#I say 'easy' but it took me like two hours because I had to clean the counter and the stove and the pan and spatula for the sauce

[polarfarina]

Made some easy meat tomato sauce for dinner and mmmmm even though the tomato part was pre-done it was still so so good and satisfying. Look

So filling. So delicious

[sturnsreckless]

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒,, m. sturniolo

summary: matt feels like you aren’t considering his feelings and not putting as much effort into your relationship as he is, so he brings it up to you which results in conflict but was quick to be resolved

cw: angst. crying, resolved angst, arguing

a/n: this is really long so for my angst lovers, enjoy

you and matt had never had an argument as big as this. yous had had small disagreements and quarrels, which were solved in minutes. never huge fights. never the way it is going on right now.

you both had been trying to juggle your lives also while trying to maintain a happy, healthy relationship. which isn’t easy. with that, you were both on the brink of breaking down any moment now. but instead of that, your emotions turned into a big fight. not a good one.

today, you weren’t working in the office and matt wasnt out filming with his brothers. he wasn’t in the best of moods right now, you were too in your head. the perfect cause of a disaster. throughout the whole day, small things kept on building and building until everything went down hill after dinner.

you had been washing you and matt’s dishes, he cleaning up all the other little things. when he had made a snarky comment about how good of a sight it was seeing you finally cleaning up, had made you snap.

you had been moaning about it for a good hour, screaming at one another in the kitchen attempting to get your feelings out some sort of way.

“i just don’t fucking get it sometimes,” matt spat at you, “it’s like all you care and think about is yourself.”

“what?! what the fuck are you even saying?!” you yelled, the anger that had slightly died down was rising straight back up.

“you are the most narcissistic, self-centred, most selfish person i have ever met,” matt said through gritted teeth, “you never think about me. you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

he took a step closer to you as you slammed the dish you were cleaning down, “you’re the one that’s inconsiderate, not me” he says.

“are you fucking kidding me? don’t talk to me like that ever again, asshole!” you said squinting your eyes at him.

a bitter laugh left matt’s lips, walking right up to you and looking down at you, “i’ll say whatever i want, sweetheart. because for once i’ve reached a fucking breaking point.”

“leave then. fucking leave then, if this is such a problem!” you yell in his face.

you were telling him to leave but this was his house that he shared with his two brothers. nick and chris.

“this is my fucking house. but i will leave!” matt yelled back, “maybe i will just leave and you can spend the rest of your life being the most inconsiderate, selfish jackass on the planet! maybe ill just go find someone who actually values me!”

“are you kidding me right now? are you implying that you’ve been fucking cheating on me?!” you raise your voice in disbelief.

matt hadn’t cheated on you. you just took his words the wrong way.

“no! it was hypothetical! if you’d let me finish, you’d know that!” matt snapped back, “i wouldn’t cheat on you, i love you!”

you were taken aback by his statement, “well, the things you’re fucking saying to me right now don’t scream ‘i love you’ very much!”

“i do love you!” matt snapped, “but god! why are you so selfish, so egotistical, and so inconsiderate! how many times do i have to say it for it to go through your thick, stubborn skull?!”

you scoff, “i’m egotistical? you’re the one that thinks you’re better than everyone else because you make a bag off making shit youtube videos! you constantly think you’re one better than everyone else, matt!”

“i don’t think im better than everyone else! im proud of my work, what the fuck is wrong with that?! i’m proud that i was able to take my passion and make myself a career out of it! i get to play my favourite games and do what i love for a living and have it supported me all while i provide for you too? how is many of that wrong?!”

you furrow your brows at the last part of his sentence, “you provide for me? i’ve got my own job, that i got by myself! i don’t need your fucking money.”

“you live in my house! i pay the bills. you can’t even provide for yourself when you make chump change in a month!” matt was absolutely fuming at this point, taking another step towards you.

you felt hurt at what he said, but you didn’t let it affect the way you presented yourself, “what?! are you fucking kidding me right now? you’re the biggest shit talker and dick head i’ve ever met!”

“no, the biggest dick head you’ve ever met is you! you, with you’re self-righteous ego and narcissistic thought process! i’ve met so many assholes in my life, but no one has even come close to how much of a jerk you are!” matt spat, “i’ve put so many hours into this relationship. i’ve given you everything just for you to come back and act like i don’t care about you, and call me the dickhead?”

you sigh as you think about how much stuff you have to have done by tomorrow, “matt, i don’t have time for this right now!”

“oh, no! i think we have plenty of time for this!” matt said as he slammed his palms on the counter, “we aren’t leaving this kitchen until you can look at me and tell me you truly love me, and that you’re sorry for all the bullshit you’ve been saying!”

you stared in disbelief at what was coming out of his mouth right now, “bullshit i’ve been saying?! you’ve said so much worse than i have, so if it’s anyone that needs an apology it’s me! but i’m not fucking pathetic enough to beg someone for some half-assed apology!”

“bullshit? i’ve been telling the truth this whole entire time!” matt said, you are selfish, you are inconsiderate, you are narcissistic. everything i’ve said is true! and don’t worry, sweetheart. you wouldn’t have to beg me for an apology from me, i’d refuse to give you one, just as you’ve been doing to me this entire time!”

you felt sick to your stomach from what matt was letting fall off his tongue like venom, “why are you with me then?! and done even say ‘it’s because i love you’ because that’s bullshit, because you don’t. if you did you wouldn’t say this whether it’s true or not!”

“i do love you! i love you so fucking much, you don’t even know!” the anger on matt’s face soon gave way to sadness, “i’m just sick of your disregarding my feelings. i’m sick of you being so careless about how i feel or what i want. i’m sick of feeling like the only one that’s pouring my all into this relationship. i’m just tired… it hurts… it hurts me that you never even give me a second thought, even though i have you on my mind at all times.”

“that’s not true at all matt! i do put my all into this relationship and i will give it my last no matter what. i love you more than i can even describe so don’t even fucking doubt that! and give me two times i disregarded your feelings, because i dont!”

“every time i ask you to make dinner so i can do some planning when i come home from filming, you don’t do it! you just brush me off and say you’re too busy or tired! or what about the times i have to beg you to give me some time alone, that i haven’t gotten any privacy in forever. yet you still barge right in when i shut the door and you just start yapping to me!”

“matt you’re not the only one with problems, you know! and i do make us dinner and when i do barge in there’s always a good reason, so don’t even start that!” you spit.

“yes i know that! and i try to help you with your problems when you talk to me about them! but when i come to you with how i feel, you just say you’re too busy to listen to me and that we’ll talk later. but we never do!” matt speaks.

“because when later comes, i always find out that you’re at parties posting up with a bunch of girls. or you’re sitting in a car with nick and chris!” you let roll off your tongue.

“i’d have time for you if you weren’t such a cold, detached person!” matt fires back, “and i’m not ‘sitting in a car’ with nick and chris! we’re working!”

“don’t you ever just think, oh i’m actually in a really good work position compared to other people. because i don’t know if you’ve realised but you don’t need to deal with people constantly blaming you for everything in work because you’re the youngest and easiest to blame and degrade! that is why im always so busy and tired, im constantly cleaning up the shit that you leaving lying about while also juggling my paperwork that i have to do at home!”

“yeah, well you have no idea what it’s like to be a full-time youtuber!” matt said, “i have to keep my fans happy, make videos, do collabs with other creators, all while having my own life! and whenever i come home after being out all day, what do i come home to every time? you sitting on the sofa, on your phone, and not even thinking about what i might want or need after i’ve been busting my ass all day!”

your jaw drops slightly with a puzzled expression on your face, “are you fucking with me? you’re not a child matt, you can do things on your own. just because i’m home before you sometimes does not mean i will be your slave! and if you do, fucking think again!”

“i don’t want a slave! i want my girlfriend! i want someone who cares about me! i want the one i love to put me before anything else!” matt was getting agitated, his eyes starting to water.

“i do matt! i do put you before everything, i try my hardest! i ruin my own mental health for you!” you say with tears running down your face.

“it doesn’t feel like you do!” matt said, “you’re always so distant! you’re always so cold and you never show me any affection! and i’m not asking for much! a kiss every now and again would be nice! you don’t even say you love me unless i say to first!”

you let out a sad sigh, “what do you mean? i kiss you every day! i say i love you all the fucking time!”

“you never do it first though! i’m the only one that ever initiates anything! im the one that is always showing affection! the other day i just wanted a hug after filming and you gave me a one-armed side-hug!”

you rub your eyes out of exhaustion, “matt, i’m tired!”

“i’m tired too!” matt snapped, his voice getting louder now, “im exhausted! im working my ass off to make us money and to make you happy and i get nothing but complaints and coldness in return!”

you whined before huffing out words, “i’m not complaining, you’re the only one complaining right now!”

“yes because you never listen to me!” matt nearly yelled, “im trying to tell you how i actually feel! im opening up and being completely vulnerable with you, you just shoot down every single thing i say! all i want is for you to care!”

“matt i do! i care so fucking much it hurts. i love you more than anything! i left my life in florida to come and stay with you full-time because i knew you didn’t want a long-distance relationship. so if that’s not me considering your feelings then i don’t know what is!”

“i never asked you to move here.” matt said through clenched teeth, “yes, i asked you to move in for the summer, and i get you had a shitty family, but you never had to transfer your job and move your entire life here! you never had to put yourself in a stressful and expressive situation, you did that yourself!”

“no i didn’t! don’t get me wrong i love being here with you, nick and chris. i fucking love it! but it’s really hard sometimes! and i get you’re going through hard times too with your family being in boston but you have open arms everywhere around LA, i don’t, that’s the difference! that is why im so cold and defensive sometimes! im scared to trust!”

“why can’t you trust me?!” matt yelled, “you’ve lived here for a year now! i’ve given you everything just for you to say that you don’t trust me! after all i’ve done for you, after all i’ve given up to make you happy, i still get this kind of bullshit from you!”

you panicked since matt had took what you said the wrong way, “i didn’t say that, baby! i said it’s hard for me to trust anyone other than you!”

“so what does that mean?” matt asked, “i don’t deserve your trust? you don’t trust me when i tell you i love you?”

“it means that i’m bottling everything up inside of me because i don’t trust anyone else other than you because i don’t want to put the stress onto you! i feel like you don’t understand what im going through, which is totally fine, but you don’t ever keep that in mind! yes, you’re going through a hard time too but i am too and you need to think about that when you say things to me. you’re not the only person fucking struggling!”

“no, i get that!” matt argued back, “we’re both going through stuff, but the difference is i make time for you! i make sure that your needs are still met when i have time! you on the other hand disregard my feelings and my wants! you never even try to understand my side, while im constantly trying to get you to understand! and now that i’ve finally gotten you to listen, you’re still saying im wrong!”

“i’m sorry matt! i don’t know what else you want from me, im falling apart over here!”

“i want you! i just want you to love me the way you say you do!” matt said, “i want you to show me, physically, that you care about me! i want you to show me that im a priority in your life, just like you’re a priority in mine!”

“i do care about you! i just go through rough patches where i don’t realise that im not showing you how much i care and love you!”

“why not tell me when you’re going through rough patches? if you’re struggling, then why don’t you tell me so i can be there for you! i’d never think of you any differently, i’d never think to call you selfish or inconsiderate! all you have to do is let me in!” matt exclaims with frustration.

“and that’s one of the hardest things for me to do! it takes time to let people in when you grow up the way i did, when you were constantly told your feelings didn’t matter and if you told people that you were struggling they would think differently of you! and i’m not saying all this for you to feel sorry for me, i’m saying this so you can try and understand it from my perspective.” you explain with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“i do understand! i do understand that you’ve had a hard life and it’s hard to trust and open up, but im not asking you to tell me every single thing that’s ever happened to you and that you’ve ever felt! im asking you to just tell me you miss me, or that you’re upset, or that you’re feeling angry or sad or frustrated! i’m asking you to open up just a little bit so i can do my best and try to show you that i love you!”

you tilt your head back and place your hands over your face before whimpering and tilting your head forward again, “and i’m trying matt!”

“i know you are!” matt said, his voice losing the edge as he looked at your tear stained face with empathy. he took a step closer to you and laid his hands gingerly on your shoulders, “i know you’re trying, i do, and it’s not fair for me to expect you to just completely open up overnight, but you’re tearing me apart too! i’m so worn out and tired from trying to get you to show me that my feelings matter to you!”

you hiccup just before you begin to talk, “i’m really trying to be better matt, i am! and i know what you want from me but it takes time. a lot of time. so please, just give me time and and you’ll get what you want in this relationship. and i’ll give you it whether it wipes me out or not!”

“how much time do i have to give you?” matt sighed, “i’ve given you nearly a year of time. i’ve been trying so hard this entire time to break through whatever wall you have up, and after a year you’re still telling me to wait? i can’t keep waiting forever!”

“i know and it’s not fair on you but it also isn’t fair on me to give you something im not ready for!” you whimper before sighing sadly.

“then what am i supposed to do?” matt exclaimed, stepping backwards and running his fingers through his hair, “if you’re not at a place that you can give me what i need in a relationship, when do you foresee yourself being there? another year? two? never?!”

“i don’t know! that is what i need to figure out and you to trust me on, but it’s hard!” you cry out.

“i’m doing my best to make this easy, but you still keep pushing back when i try to get anything out of you!” matt was frowning frustrated again, taking his hands to his face and massaging his eyes, “im just so tired of trying! i’m at my wits end!”

“matt, im sorry!”

“sorry isn’t good enough anymore!” matt almost shouted, “i don’t want another half-assed apology! that’s all you’ve given me our entire relationship, and it isn’t good enough!”

you internally groan, “matt, it’s not half-assed! i’m being considerate.”

“considerate of who? me? yourself?” matt spat, the anger in his voice returning, “because it seems like you’re trying to avoid having to do any work in our relationship and just want me to accept that you’re not ready!”

“well i don’t know what else you want me to do! because im seriously trying but you’re not giving me the time i need and that just takes us back to square one, baby!” you whine, wiping the tears that is running down your chin.

“but you’re not giving me anything to go off of!” matt’s voice was reaching high octive, the anger and exhaustion on his face evident, “i’ve been trying this entire time and every single time i tell you how i’m feeling you push my away. you ask me to give you time, and what exactly am i supposed to do while i wait other than be miserable?!”

your heart drops, “matt, baby… please. don’t give up on me.” you say your voice and heart breaking all at once.

“i don’t want to give up on you… i don’t!” matt said, the anger leaving his body as he watched your own sadness. he took a step towards you before suddenly wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you into his chest, “i’m just so tired…” he whispered into your hair.

you sniffle before replying, “me too…”

matt didn’t say anything else, he just held onto you tight and buried his face in your hair. he squeezed you as tight as he closed his eyes and tried to get himself back under control.

there was a long heavy moment of silence that fell over the kitchen before matt finally spoke again, voice low.

“i’m sorry. im sorry im putting so much pressure on you, and you’re not ready. im sorry im losing my patience. i love you so much, but i just want to feel loved too… i want to hear you say it…”

“i love you, so fucking much.” whisper into his chest as you close your eyes, tears spilling out.

matt squeezed you tighter at your words, one of his hands reaching around to touch the back of your head in a protective hold. he rested his chin on top of your head, burying his face in the top of it as he closed his eyes again and inhaled the familiar scent of your shampoo. you could feel his body relax as you spoke, the tension leaving his tired and wear muscles.

“i love you too… i love you so much, even when you drive me crazy…”

“i’m really sorry for making you feel like this… i don’t mean it. i swear. it’s just… i just fuck up everything i do.”

“shhh…” matt hushed you, his hand massaging the back of your head in a soothing manner, “you don’t have to apologise for how you feel. i’m sorry for getting angry at you, i just want you to love me the same way i love you and i got frustrated and impatient.”

“but i fucked up our relationship…” you insecurely whispered into his chest.

“you may have said or done things that weren’t the best, but you haven’t completely ruined this relationship, sweetheart.” matt said quietly, pulling back now so he can look down at your tear stained face.

one of his hands came up to your cheek, his thumb gently swiping away one of the droplets.

“but i have or else we wouldn’t be having this argument…” you whispered.

“arguments are apart of every relationship, baby. this is natural, especially for us.” matt said, his tone gentle as he spoke, “this doesn’t mean you’ve completely ruined us. i still love you, and im sure you still love me.”

“of course i do, and don’t ever doubt it” you say shaking your head and looking down to the ground in embarrassment and shame that you caused this huge argument.

“hey,” matt spoke quietly as he took one of his fingers and placed it under your chin so he could lift it up, forcing you to look at him, “look at me baby,”

“hm?” you hum as you look up at him with a saddened look on your face.

his expression was so much softer than before, the exhaustion and the anger now replaced with love and concern. matt’s eyes searched your face as he kept his hand under you chin to hold you head up.

“i want you to listen to me and really hear me, okay?” he said in a soft and calm voice.

“okay” you whisper groggily due to the waterworks from before, and licking your dry lips.

“i love you. no matter how many times i get angry, or frustrated, or exhausted, i love you more than you will ever truly know. you haven’t ruined this. i haven’t lost my love or trust for you.” matt began to say, keeping his eyes fixed on yours, “i don’t ever want you to think that i don’t love you because i do. all i want is for you to try and meet me where i am, okay?”

“i love you. and im sorry for not doing what you expected from me. thank you for giving me a second chance, i don’t deserve you.” you say as another few tears spill out of your eyes.

“i don’t expect you to be perfect, sweetheart. i know you’ve gone through things and that’s what makes you human, but i know you still love me.” he whispered calmly.

matt dropped his hand from your chin to wrap around your waist again, and he gently pulled you forward to press you against his chest once more, his chin resting on top of your head and his arms wrapped around you in a firm hold.

“i love you” you whisper into his chest for the tenth time today, before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips, matt returned the kiss with gentle fervour, before burying his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder.

he held you tight, his body relaxing and conforming to your form as he held you close to him, enjoying the feeling of your body against his.

@sturnsreckless

[theoxenfree]

vampire x crime scene cleaner!reader | 16.1k

you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; explicit non-con, extreme dubon, sadomasochism, blood play, overstimulation, choking, cigarette burns, smoking, hypnotism, theological themes, exploration of morality, gunshot wounds, extreme & graphic depictions of body horror + gore + grotesque details, graphic depictions of crime scene cleanup, possibly inaccurate depictions of crime scene cleanup (not looking for feedback on it), obsessive & possessive behaviors, heavy prose & details, the entire work is allegorical, murder, vampire is written as a monster bc that's what they are lmao, dividers are used between scenes

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

I shouldn't have to say it, but I will: nothing in this oneshot is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it is entirely fictitious.

this was a project that took me quite a bit of time to do, so I would be immensely appreciated if you'd please reblog + interact with it!! I'd love to hear your feedback!!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow. No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight. Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her? Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood. An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach. A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you. It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body. The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom. These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke. You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself. Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air. The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do. He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself. A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering. "Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon. Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him. "A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes. Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway. You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you. The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't loud enough. He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips. All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that. "Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe. You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing. His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded. Just once. A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that." Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in. The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light. A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead. The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—just like Montague said you would be. And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

[togenabi]

my home is where your heart is

inumaki toge x reader

♡—your things keep winding up in toge's place, and his things in yours. what are you going to do about it?

word count♡— 1k

genre♡— fluff. pure fluff

content notes♡— blushy toge, established relationship, moving in together, dancing in the kitchen in the refrigerator light vibes, megumi gives advice

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is an overdue request! anon, if you see this I'm sorry this took me a while! I kept it short, but did not hold back on the fluff. please enjoy!

“Toge,” You call for your boyfriend, who is currently sprawled over your couch. “Have you seen my charger?”

Toge looks up from his phone, pausing for a moment to think. After briefly looking confused, he lights up and lifts his hands to sign, ‘I think you left it at my place.’

“Ah,” Not again. Must this always happen? “Remind me to get it back next time we’re there.”

He nods and gets up, gesturing for you to hand over your phone. Toge moves to charge it with his own charger.

“Thanks.” You kiss his cheek, relishing the way he blushes. Flustered, it takes him more than one try to plug the charger into the wall socket. You can’t help but shake your head at him. He’s just too cute sometimes.

About the case of things going missing, however, it happens to Toge too.

You were cleaning up your apartment when it suddenly started raining. Thoughts of Toge in the rain immediately caused you to worry, but you managed to calm down somewhat. He should be fine since he has an umbrella.

Only, he doesn’t. You stare at the compact, foldable umbrella in horror. It’s positioned beside yours at your apartment’s entryway.

Toge, completely drenched, arrives at your place an hour or so after that. Luckily, you anticipated as much, and already had a change of clothes, towels, and warm food ready for him.

He gives you a kiss on the cheek this time, walking backwards into the bathroom, forming a heart with his hands and a goofy smile glowing on his face.

The more time you and Toge spent in each other’s places, the more your things seemed to shuffle about. Your book on his desk. His jacket in your closet. An accessory of yours on his bedside table. That snack he bought is somewhere in your cupboard. It was getting confusing, how your lives were getting tangled up in two separate places.

“The solution is obvious, isn’t it?” Megumi asks one night when you bumped into him at a convenience store. “Move in with him.”

“Oh.” Speechless, you can only blink at him in response. “We’ve never really talked about that.”

Megumi shrugs, “Sounds like that talk’s overdue, if you ask me.”

And maybe it is, because you’re seriously considering it when you can’t find a single pen in your apartment. Why do ballpens vanish when you need them, and why are there so many of them when you don’t?

But of course, you find your favorite ballpen in a mug Toge had turned into a pen holder, sitting with his other pens and markers.

You must have been staring at the pen—at his desk—for quite some time. It makes Toge look at you with concern in his eyes.

“Takana?” He asks, checking on you while resting a hand on your arm.

Snapping out of it, you try to gather your courage to bring up living together. There’s no reason for him to say no, right? And you’d be fine whichever place he chooses. Or maybe, you could meet in the middle and  look for somewhere new?

The thought of apartment hunting with Toge strangely sends butterflies in your stomach. But before you get ahead of yourself, you have to properly ask him about it first.

“What do you think about living together?” You blurt out, and your heartbeat feels rapid and unsteady. Suddenly, it feels like you’re confessing to him all over again.

Toge breathes out a laugh, pulling you into his arms. Nestling his head into the crook of your neck, he accepts. “Shake.” 

“Really?” Stunned that it was that easy, it takes you a second before you return his embrace. “Where should we go?”

He pulls back to kiss the tip of your nose cutely. Smiling, he motions to sign, ‘Wherever you want! I’ll follow you anywhere.’

It takes several weeks of planning and headaches, but you and Toge manage to find a new home. It’s close by, still in the same neighborhood that you’re used to. You didn’t want to move too far from this community and your loved ones. 

Other than that, your main goal was to find a place with more space than either of your previous residences. You wanted to organize storage properly. Contrary to your expectations and true to his word, Toge wasn’t picky at all. He was just happy to always be close to you.

As you were unpacking food and supplies in the kitchen, you looked over at your boyfriend. He was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, configuring the wifi. 

“Toge, should we have food delivered? Or would you like to cook in the new kitchen?”

Mouthing, he responds, ‘Cook.’

You gasp, delighted he chose so. “Okay! Let me know if I can help you.”

He quickly fiddles with the wifi router before waving at you to come over. You laugh, “I meant I’d help with the cooking, but sure.”

Toge gets up, taking one of your hands in his. He presses something on his phone before reaching for the other.

The expression on his face is playful and sweet as he places your hands behind his neck; your fingertips brush against the ends of his hair. Music starts playing the moment he holds onto your waist. 

It’s strange, nothing has changed about the room. You’re still surrounded by countless unpacked boxes from the move, and yet the apartment has never felt so vibrant. 

Is it the music? The song he played fills the space and bounces back from every corner, breathing life into your new home.

It could also be the way he dances with you, making you feel like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. No other’s company you’d rather have.

Or, it must be all of that and how he looks at you while he mouths, ‘I love you.’ Because you love him too.

A few days later, while out on a date, Toge asks if you’ve seen his charger.

You hum in thought. “Did you leave it at home?”

Amused, he looks at you funny before pointing to your heart. ‘Is it in there, then?’

“I don’t understand.” You admit, waiting for him to elaborate.

‘My home is where your heart is.’

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

taglist: @flowerjun @songsofadelaide-archive @mellozhi @luccaaedd @ihaveanexistentialcrisis @starszns @msmisasoup @appalost @akakaze @isentsworld @hellyyy06 @lownna

[im-sleepdeprived]

Can you write something about co-workers to friends to lovers?

fix you up

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: i won’t lie to y’all idk how i feel abt this one. its cute dgmw but i hope you guys like it !!! ive had this request for an EMBARRASSINGLY long time, anon if you’re upset, i totally understand

warnings: mentions of injuries, burns, rude customers, bandaging some wounds n stuff, fluff and pining !!! (disclaimer: I’ve never been a barista so forgive me if this is a lil off)

masterlist, requests are open !!

Working in a rustic-vintage-corner-campus-cafe was definitely not how you saw your college years going. Your teen self would’ve killed to work at a place like this but when you grew up, you realized just how different the workload is between a high school student and a uni one such as yourself. 

You weren’t complaining of course. The pay was adequate, your manager was a simple old lady who never had much to say other than making sure all the equipment was clean, you got along with your coworkers pretty well for the most part and the customers were tolerable. 

But every once in a while, you’d get an entitled shithead who seemed to make it their life’s mission to ruin someone else’s day. And the problem with working a social job such as you did, is that you were an easy target. 

It started off as a fairly simple day, you clocked in and put on your apron ready to start your shift for the day. You preferred late morning shifts, leaving afternoons for classes (and the rouge 8am lecture every now and then) and nights for going out or studying. 

“Oh, Y/N! Thank god you're here,” Your co-worker, Vanessa, exclaimed.

Vanessa was a few years older than you. She actually wasn’t a student, she’d given college a try and it wasn’t her thing. Apparently, all it did was “try to undermine unstoppable greatness.” She was chatty, but you actually liked that about her. She could keep up a conversation with a statue. When you first started off here she’d been the one to show you the ropes and ever since then, you’d had a specific bond with her that you couldn’t really put a name to.

You gave her a small smile, “Yeah well, I do prefer to show up when promised. Especially when my paycheck depends on it,” you let out a small laugh.

“Yes! See, that's what I love about you,” she made a disgusted face, “Unlike Peter. Honestly, I don't understand how he hasn’t been fired yet! He shows up at least half an hour late to every shift yet Miss Hannigan still keeps him around.”

“Oh,” you stuttered, raising your hands a little in defense, “I didn't mean it as a jab at Peter, I swear.”

She tossed a curled blonde lock of hair over her shoulders while waving her other hand in dismissal, “Honey, don’t worry about it. I know you would never, you’re far too sweet for that. But I wouldn’t blame you if you did, you know, having to work more than half your shift alone? I swear if Bernard did that to me,” she made a big show of gesturing to herself, "I would not deal with it.”

While what she was saying wasn’t necessarily wrong, it didn’t feel right talking about Peter like that. Sure, he was late most of the time, leaving you to do most of the work while you waited for him to show up (somehow when he started working you two got the same shift together and it’s just been that way ever since) and while you, also, normally wouldn’t put up with this, there was something different about Peter. You never felt like he was taking advantage of you, and purposefully made you pick up extra slack. It was quite the opposite actually, he always apologized profusely and never slacked when he was on the clock. He always seemed so rushed and out of breath, you were pretty sure the poor boy just needed to learn how to manage time better. Plus, he always took it upon himself to unpack the orders because of all the heavy lifting required (you couldn’t tell just by looking at him, with all the sweaters he wore, but man was he ripped.)

“He’s actually really sweet.” You’re not sure why exactly you’re so keen on defending Peter. You two barely spoke, outside of work of course, and you don’t know much about him. But something inside you didn’t like anyone assuming anything bad about him. 

“Yea, well, he’d be a ton sweeter if he clocked in on time,” she laughed as she untied her apron, getting ready to leave. You faked a laugh as well, not wanting the conversation to progress any further. 

“Alrighty, well,” she heaved a breath, “I'm off, have a good rest of your day Y/N.”

You smiled once again and sent a wave her way before settling down in front of the register. It was slow today, not many people in the shop. A fellow student you only recognized from work sat in a corner booth with their headphones locked in and was working on what seemed to be some kind of essay. 

There was an older woman, however, looking incredibly irritated at the table closest to you. You’d never seen her before but that wasn’t too strange. It was a near-campus cafe, after all, lots of people passing through. She looked to be typing on her phone until, suddenly, she shut it off and made direct eye contact with you. 

If looks could kill, you would’ve dropped dead behind the counter, which wouldn’t be all that ideal considering you couldn’t remember the last time anyone mopped that side of the store. 

She stood up and walked towards you and you already dreaded the conversation to come.

“I have an order,” she spit out, as if she were disgusted to even be talking to you at the moment. 

No greeting or anything, wow. Someone wasn’t raised right. 

Nonetheless, you put on your well-rehearsed customer service smile and gave in. “Sure, I’d be happy to help with that. Can you just give me the order?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I shouldn’t have to, I called in and placed it and it should be ready by now. I'm going to be late!”

You froze for a moment, not quite sure what to do, “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience ma’am, but I just got here and I haven’t heard anything,” you glance at the little whiteboard kept on the counter for these exact situations only to find it empty, “and I don’t see anything here about a phone-placed order. Are you sure you have the right store?”

Her face was so red and steam was practically blowing out of her ears, “Of course, I have the right store! Do you think I'm stupid or something?”

“No! Of course not, I'm so sorry,” you start to blabber off, not wanting to make her any angrier than she already was, “I’ll get things ready for you right away ma’am.”

You turned around and tried to make yourself not freak out as badly as you wanted to. It was so humiliating getting yelled at like this in public! And yeah, maybe if you had such a problem with unpleasant interactions like this, you shouldn't have taken a social job such as this one, but honestly, you thought people would have enough manners not to act up like this. Apparently not. 

It slipped your mind for a moment because of how scrambled you got when the lady flipped her lid, but Vanessa has been known to do this, forget to write down orders and leave you to fend for yourself (quite literally since your coworker was never really around) and you’re pretty sure that’s what happened here. Other customers were usually more understanding than this woman bordering on Kathy-Bates-movie-character-insanity over a drink order. 

You reached into your back pocket, deciding you’d try to send her a hurried text about any phone calls she might remember. That just seemed to anger your customer more.

“Excuse me?! I'm sitting here waiting for my order and you're too busy chatting away on your phone?”

You lose yourself for a moment and you can’t feel your face anymore. 

“I am so sorry ma’am,” you repeat, which seems to be your mantra since you started working today, “I was just checking to see if-,”

“I don't care what you were checking, or what you need to see! Give me what I paid for,” her hand started smacking against the counter loud enough for the only other person in the store to look up, broken from their reverie. They merely shot you an apologetic look before getting back to their work, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“You have terrible customer service, honestly. I come here every Tuesday with my book club, but never again. If I don’t get exactly what I asked for in the next five minutes, I'm calling your boss and not leaving until I'm sure you’re fired.” 

You shake your head, “There’s no need to do that ma’am, I'll get everything ready for you.”

You turned around once again, this time, heading towards the cappuccino machine. You’re not sure why you said that considering you have no clue what ‘everything’ is that has to get ready. 

In all honesty, there’s a low chance that a suburban-white-soccer-mom type would have any real effect on your employment. Miss Hannigan would surely not fire you just because some order forgot to be written down and some customer got pissed. Right?

But you really didn’t want to find out. 

So, you started up the machine and turned to grab a cup. Today, apparently, was just doomed from the start. As you turned to grab one of the cups placed on the shelf over the machine, your hand hit the button that turned on the steam wand. Which was aimed directly at your other hand. 

You bit down the yelp that threatened to escape and jumped back, the back of your hand now searing with pain. Instinctively, your other hand came to cup your injured one, which only made it worse. You fought back tears as you moved to turn the steam back off. 

Inhaling deeply, you took a moment to try to get your mind working again. “Hello?!” Of course. You turned your head and gave her the fakest smile you’ve ever mustered in your whole life. “One minute ma’am.”

You could hear her going off about how she doesn’t have a minute to spare, but you ignored her, trying to think of what the hell you could give her to just get her out of your face. You’d have to guess her order since I wasn’t actually taken. You’d started playing a game with yourself since you worked here, guessing people's drink orders, and you’d say you’ve gotten pretty good. 

You peeked a look back at her. You’d had customers around her age come in before and order, for the most part, the same thing. A plain cappuccino. Seemed like a safe bet.

Swallowing down the pain as best you could, you approached the machine again. This time, taking out the portafilter. It must’ve not been put in correctly because it clattered to the ground, coffee grinds falling around the floor. 

You wanted to cry. Your hand hurt like hell, there was a new mess to deal with, and that lady hadn’t stopped complaining since you stepped in. 

Frozen, you began to panic a little, breaths coming out sporadically. You’d leave the sweeping for later, but you had to clean the filter so you could use it because it was the only one. And the slightest brush of air made your hand burn even more. You had no clue how to go about this. Maybe if you-

Like an angel, Peter rushed in through the side door. Tying his apron around his waist, he looked towards you. Your hand flew up to your mouth at his perfect timing and you saw his expression grow more concerned. 

He rushed towards you. “What happened?” And for a second, you forget everything that was stressing you out just a few moments before. He grabbed your hand so gently, you forgot every ounce of pain. 

“I cannot believe this!” She wasn’t giving up and you shut your eyes in frustration, turning to reply to her again. But before you can open your mouth, Peter steps in. “Hold on, can’t you clearly see she’s hurt?”

