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navybrat817 · 9 months ago

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The Day After

Pairing: Roommate's Brother!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your new roommate introduces you to her brother, but you met him last night.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, mention of hooking up, tension, humor, flirting, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes being a menace (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Calling this AU About Last Night. No one asked for it. Hope you enjoy it anyway! @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline he's such a menace! ❤️ Thanks to the lovely @whisperlullaby for prereading and assuring me it isn't garbage. Any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You groaned as you saw the time and wiped down the coffee table again. Rebecca Barnes, your new roommate, would be there any minute. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous. She seemed like a sweetheart and was down to earth, the perfect person to take the other bedroom and help with rent. Plus, she had already seen the place and seemed excited to be roommates.

She was doing you a favor by moving in. Your last roommate got engaged and moved in with her fiancé. While you were thrilled for her, keeping a place in this part of town was costly. You had debated downsizing, but there was nothing available. Giving up the place would’ve been tough as well since you did love your apartment and it was close to work.

“It’ll be great,” you said, taking a wipe to the table once more.

Maybe you were on a cleaning spree so your mind wouldn’t keep going back to the guy from last night. The one at the bar with the piercing blue eyes and charming smile. And the beefy frame and soft chestnut hair that framed his face. The same hair you pulled when he laid you down on his bed and kissed down your body and-

You jumped at the knock on your door. Now wasn’t the time to think about the guy who blew your back out. “Just a sec!” you called out, putting the cleaning supplies away before you straightened up your top. With a deep breath, you opened the door with a smile. “Becca, hi!”

Rebecca’s smile was enough to light up the whole place, her brown hair swept back to showcase her beautiful face. You imagined guys, and maybe girls, flocked to her, but she told you she was single and happy that way. You were single, too, minus whatever last night was. “Hi,” she said, balancing a box in her hand before you held your hands out to take it. “How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Good, but I’ll be better once I get everything inside. I didn’t realize I had so many boxes,” she teased.

“I’m happy to help with whatever you need,” you promised, setting the box down by her bedroom door. “Is your car outside?”

“Actually, one of my brother’s friends let us use his truck to haul most of my stuff here,” she said, a worried look crossing her face as she looked your way. “It’s okay that they help move the stuff in, right? I’m so sorry. I don’t think I asked. The furniture is just a bit heavy.”

“It’s fine. You have nothing to apologize for. This is your place now, too,” you assured her. You remembered her saying she had an older brother. Was his name James? “And you shouldn’t have to lug up an entire bedroom by yourself.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. My last roommate would’ve flipped,” she smiled, heading back to the door to stick her head out. “This way, guys!”

The first man that walked in was thick with broad shoulders and a smile as golden as his hair. If you had to imagine an all-American man in the flesh, this guy was it. But the guy that followed inside after him, he was the one who made your heart stop. The one who made your knees buckle. Because you knew those blue eyes.

And as his eyes bore into yours, he smirked.

Fuck…

“This is Steve, one of my brother’s best friends and pretty much like another brother,” Rebecca said, pointing to the blonde as you blinked. “And that’s my brother, James. Everyone calls him Bucky.”

You were very much aware that people called him Bucky. It was the name he made you cry out when he was balls deep inside you the night before. There was still an ache between your legs that reminded you just how thoroughly he fucked you. It was a miracle you were able to walk by the time he was done with you.

Not only did you manage to walk out of his room, you left his place before he woke up.

To be fair, it wasn’t your plan to ditch him after he took you in just about every position you could imagine. You just had to get home, shower, and clean up a bit before Rebecca showed up. And you did leave your number for him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve said as Bucky continued to stare.

The room suddenly felt very hot.

“James, could you not gawk at my new roommate like that, please?” his sister asked, waving a hand dismissively when he continued to stare at you. Thank god she spoke because your words were stuck in your throat. “I’m sorry. He does this weird staring thing sometimes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay,” you said, clearing your throat as Bucky raised an eyebrow. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You didn’t know what to say. “It’s nice to meet you guys, too.”

Bucky’s pretty eyes darkened a shade as he continued to stare you down. You shifted slightly on your feet. Was he upset that you left or that you just pretended not to know him, like last night hadn’t happened? But if you said you knew him, how would you explain it to his sister? You could’ve just said you met at a bar and left it at that. Or blurted out everything.

But how the hell were you to know Bucky was her brother? It wasn’t like the two of you had exchanged last names. Oh, Jesus, what was wrong with you?

The corner of Bucky’s lip tugged in a smile as he said your name. How did he manage to make it sound like honey and something sinful? “Becca was telling us all about you on the drive over. Said you’re very welcoming.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as he gauged your reaction. “That was nice of her to say,” you said, tearing your gaze away because you didn’t know what else to do. “Becca, I can go to the truck and-”

“Actually, could you show me where the bathroom is?” Bucky casually cut you off, jerking his head toward the door. “Steve, Becca, if you wanna grab a couple more boxes, I’ll be right down.”

“Sure,” Steve nodded as Rebecca narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t bother my roommate,” she warned before she left with Steve.

The brunette swung his head back toward you, a wolfish grin on his face as you gulped. “I won’t be a bother, will I?”

“Bathroom’s this way!” you said much louder than you needed to, your heart racing as you went down the hall. He was right on your tail and you wondered if he would figure out which bedroom was yours and drag you into it. The hall seemed more narrow with him in it. The wonderful smell of him took up the space, too. “Right there,” you said, not looking him in the eye as you pointed to the bathroom door.

He put an arm up to block your exit. “Nice to meet me, huh?” he asked, tsking as he shook his head. “Did I fuck you so good that you lost your memory?”

You inhaled, your cheeks hot. “Bucky!” you hissed, looking over his shoulder to make sure his sister and friend weren’t back yet.

“So, you do remember my name,” he said. The smirk that followed almost had you dropping to your knees. What sorcery did this man have over you and how could you get it to stop? “I mean, you should remember it. I did have you screaming it.”

You stuck a finger in his face as you stepped closer. “Shut the fuck up! If your sister hears, she might get upset and back out of the lease. And I don’t want her to leave. She’s nice and I can’t afford this place without a roommate.”

He gripped your wrist and maintained eye contact as he swirled his tongue around the tip of your finger. An unashamed whimper slipped past your lips that you couldn’t smother, yet you didn’t make a move to stop him. “My sister won't back out of the lease, so don’t worry about that.”

“O-Okay,” you said, trying not to let him distract you as he repeated the motion. Your nipples hardened under your top anyway. Damn him. “But if she stays, how am I supposed to explain that we…”

“Fucked until the sun came up then fucked again? Yeah, you're right. It might be really hard.” He tilted his head as his gaze went lower. Was he trying to kill you? “About as hard as when I had my cock in your sweet, wet-”

You covered his mouth to smother the rest of the statement, but you felt the vibration from the word “pussy” against your skin. He chuckled at your expression. The man was going to drive you crazy.

“Yes, yes. We fucked. Best fuck of my life, okay?” you admitted in a huff.

A genuine smile touched his lips as he lowered your hand. Not a smirk or smug smile, but something lighter like when the two of you chatted over a drink. A smile that made your knees weak. “I was the best fuck of your life?”

You shook your head. You shouldn’t have said that. “That isn’t the point, but I do want to point out that I don’t make it a habit of hooking up with random guys,” you said, hoping that would be the end of it.

Amusement filled his eyes. “I know. You told me that when I brought you home and I believed you,” he reminded you, your breath hitching when he leaned in close. “But you still begged me to fuck you raw. Or did you ‘forget’ that, too?”

Electricity crackled between the two of you slowly exhaled. “I didn’t forget,” you breathed, your tongue darting out to touch your lip. It almost touched his.

How could you ever forget how right it felt when he filled you up?

“Yeah? Then were you embarrassed that you went home with me?” he asked, his voice quieter than before as he took your hand in his. His thumb moved over your skin as your pulse quickened again. “Is that why you left this morning? Or acted like we hadn’t met?”

Your gaze softened. God, did you hurt his feelings? You hadn’t meant to. “No, I’m not embarrassed that I went home with you. Not at all,” you promised. Bucky was like a god and you were a mere mortal that he somehow chose to bless with his presence. “I’m sorry I left. I only did that because I had to get back here.”

“I could’ve given you a ride. Well, another ride,” he said, brushing his fingers along your cheek, his voice still not back to normal yet. “I’m a gentleman like that.”

“I didn’t want to wake you, but I did leave my number,” you said, hoping that would at least soothe the unintended wound. “And I’m not at all pointing fingers, but you didn’t exactly jump to tell your sister we had met either when you walked in.”

He shrugged and looked over his shoulder. “She’ll be back any minute. Let’s tell her.”

“Tell her what?” You asked. The two of you hooked up. There was no label or relationship yet. “We did a lot of things that I don't think she needs to hear about.”

The smile morphed back to the smirk that was getting under your skin in the best way. “Then come to my place so she can't hear the things we’ll do to each other. You know I have a great bed.”

You smiled and considered it for a moment. The handsome menace was single and so were you. Would it be so bad to go with him again? Yes. You couldn’t ditch your new roommate to hop into her brother’s bed, especially on the day she was moving in.

With a shake of your head, you backed away. “You’re unbelievable,” you replied, almost giving in when he pouted. That look probably got him whatever he wanted with most people. “And I’m not going back to your place today.”

“Why not? Like you said, you left me your number,” he said, making a show of holding up his phone. “You obviously wanted to, at the very least, talk to me again.”

“Look, Bucky, can we talk about this later? Please? Your sister’s moving in today. Let’s focus on that.”

His shoulders slumped, but he recovered in the blink of an eye. “Okay, you’re right. But you promise we’ll talk? Because I haven’t stopped thinking about last night.”

You bit your lip. Yeah, you wanted to talk to him again and it warmed your heart that he seemed interested in talking to you, too. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it either,” you told him. But you couldn’t dwell on that when you heard footsteps approaching. “I promise we’ll talk later and figure out whatever this is.”

That appeased him for now since he dropped his arm. “Later then.”

“James! Are you done going to the bathroom? I thought you were going to help?” Rebecca’s voice rang out. “Oh, God, you’re bothering her, aren’t you?”

