanna help me?”, you ask.

Steve nods, unable to get the nervous smile off his face, and, with his hands under yours, he starts sliding the condom on.

Once his hand gets to your base and you’re done groaning about it, you grab the tube of lubricant and pour a generous amount on your member. You stroke yourself a couple of times before you inch closer to Steve.

And Steve looks at you with excitement and the slightest tinge of agitation before he brings his own folded legs closer to his own chest.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold yourself open for me,” you mumble, grabbing his right knee with your left hand and laying a kiss on it.

With your right hand, you take hold of your cock, and slowly, very slowly, start pushing inside.

Steve clamps down around you almost immediately. His throat chokes around a moan, and his legs twitch in your hold. “Sorry.”

You lay wet kisses on the inside of his right leg, your mouth twisted in a small smile. “Why?”

He chews on his nails while he looks elsewhere. “I dunno,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

That makes you smile. Your right hand leaves your cock, which is already fixed in place, ready to thrust in, and it goes around his cock. You stroke him softly for some seconds, loving the small changes in his expression, how gorgeous he looks with every single face you can pull off him. His small noises prompt you to keep stroking him, subtly pushing forward to start inching into him.

He clenches with each small inch you push inside, and as you manage to push the end of your head inside, he hisses between gritted teeth, and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Just… a second.”

“Of course,” you answer, stilling in place to let him get used to the stretch, which is quite a lot more than four of your fingers.

Steve’s eyes are also clenched shut, but after some seconds he opens them, looking at you from under his lashes, breathing heavily and quickly. He nods at you, resolutely.

You lean down to surround him completely, and his arms easily go around your shoulders, anchoring himself with you. Your mouth seeks his, and he meets you in the middle with enthusiasm, or perhaps anxiety. Steve pushes forward with his lips, trying to get the most of the kiss, and you open his mouth in turn, pushing your tongue onto his.

As you do this, your hips push forward minimally, starting to thrust yourself inside him while you distract him, but it seems to not work that well.

Steve pulls off you. “W-Wait,” he grits out. He looks at you with a grimace that he’s trying to conceal with a quivery smile, but you know him too well for that.

“Of course,” you say once again, because you’ll take as much time as he needs to. “Hurts?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but seems to lose his nerve and shyly looks to the side.

“Tell me the truth, baby.”

“Kinda…”, he mumbles.

You give him a small peck on the lips for reassurance. “That’s okay. Just tell me when you’re ready to go.”

Steve gives you the tiniest nod, too embarrassed by himself. Some seconds pass, before his restless legs rub imperceptibly around your waist, him looking at you and nodding. “Okay.”

You take your cue and start pressing forward once more, but once again, his arms cling tight around your neck and he yelps: “Wait!”

You’re halfway into him, and the way he’s clenching around you is almost sexually tortuous, but you obviously heed his word again. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Steve’s pinched expression eases up after a second, and this time, he gives you a genuine smile, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck to cover it in kisses. “You treat me so nicely,” he mumbles out, like it makes him bashful to say it.

You feel your chest soar at this. There’s a small, breathless chuckle coming straight from your chest right now. “Do I?”, you ask, even though it’s pointless, because you’re only showing him basic decency.

But your Steve still looks you in the eye and nods.

Another small chuckle, and now you’re leaning back. “Okay.”

Steve seems almost confused as your hands grab at the back of his knees, but then realizes what you’re going to do as you manipulate his legs until they’re crossed, and then place them in a right angle to his body, his ankles coming to rest above the left side of your neck. “What are we doing now?”, he asks, almost forgetting he still has half of your cock inside him.

“I’m putting your legs in a specific position that’ll help you relax better,” you explain, noticing his still-puzzled expression. “Your anus. This position helps you relax your anus.”

Steve bursts out laughing, covering his mouth with his hands because it’s just rolling off him now. You laugh with him.

“I thought it was the other way round,” Steve says. “Like, with my legs open?”

“That’s for the pussy,” you answer, and you rest your hands on his crossed knees, laying hot kisses on the expanse of his shins. Steve shivers at this. “You ready?”

Biting his lip, he nods slowly, bracing himself once again.

“Alright, sweetheart. Remember to push out, too.”

Steve laughs, almost in a sob, because you’re starting to inch forward, and this position does help him a lot, and as he does as he’s told, he finds that what felt like something impossible is now too easily possible.

Your hips meet his ass almost too quickly, sending him scrambling for a grip on the bedsheets. He breathes in and out like he’s hyperventilating. His left hand is now on his chest, trying to calm his heart down. You lower your right hand to that hand and lay it on top of it, wanting to reassure him.

His expressions. God. His expressions are something out of this world. His eyes are closed, eyebrows pinched and mouth open to let out quiet moan after moan.

As soon as Steve opens his eyes, they stray towards the place where you’re joined.

“Oh my God,” he says, almost in a whisper.

“Too much?”, you ask.

Steve shakes his head. “Just… a lot.” He bites his lip to hold back his little noises whenever he feels your cock so much as twitch inside him. His free hand covers his mouth. “So big…”, he says, almost to himself.

“Yeah?” You teasingly move your hips a minimum fraction, and that is enough to have Steve gasping out and shifting his legs onto your shoulder.

When he sees your amused expression, he almost pouts, though it’s obvious that he’s trying to look teasing, too. “You’re mean. I thought you were gonna be gentle with me…”

His words make something hot and heavy settle deep in your belly. Your grip on his legs gets tighter, and he makes the quietest little squeak at it. “Yeah. I did say that.” Your right hand rubs up and down his left thigh, going down to his cheek and fondling it to open him up more. Steve makes a breathless moan at this. “I’m gonna be so nice to you, baby. In fact, I’m gonna go real nice and slow, just so you can see how gentle I’m being with you.”

He moans openly now. Steve finds that while he likes that idea, he also craves something different in the near future.

For now, he just nods.

So you start. Using your grip on his gorgeous long legs, caressing his left one down to his ass and back up, you start pulling out of him, hearing his long intake of breath. You do this until you’re halfway into him, and then push forward until you meet his hips again. Steve breathes heavily and quickly, his jaw slack as he tries not to succumb and close his eyes to the sensations. Then, you do this again a couple of times, thrusting out and in minimally, just so that he can get used to the stretch. His legs twitch every time your hips meet his rear. His left hand has returned to his chest, and you find this so endearing; you know how nervous but excited Steve is by this, so much so that he tries to halt his pounding heart however he can.

Now your hips are pulling back further, until only the head of your cock is inside him. You push all the way into him with the same slow pace. Steve’s expressions are something wonderful. You know he can’t help himself when he clenches his eyes shut at the pleasure, but still tries to open them as soon as he can every single time.

On the next thrust, you pull back, and this time, the head of your cock starts sliding out of him.

Steve hisses and clamps down when he feels the widest part of it breaching him on its way out.

You shush him and kiss his shins. “Relax,” comes your soothing mumble.

His breaths turn quicker, and his eyes close for a brief second before he opens them again, looking at you with dazed eyes and nodding.

You feel him gradually unclench as you’re pulling out completely, the tip barely inside him. Then, you push forward once again.

Steve has less trouble to take you in this time, if the way you’re easily fitting inside with a smooth thrust is indicative enough.

And once again, he gives you a breathless moan when you’re all the way in.

“Alright there?”, you have to ask, because you know of his tendency to hide his own discomfort at times. Luckily, he gives you a genuine smile and —this makes you laugh— a thumbs-up. “Alright, you dork.”

“Yeah,” he adds on. His flushed face now takes on a darker hue. “Actually… can you go a bit faster now?” He mumbles the last part, like it embarrasses him to say so.

You laugh softly at him. “Obviously.”

Now, you’re pulling out of him all the way, and pushing back in with a bit more force than before. This leaves Steve breathless, jittery, and blissed out all the same. So you do it again and again. With each thrust, your pace increases, and the friction makes his mostly-quiet moans rise in volume. What were previously soft noises of skin slapping begin turning loud too.

You’re purposefully avoiding his prostate. You think it might be a good idea to build up to it first, so as to get him used to the stretch before you do anything, but you know it won’t be a long time now.

Steve slowly parting his legs to bring them to the sides of you tells you enough.

“Tired of that position?”

He shakes his head. “Just…” He rises his arms to encircle your shoulders, face burning at this point while you’re still thrusting in and out of him. “…wanna hold you.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” You give him what he wants.

Steve’s legs wrap around your waist as you push in and out of him. The newfound friction of your belly on his cock has his legs growing restless, his moans pouring from his lips freely now. His eyes can’t stay open for too long.

He makes the effort just to look at you, long enough to let you know he wants you to kiss him. So you do. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss as you start going faster, small moans slipping from the spaces in-between.

Steve withdraws, already feeling breathless.

After some long moments like this, just thrusting at a moderate pace and looking at each other with — something strong, something that could shakily be called love, his face begins to show some signs of discomfort, too subtle to seem that way to any other person, but you know your boy well enough.

“Hurts?”

“Just my hips,” he talks in between moans.

You gradually slow down until your movements are minimal, something that seems to turn Steve antsy. You ignore this for a second, though there’s a smile on your face at his impatience. “Must be the position.”

You stop completely. Steve tries to not make such a loud whine at this, but it’s obvious that it doesn’t work. He blushes right after.

As you pull out completely, he makes the quickest yelp at the emptiness.

“How about this?”, you ask. Your hands softly grab at his sides, starting to manipulate his body in a way that lets him know you want him to turn around.

Steve blushes even further and starts giggling when he understands. He rolls over until his chest is to the bed.

“Just like that,” you grumble. “On your hands and knees, yeah?”

It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, because Steve just about melts from pleasure at your words, and it embarrasses him so bad that he makes the smallest whine. He does as he’s told, though. This position leaves him feeling vulnerable and open, until you lie across his back and envelop him, making him feel safe now.

“Good boy,” comes your low mumble, and Steve’s jaw drops to let the quietest moan out.

Your right hand grabs your cock, and at the first contact of your tip against him, he clamps down once again. Steve bites his lip as he tries to relax, breathing heavily.

Slowly, you begin to breach him once more, feeling the small contractions around your cock. “Close your legs, baby.” He obeys, knees rustling the bedsheets, and suddenly you’re thrusting all the way into him again.

Steve lets out a loud moan, loud enough to be considered a shout. This position is… something else. It leaves him reeling from how much deeper it somehow feels, almost hurting from it. Most of all, Steve can feel himself surrendering to you, feeling so safe and loved.

His arms quiver, struggling to hold his weight already. At the same time that he notices this, you start pulling out only to push in with a strong thrust that makes him buckle and fall down to his elbows. Steve’s moan at this is something so erotic it has you throbbing inside him.

“Good to keep going?”, you ask him, and he nods enthusiastically from under you.

Now you resume that moderate pace you had before, only this time, somehow, it feels more intense. You hips slap against the back of his legs every time they meet, filling the room with the erotic sounds of skin against skin and his loud, airy moans. Steve can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He just yields to the intensity of your thrusts, feeling full to the brim with your big cock going in and out of him. His moans increase in volume the more you press down against him, because he understands what you’re trying to do.

Your hands rest on the high of his back, pressing down with gentleness. “Lie down.” You find just the tiniest bit of resistance, probably because Steve almost can’t stand the idea of getting even more pleasure than this. “Trust me. It’ll feel so good.”

So Steve shakily obeys. His arms go lax to his sides as he lays his chest on the mattress, his spine almost straining from the curve you’ve enforced onto him.

Your cock presses on his prostate.

Steve screams.

“Ah— Fuck!” His legs fold on themselves, and his feet kick against the bed as you continue stimulating him. “Fuck— Oh my God. Th-That’s…”

“Feels good, right?” You lay off his prostate for the moment, knowing it probably wouldn’t take much to overwhelm him if you kept on.

“Y-Yeah…” Now you can feel his quivering legs working to— to meet your thrust. “Again. Please.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your hips bear down with force on his own, and you know you’re hitting his prostate dead-on because his wails are so sudden and loud they almost scare you.

“Yes!” His jaw is left open in an endless moan, eyes clenched shut at the intensity.

The more you keep pressing down, the more you feel his body lowering, wondering why this could be, until you lean up a fraction and notice his legs sliding open on the bed. Your cock throbs at the sight. To know that he’s so turned on that he can’t keep up with you…

“Fuck— S-Sorry— Can’t h-hold myself up.” Steve confirms this same thought as he keeps moaning.

You laugh in his ear— It’s something almost mean that has Steve’s eyes wide open in a second. “Don’t worry about it,” you say as you keep thrusting, following him to the mattress.

Suddenly, your right leg is pushing his own closer to his center. Your left one does the same with the other one. As soon as you have him in the position you want, your legs press against the sides of his, holding them together tightly, not allowing him to open them to lie in a puddle on the mattress.

Steve screams at this.

“Holy— fuck!” He screams, he moans, he wails, because this specific position has your cock rubbing against his prostate on every single thrust, and it has you going deeper still, and he starts to feel himself lose it when it almost hurts when you reach the end of his walls on every thrust, feeling so small and almost bursting at the seams with it.

You know that it won’t take longer for him, so you keep bearing down on him, focusing on that bundle of nerves, feeling it increase in size the slightest bit. Your hips go faster.

Steve begins to feel the same way he did the other day. There is this very specific intense feel that comes from his prostate and has him feeling desperate, because it’s so different from anything he’s ever felt.

He knows he’s going to come just from this, and this time, though terrified, he’s ready for it.

“C-Close— Ah— I’m close.” He says this, and you kiss the back of his nape, your left hand going under his body to press against his pounding heart. Steve’s left hand presses against yours, intertwining your fingers. “J-Just from this!”

“Yeah? You want it?”

He nods so quickly it almost makes you laugh. “It’s weird. F-Feels so weird. I really— fuck!— Really feel l-like…!”

“Okay, baby. Let it happen. I’m right here. It’s alright.”

Steve nods, his face in such agonic pleasure he’s almost glad you can’t see it, because you’d probably feel concerned over him. “Okay. O-Okay—!,” he concedes, his heart beating faster at the mounting feeling.

The more you thrust against him, the more he can feel himself losing it, until the feeling turns so intense he almost can’t breathe.

“C-Coming— I’m coming! I’m coming! Oh my God!” Steve’s voice turns desperate.

And he screams.

His body seizes. A sensation he’s never felt before ravages his entire body. His eyes sting with a hint of tears at it. He feels a forceful tremble throughout his limbs, and he’s left unable to control them as he feels himself coming and coming and coming, so intensely it almost hurts, and in such a different way he’s almost ashamed, because he really thought…

But there’s no room for thoughts in his mind because he’s still coming, and he’s still moaning without noticing, shutting his eyes at the acuteness of the feeling.

“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re squeezing me so hard— fuck!”

As Steve begins coming down from the longest and most intense orgasm of his life, he moans weakly when he feels your hips shuttering behind him, yelping at the warmth of your cum filling the condom.

After some long seconds of you groaning in his ear, which makes his hurting cock valiantly attempt to twitch, you pull out of him, softly, though it still makes him yelp, almost in a whisper, until you’re off.

Without the support of your legs against his, he drops to the bed in a helpless pile.

Steve’s chest rises and lowers quickly, still trying to draw in as much breath as possible and to calm his still-pounding heart. You lie to the side of him, your right hand caressing the expanse of his back to let him know you’re still there.

You know he’s not even processing this, too gone to even notice you’re not holding him up anymore.

But after some long minutes, Steve calms down enough and regains enough lucidity to shift on the mattress, feeling your hand on his back and sighing at the sensation.

With what you think is the biggest display of effort in history, his arms strain enough for his head to rise and turn to the side you’re on.

Steve looks at you without saying anything. You don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say, or because he can’t, so you do, first.

Sliding down the bed to be at the same height as his head, you circle your arm around his back, and say: “Hey. That was a full-body one, wasn’t it?” You kiss his left shoulder.

He still won’t answer. You start getting concerned, before he smiles, bigger and bigger, until he’s giggling against the bedsheets. He mushes his face into the mattress as he does this.

You laugh with him, still not understanding if he’s too out of it and high on endorphins.

After some seconds, Steve stills, and his concealed face turns just the slightest fraction, just enough for his eye to peek, showing you that he’s sporting the darkest blush ever.

“Um…”, he starts. “Hi?”

And that makes you laugh even harder. “Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”

Steve turns his head further towards you, biting his lip. “Good.”

“Good,” you repeat. “How did all of that feel?”

His expression is so cute to see now. It’s like he’s getting shy all over again after everything you’ve just done. His lips twitch, not knowing whether to smile or to bite his own lower lip. “Good,” he mumbles again.

You hum, almost teasingly. “Just ‘good’?”

Steve laughs, embarrassed, shoving your face with a weak hand while you laugh. “What do you think? Jesus. I can’t even move.”

You give him a wolfish smile, but contradict it when you wrap your arms around his body. Steve lets himself be surrounded by you, feeling small and safe in a way he’s never had before.

[knightprincess]

Forgive Me (Echo x Medic Reader) Part 25

Words: 1.4K Warning: Angst and mentions of Trauma (if you squint) Pronouns Used: She/Her (Use of Y/N) Note: Sorry to say there are only a few chapters left and a little epilogue at the end.

“Crosshair,” called Echo. The ship was quiet, other than Rampart moaning about something none of them really cared for or took notice of. “Where would a staff member be taken if arrested?” asked the Arc Trooper, wanting to think positively even when the dread was beginning to creep up. If things went right, they would successfully rescue Omega, (Y/N), and the clones held captive in the highly secure facility.

“Cellblock D,” answered Crosshair, doing his best to ignore his hand shaking again, the trauma constantly haunting him, preventing him from finding true peace. “But considering how valuable Snap is to Hemlock’s plans, he’d likely hold her in the tower above the training room,” he added, quickly realizing who the prisoner in question likely was. “Your missing commander should be within the normal cells, with the others intended to be a part of the Dark Trooper program.”

“Why would you help rescue the scientist who did that to you?” asked Rampart, raising his voice so the words reached the pair furthest from him. Hunter was the first to react, kicking the former vice admiral in the shin as if to get him to quiet down.

“Medic,” corrected Echo, his voice stern, with evidence of his dislike for the imperial operative before him flooding it. “She’s a medic, not a scientist,” he added, trying his best to keep a neutral voice, if only so Rampart didn’t detect the obvious affection and feelings he held for Snap and use it against him in the future.

