#fabric is the bane of my existence

[loofiez]

They sure look comfy!

[muffinlance]

Isopuppy's got legs for DAYS

Just need to get the top carapace on and write up the tutorial, and y'all can make your own Good Dog.

My baby spent most of the morning crawl-chasing me around, desperately pointing at the pupper to be allowed a hug (which she was finally granted just before nap time when I got the back seam closed, and she hugged it So Hard, then gummed those antennae real good). Toddler is demanding he be allowed to sleep with it tonight. So isopups are VERY snugglable, is what I'm saying.

[2aceofspades]

Holding you to it

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Lil time skip from the previous update..| Next

[hamausagi]

i love fresh clean sheets….. if only there was a super tall big smokey man here to share it with me…….

[merlwyb-moved]

[aesrot]

When Martin interrupted Jon in 53 and said like “you needed five stitches after you ‘accidentally’ stabbed your self with the bread knife” I didn’t know that Jon got stabbed by Michael bc I wasn’t paying attention despite Jon literally saying it outloud (LOL) (I relistened to that part of the episode) and my first thought from that was taking martins statement of it at face value so I thought for a moment that Jon had actually stabbed himself with the knife although took out the “accidentally” part I thought that was just smth he did in like a breakdown or something and I honestly wouldn’t put it past him. But bc that was my misinterpretation of it,,,, i was cooking so hard about the others having that same interpretation of Jon “accidentally” stabbing himself with a bread knife (of all the excuses) AUGH

lmao i remember having a similar issue, idk if i didnt hear things properly or if i just didnt get what happened when he got stabbed, but i only actually understood the stabbing thing when martin said that lol. but you are actually correct, jon would and will do really fucking stupid things with himself. he's got no sense of self preservation, despite all the paranoia, he will dive head first into peril lol

[sollux-captor]

bros r eepy

love my eepy bros <3

[gaypiratethoughts]

I have become infinitely more powerful in my crafts since obtaining a lighter

[firstbreathofwinter]

I'm making yet another skirt for my girlfriend. This time it's for her concert blacks. I'm learning how to pleat!! I put the main skirt together last night and it's beautiful!! Just have to add pocket and waistband. ...and hem and finish my seams and...

[fanaticsnail]

Sanji in his little "Kiss the Cook" apron.

Is it romantic? Starting as a joke with kisses on the cheek and temple until the two of you end up full on making out?

Or is it platonic? With the straw hats giving him little kisses in passing, starting with Luffy and spreading through the crew until even Zoro relents? Because what's better than kissing the homies goodnight?

You tell me snail, what's the move?

-♡♡ lots of love

"porque no los dos?"

Kiss the Cook

Masterlist here

Word Count: 1,700+

Synopsis: Sanji was gifted an apron from Nami after returning back from town. Every member of the crew aside from Zoro and you have followed the embroidered instructions written on his chest, and he wasn't happy about the lack of kisses from you. You finally relent and give him what he wants.

Themes: platonic kisses, fluff, implied f!reader - but can be read as gn!reader, sanji has feelings for you, you have unspoken feelings for sanji, idiots in love, Sanji has lost that 'line-cook rizz'.

Notes: This has been in my ask box for less than a day. I don't know what it is about you, anon. As soon as I see those two little hearts I'm just overtaken by something. I blame the "kisses". @chikariart on twitter.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @indydonuts @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @writingmysanity

“Could these onions misbehave any more?” the chef grumbled under his breath, gritting his teeth and clamping hard down on his cigarette, “C’mon, now. What have I gotta do to get your layers off? Talk dirty to you?” He used the steel edge of his knife to attempt to pry the brown outer layer away from its fleshy underside with shaking hands. 

Sanji’s nerves were ignited, his whole composure on edge and waiting for the next intrusion in his kitchen and potential distraction from his work. 

When Nami brought the frilly pink apron his way, he was initially ecstatic at the notion he was thought of enough to be given a little gift. But as the red embroidery with white stitched hearts expressed consent for his body to be given sweet kisses at all times, he was truly alert. With an assault of affection from all who approached him each time he adorned the fabric in its wake, he was finding it difficult to focus on each mundane kitchen task. 

In this case, peeling onions was the bane of his existence. As the flickered peel almost withdrew from the circular bulb, it split and only chipped off a small amount of the outer layer. 