You giggled as you ducked past him. “He isn’t bothering me.”

“But I am offering to order dinner for all of us if she doesn’t mind the company after we bring the rest of the stuff up. Maybe we can all watch a movie, too,” Bucky said from behind you, smiling when you looked over your shoulder with an exasperated gaze. “What do you say?”

You had to smile back because you knew you’d say “yes” before Steve brought the next box in.

And things were about to get a lot more interesting in your life since Bucky Barnes seemed determined to continue whatever had transpired the night before.

Neighbor!Bucky level of being a menace. 😂 I also like to imagine this is a version of Stud and Smartie in another world had she lived with his sister instead. ❤️‍🔥 How long before Becca finds out? What shenanigans will these two get up to? Do you lovelies want to see the night before? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 25 days ago

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I Got That Good D*ck, Girl, You Didn’t Know? (Toji x F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

"Fuck you, Toji."

"Only if you pay me, doll. You won't regret it."

Pairing: Escort!Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader (Roommates to FWBs/Lovers)

Synopsis: Your asshole roommate and his interesting yet effective occupation are starting to keep you up at night...mostly because of how horny you are hearing him fuck his clients through your paper-thin walls. Lucky for you, your roomie knows just what to do to apologize for keeping his favorite working girl up and make you understand why so many people put in big bills for him and his business.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; Voyeurism; Masturbation (Alone & Mutual); Pervy!Reader; Sexual Tension; Coercion; Dubcon/R*pe; Cocky, Mean MDom!Toji x fsub!Reader; Toji Got a Big Ol' Dick; Sex Toy; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Spit on Pussy; Facefucking; Multiple Positions (Mating Press & Doggy); Feet on the Bed; LOUD Sex; Reader Cums 2x; Cum on Ass; Some Aftercare

Writer's Note: A bitch has been SO busy with work & school plus commissions, but I hope y'all enjoy this lil something about Toji's toxic, big dick havin' ass. I was listening to the Biggie song down below & started thinking about Toji lmaoo so this came to be. Enjoy! -Jazz

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"OH, TOJI, YES! HARDER!"

The woman's piercing voice drifts through your bedroom wall right above your head, accompanied by the annoying banging of the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall. Luckily, your head is in your pillow so you can't feel any of the wood pounding against your skull.

But damn, if this lady's shrill moans and screams aren't starting to give you a headache. You tired stare up at the ceiling to your bedroom as you have been for the past hour now since this stranger arrived at your shared apartment and ventured with your roommate to his bedroom that happens to be right next to yours.

You knew what the drill was. You always have. Your year-long roommate, Toji, is known for having "lady callers" blowing up his phone and coming at random hours of the night to "spend time with him".

Whether these ladies are clients or just partners for the evening, you have no idea. But you don't care either. None of that matters when all of them are loud as fuck and disturbing your sleep cycle.

"Yeah?" Toji teasingly asks, his deep, rasped voice drifting through your thin bedroom walls. "You like it like this, ya little slut?"

"No," you groan in a response. The mystery lady, whom you only know from her previous giggles when Toji was chatting her up with wine and extensive, colorful vocabulary when he was eating her pussy earlier, only mews in response.

This is enough to make Toji pound her faster, making the bedsprings creak and the headboard pound harder against the wall. The woman's moans and shrieks of pleasure grow louder, no doubt waking the neighbors on your apartment floor.

You can physically feel the bags under your eyes grow as you stare your alarm clock sitting beside you. 2:34 AM. You have to be up at 6 AM to get to work by 8 for a meeting tomorrow.

Not that Toji cares. He never cares. No matter how many times you complain about the noise and his clients, he always gives you a crooked smile, a sweet apology, and a promise to never do it again...but then he does. Over and over again.

You have known Toji for over a year now since you put out an ad online for a possible roommate to help you with rent and expenses that began piling up. Toji met up with you that week at a coffee shop where he not only revealed himself as a fine ass single daddy who was looking for a new place after his got roaches, but he also revealed his "jack of all trades" identity.

"I do plumbing, I fix furniture, I have experience in construction," he explained, taking a sip of his cold brew. "And..." He paused, chuckling to himself and rubbing his chin. "I'm also a sex worker," he finished, waiting for your reaction as if you would be disgusted. "Is that cool with you?"

You had said no, but only after you were sure that he would keep his cliental separate from you and the rest of your home. And it isn't like Toji is a bad roommate. He pays rent on time, he fixes the toilet and pipes when they shut down, and he keeps the crib clean.

The only thing is the damn loud sex. Some nights, Toji meets his clients outside of your home, but other nights, when he is sure you're asleep, he has them come to his room and takes his appointments there. There are a few times you have awakened to one of his ladies using the bathroom or happened across massage oil that he accidentally left out on the sink.

All of that you can deal with....but not these loud ass women. Crying for more from "Daddy". Begging for more dick. Screaming for the heavens to hear. Every time it happens, you can't help but wonder: "Damn...is he THAT good?'

Finally, the pounding stops and the bedsprings squeak as Toji finally stops fucking his lady for the evening. You sigh, hoping to God that this is it and she has finally came. You pray for silence and sweet dreams.

But you're not gonna get it tonight. "Want it doggystyle this time, boo?" he asks. The lady giggles her high-pitched, fucked-out giggle. "Y-Yeah," she purrs.

You have never been more heated in your entire life. Your anger only grows when Toji finally gets his client on all fours and begins fucking her from behind, causing her squeal, scream, and wail as his dick drives into her. "OH, GOD, YES! HARDER! FASTER!"

'This bitch,' you think. At this point, you don't know if you're referring to the lady currently getting her guts rearranged or Toji. "Put your hands on the wall," he demands through his grunts and groans as he drives himself into her.

Your mouth falls agape and you glare at the wall as if he is staring right back at you through the plaster. 'This asshole!' you think, enraged. The lady does as she is told and suddenly, she grows louder than before as the headboard knocks harder against your wall, knock-knock-knocking in a loud pattern that begins to drive you nuts.

No amount of stuffing your pillows over your ears or music will do. Now you will have to do what you were dreading: knock on his door. You toss your duvet off of you, shove your Sanrio slippers on, and storm out of your bedroom.

Toji's bedroom is only a couple inches from yours, so it takes no time to get there. You stand there outside his door in your oversized sweatshirt and slippers, fuming and trying to ignore the sounds of sex through the wood.

Knock, knock, knock. Your fist raps against the wood, quick and firm. The bed stops creaking and the lady's moans die down to mere pants and whines. "Aw, shit," you hear Toji huff, frustrated. "Hold up, stay there." The lady groans in annoyance and impatience, needing more of her nighttime hit.

After a few short seconds of waiting and your arms crossed over your chest, the door finally opens. Toji stands there, looming over you at six-foot-something shirtless and in his sweats. Those damn sweats.

Your eyes graze up his big, toned, tatted form to his snakebites, black hair in disarray, and grey eyes looking down at you. He gives you that crooked smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. He truly is a handsome man. "Hey, roomie," he greets.

He cocks his head to the side, his smile fading and his eyebrow raised. "What's goin' on? Why are you up?" You do your best to keep your composure. "Why do you think I'm up, Toji?" you say, unable to keep the bite out of your tone.

Your six-foot roommate doesn't seem to catch onto your tone, and if he does, he doesn't make it known. He places a hip against the door, causing his sweats to slip a bit down his waist and reveal a sliver of his V-line. "Uh...I dunno...is it your time of the month or somethin'?"

You ignore his answer, instead diving into your quickly-planned speech about respecting your time and your sleep. "Listen, I know you've got an 'appointment' tonight and I'm not gonna knock your hustle, but could you please try to keep her down? I have to get up at 6 tomorrow."

Toji blinks at you, confused at first, and then pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh, shit, your job," he groans. "Sorry, babes. I'll keep it down for ya so you can sleep, I promise." He flashes you a Colgate smile then and nods back at his bed. "But I can't promise she will."

Over his shoulder, you can see the woman lying there on her stomach, her red toes hanging off the bed and her dress laying on the floor. You feel your body flush. You shouldn't be seeing this.

"Please try, Toji," you sigh, already stepping away from the intimate scene. "This is the fourth time this month you've had a loud client. My dark circles can't get any darker." No amount of concealer, caffeine, or eye cream has been able to help. You have been tossing and turning for so many nights because of Toji's work interrupting your dreams.

And deep down, you know that it's also because you've been envisioning yourself with him. Underneath him. On top of him. Against him. Feeling his muscles against your body. Feeling his cock deep in your-

"Well, you know," Toji says, pulling you out of your dirty thoughts, "some good sex always helps with that." He gives you a mischievous look as he leans against the doorframe, his lips curling into a crude smirk.

You glare at him, disgusted (and also secretly aroused). "Fuck you, Toji."

He gives you a wink. "Only if you pay me, doll. You won't regret it."

You have no time to wonder if he is just playing with you or if he is deadass because his client begins to moan and groan about her complaints. "Tojiiiiii!" the lady whines from the bed. "Where'd you goooo? I'm still so wet for yooooou!"

You both look from her to each other and you place your hands on your hips, your lips pressed tight together. Toji throws up his hands in defense and places one big hand on his heart. "Alright, you have my word. Now get that fine ass to bed before I put it to bed." Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, hoping that wasn't a sex joke. Your roomie just laughs, giving you a wink. "You know what I mean."

With a huff, you step away from the door as he shuts it and trek back to your bedroom to hopefully get some much-needed sleep. When you do, to your surprise, Toji and his client are surprisingly quieter than earlier. You hear the occasional giggle and bed creaks, but other than that, there are no explosive, annoying sex sounds.

You sigh, feeling your eyes flutter shut and your brain begin to shut down...until you hear Toji start fucking again. Unfortunately, you can still hear the whines and whimpers of Toji's nightly partner drifting through the walls: "Oh, yes, Toji, like that! Fuck me harder, please..."

And as usual when you hear Toji going at it with someone, you find a way to join them instead of beating them, all thanks to your trusty rose. You have no time to be angry or tired once your favorite body-warming lube is coating your pussy once you apply it to your fingers and then the pleasurable buzzing and vibrations of your rose are against your clit.