“And she didn’t have a choice,” admitted Crosshair, recalling when he’d been put through the torment every day. The horror was painted on Snap’s features despite her efforts to hide it. She’d done her best to ensure all were comfortable after the torment she put each clone through. “We may have been the ones physically tortured, but she didn’t get away without consequence either,” added the sniper, suspecting the constant screams and agonizing yells of those she knew would have taken a toll mentally.

“Imagine the chaos if (Y/N) and Omega teamed up,” laughed Wrecker, trying to lighten the mood even when it felt as if happiness couldn’t exist until they’d overcome their final challenge—in this case, Hemlock and those wondering the halls of Mount Tantis.

“Hemlock and Tantis wouldn’t know what hit them,” replied Hunter, a shadow of a smirk appearing across his lips. Crosshair offered his small smirk, whereas Wrecker outwardly laughed as if he could imagine the havoc the two could cause around the secret facility. Echo could only shake his head. (Y/N) had training from the 501st; she was a combination of all she’d come across like Omega had inherited the best qualities of each batch member.

“Providing your plan to get there even works,” shrewdly commented Rampart, once again casting the shadow of doubt over the four men in his company. “That facility has the highest security I know of. No one gets there without Hemlock knowing. It is impossible to get there without a welcoming party ready to shoot us from the sky,” he added, matter-of-factly as if once again trying to convince them to abandon the idea of rescue and leave those they were trying to free to their unknown fate. “The CX troopers will likely be utilized as well, the best of the best.”

“You three go after Omega; I’ll find (Y/N), then meet in the cellblock,” said Echo, ignoring Rampart again. All of them did. Now they were aware that the CX Troopers and Shadows were the same, part of the secretive Dark Trooper project. “If we do happen to cross Shadows, knock them out with luck; what’s been done can be reversed,” added the Arc Trooper, not wording the latter half to float through his mind. Only kill if necessary, in case the shadow is someone they knew.

“And me?” questioned Rampart. “What will I be doing once I’ve completed my task?” he asked, suspecting that if and when things went wrong, he could bargain the information he had with the empire for whatever he wanted.

“It depends on whether we have to improvise,” Hunter bluntly stated, his voice cold yet determined. “We get the coordinates to Tantis; you can have your freedom. If not, you’re stuck with us until we do get there,” added the sergeant, making the stance clear and suggesting Rampart wouldn’t get what he wanted until they got what they wanted.

“I’ll go strip the armor,” declared Echo, sadness ricocheting through his voice. None of them wanted to strip away their individuality but were given no choice. If they wanted to succeed with their task, they had to blend in when wandering the imperial facilities, regardless of the location.

“What makes you think the medic is still alive?” asked Rampart, as if he sought to sow the seeds of doubt once more. “You forget I was once head of that project, and I was cast aside the moment I failed. What makes you think the empire or Hemlock would tolerate her failings?” he added, feeling a shiver go down his spine the moment the realization hit him. All four of them sent ice glares in his direction. Hatred was among the most prevalent to identify from the heat of their combined glares.

“What makes you think she failed?” Crosshair asked, countering Rampart’s attempts with his own to raise hope. Plus, he knew (Y/N) hadn’t failed at her task; all the Shadows out there were proof of that. Plus, if whispers were anything to go by, the project had recently been given more funding, as had the other Mount Tantis was home to.

The sniper didn’t bother to word his thoughts, the same thoughts his brothers were likely thinking and the truth Rampart had overlooked. Snap was far more valuable alive, regardless of whether she was a part of a project or not. Few could match her skills, and hardly any other civvies had the loyalty of clones like she did. (Y/N) was a weapon, one Hemlock, and likely other high-ranking officials had realized and would do anything within their power to keep in their procession.

“Echo,” said Hunter upon retrieving his black helmet from the elder trooper. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after?” he whispered, knowing from Crosshair’s words that the healing process wouldn’t be easy for anyone involved in the project. Despite being safe for the most part, Crosshair still woke up after nightly terrors covered in a cold sweat, his heart pounding with fright and trauma. Neither of them doubted Snap would be any different. Although her torment hadn’t been physical, that any of them knew of, it had been psychological. The torment that could lead to far worse consequences and unseen damage.

“Rejoin the Rex and the efforts against the empire,” added Echo, as if his choice were obvious. Even if it wasn’t seen, there was still a war going on, battles to be won, and clones all over the galaxy to be freed.

“And Snap?” Hunter asked, allowing his concern for her to paint on his features, even if for a few fleeting seconds. “What are you going to do with her?” the Sergeant added, making his point clear. At the same time, it became all too obvious that Echo had either assumed she joined the effort for the freedom of clones or hadn’t given much thought to it. “Think over it, what’s best for her.”

Echo could only nod with a guilty conscience. He has been so wrapped up in the efforts to free the clones and get Omega as well as Snap back. He’d forgotten Snap hadn’t been trained for war, hadn’t been genetically altered to withstand the harshest of challenges life and war threw out. She was an ordinary civvi, a brave one but normal nonetheless. It would take her longer to recover from things, to accept she would be safe and free.

“I shouldn’t have let her go in,” replied Echo, sadness once again ringing through his voice. It began to dawn on him what the true cost could be. “I should have tried harder to convince her not to. Even if we win, I could still lose her, just in a different way.”

“You’ll never lose (Y/N), Echo,” began Hunter, as if he knew the trial the arc trooper now faced. “Your paths are different like they were after Anaxes,” he continued, pointing out how the pair had been on different paths before yet still found their way back to each other. That in itself was a win, and one few who found love could say they’d achieved.

Series Masterlist

[anony-man]

What if it had been First Aid instead of Ambulon, right?

Super original idea, I know, but hear me out, it’s a good topic. Here’s some bullet points to chomp on:

• Believe me, I do think Aid would’ve also died, but I don’t think he would’ve died in the same way. I see Pharma cutting him in half (NOT lengthwise dear lord), panicking when he realizes Ratchet has absolutely no trouble piecing him together and is coming for Pharma next, cuts things short and takes off with First Aid, who… well, he’s sort of fixed. Not quite though.

• Cue this awful cat-and-mouse game. Pharma’s off his fucking rocker, Ambulon just wants his boyfriend fellow medic back, Ratchet just wants things to come to an end already come on Pharma, and First Aid? Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.

• When things finally come to an end, it’s a sort of last-minute thought. A sort of “oh yeah, right! Here’s your reward 🙃” sort of thought. Pharma lives—there’s no one to kill him anymore. When he’s being taken away to be judged by the highest council (and likely be sentenced to death or something who knows), everything is fine and dandy, but suddenly Ambulon is like “wait, WAIT. Where’s First Aid?”

• I can’t quite explain the look Pharma would wear better than the panels before First Aid blasts his head off. He’d probably have to think about it for a second, First Aid? Hm… First Aid… oh, yes, right! With all the chaos and madness, he just about forgot about the poor guy! First Aid’s back at Delphi, for, uh… who knows what reason. Out of the way, really. Primus bless!

• First Aid is, in fact, at Delphi, just as Pharma said. It’s a very, very sad sight, and Ambulon almost wishes he hadn’t stepped through that door. Curled up in the fetal position with a frame grayer than the dead patients they buried months before and covered in a pool of long-dried energon that coats his frame, the berth, the floor, it isn’t clear whether First Aid died due to wounds that weren’t properly treated, a lack of fuel, or the deadly Messatine weather. The repairs are clear where Pharma melded his two halves back together, but apparently he hadn’t cared enough to actually finish the job. One way or another, First Aid died a slow, painful, lonely death.

• Unlike First Aid, Ambulon ends up processing things a little differently. Where First Aid’s reactions were PANIC, then NUMBNESS, then ANGER and RAGE, then ANGUISH, Ambulon is just… sort of hollow. He doesn’t really know how to feel about it. Everywhere he goes, though, he sees him. He sees First Aid in the way the newest medic, Velocity, puts her compassion and willingness to learn to good use. He sees First Aid in the small smiles of passing mechs and the kind little things that go unnoticed by most. He sees First Aid in the empty space of their once shared room, because of course they ended up sharing a room amongst the entire ship.

• Unlike First Aid, Ambulon doesn’t blame himself. He doesn’t blame himself, no, but he wonders more often than not what would’ve happened had the roles been reversed. Maybe, if he had been the one to die under blade, maybe if he had been the final victim of Pharma’s psychotic spiral, maybe… maybe maybe maybe…

• There’s no use in contemplating the past and obsessing over what-ifs. But boy, does he try anyway.

[druidgroves]

Chapter 11: Just In Time

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 8,557 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), RJ MacCready, Original Characters Notes: content warnings for game-standard violence & gore. otherwise, enjoy !

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Because of—or perhaps in spite of—hope, things didn’t go south as much as they had gone shit-fucking sideways. Which was another way to say they lived, but not without scraping their way to a win nearly every step of the way.

Mac should have known something was wrong as soon as they were ready to head out. In hindsight, it should have been more obvious. When they started on the road again, Georgia had lagged behind a bit after having taken point the day before. The usual pep in her step had been traded in for overcompensation for a foot that hadn’t fully healed. He knew she wasn’t totally healed, had that aching suspicion that she hadn’t been entirely truthful when he asked her. He wouldn’t have cared as much if she weren’t literally helping him wipe out an entire Gunner squad that deemed him Kill On Sight. She hadn’t complained one bit either, which should have been another tick in the “something is definitely fucking wrong” column, but Mac had been too in his own head about what they were getting ready to do to fully realize it.

He had been full of anxious energy all morning, but forced himself to keep his cool as they traveled to the interchange. Evidently, he’d been doing a piss-poor job of hiding it, because Georgia had pinged him almost immediately.

“You alright, Hotshot?” she asked quietly as she sidled up to him, and leaned in close to give them some semblance of privacy. Her voice had a nervous edge to it despite her efforts to bolster him with the nickname, but it gave Mac some measure of comfort to know he wasn’t the only one feeling the same.

“You know how it is, just about to face a whole group of people that want me dead,” he replied with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. He was aiming for a joke, too, but it didn’t quite land judging by the look on Georgia’s face.

“Well, we’ve got your back,” she said, and made a little gesture to the rest of the team. “Tell us how you want us to go at it, and we’ll work from there, alright? You make the calls.”

Honestly, Mac should have expected it to all go south the moment she handed off the reins to him so casually like that, looking to him to lead instead of the other way around. It shouldn’t have surprised him so much—this was his personal business anyways—but he’d been so used to her calling the shots that it made the role reversal that much more jarring. It occurred to him then that Georgia must have been in a similar position when she was made General by virtue of simply being there, as she described it, responsibility thrust onto her shoulders. He had punched someone for the position of mayor, though, so he was familiar with undertaking responsibility. It was just the fact that she put the lives of her people into his hands, meaning he really, really couldn’t afford to fuck up.

Mac decided to converge with Curtis about the approach, given his knowledge of the Gunner base. Curtis suggested going in from the northeast, away from the main road. He said the squad stationed there had put up what he called a “multi-purpose extortion playground” that their group needed to steer clear of—the Gunners forced tolls, supplies, or even the lives out of the hands of those just trying to pass through. He had described it with such venom in his voice that his comical demeanor had been nowhere to be found. Mac reminded himself not to get on the man’s bad side.

“They’ve got two lifts at opposite ends of the highway that they use to get up,” he explained, describing the layout as they walked. “The one close to the road is guarded at all hours, but there’s another one we’ll come up on the way we’re going. They’ve got it hidden away as an escape option, but they only ever had one guy guarding it.”

“We’ll split the group then,” Mac decided, running the plan through his head. “Have one team take out the guards near the main lift, meanwhile the other team focuses on the back entry. Classic flank maneuver.”

The rear attack consisted of Georgia, Gonzalez, Hollow, and Collins. Gonzalez would take out the guard with her silencer and get them in after the frontal assault distraction provided by Mac, Curtis, and Buckley. It had seemed like the start of a good plan, really. Curtis did his best to describe a mental map of the place for everyone, and when they started to stake the place out, they even thought they had run into a bit of luck.

The interchange itself was high above, covered in sheet metal and branded with the Gunners’ insignia. A few of the Gunners were on the edge of the road and had started taking pot shots at a passing herd of wild brahmin during their silent approach. They were all looking down their scopes and completely distracted.

“Stupidest way to pass the time that they’ve picked up yet,” Curtis had said once Gonzalez reported back from her forward scouting mission. After discussing the details, they reviewed the plan once more and got ready to split into their groups.

Before they parted ways, Georgia pulled Mac to the side, facing away from the rest of their team.

“Just wanted to say good luck,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder. “We’ll make it through, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to convince himself more than her. There was no backing out now, not when they had come this far. “Just…Try to save Winlock or Barnes for me, alright? It’s personal with them. You know how it is.”

“Consider them all yours. See you in a bit, Mac.” She gave him a small, encouraging smile.

“See you in a bit,” he echoed back, gripping his rifle tightly as they took off with their groups.

The opportunity with the brahmin allowed Buckly, Curtis, and himself to get into position in order to deal with the three guards posted around the main lift. Mac settled into his spot, and once he saw the other two find their own through his scope, he lined up his crosshairs with his target and waited for another shot from the overpass. One was near the lift and two were at opposing guard stations, eyes on the road ahead where helpless traders and settlers were more likely to pass through.

The success of Georgia’s group hinged on his own group timing their shots perfectly with the ones being aimed at the herd of brahmin. If they could manage to pull it off, Mac thought, they might actually get the upper hand.

A shot rang out from the overpass, and in the split second between its firing and the echo it left behind, Curtis and Mac took out their respective targets with a sniper’s grace (though Mac would say he was the cleaner shot). Two bloody holes appeared in the temples of two different Gunners as they fell from their guard stations.

It would have been perfect, flawless even, but Buckley had only managed to clip the last Gunner in the shoulder. She’d had just enough time to slap her hand over the lift button, sending it up before Mac had her in his sights. The lift began to rattle upwards while the woman began to choke on her own blood, dead before the three of them could make it out of hiding.

“Shit,” Mac cursed before he could stop himself, shooting out of his position like a bat out of hell, “shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Curtis reached the lift before he did, his long strides catapulting him up the stairs of the platform. The lift itself had already started going up, and they would have to wait for it to stop at the top before coming back down. They all seemed to come to that realization as gunfire began echoing off the road above them.

Mac’s blood ran cold.

Georgia.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?!” Mac snapped as Curtis slammed the call button over and over.

“C’mon, you piece of shit fucking goddamn—” Curtis growled, his string of profanities unceasing until the thing had finally come back down, the gunfire above never stopping.

The three of them jumped onto the lift, Buckley spouting off apologies the entire way up, and what they were met with on the overpass was chaos.

Any thought of a plan went out the window as a decked out assaultron immediately came into view from behind a hollowed out bus. As it began charging the laser beam in the center of its plated face, all three of them took aim at the red dot like a bullseye. Before it could fire, their bullets converged and it exploded into metal and wires.

A blast of heat hit Mac in the face when it did, and he hoped the explosion didn’t singe off his eyebrows as he shouted to Curtis, “You didn’t think the assaultron was worth mentioning?!”

“That one’s new!” Curtis shouted back as he took cover behind a concrete barrier while Mac ducked behind the shell of the bus. “My bad!”

Buckley had gone somewhere off to the right, evidence of his direction in the sound of opposing gunfire being abruptly cut off. Once Mac had pulled all his limbs behind his own cover, his eyes darted across the overpass frantically, looking for one person amongst the bullets pinging off support beams and old vehicles. Curtis moved from his cover just as Collins ran by with the ends of her hair on fire, and Hollow’s voice could be heard yelling something panicky. Gonzalez was shooting from behind an old Nuka-Cola machine while her arm bled from a bullet to her bicep. Everyone else was accounted for—but no Georgia.

Mac didn’t know how many Gunners there were. All he could do was aim at the turret spitting bullets at Buckley as he came upon one Mac remembered from his time on the squad. He didn’t feel too bad as the turret exploded into a ball of flame, distracting the Gunner—he was a Corporal if Mac remembered right—just long enough for Buckley to pick him off.

Then he saw both of them at the same time: Winlock in his Gunner green breastplate, eyes focused through the scope of his weapon, a perfect O+ making a target on his temple, and a suit of power armor off to the side looking ready to crush a panic-stricken Georgia underneath its foot.

Mac had always prided himself in thinking on his feet and making tough choices in high stress situations. It was what had made him a good mayor, what had allowed him to survive for so long in the wastes, and what kept him with just enough caps to get by. In the space of a heartbeat, he made the easiest choice he could have made in the moment.

The unprotected head of the Gunner, who must’ve forgotten his helmet in the chaos, burst like an overripe mutfruit as Mac pulled the trigger. Georgia managed to roll out of the way just enough for the foot to come down on the edge of her jacket instead of the middle of her torso. She popped up behind a metal barrier a second later, pulling her shotgun up and aiming it right at Winlock.

He couldn’t blame her for taking the chance: it was the perfect shot. The whole thing couldn’t have been lined up better if even she had planned it, Winlock’s back to her as he looked down his scope at—

Oh fuck.

The red beam from Winlock’s laser gun burned through the meat of Mac’s right shoulder as he narrowly ducked and rolled his head out of the way. The smell of burning flesh quickly began to coat the inside of his nose and throat as he clamped down on the wound with a litany of curses. He could pick out the sound of Georgia’s gun firing again, followed by an errant yelp from Curtis and one of Collins’ homemade frag grenades exploding in the distance. His shoulder screamed in pain at him, but he ignored it to lift his rifle again and take aim at a Gunner hiding behind a stone barrier.

The shot went wide when he pulled the trigger, the kickback against his burning shoulder nearly making Mac’s vision white out. He fell out of his cover just far enough for his target to be quick on the uptake. Pain split through his left side as he fell, trying desperately to scramble back behind his cover. He looked down at where he felt the pain, at first feeling warm, then very, very wet. The bullet had just barely missed some vital organs, but that didn’t make it scream any less as blood gushed from the wound.

Firmly hidden behind the bus again, Mac forced his breath to steady and began putting pressure on the bullet hole, relieved to find an exit wound not even two inches away from the entry. If he could just stop the bleeding, it’d be an easy fix. Hopefully.

“Mac!” Georgia was suddenly on her knees in front of him, her voice shrill and spitting words faster than he could make out. Her eyes went from his blood covered hands to his face and back. “Oh, fuck, are you okay? What can I do? What do I need to do? Mac, tellmewhatyouneedmetodo—”

“Medkit—from my pack,” he hissed through gritted teeth, pressing down harder on his side. Georgia’s eyes were bloodshot with panic and as wide as dinner plates behind her crooked glasses. “If you can get to it—”

“No time,” she said, rolling around to the other side of him as she tore off her pack, shaking hands fumbling through the pocket on the front. She pulled out a stimpak of her own, then looked panickedly between the burn on his shoulder and the bullet wound bleeding freely at his side. Mac was trying to staunch the blood flow as best he could, but crimson seeped between his fingers and stained everything in its path.