Sanji loved kisses, adored kisses: all the cheek, forehead and shoulder kisses he'd received from the crew. Cheeky Nami kisses, soft Robin kisses, and nibbled toothy kisses from Chopper were his favorites. 

He was less enthusiastic about hulking, wet kisses from Franky, nor the hungry cheek kisses from Luffy which was used to depict the state of his appetite. Usopp was the middle ground, his kisses were a tease on his shoulder with a rough clap and a gaggle of laughter immediately thereafter.

Brook’s kisses were actually quite funny to the blonde cook. As the skeleton man had no lips to kiss with, he resigned himself to the notion of simply walking past him, and taunting him with a melodic hum of the words: “kiss,” “kisses,” or an emphatic “mwah,” as he did so.

Of the members of the remaining crew, he was happy that the stinky moss-head kept his lips to himself. There was no way he would allow him the closer proximity to his body without starting a sparring match. He was, however, not so happy that you were yet to place your lips sweetly on the apple of his cheek. 

Sanji adored you, wanted to treat you with the utmost respect and dote on you alongside the other members of the crew. You were special to him, and he rationalized that his small crush was why he was craving a scrap of your attention so much. As he continued cursing at the onions, he heard a soft tap on the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Need help, cook?” Sanji looked up, noticing you leaning on the side of the door. He smiled softly at you, biting back his smile and gulping his insecurity. 

“Oh, beautiful angel,” he managed to turn away from the counter and look out the window as he resumed his battle with the onions, “I'm all good here, don't you worry yourself. Go relax with the others.” You clicked your tongue and stepped closer to the bench and stood a few feet away from the blonde cook. 

Noticing his posture, you knit your brows in puzzlement. He was twitching while he was going about his peeling, finally managing to coax the shell away from the exterior and sigh in relief. His cheeks were tinted a soft shade of pastel pink, his nose the most darkened by the blushy hue. 

Looking down, the frilly pink apron with ‘Kiss the Cook,’ held the final piece of information as to his nervous composure. You smiled softly at him, looking to where his hands skillfully minced the onions and threw them into a scorching pot with molten butter and aromatic herbs. 

He rinsed his hands in the sink, lathering them with soapy froth and soaking the suds with glassy water. The scent from the pot of sweetened onions with rosemary, sage and thyme had your mouth salivating in anticipation of what was to come. 

“What's cooking, good looking?” you smiled at him softly, gesturing with your chin to the pot on the stove. He froze up, his ears tinting darker with the shade of pink. 

“J-Just a mirepoix,” he stuttered out, prompting you to shake your head and offer him a soft laugh in response. Taking the extinguished cigarette out of his lips, he placed the butt in the bin beneath the sink. 

Noticing the tension in his body, you reach up and place a hand on his shoulder to urge him to turn to face you. He meets his gray orbs with yours, a sheepish look on his face as you gaze up into his eyes. 

“You've been off the line for too long, Sanji,” you scrunch your nose up playfully at him, “Lost that flirtatious kitchen charisma and banter, blushing like a bride at the most simple of compliments. What's going on with you?” You graze your fingers along his jaw, leaving a rising layer of goose flesh in its wake. 

“I-It’s-...” Sanji gulped his nerves back, hanging his head with a soft laugh and subtle shake in response, “...It's this stupid apron.” You look down at the apron with a smirk. 

“What about the ‘stupid apron’, Sanji?” you ask with a raised brow before gazing back into his eyes, “Not your color?” He continued smiling and shaking his head at you before looking up through his eyelashes into your questioning and puzzled eyes. 

“To be honest with you,” he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to halt his words from sounding too eager, “I actually love it. Even though it started as a joke, it has actually made a big difference the way I’ve been feeling lately.” He shrugged, turning his eyes back to the ground and snickering, “Stupid, right?” 

Cupping his face, you elevate his head and hum at him in deep contemplation. 

“Not stupid,” you shrug at him, darting your eyes between his and flickering your gaze down to his lips, “Not stupid at all.” His breath hitched in his throat, eyes beginning to fill with hope as you drew your face ever closer to his. 