You softly moan in the darkness surrounding you as your ears strain to hear the creaking bed as Toji thrusts into his woman for the night. His deep, ragged moans and hushed gasps reach your eardrums, making your pussy slicker and more open to allow something inside. You allow one finger on one of your hands to slip into your sobbing hole as you use your other hand to hold your rose against your clit.

"Get those fuckin' legs up," Toji growls and you almost do as he says. Your mind is so dizzy and clouded from the pleasure that you almost believe that he is here, forcing your tired body into different positions for deep dick.

You hear the client give a yelp before her moans are suddenly muffled, possibly by Toji's hand...oh, God, that's hot. You picture him above you now, his handsome face eclipsing your ceiling fan, his body pushing into yours as his veiny hands grip your thighs. You imagine your finger is thicker and longer, filling you up the way his cock would, plunging in and out of you and hitting your G-spot every time he pushes in.

"God, you're fuckin' good," he grunts through your walls. "Does it feel good for you too, baby?"

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper, your voice soft and high as you answer him. You suddenly hear a pause through the walls-no moans, no whines, no bedsprings-and your heart thunders in fear. Did he hear you?

But then, blessedly and luckily, you hear the bedsprings creaking in a faster pattern as Toji speeds up his thrusts, driving his dick into the client as she whines and screams into his palm. "Take it," he demands. "Fuckin' take that shit."

You have to bite your lip to avoid moaning out as your finger drags in and out of you faster, your rose slipping against your clit as it becomes wetter with every passing second. You begin to feel that familiar clench in your core of an approaching orgasm building inside of you, egged on by the toy and Toji's luscious, porn-worthy moans.“You cummin’ for me?” he gruffly asks.

Deliriously, you nod, your eyes fluttering shut. You see his face there, flushed and pretty. “Yeah,” you gasp. “Yes.”

“Cum for me,” he demands. “Cum on that dick, you pretty little slut. Do it.”

You hear the client let out a muffled scream as she finally cums around Toji's cock the way you would if you were with him. You feel your walls clench around your finger as you finally meet your end, the vibrations from the toy rocking you to the core. "Ah!" you gasp, your orgasm crashing over you.

You have to turn your head to muffle your moans into the pillow as you cum around your finger, leaving an embarrassing puddle on your bedspread. In the fog of your pleasure, you hear Toji's erratic breathing and soft grunting as he fucks the client's pussy into the bed to chase his high.

"Cummin'!" he suddenly gasps. "I'm fuckin' cummin'!" In an effort to keep quiet, you hear his moans become muffled as he cums. 'Where', you wonder? Inside of the woman? On her tits? Her ass? Her thighs? How would his cum look on your skin?

Finally, his moans die down to sighs and a tired laugh while the client giggles. "Definitely worth the $250," she comments. And before sleep takes you before your humiliation can, you wonder briefly just what his sex is like for that much money.

—The Next Day—

You damn near sleep through your meeting.

Actually, you damn near sleep through all of work. It's bad enough to nearly missed your alarm because you didn't hear it during your deep sleep and you had to rush to toss your cum-stained bedspread into the washer machine before getting dressed and heading out the door.

Thank God you never ran into Toji before you left. You couldn't stand the thought of seeing him this morning after last night. You feel such embarrassment and humiliation for getting off to him yet again, like some voyeur pervert. You may as well steal his boxers too!

But when you get home shortly after 3PM after bumbling through work, operating on two cups of coffee and caffeine-induced iced tea, you know you'll have to face the Devil when you see him leaning against the kitchen counter in sweats and a black tee that his waaaay too tight on him. Toji turns to you from making a ham sandwich with chips on the side, chewing some.

He gives you a crooked smile as you drag yourself into the apartment. “Good afternoon,” he chirps. You slam the door shut and walk by without even looking at him, heading straight for the fridge. “What’s so good about it?” you grumble.

Toji gives you a strange look as you yank open the fridge and fish a water bottle out. You need water. “Well, damn, someone shit in your cereal this mornin'. Least you look cute.” His smile widens as his eyes roam over your sweater, loafers, and work skirt that you pulled out of your drawer. Nothing matches. “Dark circles and all.”

Irritated, you nearly break your wrist trying to yank the cap off of the bottle, so you opt for the butterknife method and pry it open that way. “Don’t laugh at me, asshole. I’m not in the mood.” Then you angrily gulp down the cold water, grateful for it because you feel yourself becoming hot with rage. Your roomie is perturbed and put off by your attitude, narrowing his brows at you. “Jeez, okay. What’s your problem?”

“You!” you snap, finally turning to face him. “You’re my fucking problem! I almost missed my meeting because of you and that bitch last night after I told you to keep it down!”

Toji turns toward you fully, his big, toned body facing you. “Whoa, whoa, babes, relax," he says as if calming a rapid animal. "You’re grippin’ that butterknife awfully tight.” His grey eyes flicker down to the knife that you're holding towards him. You quickly put it down on the counter, disturbed by your rage. "Sorry," you mutter. "I'm just tired. And stressed. And extremely sleep-deprived."

You turn away to continue drinking your water and stand at a good distance from the knife. You don't need to accidentally stab your roommate and catch a case. "And dick-deprived too, it seems like," Toji adds.

You nearly choke on your water and cough into your fist. "What?!" you exclaim, shocked at his bluntness. You twist around to face him, gobsmacked, while Toji stares blankly at you as he tosses another chip into his mouth. "What? Do you not go that way or somethin'?"

You scoff, shook by his gull. "Toji, my sex life AND my sexual orientation has nothing to do with your ass. You need to mind your business." Quickly, you storm out of the kitchen, not wanting to be around him any longer.

But Toji follows just like the asshole he is. "Well, shit, roomie," he huffs. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it like that, c'mon." You feel his hand grab yours, but you push him off. "Don't," you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. "I don't make your sex life my business," you growl. "So you shouldn't make mine yours."

Then Toji's eyes raise and you know he is about to be on some BS. "Uh, technically, you are makin' my sex life your business, babes," he argues. "You complaining about my clients and makin' my job a problem are-"

"Are nothing," you interrupt. "And the reason I'm complaining is because your clients are too fuckin' loud! I need to sleep!"

Toji just stares at you, silent, observing you closely. It is making you deeply uncomfortable. Is he going to say something? Finally, he cocks his head to the side as if sizing you up and his gaze softens. "You sure this is just about the noise?" he asks. "Or is somethin' else? Was I really wrong to assume that you're dick-deprived, babes?"

Suddenly, your anger subsides and you're left with fear twisting in your gut. "W-What do you mean?" you find yourself stammering.

You're so afraid that you let Toji take your water from you and place it on a nearby table. "C'mon, babes," he sighs. "Unless I'm just not privy to it, you don't got many male callers comin' in here."

He comes closer, his scent of ocean-scented body wash and cologne invading your nostrils. "I don't know why because I'd be all over a girl as pretty as you and knockin' down that door to get you naked."

You stand there, your brain moving too slow to process this. The air is tense and charged with a dangerous current now. You can feel it the closer Toji gets to you. Instinctively, you back up, but end up walking right into your coffee table. "Toji," you exhale. "W-Why are you-"

"Sayin' this?" he finishes. One big palm moves to take your hand, pulling you closer to him. "'Cause I'm so fuckin' attracted to you and I know the feeling is mutual. Why else would you play with yourself listenin' to me fuck my clients?"

If this were a movie, a record would definitely scratch somewhere. Your eyes widen as big as saucers and you feel as if you're about to faint. There is no way he knows...but he does. He smirks at you, knowing and teasing. "What?" he chuckles. "You think I couldn't hear you last night? That toy you got is loud, honey, 'specially with them thin ass walls."

Oh, God, he knows! This is beyond humiliating. You could just about die right now. "Don't be embarrassed about it, cutie," he coos, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. "I thought it was cute. The whole time I was with client, I kept thinkin' about you."

He grips you to his body, forcing you to feel every inch of him against you. You place your hands on him to push him away, but his arm snakes around your waist, holding you in place. "Don't," you gasp.

"Why not?" he whispers, staring you down. Hot. Lustful. "I can show you why I get so many customers. Plus, I can show you how sorry I am for keepin' my favorite roomie up so late."

You dare to peek up at him and regret it instantly. His grey eyes, molten hot, and his dark lashes mesmerize you as if he is a siren and you are the sailor being drawn to him in your ship. "No charge," he murmurs. "All you have to do is cum for me. What d'ya say, babes?"

His hand moves to cup your chin, one finger gliding across your cheek to trail down to your lips. Between his touch and his naughty words holding forbidden promises, you don't know what to say. "I...I..." Your words are caught in your throat. Language ceases to exist for you.

"Just nod your head for me," Toji gently orders. Your body, shaky and warm, betrays you and you give a jerky nod. You can't deny the throbbing between your legs or the warmth in your belly any longer. Toji grins, wolfish and proud. Asshole. “Good girl,” he coos. “Now fuckin’ kiss me.”

Suddenly, his lips, soft, luscious, and addicting, are on yours. Every bad thought you had about him being a cocky asshole and a jerk and an obscene dickhead are gone, zapped away by the way his hand firmly holds your chin and the way his lips move against yours. His tongue gently swipes along your bottom lip and you gently pry your lips apart to allow him access.

As he cups your face in his hand, all you can think about is how fucking good of a kisser he is.

'Good' isn't even a proper word for how Toji kisses you. He is the best kisser you have had the pleasure of kissing by far in your life.

He pulls away with a soft 'pop!' as your lips disconnect, and he places his mouth on your neck. “Y’know, I don’t usually kiss my clients," he murmurs, "but you, pretty baby, aren’t a client. So I can make an exception for you.”

His wet kisses trail down your neck to your throat, making you feel hotter and hotter in your work clothes. Your hands clutch his big, broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his shirt as your inner thighs quiver from each heated kiss. “Toji,” you whimper. “Touch me.”

He doesn't make you elaborate on what you want to be touched. He already knows. But he does, however, make you beg. Asshole. “What’s the magic word?” He pulls away to stare into your eyes, drawing your desperation out of you with one steamy look. Your lips quiver with the six-lettered word, vulnerable and needy: “Please.”