“Which one is worse?!” Georgia cried as a bullet whistled past her head, making her yelp and duck.

“Which one—Which one do you think is worse?!” Mac shot back, but then she stabbed him with the stimpak, narrowly missing the hand on his side as she traded the needle for her gun. At the sight of the stimpak she left inside him, Mac allowed a guttural “fuck” to leave his mouth. Georgia, meanwhile, took aim on one knee and pulled the trigger. He heard a body fall and felt fear pulse through him as he realized how close the person had come to their shared cover.

After that, there were a panicked few seconds where Mac could only hear the drumming of his own pulse in his ears while the stimpak injected its contents. Georgia whipped around with her shotgun, eyes wide and wild as she tried to pin down any more Gunners. The both of them flinched when they heard Curtis’ voice echo off the concrete.

“Sound off!” he called somewhere from their left.

“Here!” Mac and Georgia shouted together.

“Mac’s down!” she shouted after, then quickly leaned back down to look him over as they heard Gonzalez, Collins, Buckley, and Hollow shout back from their various spots across the base. Everybody made it out.

Relief flooded through Mac’s entire body at the same time Georgia yanked the stimpak out of his side.

“Jesus christ,” he groaned, pressing his hand harder against the steadying flow of blood, “you weren’t kidding when you said you were bad at this.”

Georgia shoved her arm back into her pack, handing him the first piece of cloth she could find to help with the blood: a folded pair of tube socks. By that point, a puddle of the stuff had formed underneath him and filled the air with a coppery scent. Despite the mangled application of the stimpak, the pain in his side began to slowly reside. He’d need stitches, but the bleeding was beginning to stop at least. Mac’s head fell back against the hull of the bus, shoulder stinging still—the only good thing about laser rounds was that they cauterized the wounds they left behind.

“Christ alive, Mac, I thought you were dead,” Georgia heaved, collapsing next to him against the bus. He looked over at her, hands all covered in his blood and staining parts of her clothes. She wasn’t crying, but her voice sounded like she wanted to. “I watched you go down and I couldn’t see you, and—”

“It’ll take a lot more than these bastards to get rid of me,” he said, and a grateful, nervous laugh escaped her. “My side is gonna be bruised from that stimpak if I don’t bleed out first, though.”

“Oh, shit, right. Someone come help me get Mac up!” she shouted, and in an instant Hollow was hopping over a concrete barrier. One eye was swollen shut and his lip was busted, fresh bruises blooming underneath his skin like he’d gone ten rounds in the ring.

“You should see the other guy,” he said as he leaned down to help Mac up. An expression crossed Georgia’s face like she most definitely did not, but it quickly morphed into one of pain as she tried to stand.

She cursed up and down through her clenched teeth, clutching at her foot as Curtis appeared around the corner of the bus. He helped her get upright, keeping as much weight off her foot as possible.

“The one in the power armor, I tripped over my own feet tryin’ to get away from him,” she explained. “I might be back at square one. Sorry for ruinin’ your hardwork, Mac.”

Mac only shook his head as Hollow and Curtis guided them towards the makeshift med-bay Collins and Buckley had started setting up in the Gunner’s openair sleeping quarters. They navigated around the cooling bodies that he noticed Georgia avoided looking at too directly. Mac, on the other hand, was happy to see them rot.

He had caught sight of her job on Winlock earlier, but as Hollow helped him sit down on an old bed, he saw three bloody holes in the middle of Barnes’ chest near a ruined turret. The overpass reeked of sweat and blood, leaving a metallic taste in Mac’s mouth.

Georgia thanked Curtis as he put her on a bed nearby. Collins, whose hair was no longer on fire but now had charred and uneven ends, helped Gonzalez to one of the beds as well. She had a bullet wound in her non-dominant arm, but had largely stopped the bleeding with a ripped part of her shirt. Buckley came running up with a bottle of clear alcohol he’d snatched from one of the tables scattered about and presented it to the group.

“For disinfecting,” he said as they gathered, and began treating their wounded.

“How’s everybody feeling?” Curtis asked. A resounding groan came from the rest of the group.

“I thought we were fucked for a minute there,” Gonzalez said as Collins popped the cap on the bottle and doused her hands before passing it to Buckley. “What the hell happened with you guys? By the time I took out that back guard, you hadn’t even made it up.”

Buckley suddenly looked sheepish. If he had hit his target right the first time, maybe they wouldn’t have walked into the pandemonium that met them on the overpass. Mac cleared his throat as he took out his medkit.

“Had to wait for the stupid lift to come down,” he said before Buckley could explain himself, catching his eye along with Curtis. “I guess they kept it up as a security measure. I’m just glad it didn’t completely screw us.”

“Well, you can’t—ah, ow, ow, ow—account for everything,” Georgia said in between a pained noise as she removed her boot. “We all made it out in one piece, didn’t we?”

“Speak for yourself, General,” Collins grumbled as she uncapped a stimpak, the blackened ends of her once long hair hanging around her face. “That stupid assaultron nearly made me bald.”

A round of laughter shot through them as they continued to patch everyone up. Mac pulled out his own needle and thread while Buckley pilfered through what the base had in the way of medical supplies. Stimpaks and an extra needle were passed between them all, sterilized with the bottle of liquor and a flip lighter to boot.

The bleeding on his abdomen had mostly stopped, and once he cleaned it away, Mac bit down on his scarf and began to stitch himself up. It wasn’t the first time he’d done his own doctoring, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The Med-X in his kit whispered his name but he refused to give into it; no telling when a situation would arise where he’d need it more. Once he was done (with not even a whimper every time the needle pierced flesh), he tied off the thread and cut it with his knife.

The burn on his shoulder was an easier fix. A can of purified water and a roll of clean bandages later, Mac was fully patched up. The rest of the group were nearly done as well, save for Georgia, who sat on a bed with her foot propped up on top of her backpack. She had a stimpak in her lap, trying to decide the best way to go about sticking herself with it he supposed. When she caught him staring, she perked up and Mac shook his head at her in slight exasperation.

“Give it to me,” he sighed, gingerly pushing himself off his own bed and walking over with his hand held out.

She gladly handed him the stimpak as he sat at the opposite end of her bed and got to work. The rest of the team had started picking over the base for anything else useful they could take. Weapons, chems, and ammo were plentiful, leaving the two of them to talk in semi-privacy.

“You know, I don’t think we’d keep ending up here if you had just stayed off your damn foot,” he chastised, taking a look at it. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when she first injured it, but it still wasn’t pretty. “This is what, the fourth time I’ve been at your feet this week?”

“Fifth, actually—how quickly you forget, Doctor MacCready.”

“Funny. You should do stand-up,” he replied with a flat look at her foot. “Oh, wait, you can’t.”

“You could stay there, y’know,” Georgia said as he flicked the cap off the needle of the stimpak. She took on a playful grin as she mused, “Wouldn’t mind bein’ worshiped like that, come to think of it, like some kinda goddess.”

Mac felt something lurch in his chest, and instead of acknowledging it, he simply stuck her with the stim. She yelped in surprise and he had to hold her leg down by her ankle to keep her from knocking the needle around.

“Ow! Jesus, warn a girl next time,” she huffed as the swelling began to subside.

“I will when you start to save some ego for the rest of us,” Mac replied once the stim was empty. “But hey, after all of this, I guess I’ll be singing your praises. We sent a message to the Gunners loud and clear.”

“Do you think they’ll retaliate once they find out?” Georgia asked, her foot twitching slightly as he reached over to his medkit for some bandages.

“The way these lunatics work, you’d think they would, but I know better,” he said as he began to wrap. “For them, it’s always about the bottom line. They lost this entire waystation, and believe me, that cost ‘em big. Besides, they have no way of knowing any of us were involved.”

With the amount of chaos he’d met when his group came up to the road, there was no way that he would have ever been able to pull the whole thing off by himself. Hell, even a team of seven people didn’t come out the other side without more than a few scratches. He had to hand it to them though—a group of Minutemen had wiped out an entire Gunner squadron without any losses. After Quincy, it was no small feat. Sure, they couldn’t go bragging about it without all their sneaking around being exposed, but Mac was sure that wiping out one more stain on the Commonwealth wouldn’t go unwelcomed. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, a new reminder that he didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder anymore, and he had Georgia to thank for that.

He’d have to thank Curtis too, given that he’d helped plan the whole ordeal (Mac theorized that he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t). The man and his squad had been the difference between a long life and a short death, but it was Georgia that Mac owed a personal debt to.

“Anyways,” he continued once he was done, “I guess I owe you a favor now. After all, you hired me, but I’m the one that dragged you out here for this.”

Georgia’s expression screwed up in confusion. “What? No,” she said like he was speaking nonsense. “Remember our whole friendship conversation? This is what friends do. Well, maybe they don’t really go out of their way to take out a buncha people that wanna murder you, but times have changed, I suppose. I have your back is what I’m sayin’, and so do the others. Besides, you literally saved my ass from becomin’ feral food. If anythin’, I owed you.”

It’s not like you haven’t done enough for me already, a thought flashing across his mind whispered, almost startling him at the nakedness of it. He let go of a nervous laugh and brushed it away.

“That was me doing my job,” he said instead, and began to dig around in his pack. “I was just your merc back then. You’re still one up on me, and I like everything to remain nice and even.”

He fished for the caps at the bottom, pulling out three pouches of fifty each.

“I want to give you back the caps you paid me in Goodneighbor. I’ll still stick with you because that was part of the original deal,” he said before she could protest, “but now we’re even. To me.”

“Mac,” she insisted, attempting to shove the caps back when he held them out to her, “I’m not takin’ your money. You got it fair and square anyhow.”

By now, Mac knew Georgia wasn’t the type to hold this over his head, but he still couldn’t help the knee jerk reaction he had to the idea of leaving debts unsettled. Anyone else and they’d keep it over him and dangle it anytime they wanted something from him. With Georgia, he had a hard time imagining that scenario. She seemed to play just as fair as he did, when it counted.

“Fine,” he relented, already thinking of ways to sneak the caps into her pack anyways, but went ahead and stowed them back inside his own. As he did up the straps the others approached, looking eager to leave.

“If you’re done, we might wanna get outta here soon,” Curtis said, shoulding his laser rifle. “They didn’t have any radio communications set up, but I know they send runners to check in every now and then. We don’t wanna be here when they come.”

After a round of agreement, the team got ready to move out. They picked the place clean of supplies and put the Mass Pike Interchange behind them as they traveled back to their own base. Mac was glad to be done with it.

With Georgia’s foot reinjured, she was supported the entire way back by Curtis, who seemed the least injured of them all. Mac could walk, but the burn on his shoulder made shooting his rifle a painful and near impossible ordeal. Thankfully, Buckley and Hollow had put themselves in the positions of rear and front guard to help compensate for both of the group’s snipers being put out.

They decided to go back to the house they had camped out in the night before, getting back sometime in the middle of the afternoon. It was still empty and the group wasted no time in settling back down inside. They collapsed over chairs and couches, an ache in their bones that only a high stakes firefight could provide. Back in relative safety, things would start to move a little slower.

The rest of the day was spent napping and recuperating until later in the night, when Curtis offered to cook up dinner. They still had enough in their shared bag of rations and anything they took from the interchange to make a decent meal. When Georgia offered to help cook, though, Mac shot her down with a glare.

“If you re-mangle your foot a third time, I’m not fixing it,” he warned and she just laughed.

“Alright, jeez. Sorry, y’all, looks like you won’t get to taste my cookin’,” she said as she leaned back down on the couch she had claimed. “Not to brag, but I’ve been told I make a mean radstag and pota—er, tato stew. Maybe next time.”

They shared a laugh while Curtis got to work on building a fire in the rusted out grill on the porch. The rest of them gathered around a wobbly coffee table and started a game of cards when Hollow pulled the deck out of his pack and began to deal everyone in.

“Oh, fuck off with that look, Frankie,” Collins grumbled during their third round, folding her hand to Hollow’s shit-eating grin before throwing her cards down on the table.

They had been playing for bullets instead of caps, the pile between them growing with every ante, and Hollow had been wiping the floor with them for the most part. Gonzalez had folded earlier, and Buckley had opted to sit back and watch after all the bullets he’d started with ended up in front of Hollow. Georgia had a modest amount still left in front of her, her glasses pushed to the top of her head as she kept her cards close to her chest.

“I told you guys not to play poker with him,” Curtis called out, the smell of grilled wild corn wafting through the open door. “He’s a filthy cheat and he knows it.”

“I do not cheat!” Hollow proclaimed, shooting up from his chair.

Mac caught a glimpse of Hollow’s hand as the man stood up—four of a kind to his own straight flush. His poker face had been solid, but the luck of the cards hadn’t graced him until that moment.

“Don’t get too cocky now,” he said to Hollow as he spread his cards out on the table, watching the Minuteman’s still bruised face fall. “Straight flush.”

The others began to holler at his cards and give Hollow a hard time before Georgia chimed in, a deceptively sweet smile on her face as she tutted them, “Ah, ah, ah. Read it and weep, y’all.”

She threw down her hand—a royal flush to the tune of the suit of hearts—and the group went wild. Hollow tossed his cards, swearing up a storm as Gonzalez chided him for going all in in the first place.

“Are we playin’ for keeps or is my victory…hollow?” Georgia grinned, sending another wave of laughter throughout the group.

Mac chuckled, sliding his own cards into the middle of the table. “I didn’t know you were such a card shark.”

“You should see me play pool,” she told him. “My grandpa taught me, turned me into an absolute monster by the time I was seventeen. Last time I played, I had seven grown men nearly snap their pool sticks.”

“Remind me not to play against you,” he laughed as Curtis announced that dinner was ready.

The rest of the night was spent eating, drinking, and playing cards, and Mac couldn’t remember a time when he last felt genuine camaraderie in a group like this. Between a few more hands of cards and a bottle of whiskey pilfered from the Gunners passed between them all, Mac felt good. Like actually good, his worries seemingly melting away for the night. Sure, he still had the big stuff to think about—Med-Tek, the cure, Duncan—but with the Gunners off his back, he could afford to relax for a little bit.

Mac hadn’t been able to trust many people in his life as a general rule. But watching Georgia and her Minutemen laugh and recall their taking of the interchange with added creative liberties, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could trust in other people to be good, too.

-----

“I’d ask if you want to come back to the Castle with us, but I don’t think that’s an option for you right now,” Curtis said the next morning when the group was ready to head out. He gave a pointed look to Georgia sitting on the couch, her wrapped foot propped up on one of the arms.

The rest of the Minutemen had packed their things, leaving her and Mac to go back to their HQ. Their leave time was almost up and they would be expected back soon if they didn’t want suspicions to be aroused.

“We’ll stay here for a few days so we can both heal up a little more, but I’ve got stuff to take care of in Diamond City anyways,” Georgia informed him, making Mac’s curiosity pique from where he sat in a chair across from her.

“Suit yourself,” Curtis said, and after splitting up the rest of their spoils from the Gunner base, bid his farewell. “We’ll see you later, General T.” He threw a glance towards Mac before he left, “And don’t be a stranger, MacCready. Hope to see you again next time the General’s in town.”

With that, after a series of thank yous and goodbyes, the team of Minutemen disappeared down the road, leaving himself and Georgia alone.

“So,” she said once he came back inside the house after watching them leave, “looks like we’re gonna be here a couple days, at least until you take me off forced bedrest.”

“I wouldn’t have to force you if you would just stay off it,” he pointed out, then leveled her with a speaking look. “After you’re better, though…Diamond City? I thought that was just the cover to get Preston off our backs.”

A deep sigh left Georgia’s lips, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t look too pleased at the thought, going uncharacteristically quiet. It seemed that there had been some truth in her lie.

“Mr. Valentine is helpin’ me out with some stuff. I have a case with him,” she said eventually, twiddling her fingers and avoiding his eye as she talked. She still hadn’t told him the whole story about her and Piper rescuing the old synth, telling him he could buy an issue of the Publick like everyone else.

But Mac wasn’t stupid. She was working with a detective for crying out loud, it couldn’t have been more obvious that she was searching for something. For what exactly, he had no idea, but he knew it had to be tied up in all of her personal junk by the way she frowned just from mentioning it. Whatever she was looking for, it had to be important enough for her to risk her neck for the pile of nuts and bolts.

Mac wanted to prompt her for more, but she leaned up halfway on the couch to look at him suddenly.

“Hey, can I ask you somethin’?” she said, head cocked to the side.

He raised an eyebrow. “You kinda just did, but yeah, go ahead.”

The flat look she gave him quickly fell to one of worry and uncertainty.

“Why did you join the Gunners?” she asked, catching him entirely off guard. He didn’t know what he had expected her to ask him, but it hadn’t been that. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added quickly, “feel free to veto it.”

Mac shook his head, catching her off guard as much as she had caught him. With what she had put on the line in helping him, he had quickly come to the conclusion that telling her how he got into all this mess in the first place was something he felt she deserved to know.

“I came to the Commonwealth a little under a year ago,” he started, trying to find the words. “Made a pretty decent name for myself before I heard that the Gunners needed some sharpshooters. Biggest mistake of my life.”

He exhaled a sigh as Georgia listened, avoiding her piercing stare. He was hyper aware of everything under it, but resolved to look at the river sparkling in the midday sun through the broken window just past her.

“They were animals. Killed anything that moved if it got in their way,” he spat out. “You saw them taking potshots at those brahmin. Those could have fed a small settlement for weeks and they were just…killing them for the hell of it. I went with them for a while because their caps were good, but…I’m not proud of it. I…I wasn’t at Quincy, if that’s what you’re wondering. That wasn’t Winlock and Barnes’ squad, though I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded if they had been there anyway.”

“Would you have gone?” Georgia asked, quieter than she had been.

“What?”

“If Winlock and Barnes had been there, if your old squad had decided to go to Quincy, would you have gone?” she repeated. Her stare had turned serious, solemn even.

Mac thought for a moment, mulling over his morals and his conscience. Individual contracts were one thing, far less personable than wiping out an entire settlement. The idea of that much blood on his hands in one go—men, women, children—made his stomach turn.

 “I…No, I don’t think I would have.”

Georgia frowned, searching for words. “Then why did you sign up with people like that?”