She scoffed and crossed her arms, “That’s her fault. If she knew how to do her job, it wouldn’t have happened.”

You could feel the anger rolling off him in waves. His expression hardened and his mouth opened to shoot something back at her, but this time, you cut him off. You placed your non-injured hand on his shoulder and gave him a look. 

He stared at you for a few seconds before finally giving in, blowing out some air in a frustrated huff. “Go wait for me inside,” he told you, nodding his head toward the employees-only backroom. 

“What?” You asked confused. You didn’t wanna leave him alone. 

“You’re not working right now, there’s no way I’m letting you. I’ll deal with her. Go, I’ll be right there,” he said, shoving you away gently.

Once you heard that he’d be following you, you were more willing. You walked through the door and took a seat at the table usually used for meal breaks. The ‘break room’ was a small room positioned in the back of the store. You can’t remember what this place used to be (a diner maybe?) but this specific room was used as an office, but Miss Hannigan claimed she had no use for an office so it was used for employee breaks. 

Every ounce of you was grateful for Peter’s Superman moment back there. He came in today earlier than usual and he’d totally saved your ass. You were going to make sure to tell him. 

You weren’t waiting long before the door opened again and Peter walked in, holding a backpack you hadn’t seen on him before. In his other hand, he held a drink. He placed the drink on the table before he grabbed one of the chairs, bringing it close to yours, and you turned your body to face him. 

He picked up your hand again, just as gently as before. “Alright,” he let out a breath of relief, “it’s not as bad as I thought, but, it’s still gonna take a while to heal. Wait,” he leaned over, unzipping his bag and taking supplies out while you just stared at him.

“I thought you majored in biochemistry.” You blurted out. Your face heated up a little when he looked at you curiously.

“I- I saw your textbooks once when you left your bag open. And I’ve seen you around campus, near the science-y buildings…and stuff.” You shrugged and he chuckled. 

“I do,” he nodded, “any medical stuff is self-taught. I get into a lot of…accidents.”

“Oh.” You nodded at him. What kind of accidents would he get into? You’d never seen him hurt, but what did you know. 

“I take it you don’t major in anything science-y,” he said, grinning at you.

You shook your head, “No, I don’t. But I have a chemistry class I have to take for credit. Which makes no sense because chemistry has nothing to do with what I want to learn.”

He laughed and set his bag back down, everything he needed was now laid out on the table. “Okay,” he picked up a white tube with red lettering on it. “This is gonna help with pain and scarring. I’m going to spread some of this, then wrap it up for you.” You looked at the table and saw he’d also taken out some white gauze. What kind of ‘accidents’ did he get into?

You nodded, at a complete loss for words. You had no idea Peter knew so much about injuries and you were so thankful he was helping you out. You didn’t hate each other, but you weren’t close either.

He applied a small amount to the back of your hand, asking you constantly if you were okay as he rubbed it on softly. Honestly, even if it did hurt, you wouldn’t have the heart to tell him.

He finished up with the cream and moved onto the gauze, expertly wrapping it up to lightly cover your wound. When he was finished with that, he carefully tied it off, making sure not to tie it too tight.

“There,” he leaned back and smiled at you, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “All fixed up.”

 “Thank you, Peter, really.” You reluctantly pulled your hand back into your lap, missing the warmth of his fingers wrapped around it.

“You don’t need to thank me Y/N, it’s the least I could do. I’m just glad I got here earlier than usual.”

You nodded and looked down. “Well thanks anyway, you saved my ass back there. Seriously, I have no idea what’s wrong with me today but I kept fucking everything up.”

“Hey,” he said softly, making you look up and meet his gaze. “You didn’t fuck anything up. Okay? You made a few mistakes, but that's not your fault. She shouldn’t have been treating you like that, especially when you’d hurt yourself.” He looked away and scoffed as he remembered the terrible customer that had ruined your morning. You would’ve felt extremely touched by his care if it weren’t for his next words.

“All that for a plain fucking cappuccino.” He mumbled.

“A plain cappuccino? Really?” You asked excitedly, forgetting about everything, and grinning at him wildly. 

“Um, yeah…why?” He asked you, confusion was written all over his face, but he couldn’t help his own smile slightly growing when he noticed your enthusiasm.

“Nothing,” you shook your head quickly, smile never fading, “I just…well, I play this game with myself where I guess people's drink orders. And I think I’m getting pretty good because that’s exactly what I was going to make her before you walked in.”

He laughed out loud and you joined in. “What’s my order?” He asked. 

You paused for a moment. “A caramel macchiato with extra caramel.”

He looked at you for a bit, “Close,” he admitted. “It used to be.”

“So are you gonna tell me what it is now?”

Shaking his head, he leaned over the table and dragged the drink he’d brought in earlier in front of you. “Here,” he changed the subject, “I made you this.”

You’d completely forgotten about it, and when you took a closer look, you realized it was your coffee order. 

Your mouth fell open, “How’d you know?”

He just shrugged, smiling slightly. He knew it was your favorite, but the confirmation was still nice. “I've seen you make it for yourself. Educated guess.”

“Oh my god,” you said, voice soft. It was a simple thing really, you had one most days at the end of your shift. But the fact that he’d noticed… It just meant a lot. “Thank you so much, Peter.”

He just waved you off, his smile growing when he noticed your reaction to the drink. He couldn’t believe he got a chance to speak to you. Truly speak to you. He was always too awkward or embarrassed or trying to avoid embarrassment. But now, while he didn’t like the circumstances that led you both here, he was actually talking to you. And it was nice.

“So,” he started, not wanting this to end just yet, “you said you’ve got a chemistry class?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, picking up your drink and taking a sip. “The one with Professor Hall. I actually have a class after this shift. I totally suck though, and he hates me. I just don’t get it, and he doesn’t explain it well!”

Peter nodded, completely understanding what you meant. It was a tough subject to begin with, and he knew not everyone was as into science as he was, add onto that a teacher who doesn’t really teach, it’s a recipe for disaster. 

“I actually had that class. Last year. I can help you, sometimes. If you’d like me to, that is!” He rushed out. Great, he thought, now I’m getting awkward. 

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Really? Do you mean that?”

“Of course. I think I’ve still got my notes too, if you want ‘em.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he wasn’t saving your ass again. 

“Oh my god Peter,” you placed your non-injured hand on his knee, not noticing the way his body stiffened and he gulped. “That would help so much. There’s a huge exam coming up, and it's a huge part of my grade so I have to pass. I started cramming earlier but—”

“I’ll help,” he reassured you, “I enjoy science anyway, so it’ll be fun for me.”

“Thank you,” you repeated. Staring at him so close, you realized you’d never noticed how handsome he was. Sure there were times you thought he was cute, from afar, but now…you could see the different shades of brown in his eyes, the way one of his eyebrows was slightly curlier than the other, unwilling to sit straight. You couldn’t help but stare-

“Oh my god,” you repeated, except this time, you had remembered something. “If we’re both in here, who’s outside?”

“What? Oh, um,” he scratched the back of his neck, still reeling from having you so close to him. “Freddy’s out there?”

“Freddy?” You asked confused. 

He nodded. “The guy writing on his laptop, he’s friends with my roommate, throws the craziest parties. He’s chill, I told him to keep an eye out if someone else walks in. But it’s been slow, so I think we’re good.”

“Oh, okay.” You said, standing up. “We should probably still go though.”

He stood up beside you, frowning. “I don’t think you should work with your hand hurt. I don’t want you accidentally making it worse.”

Your heart warmed at his concern. “That's really sweet Peter, but I’ll be fine. I don’t know what happened before, I never do stuff like that, even accidentally.”

He still didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t you just go home? I can take it for today.”

You shook your head quickly, “I’m not leaving. I have a class later and it would just be a waste of time going back and forth anyway.”

You walked towards the door, opened it, and exited before he had a chance to argue anymore. You stepped behind the counter while Peter rushed out behind you. You watched Freddy give him a thumbs up and Peter nodded at him before he followed right after you. 

“Are you sure you should go to class today? I can walk you home so you can take the day off,” he offered, and he looked so genuine you almost accepted. 

“Peter,” you laughed and he decided no matter what your response was, it wouldn’t matter because hearing you say his name like that was enough. “I’ll be fine, I didn’t break both my legs, it's just a small burn.”

He stared at you for a bit as you smiled at him, trying to get him to ease up. “Fine,” he gave in reluctantly. “But no going towards the cappuccino machine,” he waved a finger at you, “or the ovens. Or anything hot!”

“Fine,” you shot back, grinning wide and he couldn’t help but return it.

The rest of the morning had gone by easily and you thought maybe you didn’t have totally shit luck. Peter was way more fun than you ever thought he’d be and you wondered why you didn’t start talking to each other sooner. 

It used to be silently working together but after those few moments in the break room, you guys were laughing your whole shift. He meant what he said, and he kept you away from anything that produced heat (which you told him was an insane boundary to set in a cafe) so you had extra time to make quips here and there.

You started playing your order-guessing game with him, teaching him certain traits that gave someone away:

“Side part, beanie, and a crossbody? Oh, he’s getting a tall, dark, americano for sure.”

“She’s getting tea. No coffee, just tea. Maybe with a little lemon wedge.”

And he started to get the hang of it. 

“She looks like she drinks matchas right?” He said to you when a girl around your age walked in. He’d been right and you both laughed about it afterwards. 

When your work shift ended, you were actually upset. 

“I’ve got a class to get to,” you told him, lifting your bag onto your shoulder. You’d both cleaned up and gotten yourselves ready, now standing in front of the door. Something in you didn’t want to leave just yet, enjoying your time together far too much to end it so soon. 

“Yeah…” he trailed off, you waited for him to continue but he hesitated. 

“What is it?” You crossed your arms and smiled slightly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “I just…well, I was just wondering—if it's okay with you of course!” He rushed out, quickly bringing his hands up. “That I could walk you to class?”

You laughed, “I’d love that Pete, thank you.” You turned to open the door to let you both out but he quickly moved forward, holding it open for you and motioning for you to move forward. 

Looking back at him, you smiled and noticed his cheeks were a little red. How had you never noticed how adorable he was?

The walk back to campus wasn’t long but you learned a lot. He told you where he went to high school, his friends he still kept in touch with, his Aunt May, some funny moments from parties he’d been forced to attend by his roommate, and you laughed together.

You told him about the book you were currently reading, your life back home and your family, and why you chose to go to this college. He went along with your jokes, which made it all the more better for you. “I mean if you think about it,” you'd said, “it is so much easier to romanticize your life  when your school campus is as pretty as this one, and that’s real motivation!”

The conversation flowed naturally between you two and it felt like you’d been friends for ages. He dropped you off outside of your class building with the promise of picking you up afterward so you two could study together. 

“So I’ll be back here in an hour right,” he asked. 

“Right,” you smiled at him. “And thanks again Pete, for everything.” You held up your bandaged hand, shaking it a little before setting it back down. 

He shook his head quickly, “Don’t thank me for that. Really.”

You stared at him with a warm expression. “Bye Peter,” you waved as you turned to walk into your class.

“Bye Y/N,” he returned. He watched you walk through the doors, shooting him one last smile before you disappeared from view, before blowing out a breath of air. 

He’d finally gotten a chance to talk to the girl he’d been crushing on for months, and he got to walk her to class! And they were meeting up afterward. After working so close to you and never having the guts to initiate a conversation, he’d settled for just admiring you from afar. But after today, there was nothing that could keep him away. 

You were not having a good day. 

You’d just found out that your chemistry exam was being bumped up to two days from now. Even with the early studying you’d done before, there was no way you could catch up with everything that fast. You were so overwhelmed you had completely forgotten Peter was waiting for you outside. 

You walked out, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth, and you practically jumped out of your skin when someone placed a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, don’t worry,” he said, his voice soft yet full of concern. Peter. “It's just me. What happened?”

The second he saw you walk out, he could tell something was off. He could literally sense the anxiety rolling off of you in waves. He had waited for you to look up and stop when you saw him, but you were just about to walk past him before he stopped you. Now, you were looking at him with distress coating every feature on your face. Your brows were pinched, your lip red from biting it, and your eyes wide and distant like you couldn’t even see him and he was standing right in front of you. Something had gone wrong and he wanted nothing more than to fix it. 

“What is it? What’s wrong? He asked frantically. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered, hands flying up to the sides of your head and gripping your hair. You weren’t looking at him anymore, “Oh my god.”

“Ok Y/N,” he said nervously, “you’re starting to scare me.”

“Two days Peter!” You looked at him wildly. “Two days! I can’t go over everything in two days, is he fucking insane? I didn’t even know he could do something like that, I mean, can he do something like that? I feel like that shouldn’t be allowed it should—”

You cut yourself off and started pacing back and forth in front of him. “Oh my god, I’m gonna bomb this. And if I fail, it’ll bring my whole grade down! I can’t afford that I—”

“Hey,” he repeated, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder again. “I said I’m gonna help you, and I meant it. So we’re gonna get through this together, even if we have to stay up all night.”

You stared at him, trying to wonder what you’d done in your life to deserve such an angel. 

You shook your head quickly, “I really appreciate that Peter, but I’m serious. There’s no way I can learn everything I need to know that fast.”

You tried to smile at him but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

He grinned, his expression the total opposite of yours. “Well, you’ve clearly never studied with me, so don’t sound too sure yet.”

Another thing you’d come to realize was just how smart Peter was. 

You really should’ve known when he told you he’d taken that advanced chemistry class a year ago. And passed. 

Looking through his notes, you could see his attention to detail. He really wasn’t a slacker in the classroom because everything was clearly laid out here. 

You’d spent that night going over everything and you’d actually started to feel hopeful about it. Peter was a way better teacher than Professor Hall, and it didn’t hurt that he was so cute. He was understanding with everything and was willing to go over any part for as long as it took for you to fully grasp it. 

At the end of the night, he’d undone the wrappings around your hand, reapplied the cream for you, and wrapped it up again.

“It’s doing okay,” he reassured you. “Like I said, it’s gonna take a while, but if it starts hurting or anything, take some medicine. Then find me.”

You were sure you’d just melted into his hands at that moment.

The next day, you couldn’t wait to get through everything and see him again, even if you were going to be talking about chemistry. 

You weren’t scheduled to work at the cafe today, so you’d only get to meet up after both of your classes. 

Lectures were a blur, nothing really catching your attention and you spent most of the time with your phone tucked in your hand texting back and forth with Peter, barely concealing your laughter when he sent you memes. 

It was like that all day, until, finally, you made your way over to his small apartment he shared with one of his friends. 

its very quaint 🤌

(totally NOT what we say to make ourselves feel better about this shoebox)

He’d told you over text, making you laugh out loud as you made your way over there. 

dw🫡 I was one of those kids who used to live in their play tents and hid in random corners and spaces

im totally ready for this

ok but be warned, we do not have a pet!!! they are not allowed per our lease!!! ignore the cat when you come in!!! tell no one!!!

what cat ??

good girl ;)

Your face flushed as you made your way up the steps to his door. You knocked three times and barely had to wait a second before Peter stood before you, holding the door open. 

“Hi,” he said, smiling at you. 

“Hi,” you grinned back. You heard a small ‘meow’ come from behind him and he quickly held up a finger to his lips. You covered your mouth, stifling a laugh as you nodded at him. 

“Come on in,” he said, stepping out of the way to lead you through the door. You stepped in and kicked off your shoes before looking around. It was plain, but that was to be expected really. 

There was a large poster hanging next to their TV, however, that caught your eye. “Big fan?” You asked him, shoving your thumb in the direction of the Star Wars poster. 

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Kind of.”

“Oh. Well, I was just asking because I love those movies. My little brother used to watch them and I got really into it.”

“Oh. I mean—I don’t know what I was saying before I love��them too.” He rushed out, making you giggle.

He stayed staring at you for a bit, his eyes rounding out and his mouth gaping a little bit. 

You gave him a small smile, “Okay, well we should-” You let out a small yelp, hands flying to your mouth as you jumped back. 

The living room was small. The only things occupying it were the TV mounted to the wall, and in front of it, was a sofa. And on the sofa, was an unconscious body that you hadn’t noticed until it let out a low groan. You really weren’t sure how you missed it, there wasn’t much else to look at, but they had just been so still. 

Heart beating erratically, you turned towards Peter again, who was looking at you with all the amusement in the world written all over his face. “Was he always there,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He opened his arms, “Well, angel, I really don’t know. Did you see anyone come in?”

“Oh shut up,” you grumbled. “He looks familiar…is that..”

“Freddy.” He finished for you. Right. The dude from the cafe. 

“He crashes here sometimes.” He added.

You nodded. “Alright.”

“Shall we?” He opened a door beside him and looked at you. 

“Right. Yeah, of course.” You walked past him and into his room. You stopped after you entered, taking a moment to look around. His room was simple, with just his bed, a desk and chair, and a dresser perched next to another door you assumed was his closet. 

What really caught your attention, however, were the photos scattered all over the walls. The room was practically engulfed in Peter Parker’s memories, and you really liked it. Without thinking, you approached one wall, walking through them and taking each one in. 

There were some with large groups of people, those looked like school trips. Most of the photos were of the same two people, and based on what he’d told you, you assumed those were his friends. Ned and MJ. 

A lot of the photos contained an older woman, who looked stunning. That had to be his Aunt May. You were shocked by how many photos he had with the Tony Stark. He’d told you he had an internship at Stark Industries, but really, you sorta thought he just went on coffee runs all day. 

And then, you saw a couple shots of Spider-Man. It wasn’t unusual, you knew a lot of people snapped photos of the masked hero when they spotted him around the city. What was unusual, was the quality of the photos. You didn’t know if you’d ever seen such clear photos of him, even on the news, as he was always swinging and in motion. In these, Peter seemed to have caught him at just the right time. You wondered how long it took him to capture the photos.

“Big fan?” You smirked over at him from your spot by one of the Spider-Man photos as you repeated your words from earlier. 

Peter leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, content with watching go over the details of his life. He felt a little naked, like he was bared out in front of you. But…it felt good too. He liked knowing you were learning new things about him, and curious to know more. It filled him with an anxious sort of giddiness.

“You first,” he said slyly.

Laughing, you said, “Well, I don’t see how anyone can hate on the guy. He literally runs around saving lives”

He laughed as he approached you, standing by your side. You’d be surprised. “True I guess.”

“We should get to studying,” you said, breezing past him, your hand brushing his bicep as you did. He sucked in a breath, his entire body feeling electrocuted after that one touch. He wondered how you seemed so normal, laying out your books and papers on the floor beside his bed. 

This was gonna be a long night. 

He cleared his throat and moved to sit across from you, hoping he didn’t look as flushed as he felt. 

After a few moments of him watching you get settled, you heard him start laughing. Looking up you asked, “What’s so funny?”

That only made him laugh harder. “Just thinking about how scared you got before. Did you really not see him?”

You felt your face go hot. “I didn’t! I had no clue he was there, and next thing I know he’s making lawn mower nosies!”

Peter was red in the face now. “The way you flew back,” he said between fits of laughter, “I thought you’d give yourself whiplash.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled at him, picking up one of your pens and throwing it at him. It bounced off without him even flinching. 

You looked down, avoiding his gaze by busying yourself with your papers. 

“Okay I’m ready to be serious now,” he said. The laughter was gone but amusement twinkled in his voice. 

“Great! Welcome back Pete, now hand me that pen, I’m gonna need it.”

Two hours later, you were both sprawled across the floor tossing Chess-Its at one another. 

“Come on!” You threw your arms up in defeat when you threw another cracker at him just for him to catch it again. 

Peter chuckled, “Sorry angel, I’ve just got killer reflexes.”

“Alright whatever,” You rolled your eyes. “Come on, throw some at me.”

You opened your mouth, ready to finally win one round of this nonsense…just for a Cheez-It to hit your cheek and fall to the ground with the rest of your tries. 

Peter laughed while you sat up, reached to grab the box of crackers, and poured some into your hand before putting it back down. 

“Okay, I’m done. I actually want to eat them now.” You said, munching on a cracker and sitting against the side of his bed. 

“Oh come on, don’t be a quitter Y/N/N,” he grinned, leaning over and pinching your cheek. 

You swatted his hand away with your empty one. “M’not.”

He smiled at you before sitting up. “Hit me,” he said, opening his mouth and pointing at it. 

You grabbed a Cheez-It from the palm of your hand and made a big show of trying to get your aim right. Squinting one eye, you stared at him, moving your hand back and forth before tossing it slightly more to the right. On purpose. 

That didn’t stop him from leaning over and catching it in his mouth. 

“I don’t like this game,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you did,” he said back, munching on his Cheez-it. 

“Sue me,” you told him, brushing him off with a wave of your hand. 

He laughed before he settled down. “How’s your hand feeling by the way.” His voice was considerably softer now, making you smile softly at him. 

“It’s doing great, thank you again, Peter. I would’ve been totally fucked if it weren’t for you,” you told him honestly. 

He shook his head, “Don’t thank me at all Y/N. Hate seeing you hurt,” he mumbled, less to you and more to himself and he stayed staring at your wrapped-up hand. 

“Well don’t worry about that, it doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Yeah?” He looked at you suddenly, like he needed to know you meant it. 

“Yeah,” you nodded at him. 

“That’s good,” he breathed out and your heart squeezed at how much he seemed to care. 

“What's your plan? Y’know, for after school?” You didn’t want to leave just yet, even with your studying done. And you wanted to know more about him. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t taken a certain liking to him lately. 

“Well after I get my degree, I’m going move up a little further in Stark Industries. I’m still undecided on grad school, I think I’ve got everything I need and I’m probably just gonna start saving up to pay off student loans instead of adding on them.”

You nodded at him, “So the Stark internship is going well? No offense, I sort of thought you were their coffee mule.” You grinned at him before popping a Cheez-It in your mouth. 

He scoffed, “No, I’m not. I mean, it did take a while to get them to take me seriously, but I got there!”

You laughed, “Well, very proud of you Pete. That’s super impressive.”

He grinned at you, his face heating up at your words. He wondered if you knew how much it affected him every time you called him Pete. Probably not, but he never wanted you to stop. 

You two stayed like that for another hour or so, time passing by without you noticing at all. You talked about your futures, where you say yourselves after school, and after that. Your admiration for him only grew as you got to know him more. You could talk to him all night and never get bored honestly, you-

Shit. 

A random notification lit up your phone, which lay beside you on the floor, making you take notice of the time. 

You sat up quickly, spitting out curses as you started gathering your belongings and shoving them into your bag. 

Peter sat up as well, helping you get your things together but in a calmer manner than yourself. 

“Relax Y/N,” he said in a soothing voice. 

“Pete I can’t do it.” You turned to him suddenly, dropping everything in your hands. 

“Do what, angel?”

“The exam is tomorrow. I’m not ready! I’m gonna fail, and that one grade, that one stupid grade, is gonna hold me back and ruin everything-”

“Sweetheart look at me,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip was warm and reassuring. “You are not going to fail. And I know this because I’ve spent the last few hours studying with you, and I saw how smart you are, and how quick you caught on. You’re gonna walk in there tomorrow and ace that test, I know you are!

“And if for some reason you don’t,” he continued, “you gave it your best. You tried your hardest and you learned something, which is all that matters in the end. So breathe, stop stressing, and let me walk you home.”

“All that talk as an excuse to ask to take me home?” You snorted, “Peter you shouldn’t have.” Despite your jokes, you took his advice and took a deep breath. He was right, you’d studied your hardest, both with and without his help. All you could do was take the exam and hope for the best now.

He laughed and stood up, holding out a hand once he saw you all packed and ready. “Caught me. So is that a yes?”

You took his hand and pulled yourself up but didn’t let go right away. “If I fail, do we have to stop hanging out? Y’know, with you being a science prodigy and all.”

He laughed again and placed both his hands on your shoulder, staring straight into your eyes. “Never.”

“Ok, well, just making sure. I wouldn’t wanna give you a bad rep in the science community or something-”

You were suddenly cut off from your babbling when he pressed his lips to yours. You froze for a second, unsure what to do, but it didn’t take long for you to catch up and kiss him back. 

He pulled away after a few moments, “Done with the jokes?” His voice was soft and teasing.

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, eyes still closed. “But I think you might need to do that again, just to be sure.”

He chuckled murmuring something that sounded like ‘too cute’ but you couldn’t be bothered to hear when you felt his lips on yours again, this time, expecting them. 

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and canting your head slightly for better access. He groaned, one arm wrapping around your middle, the other settling on your waist.

You might have pictured kissing him before, just maybe. But none of your daydreaming could’ve prepared you for the real thing. The way his bottom lip covered your top one, the soft breaths exchanged between the two of you, the way he pressed himself further into you when you tugged his hair a little harder. This definitely beat all of your daydreams. 

You could’ve stayed that way forever, and you probably would’ve if Peter hadn’t taken one for the team and pulled away first. 

Or tried to, at least. 

“We should-” kiss. 

“You-” kiss. 

“I need to walk,” kiss, “-you home angel.” He murmured against your lips.

“Okay,” you whispered back but you didn’t move to pull away, and he didn’t push you. The two of you stayed stuck, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, taking in the atmosphere of each other. 

“I should probably go now,” you said softly. Peter hummed in agreement, leaning in to peck your lips gently. 

“It’s getting late,” but your voice is more of a sigh. You don’t know what he’s laced his lips with but each kiss makes you weak in the knees and woozier than the last one.

“God, d’yknow I’ve had the biggest crush on you.” He said, completely disregarding your previous statement. 

That stops you. “What?” You asked him in disbelief. Peter had a crush on you? No way, you would’ve known. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled lightly, “don’t act so shocked. I was always a stuttering mess at work whenever you so much as looked at me.”

True. But you’d just thought he was a bit more on the shy side. 

“I’d seen you around campus before and I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and I still do, but I thought I had no shot in hell with you. And when I got the job at the cafe and saw I’d be working with you? I almost lost my fucking mind sweetheart.” You both laughed a little and you couldn’t help the way your cheeks flamed up because of his words. Did he have any clue what he was doing to you right now?

“So I just sorta kept my distance, y’know? Admired you from afar ‘cause I was too scared you’d reject me. Sadly, it only took you nearly burning your hand off,” he gave you a look and you burst into giggles, him doing you and slightly pinching your waist, “for me to get over myself and actually keep up a conversation with you. But now I’ve got you in my room, kissing me.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, “lucky you.” You joked as leaned in to press another kiss to his lips. 

“Lucky me indeed,” he murmured before pulling you in even deeper. He dipped you, making you squeal into the kiss. Then he pulled you up, unable to keep the kiss going any longer with how hard he was grinning.

“Oh my god,” you said, laughing breathlessly. 

“A lot more where that came from,” he smirked at you. 

“You know,” you moved to pick up your bag, “for someone who was so scared to talk to me for so long, you sure found the confidence now.”

“What can I say? You make it easy. Once I started I couldn’t stop.” You smiled at him as he gently placed a hand on your arm leading you to the door. The living room was empty now, no one to be found on the couch or otherwise and you wondered where their cat had wandered off to.

You bent over to put on your shoes, Peter doing the same. He stepped forward and opened the door for you, letting you step out before following you and locking the door. 

As soon as he was done with that, you reached over and grabbed his hand. “Hey Petey?” You said lightly. Oh, he was going to melt. From now on, he only wanted you to call him that.

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you finally decided to talk to me.” 

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Yeah? Me too angel.”

The next morning, you awoke in the brightest mood, considering you had a chemistry exam later that day. All you could think about was Peter. You were going to see him later at the cafe and you couldn’t wait. 

You leaned over in bed to pick up your phone. Speak of the devil. 

GOOD MORNINGGGGG❤️

hope you slept well angel, can’t wait to see you today. and you’re gonna totally ace that exam!🥰

seriously you’re going to kick chemistry’s butt

A huge smile bloomed on your face, almost hurting from how wide it was. Usually, you'd stay in bed for a while, scrolling through Instagram or just going through messages or something. Not today, you couldn’t wait to get to work. Maybe Peter was a good influence on you. 

After getting ready for the day, you made your way to the cafe with a little bounce in your steps. The bell jingled above you as you opened the door and for the first time since you’d started working together, Peter was here before you. 

“Hey,” he smiled, holding up your usual drink order and waving it at you. 

“Hi Pete,” you approached his, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. As you pulled away, you could see how quickly his cheeks pinked, making you grin. 

“No ‘Petey’?”

“Didn’t know you had a preference,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling it towards you as you took a sip from the drink and then moved to get dressed for your shift. 

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, wishing he could feel your hand on his for just a little longer, “neither did I.”

You laughed lightly as you tied your apron, the sound hitting him like the greatest melody in the world. 

“Okay then,” you walked towards him, stopping right in front of him, “let’s start over. Hi Petey.”

“Hi angel,” he gave you a dopey grin and you returned it. 

“Great, now that we’ve got that figured out.” You patted his chest lightly before taking the drink from his hands and moving away. 

“Hey wait! Where’s my kiss?” He pouted at you and he looked so adorable, you just wanted to pinch his cheeks and kiss him till he begged you to stop.

“We’re at work, we’ve gotta be professional.” You said matter-of-factly. 

He rolled his eyes, leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms. “Professional my ass, no one is even in here-,”

Before he could even close his mouth, the bell jingled, and in stepped a boy about your age. The boy moved to one of the chairs, not moving to order just yet, giving you the chance to smirk at Peter, who just rolled his eyes again. 

“What do you he’s gonna order,” he asked you.

“Hmm…a cookie, probably.” You moved lean against the counter across from him and took a sip of your drink as you smiled. 

“Hey wait, you never told me what your drink order is.”

“Hmm…” he hummed in consideration before he moved towards you, grabbing your hand with the drink and bringing it up to his lips to steal a sip, maintaining eye contact the whole time. 

“I’ve got to say,” he said in a low voice, “this one has really grown on me.”

You couldn’t look away, all you could do was stare. And stare, and stare, and stare…

A stranger’s voice, and then, “Hey, can I get one of those double chocolate chip cookies?”

You were just on cloud nine today. 

You had taken your exam and for the first time ever in that class, you had felt confident in your work. 

And to top it all off, after you’d handed in your paper and packed your things to leave, Professor Hall had given you a ‘well done’ nod. You! He’d never noticed you positively before. You were going to need to drown Peter in thank-you kisses for his help. 

Speaking of Peter, you couldn’t wait to see him. He told you he’d be waiting for you after your class but when you stepped outside, there was no sign of him. You decided to sit on the building steps and wait. He was probably just running a little late, no biggie. 

Big biggie. After 40 minutes of waiting for him, during which you’d sent him a little text and he hadn’t responded, you decided to head over to his place. 

The walk was short and your little buzz had worn off after not getting to share it with Peter. After all, you kind of owed him most of the credit. You arrived at his apartment door, and when you knocked, it wasn't Peter who answered. 

It's Freddy. 

You throw on a smile. “Hi Freddy, is Peter home?”

He returned your smile as he said, “‘Sup Y/N.” He held out his fist and you stared at it for a while before you got the hint and bumped it with your own. “Pete’s not home right now, but you can totally come in and wait for him.”

You found it funny that someone who didn’t live there was inviting you in to stay, but you accepted anyway. You also had no clue how he knew your name. 

You knew little about Freddy, but you knew he was sort of a campus celebrity. Every raging party there was, everyone knew Freddy was behind it. 

“So,” you said as you walked in, “what year are you in Freddy?”

“Ah nah, I’m done with that shit. I took the bar,” he said casually, waving a hand and moving to sit on the couch. He kicked his feet up on the large Amazon box being used as a coffee table and picked up the open beer sitting atop it. 

You stood in your place, clutching your bag. He was in grad school?

“Oh that’s awesome dude, did you not pass or something.”

“Uh uh,” he shook his head, taking a swig of beer, “got a 350.”

Your eyes widened. What. You didn’t know much about law school but you knew getting a score like that on the bar was not an easy thing. 

“Wait when’d you take it?” You asked confused. The bar exam wasn’t scheduled for a few months from now. 

“Last year.”

“Do you like…work at a firm or something?” It was insane to you that the party animal of this school had already graduated, and with an amazing score nonetheless. 

He shook his head, “Workin' on my music right now, and if that doesn’t work out,” he gave you a wicked grin, “well I’ve always got my law degree.”

You nodded, stunned. “That’s sick dude. Good luck,” you told him, waving as you moved to wait in Peter’s room. 

“Keep the door cracked kids,” he shouted towards you and you huffed a laugh as you entered the room and closed the door (leaving it open just an inch) before you sat at the foot of his bed. 

You looked around for a second, taking it all in. It’s amazing how he managed to take this small space and make it so him. 

After a few moments, you took out your phone to shoot him another text. 

But before you could finish typing it out, the window beside you started opening and you watched as the Spider-Man fell onto the bed, not noticing you gaping right next to him. 

You stayed silent, unsure of what to do or say until he moved to take his mask off. That got you moving and talking. 

“Holy fuck!” You basically shout, moving away, hands flying to your mouth. 

He seemed to be just as shocked as you were because he scrambled up from his lying position. And staring back at you was Peter Parker. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked you, eyes wide. It wasn’t till then that you noticed the paleness of his features, his face lacking that usually healthy glow it held, the waver in his voice, and the hand clutching his bloody side. 

“Holy fuck,” you repeated, voice lower, and for a whole different reason this time. “Shit Peter, you’re hurt.” You moved closer to him, temporarily forgetting everything else as your hand reached to gently remove his so you could take in the extent of his injuries. 