That one word and the soft, breathy tone of your voice that the three syllabled word drips from somehow works for Toji. You see his eyes become hooded and darken to a stormy grey that makes your stomach flip-flop. In an instant, he is hiking you up onto his waist by securely gripping your thighs underneath your ass, forcing you to latch yourself onto him.

“Upstairs we go then. Hang onto me.” You do as told, interacting your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders as he walks to the steps, carrying you over to them. You messily, sloppily kiss as he slowly ventures up the steps with you in tow, your tongues twirling and swirling together. The kissing only makes you wetter and by the time you're in his bedroom, your panties are just about stuck to your pussy lips.

Toji tosses you down onto the bed, laughing as you squeak and bounce on the mattress for a few seconds. He descends upon you immediately, tugging at your blouse. You watch as he expertly unbuttons each pearly button, your breath labored and hot. “Let’s get this shit off,” he growls. “You’re wearin’ too fuckin’ much.”

The blouse comes off and then comes the skirt that he tugs down your nylon-covered legs. The more he undresses you, the more you can see Toji is getting hard. His cock chubs against his jeans, creating an obscenely obvious print in his pants.

"You always look so good in these goddamn skirts," he huffs, suddenly turning you over with ease. As you're recovering from his stretch, he forces you to bend your knees and toot your ass in the air so he can fully see your ass and hot pink panties poking through the nylon fabric.

"Nice panties, babes," he chuckles. "What's the occasion?" SMACK! His hand suddenly comes down against your butt, the sound of it colliding with your cheeks echoing throughout the room. The moan that escapes you is one that shocks you.

Toji laughs, giving your ass a pinch. "I knew you liked gettin' spanked, ya little slut." He then loops his thick, calloused fingers underneath the waistband of your stockings and pulls them down, groaning at the sight of your perfect, plump ass in those tight, little pink panties.

His kisses and light nibbles that he gives your ass and thighs are damn near torture. They make you grip the sheets and moan into the soft, cotton-scented fabric, his soft lips turning you into a fiend. You need to feel his soft lips somewhere else.

Toji seems to know it too because he purposely keeps skipping your pussy as he moves between biting your ass and kissing your legs despite the throbbing, soaked cunt right in front of his face. Fuck your pride. You need him too much. “Toji!” you beg. “Lower, please!”

Your roommate stares at you over the hill of your ass, giving you another smack that travels right to your cunt. “Patience, baby. You ever heard of foreplay before?” His chuckle is straight out of a horror movie, sinister and mean, as he goes back to kissing along your spine as his hands massage your ass.

Finally, his patience thins and he forces you to roll over onto your back. You stare up at him, your arousal peaking, as he strips off his hoodie in front of you. Though you've seen him shirtless plenty of times before (and have secretly gotten off to the image of him at night), it is something else to see each defined muscle, vein, and tattoo up close.

Your eyes graze over his lickable six-pack; his big, juicy pecs; his prominent, brown, pierced nipples; his happy trail; his well-defined V-line with a snake tattoo leading down underneath his sweats; his big arms that you want to feel wrapped around you and holding you tight. You understand now why so many women flock to him, other than his obvious charm and kissing skills.

He ducks down between your legs, opening them wider for him as his eyes pierce into yours, pinning you to the spot. “Look at me while I do this.” You couldn't look away even if you wanted to. The sharply-linked spinal tattoo hypnotized you as he ducks between your legs, sighing at the sight of your glistening, sobbing wet pussy. “Little slut. Bet you’ve been wantin’ this for a long time.”

With the way the man begins kissing, licking, and sucking on your pussy, you start to think that he's wanted this for a long time too. Toji knows exactly how to treat a woman, alternating between quick tongue flicks and long, slow drags of his tongue up to your clit. You buck under his hands pinning your thighs to the bed, forcing your body to take all that he gives you. “T-Toji!” you moan, your voice ricocheting off of the bedroom walls. “Oh, fuck, yes!”

Your roomie's gray eyes trail up to admire your pretty face etched in ecstasy as he wetly pulls his tongue away from your gorgeous cunt to tease you. “Now look who’s loud. But it’s so fuckin’ hot.” He then puckers his lips and hocks a copious amount of saliva onto your cunt, loving how it drips down to your asscrack.

Excitedly, his eyes widen at the sight of your pussy twitch and his ears perk at the sound of your sweet, weak whimper. “And you like spit on your pussy?" he cackles. "You little freak!” He gives your outer thigh a little smack before he dives back in, slurping his spit back up into his mouth as he takes a mouthful of your pussy.

You learn very quickly that Toji likes to French kiss, noticing how his lips and tongue move so gracefully against your pussy lips and clit all buzzing and twitching with pleasure from his talented ministrations. He is talker too, murmuring "such a pretty lil' pussy" and "fuck, so good" into your hole as he greedily eats you out, joyously taking everything you give him.

You're enjoying everything he gives you too. He is certified munch which you're 100% sure is somewhere on his ad. You now understand why you always hear his clients squeal, whine, and scream as he goes down on them, often making them cum rather quickly or making them beg for multiple rounds. Toji is incredible.

“Where’s your toy?” he suddenly asks. He is staring dead at you, his lips coated in spit and your juices. You blink wildly at him, the edges of your vision fuzzy from the pleasure. “H-Huh?" you stammer. He wastes no time repeating himself: "Your favorite sex toy. Where's it at?"

You blink at him again, wondering if he is serious. Judging by the clench in his jaw and the wild look in his eye, he is DEADASS. "In my room, second drawer next to my bed." You swallow hard, wondering what he is planning as he gives your clit a peck before jetting off to your room.

Seconds later, he returns with your rose, a bottle of your favorite lube, and a wicked smile on his face. He directs you to sit up on your elbows and props a pillow up behind your back to better help you. You watch as he kneels on the bed beside you, his groin right in your face, his cock pulsing beneath his pants. “What are you doing?” you breathlessly ask.

Toji applies a bit of lube to his thick fingers before applying it to your pussy, gently circling your clit as he does. You moan at the contact, your head lulling back against the pillow. “About to make you fuckin’ scream. Show me how you played with yourself last night.”

Bzzzzz goes your rose when he switches it on. He grins wider as he hands you your toy, trusting you to know what to do with it. "C'mon, baby doll, don't be shy now. It's too late for that." With his other hand, he palms himself through his sweats, watching you intensely.

You stare at him and then the buzzing rose, your pussy oozing and twitching for release. Reluctantly, you begin pressing the rose against your needy, desperate clit. The instant you do, Toji's eyes widen an inch at the sight of your body responding to the low yet impactful setting that the rose is on as it buzzes against your clit.

"Oh, shit," you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed from all of the stimulation: the vibrations from the toy; the head radiating from Toji's body; the scent of his body wash and cologne. "Fuck, baby," he groans. "Look at what you did to me."

Your eyes open and then widen at the sight of his cock suddenly in front of you. Long. Thick. Curved. Two-stoned, the shaft a darker tan while his head is a light pink. And the very real, very obvious silver hoop dangling from his dickhead. He chuckles at your cute reaction, a cocky smile on his face. "You ain't the first to react like that," he laughs. "It was a dare from a friend."

As if teasing you, he wraps a hand around his shaft and begins slowly stroking himself to the sight of you. He leans back a bit, jutting his hips forward so his cock nestles against your cheek. You swear it's by accident, but your cheek nuzzles against the throbbing, hot sensation of his dick against your face and a slight moan slips out.

"Oh, shit, you little slut!" he laughs, his dick twitching at the sight underneath him. "So you're one of them girls that likes this?" He takes his cock and gently slaps it against your chin and cheeks, laughing lightly at your little pout. "S-Stop," you stutter.

Toji raises a brow down at you, one hand curling in your hair. "Stop what? I'm not doin' anythin' but givin' you whatcha want, honey." He pauses, pulling his long, throbbing dick away from you. "But do you really want me to stop?"

It's like dangling a bone in front of a panting dog. Biting your lip as your toes curl at the rose's vibrations, you shake your head. "I thought not. Just shut up and let yourself feel good, Y/N." He then pours some lube into his hand and rubs it along his cock, making it slick and shiny. You're hypnotized by the lewd scene before you, noticing how firmly he holds himself, stroking up and down.

"Just look at me," he murmurs. "Look at what you've done. What you've been doin' to me." His eyes are hooded and his bottom lip peels back to settle between his teeth as his fisting becomes a little faster and a little more urgent.

You love watching him jack off in front of you. Oh, how you wish his hand was your mouth or your cunt, stretching around him, feeling him fill you. A loud, choked moan escapes you, bubbling up out of your chest, making Toji groan. "Bet this is how you were last night, screamin' into a fuckin' pillow when you came for me."

He takes two fingers and curls them under your chin. "Tell me, babydoll: did ya like hearin' me fuck that lady? Do you love listenin' to me make those girls scream?" His hand then wraps around your throat, firmly squeezing it. "Don't lie," he growls.

You can't deny it. Not when your toy is so persuasive against your pussy, making you drip all over the bed. "Y-Yes," you confess. "You're just really loud." Your roommate smirks down at you, knowing and being very cocky about it. "And you're about to be loud too."

He then takes his cock and gently slaps it against your glossy, sticky lips, making them stickier from his pre-cum and the lube. Knowing what he wants, you pry your lips open, allowing him to slowly slide against your tongue. “That’s it, open your mouth,” he murmurs. “You got this dick now. So take it, babes.”

Toji keeps a firm hand on the back of your head as he pushes further in your mouth, moaning when he bottoms out at the back of your throat. You have to widen your jaw to accommodate him, opening your throat to avoid choking. All you can see is his V-line and stomach, cut from years of sit-ups, pushing into your face as he fucks your mouth as if it were a fleshlight. “Nice mouth. Probably the best I’ve ever had.”

You feel your hand wobble, nearly dropping your toy. He softly chuckles, gently stroking your hair. "Don't worry, baby; I gotchu. Just focus on that cock, alright?" He then shows you what he means by replacing your hand on your toy and pressing it against your clit, rubbing it up, down, and around the sloppy, wet lips of your pussy.