Closing his eyes, he parted his lips and anticipated feeling yours brush with them. His heart beat in his throat, his ears hearing that drum of hope ringing with his elevated pulse. As he drew his face closer still, the balloon of anticipation was instantly deflated as he felt your lips brush with the apple of his cheek and linger for less than a single second. 

As you withdrew from his cheek, Sanji was left feeling like a complete idiot. He stared vacantly, directly ahead with unblinking eyes and his ego completely deflated. His heart fizzled out like a flame being snuffed by a wet blanket. 

Looking at his vacant expression and the soft blush on his cheeks, you couldn’t help yourself. A single, timid kiss was not enough of an indulgence to grant to the blonde cook, in your opinion. You leaned forward once more, pressing a soft kiss on his angular jaw before pressing another on his neck above his pulse and beneath his ear lobe. 

Sanji’s breath hitched, his hands opening and closing in clenched fists and shaking extensions. Gasping, he leant his head to the side and whimpered at the soft touches you were pressing into his skin. His pulse quickened, his breath hitched, and his eyes clenched tightly shut as he argued with himself where to place his hands on you. 

Trailing your lips down to his collarbone, you pressed a sweet and gentle kiss against the bone before clamping your teeth down onto the flesh. Sanji mewled in pleasure at the attention, throwing his head back and drawing up his forearm to his face to catch the damp blood from exiting his nose. His head was dizzy, his lips parting and whining as he felt your tongue swirl around the soft bite to his collar. 

Pulling away from him, you sucked your lips into your mouth and bit-back your smile at his reaction. He slowly drew his eyes down to meet yours, the irises eclipsed by blown pupils and his desire. Giggling at him, you tilted your head to the side and clasped your hands behind your back and rocked on your feet. 

Sanji surged his body forward, claiming your cheeks beneath his hands and carding his fingers through your hair the moment his lips descended onto yours. You squeaked in response, immediately placing your hands on Sanji’s hips as he pinned you against the sink with his hips. His kisses were needy, desperate and full of desire. 

As he rotated his chin to deepen the oscillation, you reached up to his shoulder and tapped it twice while gasping in his mouth. He tugged himself away, looking down at you in shock with wide eyes and panting breath.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he began to hastily relay his apologies, “I didn’t mean to do that, truly. The other kisses I get from the crew are usually a little more hasty and less indulgent. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, honest-.”

“-Sanji,” you laugh at him, looking up through half-hooded lashes and brushing your nose with his, “Your mirepoix is going to burn.” 

Immediately, Sanji broke himself away from you and stomped over to the large pot. He grumbled as he stirred the aromatics with a wooden spoon, growling under his breath, “This stupid apron has been nothing but a complete distraction.” You giggled at him as he aggressively began stirring at the pot to salvage the caramelizing vegetables. 

“That’s it,” he tore the apron away from his chest and cast it to the side, “No more kisses in the kitchen. I refuse to have good food spoil because I’ve been getting distracted by soft kisses… sweet kisses…” he trailed off, fishing around in his pocket for a cigarette after he rotated the vegetables within the butter. 

Shaking your head, you go and retrieve the apron from where he cast it aside and hung it over the kitchen table. Eyeing him over mischievously, you walk over to him and hold his hips firmly from behind and place one more soft kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“Come find me when you want to put on that stupid apron again, hm?” you utter, releasing his hips and making your way over to the kitchen doorway and out of the room with haste. 

Sanji shook his head with a warm smile and a dark blush. Looking to where you had just left, he sighed deeply and began to focus solely on the meal preparation with no more cause for distraction.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Study Days with Joel (Joel Miller x f!reader)

pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (no outbreak) word count: 3.5k of pure smut rating: Explicit, MDNI 18+, swearing, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, breath play, choking, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his 40s), no physical descriptions of reader except that Joel is able to lift her up summary: You have your state psychology exam coming up, the last step in getting your degree, but studying is the bane of your existence. Joel comes up with an alternative solution to help you study for the exam. A/N: Soooo, this was rotting my brain for the last month of my semester in grad school, pretty sure I was ovulating and I started typing it out in the library on campus. Best believe I struggled to get any studying done, thinking about this fictional man. This is also my first time writing smut so please be kind. Not beta'd cause I literally just needed to get it OUT. Comment and reblog if you like it. Enjoy! 🌚 🌹-N main masterlist

“C’mon baby, try again. Wanna hear it.”