“It’s nothing,” he said but made no move to shove you away or stop you. You moved his hand and winced at the sight that greeted you, “Looks like a whole lot more than nothing babe.”

“I’ve had worse.”

You look up at him, frowning slightly, “Not exactly reassuring Petey.”

“I feel all better now,” he said, shooting you a charming grin as soon as he heard the nickname leave your mouth. “Add a kiss in the mix, and I’ll be good as new.”

You huffed a laugh, shoving his knee slightly, “Shut up Peter. I’m serious. I’m sure you’ve got some experience with stuff like this,” you wave a hand towards his suit and injury for emphasis and he gives you a quick nod. 

“Over there,” he pointed toward his dresser, “top shelf, under the blue sweater.”

You rushed over there, opening the drawer and spotting the sweater he mentioned. “I’m totally stealing that from you someday, this is your heads up,” you told him as you grabbed the large box and completely closed the door before you moved back to his side. 

“You can have anything of mine, Angel. I’m sure you’d look better in it anyway.” His words made you blush, but you tried to ignore them so you could focus on the task at hand. 

Peter, however, found that he really liked watching your cheeks pink up. And he wanted more. 

“Lean against the headboard, now.” You said, trying to be serious again. 

“God, at least buy me dinner first sweetheart.” He gave you the dorkiest smirk you’d ever seen. You just glared at him. “On the other hand,” he said as he moved backward to lean against his headboard, “I don’t need dinner, I’m all yours baby girl.”

This got you to laugh, “Peter, be serious! You’re bleeding out!” You moved to his side, “take this off by the way.” You gestured to his suit. 

He hit the middle emblem of a spider and you watched as it loosened up and fell off his shoulders. You had started pulling it the rest of the way down, gulping when you realized he wasn’t wearing anything else, when he mumbled, “Not a terrible way to go.”

You refused to look up and meet his eyes but he knew he got you. Thank god he was wearing underwear, you realized, and you threw the suit to the side after you’d completely shredded him of it. He was definitely going to need a new one. 

Now completely facing the damage, your stomach churned, and you were hit with the hard truth. “I…I don’t know what to do,” you whispered to him. You wanted to help him, more than anything. This man who’s been risking his life, probably since he was a teenager you realized, as you did the math silently in your head, was hurt and right in front of you, needing your help. And you needed to help him, but you didn’t know the first thing about how to approach a situation like this. You were surprised you could stare at the wound for so long. 

“Don’t worry, I can do it,” he said gently, his bloody hand reaching for the huge first aid kit. 

“No!” You rushed out, grabbing his hand to stop him, “No way am I letting you do that! Just…just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.

Feeling more confident, you grabbed the kit and opened it. Shock coursed you as you realized just how much he went through and your confidence fell right back down where it sprouted from. The bag was full of all the medical tools and supplies you could think of, most of them completely foreign to you, and you realized how privileged you must be to not recognize any of these things. You can’t imagine the ‘worse’ he talked about having earlier. This must be those accidents he was talking about.

“I don’t usually have to use them,” his voice was soft, almost like he was reassuring you, “usually just water and a towel does the trick. Maybe a little numbing cream. And these,” he looked down at his wounds, “some bandages, sure, but I won’t need stitches or anything.”

You let out a breath of relief, you weren’t sure you could’ve handled that. You didn’t trust yourself.

“Okay,” you said, grabbing some wipes. You were going to do this. Based on what he’d told you, he was always stitching himself back up, just to hit the streets again the next day. This time, though, was different. This time you were here to help him, and you weren’t going chicken out of this. Even a little help was better than nothing at all. 

You started slowly, cleaning around his wounds so you could bandage them properly. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He asked you gently. “I totally understand if you need me to do it, angel, it’s a lot if you’re not used to it.”

“No,” you shook your head, your voice steady, “No way. It’s my turn to fix you up.” You told him, looking up to meet his eyes and smiling at him. 

He returned it and you went back to work. 

“So….Spider-Man, huh?” You peeked up quickly in question. 

“Yeah,” he took a deep breath, “it’s a long story. Basically, I was bit by some spider, that shit was powerful,” you laughed a little, making him smile. “And I got some. Of its powers I mean.”

“So you get bit by a spider, that spider gives you powers, and you decide to become a New York vigilante?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he nodded, and you laughed again. 

“You’re a hell of a guy Peter Parker.” You said, shaking your head slightly. 

“Thank you, I try,” he smirked at you and you laughed again. 

“Okay,” you said, pulling away from his side. He almost whined in protest. Honestly, he wasn’t feeling any pain, not since you’d started worrying about him, and insisting you help him. Peter wasn’t used to that, he was always alone when it came to this part of the job. He’d never minded that before, just one of the things he had to deal with as a superhero, but now that someone else was taking care of him…it felt nice. Really nice. Especially when it was you. 

“Peter?” You looked at him questioningly. Shit. You’d asked him something.  

“Huh? I'm sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He said with wide eyes. He’d gotten too wrapped up in the feeling of being taken care of, not that anyone could blame him though, the girl he’d been crushing on forever was here, in his room, helping bandage him up! It's more than he could’ve dreamed of. 

“It’s okay sweetie,” you said, waving him off assuming he was in pain or something. Really, now he had something new to obsess over. Sweetie? While he was practically naked (albeit injured, but he wasn’t thinking of that right now) in bed with you? God, he could just melt.

“I was just wondering which bandages,” you said, holding up the different ones you’d found in his bag. 

“Oh,” he said lamely, “these ones.” He grabbed a few from you and opened them. 

“Look,” he said, leaning over himself to see his wounds properly, “you’ve got to bring together both sides of the wound, then secure the bandage so that it’s holding it closed.” He talked as he placed the first bandage with you watching and listening with intent. 

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” you said as you took the rest of the bandages from him. You steadied yourself, straddling his thigh as you started placing the bandages down his wound. The biggest gash took about five, your elbow resting on his abdomen as you got lower…and lower. 

Conveniently, you missed the quiver in his breath, too focused on the work at hand, but you didn’t miss the small gasp he let out when your forearm reached right between his thighs. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You said as you pulled away quickly, thinking you’d hurt him. “Did I pinch too hard?”

“No, no angel, you’re fine. Doing a great job actually.” He replied, trying to collect himself. He could not let himself think of that right now. There were more important things at hand. 

“You sure?” You asked him, not looking convinced.

“Positive.” He replied, grabbing your arm and pulling you back in (but making sure to keep you at a healthy distance from his dick). 

You added a few more bandages, most of the cuts only needing one or two, before pulling away again to rummage through his bag. “What do you use on your bruises?”

“This one,” he said, leaning over you and grabbing a tube from the kit. You turned, your lips almost brushing over each other with how close you were. 

“Hi,” you whispered, all thoughts completely flying out of your head as you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss him. 

“Hi angel,” he said smiling softly at you. 

Seeing you debate it in your head, Peter decided it would be easier for the both of you if he did it first. Leaning in, he closed the distance and smoothly took your lips in his. You melted into the kiss right away, feeling like you’d been craving this your whole life when really, you’d just kissed his a few hours ago before you’d left work. 

Your hands were on his bare chest, you could feel every muscle, every move when-

“Wait, you’re hurt!” You pulled away, leaving a pouting Peter in your wake. 

“My lips work just fine angel,” he said, trying to steal another kiss while you tried to avoid him. 

“But..let me finish at least,” you mumbled against his lips, barely getting a chance to pull away after he’d caught you. 

“You can finish, just lemme do this first,” he responded before kissing you again.

“Hey,” you mumbled against his lips. 

He hummed in response, moving to kiss your cheek, your jawline. If he kept this up you might not try to stop him. 

“Did you know Freddy took the bar exam? And passed?”

That got him to pull away. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at you confusedly, “I’m kissing you and you decide this a good time to bring up Freddy?”

“Well, y’know,” you shrugged, “figured it was as good a time as any.”

He scoffed, “Unbelievable.”

You giggled, “I win.” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling away before he could catch you and turn it into more.

“Now lay down, lemme do this,” you said waving the cream at him. 

He moved grumpily and you thought grumpy Peter was the cutest thing ever. The furrow of his brows, the slight pout of his lips. You could just kiss him. And you would’ve if you hadn’t known where it would lead you. 

You unscrewed the cap to the cream and started applying it gently. “So Fred’s a lawyer huh?” Peter spoke up. 

“He is!” You whispered excitedly, glad he was just as shocked as you were. 

“And you learned this how?” He asked, giving you a look. 

You shrugged. “He let me in and I talked to him, asked him a few questions to get to know him better since I see him everywhere.” 

“Wait, he’s here right now?”

“Yeah,” you said slowly, “I thought you knew?”

“No I didn’t-,” he let out a sigh, “whatever it's basically his apartment too at this point I guess.”

You laughed, “And you’re okay with that?”

He shrugged with his good side. “He buys the good beer.”

You laughed again. “He scored a 350 on the bar exam!”

Peter’s brows shot up. “Oh shit.”

“I know! The only thing I knew about him was that he blacked out in that frat house’s pool all night and the cops were called cause someone thought he was dead.”

“Yeah, he’s super lucky he was on his back. Just floated around the pool like a leaf.”

You shook your head, screwing the cap back on the tube of cream, “Crazy. But anyway, I’m done. And on the plus side,” you grinned at him, “if you ever get in legal trouble, you know someone!”

He laughed out loud, and you watched as his face scrunched up and he clutched his side in pain. Apologizing for the joke, you gave him a kiss on the cheek to make up for it. 

“Enough about crazy Freddy,” he let out a sigh, “I’m gonna go put some clothes on, and then I wanna cuddle with my girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and all you could do was smile as he stood up, giving you a kiss on the side of your head before he moved to pick out some clothes.

You watched him get dressed, biting your lip as you watched how his muscles rippled with each of his movements. You always knew he was strong but seeing him like that, was a completely different story. 

“Like what you see?” He asked, smirking at you before he lifted his shirt, holding it up between his teeth as he tied his sweatpants. 

Your mouth fell open. At being caught and also at…how absolutely hot he looked right now. If he wasn’t injured, you would be all. over. him. 

“S’alright angel,” he said as he stalked towards you. He was enjoying this, a lot. “I’m sure I’d be the same if the roles were reversed.”

That did not help. Now you were thinking about being naked in front of Peter and-

He laughed, kissed the side of your head again, and laid down, pulling next to him. 

“Careful Peter, you’re still hurt!” You chastised him. 

He shook his head, “You made me feel a hundred times better. Thank you, angel.”

“Of course Petey.” He smiled at you as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight. 

“So, you came to see me right? Y’know, before the whole finding out I’m Spider-Man thing. What’s up?”

“Oh I almost forgot,” you perked up, tilting your head up so you could see his face, “I think I totally aced that chemistry exam!”

“Angel! I’m so proud of you!” He started attacking you with kisses, kissing you anywhere his lips could reach. 

You giggled, “Thank you sweetie, but seriously I owe you most of the credit, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Nonsense,” he shook his head, “that was all you. I barely helped, you learned everything and then took that quiz, and aced it.”

“Well I haven’t gotten my grade back yet, I just have a really good feeling, so don’t sound too are there's a chance I didn’t do as well as I thought.”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I have a sense, a spidey sense. And my spidey sense is telling me that you totally aced that thing. No questions asked.”

You laughed loudly. “Spidey sense?”

“No questions,” he repeated as he nuzzled his nose into your hair. 

“Fine then,” you snuggled up further into him. “No questions.”

[readychilledwine]

5 Steps Forward, 2 Steps Back

Rhysand Week Day 5 - Survivor

Summary - 50 years without your mate and husband seems almost easy now that you two are facing his recovery

Warnings - implied Rhysand power surge causing a similar situation, mental health, depression, recovery, angst, training, the power of choice coming into play

A/N - Happy Day 5 of @officialrhysandweek! This one was rough to write. Mental health is such a huge under discussed topic, and Rhysand, I feel, would be a huge advocate for it. Becoming a survivor is something many will say is process and choice. Rhysand definitely made the choice to recover and fight, and I imagine he leaned heavily on the IC to do so. I think that's so powerful. This was my favorite prompt for this week.

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

The wine bottle and plates shattered on the floor were a clear sign that things weren't actually okay.

You released a breath from the chair you sat in, unsure of what had even happened. You and Rhysand had been talking. He'd been having a great day. But now? Now, the dinner you had spent hours making for your mate was all over the floor, ruined as you sat there shaking in fear.

“I didn't mean to do that,” he gasped out as if he was trying to breathe again. “I don't know what happened. I-” Rhysand's powers had been what happened. He had zoned out while eating, he had let himself relax, let himself be vulnerable.

“It's okay.”

“You're fucking terrified. It's not okay!”

He was angry with himself, with his inability to control his mind and emotions. You had to move to separate rooms to sleep. You had to use magic to change the flowers in the garden. You had to remove all dresses that reminded him of her from your closet. He knew you were doing this because you love him. Because you were his mate. Because you hoped he would heal.

But he didn't see that light most days. He was trapped in an ocean of emotion. Drowning as he so desperately tried to reach the surface where light was reflecting, mocking him. Happiness was just out of his reach, laughing in his face as he struggled.

Your hands were folded in your laps as your enchantments on the Riverhouse cleaned the mess, “We can go to Rita's or somewhere quiet.”

“We can go to Rita's or somewhere quiet,” he repeated back sarcastically. “Maybe you should go and I'll just stay here.”

It was a punch to the gut. You released another shaking breath, “Rhys-”

“We should consider separation. I am not who you need me to be anymore and I don't know if I ever will be again,” with lethal grace he stood, leaving you alone at the table. Your appetite was gone. How could you want food when your heart was fairly sure it had just stopped?

Seconds were minutes. Minutes were hours. Hours passed like days.

You sat there waiting, crying, hoping he'd come back, hoping this was just an irrational statement that you two could talk about. But his face. His tone. Everything made you pause, holding a tight breath in your chest before releasing a loud sob.

Rhys had been home from the mountain for a month. His trauma had only been healing for a month. You had not expected progress. You had only wished to be a source of light for him, a tether of brightness as he sat in the dark. For 50 years you had prayed for him. You'd pray for 50 more if that's what it took, but you were lying to yourself if you tried to pretend it didn't bother you when you denied your kisses. Pretended it didn't bother you when he wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't look at you.

Your husband and mate was gone. Deep in his mourning, his heartache, his pain. You stood and walked to your room, not even taking a moment to glance at the lavish walls and plush furniture. Collapsing onto your bed, you laid there. The heels you wore ached, the dress you were wearing felt too right, everything felt wrong in this room.

The wrong soft silk sheets. The wrong scent. The wrong temperature. It wasn't the bed you two shared. It wasn't Rhysand's scent cocooning you. It wasn't the warmth of his wings sitting across you like a weighted blanket. It was empty.

Rhysand was in the same place in the marriage bed you should have been in. He had his head resting in his hands, eyes shut as he took deep stilling breaths. Hurting you was his biggest fear these days. 50 years being powerless, of being abused and used, of her. Your love for him, the way you had not even screamed, the way you'd only held him, it almost was too much.

He'd prepared for anger, for yelling, for anything besides you falling to your knees and begging to help him. What had happened to him felt like ash sitting in his stomach. A poison just waiting to kill.

But even ash had a cure.

Even his darkest moments could have light if we just continued to fight.

And so the next morning, he did. He forced himself out of his cold bed at 5am, throwing in training leathers before entering the chambers across from his that you slept in. “I'm going to go train,” he whispered into your ear. It was a sense of normalcy, a pattern you two held every day before those long dreaded year.

He'd whisper to you every morning, telling you where he was going, how long he'd be gone, and most importantly, the words he said next, “I love you, darling.”

The ghost of a smile came to your face, the bond subconsciously responding to him. “I love you and I'm going to fight for me. For us,” his hushed tone still rang through your sleeping soul, his voice so low and sure. “Don't give up on me.”

“Never,” you responded in your sleep. “Never give up.”

Rhysand fought harder that morning with Cassian. Hands striking true and hard as they practiced hand to hand, body moving in a pattern and rhythm he thought he'd long forgotten.

You walked out to grunts and Azriel yelling encouragement. To the sound of wings fluttering and flaring. To sand moving with the force of the powerful males before you. This was him, this was Rhysand. This was his mind, throwing his anger and his frustration right where he needed. This was him finally taking the offer of his brothers to be his target.

“Left side,” Azriel yelled. “Left!”

You flinched for Cassian as Rhysand pounded that opening, the rookie mistake handing Rhysand an advantage. “Come on, Rhys,” Azriel shouted again.

You continued to watch, tray with waters in your hands as Rhysand made the choice and fought so much more than just his brother today.

A leg sweep. A basic move Rhysand had spent hours teaching you. That's what it took for him to take down Cassian. Azriel was the first to react, running to Rhysand and picking him up to celebrate the General's back meeting the sand pit they picked to train in. Cassian's deep laughter tore through the air next, joy shaking the trees and your bones as he realized Rhys had won. You set the water down before being the one to help pull Cass up, barely staying steady as you did.

Rhysand and Azriel were still celebrating his hand to hand win against Cassian as you leaned against said male. “You left your side open on purpose,” you stated under a steady breath.

Warm eyes met yours, “And if I did?”

“Why? He's never going to let this go.”

Cassian only kissed your hair before answering in a hushed, deep tone, “Because he said once when we were little that the day he beats me hand to hand is the day he learns he can beat anything. It's time for him to learn he can beat anything, especially when he makes the choice to.”

"It will not be an easy fight," you held Cassian's eyes.

The General gave you his signature smirk, "Then I guess it's good all of us are here to fight with him."

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@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[watermelonlovershigh]

The Rated R Card Game {part 6.} (housemate!harry series)

Returning Favors {part 5.} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: this part took me the longest to write because i couldn't get the wording right and kept having to switch things up. this is mainly a filler chapter meaning not much happens but will be needed for context later in the series. i hope you enjoy. let me know what you think. thank you for reading.

This story contains: mentions of bisexuality, mentions of threesomes, mentions of kissing, mentions of mommy and daddy kink, mentions of sexual stuff in general, mentions of a safe word being used, fluff

{ housemate!harry - friendrry - soft!harry - au!harry }

word count- 1,977

Your friends Mave and Charlotte come over to yours and Harry's house to eat pizza, drink wine, chat, and play a very rated R card game.

Friday has finally arrived and you are filled with excitement. Your friends Mave and Charlotte are coming over to meet Harry for the first time. After spending a few hours working on your computer, you got up and started tidying around Harry's living room, which was already clean as he maintains a fairly tidy house. You took out the card game you intend to play tonight and set it on the coffee table. The only thing left is the alcohol, but Harry will be picking some up on his way home from work.

After leaving the school where he teaches at, Harry drove to a nearby shop and obtained the wine you had requested. You'd asked Charlotte and Mave about their choice of alcohol and they recommended wine to prevent themselves from getting too intoxicated by stronger spirits. Upon arriving home, Harry placed the wine bottles in the refrigerator to chill, and then hurriedly went to take a quick shower.

At approximately seven o'clock, your friends arrived at your home via Uber, as they foresaw the possibility of becoming too intoxicated to drive home later in the night. You introduced them to Harry and they formed a liking to him instantly. In a playful manner, they whispered to you that they may just steal him away from you, that's how much they liked him. Plus, attractive wise, they thought he was hot.

Harry kindly ordered a pizza to the house and the four of you gathered in the living room, indulging in the large pizza accompanied by several glasses of wine. Essentially, you all spent a delightful two hours eating, drinking, and having great conversations in the living room. Mave and Charlotte made quite the impression on Harry. They were incredibly easy to be around and had a remarkable talent for lightening the atmosphere with their jokes, especially during moments of high tension. They possessed a fearless nature and were never hesitant to speak their minds.

Once everyone was stuffed with pizza, you pick up the card game you had sat on the coffee table earlier in the day and announce, "Okay, game time."

"How does this game work exactly?" Harry asks, followed by a giggle. Yep, he was definitely tipsy.

You open the box and pull out the stack of cards. You know there's a correct way to play this game but you wanted to make up your own rules, just to spice things up. "Okay, so basically I'm gonna leave the stack of cards in the middle of the table. We'll each take turns picking a card but to make it fun, we all have to potentially answer every question, no matter who pulled it. Each card has either questions or something we must confess. If you don't feel comfortable answering one then you must take a sip of wine. Got it?"

"Seems easy enough." Charlotte exclaims with a clap of her hands.

"Hey, can I pick first?" Mave asks eagerly and you all agree.

As everyone sits around the coffee table on the floor, Mave reaches for the top card and giggles as she silently reads it. "You've got to actually read it out loud." Charlotte remarks in a sassy tone.

"Okay, okay," Mave retorts before repeating what the card says out loud this time. "Have you ever made out with a guy in the back of a car before?"

You, Mave, and Charlotte each say "yes" with confidence before stealing a glance towards Harry, hoping to gauge his response to the question. To your surprise, he appears bewildered and voices his confusion. "What kind of questions are these? I was expectin' somethin' light-hearted, not about romantic encounters," he queries.

You pick up the game's box and point to the bottom right corner where it shows the R rating. Once he notices, he mutters an, "Oh fuck!", taking a swig of his red wine for dramatic effect. "But um, yes I have."

Charlotte and Mave are surprised to learn that he's kissed a guy. Not in a judgmental way but they are genuinely shocked considering how much you confide in them about Harry's feelings for you. It seems you forgot to mention that Harry was bisexual, but then realize it's not your place to inform them of that anyways. Charlotte boldly questions Harry, "You've made out with a guy before?"

Harry nods his head in agreement and casually states, "Yes, m' bisexual. Y/n didn't inform you of that?" Though he knows one's sexuality isn't something people tend to share, he knew you shared nearly everything with these two friends so he's surprised you didn't let his sexuality slip up in a conversation before. But knowing you didn't share makes him feel all warm inside. It shows how much you care and respect him.

The woman shakes her head to indicate she was unaware. Harry typically never feels anxious about sharing his bisexuality as he finds that most individuals are accepting or simply don't care. Although he occasionally encounters negative reactions, mostly from the people he's seeing, he makes an effort to try and not allow those to affect him.

"My turn," you announce, reaching for the next card to advance the game. "Ohhh, a confession. How intriguing. Do you tend to be more dominant or submissive in bed? Mhm...... as for me, it's quite simple. I can be either, depending on my mood."

"No way," Harry interjects, "m' also a switch. Just depends on the person and the mood m' in at that moment." As you glance at one another, you can feel a secret message being conveyed through just your eyes alone. One that's saying you're meant to be. A perfect match, some would consider. Because it's rare for both people in a relationship to be dominate some times and submissive other times.

Mave and Charlotte affirm they're both complete submissives, leaving Harry to select the next card. "Tell us about the most outrageous experience you've had during a sexual encounter. Uhm, let me think on that for a moment."

"Oh, I know." Mave speaks, "For me, I'd have to say being double penetrated."

"You what?" you gasp at her answer, unaware of this encounter she's had. She usually tells you everything but you guess she's been keeping this one a secret.

With a playful giggle, she admits, "Back in uni, I had a few threesomes, and one of them involved double penetration. It was painful at first but the pleasure that followed was incredible." Her confession triggers a vivid image of you in Harry's mind, arousing him at just the thought of having a threesome with you. But he wonders if you were open to that idea.

"Personally, I tied a man to the bed once and rode him while he wore a cock ring. Although it was pleasurable for me, the man experienced tons of discomfort. So I decided to let him come after an hour." you answer the question. It wasn't super outrageous but you weren't that freaky in bed. Again, all Harry can think about is you doing that to him and at this point he has to set one of the couch pillows in his lap without looking too suspicious. He's now actually hard in his pants.

After thinking for a minute more, Harry's ready to answer. "I guess my answer would be, this one time I let a girl fuck my throat with her strap-on. Let's just say my throat was bruised for days." Fuck, now it's you conjuring up images of possibly doing that to Harry. You don't own a strap-on but you sure as hell would go out and buy one if he agrees.

Charlotte optes to taking a drink of wine instead of answering and then picks a card beings it's her turn now. "Have you ever had to use your safeword during sex? Thankfully no. What about you all?"

Harry and Mave both said no as their answer, whereas you, on the contrary, chose to take a sip of wine. You could have easily said the truth, which would have been yes, but then would've had to provide an explanation for their curious minds. And you'd prefer not to do that in front of everyone, especially as it regards the situation where you had to use your safe word. It evokes a very unpleasant memory. Nevertheless, you can see a compassionate expression on Harry's face and have a feeling he'll bring it up at a later time.

The game continues with questions like, "Where is the most unusual place you have engaged in sexual activity?" "What is your preferred sexual position?" "Have you ever accidentally called out the wrong name during sex?" "Do you secretly have a mommy or daddy kink?" Harry's responses were as follows: in a club bathroom, preferring missionary with women to see their expressions and opting for the doggy style with men, almost moaning the wrong name (which happened to be yours), and has only ever jokingly used the terms daddy or mommy if his partner was interested in that kind of stuff.

Your responses to those particular questions consisted of: the bathtub, missionary or spooning position, almost saying Harry's name but correcting yourself before it was on the verge of slipping out, (though you didn't share to them it was Harry whoms name it was), and lastly, although you're not actually into the whole kink, you've humorously said daddy once to cater to your partner's wishes. Which made you cringe so bad immediately after.

By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, all of you were considerably intoxicated. Though most of you managed to answer every question, you've still been continuously sipping from your wine glasses with multiple refills. In a drunken manner, your friends suggested, "Maybe we should call an umb... uber...."

Rising on wobbly legs, Harry retorts, "Why don't you both stay if you want? I'm sure Y/n wouldn't mind you sleepin' in her bed, and she can sleep with me in mine. That way you won't have to go home drunk." Harry is literally the sweetest.

"You sure?" Mave asks, looking at both of you for confirmation.

You nod, agreeing, "Yeah, yeah. That's fine. Just don't puke in my bed, please." remembering all the times where they've gotten sick from being too drunk.

-------------------------------

With Mave and Charlotte settled in your bed, you made your way to Harry's room across the hall. He was busy arranging the pillows and covers. Just as you were about to join him in bed, you remembered, "Wait a minute, I need to use the bathroom."

Harry bursts into laughter. "Is that so? You didn't realize that when you were in the hallway?"

"Hey, no laughing at me!" You exit the room and hurry to the bathroom located in the hallway. Upon your return, Harry is already tucked in under the duvet, with only the lamp providing a dim light. As you join him, and he reaches over to switch off the lamp.

Now in the dark bedroom, Harry shuffles closer to you for a cuddle and whispers, "You're not gonna puke in my bed are you?"

You playfully swat at his chest and confirm, "No, I'm not that drunk, silly. But I will have a killer headache in the morning. Night."

"Night, sleep tight." Harry leans in and plants a tender kiss on your lips, momentarily catching you off guard. However, you quickly embrace the intimate moment, realizing that receiving these small, affectionate kisses from him for no specific reason is something you should start getting accustomed to. After all, it's a typical aspect of being in a relationship, isn't it?

As you gradually drift off to sleep, your mind becomes consumed by the lingering sensation of Harry's lips meeting yours and the burning curiosity to discuss the explicit answers he provided during the rated R card game earlier.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

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______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

Spontaneous Pleasures {part 7.} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

[ham-st4r]

𝓛𝓪𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓻𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝔂 - 𝓛. 𝓗𝓮𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰

🧺Pairing: heeseung + female reader🧺

Warnings: male masturbation, cursing, dirty talk, cum eating.

Genre: smut, roommates, smut without plot. Not happy with the way this turned out :/

Summary: it wasn’t every day you caught your roommate pleasuring himself, and well, the sight wasn’t exactly easy to look away from, not to say he wanted you to anyway.

Number of words: 1.9k

Find your way around!

Hi, thank you so much for showing interest in my works. I’ve already surpassed 500 likes! Also, I decided to write smut instead of fluff this time. I hope it turned out okay, enjoy!

There are a million ways your day could have gone, but somehow out of all those ways, it ended with you standing outside your roommate's door with his cum stained underwear in the palm of your hand.

You're probably wondering what the fuck, right?

Yeah, I know me too, so let's take it from the tippy top,

shall we?

Ahem!

Before the incident…

You had gotten home a bit earlier than usual it was a slow day at the sandwich shop you worked at, and your manager let you take an early leave.

Normally you would have stayed the entire shift, but then you remembered you had some chores to get done, so you took him up on his offer.

After walking the short distance to your shared apartment, you unlocked the door and immediately hung up your coat, and took your shoes off.

You decided to go ahead and get started with the laundry first so you could relax a bit while the clothes were washing. After gathering up all your items, you headed towards your roommate's door. It wasn't unusual that you'd wash his clothes as well. You both took turns with things like laundry, washing dishes, and cleaning up.

It was just an unspoken thing you and him started when you first moved in together.

Carrying the clothes basket on your hip, you knocked softly on his door, looking up confused as you heard a tiny creak and saw the door swinging open.

You could have sworn the door was closed.

However

It wasn't

And you definitely were not expecting to see what you saw.

-

Heeseung, your roommate, took this perfect opportunity to relieve himself of some pent-up frustration, and what better way to do that than by giving himself a much-needed orgasm? He'd been too busy with his studies and a part-time job that he didn't have much time to get around like he used to, but finally, he had some free time, and luckily, you were at work for another two hours, so he had the apartment all to himself.

At first, he hated the idea of sharing an apartment cause. Obviously, he wanted to be able to do whatever he wanted freely without having to consider anyone else, but that all quickly went out the window when he saw you.

He remembered the day you moved in with him like it was yesterday. It was nearly ninety degrees outside, and you were wearing the shortest of shorts and a white top that was see-through, and since you were sweating while struggling to move all your stuff in, the thin material clung to your body, showing every last dip and curve which left nothing to his wild imagination.

Of course, being the gentleman he is, he helped you with your boxes, and he also shamelessly eyed you up and down the whole time.

It was probably all in his head, but every time you went to grab more stuff from the trunk of your car, it was as if you were intentionally sticking your ass out just for him.

And god, just the thought of you could have him riled up in seconds, but in his defense, he hadn't had any in months.

As soon as he found out it was you he'd be sharing a living space with, he was happy, to say the least, because who wouldn't want to share an apartment with the hottest girl to walk the earth? To him, anyways.

Since that day, not a second went by, where he didn't think about how cute you looked in your pajama set or how amazing you looked in the morning and especially right before work when you tied your hair in a messy bun. That look was definitely his favorite.

When he caught a glimpse of you leaving for work today, it was impossible for him to contain all the lewd thoughts he had about you, the things he would give to have your soft tiny hands around his cock and to feel your sweet pussy sucking him into your wet walls.

And right now was no different as he stripped himself down to nothing but his grey boxers and relaxed in his gaming chair, palming over his tent that had formed just from thinking of you.

Before he met you, he'd pull up some random adult videos on his computer, but since he laid eyes on you, literally no girl had his interest, and with his vivid imagination, it didn't take long for him to fantasize about you being the one palming him over his underwear right now.

He teasingly rubbed his tip through the thin material, and a wet patch had already soiled the front of the fabric. From the first touch, he knew he wasn't going to last long. He impatiently pulled his hard dick out from the little hole in front of his boxers and stroked himself up and down slowly.

"Shit, that feels so good," he groaned at the contact, resting his head on his chair.

He focused on the tip with his left hand and used the other to massage his entire shaft twisting his wrist every now and then, abdomen tensing from the overwhelming stimulation.

He heard a quiet noise in the distance, but he paid no mind to it. You weren't coming home for hours, so he figured it was just something outside and continued to stroke his hard thick length.

But when he heard a loud gasp and the sound of something hitting the floor, that's when he stopped and opened his eyes to be met with a very wide-eyed you standing in his doorway.

You were too shocked to even move, let alone speak. How could you when you just caught your roommate jerking off with his door open? And on top of that, you kinda liked what you saw even though it was so wrong to think like that.

But now that your brain had fully registered just how wrong it was to watch him masturbating, you quickly covered your eyes, but only after staring for nearly a whole minute.

"I-I'm sorry I-I was just doing some laundry a-and you know uhh, never mind, I'll just come back later!" you laughed in the most awkward way possible, but before you could turn on your heels and leave him to his business. He spoke to you and stopped you right in your tracks.

"Or you could stay," He chuckled. "and isn't it a little bit too late for that? I mean, you've already seen everything," he looked down at his lap, grunting softly when he took his hard cock in his hand once again, pumping it very, very slowly.

Yeah, sure, it was too fucking late, but that didn't mean you had to stand there and watch that extremely beautiful sight any longer.

You felt like a creep.

But how the fuck was he so unfazed by you catching him in such a compromising position?

Why wasn't he yelling at you to get out?

And more importantly, why was he smirking when he saw you?

Truth be told, he really didn't mind you watching him get himself off. If anything, he was flattered, besides it's not like you were spying, so why not give you a little show to add even more excitement to his current situation.

"You must have liked what you saw, no? because it sure took you long enough to cover your eyes" he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, and there's no denying his dick got impossibly hard ever since you walked in. You'd think it would have been the opposite, but no, it wasn't. He was enjoying every last second of this.

Of course, you liked what you saw. How could you not drool at the sight of your very hot sexy beautiful handsome stunning gorgeous roommate pleasuring himself?

Impossible.

Still, you lied.

"N-no," you stuttered out.

"Oh? Well, maybe you should look again just to be sure, yeah?" he cocked his head to the side with a teasing smile on his face running his fingers along his shaft.

You were ashamed of how fast you dropped your hands from covering your eyes, but he was offering, so you couldn't say no, could you? I mean, maybe, but wouldn't that be rude?