This freedom allows you to wrap one hand around Toji's cock, giving yourself some leverage to sucking on him. "Goddamn, you're good at this!" he hisses, sliding himself deeper, making you gag wetly along his shaft. "That's a good lil' cocksucker. Maybe I shoulda been fuckin' you instead of them other girls, huh?"

You feel that familiar urge to cum building and begin to moan loudly around his cock. He pulls away, allowing you to breathe and warn him of your oncoming orgasm. "Oh, fuck!" you bellow, desperate and close, your hips jutting forward into the toy. "Toji, I'm gonna-"

And then he stops. But just for a moment. "Not yet," he growls, quickly crawling down towards your pussy and tossing your legs over his shoulders. "You cum in my mouth. Nowhere else."

Between his hot, wet tongue in your pussy and the buzzing of the rose against your clit, you have no choice but to cum. With a choked moan of "O-O-Oh, f-fuck!", you feel pleasure wash over you and come undone in Toji's mouth, your thighs twitching and muscles tensing as your orgasm rocks you to your core.

Your eyes roll, your back arches, and everything in the world seems nice and good in those split seconds as you cum all over your toy and your roommate's magical tongue. Toji groans as your taste floods his mouth, soaking his chin and his sheets. He licks and suckles on you until you're nothing more than tired breaths and soft whimpers, your body twitching from the intensity.

Finally, Toji pulls away and turns your toy off, but sucks your juices off of it before tossing it aside. You lay there before him, winded and spent, coming down from your high and in need of a breather...but Toji doesn't give a fuck. He never gives a fuck. "Don't tell me you're tired now, baby," he tuts. "We haven't even started yet."

He gives you a wolfish, evil grin before he takes you by the ankles and spreads your legs apart for him. He takes his cock and gently slides it against your overly-sensitive, twitching, soaked cunt, focusing on your clit. You both moan at the contact, every slight touch worth a thousand. "Good, baby?" he asks. "You want this?"

You stare up wordlessly into his eyes, unable to move your lips or heavy tongue to form your words. All you can do is nod. But Toji isn't happy with that. He gives your pussy a firm slap with his hand, making a high-pitched squeak escape you. "Uh-uh," he firmly says. "Use your words. Tell me what you want."

You should tell him no. Tell him to stop. That you need a break. Some space to recover. But despite the twitching and tremors in your pussy, you can also feel that you desperately need more of him. "I-I want...you," you manage you gasp out. "I need you, 'Ji. Please."

You can't express how full you feel when his cock is finally inside of you, inch by inch stretching out the wet walls of your pussy. Your mouth falls open on a silent moan as your hands grip his shoulders, desperate to grasp something. Toji stares down at your face and pretty body all stretched open for him, wanting so desperately to fuck you dumb.

And he does. Once he has some slow, shallow strokes in to allow you to get used to him, nothing is stopping him from absolutely fucking your shit up. He grips your hips and proceeds to thrust his hips forward and back, drilling his dick into your cunt as he sucks on his fingers and uses them to rub your clit with each thrust.

"Now you see," he grunts. "Now you know why bitches come flockin' to me. Now you know why I always get calls. Now you get it...dontcha, babes?" The only thing you can respond with is "Ahhh, fuck, fuck, oh, my God, oh, oh!" as he proceeds to fuck you absolutely stupid.

You can't keep quiet. Your response to the pleasure you're feeling fly out of you, bouncing off of the walls, echoing throughout the apartment. His dick is so persuasive, drawing so much out of you in such little time.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, the wall behind the headboard goes. Toji grins at the plaster, using one of his big hands to slam against the wall, basically telling your neighbor 'Fuck you!'

"Whoops," he chuckles. "Guess we got an audience." He gives you a wink, making you low-key afraid of what could possibly come next. "Let's give 'em somethin' to really be mad about, hm?"

He then proceeds to prop his feet up on the mattress and firmly grasp your ass from underneath, pinning your thighs up and apart, before drilling himself down to pound your pussy into the mattress. Again and again and again.

You are in a whole other world. Another universe. Nothing exists but Toji and the explosive pleasure he is serving you on a silver platter. He then stops, drops your legs, and takes his dripping cock out of you. "Stick out your tongue for me." Silently, you do as told, letting your wet tongue hang out of your plump lips. Tap-tap-tap. "You made a mess," he murmurs. "Now you need to clean it up."

He watches you intently as he swirls his cock around in your mouth and you diligently suck all of your juices off of him, even sucking on his balls. You have turned into a complete mindless slut for him, desperate to please and to be pleased. "Ya like the taste, babe?" he chuckles. "You taste good, right?"

He groans as he slides his cock out of your luscious mouth and presses a hot kiss against your sticky lips. Nice an' sweet, just like you."

Before you can even think of a response or to even take a breath, he is flipping you over onto your stomach. SMACK! "Ass up, baby girl," he demands, his voice breathless and full of lust. Though your limbs feel like jelly, you get on all fours and firmly push your knees and elbows into the mattress.

"That's a good roomie," Toji mutters before slapping his cock up against your pussy, emitting soft moans and mews of desperation out of you. Then, finally, again, he is inside of you and proceeds to fucking your cunt like it's about to go out of style.

One hand on your throat, the other on your clit, and one foot propped up on the bed, Toji fucks you in doggy, making the bed rock and the neighbors bang harder as your shared moans grow louder. "Good, baby?" he pants, a cocky smile in his voice.

Your head is digging into the bed, your makeup fucked and drool spilling from your mouth. "Yes!" you sob into the sheets. Toji yanks you up off of the mattress, forcing you to come back to reality. "Sorry, hon, I couldn't hear you. Say it again real loud for me."

"Yes!" you yell, but it sounds more like "Ye-e-e-essss!" because of the force, breathtaking thrusts, and deep dicking that Toji is giving you right now. He nods in encouragement, pleased with your answer and your body and your everything. "That's my good baby girl. So obedient for me."

He leans in, pressing his lips to your ear and gently nibbling on the flesh. "Don't let this go to that pretty head," he whispers, "but you're the best fuck I've had by far." Embarrassingly enough, the comment makes you fold completely.

Or maybe that's just because of his dick filling you up and plunging in and out of you, somehow better with each passing second. You now understand why so many throw their hard-earned dollars at Toji to get a fuck. He is the best fuck you've ever had. His sex is your kryptonite. Your weakness. The very thing that will keep you addicted to him.

And when you feel a second orgasm coming on, you know that you are hooked on your roommate and nothing (and no one) else will compare. "Toji, m'gonna cum!" you warn him. "I'm so close!" His calloused fingers slip and slide across your slippery clit, getting you closer and closer as his dick works with his fingers to get you to your end.

"Daaamn, roomie, again?" he cackles. "Tell me somethin' first." He takes his hand off of your throat and pushes your cheek to face him over your shoulder.

"W-What?" you mew. You'll just about say anything he wants at this point.

"Tell me you're a filthy fuckin' pervert who loves listenin' to her roommate cum and fuck his clients."

You swear that you thought you just hallucinated what he said, but his steely eyes tell you different. "W-WHAT?!" you exclaim. "But-"

SMACK!

He takes his hand and slaps your ass hard, leaving it stinging and your eyes wet with unshed tears. "Is that a no?" he pants in your face. "I guess you don't wanna cum then." He slows his thrusts to an agonizing halt, still pulsing inside of you. He pauses from rubbing your clit as well, leaving you in purgatory.

"No, no, please!" you nearly cry. "I'll say it, Daddy! I promise!" You've never felt such desperation. It aches in your core, your body desperate to be relieved. Your roommate grins in your face, enjoying your anguish. "Then say it."

Your mind is screaming at you to not do it...but inevitably, Toji wins. You lick your lips and nearly cringe at the horribly embarrassing and lewd words that pass them: "I-I'm a filthy fuckin' pervert who loves to hear her roommate cum and fuck his clients," you softly announce.

Toji swoops in and presses a hot, passionate, deep kiss onto your lips that steals the air from your lungs. "Good girl," he coos against your lips. "And when good girls listen, good girls get rewards."

Then it's back to fucking. Back to moaning. Back to chasing that high and letting every sound explode from your chest along with the creaking of the bedsprings underneath you. It only gets louder and more frequent when Toji fucks you faster, his hips pistoning against your ass that bounces and shakes against his pelvis every time he slams himself into you.

"Fuckin' cum for me, slut," he demands. "M'close too, so you'd better cum now." He grips your throat tight and nuzzles his nose into your sweet-smelling air. "You're mine now, baby. Nobody will ever be able to fuck you as good as me."

No way. No possible way. And you know that the minute that your second orgasm crests and washes over you. You cannot stop the loud, unabashed wail that escapes you as pleasure crackles beneath your fingertips, toes, and deep within your core: "I-I-I'M CUMMING!"

Your pussy damn near clenches Toji for dear life, tighter than a vice, as he watches you cum around his cock. Your swirling hips and bucking body ignites a fire in him that causes him to fuck the absolute shit out of you, pushing you down into the bed and hiking your ass up. "Stay there," he groans. "Stay right fuckin' there and take this shit."

You do as told, but you couldn't fight him off even if you tried to. He fucks you through your orgasm, making your limbs turn to jelly and your pussy melt like ice cream, wet and slippery. Toji's grunts and groans grow louder until he pulls out of you, strokes himself to completion against the soft globes of your ass, and finally cums with a loud "FUCK!" that echoes throughout the bedroom.

You weakly gasp as you feel warm, wet droplets of his spunk coat your ass and back, creating a nice pearly necklace for your waist and asscheeks. His loud, guttural moans finally die down into soft groans and sighs as his high fades and all that is left is the soft ache of exhaustion. "Now that's a pretty sight: all my cum on this fuckin' ass."

SMACK!

He hits your ass again, hard, but all you can do is flinch. You can barely lift your head. You feel as if you have just been put through the wringer. You are soaked head to toe in sweat and your inner thighs feel sticky with your cum...and maybe his as well?

You don't know, but you find yourself not caring. Not when the thick fog of after-sex exhaustion looms over you...just like Toji is doing. He hovers above your back and comes down, each hand on either side of your head. You feel his lips at your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand on end.

"Like I said: no charge," he whispers. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, roomie." He swoops down to give you a kiss on the cheek and it is like putting a cherry on a sundae.