You whine and squirm under the weight of his grip, his forearm pinning your hips further into the mattress like an iron bar.

“Jo- fuck,” you pant as your hips buck up, chasing the heat of his mouth. The crumpled study cheat sheet that you were clutching is long abandoned as your right hand snakes through his curls and grips them hard.

All you can do is mewl helplessly as Joel laps away at your aching cunt, his tongue lathing in wide strokes through your folds, before flattening it and swirling it around your swollen clit.

“Try again,” he mumbles into your core. The vibrating rumble of his baritone sends shockwaves throughout your body, as he presses a kiss to your clit, then moves down to lick into your hole, drinking up your arousal.

You gasp, canting your hips up again, trying to get him closer.

Deeper.

More of his tongue, more of his fingers, more Joel.

“I can’t,” you sob in desperation and arch your back, more wetness seeping out of your pussy.

Your mind is reduced to mush at this point. The only sensations that exist are the heat of Joel’s mouth, the softness of his curly locks, and the damp fabric of the sheets underneath you.

“Yes, you can,” he whispers against your core. “You remembered it earlier today. C’mon” He looks up at you, those sinful chocolate eyes devouring you whole.

The photographic memory you were so confident in fails you instantly, as you try to remember concepts from the cheat sheet. The only image you can see is Joel's predatory gaze peering up at you from your core, the lower half of his face drenched in your slick.

You have no doubt that Joel’s intentions were pure. Wholesome, even. The key word being were. But the way he’s sucking on your pussy lips, devouring your cunt as if it was his last meal on earth, nothing about this feels wholesome or pure.

He wanted to help you study for your upcoming licensing exam, the final step in getting your degree. When he suggested helping you out, you figured he would run through the material with you a couple times, test you on a few concepts, and then reassure you that you had nothing to worry about. Kiss you on the forehead and tell you that you’d ace the exam no problem.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re gonna do just fine baby, you’re overthinking it. You and I both know that you know your stuff.” He grabs your face, his massive palms enveloping your cheeks, as he kisses you on the forehead while you continue your anxious tirade.

“Yeah, but not with statistics!” Anxiety bubbles up through your chest, solidifying and compressing your lungs as you squawk back at him.

“This is math, my worst fucking enemy. I hate that they include this portion on the exam, it’s not like I’ll ever need to know how the different types of reliability and validity will help a client in a counseling session-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he presses his thumbs into your cheekbones ever so slightly, interrupting your runaway thoughts and bringing you back to earth. “Look at me.”

You attempt to hang your head in defeat but Joel’s strong hands keep your head in place. Pouting incessantly, you roll your eyes and pointedly look away from him.

“Hey.” He grunts and shakes your head sharply. “I saw that.”

You’re still mostly in panic mode, but the edge in his tone has warmth rushing through your body, and your gaze trailing back up to meet him.

Joel strokes your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, back and forth. The featherlight touch on your soft skin lulls you out of panic mode, as your shoulders slump and your posture relaxes. Pulling you in for a hug, he cups the back of your head, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. The heat from his large hand bleeds through your sleep shirt, wrapping your body in his comforting warmth.

“You’re smarter than anyone I know darlin,’ told ya so from the first day we met. Hell, I don’t know anyone else who has the entirety of that damn manual memorized front to back, ‘cept for you.” He presses his lips into the crown of your head, inhaling the sweet smell of you.

You snort, but it comes out muffled as you press your face further into his broad chest.

“That’s different. That stuff is interesting to me, it’s easy to absorb. Statistics is math, and math is the devil.” You grumble, nuzzling further into the warmth of his shirt, breathing in the faint smell of his detergent and cologne. The smell of Joel.

“I know. But I’m sure in the beginning, even memorizing a quarter of the stuff was a headache, and yet you did it. You just gotta give this a chance,” he murmurs against your hair. “Maybe there’s a different method we haven’t figured out yet, that will help it click, hm?”

He continues to rub slow circles against your back when you mumble something incoherent and bury more into his chest, wrapping your arms around his middle.

Joel was right. You knew he was, as much as you hated to admit it. But above all else, he genuinely cared about helping you succeed, and if there was anything he could do to make life easier for you, or let you know that you weren’t alone in your struggles, he would do it. And he always spoke about conquering those struggles as a team, as your partner, always willing to carry the load for you if you couldn’t handle it yourself.