Since you weren't a rude person, you accepted his suggestion, And it was just as surprising as the first time. You knew he was big cause you may or may not have eyed his print one too many times when he casually walked around in grey sweats, but to see it on full display like this was absolutely breathtaking.

He put one hand behind his head, smirking while he watched your eyes become darker with lust the longer you stared. "So? Is it still a no?"

What kind of fucking question is that? It was never a no, to begin with, and you were pretty sure he knew that. Any woman or man would be crazy not to appreciate such a beautiful cock.

"Y-yeah, I mean, no," You stammered over your words, clearly not able to coherently respond because you were too focused on what he was doing to himself. He just smiled at the effect has was having on you. "I like it," you clarified for him. He nearly let out a moan when the words breathlessly fell from your lips. His cock involuntarily twitched in his palm at the sound of your shy tone.

"Yeah?" He asked and added just a little bit of urgency to the movement of his hand. He was desperately trying to hold off cause there was no way he was going to put on a short show, not when he had such a beautiful audience.

You nodded and discreetly rubbed your thighs together from the almost painful throbbing between them.

"Stay" he ran his thumb over his slit spreading the precum on his shaft while watching every last expression you made. "Watch me cum for you," he said with a shaky breath.

You accidentally moaned, and as fast as your hands flew to your mouth, it was far too late to cover it up. He had already heard it loud and clear.

"Fuck y/n," he moaned, and he literally never moaned, but something about the way you were watching him had him so riled up that he was doing things he'd never do, such as using his free hand to flick over his hardened nipples. "You like watching your roommate touch himself? He teased. "Hmm?" Does this get you off?" He grunted and fastened his pace, quickly getting impatient, but he couldn't control himself when it came to you.

You could only watch in silence save the sticky sounds of his palm colliding with his wet base and breathy moans.

His toes curled into the carpet beneath his feet, Head falling back, and his eyes rolling in the back of his head. "Oh god, fuck, y/n, you're gonna make me fucking cum” he moaned out, and it was the hottest thing ever to hear him moaning your name so breathless and whiny.

This time you didn't even try to hold back your whimpers and moans. You couldn't help but imagine how good he'd feel inside of you.

A gush of wetness stained your panties at the thought, but you couldn't care less; besides, you were doing the laundry later anyway.

Your eyes were glued to him, tightly gripping his cock while he jerked himself off, faster and faster, quickly nearing his end. Unfiltered moans slipped past his lips as the first rope of hot cum spilled from his red tip. "Y/n, look at me, please look at me," his voice sounded so whiny and desperate. He hunched forward as more long strings of cum stained his carpet chair and boxers, but he couldn't be bothered with that right now.

You locked eyes with him fulfilling his request with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He looked even sexier, like this all sweaty chest heaving up and down and his face twisted in nothing but pure pleasure.

"Shit, that felt so fucking good" he let out a breathy chuckle, eyes still very much hazy and filled with lust while he rubbed out the rest of his high.

He dipped his two middle fingers in the puddle of cum on his stomach and held them to his mouth, using the tip of his tongue to clean his digits of his release, something else he had never done before, but he was so glad that he did when he saw how you bit your lip in the most suggestive manner ever and rubbed your thighs together.

He leaned back, catching his breath. Your eyes raked over his Adam's apple as he gulped.

A few beats of silence passed, before he stood up, letting his underwear fall at his ankles, He stepped out of them and made his way over to you.

You used every ounce of strength not to look down, but you failed so miserably.

"Sorry to keep you from your laundry," he whispered, and you felt his warm heavy breath fan across your face making you shiver as he handed you his underwear with a smirk on his face while purposely brushing his hand against yours.

You stood in place, frozen outside of his room. Even after he shut his door, you still didn't move one inch.

So yeah, that's basically the story of how you ended up with your roommate's cum stained underwear in your hand.

Pretty cool, right?

Well, one thing you knew for sure was after that, you were going to be doing something, but it definitely wasn't going to be the laundry.

[wandagcre]

my pumpkin | sam carpenter 🔞

(Sam Carpenter x AFAB ! reader)

Sam wants to try something new with you.

WARNING: smut, dark dom! ghostface! sam, dark sub!reader (they're both crazy), can be interpreted as intersex!sam or cumming strap-on sam, mentions of blood and murder, knife play, possessiveness, breeding kink, slight degradation & humiliation, aftercare +18 / men & minors dni.

Words: 5.5k | [ AO3 ]

In the middle of your night routine, you hear a thud somewhere in the apartment. Deciding to investigate, you left your glass of water in the kitchen. Like on autopilot, your feet already dragged you to approach towards the living room, and your gut was right: there was a tall figure that had caught your attention and a smile made its way to your lips with ease.

There stood Sam, in your unlit living room, her dark thick robe pooling by her combat boots and she was taking off the bloody Ghostface mask. Her hair was haphazardly tied up and she's left with her wifebeater tank top and dark sweatpants — bronze skin currently dripping with sweat. Sam had a blank expression on, maybe a hint of bloodlust glint that lingered on her face, which turned you on — imagining how it must've been so good to see her in the act, especially this one.

You spot a few bruises and cuts on her upper body. You already expected this, walking away for a second to retrieve the first-aid kit and mentally taking note to ice some of her bruises later. 

Sam's hazel eyes lit up soon as she met yours, arms opening for a hug.

"Love. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?"

"You too, Sammy." You affectionately murmur and nestled deeper in the embrace and Sam tightens her grip in return. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

There you were with Sam in the small bathroom in your shared apartment. She sat quietly by the closed toilet, her arm brought up to you. Moments like this were your favorite, having to tend her cuts and bruises. There was something about Sam appearing as both vulnerable and vicious post-murder during the ungodly hours.

"Wanna tell me how it went?" You start as you wipe the remaining blood on her skin then you dab the cotton with alcohol feather light. The curiosity was eating you. 

In return, Sam smiles at how your eyes twinkled as you asked, she pulls away slightly, her hold on you moving to your waist to pull you closer in between her legs. The faint smell of peaches and cigarettes immediately filled your senses.

She sighed, "He was all talk. Pissed me off a bit with that foul mouth he got running whenever he saw a woman..." Sam’s grip by your soft waist tightens at some thought, "It made me think of how rude and disgusting he must have been to you, princess. And that angers me so much."

"But you took care of it, I know you did good." you respond with much appreciation in your tone, as if the conversation that had transpired was casually about the weather. Your hands find their way on top of Sam’s hair, your thumb gently caressing through them.

The corner of Sam’s eyes crinkled. "Anything for my baby. He squirmed like a useless pig." 

The cold room was filled with laughter. It was easy to say that the two of you were truly match made in heaven. The person in question was your boss, who thought he was being sly with his provocative comments and uncomfortable staring at you while at work. He was insufferable to say at least. Even the last interaction you had with him was you trying to play along with one of his nauseous comments because God knows given your position, he’ll always have his way.

Sadly for him, he doesn’t even know it'll be his last day to live. 

Because you didn't even have to tell Sam because she was there to witness, right outside your workplace to pick you up and his sleazy gestures unfolded in front of your waiting girlfriend. Your boss just had to outwardly say that ‘he can’t get enough of your good and shapely presence’ within Sam’s earshot.

Now? He's nothing but a fresh butchered meat fed to a bloodlust Loomis.

You left your girlfriend in the bathroom for some privacy. For a few minutes, you heard water running.  To your surprise however, as you plop down to your shared bed, Sam was across you and there was a pensive look on her face as she leans by the door frame. Her hair remains to be haphazardly tied on, her hands a bit wet.

“I wanna try something on you, baby.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”

“This.” 

Sam retrieves a familiar dagger from her back – it was the one you managed to get your hands on and gave it to her as a birthday present. Back then, you didn’t know yet whether the Ghostface version of her had existed yet; but you did this anyway after she opened up about her previous encounters given by the reputation that precedes her, to provide her with some sort of an easy to carry and hide of a self-defence weapon. With her words and the dagger on her hand, you were confused to say at least.

“I need you to elaborate, Sam.” you ask, to which Sam bit her lip and sauntered towards you. 

"I’m going to mark you with it. Nothing too deep and crazy, trust me. And you can also say no! I promise I won’t be mad. It’s only a thought, baby.”

“Alright.” You exhale, sitting with crossed legs, looking up to her and see Sam visibly becoming relaxed. “But can I ask why you want to do it? I genuinely just want to know your reason behind it. And how…exactly?”

Sam’s eyes softened as her eyes were pierced onto yours, "It’s basically just carving a small thing to your body. I… I want to mark you in a way that’s personal and close to who I am. Also, I want to remember us – this being my first kill for you.”

You understand now, pulling Sam by her thighs who still stood tall in front of you for a hug. The scent of peaches and cigarettes fill your nose once again, it was oddly addicting and comforting. It was distinctively very Sam.

"So, it's about owning me... in your terms?"

“Yes.” she whispered.

You decide to lighten up the mood, “And you’re sure this is your first kill for me? Not my old friend from my hometown?”

Sam frowned, almost not getting get your joke – but soon she heartily chuckles as the realization dawns upon her. There was another case you suspected, an old friend whom Sam felt very territorial over you when you told her that they confessed when you returned home. Suspiciously, they disappeared, but you find out a year later that they only travelled on a spontaneous trip.

“No. But... maybe I almost wanted to.”

You bite your bottom lip and Sam nudges you with her finger by your shoulder, motioning for you to make space for her in the bed. Now she joins you beneath the sheets, standing on her knees, looking down as she’s still towering over you.

“That’s hot.” 

Sam shakes her head and closes the distance between you two, “Only you would say that…” She holds the dagger on her dominant hand, the sharp metal pointed away from you.

The cold night is coming to a close, barely feels like one, as the room starts to become heated. Especially with your girlfriend’s eyes unashamedly trailing over your body, like you were a delicious prey served as a five-star meal just for her.

“And that’s exactly why you love me.” You say with ease, lips now ghosting near hers, feeling her ragged breath increasing. 

"Exactly, baby. No one compares.” 

Sam tucked a stray hair behind your ear. Your face heats up at the gesture. You didn't feel any different around her, like any other day around her you remained to feel safe. Secured. Not even her retelling stories of her vivid killings can even change that. Perhaps, you were as sick as her, but you couldn’t give a single fuck about it.

With an exhale, you give her the green light. 

"Okay baby. I trust you."

A wolfish grin appeared on her lips, changing so quickly like a mere switch. With that sight, a shot of arousal started to stir on your stomach.

"Remember your colors, baby. Say red and we’ll stop immediately. How do you feel right now?" 

The dagger made its presence known as Sam dragged the pointed end on your bare right thigh with slight pressure startled you – not enough to draw blood – yet it was sharp and daunting, completely contradicting the gentleness in her tone. 

"G-green," you stuttered out. 

“Good girl.” Sam says and tilts your chin up using the dagger. “Now strip for me.”

Your breath hitches once again. The lust is heightened as you feel Sam’s piercing eyes on you, watching you wiggle off your skimpy shorts first, eyes following and so attentive to the growing damp spot on your underwear. Her dagger remained on your chin until it was time for you to strip out of her old loose shirt that you chose to wear earlier and Sam audibly groaned when she found out that you weren’t wearing any bra at all, she zones out in the sight. You feel her scoot on the sheets closer to you – to say that she was a big fan of your tits would be an understatement.

“Fucking irresistible,” Sam lets out a groan and starts to busy herself, already moved onto a different agenda – mouth and teeth getting involved as she marks and sucks all over your tits, your skin becoming thoroughly wet and littered with hickeys. For a few minutes she stayed on worshipping your upper body. While it turned you on, the ache in your cunt was also becoming an issue, making you squirm. “That’s already an appetizer and dessert for me, shit, you’re just so good…” 

Now her thighs have your almost naked body trapped,  Sam remains hovering above you as you laid down. You get a closer look of her taut muscles flexing through the wifebeater she wears as she moves, a few scars coming to light on her body. You realize that she’s about to take you while in her post-murder outfit, making you squirm your legs once again trying to find ease in your arousal. She’s still sweaty and sticky but you honestly can’t care any less. Not when you have her sculpted body ready to pounce on you at any moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to shower first?” You joke and her expression didn’t falter.

Sam only smirked. “We were going to change the sheets, anyway. I planned on having you either way for tonight.” Her hot breath was so close, tickling your exposed skin.

Your body felt warmer, opposed to her cold free hand that slightly startled you as she roughly palmed a cupful of your tits, giving it another good squeeze. 

“Fuck…” you moan, her moves to affect you were rapidly increasing.

Sam teased again by her slow hands going for a sharp tug on your nipple. “We’re getting into it, princess.” 

She lowered herself and finally met your lips for a kiss, the slow and softness of a start quickly dissipated as she grew hungry for more. Still kissing you, both hands trying to cup your face, occasionally darting her tongue on your mouth. Sam moved fast and rough, as though she was quenching her thirst and your lips were the only water left for her. You wouldn’t be surprised if your lips actually bruised. You were starting to feel breathless and lightheaded, trying to match her pace and she pulled away to tug on your bottom lip. She swiped it with her tongue for good measure. You don’t feel her close anymore and yet you still tried to chase her lips again, only to find out that she looked smug as soon as you opened your eyes.

“Just for me.” Sam murmurs to no one.

You dazedly acknowledge her, “Yes, only yours.”

“God, If you only know how you endlessly drive me mad...”

Sam had her palm pressed on the mattress, resting on the side of your head. You meet her halfway by having your elbows propped up, carrying your upper body’s weight. Yet, you don’t know how long it’ll last – not with Sam’s mouth leaving open mouthed kisses on your body; from your cheek, affectionate and soft, to your neck where her nose tickled you and mouth that met where your jugular vein rests – lingering to suck and bite. You don’t even try to conceal your moans to your girlfriend’s delight, the sounds loud enough to make her eager as ever. Your eyes roll on the back of your head, immediately lost to the sensation. With the tip of the knife pressed on your plush stomach all at once and scratching you lightly, though lifted quickly, it made your stomach twitch and you whimper.

You feel unbearably soaked, clearly wanting for more. Completely certain that you're damp enough for your Sam to smell your arousal. Your girlfriend smirks in confirmation and when she moves her hip low enough for yours to meet. When you pushed your core closer against your girlfriend's, Sam already has your ass cupped, squeezing your flesh, and it only made you grind hard enough to feel something hard — 

Oh. 

You feel her.

The walls of your cunt started to rapidly clench on nothing. Sam detaches her hips away from you after a little teaser and your fingers make their way to her hair, then caressing on Sam's nape and your girlfriend arches her neck, groaning in response. She moves lower, wanting to give you wet kisses placed on the soft rolls of your stomach which slightly tickled you in the process. You were about to protest, beyond needy, but it seems that Sam has already read your mind.

"Here it comes." 

You take a deep breath and feel the sharp knife moving in ragged curves as Sam draws with it. She pushes it down a few millimeters more on your stomach. You groan in each line she makes, it stings a little as she continues marking.

"Wanna know what I marked, princess?" Sam regains your attention by tilting your chin up to look at her using the knife, you open your eyes, seeing the metal now painted with red specks of blood.

"Y-Yes.”

"It's the first letter of my name. So every time you take a look in the mirror naked, you'll always be reminded that you're nobody else's but mine."

"Oh fu- fuck, fuck!" you whimper, although now you feel turned on more than anything. 

The knife resumes in contact with your freshly marked area again, Sam drags it as if she's tracing it for the second time on your skin. your eyes are screwed shut — you can't explain the sensation, walking in the line between pain and pleasure. It stings yet it's so addicting. You think that a huge chunk of it was maybe because it was Sam doing it with her honeyed voice and dark tunnel gaze onto you.

"You're doing so good, baby." She praises you, voice deeper than ever.

Sam crawls down lower onto you and you try your hardest to keep your eyes open, curious of her next move. The spot now feels wet as you feel your girlfriend licking your fresh wound and you let out a strangled moan in response.

“Oh god!”

When you made eye contact with your girlfriend, her eyes were heavy lidded more than ever. It’s evident even in the room that’s barely lit, only the lamp on, and you see her wet lips tugged in a smirk. The color red is slightly evident from having to sucked off the trail of blood that trickled out of your fresh wound.

Sam meant it when she said that it'll leave a scar enough for you to see even right after this session. In theory, you should be terrified of how precise your girlfriend is with the weapon, but you aren't at all. You are thrilled in reality, as you know that Sam is using a special dagger to brand you, different amongst the one she uses to kill her victims; this one was shorter and unused, not actually meant to kill. For you and only you.

After all, who doesn't like being proved to be her princess and a special exception?

The aftermath of the knife's stinging hasn't left just yet. As you reel into the sensation, you feel the mattress dip and you see Sam adjusting.

“Sit up for me.” Sam orders and you quickly scramble into position, legs folded, facing your girlfriend. “Color?”

“Still green.” you whisper, eyes becoming watery. “Can you please touch me now?”

Sam doesn’t respond. Instead, there was the dagger, the side of it being dragged across your tits down to your pelvis. Your girlfriend had set your underwear aside. You close your eyes again to flutter out the teariness, then something plunges inside of your core. The object feels foreign against your spongy walls and it's coming in fast and intrusive. It makes you moan unadulteratedly loud, heat spreading all over your body. It was the most relief your cunt has received had felt this entire session; evident in the way your wetness seeped more, yet you’re becoming slightly embarrassed of the sloshing sounds that fills the room as the thing continues to move in and out of your flesh. 

"I wish I had recorded this, princess. Look at you taking it all in..." Sam murmurs huskily and her words feel hot on your body.

“Record?” 

Your girlfriend tilts her head, “Maybe next time,” She winks at you.

You’re a putty mess under her touch. Sam finds utmost joy seeing you unravelling into this form, unable to form coherent sentences as she has her way with you. You meet her entranced look – mouth quirked up and eyes more lust filled. As your eyes trail lower over Sam, you notice that your girlfriend’s dominant hand has the dagger’s flat base carefully held – the handle being plunged in and out of your pussy. The bed creaks more.

"Your pussy is so fucking greedy, taking my dagger so good... I can feel you pulsating in it. Maybe I'm gonna fuck you right after then cum inside of you, as a reward, huh?" she changes the angle of the dagger’s handle, pushing deeper and faster into you and you feel yourself leak even more, grasping on her hair. 

"Oh yes! yes! A-anything you want, S-Sam!"

"Knew you'd agree. My princess who's a whiny slut for me," Sam continues her ministrations, hand remaining precise, and you feel her free arm snake around your soft waist, as if she's trapping you. "you're making a mess in the bed, honey. Are you not embarrassed?"

You feel a twinge of embarrassment, realizing you were lost on riding your girlfriend’s dagger alone while she was simply thrusting the dagger’s handle in and out of you, all with ease, looking like a desperate whore while dripping and making a mess on Sam’s hand at the same time as your pussy overflowed with wetness. 

"N-No, because I love being a slut for you," you whisper truthfully, now growing desperate to chase orgasm. "I'm so so close,"

“For me only.” Sam growls in response, making her thrust it more forcefully as if she was actually stabbing. 

You let out a throaty moan and your hands moving so frenzied to alleviate the release by clawing all over Sam's back – anywhere you can reach and balance upon. Sam deliciously grunts at the action.

Like a cold bucket poured down on your then burning body, Sam dislodged the handle completely from your desperately soaked cunt. Now you’re back to clenching onto nothing, the ache between your legs becoming a real challenge for you to hold yourself for much longer.

"No, no, no! Fuck, I was about to cum, Sam..." you complain, feeling sensitive, tears running on your cheeks.

Sam comforts you, cupping your cheeks and wiping the tears away with her thumb. 

"Patience, baby." your girlfriend hushes you and you find her looking completely lost as you are, giving you comfort. She had her free hand sprawled on your lower stomach. "Suck this for me first. Then I'll let you do whatever, baby."

Sam then raises the knife that was glistening off your own wetness from earlier, making your cheeks heat up. Goodness, it’s coated ridiculously with a copious amount of wetness... which you're supposed to suck. Not that you were new to this – sucking something off for Sam – but the thought still makes you a tad shy.

You’re starting to think Sam enjoys humiliating you this much.

"All of it. C'mon, baby, get to work so we can finish you sooner." 

It's affecting Sam so much based on her raspier voice now. You comply with her order, making sure to put on a show; your free hand gripping on her shoulder and lips now on the handle of the knife, sucking all of your wetness that once coated it. You made sure to look directly at Sam's heavy lidded eyes, who was now completely hazy and her mouth open to your delight. You wanted her to lose her mind as much as you did, making sure that your cheeks were hollowed and moaning along the action, even making your tongue twirl around it. Your girlfriend exhales loudly at the sight you presented her.

“Fuck. You’re teasing me back, princess?” Sam tilts her head, questioning you. She discards the dagger, object clanking, and now somewhere on the floor. 

You were more than happy to see that it got onto her. “Just putting on a show for you…”

Sam has enough, having a taste of your arousal as she grabs you for a bruising kiss. She seems to savor it as her tongue gets involved, as though she’s eager to taste her favorite flavor. "My little slut. Still green?"

"Yes."

"Does it hurt?" Sam traces lightly the now marked letter S wound that resides on your lower stomach.

"No," Your girlfriend smiles at your response and you close your eyes. The ache between your legs makes itself known as you squirm over Sam’s touch. You bit your lower lip in frustration. "Want you inside of me now, please, Sammy."

“Okay. I’m going to make you choose,” She looks you straight in the eye, “Do you want to lay down or to ride me?”

A moan already escaped your throat, “W-what would you like?”

“Don’t answer me with a question, baby. I am asking you.” Her voice is deep and stern, waiting for you.

You look at her still completely dressed – unlike you, all bare for her. You start to feel a little conscious so you decide to immediately change that up.

“Want to undress you and ride you.”

You were more than ecstatic, seeing Sam nod in agreement – you absolutely waste no time in removing her wifebeater tank top, sweatpants, and boxers immediately, appreciating all of Sam’s muscular and sweaty glory. It doesn’t help that she’s got a few specks of blood still somewhere on her body, the eroticism of it all is not lost on you. Her tits were hypnotizing and to see it paired with her hard on, makes you lick your lips in anticipation. You start to understand more why your girlfriend loves body worshipping so much, because you feel just the same as her.

Sam was amused at your dazed expression, so lost that she has to snap you to reality by pressing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Ride me now, pretty girl.” She rasps out and you quickly get on Sam’s lap. Her length is pressed against your stomach, making your breath ragged and she isn’t even inside you yet.

You align yourself onto Sam, who glides her cock first into your wet folds. Your hands were on a deathly grip, squeezing over your girlfriend’s broad shoulder, and Sam is becoming more unrestrained with you. She huffs, snakes her arm by your waist then to your hips – continuing her motions until she is satisfied with how your wetness thoroughly coated her cock. 

“Fuck, I’m going in now, baby…” Sam’s hazel eyes peer over you, searching for any sign of discomfort. She was only met with your lust filled eyes and opened mouth, easily one of her favorite sights when it comes to you. The tip teases your clit making you moan and finally, she pushes inside of you, making you both groan at the sensation. She's big and girthy, even if it’s only half of her cock that was fully in, and your walls were still adjusting to accommodate all of her. Sam understood this, hence her careful movements, afraid of hurting you by accident. 

“Tell me whenever you’re ready, princess.”

You profusely nod your head in appreciation, “Y-yes, shit, give me a minute.”

As your walls were processing her length, Sam soaks in the feeling of being inside of you. It was so warm and comfortable; both of your single nerves felt like it was throbbing and clenching, and by God, the fucking clenching — you were gripping her cock in a way that felt delicious and so par with her possessiveness — the entirety of you, soul and body, are no one’s but hers. It was a feeling that Sam would never get tired of. 

You’re now fully sinked into Sam’s entire length, eyes getting teary in pleasure.

“You can move now,” 

Sam presses a kiss on your cheek and doesn’t waste a minute to move; Both weights being unminded given the position, the bed creaks louder than ever as you ride her. Your pussy is sopping, feeling soaked as a waterfall. In comparison to your throat, it feels dry with all the screaming you’ve done for Sam, already anticipating that you'll sound hoarse later. Maybe you won’t even have a voice to speak at all.

For a split second you think about the complaints you'd get the next day.

But being sunk deep in your girlfriend's cock, the thought vanishes quickly and you’re filled with so much desperation, hips rolling along with Sam's movements — so fucking close. The burning feeling of the cock against your walls soon dissipated, evident with the faster pace, the skin to skin slapping vibrates throughout the bedroom, your sheets are definitely mixed with wetness and stickiness.

One of Sam's hands was steadying you by holding on your soft and plush sides, the other kneading roughly on your tits. When you look at Sam, you see her eyes moving down and up in appreciation, drinking in your sight. you only moan louder as the sensations in tandem were driving you dripping and insane.

"Gonna fill you to the brim and paint your walls white," Sam’s promise vibrates delectably against your neck, the skin to skin slapping resonates louder than ever and she was pulling half and pushing in the whole of her cock in a rigorous motion. You feel helpless and reduced to a piece of dumb moanings.

"Look at you now, baby. fuck I’m gonna breed you. Not a single drop is going to drip out of this pretty pussy. I bet you'll like that, huh?"

"Y-yes, yes, yes!" 

"With the sounds you're making alone, shit, ‘m gonna cum. You're driving me mad, baby,"

Sam’s fingertips were hard and rough in circle motions against your engorged clit. It was enough to drive you to be equally mad as her, you already know that you’ll be driven over the edge. She indeed filled you to the brim, your pussy welcoming all of her now. The knot in your lower stomach finally untangles – which was much deserved – you had cum hard with Sam’s relentless thrusts, and the relief immediately washed over your body. Now you're heaving on your girlfriend’s shoulder, trying to catch your breath, yet she hasn't stopped her actions still. With a few more thrusts and grunts, you feel your girlfriend finally shoot ropes of warm cum inside of you.

"Don't move just yet." Sam moans against your neck, but it's more of a command. you still feel your pussy pulsating like crazy from your high, thinking that Sam is only doing it to ride it out, squeezing all of the cum that both of you have to release. To your surprise, she only picked up the pace and started to thrust her cock onto your pussy once again. 

"F-fuck, fuck, Sam! I'm still sensitive!" You try to slightly push her away by the shoulder.

Sam won't budge, knowing you'd say your safe word if it were the case.

"Shh. I know you can do more, princess,”

Your eyes were screwed shut and your neck thrown back, lost and savoring the pleasure. You feel how Sam's completely using your body for her pleasure, as she pulls almost her entire length out, tip of her cock still in, only to sink all of her suddenly in a fast manner. Your pussy walls were clenching, afraid that you’ll actually grow another type of heartbeat, as the pressure flows deliciously into you. You seep more wetness in the process. With Sam’s unforgiving pace, you can’t even say that you didn’t like that, being responsible for such insane fueled lust, so you let her.

The cum inside of you from earlier was getting messy as it was starting to leak along with the damp of your wetness in the sheets. If Sam's goal was to actually break the bed, you fear that it'll come to fruition as your girlfriend only continues to move her cock in and out rougher and faster than ever.

"These fucking pretty tits… all for me," Sam says in stupor, licking her lips at your sweaty and red figure. She lets her thumb and forefinger roll and tug on your nipple, then meets your mouth open in pleasure to swallow all of your moans.

Your grip on her moves to her tangled hair, barely tied now, tightened and tugging on her scalp to her pleasure. Sam grunts as she meets your hips rolling, now messy and slowly becoming uncoordinated, and gives a final few thrusts. Soon again, a relief washes over you so soon and you feel so full and insanely warm — Sam had just cummed for the second time inside of you and you just released your high as well.

"I told you," Sam huffed out, lips smirking as she looked up at you. "That I was gonna fill you up like crazy. What do you say about me marking you more, with a heart beside my first name letter this time?"

The feeling of the dagger both it’s sharpness and how she plowed it inside of you flashed quickly and familiar, the sensation still fresh. Your pussy throbs at the thought.

"You're insatiable." Sam chuckles at your words, combing your sweaty mess of hair as you whine half-heartedly at the equally messy appearance of your girlfriend’s suggestion. "And so cheesy. Like, a heart? Seriously?"

Although Sam wasn't affected at the jab in the slightest. She raises an eyebrow instead.

She cups your ass closer to her pelvis, as if there remains to be a distance between the two of you. Your cunt couldn’t help it but pathetically clench around her.

"Says the one who won't get off my cock still." Sam cockily retorts at you as she feels you adjust.

"Touché."

You remain in that same position until Sam notices that you're startled as she brushed her thumb against the fresh S wound. 

She exhales and affectionately pats your plush thigh, "Let's get up before another round, princess. We have to clean that mark up, just in case."

You tighten the grip of your thighs now wrapped around her sweaty lower back refusing to get up.

"Don't wanna. I'm comfy in here." 

You make it a point by keeping yourself snug as she's still inside of you and you clench your walls once again on her cock. Every time you do the action, the mixed fluid inside of you gushes even more, making a squelching sound and you drip a little more not only at the sheets, but as well as Sam’s thighs. Sam moans at this, her neck arched as she reels onto the feeling.

"C'mon you little tease. Say, I'll lift you through it?"

You look at her eyes seriously, "you'll stay inside?"

"Yes, doofus."

From a distance, you hear the television. 

Man, 48, was found dead and stabbed twenty-six times, suspect remains unconfirmed but suggests the Ghostface’s brutal pattern….

“I guess no work for me tomorrow…?”

“And more time for me to ruin you. It’s totally a win-win.”

Sam laughs heartily at your joke and you find yourself joining along with her. You pay no mind, letting your girlfriend scoop you with ease as you make your way towards the sink and she takes care of you. It was safe to say it wouldn't be the last time that they'll be playing with the knife. 

(please practice safe-sex!)

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[lilystyles]

gingerbread at midnight.

part one of the sweetest thing series by @lilystyles

the sweetest thing masterlist & my main masterlist xxx

authors note did somebody say christmas fic szn??? if there is two things people know about me it is that i love christmas and i love harry styles. so here u go!

brief description during a chilly evening at the bakery, harry learns how to make gingerbread.

warnings! fluffy christmas baking including niall :) (4.3k words)

grumpy!roommate!journalist!H x sunshine!baker!roommate!reader

* * * * *

It was a snowy December evening and Harry finished work early for a change. Being a busy journalist who worked for one of the biggest media companies in the world, he never finished before the sun went down. Even before he’d been promoted to his high position now, and he was just some young fresh-faced Uni graduate assistant who rarely saw the light of day. Waking up early and finishing late. He was always running off much less sleep than your average person, and even when he was at home he was busily typing away on his laptop. But despite his strenuous hours and stressful workload, he loved his job a lot, and openly admitted he was a workaholic.

This was why he needed a roommate. He worried for his sweet girl while he was away during the evenings. 

At first, he couldn’t think of anything worse, he’d had roommates in Uni who literally made him want to pull his (gorgeous) hair out and swore to himself he’d never do anything like that again if he could avoid it. It wasn’t that his job didn’t pay well, in fact, he was very wealthy and he could’ve gotten a sitter for the days but it just didn’t seem practical to have a sitter every day for the rest of his life. And no, his sweet girl was not a partner to crawl into bed with during the evenings, or a child who needed his attention throughout the day. 

His sweet girl was his spotted Dalmatian named Peaches, who got lonely during the long nights he’d stay at the office. 

Y/n had been the perfect candidate for a roommate. Who he had met through a mutual friend Niall, they went to school together apparently and Niall worked with her now. He vouched that she was easy to live with. There had been a period of time when he had nowhere to go and Y/n let him live rent-free in her flat for a month until he could afford to get back on his feet. She was stupidly kind and generous, sometimes to a fault, but if you had the privilege of her friendship you were so lucky. When Niall explained to Harry what a good person she was Harry believed him. Niall had this great ability to see people’s true intentions, and when he looked at Y/n he saw a beacon of light coloured like spun gold.

Y/n worked for most of the week too, sometimes on weekends if they needed extra hands or she felt like going in, but her hours were flexible despite being a baker, which was unusual for her occupation. But she had a good group of workers who all loved their jobs even if it wasn’t exactly high-paying to work for her, which meant Y/n’s day-to-day life was pretty breezy. And during Harry’s hunt for roommates when Niall mentioned that this friend looking for an apartment with roommates happened to be a girl he was happy, because girls were usually clean and smelt good. Y/n very much smelt good and left a warm touch to the once cold large apartment. Quickly after she started living there, suddenly vases of flowers appeared everywhere, paintings were strung up on his grey walls, hand-knitted rugs found their way onto the couch, food was baking in his oven and Y/n’s contagious warmth filled every room. Harry had grown up with just his mum and sister and there was something he liked about having a feminine touch that made it feel homely. He liked how soft, caring, and gentle they were. Y/n was so sweet, whenever he had a bad day she made a tea and let him complain for however long he needed. And she and Peaches got on great, Y/n took her for long walks in the park near their flat and sometimes she even took Peaches into her work and the gorgeous pup would just sit in the front greeting customers.

The tires of Harry’s car rolled against the snow as he steadily drove through the busy middle of the city to the familiar route of Y/n’s bakery. She’d ran it for a couple of years now, having bought it fresh out of culinary school. It used to be a bookshop that was owned by a lady called Miss Green, now it was called ‘Sweets & Things’ and very successful with all the locals. Before they’d became roommates and he’d even known of her existence Harry remembers eating a particularly delicious danish pastry with blueberries in it, funny that a few years later his roommate made him fresh ones when he’d had a particularly rough day at work. 