“I didn’t know how bad they were at first and I was…desperate,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t still desperate for every cap he could get his hands on. “The Gunners just paid the best. I know that’s not much of an excuse, but…eventually it started to catch up with me, so I quit. I’d been out for about two months before you showed up in Goodneighbor.”

“Two months? Then you must’ve quit—”

“A little while after Quincy, yeah. Final straw, I guess.”

Quiet fell between them and when she didn’t respond right away, Mac ran his hands over his face and braced himself for her judgment. He deserved it, given what he had been willing to put up with before his departure. The kidnapping, the extortion, acting like nothing better than a souped up-raider gang. Most obviously there was the murder, and sometimes—hell, a lot of the time—it wasn’t even contracted. Even then, no contract was too bloody, too grizzly, or too brutal for the Gunners if there were enough caps in for it.

 But when he lifted his head and finally met her gaze, it was without the malice or resentment he expected. Instead, what he saw was more of that sympathy she seemed to dole out for him so easily.

“Well, then I’m glad we met when we did,” she said finally, “and not any earlier or any later.”

He couldn’t stop the breath of a laugh that escaped him, the noise causing one corner of Georgia’s mouth to quirk up in a smile.

“Me too,” he agreed, then curiosity poked at him. “What actually made you hire me in the first place? Especially after I told you from the start who I used to run with.”

An eyebrow raised behind her glasses. “I already told you why I hired you. I did that favor for Daisy—”

“No, I get that, but still, you could’ve backed out on the favor. So why me? Why not stick with Piper or Preston or one of your Minutemen?” he pressed.

“I…dunno. When I walked into the Third Rail and heard you gettin’ picked on by those two assholes, I just thought you looked like you were in a tough spot. Thought maybe I could help out,” she shrugged, laying back down on the couch. “You looked like you needed it anyhow.”

Mac couldn’t help but stare at her. How deep was this woman’s kindness that she took one look at a shitty little fuck up like him and decided she wanted to help before ever getting to know him? She helped him again when she insisted on splitting their jobs fairly, again when she called him a friend, and again when she agreed to help take out his former squad. Lucy would have called people like Georgia helpers, those who had been dealt their uneven share of awfulness in life but came out the other side with a good enough heart to keep pushing on. Mac had always seen Lucy as a helper, and he was sure she’d pin Georgia as one, too. He didn’t know the exact details of Georgia’s past that shaped her into the person before him, but whatever it was made sure that if the two of them stuck together, Mac would never stop owing her.

“Oh. Then uh…I’m glad we met when we did,” he reaffirmed, and cleared his throat.

“Glad you think so,” she replied, her usual verve returning as she spoke. “Now, if we’re gonna be here for a few days, we’re gonna need to entertain ourselves.”

“What, is my company too boring for you?”

“After yesterday? Mac, you’re the most excitin’ thing in my life right about now,” she grinned. “And considerin’ you’re the one who told me to stay off my feet, be a darlin’ and get some stuff outta my pack for me, will ya?”

“You’re not the only one with healing injuries, you know,” he pointed out as he ran a light hand over his side, but he was already getting out of his seat to walk to where her pack was leaning against the side of the couch. “What do you need?”

“Screwdriver in the side pocket,” she said as he bent down carefully, the arm of the couch obscuring her from view. “And that desk fan over there—I’ve had my eye on it ever since we first settled down.”

Mac huffed a laugh as he began rifling through the outside pockets of her pack, thinking now would’ve been an opportune time to sneak those caps in. “What for?”

“Copper wires, scrap metal, more screws than you would know what to do with—a whole treasure trove if you know how to take it apart.”

At least it wasn’t old postcards and matching cutlery she was after. When she wasn’t reading or poking around for good scav, she was usually taking something apart. He’d seen her strip typewriters, hot plates, and telephones down to their base parts, keeping what could sell and what she said would be useful in the settlements. She had told him once that every little bit counted, so now if he could find that damn screwdriver…

Mac flipped open one of the pockets on the left after the right yielded only more loose screws. The other seemed empty at first, which struck him as odd the moment he opened it, given how much junk he was used to her picking up. What wrapped around his fingers as he dug inside, however, was even more odd.

Looped through a simple leather cord with a knot at the end were two shiny gold rings. As he shifted them around in his palm, one slightly larger than the other, he caught sight of something written into the inside of each: To Have inside the bigger one and To Hold on the smaller. He knew what kind of rings they were, even if he had only ever seen them on the hands of those with more caps than he’d ever see in his life. They were wedding rings.

They were the only things inside the pocket and suddenly Mac felt like he was snooping around where he shouldn’t have been.

“Oh, shoot,” Georgia’s voice said, and he quickly stashed the rings back where he had found them before she managed to scoot down to him at the end of the couch. “It might be in the front pocket, actually.”

“Here you go,” he said, immediately snatching the tool from said pocket and holding it out to her. He crossed the room to grab the desk fan and sat it on the couch next to her. “Have fun with those. I’ll, uh…I guess I’ll read some of my comics again.”

“If you ever want to borrow any of my books, you’re welcome to,” she said as she put the fan in her lap. “I think you might like The War of the Worlds. Might do you some good to read somethin’ other than a comic book.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve read plenty,” he said with a dismissive shake of his head, decidedly uneager to go perusing through her pack again. “Besides, comics are easier to carry.”

“Well, you got me there, but the offer’s still open,” she conceded, then went to quietly stripping the fan, leaving each of them to their own devices. But even with his comic pulled out, Mac had a hard time focusing.

Wedding rings. Had she found them at some point on the road, hoping to sell them whenever they made it back to the city? Probably not; if they had been just another piece of scrap she picked up, they wouldn’t have been in as good a condition as they were, shining like they were brand new. They were on a strip of leather long enough to be a necklace, kept safely tucked inside her pack by themselves. No, the rings weren’t something she happened upon—they meant something to her.

Was she married? She hadn’t mentioned anything about a family save for a grandfather who turned her into a pool shark. Then there was the something—someone?—she was searching for, turning to Nick Valentine for help…

It didn’t add up. Either Mac was thinking about it too hard or he had stumbled into more parts of her past that she hadn’t yet shared. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had a partner out there, someone waiting for her to return to them. But if she did, it didn’t make sense as to why she had both rings (if they were hers and if he wasn’t latching onto another wild theory about her personal life). She was definitely the sentimental type, that much he could be sure of, so what if…?

There were plenty of people in the wasteland who were no strangers to loss, and something in Mac’s bones told him Georgia wasn’t either. Her evasiveness about her past, the rings, the fact that she was working with Valentine, all clues that lead him to his natural train of thought: she had to be looking for a missing partner. Unfortunately in the Commonwealth, “missing” was usually a euphemism for “dead” or “snatched by the Institute”, but Mac wasn’t about to be the one to tell her that. The synth gumshoe with the neon signs could take that fall whenever they made it back to Diamond City.

It was better that she knew that, he thought, just to get it out of the way and quit holding out on hope. “Dead” was much more final than “missing.” If someone was dead, it left no other alternatives for their whereabouts or their safety. If someone was missing, though, it provided too many options, too much fear. Did they just run off, or did the Institute take them in the night? Were they kidnapped by raiders or taken out by the natural horrors of the wasteland? “Missing” bled out hope like hemophilia and made the inevitable truth that much more painful. In a way, Mac was grateful he knew Lucy was dead, as horrible as the thought was. He had no choice but to move on instead of spending the rest of his life wondering, both for his own sake as well as Duncan’s.

Even still, his thoughts settled on Lucy. They hadn’t really been married in the traditional sense; no one had done a ceremony over them, there had been no celebration with friends, and rings had always been out of the question. Once Duncan was born, though, it only seemed natural to fall into the habit of calling each other husband and wife. It had felt like the grown up thing to do at the time. Two teenagers and a baby taking their jab at playing family.

But what would Lucy think of him now, though? He’d always been a bit of a cynic, but now his dedication to being a realist was born more out of what it took to survive in this world than thinking it was naturally against him like when he was a kid. Lucy had always seen the best in him, and once upon a time he had tried to be the man worthy enough to be her husband. He had been her little soldier, wielding his gun in defense against the worst parts of the world. If she could see him now, running around the Commonwealth far away from his old homestead with Duncan, would she recognize him? Would she understand he was out here trying to save their son? Why he had to fall back on old habits to keep himself afloat?

“Ow, fuck,” Georgia hissed to herself, startling Mac from his thoughts. She dropped a piece of the fan into her lap as she sucked on her thumb.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You good?”

Georgia pulled her thumb away from her mouth, waving it around as if that would make the pain dissipate faster. “I’m fine, just cut my thumb a little.”

“I don’t want to be the one to tell Preston that his General got taken out by tetanus, so I hope your shots are up to date,” he told her. A sharp laugh cracked out of her, making him grin.

“More than you know,” she laughed, wiping the remnants of the blood on her thumb across the top of her jeans before going back to her work with a smile.

Never, not once, in his entire goddamn life had RJ MacCready done anything so good as to deserve Lucy or Duncan or the life they had shared, however briefly. Watching Georgia work, though, and thinking about the good they had done together, maybe he could be the man Lucy thought he had been, but this time for himself.

[deepspacedukat]

From Silence - Part 2

Based on this post with 100000% credit to @toebeans-mcgee for the premise, and written with her permission. I don’t know how many chapters this will end up being, but it feels like maybe...four or five? Also idk why but pov switches feel warranted for this particular fic, so that’s a thing that will happen each chapter. As you might have gathered from other fics and from things in the first part, dialogue in italics is meant to be telepathic dialogue.

Part 1 here. Part 3 here. Part 4 here. Part 5 here. Epilogue here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Senator Letant (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: There will be flashbacks involving how the reader got the injuries in future chapters. For now, there’s only a brief mention of what really happened.]

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries shown as flashbacks/nightmares, telepathy, touch telepathy, descriptions of trauma/severe injury sustained previously leading to muteness, hurt/comfort (the comfort comes later), injury/recovery, threats, Letant is interest but prickly.

~*~

A momentary flash of guilt stabbed its way through Letant’s chest when he next awoke and saw the Lieutenant curled in on herself atop her rickety cot. He’d really had no need to be so rude to her. When he’d allowed himself to touch her mind to communicate with her, he’d felt her vulnerability and fear. She had been attempting bravery prior to her discovery about her mutilation, but when she found her voice stolen, he was surprised to find that he took no pleasure in the shattering of her already cracked facade.

Letant had felt fear before, both in himself and in others, but this was a primal, instinctive sort of terror – one that made him want to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe from the horrors of this Dominion-run hellhole. Perhaps that was why he’d allowed himself the luxury of attempting to comfort her by placing a hand on her shoulder. Oh, the way his heart had lurched in sympathy when she’d been unable to speak! The way she’d looked through him when she realized she was broken had made his stomach sink with concern. He wished he had the medical knowledge to reverse whatever the Jem’Hadar had done to her.

What an utterly ridiculous desire for a Romulan Senator! He would expect a younger man to have such fanciful notions, but him? He was much too old for such things. He couldn’t allow himself to become attached to someone so fragile.

As he sat up and stretched, his back protested this extended use of a metal shelf as a bed. He really would kill for a decent night’s rest on something a little softer after his long weeks of confinement. He stood slowly and padded his way quietly over to the doors of the cell they were locked in, glancing out only for a moment before turning back and taking the opportunity to observe his cellmate.

She was pretty for a Human. There was a sort of subtle strength to her that he attributed to her Starfleet training. Not for the first time, he wondered what her position could have been that had served to keep her alive. Blue was medical, wasn’t it? Or was it science? Either way, it would be intriguing to see how she adapted to her situation.

Speaking of, why had she been placed with him? In all the weeks that he’d been a prisoner here, he had been treated differently than the other inmates. Nearly everyone else was allowed to roam the compound, but the Jem’Hadar had never given him the same privilege. Perhaps they feared his influence over the other prisoners. They were certainly correct in assuming that he’d attempt to orchestrate an escape, but were they so afraid of him that they dared not let him try? The cowards.

That brought Letant’s thoughts back to his quiet little companion. If they didn’t want him to orchestrate an escape, why give him access to another person? Did they believe her too frail and injured to be able to assist him? Or were they waiting to see if he’d do something barbaric like killing her?

On the other hand, they could be attempting to distract him by giving him a pretty little plaything. Looking at the problem through such a lens, he had to admit that, so far, they’d been successful. She was intriguing, there was no denying that. She was, of course, little more than a momentary distraction, but he wouldn’t do her the disservice of denying that she was compelling. She’d been denied so much dignity already. He would not exacerbate that particular injury to her person.

Letant couldn’t help but wonder if what he’d felt from her was typical of a Human. Her mind had been different from a Romulan’s when he touched her. She was open, gentle...and strangely alluring in all her mental chaos. He wondered what it might feel like if he were to maintain contact with her for longer than a simple conversation’s duration. What might he uncover about her if he allowed himself to explore her thoughts?

No. No, he couldn’t start thinking like that. Letant couldn’t afford a weakness. Not now. He was surrounded by enemies here. Besides, she was just a Human. A Romulan Senator couldn’t have such a visible vulnerability, not even a beautiful one.

--

The next time I woke up, I heard movement behind me. Well, my new Romulan friend was active, at least. Forcing myself to sit up while he paced, I ran my fingers through my hair and stretched silently. This place seemed more than a little depressing. Then again, this was obviously a prison of some sort. This entire situation smacked of the Dominion.

Quietly wracking my memory, I tried to piece together what had happened. I’d been on a rescue mission in a runabout with a couple of my shipmates just inside the wormhole. We never reached our destination. A warship had disabled our engines and shields, transported us aboard as prisoners, and destroyed the runabout.

But what had happened after that? All I could recall was the three of us being dragged away in separate directions by the Jem’Hadar, and then...everything went blank. Either my memory had been intentionally erased or my subconscious had suppressed it for some reason. Given the injury I’d received, I could only assume it was trauma-related.

“I trust you slept well?” Glancing up at Letant, I nodded my head. He gave me a small smile and moved to sit beside me. With his posture ramrod straight, he held his hand out to me with his palm up. When I hesitated slightly, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just thought you might like to talk.”

He began to pull his hand back as if regretting the offer, but before he could, I laid my fingers atop his. A triumphant little smile stretched his lips as my cheeks heated up with a blush. Taking a deep breath as his thumb brushed over my knuckles, I thought my first question at him.

“If I may ask, why are you doing this? I’m grateful, of course, but why would you want to help me?”

“Am I not allowed to be curious, Lieutenant? I’ve never had the opportunity to speak so intimately with a Human before. Would you say that you’re average for a member of your species?” His question threw me for a loop.

“I suppose I am. What about you? Are you average for a Romulan?” Letant let out a smooth laugh at my question, and my brow furrowed.

“If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t ask such a question.” What the hell did he mean by that? Before I could ask, though, heavy footsteps approached our cell, and Letant stood, maneuvering so that he was between me and the cell door. Was he...protecting me? Peeking around him, I saw a Jem’Hadar soldier release the door’s lock and step inside.

“Deyos has decided that the two of you are now free to roam the compound with the other prisoners, but remember, beyond the atmospheric dome there is nothing but airless vacuum and barren rock. Leave the dome, even for an instant, and you die,” the guard warned.

“We shall be sure to keep that in mind. Now, I’d like some answers. What did you do to her? Why can’t she speak?” Letant asked in what I assumed was his haughtiest tone as he gestured at me, but the Jem’Hadar seemed unfazed.

“She gave us answers that we didn’t like, so we removed her vocal cords,” the soldier stated taking a step closer to my Romulan companion. “Keep talking, Senator, and we’ll do the same to you.”

He and the guard stared at each other for a long moment before the latter left the cell.

“You will return to your barracks at lights out or you will be punished,” the soldier called before walking down the corridor with his phase rifle in hand.

When Letant turned back to me, I couldn’t keep the bewildered expression off my face. He was a Senator?

“Does that answer your earlier question, Lieutenant?” He asked, and before I could think better of my actions, I caught his hand in mine.

“If you’re a Senator, why didn’t you tell me? I would have thought that you’d be itching to lord that over me, so...why didn’t you?”

“Romulans do not tend to volunteer information. I didn’t tell you, because it wasn’t necessary for you to know. Now that you do, I expect you to keep that information to yourself, or what the Jem’Hadar did to you will be but a start. Am I understood?” With a dangerous sort of smile, Letant waited only long enough for me to nod my head before he tugged his hand free of mine and straightened his tunic. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

I was unable to protest or ask him where he was going, so I simply watched him leave before making my own way out into the openness of the rest of the compound. It was time to do a little reconnaissance. Maybe I could befriend some other Federation officers and find a way out of here.

[discodeviant]

HARRINGROVE FLIP REVERSE IT DAY 1: Stargazing Fluff Angst | Teen | 1.3k

The poll has spoken, so here it is! The only piece of standalone angst I will ever write. Still sorta hopeful vibes, but I mean... there's only so much one man can hope for. Anyway, please enjoy lol <3

Read on AO3 Made for @harringrove-flip-reverse-it!

If there was one thing Steve could do, it was talk, and Billy adored it. How he would be shy and quiet for a while, something clearly on his mind, and just need a little encouragement to get it out. With Billy, it was okay to tell every thought he had until he ran out of words, until the air was sucked right from his lungs, until he was dizzy from the vibrations of his own voice. He’d close his eyes, lean on Billy, and listen to him speak in fewer words with a voice that he couldn’t sleep without anymore...

Some nights Steve couldn’t sleep anyway, so they went to the quarry and lay close to the edge, staring up at the sky together and hoping there weren’t too many clouds. If there was one thing Billy liked about Hawkins, it was the clear sky. San Diego was smoggy and polluted, so he was lucky to make out the Big Dipper every so often, but satellites were often the most he’d ever seen. But out in the middle of nowhere, every twinkling light was bright in his eyes, just like Steve. Long gone, though, like his mother, and that made it hard to look up sometimes.

“Shit, you told me which one that was,” Steve said to him, one arm resting behind his head while the other picked up and dropped the same stone over and over again. “Hold on, hold on…” Closing his eyes, squeezing tight, he bit his tongue. “Perseus!” The rock slammed into dirt and kicked up a tiny cloud of dust beneath his hand. “Perseus, it’s Perseus,” he said again, and waited for confirmation that came pulsating from a star on the constellation’s right side. Steve never asked if Billy knew its name, but he grinned when it grew three sizes larger.