Oh, yes, you enjoyed it-and him-very much. And who knows? Maybe you'll be a regular client of his from now on.

THE END.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #bnha smut #jjk smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x female reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushigro x reader

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 month ago

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1922 "Hobbit House" is a 9 unit apt. complex in Culver City, CA. The 10bd, 9ba, 10, 980 sq ft residence was designed by 1940s Disney artist Lawrence Joseph. There are 5 buildings and current leases are lower than market value so there's the opportunity to increase them when they expire. $1.95m.

It's also an historical monument. So the original owners did live here, according to the plaque.

Another of the 5 buildings on the property. There's also a water feature and it looks like this building needs work.

It's nice, but the water looks green. Looks like it needs some refreshing and landscaping.

Johnson's granddaughter lived here and is selling it. It's cute. Look at the floor. A Google search suggests that it was once a restaurant. This looks like a bar, but it's probably a kitchen now.

So, I would imagine that the new owner could live in one of the units, if they're not all rented. This is a nice big bedroom with lots of built-ins.

Wow, it hasn't been well-cared for. What's happening here? So, it definitely needs work.

This bedroom is in good condition. It must be freshly painted.

One of the other units. Gee, the roof is in need of replacing. They probably all do.

This is nice, though. So many built-ins and those floors.

Interesting dining room.

I found photos of the units when they were for rent. This one has a tiny kitchen.

But, it has a cute little built-in table and benches.

This is the bedroom. If you live here you don't need much furniture, b/c it's already here, and you can't move it.

It even has a built-in bed and nightstands.

This bathroom is in better condition than the one in the other unit.

This is the largest home on the property.

The living room facing the windows out front. It even has built-in sofas and tons of shelving and storage.

This must be the dining area of the main room.

It has a large galley kitchen.

Someone painted over the upper cabinet, put some sort of metal on the doors, and it's all been propped up by a stick.

This bedroom also has a built-in bed, dresser, and nightstands. Looks like a large closet in the wall.

This unit has 2 bedrooms. Look at the big built-in bureau and vanity table.

Small bath.

Here you can see the 5 buildings and it looks out of place in the surrounding area. There's parking for 9 cars and it's on a .25 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3819-Dunn-Dr-Culver-City-CA-90232/20432038_zpid/

#hobbit house #multi-unit homes #unusual homes #fixer uppers #houses #house tours #home tour

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lost-romantique · 4 months ago

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Maybe it's because I'm getting old and rent is expensive, but honestly, Blitzø has a pretty nice apartment.

Like, his apartment looks so much nicer than the first one bedroom that my husband and I first moved into back when I moved out of my parent's house... like with the size of that balcony? Goddamn... what a dream.

Exterior

And he has a fucking island that separates the entryway from the kitchen!?

Like, honestly, update the wallpaper and give him some new furniture and you could make this place look so nice.

Interior

I lowkey need Stolas to just redecorate Blitzø’s entire apartment. Maybe the kitchen can incorporate Blitzø’s love for horses, and the living room features various plants.

Courtesy of @Spiritual-Heart-5811 on reddit for making a basic layout of Blitzø’s apartment. (Post Full Moon)

#helluva boss #blitzo #blitzø #helluva boss blitz #helluva blitz #ro rambles #blitzo x stolas #stolas goetia #Helluva Boss backgrounds #Blitzo apartment

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cobaltperun · 4 months ago

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Jerks With Hearts of Gold - Property Damage

SMUT! Bottom Tara Carpenter x Top Female Reader

Request: Tara Carpenter x Female Reader

Summary: Tara's reckless habit bites you in the ass before you can finish.

Masterlist / Side story of this request

Word count: 2.5k

It started as a cute, albeit a bit reckless habit, one you somehow managed to silently encourage. It was cute and you had too much faith in your rented apartment's furniture.

You came back one night from a date, surprised that you actually managed to get an entire night just for you and Tara without having to do elaborate plans to keep your relationship a secret from Sam and Tara's friends. Well, you figured they were also your friends now. Either way, Sam allowed you and Tara to hang out, fooled by the essay Tara and you had to write for your class.

Okay, fooled wasn't the right word here. The essay did exist, and the deadline was approaching, but you didn't even touch it tonight. And Tara made some excuse that the essay was long, and it would be more practical for her to spend the night. And Sam, being completely oblivious to all the things you and Tara have been doing over the past months, agreed to that.

She actually got fooled by this pretend-we-hate-each-other bullshit, so you felt no regrets.

Tara went straight into your bedroom and threw herself at your bed, doing the infamous Tara Bomb she's been doing even before you got together. She would just drop down on the poor bed again and again, and it stood strong for months.

When you came into the bedroom, seeing as you weren't a lunatic with a ridiculous habit of assaulting your own bed and thus felt no need to rush in, you saw Tara looking a bit concerned.

"Everything okay?" you asked, sitting down behind her and wrapping your arm around her waist.

Tara seemed relieved all of a sudden. "Oh, no, nothing. Just feel a bit guilty over constantly jumping on your bed," bullshit, Tara would never. "It would be a lot more worth it if I landed on you," okay, maybe not bullshit.

"You really want to ride me, don't you?" you teased as she turned around and straddled your lap, kissing you slowly.

"Mhm," she agreed and nipped your ear. Her hands immediately digging into your hair, messing it up as she pushed her body against you. "It's been too long,"

"It's been a week," you teased her, though you were already pulling her shirt up to take it off.

"Too long," she breathed out, leaning back just enough to let you take her shirt and bra off, while she did the same to you. Her nipples were already hard. "Baby, I'm so, oh-" you couldn't resist, not that you even tried, you leaned down and sucked her nipple into your warm mouth while kneading the other breast. "I'm so wet and ready for you," she began grinding slowly, just enough to tease herself.

"Yeah, go on then," you patted her ass and she got up, guiding your hands from her breast and ass to the belt of her jeans. She looked down into your eyes as you took her belt off and pulled her against you. You eyes filled with intense desire as you kissed her right above the waist band of her jeans.

Tara took a deep breath, pushing her jeans and panties down, urging you to strip her naked as you went lower with every inch of skin she revealed until you kissed her right above her pussy. She could see the satisfied grin on your face as you slipped a finger through her folds, making her lean on you as your touch still caught her by surprise and she felt desperate.

"Definitely wet," you licked your finger clean and pulled away, leaning back on the bed and taking what remained of your own clothes off. Tara could tease you as well, she climbed onto the bed, her back turned to you as she knelt there, on her hands and knees.

"You want me like this?" she asked, spreading her legs and enticing you to just take her already. You were going to drive her crazy with all the teasing.

You moved until you were behind her, taking in the view, and Tara blushed. The way you were looking at her, like she was the most beautiful sight you will ever see, just turned her on more. "You're going to drive me insane," you whispered.

"That's my line. Fuck, just touch me already!" she pleaded, desperately wanting to feel your touch.

Finally, you placed your hand on her lower back and began sliding it down, slowly moving from her back, over her ass. "Maybe you should tell me how wet you are," your slowly rubbed her pussy, spreading her wet pussy lips and asking her to tell you something you could already feel yourself.

"Mhm, bet you could put it in me right away, that's how wet I am for you," she gave you what you wanted, turned on by this. By showing you how much you turned her on, how much she wanted you. And the fact that you wanted her just as badly only increased the pleasure and happiness she felt.

"I'd rather get a taste first," you leaned down and licked her from behind and she barely kept her arms from buckling underneath her as she gasped. Your thumb found her clit and Tara felt heat coursing through her entire body. Each touch of your tongue and fingers, the steady hand on her inner thigh, it made her even wetter, made it even easier for your finger to occasionally penetrate her.

"Y/N," she gasped, all she could feel was you, your touch, and it felt so good.

"You taste so good," you hummed, your voce sending vibrations through her clit and making her drop her head down onto your pillow, and Tara could only mumble 'please' as you continued eating her out. "So needy and wet for me."

"I've told you al-" just as she spoke up you pushed your tongue inside her pussy, making her cry out in pleasure. "fuck I'm gonna cum already!" you've gotten way too good at fucking her, way too good at knowing exactly what to do to have her shake from the pleasure. You sucked on her clit while fingering her with two of your fingers and she came with a loud, broken cry of your name.

You watched her, her body shaking as she buried her face in the pillow, her knees barely keeping her ass up as you went and put the harness and a strap on on, and you slowly caressed her thighs and ass. Tara moaned, she's always loved these light touches between orgasms, just light displays of love as your hands stopped at her hips, an unspoken promise shared between you of what was to come.

"Fuck, give me more!" she demanded, in usual Tara fashion, wanting more immediately after cumming. "Fuck that damn strap into my pussy," she groaned into the pillow, needy and bossy at the same time.

"So bossy," you teased her as your hands moved from her hips, up her sides as the tip of your strap rubbed against the opening of her pussy.

"Fuck yeah I'm bossy," she turned around, her eyes filled with lust. "You've spoiled me," she confessed as you pulled the strap away made her whine again. "Just take me already!"

"Turn around," you ordered, lust and desire consuming her, and Tara immediately did as she was told, and even spread her legs wide. And something in you might have cracked when she reached down and spread her pussy for you. And if you even had the slightest intention to tease her it all went out the window as she reached down with her other hand and tugged at the belts of the strap harness.

"Yeah? You want me like this?" she knew she was getting exactly what she wanted as you leaned over her and pushed the strap inside her wet pussy, and it slid right into her. "Finally!" Tara cried out, her fingers digging into your hip and back as you began thrusting into her.

You set just the pace Tara loved, not too gentle, but not rough either, steadily thrusting into her as she met each of your thrusts with the same intensity, lost in the pleasure and the heat of your naked bodies pressed together.

"Just like that," she hissed, as you found the perfect angle and she arched her back, her nails digging deeper into your skin as she wrapped her legs around you. She reached up, tilting your head up so she could kiss you, and you opened your mouth, letting her slip her tongue inside it, letting her control the kiss as you fucked her.

You couldn't think of anything that could quite compare to this, to making love to the love of your life, to seeing her drop all her defense mechanisms and just let go. She trusted you completely, with her pleasure, and her safety as she gave you all of her.