During the Christmas season the little bakery picked up a lot more. Y/n found herself catering for lots more events starting from October and she didn’t know why but people seemed to need more sweets around this time of year. Halloween needed lots of cookies and sweets, but something about Christmas drove her sales right up. Maybe it was what got them through the bleak winter weather. And since Harry knew she’d been a bit stressed by it all lately, not that she would ever complain that wasn’t her way because she loved her job and was grateful to live out her dreams, he thought it might be nice to drop her some dinner since she’d been neglecting proper meals during the work week.

He picked up some takeaway from this little mexican place near his office, Niall had raved about it a few times now, he got an array of food from the menu and asked what they thought was best. Now he had three big bags of spicy smelling goodness heating up his backseats. He knew that Niall and Y/n would be eternally grateful and Harry wouldn’t mind eating with their company tonight. He forgot not everyone ate takeaway at their desk in the pitch black like he did.

His car pulled up out the front of Sweets & Things and he saw the golden bright lights were still on in the front area of the bakery, but no one was behind the counter manning for costumers. Snow littered the grass and concrete out the front, all the benches people sat at were caked in a thick layer of white and Harry shivered at the sight of outside. His office heaters were broken so he was actually always sweating, no matter the season. 

He parked his car lethargically and the sound of Fleetwood Mac cut off with the engine. He knew that the bakery stayed open until nine during the holiday season since Y/n had been working much later than normal and he’d asked about it, Harry checked his watch, and there was a little bit until they would shut down but it didn’t seem all that busy. And his friends deserved to eat after all.

He locked the car and walked along the path shivering and hugging the food to his body in attempt to warm himself up. He wiped his dress shoes against the welcome mat as he pushed the door with his broad shoulder, his dress shoes clicking on the tiles as he entered the bell above the door rang and he heard Y/n’s soft sweet laugh from behind the counter and footsteps. A warmth wrapped around his body and the smell of sweet baking and pastries filled his nose. 

The shelves with glass casing showed to be practically empty of sweets. This made him smile. Y/n always felt particulary chirpy when people liked her new creations of the week.

He felt his face start to warm up now and he sighed to himself.

“Hello! Welcome to Sweet & Things, what can I get y—” Y/n’s voice began in her usual script to customers stopping when she saw him, “Oh, Harry! What are you doing here?!” 

She rushed around the counter to come give him a cuddle in greeting. That was something about Y/n that took him a while to get used to, she was very physically affectionate. He opened his arms for her and held her happily. 

She looked cute as ever. Dressed in an apron that was covered in all sorts of powder and a little pink blouse that hugged her figure, paired with her favourite well-loved Levi’s, her shoes were these dark pink boots that made little clicks on the tiles. She looked beautiful, despite the fact she was running off less sleep than usual, she’d been here since the early morning and was probably very tired by now. Her hair was up in a messy bun that she’d thrown back with a pen and her face was bare of much makeup today. She was just in some lip balm that he could smell was strawberry-scented.

She pulled back from his warm arms and smiled up at him as if she hadn’t seen him weeks when in reality he’d driven her to work that morning. They carpooled and in the evening she’d either walk or catch the bus but usually Niall offered her a lift home.

“I just thought I’d bring you and Niel dinner, it’s from that Flaming Green Jose’s place he was talking about.” He said showing the bags of food. 

Y/n smiled this really big grin that Harry loved to make appear on her precious face. 

Y/n knew Harry was a bit of a grumpy old bastard sometimes, he tended to complain and not like new ideas, but he really was the sweetest thing underneath his stern face and scary resting stare. He was a sweetheart underneath it all. Even though he was so intimidating and tall Y/n always thought he was quite delicate looking. He looked pretty even under the harsh light of the front room, he was in one of his usual business outfits he wore to the office that made him look especially good. Today’s suit was all black and he had a big beige-brown coat over the top to keep him warm in the cold and this deep dark crimson scarf that Y/n had bought him when she noticed he had no scarfs, he said how much he liked her purple one day it was so soft he said and she decided then he needed one too. His long curls of brown hair were dusted in snow and messier now that it was the end of the day. She was sure it was from running his hands through it, he did that a lot when he was concentrating or thinking.

She rushed forward hugged him again with a big squeeze and kissed his cheek in thanks, he smelt so addicting and her head was the perfect height to smell his clothes that smelt like he always did. Like tobacco, vanilla, and his citrusy and woodsy shampoo. 

“Well aren’t you just a doll?” She said with a smile.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back at her looking down at her as a dimple formed in his normally stoic face. She pulled away from him hand still holding his bicep as she examined all the bags in his hands. Even though he dressed very formal always, he still had his touch on things, like his rings. Harry always wore dozens of amazing large rings, and nail polish too. Y/n had conviced him a few evenings ago to choose this nice lavender colour rather than his normal black. He said he would only if she would match him. So her nails were littered in that same colour and she was reminded of him whenever she looked at the chipping colour while she was kneading dough. And underneath those long shirts and pants were so many inked pieces of skin, that suited him more than you’d think. 

Y/n loved when, usually on Sundays which were his day off, he was sat at home in just some pyjamas that showed all the ink and she could ask him the stories behind each while they did laundry. She liked him in suits of course, there was something very attractive about it, but she liked him all cosy and casual too. He barely ever dressed that way, only at home. She felt lucky to see him that way.

She snapped herself out of her daydreams about his gorgeous hands and that cross tattoo she loved when her tummy rumbled hungrily at the smell of the delicious dinner.

“Niall! Harry brought us dinner!” She called out and Niall stepped out of the kitchen. He looked similar to Y/n, dressed casual too, because she didn’t think uniforms suited her place. The shorter man was in a pair of his own baggy jeans and this brown knitted jumper and a pair of ratty old sneakers. His bleach blonde hair was in messy spikes and he had a pair of glasses on today instead of contacts.

“Haz, is that Flaming Green Jose’s?” Niall asked instantly without even greeting him properly as he walked over to sniff and grab at the bags.

Harry nodded lifting the bags in show, the green plastic was printed in the familiar taco on fire logo that proved it was in fact Flaming Green Jose’s.

Niall practically drooled and looked up at him eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. 

“I could kiss you, mate!” He said, his Irish accent dancing off his tongue.

Harry grimanced at him and handed over the bags. “Please don’t. Just take the tacos.”

Y/n giggled by his side squeezing his arm in her usual way when he said something that made her laugh. 

Niall and Harry quickly began to set up the containers of different Mexican dishes while Y/n grabbed some cutlery, cups, and cold water for them all to enjoy their late dinner. The bakery had a few tables for people to sit and enjoy snacks at, and only for one portion of the day did they serve hot drinks, Niall was also a trained barista, which was perfect because she thought coffee suited a lot of her sweets. 

The three of them set up their food in one of the booths that was a cherry red leather colour. The snow was falling heavily outside now against the windows and it had started to quiet down out there. Not as many shoppers or people finishing work were wandering around outside as usual. The storm was keeping people, hopefully, rugged up and warm inside.

Y/n dreamily looked outside as she turned the big overhead lights off and switched on just the fairy lights she had strung up for Christmas spirit. They were a nice soft golden orange glow for them to eat. 

The three friends enjoyed their dinner quietly as the radio hummed some old jazz Christmas songs, they were all huddled together really close and Y/n leaned into Harry sleepily which he didn’t mind at all. The bakery was warm but Y/n felt chilly now that she was sweating away in the kitchen. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder to help warm her as they lazily chewed down their food. Even though he’d stripped himself of his massive coat and scarf he was still rather warm. 

Niall was right it was quite good food and a family-run business which was always nice to support. Y/n knew how it hard was to be a little business in the busy city of London.

The three chatted about nothing particularly worth noting, just talking about normal Harry, Y/n, and Niall things and enjoying the food. Harry was very hungry so he’d barely spoken a word just chewing lazily beside Y/n. When all the food was gone and they all felt sufficiently full Y/n kissed Harry’s cheek once more. 

“Thanks again for dinner, H.” She said softly eyes drooping, now that’d she been fed she was getting a bit sleepy.

He smiled, a big one for Harry, he was almost showing teeth. 

“I know how hard y’guys have been workin’, just wanted to help in some way.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t too much of a big deal but the fact he’d thought of them when he’d gotten the night off was sweet, he was so busy and he chose to spend some free time helping friends. That hardly matched his scary persona.

This made Y/n’s heart swell and she spoke softly. “Thanks, Haz.”

“Yeah mate, you’re the best.” Chimed Niall wiping his face with a napkin. Niall had devoured his food contently. 

Their little dinner together was interrupted by the door swinging open, the bell ringing, and a couple of two walked in. 

Y/n stood up, moving from the warmth of Harry. 

“Hi! How can I help you?” She said plastering a smile on her face, walking over and tying the back of her apron back on.

The couple ordered a few Christmas cookies decorated like pieces of art and some cream horns that Y/n had made that morning. Y/n handed them their bags took their change and waved goodbye. 

“Have a good night!” She chirped to them.

They smiled and waved. “You too, Y/n!”

Y/n came back over and sat down again, looking over to Niall tucking her knees up to her chest. “Is it gingerbread time then, Ni?”

Niall nodded throwing his head back with a sigh. 

Gingerbread could be quite tedious. Especially the way Y/n decorated them. She really made them all individual pieces of art just for people to eat them. Which was beautiful, but also very time consuming.

Harry looked over, “I thought gingerbread was quite easy, Y/n makes it so quickly.”

Niall scoffed. “That’s because Y/n’s a machine. But even she can’t do this many cookies alone.”

Harry looked over at the tired pair of bakers and down at his hands. He tried to think of the last time he’d made gingerbread. Must have been with his sister Gemma when they were kids visiting their grandparents. But he thought if he could get an interview with James Hadden (a man who notoriously never answered questions to the media) then he could bake some cookies. How hard could it be? 

“Let me help then. Many hands make light work.”

Y/n blinked. “You hate Christmas,” she stated.

He looked over at her. “But I like your Christmas cookies.”

Y/n decided not to fight him on it. “Alright. Niall find him an apron I’ll start setting up.”

Y/n began getting out all the ingredients they’d be needing this way they could each make a batch to save time. She grabbed flour pouring enough into three bowls for each batch, some unsalted butter, brown sugar from the cupboard, some eggs from the fridge, baking soda, milk, and all the spices. As she looked at the array of ingredients laid out on the steel bench she noticed she was missing the most with most important ingredient; golden syrup.

She walked to the stock cupboard and saw the big bottle of golden syrup sitting on the tallest shelf. Adam, a really tall baker, had been working earlier he must’ve put it there. Y/n tried to reach on her tiptoes though it was no use, her fingernails only just grazed it.

When a hand came out from behind her gripping the big can it startled her and she turned to see Harry standing behind her.

“Oh, you scared me,” She giggled.

“Sorry, Love.”

She followed him back out to the kitchen. He placed the big can down on the bench and she took in his form. His long shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a bun now, and he’d taken off his suit jacket and tie, his black shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the buttons on his collar were undone. He had an apron on now too, one of Y/n’s collection, it was pink and frilly with flowers.

Y/n softly explained to Harry the process of making the batter and he was intently listening to her every word watching her through his lashes. Soon enough the dough was perfect and all three of them rolled out the dough the perfect width which meant Harry had to re-roll it. Once Y/n gave a thumbs up of approval they began using the cookie cutter shapes and cutting the cookies out. 

Harry had the make hearts and stars, Niall made gingerbread men and women, and Y/n made circles and snowflakes. 

Eventually, they put in their first batch, a little after 10. They kept re-rolling the dough and cutting as many as they could until the batches vanished. Harry was very good and gentle with his technique, and some were wonky but Y/n loved that he was helping and it took her years to perfect her cookies so he was doing very well for his first time. She selfishly wanted to keep his batch for them to go home and eat but she didn’t. 

By 11 all the batches were cooked or still cooking. Niall was on oven duty and Y/n was teaching Harry how to decorate. 

The ginger people were decorated all classic. White iced smiley faces and an outline around their body, little chocolate buttons for the outfits and a pinch of icing sugar to look like snow. Harry tried his best to do them and Y/n loved their imperfections it was like real people; all individual.

The others needed to be painted in colourful swirls of festive landscapes and honestly, they looked like individual paintings. Harry was amazed at her steady hand and ability to decorate such creative and individual designs for each cookie.

“Y’like tha’ bloody Andy Wharol of cookies, Y/n.” He said.

And she giggled her concentrated face cracking to a smile. She looked over at him. “It’s just practice.”

“No, it’s not.” Said Niall, from his station. “I’ve been practising for ages, your baking is just pure talent.” 

By midnight the last batch had cooled down and they were all decorating together and Y/n was humming along to the Christmas playlist she had put on. 

Niall twirled Y/n around and they sang along goofily. Niall and Y/n had been friends since culanary school which felt like years ago now. They were only teenagers then. All baby-faced and wide-eyed, now they were older and still just as immature when put together. When Y/n opened her bakery and she needed extra hands he was the first person she called. 

Niall was her best friend, and Harry had easily become her other one. Even though she was so tired and it was late, and her feet ached. The boys made it better. Niall singing into a spatula and Harry refusing to dance or sing was what kept her going the final stretch. She stopped decorating to go over to Harry, she looped her arms through his waist forcing him to step away from the bench and she tried to make him sway with her. 

His body stayed still and she moved closer to the front of him, in hopes of seeing his face. 

“C’mon! Dance, Grinch!”

“I don’t even dance when it isn’t Christmas, Y/n.”

She huffed arms crossing, “Please?” she asked, fluttering her eyes best of her ability in hopes of convincing him. 

Harry melted at the sight. She was so cute, even Harry couldn’t say no to her. He sighed like it was the most horrible task anyone could’ve asked him and she held out her hand with a smile. He grabbed it and she raised her hand for him to twirl under and he obliged spinning even though he was much taller than her. She leaned in close to him hands landing on his hips as his landed on her shoulders in an embrace while they swayed. She sang softly, and very off-key and Harry just shook his head. 

She was like a ray of sunlight, and he was like the moon. She looked up at him, “Thanks for helping,” she said softly.

“Of course….you’ve done way more for me.” He said.

She just shook her head and was about to reply but Niall cut them off. 

“I gotta’ get home to Max soon.” Max was Niall’s recent boyfriend. 

“Sorry, let’s get back too it.” Y/n said pulling away from Harry.

By almost 1 AM they were finished with every cookie. It was perfect. They would probably all sell out tomorrow. Y/n grabbed two handfuls one for Niall and one for Harry. She wrapped them like she would for costumers. She tied two pink ribbons and handed one to Niall. 

“Thank you for all your hard work, Ni, I’ll see you Monday?” He nodded smiling in his easy going way, and pecked her cheek.

“Bye, Pet, see you Monday.” They waved him off and they heard him leave when the bell chimed.

Y/n and Harry turned the lights off and grabbed there things. Y/n put on her layers of clothes. A big red coat, her lavender scarf, and her blue beanie that had a fuzzy ball on top. She grabbed her bags and keys and they locked up the shop. 

At least tomorrow both her and Harry had the day off. 

The walk to the car was brisk but short, the snow had stopped now and but it was still freezing. The pair stayed close by to one another, trying to keep warm as they walked quickly to the car. 

Harry started the car as fast as he could and cranked the heat and while they waited for it warm up they finally tried the few pieces of gingerbread she’d saved for them.

“Y/n this is so fucking good.” He said looking over at her. His hair was back down and he’d put on all his layers too. She smiled. 

“All you, H.”

He just shook his head. “You’re the best.”

She looked over blushing. “And you’re the sweetest.”

[punkshort]

Recovery

Summary: You care for Joel while he is on the mend from his injury. (Part two of Three Days)

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader, established relationship, set in the TWWW universe, no use of Y/N.

Warnings: language, discussion of injury, soft!Joel, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, handjob, dirty talk, oral (m receiving)

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: I didn't expect part one to be so well received, thank you everyone who liked/commented and wanted to be tagged in this story! I'm a little nervous about this one and I don't know if I like it now, I hope I did it justice.

Part Two

"C'mon, it ain't that far, I just wanna stretch my legs a bit," Joel said to you from the couch. You shook your head and gave him a stern look.

"Bill said you need to stay off that leg at least another week, you're just going to have to wait," you said as you finished making lunch. You placed his sandwich with a small salad on a tray and brought it over to the living room, where Joel had taken up residence for almost the past month while he healed. Under strict orders not to put unnecessary weight on his leg, he had been stuck on the couch during the warmest stretch of summer yet, and it was causing him to be a difficult patient.

"I'm losin' my mind here," he grumbled as he took a bite of sandwich. You rolled your eyes and bit your tongue as you went to go clean up the kitchen. You were doing your best to take care of him, and he was very agreeable in the beginning, but as his strength built up, so did his boredom.

"You're not invincible, you know. All you need to do is sit there and let us take care of you," you said over your shoulder. "Then you can do whatever you want."

"I feel fine, I don't need you hoverin' over me all the damn time," he said sharply. Shocked, you looked over at him from the kitchen. His eyes were cast down and focused on his food, completely unphased by how hurtful he was being. You turned away without saying anything in return as tears sprung to your eyes.

His recovery wasn't easy on you, either. You had to learn how to be a nurse in just a few short hours so he could have the comforts of home as soon as the doctor cleared him. At the time, you had been so exhausted from sleeping on a lumpy cot on the floor, but you put all your energy into paying close attention to what Bill, Jackson's resident doctor, and Carrie, his nurse, were telling you. They taught you how to take his blood pressure, change and clean his dressings, and a few physical therapy exercises you had to help him with daily. Not to mention the handful of medications you had to keep straight and the long list of "red flag" signs you had to remember. But you didn't mind, because it meant he was going to come home, and he was going to be okay. So, to hear him sound so ungrateful more than hurt your feelings.

You sniffled quietly before turning back around. He had finished eating and picked up a crossword, oblivious to your reaction. Taking a shaky breath in, you strode over to the living room to pick up his tray.

"Tommy's going to be here soon, I have to work this afternoon," you mumbled. Joel huffed and kept working on his crossword.

"Don't need him hoverin' over me, either. I'll be fine by myself. Could use the peace and quiet, anyway," he said, the last part mostly under his breath, but you still heard it.

You angrily dropped the dishes into the sink, making him jump and look up from across the living room.

"What the hell?" he yelled, his brows furrowed.

"Yeah, 'what the hell' is right, Joel," you replied with your hand on your hip and your lower lip trembling. "Maybe try showing a little gratitude for the people who are taking time out of their day to help you."

"I didn't ask for any help, I can take care of myself!" he shouted.

"No, you can't! You could have died, you asshole!" you yelled right back. One tear slid down your cheek, but he was too far away to notice it.

"Whoa! What's with all the yellin'?" Tommy said as he entered the kitchen. He looked back and forth between you and Joel, the two of you glaring at the other. He did a double take when he noticed you turn and subtly wipe the tears from your cheek.

"It's nothin'," Joel finally said, his voice quieter but still strained, and turned back to his crossword. Tommy took a step toward you and was about to speak, but you cut him off.

"I gotta go. Thanks for coming by, Tommy," you said quietly, and hurriedly made your way out the front door.

Tommy ticked his jaw to the side as he stared at the closed door for a moment before turning around, eyeing up Joel warily as he joined him in the living room.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Tommy asked with a sigh as he crossed his legs, his ankle coming to rest on the top of his knee.

"I didn't do anythin'," Joel muttered, tossing the crossword down angrily before he continued. "I'm sick of bein' cooped up, I just wanted to take a short walk."

"Didn't Bill say you can't do that til next week?"

"Yeah, but c'mon, Tommy. I know my body, I know what I can do. I just wanted her help with this one thing-"

"One thing?" Tommy repeated, cutting Joel off. "One thing?! That girl's been killin' herself for you for a goddamn month, takin' care of everythin' around here and you think you're only askin' her for 'one thing'?"

Joel scoffed and crossed his arms, averting his gaze to look outside.

"This ain't none of your business, anyway," Joel replied, still avoiding his brother's glare.

"The hell it ain't," Tommy said bitterly, dropping his foot to the ground so he could lean closer to Joel, hoping to make his next words stick.

"I watched that girl fall apart that night. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't sleep. She was fuckin' scared, Joel. I never saw her like that, ever," Tommy said firmly, watching as Joel's mouth twitched but kept his gaze directed out the window. "You ever think about that? 'Bout what she went through? She nearly tore the place down tryin' to get to you. Never left your side. She woulda cut her arms wide open so you could take her blood had Holly taken any longer to get there."

Joel's eyes dropped to the floor and he pursed his lips as he absorbed what Tommy said.

"That right?" Joel asked softly.

"Yeah, that's right. What the hell you think, Joel? For some reason, she loves you and would do anythin' for you. So maybe quit thinkin' about yourself for once," Tommy snapped, leaning back in his chair.

"I just feel so goddamn useless, Tommy," Joel said quietly, still looking at the ground. "I hate sittin' around like this."

Tommy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Think of it like a vacation, because I'm gonna have your ass back on patrol as soon as possible, and you'll miss havin' your own personal nurse around, waitin' on you hand and foot."

Tommy picked up an old magazine and began leafing through it.

"You wanna watch a movie or somethin'?" Tommy asked, his eyes still glued to the magazine.

"Sure, yeah, pick whatever you want," Joel mumbled, lost in thought.

You came home from work, feeling guilty that you enjoyed the break away from the house, but you couldn't deny that a few hours helped quell your anger. Sighing, you walked into the kitchen to find Tommy doing the dishes.

"Oh, Tommy, you don't have to do that," you said as you walked up next to him and leaned against the counter, your back to the living room and Joel.

"It's no trouble, darlin'," Tommy said with a grin as he finished the last plate. "I fed the beast, so you try to take it easy tonight, yeah?"

You smirked at his nickname for Joel and nodded.

"Sure. Thanks again for sitting with him while I worked, we both appreciate it," you told him while he dried his hands and gave Joel a quick wave as you walked him to the front door.

"Anytime. I also set him straight for you," he said quietly with a wink. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. As if that man could ever be reasoned with.

"Good night, Tommy," you said as you shut the door. You took a deep breath, digging deep to find the patience to deal with Joel for the rest of the night. You really hoped he wasn't going to continue your argument from earlier. Between his round the clock care and your job, you were barely getting any sleep, and you just didn't have the energy to fight any more.

"Hey," you said tiredly as you made your way into the living room. Joel looked up from the TV when you spoke and reached for the remote to turn it down. You were about to collapse into the loveseat across from him when he stopped you.

"Why don't you come sit by me?" he asked softly. You gave him a look before you nodded and sat down on his left, leaning on the arm of the couch as you tucked your legs under you.

"What are you watching?" you asked with a yawn, trying to place the movie playing on the screen.

"Tired?" he asked, ignoring your question. You nodded, your eyes still on the TV. He reached out to place a hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze, finally drawing your attention onto him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said as he absentmindedly rubbed your leg. "I shouldn't've said all that to you, I didn't mean it. I appreciate everythin' you're doin' for me, I'm just... restless, or somethin'. And I took it out on you."

Your eyebrows shot up, surprised, as you stared into his deep, brown eyes. Eyes that were filled with shame and regret. You rested one of your hands on top of his, your thumb rubbing small circles over his knuckles.

"It's alright," you told him with a small smile. "I'm sorry, too."

"What are you sorry for?" Joel asked. You paused for a moment, opening your mouth to answer, but he cut you off.

"Are you sorry for spendin' all your time takin' care of some old, ungrateful jackass?"

The corner of your mouth twitched before you replied.

"You're not that old," you teased, and he smirked. "I just let all the stress get to me. It's fine, really. Maybe I'll go to bed early tonight, or something."

"Hm," he said, turning back to the TV.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothin'. Just was thinkin' maybe I can help you relax, considerin' how much you do for me," he said lowly, looking down as his fingers inched up your leg and brushed underneath the hem of your shorts.

"You have a broken pelvis, remember?" you said with a laugh.

"Yeah, but my fingers work just fine," he said, looking up at you and leaning over. His gaze darkened as he let his hand slide down between your legs, running his finger up the seam of your denim shorts and pressing gently against your clothed heat. You gasped and gripped his wrist.

"Joel," you whispered in a poor attempt to stop him as heat immediately bloomed between your legs. "You don't have to."

"I know. I wanna take care of you for once, please let me," he begged, leaning closer and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, tugging you towards him so he could slot his lips against yours while his other hand made its way to your hip, squeezing you there before he reached for the button of your jeans.

"Take these off," he whispered against your mouth after he pulled your zipper all the way down. You eagerly lifted your hips to pull down your underwear and shorts in one go, then brought your arms up to wrap around his neck as his tongue slid past your lips.

You were still sitting next to each other, the cast on his leg prohibiting him from doing much except sitting and laying on his back. You frowned when you realized this and pulled back, his mouth falling to your neck instead.

"How?" you asked him breathily. You slid your eyes shut and tilted your head back so he could gain better access to the underside of your jaw, letting out a low moan when he located your pulse point, his scratchy beard rubbing on your delicate skin.

"Sit on my lap," he mumbled against you before tipping his head in the other direction so he could pay the same mind to the other side of your throat.

"But, your -" you began, about to point out his many injuries were still healing before he cut you off.

"Sit on my fuckin' lap," he growled impatiently, his hands falling to your hips and giving you a forceful tug towards him. You decided to compromise, swinging your leg over to straddle him while you hovered above his hips, being mindful of applying too much weight. You brought your hands up to cup his face and crushed his lips with a bruising kiss, feverishly licking inside his mouth as you realized just how much you missed him, and that it had been so long since he last touched you. Even before the accident, his patrol route was exhausting him to the point where he was falling asleep before the sun set.

"Look at you," he whispered as he tipped his head back, breaking the kiss and looking you up and down, his eyes lingering at the way you were spread open for him. "I'm the luckiest son of a bitch in the world."

You felt your cheeks flush at the compliment, still taken aback at the change in him from just a few hours ago.

"Wow, what happened here when I was gone?" you asked him teasingly as you raked your fingers through his dark curls. Your breath hitched as he ran both his palms slowly up your bare thighs, squeezing gently as he made his way closer to the ache between your legs.

"Me and Tommy had a talk," he said, watching your face closely as his finger slid along your folds, causing you to jump.

"Easy," Joel murmured softly while pressing a warm kiss against your collarbone. You sighed and rolled your shoulders, trying to relax.

"It's been so long, Joel," you whimpered, trying to explain your reaction.

"I know, sweetheart," he cooed, bringing his middle finger back up to trace your seam again while his other hand held your hip steady this time. "Should be a fuckin' crime. You deserve to be worshipped every single day."

Joel sunk his middle finger inside you right as he finished his sentence, making you toss your head back with a moan. He smirked, always pleased he could pull those sounds out of you while he looked up to admire your face. Your eyes were squeezed shut, brows pinched, and your mouth hung open as you focused on the sensation of his thick finger stretching you out for the first time in weeks.

"So tight," he grunted, his eyes glazed over as he watched you struggle to find your breath while his finger slowly pumped in and out of your pulsing cunt. "Gotta relax."

You swallowed roughly and nodded, opening your eyes and softening your brow as you sucked air in through your parted lips. Once you felt yourself adjust, you began to bounce lightly on his hand, trying to match his rhythm, your fingertips digging into his shoulders for leverage.

"More," you whispered, licking your lips. Joel couldn't help the smug grin that spread across his face as he pulled his middle finger out of your pussy and popped it into his mouth, along with his pointer finger. You groaned when he gave you a satisfied wink at the taste. He brought his fingers back between your legs and pushed them both inside, your cunt immediately gripping his digits at the intrusion.

"Shit, that's it," Joel groaned, curling his fingers against your warm walls while he watched you bounce up and down on his hand again, this time with more force. You dropped your head to rest on his shoulder, your fingers digging harder into his arms.

"Remind me to thank Tommy tomorrow," you panted in his ear as a familiar pressure began building in your lower abdomen and warmth crawled up your chest and neck.

"He told me. 'Bout that night," he said through clenched teeth, trying to ignore his painfully hard cock. His other hand was held firmly on your hip, guiding you up and down to match the rhythm of his flicking wrist. He felt your hips stutter as you processed what he said, then you slowed down and leaned back to look at him.

"What about it?" you asked him quietly. He could sense your demeanor changing, so he lifted his thumb up to press against your clit, earning a sharp gasp from your throat before you reached down to stop him.

"What about it?" you asked again, firmly this time, staring down at him. He removed his hand from your hip so he could wrap it around the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing gently against your jaw.

"Told me how tore up you were, tryin' to see me," he whispered, his fingers pumping in and out of you painfully slow as he spoke. "How you couldn't eat or sleep, wouldn't leave my side." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he felt his eyes begin to water. He blinked quickly before asking, "all that true?"

You sniffed and nodded before you began to roll your hips against his hand again. His thumb stroked along your jaw as you gazed at each other, the atmosphere in the room shifting to one more serious.

"I was so scared, Joel," you admitted quietly, your voice small. "I thought you were going to die."

Your lower lip trembled for a moment as you reached up to run your finger gently down his stubbled cheek and then again down the length of his nose as if to remind yourself he was real, that he lived and he was going to be okay. You let out a soft whimper when he pressed his thumb back against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves.

"It's okay, I'm right here," he whispered, pulling you down so he could press his lips against your mouth quickly before resting his forehead on yours. He dropped his hand back to your hip and urged you to go faster, curling his fingers inside you again until he found that spot that made your back arch.

"I can't lose you," you gasped as two tears slid down your cheeks. You pressed your forehead into his harder now, the muscles in your stomach tightening as his fingers expertly began to pull an orgasm out of you. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," he said, leaning forward to suck a bruise into the delicate skin on your throat. His chest ached for causing you so much pain, wishing desperately he could take it all away.

You felt yourself clamp down on his fingers as his thumb slid back and forth across your clit, quickly bringing you to the edge.

"Shit, I'm -" you gasped and tilted your head back, unable to finish your sentence as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over you, a filthy moan erupting from your throat. Your legs shook and your vision went spotty as you felt your neck and face flush from the intensity.

"Ohmygod, Joel - fuck - " you cried out, swinging your head forward to rest on his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, I love makin' you feel good," he mumbled against you, gently biting at your earlobe. His fingers slowed inside you, waiting until he felt your body relax before he pulled them out to palm his erection through his sweatpants. You hissed at the loss, your cunt clenching around nothing, already missing his touch.

Forehead still resting on his shoulder, you panted lightly for breath, and glancing down, watched as he ran his hand aggressively up and down his clothed cock, trying to find some relief. A lazy smirk spread across your face.

You reached down to swat his hand away and dipped your fingers below his waistband. Your other hand gripped the sweatpants you cut a pantleg off so he could fit his casted leg through, and, giving them a little tug down, watched as his hard length bobbed up and slapped against his stomach.

Wrapping your hand gently around his cock, you slowly began to drag your fist up and down, your thumb brushing over his slit and collecting the wetness there.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you - ouch," he gasped with a wince. You froze and lifted your hips up even higher, glancing down to make sure you didn't accidentally sit on him.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" you asked, letting him go as you were about to swing your leg back over, but his hand shot up to stop you, gripping your thigh firmly to hold you in place.

"You're fine, wasn't you," he rasped, opening his eyes to look at you. "I moved my hips. When you touched me, I - nevermind, keep goin'," he said with a shake of his head and reached for your hand, placing it back around his erection.

"Are you sure?" you asked, but began to slowly move your fist up and down anyway. He nodded, his eyes sliding shut while he leaned his head back on the couch cushion.

"Yeah. Fuck, that's it - faster," he mumbled, one eye peering open so he could find your wrist to show you the pace he preferred.

"So impatient," you teased with a smirk, and he huffed. "But that's okay," you whispered, leaning forward as you twisted your wrist up and down his cock, feeling it pulse under your fingertips. "I'll give you whatever you want, baby."

"Don't say shit like that to me, gonna make me come way too fast" he said with a groan, his fingers releasing their death grip on your leg to press firmly against your overly sensitive clit again, making you cry out.

"Oh god, Joel," you whined, your head falling forward on his shoulder again. You could feel the tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your thighs shook, your body still too sensitive from your first orgasm.

"Can't wait til I can fuck you again," he gasped, another dribble of precum trickling over his tip as your fist continued to work him up and down. "I'm gonna spend the whole day inside this perfect little pussy, you hear me?"

You nodded, your head still resting on his shoulder, your eyes closed and your mouth agape as his fingers pressed quick circles over your clit. The pain from the overstimulation quickly subsided as your stomach began to tighten again, your breaths coming in short drags.

"Whole town's gonna hear you screamin' my name," he continued to ramble, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the white-hot flames begin to burn in his lower abdomen. "All fuckin' day. Gonna be filled with my cock, or my fingers, or my tongue. You ain't gonna be able to walk the next day, I can promise you that."

You gasped his name, cunt pulsing around nothing as you felt a trickle of your release drip down your leg, his filthy words taking you right over the edge of your second orgasm. Your hand only paused for a second on his cock before you continued to jerk him up and down, faster now, wanting him to join you.

"Shit, I'm gonna come," Joel groaned, his hand falling from your center and his head leaning back so he could watch your fist work him.

"Wait," you said, shakily lifting your hips so you could bring your feet to the ground between his legs. Gently, you nudged his good leg to the side so he would give you more room to sink to your knees before him. You looked up at him through your eyelashes and opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue before wrapping your fingers around his cock again. You tapped the underside of his tip on the warm surface of your tongue, letting him know where you wanted it. With a low moan and his fingers clutching your hair, he watched, entranced, as his hot, white ropes of cum covered your tongue, his gaze darkening as you stared him right in the eye and swallowed with a smirk.