They played this game for a little while, Steve pointing out star patterns and mispronouncing their names. He stumped himself twenty minutes later and fell quiet, listening to the buzz of the forest around them, finding another pebble to hold onto. His legs just dangled over the edge of the cliff, heels scratching against jagged limestone. The stars watched him closely like he was the only human on the planet; Billy watched him closely because he was.

“Max has been talking about you a lot more,” Steve said to the sky, to Billy, to his love. “Good things, I promise. I’ll pretend not to be insulted that you never told me you played bass in junior high… you’ve sure got the hands for it.” Steve looked down at his own for a second, big and delicate because he had the easy road. Billy’s were strong, calloused at the tips but soft where Steve’s fingers traced over the lines on his palm and down his wrist. Gentle as Steve locked their fingers together, squeezed tight, promised that this was forever, that he’d never let go. Billy promised too, through tears and split lips, that Steve was his forever and always.

“How long has it been?” Steve asked, and he saw a line of stars that answered his question. “Almost. Ten months?” He couldn’t discern the breeze on his cheek from Billy snuggling next to him. “Yeah…” Steve turned his head a little, finding the position where Billy’s head fit snug under his chin, face on his chest, listening to his second heartbeat. “I forget sometimes. Is that bad? Like, I saw you this morning. I woke up, and you were there, and I made breakfast, and you were there, and now I’m here, and you’re… you’re here.”

Only then did Steve realize he was crying, long streaks of heartache and yearning down his cheeks and into his hair. “God dammit.” The hand behind his head moved to wipe his face with the sleeve of Billy’s sweater that still smelled like him, somehow, and Steve was sure that meant he still wore it. “She misses you,” Steve said through a heavy sob. “Max. She does, you know. She never hated you. Maybe the rest of them did, but they can go fuck themselves, I don’t care anymore.” The hand with the rock gripped it tighter, dug knuckles into dirt and tried to find its missing piece.

“And, you know, I know you wanted me to forget about you because it’d be easy or whatever, but—but it’s not easy, okay?” He wiped his nose, thinking but not saying how much he wished he had been enough for Billy to stay, to believe in something, to believe in him. Not saying how stupid he was for wishing Billy was still there, because he wasn’t there, and he wouldn’t be there, and Steve would have gone anywhere with him in a heartbeat—California, overseas, over the ledge he sat up next to and looked down as he crumbled again.

“I fucking miss you, okay?” He tried to change the subject, but it didn’t matter when Billy knew exactly what he was thinking anyway, swimming in Steve’s head now that he could. Now that he was in the stars, in the universe; now that he was the universe and all of the stars in it. “God, Billy, I miss you so much.” Dark and bleary, the quarry stared back like a monster with teeth from lips to throat, spinning like a saw, buzzing razorblades ready to swallow him whole and spit him back out into his own galaxy. Billy had one. Billy was one, a new splotch of color in the sky that showed itself when he went away. Steve wiped his eyes and looked up, right at that splotch, right at Billy.

“There you are.”

He smiled again, shivering with warmth, seeing Billy’s eyes again in the morning, his tired smile and frizzy hair. Come back to me, Billy, he wanted to say, but it was no use.

“I hope you don’t think I’ll stop loving you.” He gazed firmly into the two stars that blinked just like Billy, eyelashes and all. Billy always said that Steve should find better, would find better, deserved better. “There’s no one like you, Billy. There never will be. So don’t wait around up there and expect me to pretend there could be.”

Sure, Steve was still young. He had the rest of his life to meet someone else, to fall in love again, to move on and be happy. To let Billy go. To leave Hawkins and never go to the quarry again and let Billy be a thing of the past. But Billy wasn’t in the past. Billy was then. Billy was now. Billy was the rest of his days, he promised, he swore, and he would never break it.

“I don’t wanna fall asleep out here again. You remember last time,” Steve said with an amused huff, then stood and dusted off the back of his jeans. He still looked up, ignoring the pain in his neck as he adjusted the pendant back over his chest. Billy still looked down, still watched from his own personal San Diego. “I love you more than every star up there combined.”

And he remained there for a few more minutes before pivoting back around towards the Camaro, which also still smelled like Billy, to drive home. Every now and then, Billy’s hand grazed Steve’s thigh. Teeth nipped at his ear, lips and nose pressed against his cheek from the passenger seat. Back home, the pitter-patter of bare feet followed him to the bedroom, slid with him under the covers, and found him again in his dreams.

“I love you more than there is sand on the shore and in the sea.”

[sidehugsnsideblogs]

FCSU #86: Boiling Point

LeRoyce returned to the Swamp House a couple days later with Evangeline, the girls' mother, in tow. "Mother Evangeline is here to take her daughters home. Thank you for taking care of them." He said his voice dripping with icy politeness. Victorie and Veronika ran to hug their mother. Vangie fell to her knees, embracing her two daughters, tears streaming down her face. Farrah was relieved that wherever they were going, at least they'd have her.

"Come along Lily Anne." Said LeRoyce, tugging at the third girl's arm. Lily Ann was not Vangie's daughter, her mother was Charity who had defected to Elden Brown's group. Farrah thought about fighting to keep her but held back. Vangie was a good mother, she knew. She would keep them safe. The women were not allowed to speak to each other and Evangeline wouldn’t meet Farrah’s gaze. But she understood: Farrah would have done the same thing had their roles been reversed. She felt grateful that at least one mother was reunited with her own children.

Once Vangie and the girls had piled into the waiting vehicle, LeRoyce turned to Farrah "Farrah Culton, you have lost your faith and fraternized with townies. Your blessings have been revoked. You will stay here in repentance until further notice." He blasted. He led Farrah back inside the house and attached a padlock to the door handle.

"What happened to you?" He asked quietly. "You used to keep so sweet." He shut the door and locked her in with the padlock. Farrah slumped to the ground as she heard the car drive away. She sat in place, sobbing until night fell. That night she didn't eat dinner, she didn't light the lanterns or wait to see if Jonah appeared with a treat. She sank on to her bed but couldn't force herself to sleep.

Her thoughts were racing: She hoped the girls would be okay, her own and the other wives'. The look on LeRoyce's face was so very much like Royce. It was the same look he wore at Becca-Dawn's wedding, at her own wedding and every time he dragged her around some townie city, reveling in her fear.

Her mind wandered to her family, she missed Victorie, Veronika and Lily Anne. She missed her own three daughters. She missed her Mother and Rachel. She even missed her other sisters, the apostates who'd abandoned her. But one thing she didn't miss, she realized, was her husband. She didn't feel grief over being separated from her sisterwives, to be honest she'd quite enjoyed living on her own with just the girls.

Royce himself felt like a distant memory and not even a positive one. When she thought of her time with him she felt only fear and humiliation. Her whole life in the Culton home felt foreboding and unsafe. She made herself small to avoid conflict, she'd done this for so long that she felt like ghost if there was no one around to interact with. What was she supposed to do alone? All alone in the dark Farrah finally recognized that she was angry, angry with Royce for how he’d treated her, and angry with God for placing her in such a position.

Days passed with Farrah barely getting out of bed. She didn’t she stopped looking after herself. Her mind was in turmoil. She'd been so good for so long and it hadn't gotten her anywhere! She knew she'd go to hell if she ever doubted her faith, or her husband. But how much of a husband had Royce been from jail? How much of a husband had been even before that?

A knock on her front door startled her out of her head. "Are you alive in there?" Hollered Jonah. Farrah turned to face the door. "Yes, I'm here. I've been locked in." She said, wondering what she was doing. "Hold on, I have some fence cutters that might work. I'll be back." He yelled. Farrah was impressed that her neighbor even noticed her absence.

Once the lock was cut the two sat on lawn in front of the swamp house, looking up into the starry sky. She'd explained as much as she could to him, about her life, her marriage, her situation. She even shared her fear that she'd been damned to hell and would never see her children again. "Whoa!" He exclaimed. "There is no way a lady like you is damned to hell. Worrying about your kids is exactly what a mother should do. You took great care of the girls here and I have no doubt you did the same with your own girls. You're a Proverbs 31 woman."

"A what?" Jonah seemed shocked that she didn't recognize the biblical reference. "Don't you read the bible?" "We used to but now we're only allowed to read writings by Royce or his father." Jonah seemed taken aback. Eventually they said their goodnights and parted. The next night Jonah returned with an armful of books about his religion. "Here, maybe reading these will help you gain some clarity. It always has for me."

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

I’m halfway through a goddamn Katya/Sofia fic thanks to this stupid meme edit and I feel like I made a wish on the monkey’s paw. >:(

Katya had been maybe sixteen when she realized that most men wouldn’t waste an opportunity to explain something--anything--to her.  She knew why, of course.  Her mother had been practical about Katya’s beauty.

“We’re all brothers and sisters under Stalin--” You never knew who was listening, even at home. “--but you have a chance to get a seat closer to the head of the table, if you marry well.”

Explaining things gave even nervous and shy men an opportunity to demand her attention, to keep talking to her.

It had been the thing that first set Goncharov apart, when she’d met him.  He’d been ambitious, even then.  Cosmopolitan, clever, driven.  The import business was lucrative, but dangerous.  Give the wrong person too small a bribe, smuggle too much of the wrong thing, come back a little too comfortable with capitalist decadence... there were many ways to fall, doing what Goncharov did.  You had to have balls and brains both, and from what she knew he was doing it well. She’d thought he could be a useful contact to cultivate.

“Do you really need me to tell you?” he’d asked, when she’d feigned ignorance about something. “Or is it that you want me to tell you?”

It hadn’t been a transparent ruse; she hadn’t wanted him to think her an idiot.  But he’d been watching her as she’d been watching the rest of the room, seen her weighing up her options, charting her course.  Their positions had been reversed enough times in the years since--he’d known what she was up to because he’d been up to the same thing.  She could see him even now, in her mind’s eye, looking at her and thinking what a pretty, fashionable, social-climbing wife could do for a man in his position.

Katya had been older when she’d recognized, with a startled flash of gratitude, that it worked with women, too.  There’d been a freedom in the exercise of that power that she reveled in, a freedom that wasn’t there when she talked to men.  She’d felt like a god, like a hypnotist, like a witch from a fairy tale.  When it was another woman, she could give anything, take anything, and the next day, it would all be like it had happened in a dream.

It was a technique that worked even better in sun-drenched Naples.  Katya barely had to thicken her accent, to make her phrasing a little more stilted, and men would believe practically anything.  She could point to a fishing boat and say, “And what is that?” and they would trip over themselves explaining the ocean to her, as if perhaps they didn’t have maps and ships in Russia.  It had paid dividends so far around her husband’s new associates--they were careless of the things they said to each other in front of her, provided they said them in Italian.

Sofia was not careless, and Sofia wasn’t in a great hurry to explain anything to Katya, and when the day’s business was done and Katya had a moment to herself, she found that it made her want to tear her hair out.  Or perhaps Sofia’s hair. 

That would at least break the glacial calm on that porcelain face, bring some expression into those dark eyes.  And it would be very satisfying, getting a great fistful of those raven curls and giving them a good hard pull.  Sofia might even make some noise, if she did that.

Katya had met commissars with less self-possession than Sofia.  If the Italians hadn’t proven themselves inveterate chauvinists time and again, she’d have suspected Sofia of being one of Ambrosini’s assassins, though Goncharov had told her they did things differently here.

“They have a system,” he’d said, when she’d told him she didn’t trust Andrey around him. “Like a machine.  If a man wants you dead, the word passes from one man to another until it gets to a man he’s never met, and you’ve never met.  That’s the man who kills you--a stranger.”

It was uncivilized, apparently, to kill your own enemies.  Katya wondered if they made love the same way.

Katya thought of giving someone a kiss, letting it pass from mouth to mouth until it came to Sofia from a stranger.

“How do they know why a man is dead?” she’d asked. “How do they know who ordered it?”

Goncharov had spread his hands and shrugged, mimicking Andrey’s response whenever someone brought up too many specifics for his taste. “They simply know.”

There was an art to it, in Russia.  The giving of absurd alibis, the witnesses who were mistaken.  Everyone saw a man or his right hand walk into the home of his enemy, but then when the police came no one had seen it after all.  Enough money was paid, and then the police stopped asking.  People knew to take you seriously, that you weren’t someone to slight or to cross.  People knew there was fire in your blood, that you’d come for them.  They knew what it was over, too--after that, they stayed away from your woman, or your money, or your family.

The Italian way seemed little better than putting it in the hands of their fickle god.  She might as well go into one of the cathedrals and pray for Sofia to kiss her.

“You’re sulking,” Goncharov told her one morning.  She hadn’t been sulking, but she still didn’t trust Andrey, and he was coming over after breakfast.  Goncharov forgot sometimes that she could watch him, too. “I’ll call Mario and have him send Sofia over.  She can drive you to the market.”

“And get what?” she asked.  She was sulking now, just a little bit, because she didn’t like being accused of sulking when she wasn’t, and because she didn’t like the eddy of excitement and disappointment swirling in her belly.  She could ride in the back while Sofia drove and look her fill.  She could make Sofia carry her bags and translate for the merchants at the stalls.  She couldn’t make Sofia pay attention to her.  She couldn’t make Sofia look back.

“Whatever you want.” His gaze went to the flowers in their vase at the center of the table, bright, beautiful things unthinkable this time of year back home. “Something you’ll remember, if we can’t come back again.  Something to write your mother about.”

Katya stopped sulking.  Goncharov was right to keep the possibility of being recalled in mind.  There were others who wanted what they had, and it was easier to bend an ear when you were there in person instead of basking in the Mediterranean sun.  The Italians had a fickle God; she and Goncharov had a fickle Party.

“Fine.”

By the time she had finished dressing, Sofia was waiting on the front steps.  Andrey couldn’t help but stare at Katya when she swept past, that thing she didn’t trust pulling his eyes tight under his thick brows as Goncharov kissed her cheeks.  Andrey clasped her hands lightly, a combined greeting and farewell, and the band of her wedding ring shifted under his grasp.

Sofia checked her watch instead of staring when Katya came to the door, and Katya wished petulantly that she could show the same level of detachment.  Sofia was dressed well but not extravagantly, and Katya couldn’t help but let her eyes trace the shift of Sofia’s muscles, the sway of her curves, the toss of her hair.  Katya had dressed well and extravagantly, all reds and golds against the bright white of her dress, and Sofia found the scratched glass face of her wristwatch just as compelling.

It was infuriating.  If Sofia had been Russian, she’d have understood what she was doing.  Katya could have done something about it, if Sofia at least understood.  They could have fought in the street.  Katya could have slapped her and torn her braid and called her something indecent in front of everyone.  Katya could have made Sofia hate her, if nothing else. 

But no--the Italians did things differently.  Katya would just look like a barbarian, and Goncharov would have to smooth things over if they wanted to keep the rubles flowing back to Novorossiysk, and it would either be like it hadn’t happened or retribution would come out of the blue, from nowhere.  To not even have the luxury of Sofia’s anger--it was intolerable.

Katya envied the wind that tousled Sofia’s hair on the drive to the market.  She should stop making a hell of paradise and tell Goncharov to ask Mario for a different driver.  Mario had insisted, when they’d taken the house.  The roads in Naples weren’t like Russian roads, he’d said.  They needed an experienced hand at the wheel.  And it was better for business to make sure the driver was discreet.  Mario would arrange for drivers, as their friend. 

Katya thought that he sent Sofia to drive them because Mario hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her that first night when they’d met over dinner, and he thought that what he couldn’t do, no man could do.  Mario didn’t want trouble, not the unpredictable kind of trouble.  Not over a driver.  Katya didn’t know if it was because Italian women didn’t know how to love or if it was because Italian men ignored love affairs between women the same way Russian men did.  Or maybe Mario just knew Sofia.

The market was drowsy and quiet when they arrived, and Katya tried to imagine what the streets in Leningrad looked like now.  It had been such a long time since she’d been home.  There wouldn’t be flowers now, she was certain of that.  Her gaze fell on a patch of vivid red.  Or pomegranates. 

She remembered the first time her mother had given her one.  She hadn’t known the trick for opening them yet, but she’d wanted the seeds so badly.  She’d ripped it open with her hands, precious tart juice staining her nails and running down her arms.  Her father had laughed and called her his little lioness before giving her a knife to do it properly.

Katya hesitated, hand resting on the plumpest one in the pile.  There had to be limits to even Sofia’s stoicism.

“What sort of apple is this?” she asked, picking it up and turning it over.

“Apple?” Sofia asked slowly.  She was probably trying to decide if Katya had said the wrong word or if Katya was playing a joke on her.

A joke, of sorts, but Katya would never admit it. “Da.  What sort of apple?  The skin is so thick.  Do you need a special knife to pare it, as you do with your cheeses?”

“It’s not an apple.”

“Then what, if not an apple?” Katya tossed it in her hand, demonstrating its firmness.  A persimmon of the same hardness would be vile, completely inedible.  Her gold bracelet flashed on her wrist as her hand moved.

“It’s a pomegranate.”

“A what?”

“A pomegranate,” Sofia repeated, irritation creeping into her voice.

“What do you do with them?”

“You cut them open and eat the seeds.”

Katya picked out a half dozen and paid the boy minding the stall.  After that it was easy enough to keep going.  She knew what Goncharov would like.  Fresh white bread.  Some sort of exotic hard cheese ripened in caves by the sea, made with the milk of goats fed on herbs and sweet grasses by the same family since the time of the Romans.  Jam from fruit that you couldn’t get in Moscow, wine that tasted like herbs grown in the sun, flowers that could fill a room with their perfume. 

Time was fleeting, and fortune was more mercurial even than God or the Party.  What point was there in denying yourself when someday the memory of past pleasures would be all you had left?  She and Goncharov understood each other in that respect.  They understood, too, that there were things a person could do to put a thumb on the scale and maybe keep fortune by their side longer.

“What sort of wine does Signore Ambrosini like?”

“I don’t know.” Sofia shrugged around the bags. “He doesn’t drink when he’s conducting business.”

Katya had a moment to think that it was perhaps Sofia’s turn to play the game, then dismissed the thought.  Sofia’s attention was already on the next stall.

“Not even when things are concluded?”

“No.”

Katya tried to imagine it.  It was a bad idea to get too drunk, even once things were agreed on and the papers were signed.  Tempers could get out of hand, words misunderstood.  But not drinking at all would be like spitting in a man’s face.

“Doesn’t that get in the way of doing business?” she asked.  How could a man trust a business partner who wouldn’t even drink with him?  A man who thought he was too good to share your vodka would never honor a bargain with you.