Not that he doubted you in the first place. But it was always ‘we’ or ‘us,’ never just ‘you,’ or ‘I.’ It’s one of the reasons why you were head over heels in love with him. Sometimes you wondered if he realized how much strength he gave you by simply existing.

“Remind me again,” he shifts his arms so that they wrap around you, gluing you to his body,.

“What’s the difference between.. Schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorder?”

Although you’re not looking at him, you know that he has a smile on his face. He fully knows that you know the correct answer. Sighing deeply, you turn your head to the side.

“Schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder where a person experiences psychosis, or hallucinations and or delusional thinking, but schizoaffective disorder is when a person experiences the same psychotic symptoms, along with symptoms of a mood disorder, like depression or mania.”

“Straight from the fuckin’ textbook,” he whispers in your ear, before leaning down to kiss your pulse point. “My smart cookie.”

Shivering in response, you tilt your head to the side as his lips trail down your neck, pressing soft, wet kisses and nibbling ever so slightly. Gasping, you tilt your head further, giving him more access and melting in his embrace.

“Mmm.” Joel rumbles, the deep vibration reverberating through his chest.

“Why don’t we try another study method and see how it works?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Little did you know that another study method would involve you laid out beneath Joel, his broad frame caging you in as he took you apart with his mouth. Every kiss, every lick, every suckle to your clit, had your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Joel tested your restraint.

“Tell me again baby, I know you know it.”

He whispers into your wetness, pulling away to press wet kisses to the inside of your thighs. When you don’t answer immediately, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, applying the slightest pressure that makes you gasp and lift your head to look down at him. He doesn’t say anything else, save for quirking his brow, patiently waiting while his tongue soothes over the indents on your skin.

“Stat-fuck.”

You swallow, your throat desperately dry from the hoarse moans and whimpers you’ve been letting out.

“Statistical significance is- is when the rela-relationsh-shit,” you pant as Joel’s tongue traces your outer lips, sucking slightly before dipping into your hole and curling, “between two or more v-variables is caused by s-something other than-ngh chance.”

The last part comes out as a rushed gasp as scorching heat runs through your veins, with Joel’s mouth magnetized to your cunt, but he praises you nonetheless.

He hums and gives you a devious smile.

“Good girl,” he purrs, grazing your slit with his middle finger, gathering up the obscene amount of wetness leaking out of you, before sliding two thick fingers into your cunt.

You barely have time to catch your breath, choking on gasp as you revel in the stretch of his fingers. So fucking long and thick. You never get tired of how they fill you so perfectly.

“My good fucking girl. So fuckin’ smart.” He growls into your cunt, curling his dexterous fingers, effortlessly pressing up against that spot that makes your eyes roll back and clench around him.

“Oh shit.”

Your mind goes blank as you whine and start to tense your stomach, hips lifting up again seeking out more friction. The stretch of his fingers is delicious, the way they hook inside you, reaching spots you can never reach yourself. It makes your head spin as he continues to lathe his tongue up and down, flattening it and making wide circles around your clit.

You can feel the heat starting to build in your core, licking up your spine as Joel keeps slowly pushing his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt. Steadily, in and out, until your hips are tightening and loosing with the building pressure.

“Joel, please.”

You sob and lift your hips up once more to meet his mouth, pull his fingers in deeper.

“Shhh babygirl. You’re doing good so far,” he lifts his mouth off your pussy, his drenched lips hovering just above it as he presses a chaste kiss to your mound.

He waits a beat, before a devious grin spreads across his face.

“But you gotta be prepared for all sorts of distractions when you’re writing that exam, gotta be able to focus and tune it all out.”

Your thoughts aren’t even coherent at this point. Your brain is just a soggy pile of mush, frayed neurons, misfiring in all directions. He’s kidding right?

Joel Miller is your biggest distraction.

Always.

You barely have time to lift your head up and watch his malicious smile disappear, as it morphs into something primal.

Pure hunger.

He rises up from his place between your legs, releasing your one leg he was holding to spread you open, while his other hand is still knuckle deep in your tight, throbbing pussy.

Coming up on the bed to hover over your frame, you’re awestruck by his size. How much bigger he is than you. How broad he is, with his shoulders spanning twice the amount of space as yours. It makes you shiver, your skin tingling under the thin layer of sweat that coats your naked body.