"I mean it, sweetheart," he panted, unblinking with a shake of his head. "All day. All fuckin' day."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Mr. Miller," you told him, standing up and bracing yourself with your arms planted on either side of his head. You leaned down to give him a soft kiss before you twisted your body, collapsing on the couch next to him and tiredly pulling your clothes back on.

You laid there for a while, the side of your head resting on his good leg as you both caught your breath and stared mindlessly at the TV, not absorbing any of the dialogue while his fingers drew lazy circles on your back.

"I'm sorry I put you through all this," he said, breaking the silence. You turned your head so you could look up at him while he spoke. "Shoulda been more careful. That place was fallin' apart, I don't know what the hell I was thinkin'."

He looked down to meet your gaze, his eyes flitting across your face before he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

"You were thinking you had a town to help protect," you told him, sitting up. "That's what you do. You keep us safe, and you find things to bring back to help us survive." You reached a hand out to cup his face. "All that matters is you're going to be okay."

"No," he said, his hand coming up to cover the one you had pressed against his cheek. "You are all that matters." He pulled your hand away, giving it a quick kiss before holding it in his lap. "You are all I care about keepin' safe."

His eyes fluttered shut a moment before he sighed and opened them again.

"I've been lookin' for you my whole damn life. I ain't gonna fuck it up now," he said, his voice pained. "I promise you, I'll be more careful."

You scooted closer to him, leaning in to press your mouth against his, your lips pulling at his lower lip tenderly before leaning back. His hand came up to grip your chin, his thumb running gently over your lip.

"Will you sleep down here with me tonight?" he asked you earnestly. You nodded right away.

"Of course," you said with a small smile. "I was already planning on it."

The couch wasn't very big, so since his injury, you've been sleeping alone in bed. But after the emotional day, you each felt the urge to remain close. So, you gathered your pillows and an extra blanket and made yourself a bed on the loveseat, but somehow ended up squeezed onto the couch with Joel, curled up at his side, right where you both belonged.

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @amyispxnk @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl @orcasoul

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Plan [Marcus Pike x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Mentalist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x you/cishet f!reader. Reader is fat/overweight but this is never explicitly mentioned. Also, reader is a lawyer. (I know nothing about lawyering.)

Tags/Warnings: Sad Marcus, alcohol mention, one night stands, fellatio mention, neighbours with benefits, safe sex, squirting, cunnilingus, reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mad dash through the airport at Christmas, trauma dumping (Marcus coming clean about his disappointment after Lisbon dumped him).

Summary: A drunken one night stand with your cute new neighbour Marcus Pike eventually leads to more. Takes place after his story arc in the show.

Words: 7,895

A/N: My first Marcus Pike fic, and also I finished a goddamn fic! There is so much cause for celebration here, folks. Remember to comment and reblog: sharing is caring.

Shout-out to @missredherring and @pazizz who read drafts and helped me forward with this story <3

Marcus Pike does not have a bitter disposition. He does not sulk, or harbor resentment. It's just not in his nature.

Until now.

There is just something so unforgivable, incomprehensible, wrong about the way Teresa Lisbon left him. She called him to say she was coming to D.C., that she would marry him, and two hours later she called again to inform him that she wasn't. That she was in love with Patrick Jane. That asshole.

Marcus has been divorced, and not even that made him spiral as hard as the breakup from Teresa. It just hit harder, because he had fallen so hard for her, for the way she dipped her gaze and chin when a smile broke out on her lips, before looking back up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He fell for her sense of humor, her intelligence, the way it was so easy to be with her. And he really thought that she fell for him in the same way. Maybe she did - but Jane was there, in the background, confusing her, wooing her with one last big, desperate gesture. If Marcus had known that all it took to keep Teresa was to get himself arrested, he would've done that instead of bringing her takeout at work, making her morning coffee just as she liked it, loaning her his jacket when she was cold during that date, all the thousands of little things that he did for her, that he loved doing for her because he loved her so much that doing those things weren't a chore, they weren't planned, they were an honest, spontaneous expression of his feelings for her.

And then, one big, desperate gesture that rendered Marcus's all small, everyday gestures moot. And it pisses him off.

Practicality kicked in as a form of survival. He quickly cancelled the purchase of the house he had Teresa had picked out, found a condo instead, moved in with his things, and threw himself into his work. Most of the boxes were left unpacked. His place didn't feel like a home because he couldn't let it. He was supposed to share one with Teresa, and now there was just him, surrounded by moving boxes that he had to deal with but couldn't, wouldn't. What should've been a house for the two of them - maybe more in the future? - with a little garden, walls impregnated with love and excitement for a life together, sunlight through the window during long weekend mornings of slow breakfasts, putting up Christmas decorations together, all those things that he was looking forward to. Now he has a bachelor pad, in a fancy apartment building with a doorman, but a sad bachelor pad all the same. The furniture is more or less where it should be, but he hasn't bothered to plan that much. The kitchen table is too big, but he's not in any condition to sell it off and buy a new one. The bookcases are half full, and his artwork is still unhung. He really tried there, but the first painting he got his hands on was one that he had seen before him in the spacious yet cozy living-room in That House, with the fireplace, and suddenly no wall in his apartment was good enough. So he put the painting away, and the rest were left packed down.

He even started going out after work, when he couldn't stay any longer but didn't want to go home. He found a watering hole to his liking, and became a regular, nursing one whiskey after another until he could go home and fall into bed for a deep, dreamless sleep.

It's after one of those nights that he finds you, his neighbor, trying to open his front door with your key. Your clumsy yet meticulous movements tell him that you're intoxicated, and there is something endearing about the way you're frowning, the tip of your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth as you focus on sticking in the key that doesn't fit.

When Marcus comes closer, you notice him, and look up. Quickly registering that it's the workaholic neighbor that you rarely see, you just nod, and go back to trying to open the door.

"That's my door," he says, and you look up again.

"What's that?"

"That's my door. You're trying to get into my apartment."

You frown, your hand holding the key falling to your side as you process his words. You then squint at the number of the door, taking a few seconds to realize that this is, indeed, not your front door.

"Oops," you mutter, then grimace apologetically at your neighbor. "Well, this isn't embarrassing at all."

"Don't worry about it," he shrugs, fishing his own key from his pocket. You step to the side to give him access to the door, and when he stands right next to you, you can smell his cologne, sophisticated and with a hint of bergamot.

He eyes you, just as drunk as you are.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Late night. You?"

"Same." He looks so tired when he says it, but you can tell that there is a dimple aching to appear in his cheek. His face, bleary though it is, is handsome, and looks like it was made for smiling.

"What is it you do again?" you ask. You've exchanged pleasantries with him when he first moved in, but you never had the time or mental capacity to actually remember who he is.

"FBI, I investigate art theft."

"Ah, right." Yeah, that's it, something so unusual and random that one couldn't make it up. Then again, D.C. is full of people who do stuff you only hear about in movies.

"Marcus," he offers his hand, and you take it, and give him your name.

"And what is it that you do?"

"Law. I work with government contracts and related investigations at a law firm here in D.C."

"Sounds complicated."

You shrug. "I'm smart enough."

"You look good, too."

You scoff. "Are you coming on to me?"

"I'm trying." Now the smile breaks through, lighting up his whole face. Gods, but he's cute.

"Okay." You make the decision quickly, nodding at his door. "Looks like I picked the right door, after all."

Marcus unlocks the door and opens it for you.

His head is pounding, and his mouth is dry when he wakes up. For a moment, he doesn't know what day it is, what he's supposed to do, or what happened last night, but then the flashbacks start to put things together. The flirty neighbor. Her naked skin. Her alcohol-fuming kisses.

He turns his head and sees you, still asleep next to him. Oh, okay.

Sitting up slowly, he gets his bearings before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Clothes are strewn over the floor. Right next to the bed is a used condom, tied up and looking sad and abandoned. Okay, good, at least he remembered to use protection. He picks it up and takes it to the bathroom, where he disposes of it before washing his hands and face.

He hears the rustle of bedsheets, and returns to the bedroom, realizing that he's naked. You might not want to be greeted by a naked stranger first thing. Looking around for his underwear, he's nevertheless too slow in finding them: you're already sitting up and rubbing your forehead.

He clears his throat. "Good morning."

Your smile is a little lopsided. "Morning."

"You want breakfast?" Marcus immediately offers, wanting to do the gentlemanly thing before he sends you off so that he can take about ten aspirins, and go to work. "And I'll put out a clean towel for you so that you can use the shower."

"Appreciate it, but I live right next door," you point out as you get out of bed. You're as naked as he is, and Marcus tries very hard not to ogle your body for what he suspects will be the last time.

"I don't mind."

"Thanks, but I have to get to work." You pick up and put on your panties, bra, skirt, shirt. Marcus spots his boxer briefs, and pulls them on.

"Okay, well... I had a good time."

"I did too."

Now you're standing right in front of him, buttoning up your silk shirt. Even with your makeup smudged out, and terrible morning breath, you look really nice.

"I gotta ask you something, though, because my memory is a little... hazy." Your cheekbones seem to glow, and he realizes that you're blushing.

"Yeah?"

"I sucked your dick, didn't I?"

Marcus feels the heat rise to his ears. "Um... well... yes, you did."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Did I do it well?"

"I think so."

You grin at him. "You don't remember much either, do you?"

"It was all consensual, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that." You surprise him by placing your hand on his naked chest. His heart skips a beat, and he hopes that you won't notice.

"I really have to go, but maybe I'll see you again soon?" you ask softly, and Marcus finds himself relaxing.

"I'd like that."

You even kiss him good-bye, a quick, closed-mouth peck to keep morning breaths from mixing, before you grab your shoes, your purse (muttering under your breath about several emails, and two missed calls), and head over next door.

Marcus, still only wearing his underwear, looks thoughtfully at the closed door for a long while before going into the kitchen with the too big table to make coffee.

Work occupies most of your waking hours, six days a week, often seven. You don't see Marcus again for weeks, don't hear any sounds from his apartment during the hours you're home and awake. Barely having time to think about him, your thoughts nevertheless stray to him when you're standing in the shower or going to bed at night. You haven't been able to fit a boyfriend into your life in a long time, and casual hook-ups have rarely left you satisfied, but even with your hazy memories of the night with Marcus, you left his apartment that morning with a feeling that it was good. So that's where your thoughts go when you touch yourself, the few times you have the energy to do so.

One Friday night, after a long but satisfying week that ended with a contract being accepted as it was, which meant you could have a weekend with only a couple of hours of work from home, you're hurrying home with Chinese takeout in a bag. Looking forward to a quiet night in front of the TV, with an early morning at the gym the following day, you run into Marcus on your way into your apartment building.

"Hi," you smile, immediately noticing how he seems to square his shoulders when he sees you. "Going out?"

"Yeah," he nods, moving his weight from one foot to the other as he takes in your food bag. "And you're staying in?"

"Finally, a Friday night without work," you acknowledge. Marcus's smile lets you know that he knows about that all too well.

"Enjoy."

"You too, you going somewhere nice?"

"No, I mean... I'm just going by myself."

There is something so despondent about the way he averts his eyes when confessing to going out alone. You're not in a position to start saving people, but you see an opening here.

"Join me for dinner instead, Marcus."

"I don't want to bother you."

"It's no bother," you shake your head, now moving towards the elevator while beckoning him to follow you. "Come on, before the food gets cold. There's enough here for two, I always buy extra."

He hesitates for only a split second, you can see it in how his body seems to pull him away, out to some sad bar with too much to drink. Instead, he nods, smiles softly, and follows you. He insists on bringing a bottle of wine from his place, and you accept.

You find out more about him that night, as you share your takeout with him, and he shares his wine. He tells you of heartache, only summarily, clearly not wanting you to feel sorry for him, but you can tell that he's been torn up about the "amicable" break-up. He also mentions that he's been married, and you wonder what's wrong with him. He seems perfectly nice and normal, why hasn't he been able to keep a woman? To his credit, he never complains about nice guys finishing last, only states that maybe he's meant to focus on his career.

"There's a lot to be said about having a good career," you agree. Marcus sips his wine with a small smile.

"Work doesn't break your heart."

"That, too."

"I take it you don't have a partner who'll suddenly come home to find me in his kitchen?" he jokes lightly, but you recognize the question for what it is: he wants to know if you're Seeing Anyone.

"Not one for relationships," you shrug.

"You don't long for anyone to snuggle up with in front of the TV on a Friday night?"

"I don't have time. And they never seem to understand that. Or they're working, too." You pick at the scraps in your takeout box with the chopsticks. "And I seem to attract douchebags. Dunno if it comes with the field in which I work. I always seem to go out with terrible lawyer guys."

Marcus chuckles. "Their loss."

"I miss having sex, though." You look him in the eye, and his tongue slides over his lower lip, catching some runaway sauce.

"Yeah?"

You nod, and feel your cheeks heat up. You're a no-nonsense person, but not always this forward with men. But it's easy with Marcus. He takes it all in stride, doesn't seem to think you're aggressive, or slutty, he just smiles and tells you that he misses sex too.

"But what we had was okay, though?" he adds. "Even if neither one of us seems to remember it that well."

"It was," you agree, raising the glass to your lips and draining the rest of the wine. After putting it back down, you tilt your head and bite your lower lip.

"You wanna do it again? Now that we're sober and all?"

"I'm a little tipsy," he warns you with a chuckle, "But I'm in."

Both of you get up at the same time, chairs scraping the floor simultaneously in the kitchen that mirrors his own but has a table that fits it. All of your apartment just fits in a way his half-assed dwelling doesn't. He realizes that it's because your apartment is a home, decorated and lived-in, warm colors and fabrics, Scandinavian wallpapers in bold but tasteful patterns that he himself would never consider but that feel right here.

You step up to him, snugly fitting yourself to his frame, and place your hands on his narrow hips as you kiss him. The two glasses of wine that you've had have laid a warm, cozy blanket over your busy mind, and now you're fully focused on Marcus, whose soft, plump lips are meeting yours as his arms go around your waist.

You make your way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as you kiss and get undressed, get undressed and kiss. The bed in unmade, you just threw the covers to the side when you got up this morning. Wearing only your underwear, you lay down, pull Marcus over you, rake your fingers through his hair, moan when he palms your plump tits through the bra.

"Tell me what you like," he asks you hoarsely. You hum when he scatters kisses along the lace trim of your bra.

"That's a good start."

He hums back as he pops your tits out of your bra and lick around the nipples.

"Go on," he asks, and a shiver runs down your spine at the low barytone of his voice. You reach around to unhook your bra, and Marcus takes it off you and flings it to the side before burying his face between your breasts.

"You eat pussy?" you ask him breathlessly, and he looks up at you.

"Of course."

"Not everybody does," you wink, and he shakes his head.

"Their loss."

He's in a hurry, you note, but it's endearing in an unexpected way. When he pulls down your panties and gets settled, your legs over his shoulders, you remember to give him a warning.

"I, uh, I don't orgasm from oral, just so you know."

"Really?" His breath is hot against your folds, but he's looking up at you with attentive eyes.

"Yeah. It's not a comment on your skills, I just need you to know it," you shrug, accustomed to always having to tread carefully around the matter. Too many men get offended or take it as a challenge.

"Thanks for telling me," Marcus smiles in a way that's way too innocent and adorable for a man who's got his face inches away from your pussy. "But do you really want me to...?"

"Oh God, yes!" you reassure him. "I enjoy it a lot, and it gets me wet. I just can't cum, I need vaginal stimulation for that."

"You got it," he pats your thigh lightly before his tongue connects with your folds, and your eyes fall shut as you hand yourself over to the pleasure, to Marcus's deftly dancing tongue. He's good, he's attentive and eager, yet you don't get the feeling that he's trying to prove you wrong, to make you orgasm. Lord knows men have tries that in the past, and it's just stressful. No, he just seems to enjoy your moans, the way you writhe and grab his hands, the twitches of your pelvis when he does something extraordinary.

"Goddddd, Marcus, that's so fucking good..." you wail when he alternates between sucking your clit and licking it with a quick tongue. He's getting louder, sloppier, and you know you're dripping. Your clit is throbbing, and you know this is the perfect time to speed things up. You push him away, your thighs closing around his head, and Marcus retreats, chin glistening as he licks his lips.

"You okay?" he wants to know. You nod, breathless and with a pounding heart.

"Need to fuck you."

He scrambles up for a deep kiss, wet and lewd, before you push him over to get a condom from your nightstand. He drapes himself over you as you stretch across the bed, and peppers your back with kisses, like he's unable to stay away from you. You roll around, finding yourself caged between his strong arms, and you pull him down for more kissing with lips swollen and dry but still wanting more.

"How do you want me?" he gasps between the kisses as you pull down his underwear and paw at his small butt.

"Can I be on top?"

He rolls over onto his back immediately, watching you with open-mouth excitement when you remove his shorts and put on the rubber. When you finally sink down on his length, his fingers dig into your thighs as his breath hitches.

"Oh, that feels good..."

"Uh-huh," you sigh, staying still for a moment to adjust to his cock inside of you. You smile inwardly as you find yourself thinking about just how perfectly sized it is: thick but not too long.

"What?"

Your eyes open to find Marcus grinning at you.

"What what?" you grin back. He caresses your hips slowly.

"You looked like you had something to say."

"I was just thinking about what a perfect, gorgeous dick you have."

His cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. It came with the body."

You chuckle and start a slow grind, hips moving lazily back and forth as you seek out the right spots, the right rhythm. Finding it, you plant your hands on Marcus's chest and let out a low moan as you go slightly faster.

"That right for you?" he huffs, sitting up to catch a nipple in his mouth.

"Mmmfuckyes..."

You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, fingers seeking out your clit. Pleasure zaps through your body when you rub it, and you clench tightly around Marcus, causing him to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, both of you groaning.

"So good," he gripes, soothing the sting of his fingertips by rubbing his palms over the affected areas before he moves his fingers to your front. "Need a hand?"

"'m good," you gasp, your free arm slinging around his neck. You clench around him again, and Marcus's hips jut upwards, slamming into you with a force that makes you choke.

"Fuck! God, Marcus, that was..."

"Can we try something?" he pants, pulling you in for a kiss. "Please?"

"Okay?" you frown, a little frustrated at being interrupted, but Marcus gestures for you to rise, so you do as he asks, and let him pull you down with him.

"Get on top of me again, but lie down," he instructs you. You must look doubtful because he immediately adds:

"Just try it, if you don't like it, we can go back to what you were doing."

"I'll try anything once," you shrug, and get on top of him again, this time with your back turned to him. Marcus pulls you down, positioning you on top of him, legs spread, his own legs on the outside of yours. You hesitate for a second, the reality of your weight sometimes haunting your mind, but Marcus insists.

"Just come here, baby," he tells you softly, so you let him take your weight. One of his arms sneaks up the side of your ribcage to cup a breast. With the other, he guides himself into you, pushing himself in with an upward thrust of his hips. You choke on your breath and let your head hang back on his shoulder, one arm seeking a position to support you, the other coming around Marcus's neck when he presses a toothy kiss to your neck. He thrusts into you again, fingers playing with your nipple, and then his other hand comes to rub your clit.

You keen at the sudden intensity, back arching on top of him, and he plants his feet more firmly on the mattress.

"Fuck," you gasp, "that's good, Marcus, this is good..."

He sucks a kiss to your neck, his teeth stinging just a little, and your legs kick in search of a hold so that you can stay just above him. He slips out, and you whimper.

"Relax," he soothes you, thumb abandoning your clit to instead guide himself back into you. "Put your weight on me, I can take it."

You follow his instructions, back sinking down onto his chest and stomach, pelvis angling slightly to help him stay inside you. His fingers return to tease your clit, and your head falls back onto his shoulder as he settles into a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

"That's it," he praises you, his breath hot against your ear. "Just like that, take it, just enjoy it, let me take care of you."

The slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is maddening in how it pushes at your spot but leaves you wanting more. You buck your hips down eagerly.

"Faster, please, Marcus."

He obeys immediately, moaning at how you immediately clench around him. Your fingers thread through his hair, the other hand fists into the sheets. The pressure on that one spot inside you is growing in intensity, insanely, perfectly, knocking your breath out with each jab of Marcus's cock against it. Your moans become whimpers, a moan too complex a sound for you at this point, when you are so close, so utterly close to the climax that you now need as much as you need air -

The release floods your body and your cunt, and for a split second you're horrified at the wet feeling on your thighs, the rippling sound, until you realize that you squirted. A half moan, half giggle escapes you as you press your thighs together as if to lock in the orgasm that pulsates through your cunt and lower belly. Marcus gasps an excited Fuck, yes before bucking up a couple of errant times, and then relaxing down. He kisses your temple, drags his soaked fingers up over your soft belly, making you squirm.

"Sorry," he murmurs throatily. You murmur something back and slide down next to him. Everything between your legs seems wet and now cold, but you're still prickling all over with excitement.

Marcus heaves a deep sigh before turning his face to you. "That was so hot."

"I didn't know I could do that with a man."

"You haven't before?"

You shake your head. Marcus smiles softly.

"I'm honored. Was it good?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

"So fucking good."

You smile back at him before turning your face back towards the ceiling, and taking a deep breath that you sigh out audibly. Your body relaxes quickly, a muscle in your lower back mutters about the position you just were in, but you feel extremely good, and wrung out in a fantastic way. In the corner of your eye, you catch Marcus taking the condom off, before getting up to take it to the trash. When he returns, he looks around, looking for his clothes. You roll over onto your side.

"You don't have to leave, you know," you tell him quietly. Marcus stops, boxers in hand.

"Yeah?"

"I mean... don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for a relationship," you hurry to assure him. "But I wouldn't mind you staying over. Unless you have plans?"

"I don't."

He drops the boxers, and slides back into bed, next to you. You smile a little wryly.

"The sheets are wet. I'll change them, feel free to grab a shower.

"Soon," Marcus tells you, low voice heavy with a calm confidence. "I suggest we wet them a little more first."

Your deal with Marcus is simple and beautiful: sex, with or without staying the night. The occasional take-out dinner. Quickies when you run into each other in the corridor outside your front doors, with ten minutes to spare. It's undemanding, friendly, mutually satisfying. Uncomplicated, with no romantic feelings involved, so nobody can get hurt.

Marcus is an active lover who smoothly takes charge. Not bossy, but firm and empathic, and not afraid of using aids of different kinds to raise your orgasms to the next level. He's not opposed to fucking you fully clothed in the morning and leaving you wanting as you go to work with his cold cum in your panties, shot there after he removed the rubber after fucking you.

It is, in short, the perfect set-up.

Fall passes by, and you see yourself forced to fly out to see your family over Thanksgiving. You spend as much time as you can working in your childhood room, however. Your parents do not understand your choice of profession, your mother does not see how a woman of your age has chosen to be childless. Your older brother knocked his girlfriend up at sixteen, your younger sister was married at eighteen and divorced at twenty-eight. You love them, but you don't have a lot in common with them, and even if your siblings at least pretend to understand your life choices, their contempt steeped in jealousy of your life shines through at times. Your parents choose to simply ignore the life you have built for yourself in D.C., talking instead about Mrs. McCall next door, Annie down the street, Cybil in town, Kearney at the gas station, as if you knew any of them or cared about what they said about Kayleigh's twins.

You endure for two nights, and text Marcus from the airport, before boarding: I'll be home after nine tonight. You free?

He replies almost immediately: I'll pick you up at the airport.

You text him the flight number before turning off your phone, settling for a three-hour nap in lieu of working.

When you finally land, puffy-faced but breathing freely now that you're back in the city you call home, Marcus is waiting for you in arrivals. The way his smile lights up his eyes when he sees you makes your heart miss a beat. There is something there that's beyond what the two of you have, something much more sincere.

You shake it off and smile back as you walk up to him. He leans forward, like he's about to kiss you, but ends up giving you an awkward half-hug.

"Welcome home."

"Thanks. And thank you for picking me up."

"My pleasure."

The two of you turn and start walking towards the exit. Marcus offers to take your carry-on wheelie bag, but you decline, accustomed as you are to carrying your own luggage yourself.

In the car, he asks you how your Thanksgiving was.

"As holidays at my parents' usually are. One night would've been enough."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. It's just..." You rub your forehead. "Whenever I visit, I feel trapped. Everything back home is... small. People are kind, yes, but they're small-minded. The town is small. The spaces in which to move, physically and mentally, are small. And I feel like some kind of big city snob who comes to visit twice a year, scoffs at their very ordinary and, as far as I know, happy lives, and then flies back to my vegan frappuccinos and twenty-four-hour sushi restaurants."

Marcus chuckles low. "I think I know what you mean. But it's hard for me to imagine that you'd be a snob about anything."

"I probably am. But I... I don't know, I outgrew that town when I was fifteen. Couldn't get out fast enough. And I don't like going back."

"Does your family support your choices?"

You shrug. "Yes and no. Mom and dad are proud, I guess, but at the same time they don't have any idea what it is that I do. 'If you wanted to be a lawyer, couldn't you be one here? Where it's not as stressful and you could start a family, and work normal hours?' As if I could practice the law I'm interested in over there."

"What's the most common type of lawyer in your hometown?"

"General practitioners who do a little bit of everything, wills mostly. And there are three, I think."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

The conversation turns to other subjects as Marcus drives the two of you to your apartment building. As he parks in his spot in the underground garage, you place your hand onto his thigh. He turns off the engine and looks at you.

"Thanks for picking me up," you tell him quietly. His hand comes to rest on top of yours.

"No problem."

"You have any plans for tonight?"

He shakes his head, then leans forward over the middle console as you reach across the same for a kiss. His fingers thread into your hair before closing around the back of your head to bring you in, and you sigh softly against his lips as you feel the rest of the pressure from your Thanksgiving visit melt away. If the town you grew up in felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable, D.C. and Marcus feel like home. And there's nothing you want to do more now than be with Marcus in this city.

You break the kiss and lower your gaze to his fly, where your fingers are already working on unzipping him. Marcus exhales in an audible sigh.

"You missed me that much?"

"Don't get any ideas," you warn him before bowing down over his lap.

Later, when you are freshly showered, and lying awake in Marcus's bed with him deeply asleep next to you, you wonder when his presence at night became such a comfort for you.

Marcus visits his parents over Christmas. You manage to convince yours that you're way too busy and the holidays too short for you to fly out. Settling in for a couple of days off work, you plan to go to the gym, meet friends, and maybe finally get through that book you started three months ago. You plan for simple yet delicious meals and come home with bags full of groceries and bottles of wine that you balance in your arms as you're digging for the keys in your pocket.

"Lemme get that."

Marcus appears by your side, taking a grocery bag from you.

"Thanks."

You manage to let yourself in, and Marcus follows you to the kitchen, where he leaves the bag on the table.

"Hi," he smiles. There is something so endearing about this man, his smile lights up the whole room, you can't possibly keep from smiling back at him.

"Hi. I thought you already left for the airport?"

"Just on my way now. Glad I caught you."

"Oh?" You unbutton your coat, unwrap the scarf from around your neck. "What's up?"

"Just... I wanted to see you before I left. Wish you happy holidays."

"Right." You take off your coat and leave it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Well... happy holidays, Marcus. I hope you have a nice weekend with your parents."

"Thanks." He clears his throat, looks down and scratches the back of his head. "Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you maybe... want to do something?"

"Sure," you nod, a warmth spreading in your belly. "Like, dinner?"

"I was thinking Hirschhorn? You said you were curious about their special exhibit. Then dinner, and maybe a movie, if you're not opposed to spending so much time with me at once?"

You feel your cheeks heat up a little. "I don't mind at all. That sounds lovely."

His smile widens, his warm eyes glitter. "Great. I'll get back to you as soon as I return."

He kisses your cheek before leaving, his hand resting momentarily on your arm. When he closes the door behind him, the apartment feels empty.

That emptiness stays with you over the holidays. You're enjoying the time off, yes, and downright cherish not having to spend time with your family. You were looking forward to Christmas eve drinks with a couple of friends but are disappointed when they only talk about holiday preparations, gift shopping, and visiting in-laws. The detachment makes you annoyed. It's not that you want that kind of life, you don't want kids and a house and Thanksgiving dinners and all of that. But there doesn't seem to be any alternatives. You get the feeling that they feel sorry for you, that they think you should look up from your laptop once in a while, go dating, settle down, maybe work less.

Always work less. You love your job so much, maybe you won’t forever, but right now you do, and it doesn’t feel taxing when it gives you the gratification it does.

You grab a cab home, earlier than you thought and morose for not getting the carefree night you had planned for. Maybe it's your own fault for thinking that people with families wouldn't have changed.

You weigh your phone in your hand for a couple of blocks before texting Marcus.

Hope you're having a better time than I am. Just getting home after drinks, and realized I have nothing in common with my friends anymore :/

You regret the text as soon as you've sent it. It sounds whiny, and you know that you're being unfair to your friends. But Marcus replies almost immediately:

Sorry to hear that. Wish I was there to make you feel better.

You smile, and your heart skips a beat. He always knows what to say.

It is what it is. Early night for me.

He replies with a Santa emoji that makes you chuckle.

Too old for Santa, you type back. Or too naughty. Either way, he's not coming.

Only man who should come in your apartment is me ;)

You stare at the message, cheeks heating as you lick your lips. Your brain scrambles for an answer to match his tone.

I'll be the judge of that, mister. If you're away for too long, I might get lonely.

The reply comes almost immediately.

I'll be back before you know it.

Your heart is fluttering like a butterfly inside your ribcage, and you react with a thumb up to the last message. For the rest of the cab ride, you're chewing on your lower lip while looking out the window, decorated windows racing past you as the cab driver navigates towards your apartment building.

You fall asleep in front of the TV and are awakened by a text.

You up?

You rub your eyes, realize that you're still wearing makeup, and curse low.

It's two am.

Marcus's name immediately lights up on the phone, and you answer the call.

"What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you."

"That's fine, I was on the couch. Gotta schlep my ass to bed," you yawn as you turn off the TV, and stand up, scratching your head.

"I'm outside."

"What?"

"I'm outside your door."

You frown, trying to understand what he's saying. "What are you doing there?"

"Just open?"

Call still active and phone held to your ear, you walk over to the front door, and unlock it. And there Marcus is, holding his phone but lowering his hand and ending the call while smiling wryly at you.

"Hi."

"What... why aren't you at your parents'?" you stutter, still holding the phone like you're talking to him through it.

"Because I can't do this at my parents'." He steps up to you, cups your cheek, and brings his lips to yours. His face is cold, so you understand that he has just arrived from the airport. Your sleep-riddled brain still doesn't understand, and Marcus breaks the kiss, breathing softly against your lips before drawing back.

"Did I... fuck this up now?"

You lick your lips and realize that you're feeling calm and steady in a way you no longer do when he's not around. You grab him by the jacket lapel and pull him in through the door.

"No," you reply, a shiver running through you when he puts his arms around you. "No, you did just the right thing."

You don't use your tub as often as you would like to, yet it was one of the main reasons why you bought your apartment. It's spacious, has gorgeous vintage style brass faucets, and is placed by the window, from which you can see the park, now wearing a white winter coat of snow, on the other side of the street. The shower booth is at the back wall of the bathroom and your busy lifestyle has you favoring quick showers instead of long, luxurious baths.

Now, however, you're stretched out languidly in Marcus's arms, the back of your head on his shoulder, his hairy thighs pressing up against you on either side. The water is hot and scented with oils, and if the orgasms you had before getting out of bed hadn't relaxed you, this would definitely take away the last vestiges of stress knotting your muscles.

"This is a really nice tub," Marcus mumbles into your ear, his hand running up the inside of your arm, resting on the edge of the tub. "Wish I had one."

"You're welcome to use mine," you smile, just as his hand disappears into the water, finding your breast and cupping it, thumb lazily stroking the nipple.

"I like your apartment better anyway," he admits. "Mine doesn't feel like a home."

"That's just because you haven't unpacked."

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Been busy."

"Doesn't help much that you're fucking me every time you're off work."

“One could even say it’s your fault I haven’t unpacked,” he muses, lips touching your temple. You shake your head, hand finding his and leading it away from your breast.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to pin this on me.” There is no vehemence in your voice, and even if Marcus can’t see your face, he can plainly hear the smile threatening to break out.

“I had to try.”

You bring your hand back to your chest, and sigh when his fingers brush over your nipple. It would be so easy to just let things slide, enjoy his hands, his mouth, his cock that’s resting softly against your lower back… But your interest is piqued.

“Why haven’t you unpacked, Marcus?” you ask quietly. “I’ve seen that you have painting just waiting to be hung on the walls and given how much you like to criticize my dentist’s office artwork from Ikea, I can’t imagine why you haven’t done more to decorate your apartment.”

His hand stills, and you feel him swallow. He clears his throat, sighs, clearly stalling, but you don’t show mercy. You want to know.

“I guess… I thought I’d be making a home with someone. And when that didn’t happen, I didn’t like the idea anymore.”

You braid your fingers with his, the water gently rippling with your movement.

“Your ex?”

“Yeah. Teresa.”

“What happened?” He’s mentioned some tragic breakup but never specified, and you’ve never asked. Now, however, you’re asking. You want this puzzle piece to fit right, want to know everything there is to know about Marcus Pike.

“I don’t want to burden you with that…”

“I want to know, Marcus.”