“Not that I’ve seen.  It’s more professional.” Sofia shrugged again, paper rustling at the movement. “He doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean to say.  Keeps his temper.”

Katya shook her head at that.  Perhaps being bred in the peninsula’s warmth let the people cultivate a certain cold-bloodedness.  If they tried it in Russia, they’d freeze solid and break apart like a sheet of ice on a window pane.

[savesbabics]

Her hand met the tears that clung to her face. “I don’t want it to be the end…I know trusting me is going to be a difficult task but, I love you and I want to only love you, if you let me. ” she paused for a moment before a realization struck her. “ what about you and meredith? derek…that’s technically cheating too you know, we never formally separated. But I was deserving of the same thing I did to you. If it makes you feel any better, I told Mark to let go of whatever feelings he may have had for me because I have none for him. ”

She knew as soon as the words slipped out of her mouth, he’d be mad and for sure, confused. She was honestly confused when the test came back positive. “ I don’t know, but I was pissed. It should have been you and I, and of course I would have told you, derek. I’m not one to hide things and even if I ever did, you’d find out one way or another. ”

She only nodded at his request, before more tears stained her cheeks. “ I can do that but derek … i’m not going to sit around and wait forever. I would do anything to reverse the entire situation and make things work for us. I think, if we work on fixing what I…what mark and I broke, I think you and I need to work on the communication thing better. Not answering my phone calls or texts asking where you were made me so sick, at one point I thought something terrible happened to you. I had to contact Richard to find out if you were okay. ”

She didn’t know whether she should stay or leave. He wanted time so figured he’d probably want her gone. “ i know a lot of things were said tonight and you and I both have things to process. I’ve said everything I need to say and I’m not hiding anything else, and that I will swear over my grandparents grave is true. Oh, and don’t think for a moment that I don’t still love you….I’m absolutely crazy about you Derek Shepherd and if I lose you … well I’d lose myself too . ” she stood up to leave as a rush of emotions crashed through her body, she pushed through the trailer doors as the tears turned into a full blown sob.

Starter for @savesbabics

When Derek and Addison were living in New York. He had so much going on that he didn’t realize Addison was begging for his attention. His job always took priority which was something he knew was wrong. But people depended on him and he didn’t want to let them down. He didn’t want to be the surgeon to not really know what was going on. But with that, Addison slept with his best friend and that made Derek take a job in Seattle and he left. He left Addison behind and he left Mark behind because he needed to clear his head.

In the mean time, he didn’t realize he would meet someone else. What was supposed to be a one night stand turned into more than one night. He thought it was going well, until that day Addison found just where he went and she made it known she tried to get ahold of him. He knew that, he just didn’t want to talk to her because he didn’t know what else could he said. She went somewhere else for comfort and now he did as well. But it was messy. Things were never easy, and Derek didn’t know if he could let her go that easily. He was wondering if there was something there he could fix.

So Derek did the one thing he could and that was end things with Meredith and try to see if Addison and him could make this work. They had been married too long to throw away their marriage. Clearing his throat he stepped up behind her, and his hands were slipped into his white lab coat pockets. “So, I think we need to talk about things. I’m not saying right now, but when you’re ready, I’d like to talk to move past whatever is going on with us. What do you say?”

[moemoemammon]

Following that "least favorite" request could we get their reactions to being to told that they're their favorite, but to not tell the other brothers so their feelings don't get hurt? Maybe because they relate to them the most or just get along really well. Thanks!

You're My Favorite! But Don't Tell the Others-

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

There are no words to explain the overwhelming satisfaction ion Lucifer’s face after you tell him that. Of course, it’s only natural that he would be your favorite, all things considered.

The Avatar of Pride won’t ever forget this moment. He carefully considers your words and agrees not to tell anyone, as much as he’d love to bring it up, because he knows more than anyone what kind of chaos would ensue should the others (especially Mammon) find out.

But they can tell something’s up when the eldest has been heard humming all day. He moves about the house with even more grace than usual, and hasn’t scowled even once.

But the REAL shocker was when Mammon tried hiding a bill right as Lucifer walked in... and the eldest let him off with a warning. A WARNING! The brothers thought the Devildom must’ve frozen over, but you and he knew different.

“MC, I would like you to accompany me to Le Pluvier this afternoon, once you've finished your studies. I've already made reservations, so be sure to get ready on time. I've made sure to consider the things you might like to eat, so I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself. Don't be late." "...I'm grinning? I don't know what you're talking about."

Mammon

The gigantic grin on Mammon’s face is so bright, it could rival the sun. You’ve seriously made his day. No, his year. Actually, he’s pretty sure he could ride this high for the next millennia! There’s nothing in this world that could dampen his spirits right now! 

He feels like he just won big at the casino! Of course he’s your favorite! He WAS your first demon, and now he’s gone and claimed his rightful spot as your number one! Good luck trying to keep him from saying anything. Mammon’s gonna throw it around in everyone’s faces for as long as he can milk it.

And you thought he was clingy before, just wait till you see how he treats you after hearing that. Despite always calling you his ‘servant’ or his ‘human’, you’d  think your roles were reversed. Mammon spoils you every chance he gets, buying you clothes and trinkets, filling the spaces in your room with the things he knows you like, monopolizing you completely until nearly everything you own is a gift from him.

Your words also help soothe that jealousy of his a little. Only a little, though. It’s easier to watch you talk to other demons when he knows he’ll always be your first man.

“Didja really have to stay after class that long? I know you were talkin' to that demon that lent you a book, but you outta ask ME for stuff! Tch... you're lucky I'm in a good mood today! But I guess I don't have to worry about some low level demon like that, seein' as I'm your favorite!"

Levi

Wait wait wait....Come again? Did you seriously just say what he think you said..? That had to be a mistake! Some kind of...uh..verbal typo! Because there’s absolutely, positively, NO WAY in all of the nine layers that he could be your favorite demon. And yet you still insist that you’re telling the truth, and Levi feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Red faced and stammering up a storm, Levi looks like he might die. Is it really okay for a shut-in otaku to feel this giddy? Seriously, he hasn’t felt like this since he got his hands on a signed copy of a Ruri Hana audio drama! No no, this definitely beats that!

You’ve managed to inflate his nearly nonexistent ego, and now he feels like there’s nothing he can’t do! Maybe he could even go to Majolish right now?? THAT’S how good he’s feeling!

Almost as bad as Mammon in keeping it a secret. He doesn’t tell anyone right away, but they’re suspicious when they notice how much time he’s spending out of his room. And then when he and Mammon get in another petty argument, he drops the bomb that he’s your favorite demon in the entire Devildom, and you can guess how things go from there.

“Uuuoooo...!!!!! I've decided..! Since I've got a serious stat buff, I'm going to open a booth at the next convention coming up..! I'll sell my Ruri-chan fan art and spread her influence all over the Devildom! I'd never have the guts to do it normally, but I feel like I could do anything right now! Y-you'll go too, won't you MC?"

Satan

You nearly made this man spit tea all over his book, and now he’s coughing and spluttering and trying to figure out what could’ve prompted what he’s taking as a confession. You.. do realize what you’re saying, don’t you? And you know the kind of effect your words have on him?

Satan isn’t the type that wears his heart on his sleeve, so you have to look for his subtle expressions to tell how he’s feeling. But there’s nothing subtle about the redness of his ears and how he’s begging you not to look at him right now. For the sake of his sanity, give him a minute to recoup.

When he does recover, he agrees to keep it a secret for obvious reasons. And it’s hard to tell that he’s in a good mood, other than the fact that he hasn’t tried to pull any pranks on Lucifer lately. But Asmo sees all, and literally hounds him into spilling the tea.

He tells him a lie of course, but now the other brothers are noticing just how happy he is. Satan's smiling way too much today, isn't he? And he didn't even get mad when Beel got whipped cream on his jacket! Well, not THAT mad, anyway.

"Haaah... everyone's been harassing me all day, claiming I'm smiling a lot. I'm sure I look the same as I always do, but I'll admit that I've been happy ever since you told me that this morning. Wait.. you did think I've been grinning too, do you? I have??"

Asmo

Asmo always jokes about being your favorite and announces it as if the two of you are married, but when you actually confirm that his longing for you isn’t one sided, he ends up smearing lip balm across his cheek in shock. Did you... really say that just now? He knew it all along, but hearing it like that is just...!

Ooooh, he’s so happy he can hardly contain himself! Asmo throws his arms around you, peppering your face in kisses until you feel sticky from lip balm, wipes your face clean, then marks it up all over again. Good luck getting rid of him, because he might never let go.

Immediately posts it to Devilgram. Did you really think he’d let such a momentous occasion go unannounced? You must not have been paying attention to the kind of person he is! Asmo would put you on a pedestal in front of the world like a precious jewel if he were able, but this’ll have to do. He won’t hide his love at all!

Of course, the others don’t take too kindly to it, not that he cares. He never leaves your side, pampers you like crazy, and has even attempted to get you to move into his room. Lucifer put an immediate stop to that, though. Boo...

“I just can't get enough of you, MC! Just being near you gets me so excited that I can hardly stand it! You'll take responsibility for what you're doing to me, won't you? And in exchange, I'll take my time showing you just how much I love you. After all, you're my favorite, too!"

Beel

Beel never has a problem with choking while he eats, and it comes as naturally as breathing. Unfortunately neither of that applies right now, since you just made him choke on a meatball sub.

He usually takes your words with quiet acceptance, but this might be the most emotion you've ever witness from the stoic demon. His eyes are wider than that time that laid on an entire gingerbread mansion, sparkling up with such deep emotion you wouldn't be surprised if he cried. Instead he softens up and immediately embraces you.

...And doesn't let go. Sandwich long forgotten, he's been carrying you around all day, and ignoring any questions or protests from his brothers. Also insists on feeding you throughout the day. The food tastes better when he can enjoy it with you, so why not just bring you everywhere?

When he isn't carrying you, he's following you around subconsciously, either close up against you like a protective wall, or just far enough that you're within his line of sight. As far as not telling anyone, he... tells Belphie immediately. It was an accident though, since there's not much he keeps from his twin.

"MC, I won a meal ticket for Godevil Chocolatier. Let's get something for dessert today. Ah, you can get as much as you want, too. I really want to see what things you choose. They might become my favorites."

Belphie

There's nothing in this world that can wake Belphegor from his sleep, unless he allows it. No loud noises, no amount of shaking or smacking, and not even dragging him around the house. But the moment you whisper that he's your favorite demon, the Avatar of Sloth is wide awake.

Hey, you're not just saying weird things to get a reaction, are you? Because if so, this is a new level of cruel. Yet you confirm that you mean it and swear him into secrecy, and Belphie tries his best not to show how happy he is. A smile keeps creeping up on his face that he struggles to force down. It's annoying...

As funny as it’d be to tell everyone the news, he's good at keeping secrets. Instead, you've noticed that he's been sleeping a little less that before. When he does take one of his hundreds of naps, he finds some way to be closer to you. He's even been seen sleepwalking to your exact location somehow-

It's hard for him to believe that you're not teasing, though. How could HE be your favorite demon here? Belphie doesn't do anything special to win you over, yet after everything he put you through, you like him enough to deep him your favorite?

"You're weird, MC. I mean... me? I won't deny that I'm really happy though, but I guess I'm in disbelief. You should spoil me even more until I believe you. Lend me your lap for a few hours, okay?" "...I wonder what Lucifer would think if I told him, heheh."

[dragonkeeper19600]

I saw that Salt Route AU thing, and I gotta say you guys aren’t going nearly far enough with it.

Like, yeah, as a dream the creator had, I can see why it would be haunting and striking, but if you were to actually do a Weird Route with Spamton in Noelle’s role, Spamton wouldn’t be just a meek submissive who just went along naively with whatever Kris (you) wanted. 

Like, imagine a Salt Route with Spamton’s canon personality. 

Spamton is, at first, thrilled that Kris is helping him, just like he is in-game. He goes along gleefully with you because he has an ally—or maybe even a friend—for the first time in God knows how long. 

Even the eliminating his fellow Darkeners in the name of “getting stronger” would give him a thrill. Don’t forget, this is the same guy who sells you the Thorn Ring in the canon Weird Route. What makes you think he’d object to murder? 

And these are the very same Darkeners that rejected him, so he could even view it as a twisted form of retribution. Take the moment where he kills the Addison, for instance. Why wouldn’t he be positively giddy at being given the go-ahead by Kris, to finally be strong enough to hurt the people who hurt him? He would be elated.

Or...so...he...thinks...

Somewhere along the way, he realizes just how tight a grip you (Kris) has on him. That he isn’t he one making these calls to [kill or be killed], he isn’t the one calling the shots, it’s you deciding everything and controlling him. And he realizes he’s been made into a puppet all over again, except it’s not the Voice on the phone pulling the strings, it’s Kris (you), the kid standing right next to him, the kid he thought (in some twisted way) was his friend.

That’s what drives him to despair. Not the killing but the fact that you’re the one making him do it. And when he tries to resist you (like Noelle does in the Weird Route) and realizes he has no choice but to obey, that’s when he regrets the horrible things he’s done. In the most twisted case of reverse psychology ever, he now desperately longs to take back the things you told him to do, and even feels sickened at his earlier glee. Because when he crashes down from the emotional high of that sweet, sweet [Revenge Sauce], he realizes that not even his own emotions are safe from your influences. Even what he feels is determined by you.

And when he realizes the Lightener he thought was giving him his freedom has essentially enslaved him, that’s when he just breaks. And at some point, his demeanor changes from railing against you to worshipping you, praying to you like he did to the machine in the basement. He goes full-circle, and you become his new voice, his new heaven.

Essentially, in this route, he replaces his old god, the Voice on the phone, with a new one, the Voice in his ear.

And this time, no one’s ever hanging up.

EDIT:

I have written a fan fic based on this post. Links are below:

Archive of Our Own link is here. FanFiction.net link is here.

[thenightmareofyourdrems]

bprdmyers·:

truck is started, the hum of the engine making a loud sort of grumble as the body of the truck vibrates for a moment. the building isn’t small and it’s part of a larger complex of buildings. it’ll take a few minutes to navigate off the art district’s campus and into the city streets. so, georgie settles into a seat and allows herself a moment to consider jack’s previous comment and his subsequent antics with the cards. too young. he was young, and his actions with the cards showed just how desperate he was in this situation. it’d been foolish, they weren’t going to let him do anything with them, had taken them away from him. but, foolish as it was, they were the actions of someone that was the same age as her. maybe they were too young for the very real things they dealt with on a daily basis. most people their age were in college, going to parties, hanging out with friends. he was twenty-one and had already ruined his chances for a normal life for the rest of his by becoming a fugitive, even if perhaps the full weight of that wasn’t something the man sitting a few feet from her had allowed himself to consider yet. and she? well, she supposed her path as an agent had been determined by herself. had she wanted to go off to college and become a world famous photographer, even after the incident, she’s certain her father would have let her. the bprd was always going to be a part of her but there was nothing forcing it to be her path, powers or not. it had been georgie who had pushed to go on her first mission, all bright-eyed and fifteen and just wanting to be like her father and help people against the dangers that lurked in the shadows. yet, even being privy to the realities of the bprd, had she truly understood the ramifications of the path she’d be set on? could she have ever fathomed that she’d be taken to where she was? that she’d end up having to endure what she had? perhaps, like jack, they both had been thrust into lives they had little concept of the dangers of until they were neck deep within them. dark hues wash over him as he looks around the truck and it’s a little unsettling for georgie to come to this realization, that they may have a lot more in common that she’d like to admit. 

sigh escapes her, gaze diverting back toward the two agents in the front section of the truck as she watches the outer surroundings begin to shift with the motion of the truck. everything is fine as the truck navigates around the side of the building and turns off down the backstreet to move around the neighboring building. then, however, what seems to be a standard fbi issue black car darts out of the street ahead of them as if it’d raced around the other building to head them off. but this car was alone which meant their ruse had had the desired effect, just not for every agent apparently. the man in the black car holds his badge up to the windshield, unbuckling his seatbelt to get out now that he’s believed he’d stopped the truck that was supposed to be holding unsuspecting hazmat workers. agent sato and owens share a look and georgie, for her part, rises from her seat and kneels between the two agents in the front, arms on the headrests as she peers out of the front window– really that one and the two on the sides of the front of the truck being the only windows in the truck as a whole. “got it.” one hand comes up a moment later, her intention to use her powers to do something. “agent myers!” agent owens immediately responds; it’s meant to chastise, to stop her from what she’s about to do. does he think she’s stupid? that she’s going to make a big show instead of simply focusing on the car’s gear shift and moving it into reverse just as the fbi agent was planning to step out of the car, forcing him back into a sitting position? which, she does a moment later. the fbi agent in question, who from a distance she thinks she recognizes as dylan rhodes who’d been seen getting tackled on television not so long ago, appears confused for a moment, working to put the car back into park before it could unblock the truck. he’d managed it before a big enough opening had been provided, so georgie remains ready, hand in the air. 

a moment later agent owen’s unexpectedly grabs her arm to force it away and georgie’s reaction is an immediate one. a flinch of her whole body. as if she’s been burned by something, as if she’s recalling something. as if her whole body is suddenly on overdrive. a trauma response that’d frustrate her if she had time to think about it just then. she doesn’t use her powers on him, instead grabbing his hand off her arm and throwing it toward his face rather forcefully. which, was rather unprofessional but one could argue so was him grabbing her arm. “don’t. touch. me. again.” for agent sato’s part, he offers them a comment about cooling down, they have more important things to deal with though it’s clear he’s not happy with what’s just transpired. in the meantime, dylan seems to be determined to get out of the car again and georgie refocuses on the car. now, maybe this next action was exactly what agent owens was scared of happening and it was rather reckless but georgie would reason, who would believe the fbi agent anyway? it’s the car malfunctioning, it’s got to be that. she makes dylan’s car go in reverse again but is hindered by the fact he’d apparently still had his hand on the gearshift, allowing him to shift it into drive when it goes into reverse. so, she uses more of her power, pushing it against his car and forcing it to start moving backward. it’s a stalemate, the car’s tires making noise as they move while two forces work against each other and the car fails to make any progress forward or backward. 

georgie is paling slightly. “agent myers–” this time the voice comes from sato, it’s calmer than owens, a bit of a warning, a bit of concern, but gentler than owens. “it’s fine, just give me a minute.” it was too late to go back now. the fbi agent for his part seems to be frustrated and confused over this course of events if what can be seen of him from the window is any indication to go by. she sends more force toward the car, more effort and focus used now than there had been before. the car moves a foot backward with dylan still pushing the gas petal down with more force in response. georgie’s nose starts bleeding, though she doesn’t notice it, neither do the agents at her sides as they are too focused on what’s playing out in front of them. yet this is what agent sato was concerned with. perhaps he was a little concerned with how this was going to play out in the car’s fbi agent’s report too, but he was more worried over the fact that georgie had used a lot of power the night before and hadn’t given herself an adequate amount of time to recover and recharge. eyes narrow, body becomes strained, georgie gripping at the arm rests of the front seats now, hard, using only her mind and not any fancy hand motions. she pushes again with her power, this time letting out sound with it and dylan’s car shooting backward until the back of it hits the side of the opposite building. it’s not enough to cause dylan any harm as nothing happened to the front of the car, but perhaps enough to daze him for a moment with the shock of the back impact. “—g.. go.” she says to sato, him throwing the truck into drive. however, georgie wobbles, light-headed, and body stumbling backward into the body of the truck, blood still on her face. to his credit, sato becomes aware of this fairly quickly, not taking his eyes off the road but watching jack through the rearview mirror in case he tried anything like to escape. georgie, who would have seemed to be the only thing stopping him from escaping through the back now out of commission. “the rear doors are locked with a control up here. don’t try anything.” and then, “– georgie, are you okay?” he uses her first name, well, her nickname, concern lacing his tone. he can’t exactly go back to check on her though he’s planning to hand over driving to owens as soon as they clear the campus. 