"Y/N," she whined, clutching you tighter, wanting you deeper, closer. "Y/N," she kept moaning your name, increasingly more desperate as you slipped your hand between the two of you and found her clit.

"I know, Baby," you kissed her neck softly, gently sucking on the side of it.

"I need you so much, need to be yours," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly and giving you yet another sign she was close. "I'm close," she whispered, tossing her head back and baring her neck to you as you dragged your upper lip down from her chin and then lightly bit the spot where her neck and shoulder met, leaving a barely noticeable mark that the clothes and light make-up would cover.

"Cum for me, Tara," you rubbed her clit a bit harder, feeling her legs lock around your hips. "Good girl," you knew that would push her over the edge even faster. "Taking me so well."

"Oh, fuck!" nothing short of completely stopping would have stopped Tara's orgasm now. And you were so damn close as well, just a bit more. A few more thrusts and you'd cum together with Tara and you buried your face in her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent as she moaned in your ear.

"Y/N!" she cried out, cumming hard around your strap, squirting slightly, and you immediately pulled out, halting your own orgasm for a moment, and the look on Tara's face promised you that she would get you over the edge, as soon as she recovered just a bit.

"I've got you," you hugged her and kissed her neck as she continued breathing heavily, slowly getting her breathing under control like every time you pushed her to two orgasms.

And then it happened. You put your arm on the wrong spot on the bed and it just collapsed, tilting forward underneath you as the wooden frame cracked and broke, leaving both you and Tara surprised.

"Are you okay?" you immediately asked Tara and she nodded, her eyes wide and the look on her face actually a hilarious mixture of shock, shame and holding back her laugh. "What the fuck?" you asked, looking around you and at the broken bed underneath you and Tara.

"Might be my fault," Tara admitted sheepishly and you blinked a few times, suddenly realizing exactly what she was talking about. The Tara Bombs.

"Good thing it didn't break while I was still inside you," you laughed and that settled it for Tara as well, as she hugged you, pulling you back down on the broken bed, her laughter mixing with your own. And just as you stopped laughing the bottom of the bed fell as well and you were sent into another burst of uncontrollable laughter.

When you finally calmed down you pulled her closer, intending to lift her up and go to the living room. And while doing so her still rather sensitive pussy rubbed against the strap you were still wearing and she whined.

"Sorry," you kissed and held her close, knowing she got really sensitive when she came twice. That was why you immediately pulled out instead of chasing the orgasm that only a few thrusts away.

"It's more than okay," not that Tara minded, as long as you didn't touch her pussy for a few minutes after the second orgasm. "Doubt you'll be able to carry me, though," she laughed lightly, and that would have been true even if you didn't just spend so much energy making love to the girl in your arms.

"Just means you'll have to walk," you joined in and helped her off the broken bed. "Guess we're sleeping on the couch," you said and took the strap off to clean it after you recover.

Tara took your hand and pulled you with her to the living room, still naked and with nothing but a bedsheet, blanket and a pillow in your arms. The two of you made the temporary bed since there was no way you'd be going to Tara's apartment at this hour and Tara snuggled up to you.

"You didn't finish," she pointed out and you shrugged, you were close, but the bed breaking underneath you kind of ruined that plan.

"I can live with that," you assured her, but she had another idea on her mind as she kissed you and then went down, blazing the path from your lips to your pussy with her lips and soft kisses. "Tara," you moaned softly. She didn't need to do this, but damn, you were close, and you'd definitely appreciate it.

"Just relax for me," Tara said, her lips wrapping around your clit as she gently sucked and fuck, you really were close.

"Relaxing," you shut your eyes closed and just gave into the feeling as she put just as much passion into getting you to cum as you did when you were making her feel good. And between her efforts and your body just responding to her you quickly reached your orgasm, moaning her name as Tara once more kissed the same path, only in reverse.

"I love you," she said, snuggling into you once more, and you just took a moment to process everything, to take in the rare moment of vulnerability from Tara shown by those three words.

"I love you too," you kissed her and hugged her tightly, drawing small circles on her bare back, just the way she liked it. "I really don't want to get up though," you groaned after a couple of minutes.

"You'll let me shower alone?" Tara teased as she got up and went to your bathroom, and well, when she puts it like that.

"Hell no, you'll use up all the warm water!" you exclaimed, jumping in right after her and pulling her back against you.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that's your reason," she rolled her eyes and you just kissed her shoulder before turning the water on.

#tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara x reader #tara carpenter #bottom tara carpenter #top reader #jenna ortega x reader #scream #perunrequests #x reader #x female reader #tara carpenter smut

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yanderedrabbles · 4 months ago

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✨Kicking my feet and twirling my hair thinking about what cozy basement set up boyfriend would have for me!✨

What are your OCs homes like anyway? Do they like certain decor? Does it smell a particular way? Trinkets lying around?

Yandere boys and their homes

Yandere! Cowboy keeps his boots by the door and his old ropes stacked in the entryway. Definitely a whitewashed farmhouse with an old wraparound porch. There's an old deer skull above the fireplace and a couple of hunting rifles on the wall. He likes the view and most mornings he'll drink his coffee with his elbows resting on the porch railing. He likes it when you pick wild flowers and leave them in vases around the house, but he'll never actually tell you that.

Yandere! Soldier's current apartment is pretty old, probably built back in the Soviet era. He doesn't really keep stuff around - he's always moving and being deployed so he doesn't see the point in keeping trinkets. If it wasn't for you, he'd be perfectly fine sleeping in the barracks. Function over everything.

Yandere! Boyfriend's place is honestly pretty cozy. He keeps plenty of throw pillows and afghan blankets. Lots of wooden furniture - most of it he made himself. It's a pretty manly place, but without being overwhelming. Usually smells like vanilla and fresh baked bread. His basement is totally remodelled, with genuine hardwood floors and fairy lights strung across the beams. It's the perfect place to curl up and watch a horror movie, if you ignore the heavy duty locks on the door.

Yandere! State Trooper is pretty young so his apartment is a bit of a mess. He has police gear dumped all over the place. Mostly Ikea style furniture, modern if a bit bland. The only thing he really added was a hook on his headboard to loop your handcuffs through - he can't have you struggling too much and disturbing the neighbours, now can he?

Yandere! Cop for sure has a bachelor apartment with just a bedroom and kitchen. Very neat and clean but pretty boring. It's one of those newly built places with lots of marble and millennial grey. Besides, he's way more interested in buying you whatever you want for your place. His single piece of decor is a scented candle you gave him. He sometimes lights it after a really long day.

Yandere! Gangster has a shitty New York apartment for sure, exposed brick and one of those noisy old fashioned radiators. It's clean but cluttered and there's basically only two rooms. And the worst part? Rent is still ridiculously high.

Yandere! Incubus has a cell in the abbey. It's almost too neat. Almost like it's not lived in. There's a crucifix above his bed and an uncracked bible on the nightstand. His one concession is his collection of dried flowers. Don't touch - they're all poisonous.

Yandere! Desert Bandit is nomadic and needs to move quickly from one hideout to another. He usually stays in a bayt-al-shar with woven rugs on the floor and oil lanterns burning in the corners. It's much larger than you'd expect and surprisingly warm, even through the icy desert nights. It smells of wood smoke and oud.

Yandere! Academic Rival is a thrift hoe and he knows it. Lots of antiques. He especially loves furniture with plenty of engraving or detailing. He either stays in an uptown penthouse or townhouse that his parents own. Spoiled litte brat.

Yandere! Apocalypse Survivor doesn't stay in one place for too long. And he usually picks places with very few entrances. So be prepared for lots of concrete rooms with boarded up windows.

Yandere! Greek Champion is always fighting, so expect everything from confiscated manor houses to canvas military tents. If he ever returns home, you'll find a villa stuffed with treasure from his conquests. Rare furs and rich tapestries and gleaming bronze urns, built with lots of marble columns and open balconies. He has his own bathhouse and he'll spend hours soaking in the steam, his muscles finally relaxing after months of battle.

#The Yandere Boys #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere x reader

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sarahghetti · 1 year ago

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moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source��

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

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vivwritesfics · 10 days ago

Text

Codename: Bunny

Chapter One

Summary: The world thinks Oscar Piastri is dead. Oscar Piastri thinks Oscar Piastri is dead. Now ex-Mafia, he finds himself hiding out in Melbourne. But Mark Webber pulls him back in, all to protect his niece from an anonymous threat on her life.

The niece that wants nothing to do with him. The niece that tried to kill him the first time they met. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Guns, death (not really), blood, knives, stalking

As far as the rest of the world knew, Oscar Piastri was dead.

Gunned down protecting the people he loved. He would have died, would have bled out onto the floor if it wasn't for Carlos Sainz. But Carlos wasn't going to let him die protecting his wife.

If it wasn't for Carlos, Oscar would have died on the floor of that basement. He wouldn't have minded it, dying to protect the person he loved most. She didn't deserve to die, and he would have been happy to die in her place.

She was good, so good, and Oscar would have done anything to protect her. He would have fallen on the literal sword for her, not just the metaphorical one.

His last breaths were supposed to be spent watching her get to safety. She was good; she deserved to live. She didn't need death to wash the blood from her hands like he did.

But he didn't die that day.

No, Oscar Piastri was alive.

And it was all thanks to Carlos Sainz. Carlos got him the help he needed. Carlos saved his life. He spared no expense, got Oscar all of the help he needed for him to recover.

Oscar should have died on that basement floor, but Carlos saved his life.

Even when Carlos and his wife returned to Spain, he was still helping Oscar. Knowing his funeral was happening while he was going through physical therapy in England was a sensation like no other.

The world thought he was dead, and maybe it was better that way.

Shit, he wanted to be back in Australia. His family had to be missing him but, like the rest of the world, they thought he was dead. They had no idea that he was recovering, a nasty scar that would be on his chest for the rest of his life.

It was a while before Oscar got to return to Australia. In all black, in a hoodie that was just slightly too big, Oscar walked through the airport. It had ben a long time since he'd gotten a commercial flight, packed into the cabin like a sardine. He was utterly dreading it.

He moved slowly through the airport, still in so much pain. Several workers in the airport tried to help him, but he waved them off. He just wanted to get through Gatwick as quickly as possible.