He hesitates, but eventually tells you how his ex, a smart, beautiful woman that he fell head over heels for and eventually proposed to, accepted his proposal over the phone but called again thirty minutes later to tell him that she was leaving him for a coworker. Marcus had been transferred to D.C., had asked Teresa to come with, had a plan for a life together, and she turned out to be in love with a coworker: a charming, unreliable man who worked out an elaborate scheme to make her choose him instead of Marcus.

You’re shocked to silence when he stops talking, an array of emotions simmering inside you. When Marcus speaks your name, the first one to burst is anger.

“What a cunt!”

Marcus sputters your name, but you don’t feel bad.

“You know I’m right!”

“No need for language like that,” he protests, but you can sense a change in him. It’s like something’s loosened in him. Even if you can’t see his face in this position, you can feel it in how his body feels against yours.

“I’m sorry, but that behavior is despicable. And from what you’ve told me about that asshole that she went with because of you, I’d say they deserve each other.”

He shrugs. “Or maybe I was too pushy. We didn’t date for long before I asked her to marry me. I should’ve given her more time.”

You turn around in his arms so that you can meet his flickering gaze. Raising your hand to his cheek, you caress the slightly scratchy surface that sorely needs a razor.

“If it feels right, it feels right,” you tell him softly. “There’s no shame in being open and honest about your feelings, Marcus.”

He blinks, and for a second you think his eyes look shiny. His lower jaw moves as he swallows.

“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles. “I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses but… I did feel I was being straight with her. And she… really fucking hurt me.”

“Yeah, she did.”

His stare is suddenly relentless.

“Will you? Hurt me, I mean?”

You feel nothing but calm. “Marcus, I like you a lot. This is more than just sex now. But I won’t marry you in six months, and I don’t need you to have a plan for us. I like my job, I have a good career that I won’t give up. I don’t want kids, but I like being with you, and I want to keep being with you, not just have sex but do other stuff with you.”

He smiles at that and casts his eyes down. You lean forward to press a small kiss to his lips.

“And I will help you to unpack your shit, and I will come with you to get a new kitchen table tomorrow when the stores open. Because that huge monster you have jamming up your kitchen has got to go.”

“Not tomorrow,” he immediately tells you, and you quirk an eyebrow. “Because tomorrow I’m taking you to the museum, out for a meal, and then we’re watching Casablanca.”

You chuckle. “It’s a deal.”

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, water splashing when his arms go around you.

“For the record,” he murmurs against your lips, “I like you too.”

“That’s a relief,” you smile, before a gasp escapes your lips; Marcus’s hand has slid down your soft stomach to the apex of your thighs, and one finger is slowly circling your clit.

“Open your legs,” he whispers, breath almost scorching your cheek that is already warm from the water and your rising desire. You move around, legs and hips repositioning themselves so that he can cup his big hand over your sex.

“Marcus,” you breathe in a low moan, “I already came twice this morning…”

“And you’ll come a third time,” he promises as he slides a finger inside your warm heat, rolling a nipple between two fingers of his other hand. You curl your arm back and around his neck, seek his lips for more kisses, push down against his hardening cock to make him gasp into your mouth. Thumb on your clit, he adds a second finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly as you exchange moans along with your kisses. Your hips jut upwards when he hits the right spot, and then he stays on it, water splashing over the edges of the tub when he goes increases speed. Your hand dives underneath the surface to find his cock, and a strangled moan travels from Marcus’s mouth to yours when your fingers close around the stiff length. When he slows down, so do you, when he fucks you faster, your hand works him faster.

The climax reaches both of you at the same time, your bodies tightening up, Marcus’s hips jerking up as your thighs clamp shut, cries bouncing off the tiles as you press your bodies together. As silence falls, the water stills and your hearts return to their normal rhythms, and Marcus’s lips are on your temple.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“So are you,” you hum, a ripple of lingering pleasure making your legs twitch. He kisses you again, a light smattering of kisses over your temple, brow, cheekbone, before reaching your mouth. That last kiss is deep and slow, loving, and intimate in a way you haven’t had with him before. It’s unnerving, almost scary, but there is something so comforting about Marcus’s broad-shouldered body underneath you, something that makes you embrace the unknown.

“Happy Christmas, baby.”

The underwhelming meeting with your friends, the flirty texting with Marcus, that feels like weeks ago. But it was only last night, and your world has been thoroughly rocked since then.

“Happy Christmas, Marcus.”

[loveswrites]

omg poly cullens taking care of a sick reader- i just wanna be doted on frfr

Poly Cullen x Sick reader

I loved writing this it took me 3 hours with people bothering me. I hold you like it. Lemme know what else you would like to see!

Currently you were at the Cullens house for a sleepover. At least that’s what charlie thought, and that’s also what you thought it was as well. You thought you’d have an exciting chill weekend with your secret lovers. That was until you had woken up with a tingle in the back of your throat, your eyes watering, both of your nostrils clogged, and you just simply felt like you were dying. 

“Stop being dramatic.” Roseilane said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t know how it is Rose, you’ve been dead for like a thousand years.” You said snapping but sneezing mid sentence. She frowned in response. 

“ I may be dead but at least I’m not spreading my germs everywhere.”

“I blame Emmett.” 

“ Wait, what why me?!” He said standing up from the desk he was sitting on.

“ Because you were the one who insisted that we go spend ‘Alone time’ together and go skinny dipping even though you know damn well I can’t swim! That water was cold as hell.” You answered, lifting your tongue as Carlise put a thermometer under your tongue.

When you had woken up immediately complaining you were in Edward's room sleeping with him, because the two of you hadn’t had any alone time together in a while and you could tell it was bothering him. Though he wouldn’t admit it he was grateful that you had chosen to sleep with him without him asking.

I’m not saying it was easy to do so, It was practically like prying a child's favorite toy away with Rose and Emmett. They did not give up without a fight.

“What do you mean you don’t wanna sleep with us?” Rose questioned. 

“ I just wanna sleep with Edward tonight, You’ve done nothing wrong Rose.” You replied in attempts to comfort the defensive vampire.

“But we wanted to watch the game with you, You said you would.” Emmet argued back.

“I know I know but I’m tired, I just wanna take a bath and lay down. Me and Edward haven’t had any time alone together so I thought that me and him could cuddle while I fall asleep. I promise you two did nothing wrong.” You said kissing Rosalie cheek then doing the same to emmett. The frown on their beautiful faces pained you but they weren’t the only one’s in this relationship. 

In Fact you had to think about the last time you spent alone time with Carlise and Esme. They always say that “Your presence in the house alone is enough time for us.” But you know that’s just them being the adults of everything and that is not the case. You knew that just like the rest of the Cullens they went through their own version of possessiveness, it was only right with the soul bond between you all. It’s just they had a better way of hiding it than the others.

Rosalie and Emmett would pout and huff like children. 

 Edward would hide himself in the woods or stuff himself in his room. Saying that he just needed ‘alone time’. When we all knew he needed the exact opposite.

Jasper would be more distant than normal, lost in his thoughts.

Esme would clean. Like there would never be a spot of dirt around this house when she was feeling alone.

And Carlisle would just bury himself with work. Always taking up extra hours making sure he is busy enough to not think too much about it.

All of your partners were just begging for attention but none of them would voice it out loud. 

So right before you went to sleep you stated to yourself in your head that you would make time for each Cullen the next day even if they each only got a hour alone with you, Something was better than nothing.

That was until you woke up feeling like shit.

Carlisle shook his head, taking the thermometer from under your tongue. “You have a fever.”

“I could tell that from down the hall she’s sweating like she’s a witch and we just set her on fire” Edward said with his emo attitude upset that his time with me got cut short because of Emmett’s shenanigans 

“Edward please.” Carlisle said tucking your hair behind your ear while pulling you closer to him to kiss your forehead. This made you smile. You had middle his forehead kisses. You felt like he always gave the best ones. You wouldn’t dare say that out loud ever though. You know Rose would kill you out of jealousy.

“I’m going to get you medicine okay? You’ll be okay.” Carlisle said, pulling away from you when Jasper walked into the room. You nod in response.

“Esme and Alice are making you some soup.” Jasper said with a sly smirk on his face know your next words.

“Soup? Ew You know I can’t stand soup! That shit is nasty. I'm not eating it.” You said, shaking your head and frowning in distaste. You heard soft laughs in response.

“It will make you feel better, I promise.” Jasper said in his southern accent that just honestly was a panty dropper you would always tell him.

“That doesn't help me at all, I’d rather eat sand.” You said rubbing your eyes as you felt a pounding headache come on.

As if sensing your discomfort, Carlisle was right by your side again with supplies in his hand. Rubbing your back with one hand he put his things down on the table you were sitting on.

“You need to rest, Whose room would you like to sleep in? I’ve already contacted Charlie and told him you fell with a cold so you shouldn’t worry about him. He’s fine.” he stated but you were now faced with the most difficult decision of the day.

Looking around the room Jasper was standing by the doorway watching you with calculating eyes still with the sly smirk of his which always made your heart pound. Him hearing it he chuckled, his actions made you look away in embarrassment.

Looking towards Emmett and Rose. Emmett was sitting on the table near the window and Roselie was sitting in between his legs and they both were looking at you with their signature puppy eyes. Moving your eyes to edward very quickly because you knew if you stared at them for too long you would give in.

Edward looked lost in his thoughts which would always make you put him because you felt that he felt like he was lonely. You would call him the lone wolf of the pack which he hated. But he couldn’t stay mad at you just like you couldn't pick just one of them right now. You need all of them right now. And that’s exactly what you would have.

Jumping down from where you were sitting with the help of Carlisle you didn’t respond verbally. You  just did your hand moment you would always do when you wanted all of the Cullens to follow you but didn’t feel like saying it out loud. And they always answered.

Walking to the kitchen where Esme and Alice were, like she could smell you in the air she turned around with a smile on her face.

“There you are my beautiful, Your soup is almost done. Would you like me to add anything to it?” She said so softly, like if she spoke too loudly you would melt aways in pain. Which was a high possibility the way you were feeling. 

“Nope, you didn’t even have to make me anything you know, I would’ve been fine without.”

“Oh no, you know I love a chance to use the kitchen for you.” She said making you smile because you knew it was true.

“Well if you must, can you come up to the room where you're done?” You asked which she nodded in response to. Satisfied with your answer you turned around walking up the stairs to Carlisle and Esme bedroom. 

All that could be heard behind you were soft footsteps of all of your lovers following you.

Once you made it to the room you sat on the bed finally speaking. 

“All of you, all of us, and all of me. Here in this bed now.” Leaving no room for argument, you got comfortable.

The first to get in the bed with you was Jasper surprising you. He claimed his spot behind you so that you were in his arms and laying on him. 

“The best spot in the house.” He whispered into your ear making you giggle at the ticklish feeling.

Soon following along, each Cullen claimed their spot next to you. Everyone getting one piece of their love. They were satifisty. Meaning so where you.

Once everyone was relaxed Esme came up to the room to feed you the soup she had made you. Though you tried to fight it, you were falling weaker and weaker each minute. This ‘cold’ was kicking your ass. Soon after she was done feeding you she also claimed her spot between you and Caslise. 

A few minutes into laying there you felt your eyes growing heavy. The feeling of hands all over you. The coolness of your lovers cooling you down. You felt content. But you had One question.

“Guys, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Each of them said collectively.

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

“Oh my god-”

“I’d probably step on you.”

“I’d keep you in a beautiful enclosure.”

“I’d give you a little cowboy hat-”

“That’s so stupid.”

And just like that. You were out like a light.

[btsficsandsuch]

You Better Figure It Out- Part 2

Yoongi can’t figure out a way to prove to you that he never cheated. When you hear stories about his encounters with other women it starts to make you question your decision.

Part 1 Here

The plane ride back home was difficult. You tried your best to hide your tear stained face but after a few hours you just stopped caring. People stared and whispered, but your mind and your heart were so full of other things that it didn’t even matter to you. Yoongi had called you 16 times by the time your plane took off. You lost count of how many text messages he’d sent. Some of them apologizing, most of them begging. You had been cheated on in the past and Yoongi knew that too which is why you were extra hurt.

You wanted to believe he didn’t cheat on you but how could you? Your last boyfriend managed to hide his infidelity from you for six months and the two of you lived together and even worked for the same business. You and Yoongi spent a significant amount of time apart so it would be super easy for him to hide it from you. You thought of all the times he left for tour and you couldn’t go because of work and you wondered what he did when he was alone after the show or all the times he was locked in his studio all night and told you not to come by because he was busy. Now you were wondering exactly what he meant by “busy”.

When you finally made it back to your apartment the first thing you wanted to do was take a hot shower. Opening the bedroom door you were hit with a wave of disgust when you looked at the bed. The bed that you and Yoongi spent countless nights in cuddling, talking, showing each other love. What if he brought other women home and cheated on you with them in that bed? Suddenly you felt dirty being in that apartment. It didn’t feel like home any more. You grabbed another bag and packed some clean clothes. You were going to go stay with a friend for a while until you could find a new place. Luckily Yoongi wasn’t going to be home for a while so you didn’t have to worry about getting all of your things out just yet.

Over the course of the next few weeks Yoongi still called and texted you every day. Then you started getting texts from the boys asking you what was going on because Yoongi was inconsolable since you left. You knew things were serious when you got a voicemail from Bang PD letting you know that he was starting to get really worried about him. Part of you wanted to call and make sure he was okay at least but you ultimately decided against it. He brought this on himself and it’s not your responsibility to fix it. If things weren’t stressful enough for you, you still hadn’t found somewhere to live and the tour was almost over. Yoongi would be home in a few days and you weren’t sure what you were going to do.

You just arrived home from work when you heard your phone going off again. You went to delete the message assuming it was just Yoongi again but stopped when you saw it was Namjoon asking if the two of you could meet up now that they were home from the tour. You were hesitant but he promised no Yoongi so you gave in and you agreed to meet him the next day.

“Y/N it’s good to see you. How are you?”, Namjoon said while giving you a hug. You smiled, “I’m alright. How was the rest of the tour?” He sighed, “Tiring to say the least but we love it.” There was a long silence before he continued, “So you probably know why I wanted to talk so soon after getting back.” You nodded realizing that they would’ve just got in this morning. He continued, “Yoongi didn’t tell us the full story. He just said he messed up and he doesn’t know how to fix it. All I know is he’s not been the same Yoongi since you left.” You weren’t sure how much you wanted to involve him. At the end of the day this was between you and Yoongi but you thought maybe he might know something. “Namjoon, I want you to be 100% honest with me. Has he ever cheated on me?” You decided to give him more context before he answered, “He accused me of cheating and then admitted that he cheated on me. When I proved that I didn’t cheat he tried to backtrack and tell me that he never cheated. I don’t know if I believe him.”

Namjoon was quiet for a while like he was trying to decide how to answer. Finally he spoke, “Look Y/N I’m not with him 24/7 so I can’t tell you for sure.” You felt your heart sink. He continued, “But I can tell you there was this one time while we were on tour we had met a group of girls. We were all hanging out and drinking. People started getting touchy with each other. This one girl in particular really wanted Yoongi. I mean she was all over him.” The thought of some other girl all over him made you sick. You weren’t sure what the point of this story was and why he was telling you it. He continued almost like he could read your mind, “Yoongi kept pushing her away and telling her he wasn’t interested. She was persistent. Next thing I know her top is flying across the room and she’s straddling him in just her skirt and bra.” You’d had enough, “Joon what is the point of this story?” He chuckled, “Let me finish. He immediately shoved her off of his lap and left the room. Later that night Jimin found him asleep in his bed with his laptop open showing a slideshow of photos of you and he was hugging that tshirt of yours that he brings with him anytime we leave the country. My point is he could’ve easily had that girl if he wanted but he didn’t. Instead he laid in bed staring at pictures of you and clutching your shirt like it was the last thing he had left of you.” You had forgotten all about the blue tshirt you had gotten on a family vacation when you were 17. It was one of your favorites and Yoongi had accidentally packed it with his belongings before going on tour one time. He shyly told you how he had slept with it every night because it felt like you were there with him. Ever since then you let him keep it and it became like a comfort blanket for him when he was away.

Namjoon brought you back to the present as he continued, “Like I said Y/N, I can’t guarantee what Yoongi does when I’m not there but from what I do see I personally don’t think he’d cheat on you. The opportunity has presented itself several times over the years but he never acts on it. Ultimately though it’s up to you to decide if you want to move forward or end the relationship now. But please at least talk to him either way. We are really concerned about his well being right now.”

Even though you were more conflicted now you thanked Namjoon for talking with you and went on your way back home. You tried to clear your head on the walk back. On one hand you really believed that he wouldn’t cheat based on what Namjoon said but like he also said he’s not with him all the time. He was right about talking to him though. You knew that had to be done even if it was just to discuss moving your things out. You sent a quick text to him asking if the two of you could talk back at the apartment. Almost instantly you received a text back letting you know he was already there so you changed direction and made your way over.

You let yourself into the apartment for the first time in weeks. It felt even less like home than it did when you last left. You found Yoongi standing at the kitchen counter making two cups of coffee. You couldn’t believe how terrible he looked. His skin looked of a grayish color. He had dark bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in months. It looked like he had lost close to 20lbs since you last saw him. He looked up when he noticed you standing in the room. Slowly he walked over and handed you a cup of coffee, “I made it just like you like it.” You softly smiled and took the mug from him before sitting down. He stood staring for a moment like he was unsure where he should sit. Eventually he settled on the chair next to you.

“How have you been Y/N? Are you taking care of yourself?”, he asked. “I’m doing alright. How have you been?”, you inquired. He was biting his lip. Before he could speak the tears started flowing from his eyes. He started hyperventilating and shaking. Instinctively you reached for his hand, “Yoongi breathe. Just calm down and breathe. When is the last time you ate something or even slept?” He shook his head, “I don’t know. I don’t really care to do either any more.” “Yoongi you have to take care of yourself. Please. I hate seeing you like this.” You got up and checked the cabinets to find something to eat. Thankfully there were some instant noodles you were able to heat up. Setting the bowl in front of him you spoke, “Please eat. It���s the least you can do for me.” You watched as he finally started to eat the noodles. It was almost like you could see some life immediately brought back into his body.

You let him finish his meal and calm down a little before you decided to move forward with the reason you were there. “How do we move forward from this?”, you asked. He stared out of the window, “I don’t know Y/N. There’s no way for me to prove to you that I didn’t cheat. I love you more than life itself but I can’t force you to forgive me. What I did was disgusting and I broke your trust. I understand if you don’t want to continue this relationship any more.”, You sat in silence for a while before finally speaking up, “I agree Yoongi. I can’t trust you any more and I don’t think I can continue this.” He winced at your words before solemnly nodding. “Please take care of yourself Yoongi.”, you whispered before making your way to the front door.

You were finally able to find an apartment you could afford even though Yoongi had offered to let you have the apartment you shared. It didn’t feel right so you declined. You hadn’t heard from Yoongi since you stopped over to get the rest of your things. He still looked miserable but he didn’t say much. He helped you carry down some of your boxes to your car before disappearing to your once shared bedroom.

It had been several weeks since you heard from him when one day you got a text from him saying he had a box of your things at his studio. He said you could stop by any time and pick it up. You told him you’d stop by one day after work and that was the end of the conversation. It’s was a Friday evening and you were able to sneak out of work a little early so you thought it would be the perfect time to go get your stuff from his studio. You made the familiar walk to the building and then made your way past security and up his room.

Standing in front if his door you were about to knock when the door suddenly swung open and a woman came storming out slamming the it behind her. “Seriously, he already moved on?”, you thought feeling your heart break. “Oh are you here to see Yoongi? Well good luck. I swear I could walk in there naked and he wouldn’t even notice.”, she said dripping with sarcasm. You were pretty speechless not really sure what was going on. For some reason this woman thought you wanted to have this conversation so she continued, “Some guys are so blind or maybe just dumb. I’ve been trying to get with him for years. He always shot me down saying he had a girlfriend. I’d say what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. He still wouldn’t give in and told me he’d never do that to her. Whoever his girlfriend was must’ve been something special. Then I find out that they recently broke up. So I’m like okay cool. Now is my chance but he’s still rejecting me claiming he’s still in love and trying to get her back.” She eventually walked away still rambling. You were in disbelief at what you just heard. How could someone be so selfish?

You knocked on his door and waited for him to answer. When he did you greeted him with a slight smile, “I just met your friend. She seems nice.” He chuckled and invited you in. “So what’s her deal? It seems like she’s been giving you a hard time for a while.”, you asked. “That’s just Mae. She’s been working here for like three years. Her dads one of the big shots so she gets away with a lot. She’s been flirting with me and making advances on me for years. I think I’m the first person to tell her no in her life so she doesn’t like it.”, he said with a laugh. You began thinking back to the story that Namjoon told you about how Yoongi had rejected the girl while he was on tour and he also kept rejecting this Mae girl. You started wondering if maybe he didn’t ever cheat on you. He’s clearly had plenty of chances but has always turned them down.

You were shaken out of this thoughts when Yoongi spoke, “Your box is by the door. There’s some notebooks and supplies. Your favorite fuzzy socks are in there. I know you’ll want those back. Your favorite tshirt is also in there. I forgot it was still in my luggage.” You looked over and saw your blue vacation shirt that Yoongi always took with him on tour peaking out of the box. You were fidgeting with the sleeve of your blouse wondering if you’ll regret this next action or not, “Yoongi, you really never cheated on me did you?” He looked up at you, “Y/N I swear on my career, on my family, on my life itself. I never cheated on you. When I saw you at that pub and I thought you were getting that guys number I was hurt and scared and angry. I always expected you to leave me one day because I’m not the best at this relationship thing and I thought that day had finally come. I wanted you to feel the hurt that I was feeling. I said the one thing that I knew would hurt you the most and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

You could feel the tears starting to well up in your eyes. You missed him so much. “Y/N you can say no if you want but can I hug you?” You nodded and he slowly wrapped his arms around you. It had been so long since you felt a relief like that. No one could hold you like him, comfort you like him, or love you like him. “Please give me another chance. I promise that nothing like this will ever happen again. You’ll never doubt my commitment or love for you.”, he whispered to you.

You pulled away to look into his eyes. It felt like years since you’d done that. His eyes were filled with sincerity. “I’m not saying I forgive you and I’m not saying that things will go right back to the way they were because it’s definitely going to take time but I do think that if we work on this we could repair our relationship.”, you said. Yoongi smiled, “I would really like that.” He took your hand in his, “If you like you could stay here for a little bit. I’ll order us some food. It’ll be like a repeat of our first date.” You thought back to that night and chuckled, “Yeah that sounds nice. Just please don’t spill your drink on me out of nervousness this time.” He laughed as he started ordering the food from his phone. You went over to the box of your things on the floor and took out the blue tshirt. You walked to Yoongi’s computer chair and laid the shirt over the back before leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He looked back at the shirt and then up at you before smiling. You took a seat on the couch and continued to watch him as he pondered over what to order. You knew he was the one that broke your heart to begin with but you also knew deep down that he’d be the one that could slowly stitch it back together.

@anon-1112

[ghostboneswrites2]

HELLOOOO :333

since im re-watching twd and im back on season 8, what if Y/n was to get bit aswell but had no intentions of telling daryl? So she makes the most of her remaining days with him until she gets consumed by the infection. Kind of like the whole carl thing. thankyou in advance :P

hi angsty anon sorry for the wait I love this req so much 💕

Last Man Standing

Warnings: TWD typical violence, death, grief, mentions of sex

dividers from @sister-lucifer

Gratitude could be hard to come by. You’d think it would be bountiful in a world where a simple meal could be considered a luxury. With all the carnage and loss, it was easy to forget that there were still things worth being thankful for, but today you were grateful. You were grateful often, but especially today.

Today would be the beginning of the end of your life. So, you’d spend the morning with Daryl, drinking instant coffee and complaining about the taste. He’d part for only a short time to shower, offering you to tag along, only to be shot down.

“No thanks, babe. I actually showered last night before you got back.” You’d say in your casual chipper, and he’d believe you, because you never gave him a reason not to. How was he to know what you were hiding beneath your shirt?

After his shower, while you were cleaning up the kitchen for him, he snuck up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and inhaling against your neck. He loved the way you smelled.

With a chuckle, you’d ask him, “All clean?” To which he’d just grunt and squeeze you tighter, pressing you into the counter. You’d spin around, plant your lips on his, while he hoisted you up onto the countertop and stripped you down. The sex was passionate and sweet, never breaking the kiss until you had to get dressed again.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me?” You asked him as you adjusted your bra and fixed your hair.

“Ya sure? Hotter than hell out.” He asked skeptically, knowing how much you loved having a home with an AC.

“Of course I am.” You grinned wide, a smile that shone brighter than your inner turmoil. “It’s the only thing I miss about being on the road. Our walks in the woods.”

A tiny curl appeared at the corner of his lip, a small show of affection he often reserved for you and you alone.

“Get your boots on.” He told you. Once you were both geared up to leave the walls, you went out into the trees and disappeared together.

He picked up quickly on your unusual silence. It wasn’t that a quiet walk was abnormal for the two of you, but you had a habit of pointing out different types of birds and bugs as you strolled. Today you hadn’t done that. Your focus was on the small beams of light that filtered in through the canopy above. Life was so beautiful, and you were determined not to take it for granted in your final hours.

The heat, however, was not so enjoyable. The fever was starting to set in and you knew it would be only a matter of time before your skin went pale and clammy. Your hours were numbered, more than you had anticipated. Of course, you’d seen it happen much faster than this. You were still one of the lucky ones.

When you found a suitable log you took a seat, being sure to control your breathing. He couldn’t see you get winded after such a short walk. He’d know something was up. So, instead of giving him the chance to think about it too much, you decided to distract him.

“Remember when we first met?” You asked. He snorted.

“I remember a psycho comin’ after me with a knife.” He joked.

“I’m my defense, I didn’t know you, and you were in my house.”

“It was a damn gas station in the middle o’ nowhere.” He argued. You giggled.

“Home is where you make it.” You told him.

“Nah. Home is people. The ones who matter.” He corrected. You felt a twinge of pain in your heart. You knew he was referring to you. You were his home, just like he was yours.

“Yeah. But, sometimes…” You trailed off, chewing at your lip anxiously. “Sometimes home is just where you belong. Even if the people that belong there with you aren’t there anymore.”

“Nah.” He shrugged away your sentiments. “My people’s my home an’ if I ain’t got them I ain’t got nothin’.”

You took in a small breath and blinked a few times to avoid tears. It was moments like this that reminded you why you could never tell him. A surge of emotion washed over you. Suddenly you felt dizzy in the heat. Whether it was the infection or the stress, you were visibly pale and short of breath.

“Y’alright?” He asked with concern.

“Yeah.” You breathed with a nod. “It’s just really hot out here.”

“Told ya.” He gloated. “You’re spoiled now.”

He stood and offered you a hand, which you took, and he led you back home.

After some cold water and a small snack, you hadn’t felt much better. You knew it could only be a sign of what was to come, which was surely worse than what you were currently experiencing.

“Damn. That heat really took ya out, huh?” He commented as he refilled your glass of water. You nodded and hummed, somewhat absentmindedly.

“Wanna watch a movie?” You asked him.

“We got movies?” He asked. You laughed.

“Yeah. Not sure which ones but I found some DVDs when we moved in.”

The two of you searched until you found a movie called Pay it Forward. It was about a boy who did a class project in the concept of paying it forward. One good deed for fellow man, paid forward consistently, to make the world better for everyone.

By the end you were in tears, and so was Daryl despite his best efforts to conceal it.

“Kid reminds me o’ you.” He admitted. “Always tryin’ to do right by everyone else.”

“Yeah.” You sighed. All the good deeds you had done, only to die in the end, just like the little boy in the movie. The only difference was that you knew you were going to die.

The sun was beginning to set, and as you went to stand and turn off the TV, you collapsed. The weight of your upright body was too much to bear. It felt as if your bones were being crushed under the weight.

In a panic, Daryl rushed to lift you back into the couch. Your head swayed around, eyes glazed over. Your skin was clammy and drained of color. Your eyes had sunken in and the whites around your irises had yellowed. He took your face in his hands and tried to steady it, looking you in the eyes with a deep concern.

“Y’okay? Hey, look at me. Ya good? You’re scarin’ me.” He begged softly as your tried to focus on him through the blurry vision. “Y/N? Talk to me, baby.” He pleaded again.

When your vision had reduced him to a single figure, you finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, Dar.” You whispered.

“Sorry for what?” He asked with a gentle shake of your shoulders when your head began to droop down again. “Did ya take somethin’? Ya sick? What’s goin’ on?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” You admitted, voice crackling under the weight of fear and agony. It felt like your bones were splintering under your skin, lodging into your flesh like needles. Everything hurt. Everything burned. Everything aches and throbbed and begged for relief.

“Tell me what?!” He begged. “Talk to me. You can tell me anythin’, ya know that!”

“I’m sorry.” You began to cry. It was all finally caving in on you. The terror of becoming a walker, the fear of death and the unknown, the guilt of leaving him behind. “I’m sorry.”

“Y/N..” He whispered, eyes beginning to water.

With nothing left to lose, you hooked your weak fingers under the hem of your shirt and struggled to pull it over your head. Daryl reached to help, but he froze when your ribcage came into view. A deep round bite showed it’s ugly face, bruised and discolored all around. The veins around the wound had turned black. The nasty infection had entered your bloodstream. Hell, even if it hadn’t, it wasn’t like you could amputate and save your life.

A sick feeling crept into his heart and spread over his body. He was nauseated, enraged, devastated. He couldn’t even decipher the range of emotions, and frankly he didn’t have the time to. You were slipping away, like sand falling through his fingers.

“When?” He choked out.

“Yesterday.” You admitted weakly.

“Ya didn’t tell nobody?” He asked in shock.

“I couldn’t. They’d have told you.”

“Why couldn’t ya tell me?” He asked you, but it was too late. Your eyes had fluttered shut. He shook you with a rough desperation. “Y/N, come on. Not now. Talk to me. Open your eyes. Why couldn’t ya tell me? Come on baby. Please.”

He begged and cried as he shook you, pulled you into his arms, tried everything to bring you back. Your body was limp against his. All the strength of a man ripped away from him as he crumpled up on the floor, cradling the love he had lost. He sobbed over you until the heat of the fever had left your flesh and you turned cold. All signs of live had vanished. He pulled away and looked down at you one last time. Scanning every feature, imprinting it into his memory.

Then, he screamed. It was a deep, guttural, primal kind of scream. The kind you only heard from a man who lost everything he loved, or a woman who lost her child. It was filled with agony and despair. He screamed and screamed until neighboring Alexandrians rushed out of their homes and over to your front step. They pounded at the door and called for you and Daryl, overcome with worry for their neighbors.

He couldn’t hear them, though. Not over his own heart, over his own thoughts, his screams and cries. He stood in place and dug his fists into his hair, hoping the pain of tugging at his scalp would distract him from the overwhelming ache in his chest, but it did nothing to soothe him. He paced around your body, hyperventilating, losing touch with himself and the world around him.

His hands found pictures on the walls, furniture, the television, the dishes and decor. His heavy boots echoed as he stormed around and destroyed the reminiscence of his life with you there. He could leave no trace, for he could not bare it. By the time Rick was summoned, the home was completely destroyed. Broken glass and splintered furniture littered the home. Lamps turned sideways, flickering in the dim rooms.

He found you first, a cold half-dressed corpse that he barely recognized amidst the destruction. He found Daryl next, on the kitchen floor, curled up on his side as he sobbed on a bed of broken china and scattered cutlery. Rick could barely recognize him as he laid there, a shell of a man. A man who lost his whole world.

It would be weeks before anyone aside from Rick saw him again. Without Rick to check in on him and talk him into eating or drinking, he likely would have died of malnutrition or dehydration. At least, that would have been the formal cause of death. Everyone would know, though, that he would have died of a broken heart.

Eventually, he emerged from his solitude and found your grave among the others. He’d sit there for hours, reading and rereading the letter you left him, which he only found because it was under the bottle of whiskey you’d both saved for a rainy day.

Daryl,

It’s strange to imagine the final hours of one’s life. It’s even more strange to experience the final hours of your own life, knowing that everything you do, you do for the last time. I suppose I should feel afraid. Oddly enough, I’m sort of finding peace with it.

In retrospect, I was so lucky to make it as far as I have. My survival up until this point largely boils down to the luck of the draw. Right places, right times. Still, though, there were a few times where I lived because someone else died, or because someone was there to save me. There were times where we all lived because we fought like hell and earned the right to survive in this new world.

It is new, by the way. The world we once knew died, but it’s been reborn. I’m grateful to have been part of the beginning of something new, something that might be great. Most of all, I’m grateful to have been a part of it by your side. I’d never change a single thing. Even if I was given the chance to go back and stop the outbreak, I wouldn’t. Because I would have never met you, and had I not, I would have never found my true self. I pretended to be someone else for as long as I can remember. The time I’ve spent with you has felt more natural to me than anything I’ve ever experienced.

You, Daryl, are the most raw, genuine, unfiltered person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. You showed me how to find that version of myself, and in doing so, you set me free. I might be dying, but I’m dying as my true self, and for that I am thankful.

Despite all that, I know you, and I know nothing I can say will console you the way you need to be consoled. If nothing else, I hope every time you retreat into solitude and shut yourself off from the world, you can hear my voice in the back of your mind. Reminding you to admire the beauty in the natural world, nagging you to go see Carol and get out of your head.

I know you get tired of being the last man standing, but the grief doesn’t have to consume you. You don’t have to be alone. You deserve a happy ending too.