                ˜”*°•.       The  drive was  quiet .  The vehicle  going,  the only  sound  coming in  for  a  while.  And at  this  point, the silence  was  torturing , for it  was  constant thoughts  coming  into his  head .  The worry  of  going somewhere  he  had no  idea  where it  was .  The frustration  of  not  being  in control .  The  realization , the  other  three might’ve  been  dead . And  then  what ?  What would  happen  if they  were  dead , and  he  was the  only  one alive ?  He  couldn’t  have the  small  street shows ,  the occasional  pickpocketing ,  the  normal  life in  a  normal house  that  he’d once  had . He  couldn’t even  get  a normal  job ,  just leave  it  all behind  - but  really, if  he  had  gotten  the chance ,  would he  have left  this  life behind ? -. He couldn’t  tell .  And right  now ,  it  didn’t matter anyway .  If  the others  were  dead , and  if  he  didn’t die himself  by  whoever was  angry  with them ,  it  was a  matter  of time  before  he got  caught .  And this  was  a thought ,  that  however frequent ,  was  always brushed  off .

It  was suddenly  that  something seemed  to  catch  their  attention .  Once  scattered  attention , now  put  onto the  direction  everyone  seemed to  look,  still though  failing  to  see  much . The  agent  seemed to  be  doing something ,  something  that the others  obviously  did not  approve  of , and  however  hard he  wanted  to  check  what was  happening ,   he kind  of  resisted the  idea .  There was  too  much tension ,  too  many shouts ,  and  too  much  noise .  ❝ What  is  going on ? ❞  A  question he  doubted  that’d be  answered ,  yet a  question  that came  out  impulsively ; he  needed  to  know.  The noise  and  the motion  betraying  that someone  was  following them ,  and  even if  he  didn’t  exactly have  Merritt’s  skills ,  he  could  imagine it  was  either the  FBI  or some  kind  of  rival  of theirs ;  well ,  most probably  the  fbi .  

The  blood on  her  face was  something  that he  noticed ,  her powers ,  however  impressive , still  very  visibly exhausting  her .  The sound  of  tires rushing  against  force , merely  another  reminder  of  the  fact, she  was  powerful . Of  the  fact , she  was  indeed telling  the  truth back  at  the  hall.  That the  whole  chair incident  had  not been  a  trick . For  a  brief moment ,  he  wanted to  tell  her  to  stop . But  really ,  if she  didn’t  listen to  the  agents ,  would  she  listen to  him ?  It’d be  futile ,  it’d  mean  nothing . And  he  was way  too  focus on everything  happening  to really  be  able to  form  the slightest  hint  of a  sentence .

The  truck began ,  and  she was  weak ,  over-exhausted ,  and well ,  very  much onto  the  ground . The  voice  from  the  front caught  his  attention just  briefly ,  gaze  turned  over the  source .   And  yet,  he ignored  him .  It was  indeed  tempting ; to  try  opening the  door ,  check himself  whether  control  was indeed  up  there . But  then  what ? He  wouldn’t  be able  to  find the  others  alone , and  honestly ,  he’d begun  to  come to  the  realization , things  had  gotten serious .  Even  with Dylan  available ,  he  couldn’t exactly keep  running  from both  the  FBI and  potentially  the  bprd too .  And  he was  worried  for the   others  too . So ,  yes ,  even  if  at some  point ,  he’d have  to  escape , it  was  still a  little  bit too  early  for that .

❝ I  am  not exactly  good  at this ,  but  if I  can  help her  somehow . ❞  His gaze  still  remained on  the  woman , him  thinking  to  approach but still  not  doing so . If  he  could  help  her , he  would .  For even  though ,  he didn’t  trust  her or  them ,  he would  rather  have the  case  solved by  her  rather  the agents  he’d  gotten to   meet  so  far.

[helpinghanikan]

Simon "Ghost" Riley A to Z (NSFW)

An: I have never played a Call of Duty game. But I watched my bud play it.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It’s funny how awkward he is after sex. His hands hesitate to bring you closer for a cuddle or to take your hands. As if he wasn’t just rearranging your guts like it was his job.

Mostly it’s you whose going to be doing the aftercare. Passing him a water or crawling over him to touch as much as possible while cuddling. He moans when you give soft kisses and give little touches during this time. If he were a cat he’d absolutely be purring.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you: Your thighs. He likes them soft and pliable. Big enough that he put his hands on and leave a mark. At the same time he also likes them small enough to spread easily. He’s not picky about them. It’s really all about the girl they’re attached to.

On him: He likes his height. Taller than average he looks down on most. Perfect for taking a glance down your shirt or leaning against you body. Both instances he acts like nothing is wrong. His own way of teasing you without losing the badass persona.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s very particular about it. Simply put he’s not big on the mess he’ll make coming on your back or chest. It’s better to be contained in a rubber than staining the sheets. Especially when you two finish and he’s just too tired to be bothered with getting up and getting clean.

In his utility vest you’ll find extra condoms. It’s not something he’s ashamed of. No different from having extra ammo ready.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes that some people are curious about your sex life. Seeing Soap’s face when he realized you were bedding the Ghost was something to remember.

It made him out to be more than a man, and not just in the field. He knew you were asked inane questions like; “So you’ve seen his face?”

“What does he look like?”

“What does his body look like?”

“Does the mask stay on?”

And Ghost appreciates your discretion over anything else. Becoming just a bit proud at your snarky responses. Thanking you in a little whisper that no one else can hear. Your soft smile being the only response he needs.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s kept o himself for most of his life. Easier to find his own relief than to try his luck at a bar or something.

This makes him pretty inexperienced. That’s not to say he doesn’t know what goes where, but it is to say that he’ll need some pointers.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes things from behind. Gently turning you around when the kissing gets heated and his hands slide into your clothes. He might not have gotten far enough to get his own clothes off yet, too focused on feeling the heat of your skin against his cold hands.

It’s the same in reverse, too. He’s never stop you from pressing against his back. His head lolls back when you open his pants in this position. Reach back to hold the side of your head when you get to feel his cock. Grinding against his backside much the same way he would have done to you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

For Ghost the less words the better. The only time he’s ever had humor after your first time. When the silence seemed to be too much for both of you.

Laying naked, side by side on a safe-house bed Ghost asked; “Have you ever heard of the chocolate record player?”

Staring at the ceiling had gotten boring so you answered honestly; “Can’t say I have.”

“It sounds pretty sweet.” Ghost explained, as deadpan as he would have given an order.

That stupid joke was likely the only reason he got into your pants again.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s a forest he’s hiding under that gear. Fine brown hair over his chest and shoulders. It goes down to his pubes, at least those he keeps trimmed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He likes to hold you hands while rutting. Holding you close and kissing you softly when he can reach your lips. Moving your hair when needed to better reach those lips. Wanting them a light pink from his efforts.

Although he doesn’t speak a lot he does whisper his love every now and then. Keening when you nuzzle into his chin.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You can’t be around eachother all the time. When he gets back and you’re not there what else can a man do?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s submissive. Our boy may be big, and he may be scary, but that doesn’t make him any less of a good boy. One that won’t admit to being a bottom but will admit to liking the hold you have on his neck.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His place specifically. Not that there’s anything wrong with yours but he liked having the home field advantage. That and most of those around his place already knew you were together.

Every now and then there’s a truck or safe house without anyone around. It’d be a shame to waste the opportunity.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Finishing a mission or just being done for the day. He sees you like a reward, something to be treasured and cherished. But also devoured.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Blood. That’s something that belongs in a medical tent or on the battlefield.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

It’s a little hard to eat Pussy through a mask. That’s the excuse he’ll use when confronted about not going down on you nearly as much as you do him.

The truth was he’s not too sure on his cunnilingus skills. You were the first of maybe a handful of partners who got far enough for him to lose the mask. Let alone have that go between your thighs.

Find a way to get the man to be open about this and things can change. An entire night could be made out of teaching him the proper ways of eating you out.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s like an old motorcycle. It’ll take a second for him to warm up. Going a bit faster to find the right rhythm. And finally moving fast and firmly when he finds the tempo that has your praise.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve had quickies.

It’s just not that fun for Ghost. Going fast and hard for quick release can be done with his hand. Tracking you down, moving clothes just enough, and taking you until he cums just seems like a waste of time. Especially if you aren’t to be able to get off properly.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not that big on risks. Unless you’re alone and everything is where it should be don’t expect Ghost to put out.

His job is risky enough. He doesn’t need to worry about you too.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He lasts pretty long when fucking. Most of his energy going towards lasting long enough to get you sounding out rather than reaching his own climax.

He can only last about one round before tiring out. Laying back while panting, as if being with you was like a marathon. One that he was going to run again and again. After her wakes up, of course.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Ghost has never been one for toys or anything. He’s never seen a real reason why. This has translated into now when he doesn’t have a single sex related object in his room. The most that could be included would be some flavored lube you had brought over. There’s only so long someone can go using medical based lube.

One toy that you’ve introduced more than once is a nice strap. Something that you’ve had to approach Ghost about gently. Although seeing his eyes widen for a second when seeing the red plastic penis was a little funny.

Ghost hasn’t outright stated that he liked it. But he never used the word when you pressed the head in. Moaning deep as you’ve ever heard into the pillows when your hips met his backside. Slowly pulling out and then doing so again.

His hips had your handprints for days afterwards.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not into teasing, but being teased…

Edging it the way to go for this man. Have you ever had a six-foot two man whimpering and moaning in frustration? Now you have. He sings so pretty when you’ve denied him an orgasm.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

We’ve all heard that baritone voice. Now imagine that voice moaning next your ear. Getting higher when he’s close and practically roaring when he cums.

He’s never cared to be quiet when fucking. Time spent in close quarters his entire life removed any embarrassment he’d have about being overheard. It was almost revenge that Ghost made the rest of the world hear him slapping your cheeks, or vice versa.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Yes, he does fuck in the mask. Not all the time, but enough for it to be just part of the sex.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s not that especially thick but he makes up for it in length. More likely than not you won’t be taking all of him in. At least not easily.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s honestly almost random. He’s not the kind of guy who wants you every night. But he is the kind of guy who points out how empty the truck is at the moment.

No matter what he certainly won’t beg you for pussy. Getting turned down once is all he needs. He won’t bug you about it again for the day. This makes Playing hard to get out of the question.

That’s not to say he won’t chase you down if you want. But that’s something you have to talk about beforehand.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It depends on whether it’s immediately after a mission or not; If he’s still strained and high strung from spending time behind a rifle then it’s all coming out onto to. He’ll practically pass out while still inside. Giving a dumb smile as an apology when you have to roll him off of you.

If it’s just a regular night then he’ll stay awake longer. If you don’t fall asleep after a few minutes then he’ll probably find his way out of the bed. Doing something else while you lay there, watching that tight little ass moving about the room.

[silversatoru]

i made this instead of doing my stacks of homework ^

step bro!itadori yuuji x f!reader

synopsis: i don’t think i even have to say this but you get stuck in a dryer and your step-brother yuuji fucks the shit out of you

t/w: 18+!!!, aged-up yuuji, stepcest, noncon/dubcon, manipulation, filming without consent, mild impact play, creampie, mild overstimulation, mild dumbification (but also reader is just dumb), mention of masturbation

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: hey!!! i joined this super fun collab hosted by my new gf @suna-reversed​ (thank u for letting me be a part of it!!) so if you enjoy this i highly recommend checking out the rest of the talented writers in this collab :) the jujutsuhub masterlist is here !! also,, biggest thank u my lovely friend @brandmeyelena for helping me to plan and perfect this fic throughout the entire process <333

you were a good daughter, certainty not the sharpest or the most intelligent, but you were helpful and compliant and you always did your chores. and you truly didn’t mind helping out around the house either; sweeping the floors and doing the dishes was easy enough, but there was one task that plagued you a bit more than the rest — doing the laundry. the buttons were just so confusing, and there were so many of them! and on top of that, your short stature made it nearly impossible to empty the fresh clothing out of your top-loaded dryer. 

you were struggling with that exact issue right now, pushing onto your tip-toes as you tried to reach that last pesky sock stuck at the bottom of the dryer. your finger tips brushed over the warm fabric, just an inch short of being able to snatch it into your hand.

you wiggled your hips a little further, your feet lifting off the floor and your weight shifting so you fell deeper into the dryer. you were finally able to grasp the sock, but you were unable to push yourself back out, feet swinging wildly as you tried to squirm your way out of the machine.

“hey, what are you doing?”

your face flushed at the sound of your step-brother’s voice coming from behind you, your senses becoming suddenly aware of how far your dress was riding up your thighs. a pitiful whimper of embarrassment slid past your lips as you realized you couldn’t even pull your dress down — you needed both hands to hold you up and prevent you from falling into the dryer. 

“ah! yuuji! ...i got stuck,” you pouted shamefully, thankful that you couldn’t see his face right now.

“again? isn’t this like... the third time?” he asked it like a genuine question, but you still felt stupid for getting stuck in the same predicament multiple times.

“mhm, can you help? please?” you whined at him, still wiggling your hips in a poor attempt to free yourself.

this only made your dress slide higher, the underside of your ass cheeks becoming prominently visible against the edge of the fabric. yuuji couldn’t help himself, gabbing his phone and snapping a few secret pictures of your exposed back-side. he planned to save those for later, maybe jack off to them if he was bored, but then a different idea flooded his head — you were no position to stop him from doing whatever he wanted right now.

he propped his phone up on top of one of the various laundry baskets, starting a video recording without your knowledge. then he waltzed back over, sliding a single finger under the fabric of your dress and tracing his finger around your round ass cheek. the sensation of touch made you flinch, your mouth gaping open as you fumbled over your next word.

“y-yuuji?” you stammered, trying to move away which only caused your ass to jiggle and shake more than it already was.

“shh, i’m helping,” he murmured, stroking his finger all the way down to your thigh.

he moved his other hand over your pretty cunt, the fabric of your panties hugging perfectly against your folds. he brushed two of his fingers up your clothed slit, causing you to yelp and continue to wriggle around.

“step-brother? what are you doing?” you continued to question him, your voice light and laced with confusion.

“i’ll help you get unstuck, but you have to repay me somehow, little sister,” he clicked his tongue at you, an evil grin that you couldn’t see stretching his lips.

he continued to poke and prod at your soft, clothed pussy, his mouth salivating as he imagined the things he could do to you in this position. every brush of his fingers coaxed gasps and whimpers from your lips, your worries and protests falling on deaf ears.

“y-you’re my brother, yuuji! w-we can’t do this!” you continued to argue, but his gentle fingers were starting to feel really good — small streams of fluid flowing out of your cunt and seeping into your panties.

“it seems like you want me to,” he observed, poking his finger at the small wet spot that was forming now, “and mom and dad won’t be home until later. no one will find out”.

you felt his strong hands weave their way underneath the straps of your undergarments, swiftly pulling them down your thighs and letting them dangle from your ankles. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of your wet cunt being exposed to the cool air, shifting your hips and filling yuuji’s head with more sinful ideas.

you couldn’t see anything (with your head still being stuck in the dryer) but you heard your brother’s own pants fall to the floor, a loud clank of his belt buckle against the tiles confirming your suspicions. everything about this felt so wrong, but at the same time, you’d always been shamefully attracted to yuuji — eyes lingering on his chiseled chest for a little too long when he walked around the house shirtless.

your head was swirling with thoughts like: would it really be that wrong if the two of you indulged in each other while no one was around? it’s not like you were actually blood related or anything.

on the other hand, yuuji had a one-track mind, and he wasn’t having any of the doubts that you were — he had a tendency to listen to his dick instead of his brain. and right now your round, plump ass was staring him in the face and begging to get fucked. how could he not take advantage of this opportunity?

he lifted his hand and gave a firm slap to your right ass check, earning a gasped yelp from you which made his dick twitch and strain. he mumbled under his breath, something along the lines of ‘i’ve always wanted to do that’ but it was kind of hard to hear from the depths of the dryer.

he’d used a reasonable amount of force, a puffy handprint forming on the surface on your skin. he decided that the other cheek should match, delivering another firm strike to the other side and watching you squirm and whimper at the impact.

he grabbed his phone and pulled it over for a few close ups, showing off the swollen skin to the camera. he then placed a finger at the front of your entrance, the puffy, slick walls sucking it in as he delivered a few warm-up strokes with his hand. the camera picked up on all the grotesque squelching noises made by his finger in your cunt, as well as the embarrassed yelps and moans leaving your lips.

now that you had two matching, swollen hand prints, and your pussy had been properly prepped, he decided he was ready for the main course. yuuji returned his phone to its spot on the laundry basket before grabbing a low stool from the corner of the room and setting it in front of the dryer so he could stand on it for easier access. his cock was red and veiny, begging for entrance into your tight cunt as he wrapped one hand around it to position himself.

you’d always imagined your step-brother’s dick to be lengthy, and your assumptions were proven correct when your felt a tight pressure in your core. his girthy size pushed and stretched at your walls, pained mewls leaking from between your teeth as you clawed at the bottom of the dryer.

yuuji let out a groan that was almost animalistic, throwing his head back and placing a firm grip on either side of your hips. the way your pitiful form was positioned on the dryer gave him excellent access, the curve of his dick allowing him to stretch you deep, reaching all the way to the spongy patch of tissue that made you feel so good.

a jumble of grotesque noises filled the room, a chorus your sloppy moans, yuuji’s pleasured grunts, and the steady slap of his hips on your ass. he’d imagined what this would be like more times than he could count — fucking himself into his fleshlight and mumbling your name while he did so. but no matter how many times he’d dreamed of this moment, he never expected your walls to be so tight — so perfectly snug around his cock.