The flight was so damn long.

Oscar slept all the way to Dubai. That was maybe the worst part of the flight, having to stop over somewhere. And then the flight from Dubai to Melbourne was even longer. Oscar slept through all of it, ignoring how uncomfortable it was, how much pain he was in.

Maybe it was a bad idea, heading back to Melbourne. His hometown, where his family was. No matter how much he missed them, he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't seek them out, couldn't let them know he was okay.

Not after they'd attended his funeral just a few weeks ago.

Oscar used the money he had saved to rent an apartment. Nothing fancy, just a bedroom and kitchen. He didn't have much, just the cheap furniture Carlos helped him to purchase. He bought clothes, comfortable stuff. Not his normal suit.

He wouldn't need that suit anymore.

For the first time since he was a teenager, he was no longer apart of a Mafia Family. No longer part of the Webber Family, no longer part of the Norris Family, no longer part of the Sainz Family.

He was free.

Oscar made himself comfortable on the sofa. A cup of noodles was on his coffee table, cooling as he searched for a job. Never before had he had a job that didn't involve shooting somebody in the face or torturing someone for information. Something that didn't involve so much death and darkness.

A fresh start.

A fresh start wasn't easy. According to his job history, he'd never worked a day in his life. He had no experiences, nothing that could help him find a job. At twenty-three, he'd had no job since secondary school.

He couldn't exactly call up the leader of a Mafia Family for a reference, could he?

For two weeks, Oscar was in his apartment. He desperately searched for an entry-level job that didn't require any skills and eating his cup of noodles.

Suddenly he missed the private chefs that came with being in a Mafia Family.

At the end of the two weeks, there was a knock at the door. Oscar didn't think twice about opening his front door anymore. Nobody knew he was alive.

He was safe now.

Neighbours had been dropping by since he first moved in, welcoming him with baked goods or by trying to get into his apartment (he dreaded to think what happened in his apartment while it was empty).

He pushed himself from the sofa and strode towards the door. They knocked again, a little more insistently, as he reached for the handle.

Part of him was tempted to move a little slower after that. But he didn't. Oscar pulled open the door and stared at the man before him.

Jack Doohan.

Shit, he'd been just a kid when Oscar left for The Norris Family, hadn't he? Not that much younger than Oscar, but new to this world. Fresh faced, having never felt the splatter of a man's blood against his skin.

He wore a suit, just like Oscar used to. Several weapons hidden on him, no doubt. Oscar just had the one.

He wasn't supposed to know Oscar was alive.

Jack swallowed as he looked at Oscar, took all of him in. "So, it's true," he said, digging his toe into the ugly brown carpet outside of Oscar's door. "You're alive."

Oscar tried to make it look like he wasn't reaching for his gun. He was an expert with things like this, with being discreet like this. Jack was too inexperienced to know what he was doing.

"Who else knows?"

His voice was low, dangerous. That killer was still in there. A viper, poised and ready to strike.

Jack swallowed. "Just Webber and I, I think."

That was when Oscar revealed his gun. "You have five seconds to tell me what you want before I shoot you." He said it so easily, as if the weight of his words didn't affect him at all.

That was because they didn't.

Wide eyed, Jack raised his hands in defence. "Webber sent me!" He cried. "He's got a job that only you can do!"

Oscar let the gun drop. Not completely, he could still shoot Jack's leg. "What kind of job?" He pressed.

Jack furrowed his brows, fingers twitching as he tried desperately to remember what to say. It was a specific script he had been given, and, so far, it was going perfectly.

And then Jack found the words. "Codename: Bunny."

Oscar faltered long enough for the gun to be knocked from his hands. Jack had his shaking, inexperienced finger wrapped around the trigger.

"Webber doesn't want anybody else on this job," Jack said, as if it would explain anything. "Have you got any other weapons?"

Hands raised, Oscar shook his head. A knife hidden in his sock would have come in handy at that moment. But he was just supposed to be sitting on his sofa, looking for a normal job. He wasn’t supposed to need a knife in his boot.

"Come with me," Jack said.

Oscar swallowed. If Jack kept squeezing the trigger like that, Oscar was going to die. He would bleed out on the floor of his apartment. But nobody would help him this time.

He wasn’t afraid of death.

Maybe it was his time, the universe making things right. Maybe he wasn't supposed to survive that day on the basement floor.

"We wouldn't be asking you if we didn't need to."

If we didn't need you.

Oscar released a laugh as he stepped out of his apartment. He dropped his hands and shoved them into his pockets. "Trust me, she doesn't need anybody." Oscar absentmindedly reached up to touch the scar on his ear.

"She does this time."

A horrible feeling settled in the pit of Oscar's stomach. "She's in real danger?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Jack nodded his head.

Fuck, how was he supposed to say no? She was in danger, and he couldn't ignore that.

"Are you going to come willingly?" Jack asked.

Codename: Bunny. She wouldn't want to see him, would she? It had been a number of years since they'd last seen each other, but she could hold a grudge, Oscar knew.

God, he hoped she didn't have a knife.

"Yeah," Oscar said and pulled his apartment door shut. His keys were trapped inside, but Oscar didn't care. Locks didn't exactly matter to him. "I'll come willingly."

Jack led the way through the shitty apartment building. The few neighbours they passed in the halls stared at Jack, at the pristine suit he wore. Too pristine - He was never going to pull the trigger, Oscar realised.

But he couldn't retreated now, not now he knew she was in trouble.

Jack couldn't hide his grin as he pulled his car keys from his pocket and approached the Porsche parked across the road. His shiny new toy, a gift from Mark.

What had happened in the years since Oscar had been in England, working for the Norris Family? He wondered what she was like now, how much she had changed since he last saw her. Was she still handy with a knife?

Handy didn't cut it. She was talented with a knife, the scar on his ear enough proof of that. Her knife with the pink handle, with the rose on the end of it. A beautiful weapon, a deadly one. Just like her.

"Who's watching over her now?" Oscar asked as they drove away from his apartment building. Maybe this was the universe trying to get things back on track, pulling him back into the world of Families. A world of deals and back stabbing and violence. A world Oscar no longer wanted to be part of.

"Sargeant's boy," Jack answered.

Logan.

Logan, from the Sargeant Family in America. Sargeant didn't want him taking over the Family, Oscar knew, and that was why he was here, in Australia. There was more to it, just like there was more to Oscar being sent to the Norris Family in England.

"She likes Logan," Jack continued, "But Mark doesn't think he's got the skills to protect her from this threat."

Oscar glanced at him. "What's the threat."

But Jack didn't answer.

Oscar held the seatbelt as they got further and further away from the safety of his apartment. The apartment Carlos Sainz had helped him pay for, helped him furnish.

Oscar swallowed, his mouth dry. He stared at the road ahead and opened his mouth to talk. "How did you find out I was still alive?"

There was a moment before Jack answered. His eyes darted towards Oscar before moving back to the road. "When you and Sainz went back to England, Webber had me watch you. I used street cameras to watch you go into that house, but you didn't come out with everybody else.

"I thought you were dead. Webber told The Family, your family, too. But then I watched Sainz return to the house. I saw him take you to the hospital through street cameras, got into the hospital cameras to watch your recovery.

"Mark didn't want me telling anybody that you were still alive. So, I didn't. I think he was waiting for you to come back to Melbourne, waited until he needed you until sending me to come and get you."

The rest of the journey was in silence. Oscar had nothing to say to Jack, didn't want to tell anybody what he had gone through over the last few months. His bullet wound, his scar, throbbed.

The gates to the Webber house swung open. Oscar sucked in a deep breath as Jack parked his Porsche between two black Range Rovers.

It was all familiar, too familiar. He didn't belong here, didn't belong in a Mafia Family anymore.

An hour ago he was a free man.

"Is she in there?"

Jack looked towards the house. "She wasn't when I left," he said and climbed out of the car. Oscar did the same.

It wasn't a new Porsche, but it was incredibly well taken care of. What had he done to earn this? Who's blood had he spilt? (Nobody's blood, Oscar knew by the way his hands had shaken as he held the gun earlier).

Oscar led the way into the house. He was welcomed into the house by surprised men, scrambling to shake his hand. Oscar let them, kept his smile polite, and headed up to the office. He left Jack behind, took the stairs two at a time, and walked towards the office.

When he pushed open the door, Webber was waiting for him. Looking at him like he was expected. Of course he was expected, Webber was the one that sent for him. A manila folder was on the desk in front of him.

"It's good to see you on your feet," Webber said in way of greeting.

Hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, Oscar shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody else knows about me, right?" He asked and Mark shook his head. "Not my family?"

"That's your choice, Oscar."

Mark nodded down to the folder in front of him. "How much has Jack told you?" He asked.

"Barely anything." Oscar reached for the folder and picked it up. Pictures spilled out of the folder, falling into his lap. Pictures of her, walking down the street with white headphones covering her ears, pictures of her in class, her at a party or in a bar. At dinner, in a library, sitting in the park with a sketchbook in her lap.

In all of the pictures, Logan was somewhere. Beside her as she walked down the street, sat behind her in the library or in class. Dancing with her, but still vigilant at the party, and sharing her picnic blanket at the park.

Her, Y/N Webber.

"These were left on my doorstep. Any evidence of who left them for me has been erased from my system."

Oscar looked at the picture of Y/N in the park. She wasn't looking at her sketchbook, instead looking at something the image hadn't captured. But, if Oscar knew her, it could have been the trees with sunlight behind it, or a cute dog.

"Is this all there is?" Oscar asked.

Mark raised his eyebrows. "Do you think I'm overreacting?"

No, it wasn't an overreaction. Mark had every right to be worried about his niece, about her safety. "You want her protected."

Mark nodded.

"Why me?" Oscar asked suddenly. "Why not get Daniel or Jack to do it?" Why not leave me to my retirement?

A sigh left Marks lips. "You're the best of the best," Mark said. "There's nobody I trust more than you."

The door behind him swung open. Oscar turned his head slightly, caught a flash of white. But then she was on him, pink handled knife pressed into his neck.

"Hey, Bunny."

Taglist is Open

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri x you #op81 #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #mafia au #mafia!au

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