I love you, more than I could ever show you. I hope you can forgive me for leaving you behind. Whatever awaits me on the other side, I hope to find you there one day, after you’ve lived a full life and found a purpose outside of being by my side.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway

[jinkookspencil]

superstar | jjk

you, the quiet, lonely achiever, get paired up with the superstar new student at your university for a group project... and he needs all the help he can get

description/tw/tags: ~7.1k words / jungkook x chubby (f) reader / one-shot / fluff with a tiny dash of angst / strangers to friends to lovers / university AU / this is a request, submitted by the lovely @cat123jkbunny / i hope you (all) like it! / fatphobia (details: y/n is insecure and quiet and she gets bullied for her body and is made fun of for it, with someone insinuating she isn't good enough because of her body. There is also a scene where she feels like she is ashamed to eat in a crowded place but jk helps her out of that) / clean except for kissing and swearing / this is for my fellow curvy/chubby/plus girlies, you are all beautiful and i am always here for you and i hope you like this / feedback is always welcome and it's appreciated! note: i have 2 half-written drabbles (AND even some more ideas) that emerged from this fic request, with the same couple! If you guys like this and want to see those - let me know!

┅ ┅ ┅ ┅

Please not Jeon Jungkook. Please God, not Jeon Jungkook. Anyone…. anyone but…

“….Jeon Jungkook.”

Damn it.

His name echoed throughout the gigantic lecture hall and in your skull. Out of every student in your class, did it really have to be him? The one paired assignment you had in your course had to be with Jeon Jungkook. As your professor called out the pairs… there seemed to be no one left but the two of you and the final pair, who were always together, his best friends Taehyung and Jimin. You’d gladly work with either of them instead, or anyone really….

There was nothing wrong with Jeon Jungkook… nothing at all. That was what was so bewildering about your university's superstar. Jeon Jungkook was the school's…. everything. Enigmatically the star athlete, a featured artist, a Dean’s List candidate, and even a band member on the weekends, apparently.  He was the student that transferred to your prestigious university - absolutely unheard of - simply because the faculty were that impressed by him. With a reputation like that, it wasn’t long before everyone knew his name and face and was captivated by him immediately. Even the professors took a liking to him straight away - you’d grown tired of hearing them mention his name during office hours while they seemed to be getting tired of you. Every girl and guy on campus fawned over him - within good reason, you had to admit, considering his reputation and easy-on-the-eyes appearance… though you'd never stare his way for too long. The point remained:

If you went unseen, Jeon Jungkook was seen.

Being paired with him meant that whether you liked it or not, you would be in the spotlight in some way. No matter what - you’d have to talk to him, for God’s sake. You think to bolt out of the hall, find his email address, and just send him a breakdown of your responsibilities for the assignment or even an offer to do all the work yourself. You’d hate to, but if it meant interacting with Jeon Jungkook as little as possible and remaining unseen, you’d do it - what’s a few all-nighters and extra work when faced with the humiliation of talking to the school’s most popular person?

“Y/N?”

Shit.

People hardly called you by your name at university - your one friend had already graduated, so just being called would’ve startled you enough… let alone having heard it from such a hushed, singsong voice. Turning around, you see the enigmatic man standing right above you. Everything made sense in an instant. The love, seeing his kind smile. The admiration, seeing his muscles. The crushes and rumored weekly love letters he received, seeing… him.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m Jungkook,” he says, gesturing towards himself as if you’d never seen him or heard of him. “I don’t know if you know me, I sit all the way in the back? With Taehyung and Jimin?”

“Hi, I know who you are, Jungkook,” you mumble.

“Oh, cool,” he says, still smiling. “I guess we’re together! For the assignment, I mean...”

“Yeah, I guess so. You don’t really have to worry about a thing, though. I can just send you an email later breaking down what each of us should do, or I can just do it all by myself, and we’ll-”

“Oh. No,” he says, quietly interrupting you. “I… can’t have that. I don’t think that’ll work.”

You felt whatever polite expression was on your face fade at that moment… What did he mean by ‘no’?

“I want to actually work on this… I want to work on it together… please.”

You had no idea what to think at that moment, only replaying his quiet, hushed ‘please’ over and over again as he stood beside you, fiddling with his earrings.

“Jungkook, I can take care of it. You really don’t have to…,” you start, but he interrupts you again, shaking his head and sitting down beside you in the now almost empty classroom.

“No, Y/N. I..,” he starts in a hushed tone. “I’m really falling behind in this class and we have the exam coming up…. It’s not just that, it all seems so interesting it’s just that my stupid brain can’t comprehend much of it.”

Jeon Jungkook? Falling behind? Admitting to an unknown fact? Call himself ‘stupid’? Sitting in front of you, he’d finally been looking at you, his wide eyes lowered since the moment he’d approached. It was eerie too see, a look behind the curtain into the life of your community’s local celebrity when you’d been nothing but just another spectator.

“Look, I always want to do things on my own too, so I get where you're coming from...” he continues, “…and that must mean you can try to understand how desperate I am here. It’s hard to ask for help, but… I need it. I’m not lazy, I promise. I need actual… help... please.”

So that’s why.

The shock faded away in an instant. If there was one thing you might've been known for at university, it would definitely have been your grades. Strangers came and went, looking for “the fat girl at the top of the class," as a couple of students kindly called you, never bothering to ask your name. They never got consideration back or even a glance in their direction, let alone your work when they dared to ask to copy it…. but… Jeon Jungkook asked for help. Not to copy the homework, get basic instructions, or an "in" with certain professors. But help. And for the chance to work on it together.

A refusal rested at the tip of your tongue, even then, but that quiet ‘please’ was still on a loop in your mind…

How could you say no?

“Okay..”

“Yes! Good! Great, okay,” Jungkook says enthusiastically. Did he always have a wife, bunny-toothed smile? It was adorable. “Can we meet at the library tomorrow?”

“…Sure, Jungkook.”

“Perfect. Get ready, Y/N. I have a lot of questions. Oh, wait, first of all - what was that song you were humming on your way out of class yesterday?”

┅ ┅ ┅ ┅

You suspected it would be the one study session to get Jungkook up to speed and lay out the work for the assignment. But the one session turned into two, which turned into three, and before you knew it, you and Jungkook would be meeting at the library every single day.

It was… overwhelming to say the least. The workload, definitely, as well as the added time spent teaching him but on top of that… the stares and whispers nearly set you off when other students, even his own friends, Taehyung and Jimin, would murmur ineligible words when they'd spot you together in the library. It didn't slip past you that it definitely must’ve been a weird sight, the Jeon Jungkook sitting next to a nobody like you...  but when you were actually with him, the world around you faded away. All that mattered was the material you knew by heart and the boy who needed to learn it. And boy, did he need to.

After an hour of explaining the material to him one day, he’d continued to stare at you blankly. “Jungkook…. Are you even listening to me?” you resigned multiple times, realizing he had a tendency to space out at random points throughout the day. It was enough to almost tempt you to ghost him and just present him with a finished assignment or a detailed lesson plan.... but when he snapped out of it, he always hit you with an adorable, child-like pout and that irresistible plea: “Can you explain it to me again, please?”

So, you resisted the urge you felt before and after study sessions, to neglect him and stop the meetings altogether. In truth, you could’ve. Jungkook would do well enough to pass... but you couldn't accept him achieving the bare minimum. "I'm trying to steal your crown," he joked on day two, proving one of the many things you and everyone else had heard about Jeon Jungkook.

Finding out something new about Jungkook was to turn the page on the most fascinating book you'd ever read with limitless pages, for it seemed as though he and his talents could be described as such. It - he - was awe-inspiring, new, and enticing in the best of ways. And at times, it felt like it was only yours to hold, for you were the person discovering aspects to him, hardly believing it been you realizing it yourself, up close and personal.

He was definitely a competitive one, that, everyone knew - but you’d realized it went far beyond sports - aiming to rival you and fellow Dean's List candidate Kim Namjoon for the valedictorian spot despite admitting he'd still be behind if he tried his hardest, just thankful to have some worthy competitors. It proved that it was real ambition that Jungkook had in him. In contrast to the rumors that he never really cared about his studies, you saw just how clever and curious he'd been, in addition to his dedication in showing up every day, even when he didn't need to. He loved everything he did and never limited himself, whereas you’d been studying as much as you could in your field only to further advance in your comfort zone of academia. When you'd revealed this to him, he, ever the competitive one, expressed his jealousy at the stability ahead of you, helping ease the countless worries you'd had about your own future.

And, you’d discovered the fact that he’s, surprisingly for an artist and musician, more in his element when it came to logic, numbers, and science - with spreadsheets, calculations, and graphs just to keep track of your progress on the assignment, though he skewed the numbers to work on the assignment further. It frustrated him most as he struggles with words, essays, and theoretical concepts, which never made sense to you, considering he felt so much and made you feel so much in return. It was never stress or anger, even on the hardest of days - he had a surprisingly relaxed attitude for such an accomplished athlete. Rather, he expressed patience and envy when you'd been teaching him, and what got you most - his awe at the subject matter… even though he zoned out often. His eyes lit up whenever he started to understand something… you could swear you almost saw stars in his pupils whenever something evidently clicked inside his brain. And every time it did, every time you felt that damned butterfly in your stomach whenever he smiled… only to leave the study session to see daggers in your direction… you had to remind yourself - you were just here to help him.

He was Jeon Jungkook, for crying out loud. You were just another person who started to like him, as everyone does.

You had to remind yourself that his eyes were ordinary, brown eyes - no matter how big and starry they'd looked on certain nights. That though you’d gotten used to the way his soapy scent blended with that of the books around you, the familiarity of the books’ sweetness on its own was just as lovely. That people were looking. That he asked to study, not to get to know you. And that he had his pick of anyone he wanted in the entire university and beyond... there's no reason he'd want to spend time with you for longer than he had to and for more than you had been spending already. Your mental reminders only worked that hard when you had work to do.

For the first time in your life, you felt like a fool. For laughing at his every joke. For continuing to study with him and not putting an end to it the first time your heart fluttered. For not stopping the crush that you had on Jeon Jungkook. Though you felt like one, you never acted like a fool in front of him - at least, you didn’t think so, holding onto that paper-thin hope to at least ground you in some way. It was just as easy to remember that the sheer impossibility of anything happening, plus the actual studying, were at the forefront. It was hard to kill the butterflies, though. They returned every day, whenever you’d bounce off one another in explanation and conversation, drifting off-topic and sometimes getting personal, when he joked around and tried to convince you that university isn’t actually the end of the world… or even when you simply sat working together in comfortable silence.

That was exactly how it was on a regular Thursday afternoon. Tucked away in your corner of the library, you and Jungkook worked away peacefully when a student you’d never seen walked up to Jungkook. A regular occurrence, seeing as he was so popular.

“Hey, Kookie,” you hear, your eyes still fixated on your screen.

“Hey, Jia,” he replies. You can’t tell if he looked up at her or not. Did he? What did his eyes say? Fuck, why should you care?

“Hey, what… what are you doing?” she says with a giggle. If your peripheral sight was to be trusted, she placed her hand on his shoulder. You shouldn’t care, but resist a smile when he shoves it away. “You’re here every day, Jungkookie. Aren’t you bored? Like… what are you doing?”

“I’m working,” he replies.

“What about her?”

Glancing at her direction, you could see it on her - Jia's - face that she definitely didn’t know your name, and you knew the stares you got well enough to know the look on her face was one of confusion or, dare you say it, disgust. Jungkook's eyes flickered down from you, before returning to his notes.

“Y/N and I have that assignment together,” he replies, “the final project for Mr. P’s class before the exam.”

“Ohhhhhh,” she says, nodding in realization. “Okay, that makes sense then,” she giggles. “See you, Kookie. Call me if you want to have some fun tonight.”

To you, it was clear as day what she meant. That makes sense. In a way, she was right. It was the only possible way Jungkook would be sitting here, with you, every single day. He never would have - wouldn’t have even known you existed - if he hadn’t been paired with you. He made sense with girls like Jia - someone he’d have fun with rather than study with and beautiful in every way society wanted her to be, starting with her model-like body to compliment his built one. That made sense, you reminded yourself.

It must’ve been a good minute since you’d done anything on your computer, so focused on making sure the pesky insects in your stomach were dead, that you barely heard your name being called repeatedly until Jungkook waved his hand in front of your screen.

“HELLO?!”

“What?” you jolt, seeing his crouched head peeking to look at you.

“I was asking if you could throw this. The trash can is next to you.”

Jungkook hands you a piece of paper, unfolded, before sitting down and staring back at his screen, this time with his headphones on. You move to throw the paper out in a hurry, almost missing what was scribbled on it.

Jia’s name and phone number.

┅ ┅ ┅ ┅

Before you knew it, the deadline for the assignment arrived, and you and Jungkook were done. After a particularly long night at the library finalizing the paper, you uploaded the document and he hit the daunting blue button titled ‘submit’.

“YES!” Jungkook cheers from behind you, having looked over your shoulder to submit the paper together. With his head right beside yours with his arm planted on the desk in front of you, the veins you’d never noticed before on full display. Just when you realized it had been too close not to get panicked, he forces your chair to spin and face him, sticking his hand out for a high-five. “We did it!”

“We did,” you sigh, meeting his hand, pushing away the feeling of it in your mind.

“Why on Earth do you look sad?” Jungkook asks. “We should be celebrating! Let’s go get fried chicken!”

“Just thinking of the exam coming up and my other paper,” you half-lie.

How could you tell him you’re already mourning the time you spent together? He shouldn’t catch on, though…

“But I guess you’re right. It is a good thing that we’re done with it.” Really, it was. The delusional thoughts would cease. Might as well say goodbye. “It’s been fun… getting to do this and getting to know you, Jungkook.”

You reach out your hand for a high-five, as he had, but instead of going to meet it, he takes two steps back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You think you’re getting rid of me that easily?” he questions, cocking his brow.

“What?!”

“You said it yourself. We have the exam coming up.”

“Jungkook, you should be fine. You aced that assignment.”

“No, absolutely not.  I want… I need you. Your presence motivates me, and when I’m with you, I feel at ease…. with the material. It’s less scary.” It’s hard to ignore how wide Jungkook’s pupils had gotten as he fidgeted with his lip ring.

“Jungkook, Mr. P's exams are beasts unearthed from the very depths of hell. If I’m being completely honest, I can’t spend all my time teaching you," you say, speaking the truth.

“I’m not even asking for that. Just let me be near or around you. I’ll be quiet and ask minimal questions in the case of an emergency.”

Staring up at him, he had the same pleading and innocent expression on his face when he first approached you after you’d been assigned together. The time you spent together only confirmed that when he bit his lower lip and simultaneously arched his brows inwards and upwards… he was serious and pleading.

“I… might kick you out some days, Jungkook. When I need to focus extra hard.”

“Kick me out, then. Say the word, and I’m gone. And on the flip side, say the word, and I’m there - with anything you need. Like…. iced coffee! I know your order by now. Iced Vanilla Latte with an extra shot of espresso.”

Jungkook retraces his steps, standing right over you. It’s only when his hand reaches out do you realize your arm is upright, your unmet high-five still in the air. His hand meets yours softly, and without a single sound, fingers and palms perfectly aligned. His skin was calloused from his paintbrush and instruments, cushioned against your soft skin, his slender fingers towering over your wide ones… Pulling your hand down, your fingers get caught in his, which slightly curved towards you before your hand slips away.

Taking a deep breath, you notice Jungkook clear his throat. Suddenly, neither of you knew what to do with your hands, but he thinks fast, stuffing them in his pockets before finally looking back at you.

“So, deal?”

“Deal,” you yield, foolishly.

┅ ┅ ┅ ┅

Thank God you were smart as fuck.

Because though Jungkook kept true to his word, it turns out it was extremely hard to focus when your crush was doing one of two things - either quietly sitting beside you in all his glory (with no distractingly helpful responsibility of teaching him) or worse, when he was tending to you. There were the iced coffees, the water intake reminders, the extra highlighters, the space he gave you when he felt you needed it - even checking in with an “I’ll kick myself out for today” on a particularly stressful night before you knew you needed to do it yourself, for some alone time. You rarely wanted it anymore anyways. His questions and interruptions were few, always pleasant, of course, and never took up much of your time. It was worth it, seeing that proud smile of his when he now answered his own questions, just making sure from you that they were actually correct. The butterflies never stopped, especially considering he now sat beside you in the front corner of Mr. P’s lecture hall, abandoning Jimin and Taehyung on the other side of the room... The random, beautiful doodles he adorned your notebook with always made you smile harder whenever you studied - he was there even when he wasn’t.

“I knew you’d still be here,” Jungkook says, walking to your desk in the quiet library. Looking at the clock on your screen, you finally realize the time.

“What can I say?” you sigh. “What are you doing here, Jungkook? Isn't today Jimin's party, or whatever it was?”

“It was, and it might've been the dullest party Jimin ever threw. I know you cruelly rejected my invitation, but honestly... I don't blame you. It was the same old stuff and people and.. here's way more fun," he explained.

"Oh, come on," you reply, rolling your eyes. "Go back to the party, Jungkook. There's no way you think studying is more fun than even the most boring party at Jimin's."

"Hmmm... you're right. I still picked you instead because I missed you." The sentence escapes Jungkook's lips so quickly you didn't have a chance to realize what he'd said before he went on. "I wish you'd come... to give yourself a break. Knowing you'd be here, I decided to come and force you to rest. I also know that you haven’t eaten yet and that we still didn’t celebrate our assignment. We really should celebrate now, anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t check your email?”

You move to frantically get to your laptop before he blocks you. “No, you’re done for the day. Or at least, the hour - you didn't move all day, and I'm worried. Plus, your eyes are too tired. Should I get eye drops?”

“Jungkook... what score did we get?!”

“Only a 95%,” he shrugs, acting cool and uncaring before finally breaking into a wide smile. “We did it!”

A 95% was among the highest scores you’d ever gotten at university - a mark good enough to ensure you'd be the valedictorian instead of Kim Namjoon, who you’d been in competition with ever since freshman year. Not only that, 95% was a fast track that allowed you to possibly get your work published. Shrieking, you jump up from your chair and into Jungkook’s open arms. Realizing your position in the rush of it all, with your head on his shoulder, his tucked into the crook of your neck, and his hands wrapped around your plush waist… your heart only raced faster, which you didn’t think was possible. You quickly unravel your arms from around his back, and it takes a second longer for him to do the same.

You just hugged Jeon Jungkook. Why was he red? Probably ashamed, wondering if anyone saw him hug you.

“I never thought I'd... hear you scream in the library," he laughs, turning to a paper bag he'd placed on the table when he arrived. "I brought that fried chicken to celebrate. Let’s sit a while. You still need a break from all the screens.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t… eat here.”

“Why not?”

“There are some students around. You, too.”

“So? No one will mind the smell of fried chicken. That couple over there is eating it, too.”

"No, it’s…." you sigh, feeling as though you’re finally exposing some sort of unknown truth to Jungkook, despite the fact that he could obviously see you. "It’ll only make people judge me more. Stare at me more. For eating something like this in public. It’s like I…shouldn’t… with everything I’ve got going on. Like… it’s shameful?”

“But there’s nothing to be ashamed about. Nothing at all.” Jungkook looked just as confused as he’d been when he didn’t understand something in the lesson plan, but suddenly, it shifted to his ‘got it’ state. When he finally knew what to do. “Fuck it. Fuck everyone. Sit. Let’s eat. If anyone dares to look at you…. or, God forbid, say anything... You know I'm on the university's wrestling team, right?"

You nod and laugh because everyone knew, but he goes on. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure the whole university does, so I'd like to see some punk try anything."

He goes silent, shaking his head as he unloads the bag he brought and encouraging you to eat until he'd already finished half the bucket. Hesitantly, you grab a drumstick before finally taking a bite with your eyes fixated on Jungkook the entire time. You’d have avoided his gaze, even turned away, but with his raised brows and a closed-mouth smile, desperately awaiting your review… you knew you had to give him an answer fast, and you do so after the very first bite, shooting him a thumbs up. It was really good - sweet, sour, and spicy all at once. With your second bite and his proud smile, you recall another rumor you’d heard about Jungkook long ago. That he went on a tour of all the fried chicken spots in the city to find the best one. Asking him about it, you didn’t expect to find out that not only was it true, but it was also a life-long, worldwide mission of his - “Forget all the shit I’m talented at, this is my life’s purpose,” he proclaimed, saying that the chicken he'd brought had been his favorite so far. "And I wouldn't get you anything less than the best I’ve found, darling."

You felt your face flush, knowing Jungkook must've called you that jokingly. Still, the pet name sent your mind into overdrive, more than the studying did, as you fed your delusions for a little while. Darling.

You could've sworn you were actually living in your delusions later that night when he dropped you home for the very first time. The conversation never stopped, even until you were standing by your apartment building. "Still gonna study?" he asked, staring at your door.

"Maybe," you replied, knowing you'd be too delusional to do so, and if you tried, you would only end up staring at the words and cursing Jungkook for being too perfect and making you this way.

"Well, do you want to eat ramyeon now?” he’d said with a giggle. Catching you off guard, you nearly choked on air at the double entendre coming from him, but rolled your eyes and answered with a simple “Yes” instead, only for his smile to fade quickly.

Your fat ass should not be making jokes like that when you knew damn well you wouldn’t have shot. Especially not after dinner.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Jungkook," you hurriedly say, attempting to dash inside, only for your jacket to get caught on the way in. Looking down, you realize it hadn't been the knob that stopped it but rather Jungkook's fingers, clutching onto the fabric before letting it slip away. "Sorry. Goodnight."

┅ ┅ ┅ ┅

The moment kept replaying in your head, buried in your hands on the desk, agonizing over the humiliation as a break from agonizing over the workload. You had time to agonize today, Jungkook wasn’t there yet. If he saw you like that, he’d nudge you to get out of it.

“Hello?”

Jolted by the sudden voice of a woman, you look up to see Jia. “Hi,” you say, too awkwardly even for you. “Can I help you with something? Jungkook’s not here if you’re looking for him.”

“I can see that,” she scoffs. “I came to talk to you.” In all this time, your first run-in with her had been your only semblance of interaction, though you hadn't ever spoken to each other.

“Oh… Why?”

“What’s going on… between the two of you?”

“Me and... Jungkook? He told you, we had that assignment together….”

“That’s done,” she snaps.

“And now I’m just helping out with his studies.”

“Then why did Nani see him drop you home?”

“We’re… friends, Jia,” you mutter. You’d never called Jungkook that before, a friend, but you can’t help but think it’s fitting to do so... It fit, didn’t it? Weren’t you… friends? At the very least? Or...

“We’re classmates,” you quickly add.

“Friends - that's the funniest shit I've heard. His actual friends, Jimin and Taehyung refuse to tell me anything when he left that party. They were probably concerned and unsettled by it all…. I mean, everyone here can see how much you gush over him, you know? It’s embarrassing. I don’t know how he doesn’t see it and steer clear - especially since you should come with a cattle crossing sign, seriously.”

Was it that obvious?

“We all know he's just using you for that piece of meat between your ears until the exam's over. He's not an idiot, you know? Don’t get carried away thinking anyone outside your league would be interested in you.”

An emptiness grew with the uncovering of a deep fear of yours. Of course. Of course, he was still using you, you idiot... It was just the help he needed. Neither of you could have gotten the 95% on your own... He said he needed the help... the mark... She was right. He wasn't an idiot... but wasn't the Jungkook you knew too kind to use someone like that?

It was then that your phone, lying on the desk, lit up with a message, clear as day for the both of you to read.

[from: jungkook] “i’m on my way to you rn. brought kimbap!! hope you like it. made it myself :) ”

“Pft. He knows how to keep a fat girl on his hook. You fucking whale.”

You fucking fool.

“Heyooooooo!” you hear from a short distance in that familiar singsong voice that tugged at your heartstrings. Jungkook turned a corner and finally appeared from between the shelves. “Kimbap! Wait, what the fuck is wrong?”

Shit. You hadn’t realized tears were streaming down your face. As if you could be any more humiliated. Not even able to glance his way, despite him repeating the question over and over again, mere steps away from you, you stuff your things into your bag and rush out.

The last thing you catch is Jia’s scoff.

┅ ┅ ┅ ┅

Suddenly, avoiding Jungkook was easy. That urge you had long ago, the one in line with you, Jungkook, and the ways of the world…. Your two different worlds.

He’d chased you, easily getting to you and stopping you. Repeating his question again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you had let out, staring at the ground. You couldn’t talk if you wanted to.

“Are you kidding? What is it? Tell me…” he says quietly, putting his hands on your shoulders. You shake them off in an instant, walking away, only for him to follow close behind. “What is it? You’re not okay.”

“It’s… stress.”

“Bullshit - I’ve obviously seen you stressed. This isn’t it. I’ve never seen-”

“Jungkook, I’m kicking you out. Keep your word that you’ll stay out,” you snap, finally turning to look at him in the crowded library. If he’d never seen you this way, you’d never seen him that way either. Hurt. You can’t see why. He got what he wanted out of you, plus you’d told him you’d kick him out….

If only it was easy to keep him out. Jungkook had always listened when it came to the material, but it was as if he never knew how to in any other regard. His texts and calls over the weekend went ignored until you finally mustered up the courage to block him. You thought that would be that - Jungkook would go back to his world, and you’d go back to yours - but on your first day back, you find him sitting on the floor at the door to the library at the crack of dawn.

You’d specifically gone that early to avoid Jungkook - who always showed up during the late afternoons or evenings after having just woken up then on his off days. Yet here he was, sitting cross-legged by the glass door you’d walked into together countless times, glancing at the handful of other students with exams and deadlines as they walked in, out, and around him. Even from a distance away, you could see how wide his doe-eyes were. And he jumps up the moment he spots you slowly approaching the door.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” you ask quietly, trying to avoid his gaze.

“You say that as if you don't practically live in the library," he says, almost amused. "If you mean how I knew you'd be here so early - I took a chance. I would’ve waited all day until I saw you… All week, if that's what it took. And I probably would've convinced Mr. P to include a note with your exam sheet if you decided you disliked me until then.”

….Shit. Sure, you’d never end up with him, but he only fidgeted with the loose strings on his hoodie when he was really stressed - a sight you'd only seen once after a supposed tough day at wrestling practice. Now, they'd been undone with a hole at the bottom of the thick fabric. Knowing you caused it...

“I’m sorry, Jungkook. I shouldn’t have…”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t have,” he grumbles before shaking his head. “No, you don’t... You don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe me your time… I should’ve stayed “out” like I promised, but… I just want to know if you were okay.”

“I am,” you barely let out. With tears bubbling in your eyes, you walk into the library.

“I don’t believe it,” he says, trailing you.

“I kicked you out, remember? Stay out. Why do you even care?" you say without turning back.

“I care about you!”

When you finally stop to stare at him, Jungkook doesn't allow you to deny him, immediately grabbing your hand and pulling you deep into the library, through the twisty, student-filled desks, between sky-high bookshelves.

“Y/N, I want you to be okay. You don’t owe me an explanation if you don’t want to tell me anything, but… that's all I want. For you to be okay and happy and... you can't lie to me and tell me that you're alright. You can kick me out as much as you want to, I promised I would let you do so, but I'll always be waiting for you right outside that door. If you'll allow me to... I'll always be here for you."

The tears come pouring out, and without a thought, you rush into him, sobbing into his chest. “Hey, hey,” he says, a hand in your hair and the other soothing your back. "I’m here. I told you I'm here.” You missed his embrace. Had assumed you’d never feel it again. You probably won’t, past this point.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist as you stare up at him. “Is it the stress?”

“No, Jungkook…. It’s.. you.”

“Me?!” he says, gesturing towards himself.

“Well, no, actually… I guess it’s me,” you mumble, staring at his hands, now at his sides.

“I don’t understand, Y/N.”

“Jungkook, we need to stop these study sessions. Not for a week but… I’m permanently kicking you out, and I don't know if I have it in me to ever unlock that stupid metaphorical door again.”

“Exile, huh?" To your surprise, he nods. "At least let me know this… Am I that annoying?”

Out of desperation, you almost say yes, but you’ve been cruel enough - Jungkook didn’t deserve any of it.

“No. No, not at all…”

He pauses. “I don't understand, but if this will make you happier, all I can say in this case is… thank you. I don't about my grades as much as you do, so I'm really just thank you for all this time. I…. I liked…. I liked spending this time... spending this time with you,” Jungkook lets out, his voice breaking.

Looking up at him, you see his eyes red. Was he about to cry too?

“It won’t,” you mumble.

“What?” he asks, looking down at you as if he were looking up, teary-eyed and innocent.

You either tell him, or tell him nothing and risk…. other people telling him, along with their own added commentary on how you weren’t good enough. It would be easier just to let that happen... Letting go of him yourself, despite the pain, would be more merciful on you both. So, you do, breaking away from his embrace.

“It won’t make me happier if we stopped.”

“Then why do we have to?”

“Jungkook, we need to stop because… for the first time in my life... I’ve set myself up for failure.”

“You’re the smartest person in the entire university. How on Earth did you set yourself up to fail?”

"Because I did it by stupidly falling for the best person in this entire university. I... like you, Jungkook," you spit out, hiding your face in your hands as soon as the confession leaves your lips.

“How is that setting yourself up for failure?” he sniffs.

You can’t help but notice a shift in his tone as he pulls your hands away from your face and tilts your chin towards him. He looked as serious as he sounded.

“Jungkook, be real.”

He stares at you, confused.

“You’re.... a star. Everyone here knows who you are - you're the best in every field imaginable - sports, art, music, academia, and on top of all of that, you're the sweetest, kindest, smartest - fucking best person I, well, everyone knows. And... look at you and look at me. I make sense of everything in this world, and this doesn’t make sense. Everyone knows it. They already give us weird looks for even sitting together. I know you just needed help, and I was happy to offer it, but I thought I'd be smarter than this. I think you probably offered to be there for me as a friend. I think we're friends, right? Either way, I think I've been an idiot for even thinking of you in that-"

Jungkook's lips meet yours, interrupting your ramble, train of thought, and your breathing with a kiss.

“You think too much," he whispers against your lips, stroking your soft cheek with the back of his index finger. "You can never set yourself up for failure, genius. I like you too.”

“No.... Stop," you say, taking two steps away from him. "Jungkook, you're being mean."

"Mean?!"

It had to have been a prank. Jungkook being so committed onto getting a good grade, once again.

"You can't use me like this. And what, you'll ghost me after the exam? After all the help? Pretend I never existed?"

"You say that and call me 'mean'? Do you really think I'd do that?" he asks, letting out a huff with his eyebrows furrowed. You'd never seen Jungkook.... angry. "I would never. Not to you, or anyone. If that were the case, if I weren't so goddamn in love with you, I'd be standing ashamed, fessing up in front of you instead of feeling so hurt and angry. The girl I like really thinks so low of me?" Taking a deep breath, Jungkook collects himself. "I wouldn't spend a semester with you if that was the case. I don't know why you'd think... that."

"It doesn't make sense, Jungkook...."

“it makes sense to me,” he says, stepping towards you until he is inches away and you can almost feel the heat between your bodies. “Why does it not make sense to you? You’re clever, aren't you? What’s that theory - every action has an equal and opposite reaction? You like me, and I like you. Equal. Two-ways. Makes perfect sense to me.”

“So… you aren’t just using me for help?” you ask. "You... like me?"

“No, no, I’m not using you for your brain…." he says snarkily before tapping his forehead against yours and letting out a smug laugh. "In fact, I think you’ve been pretty stupid.”

“Stupid?!” you recoil at a word you had never been called before.

“I said pretty stupid. And by that, I mean stupid pretty - in that you're unbelievably attractive - but also pretty kind of stupid, yes. You’re smarter than this, usually…." Jungkook envelops his arms around your waist once again, trapping you. Stunned, all you're able to do is look into his eyes as he goes on.

"Y/N, I want you to think for a second… Did I really need all that help I asked for? Did I really make it onto the Dean's List when I was supposedly doing that badly? Did I really not understand? Did I really need to sit beside you while we both worked? You said it yourself, I'm among the smartest kids in this school. I’ll let you in on a secret… sometimes I used to finish up my work before you and just played mini-games on the computer.”

Jungkook's hands find your face, pushing back a strand of your hair and giggling at what must've been a puzzled look on your face. When your gaze wanders in realization, trying to put all the pieces together, his hand cups your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Sure, you helped me a little bit, but it was... heaven getting you to explain things to me, especially the things I already knew. It meant I could just spend my time staring at you, getting all passionate and excited. Do you know how wide you smile when I act like I 'get it'? Or whenever I actually do. It's why I keep asking you to repeat it - I can never retain any of the new information because all my brain wants to focus on is you.

For God's sake, ask Taehyung and Jimin. Ask them how much I talk about you. Did you ever actually listen to what they say when they specifically see us together in here?"

"I assumed they were making fun of you," you mumble.

Jungkook scoffs. "Yeah, no, Y/N. They tease me for having the guts to fight but not to confess, they kept trying to pressure me to do so."

It's hard to remember that Jungkook was a trained fighter when his embrace felt so safe, you think, staring at his torso in disbelief.

"Still don't believe me? Ask Mr. P how we got assigned together for that paper.”

The sentence stuns you to your core more than anything, jerking your head up to face him.

“I never needed that much help. I just… I wanted to spend time with the girl I'd had a crush on since I got here and didn’t know how to. I like you…. I always have…. idiot,” he says, pulling you closer to him until his lips meet yours in another kiss.

Just this once, you were euphoric to be so stupid.