“yuuji!” you repeated his name a few times, head so dazed from the overwhelming bliss that you’d forgotten all about the initial guilt you’d felt.

“see, i knew you’d like this, little sister. your big brother would never steer you wrong, would he?” he knew his words were manipulative, but god, you were much too dumb to understand or grasp the concept of manipulation — you’d just agree with him like you always do.

“no! he would never!” you whined, letting your head dip lower into the dryer so he could fuck you at an even better angle.

your messy cunt squelched and squeezed a small stream of juices down your thigh as he picked up a deeper, faster pace, your moans becoming higher and more unsteady in response. he could feel your sloppy walls fluttering and constricting against him, his fingertips digging deeper into your hips as he let out a few breathy moans.

the tip of his cock slammed into your pleasure spot with every stroke, voiding your brain of any cohesive thoughts you might have had hiding in there. you moaned and whimpered over and over, whining yuuji’s name like a mantra as drool spilled from your lips.

yuuji could almost imagine your perfectly fucked-out face — your eyes rolling into your head and your mouth hanging open lazily. he grunted at the thought, deciding that the next time he fucked you it was gonna be somewhere that he could watch your face and really enjoy the show — because there was definitely going to be a next time.

there was a tight coil forming in your stomach, building up more and more the longer that your step-brother railed himself into you from behind. you hardly even noticed how sore your hips were getting or how numb and tingly your legs were from being bent over the dryer, yuuji’s dick filling you up so well that those things became an afterthought.

after a few more pounds to your oozing cunt that hit deep enough to graze your cervix, you felt a heightened wave of pleasure begin to crash over your body. surges of the most blissful sensation you’d ever felt racked through your systems, your whines becoming borderline screams as yuuji fucked you through your orgasm.

the way your warm, messy walls fluctuated and gripped around his cock pushed him close to his own climax, but he wasn’t quite ready to be done with you yet. he continued to provide heavy, forceful thrusts, abusing your now sensitive cunt and moaning loudly as your juices squelched out around the edges of your entrance. the disgusting sounds of your fluids squeezing out around his cock nearly sent him over the edge again, but he was determined to ride this out for as long as he could.

“it’s too much!” you wailed between heavy breaths, every stroke sending jolts of overstimulation through your clit.

you wiggled and whined, legs clenching together in defense and causing your pussy to wrap even tighter around yuuji’s dick. the added pressure and increased pleasure was something he could no longer surpass, succumbing to his own orgasm just moments later.

“fuck, feels- too- fucking- good- shit,” he grunted a long string of mostly profanity, emptying his hot release into your caverns as you continued to cry out and whimper underneath him.

yuuji had fucked you even stupider than you already were, your head way too dazed for you to even realize he was filling your insides with warm, sticky semen. he milked his orgasm all the way through and then some, his cock aching and twitching by the time he finally pulled it out of your white-stuffed cunt.

he wrapped his toned arms around your waist, finally pulling you out of the dryer and attempting to stand you up. but between the lack of blood flow to your legs from being stuck, and the good fuck yuuji had just given you, your lower extremities were in no shape to hold you up. you sunk right to the floor, your messy pussy spilling everywhere and leaving puddles of fluid and semen.

“thanks for helping me get un-stuck, big brother,” you looked up at him with admiration, blissfully unaware of how he was using your utter stupidity to his advantage.

“of course, you want me to carry you to bed?” he gave you a sympathetic look, squatting down with his back to you.

you hummed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing onto his muscular back. he carried you down the hall and into your room, laying you down and handing you an old towel for you to clean yourself up with. you were a pitiful site, hazy eyes and an ignorant smile resting on your face as yuuji admired your damaged little cunt for a few more moments before returning to the laundry room.

he grabbed his phone and ended the video, thankful that you were much to oblivious to notice that it was recording the entire time. he was definitely going to hold onto the recording for safe keeping and later use — and shit, maybe he’d even upload it to pornhub and make a quick buck too.

[buckyownsmylife]

You and I - Henry Cavill smut

The one where Henry comes over to fix your computer

Warnings: reader is a henry fan, pandemic theme, lockdown and quarentine-ing, little bit of second-hand embarrassment?, heatwave, henry is feeling deprived in this one, oral sex (f), masturbation (f), dirty talk, brief hairpulling, the name of God in vain, Henry’s monster dick,  laughing and teasing while fucking, hand over throat but no actual choking, orgasm control, p in v, unprotected sex

Word count: over 3k, ‘cause I got no chill

A/N: this was inspired by a tik tok someone requested me to write a fic about it. Obviously I took it in a different direction because can I ever follow guidelines? No. I do love this fic, though. Thank you to @lokiscollar​ for giving this a read for me!

Y/N’s P.O.V

Driving to a secluded location to spend lockdown in felt like a wonderful idea. There was a working wi-fi connection, so I could work remotely from the seashore cabin without any problem whatsoever, and the view was obviously to die for.

I did not expect someone else to have the same idea as me. The cabin next door had been occupied on the same day that I arrived, and much to my surprise, I recognized my new neighbor as someone I never expected I’d come to meet in my entire life: an actor. An actor I actually had a crush on.

Thankfully, the situation didn’t exactly call for mingling. I ran off to hide inside my cottage as soon as I realized who he was, occupying myself with fixing everything for the next day instead of daydreaming about the man next-door.

There would be time for that later, once I got in bed. But weirdly enough, that was the only time I really thought about him during those first weeks of quarantine. Every once in a while I’d get the random wave of curiosity about what he was doing - what did Henry Cavill get up to while spending lockdown by himself? But that was pretty much it.

I woke up every day, had breakfast, worked and then went to bed. Sometimes I’d sit by the balcony and watch the birds fly, taking in the scenery and breathing in the salty water. Even as a kid, I’d always loved the sea. It was comforting, so it made sense for me to turn to it in such a stressful time.

Sometimes I’d hear a bark or two, reminding me of the man who was staying in the other cabin, and it made me smile. I always did like his dog, whenever I saw pictures of him.

I hoped they were alright and that the absence of any human contact wasn’t getting to them, even though it was getting to me. I could feel my own social abilities - which weren’t exactly stellar before - slowly becoming decrepit, and I was scared to think of what my first human interaction would be like once lockdown was over.

I just hadn’t anticipated it would be come so soon.

The morning began as it usually would. I took my shower, I had my breakfast, and I sat in front of the computer with my coffee in hands, ready to start working for the day.

Only the computer wasn’t ready for it, too.

“What?” I talked to myself - something that had become more usual the longer lockdown went on. “Oh, no, no, no…” The situation was looking drearier the longer I stared at my lifeless screen.

Looking up at the clock, I considered my options. Even supposing I could get someone to come to this middle of nowhere to fix it, there was no way I’d be able to get it done before work started.

Sighing, I pushed away from my designated desk to call my boss. Thankfully, he understood and I was left to repair the damn thing and come up with a solution for the next day.

My heart ached at the prospect of having to abandon my refuge because of an electronic malfunction. And that is, if there even was anyone willing to fix the damn thing, considering the pandemic and the rules of social distancing. That’s when suddenly, an idea popped up.

I remembered all the fuss a few months back over a video of Henry assembling a computer all by himself. There was no way someone with that much hardware prowess couldn’t at least know enough to fix this simple laptop.

With that thought in mind, I gathered all of my courage to leave my little shack and make my way to the neighboring cabin. I took a deep breath before knocking on the door, and after a few seconds of silence - he was probably surprised and certainly not expecting anyone - a voice sounded from within.

“Who is it?” Now, I had thought this through. If this man came as far as I had come to this damn forgotten town, it was because 1) he wanted peace and quiet and 2) he was as terrified of the virus as I was. So I knew what I needed to say - what I would like to hear if the roles were reversed.

“It’s your neighbor. My name’s Y/N. I’m so sorry to disturb, but my computer broke and I need it to work and you’re the only person I’m 100% sure has been socially distancing for long enough not to put my life in risk.” After all, I would have seen if someone had come to visit him. I didn’t need to say this because both of us knew it. “Would you pretty pretty please come and check it out?”

Silence followed my question and I sighed, rubbing my sweaty forehead as I knew this was a long-shot. “I understand if you’re unable or uncomfortable doing so, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks anyway!”

I had already turned my back to his front door when I heard it swinging open, the pitter patter of paws following close behind. My eyes took in the man in front of me for only a second before looking down at the dog at his feet, head tilted in interest as he analyzed me.

Immediately, my eyes lit up. “Kal!” I exclaimed, kneeling down to let the animal sniff me so I could pet it. My heart stopped working for a second when I realized what I’d done, though.

“Sorry!” I looked up at him from my kneeling position, trying to ignore how awkward it was, considering what I was close to. “I-I do know who you are, I’m not gonna lie about that.”

I straightened up as he kept looking at me in a way I couldn’t quite define. Neither could I determine how it made me feel, just that it made me avert my gaze so I’d stare at my feet.

“So… Are you gonna help me?” He chuckled at my question, closing the door behind him and taking a step in my direction, making me fumble as I instinctively stepped back.

“Sure.” It was the first thing he spoke to me, but we walked back to my own place in silence. He had his hands in his pockets as Kal followed us closely, his tongue hanging outside his mouth as he happily explored the outside for this little while. “Come on in.”

The way the cottage was set up left little space for him to wonder where he should be helping me. The desk in which I had prepared my set-up stood right by the wall to our left, and there he went without me having to point it out.

I watched a drop of sweat roll down the nape of his neck and fall under his tank top, distracting me as I licked my lips at the sight of it. Then his head turned to look at me and I realized that he was waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard.

“Yeah, huh?” He chuckled again, making my face feel warm - an not (only) because of the overwhelming heat.

“Is it okay if I disconnect the wi-fi?” I wave my hand dismissively, shrugging.

“As long as you’re able to fix this, you can do whatever the hell you want.” I got the impression that I amused him, but he didn’t say anything else as he got to work on my (seemingly) dead computer.

Minutes went by of complete silence, safe from the sounds of typing and metal as Henry worked on the machine and I tried not to bite my nails. Finally, he pulled away from the screen and put his hands on his hips as if assuming some sort of decided stance - but if it was a good or bad thing, I couldn’t tell.

“Tell me, doctor.” I asked, pushing myself away from the sofa to approach him. The smell of a man’s sweat really had no right to be this arousing. “Is it life or death?” Henry turned to stare at me with a quirked eyebrow, and in the seconds it took for him to answer, I was once again distracted by just how hot he was.

“Sorry, what?” I asked when he became silent and I realized he’d asked me something I hadn’t heard once more. His smile said he was annoyed and entertained at the same time. “Sorry, you’re hot, it’s hot, and I can’t think straight,” I sighed, brushing the hair away from my eyes as I pressed my palms against them, trying to pull myself together.

“I swear to God, I’m not crazy.” I tried to look him directly as I said that, but was surprised at what I saw when our gazes met. There was a peculiar sense of yearning that he exuded, something I couldn’t quite place but that took my breath away all the same, especially when he took my silence as an invitation to invade my personal space.

“If you want me so badly, all you have to do is ask.” Silence fell heavily and I was out of breath just from his words - not a good sign. My throat felt dry, too dry, so I swiped my tongue over my bottom lip as I struggled to say something.

“W-why, though?” He tilted his head to the side, eyes inscrutable while he judged my question, trying to understand where it came from just like I was trying to understand his interest in me, when he suddenly smiled.

“I figured it’s a nice way for you to pay me back.” It took me a second to understand what he was referring to, and then my eyes darted from the computer to him, my mouth falling open in offense until he started chuckling. “I’m joking!” But even so, the question remained…

“Sweetheart…” He spoke, voice low and velvety as two strong hands suddenly enveloped my hips. “You’re seriously underestimating how hot you are.” I didn’t know what to say, so I had to make sure I’d hear him right.

“M-me?” A predatory smirk took over his face, slowly. I gulped under its intensity, feeling much like prey as he started to back me against the couch. I fell on top of it with a gasp, and another one escaped me when he used my ankles to pull me closer.

“I wanna eat you out.” It was all I got as an answer, but I can’t say that I minded it. As he dropped to his knees before me, pulling down my underwear before spreading my legs for his eyes to take in, it felt like I got a response from the gesture in itself.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I ate pussy?” The unexpected question made me choke on my own saliva, as he chuckled darkly in amusement at my bashfulness. I could only breathe through my mouth when he leaned down to run his tongue on the edge of my lips, slowly acquainting himself with my taste, making me moan softly.

“I-I definitely and decidedly don’t.” He seemed to like this answer, understand that it delimited exactly the type of fan that I was: the kind that knew what he was and what he liked - his dog, his computer - but not someone who was obsessed with his entire dating history, eager to know his every secret.

The longer Henry ate me out, the clearer it became just how long it’d been since he’d done this. It was obviously something he liked - the way he buried his face against my cunt and engulfed it entirely with his open mouth showed so. And the fact that he licked me and sucked me like he was a starved man? This was a man denied of a pleasure he genuinely enjoyed, that much I was certain of.

“Do you like this?” He asked once he inserted one of his thick fingers inside of me, already stretching me beyond what I could do with my own hand.

“How could I not?” I managed to moan a response, making him chuckle.

“Show me how to find it,” he instructed, eyes sparkling with determination. “I want to find your sweet spot.” I’d never had someone I was with so interested in giving me pleasure before.

Hypnotized, my fingers circled his wrist as best as I could, slowly moving him to run his digits over the top of my channel. He knew when he found it because I cried out for him, closing my eyes momentarily.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, and how could I deny him that, especially when he was looking at me with those darkened eyes? He milked my orgasm until my pussy had stopped clenching around him, but the second that it was done, he growled, getting up to his knees. “Gonna fuck you now.”

He pulled me by my hair, making me moan out loud as he slowly inserted his monster cock inside of me. “Oh, God!” His groan had me panting, cunt clenching around his thickness. I couldn’t understand how I was able to take it, but I was glad that was the case. “So… tight…”

Through his grip on my hair, he pulled me to deposit quick kisses down my jaw. “You take me so well, darling.” It was a compliment I was proud to receive, even though I wasn’t too sure how I managed to earn it in the first place.

“I honestly don’t know how,” I admitted, gasping when he slowly dragged his cock out to slam it in me, but I instinctively pulled my hips away, earning an amused chuckle from him.

“Come back here,” he ordered, already pulling me back to spear me with his painfully hard length. I’d have to be inhuman not to cry out at the feeling of his bulbous head bumping against my cervix. “Are you scared?” He joked as I bit on my bottom lip not to give in and laugh. “You think I’m too big?”

“You’re more than enough, I’ll tell you that.” Now, that had his own laugh escaping his chest, making my body tremble underneath his, inadvertently getting some friction between the both of us. It earned me a moaned out, “Yes…” that got his attention back to where I hoped it would be, and as his eyes settled on me, I briefly wondered if I was prepared for what was to come.

“But now that you got all of me inside of you, do you really want to go?” The whispered question made me shiver. I never expected him to be the type to talk dirty, but then again, I never expected I’d be fucked by him, either.

“No.” It was all the permission he needed.

“Then let me fuck you hard.” And hard he did fuck me. He was hard inside of me, it probably would have been painful for him if he wasn’t so desperately trying to alleviate it by frantically fucking me against the couch.

It was the most deliciously torturous experience I’d ever gone through. I had to bite my lip while I held onto his shoulders for dear life, trying to stop my moans from escaping because I was sure that for once, I’d become a screamer.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Henry didn’t appreciate my efforts to keep his ears from deafening. “What’s wrong?” He questioned, fingers tightening on my hips. “I thought you wanted this.”

Confused, all I could think to say was, “I-I do.”

“Then let me hear you,” he insisted. “You know you can scream all you want. We’re all alone up here on the coast.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. And with that reassurance, I allowed my head to fall back and my mouth to fall open, my moans flowing freely from my body as Henry kept fucking me.

“This is so much better than touching myself in search of a release,” he mumbled at some point, like he was talking to himself. “I was so damn lonely and you have such a tight little pussy.”

Being fucked by him felt like a religious experience. Henry somehow knew the map to my pleasure, easily bringing me to the brink of bliss before I had even managed to wrap my head around this turn of events.

My moans grew louder as I climbed higher and higher, but before I could fully tip over his hand curled around my throat, not constricting any air, just calling my attention.

“Ask for permission, baby.” Just the order had me clenching around him, prompting him to release a moan of his own. All the while, I was groaning in frustration, trying to control myself or say what he wanted me to say, but all that came out of me was, “Goddamn! You can’t say stuff like that.” Henry’s laughter flowed freely once more, making my heart skip a beat. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a fucking movie star and I am not up to fall in love with you.” That had his eyebrows raising in surprise, the smile disappearing from his face before it came back as a teasing smirk.

“Oh, so this is a one-time thing.” The taunting manner in which he said it surprised me in turn, so I hesitated before nodding. I mean, of course it was, right? He didn’t even know me. This was strictly sexual and physical, I would not be fooled by my own hormones. “My cock is not enough for you to want to get to know me some is that it?” … Was he testing me?

“Yes.” His smirk only grew at the word. “This is a one-time thing.”

“We’ll see about that.” His fingers ran down my body to graze over my clit. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep it in, knowing I was going to lose. Eventually, as my thighs began to tremble, I gave in altogether.

“Please, let me cum, please.” His eyes softened at my broken and desperate plea, hand gripping my cheeks as he finally nodded.

“Keep staring at me as you cum,” he commanded, still just as bossy. “Show me how pretty you look when you cream all over my dick.” That was all I needed to succumb to the pleasure he was subjecting me to.

I felt his cock, still hard as it pumped rope after rope of cum inside of me, and by the time I was able to open my eyes again, he was panting over me, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my face.

I didn’t have the time to think about what I should do - push him away, try to pretend this didn’t happen - because the second I began to adjust on the couch, he pulled me to rest against his chest.

“Let’s stay here for a little while,” he quietly asked me. “Then we’ll figure out if there’s enough room for me to take you in your bed.”