“Next question sugar. Ready?”

Joel licks his lips, his pupils blown black as he snaps his fingers against that spongy spot deep inside you. The air is punched out of your lungs as you choke on a gasp.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know baby, I know.”

He coos at you, leaning down to kiss you. Gently brushing his lips against yours before his tongue teases the seam of your lips, you open up to him. He swallows your moans, tongue dancing with yours as he groans, sucking on your bottom lip.

Breaking away he pants as his gaze flicks between your lips to your eyes. “Y’trust me?”

For a fraction of a second, you see the concern in his big rounded eyes. The dominance dissipates as he checks in with you, making sure you’re still with him, and that it’s not too much.

You nod frantically before you can even process his words.

“Words baby, I gotta hear those sweet words.”

“Yes, Joel.” One word falling from your lips.

“Please”

“There we go. Now, can you tell me what inter-rater reliability is?”

“Uhhh.” You wish you could answer him, you really could. But he keeps fucking his fingers into you, pressing up against your g-spot at the same steady pace. The squelching sounds coming from your pussy are obscene, causing your brain to short circuit as you feel the familiar coil tightening in your lower belly.

You try to continue, but as soon as you do, Joel’s free hand slowly snakes around your neck. His massive palm envelopes the circumference of your throat, as he grasps it loosely.

Instantly your mouth drops open as you whine, eyes glazing over. He loves playing with you. It’s all too easy to turn you into a babbling mess, drunk on his pleasure in a matter of minutes. His voice, his hands, his mouth.

Sobbing and squirming underneath him, another pulse of pleasure shoots straight to your core as you clench around his thick fingers. He’s not even squeezing, barely applying the slightest bit of pressure but fuck, it makes you dizzy already.

You love when he chokes you, love feeling his huge warm hands encircling the column of your neck. The way that those hands could so easily snap you in half, holding onto your fate. It makes you ridiculously wet, your pussy fluttering in anticipation.

Joel tilts his head, drinking you in underneath his predatory gaze, before the corner of his mouth slowly lifts into a smile.

“Distractions baby. Gotta think past them”

All you can do is look up at him through teary doe eyes and whimper. In response, his thumb starts to gently circle your clit while his fingers continue stretching you out.

“Joel, please.”

It’s all you can repeat. Begging that he take mercy on you and forget the studying, and just fuck you senseless already.

“Nuh-uh baby, answer the question.” His grip around your throat tightens ever so slightly as he encourages you again.

Swallowing as best as you can while the warmth of his palm bleeds through your skin, you try to think of the answer. But all you can feel is the heat simmering in your belly, the dampness of the sheets beneath you from all the arousal seeping out of your cunt.

“Interrater r-reliability is a measure of val-lidity-”

Joel clicks his tongue and removes his thumb from your clit. You whimper as your hips rise up, chasing his touch.

“Mm, not quite darlin.’ Try again.”

Your brain flounders, unable to conjure up any images of your cheat sheet or study material. The only thing keeping you tethered to reality is the warmth emanating from his large frame caging in your body, and his fingertips pressed into the sides of your throat.

He lets up slightly around your neck, as you pant and bite your lip.

“Inter-rater r-reliability, is a measure of consistency, or the d-degree of agreement between different people -fuck, observing the s-same thing.” The last couple words fade out as he starts running his fingers soothingly up and down the sides of your neck.

“There you go baby,” he purrs. “Very good, so fucking good for me.”

Immediately, his hand slithers around your neck again as his grip gets tighter and tighter, till you’re gasping. Euphoria floods your brain. A gush of wetness seeps out around Joe’s fingers that are still buried in your cunt as you clench hard around him.

You grasp at the sheets, grasp at the hand wrapped around your neck as you writhe underneath him incessantly, your mouth falling open as you try to say his name again.

Growling at the way your body responds to him instantly, Joel’s fingers inside you pick up their pace, thrusting into you and snapping up against that spot that makes you go cross-eyed. His thumb presses down against your clit as he starts to circle it quickly.

“Did so well baby. So fucking smart, and good for me.” His lips curl as he bares his teeth at you.

You’ve never felt smaller in your life. Never felt more aroused. You want him to swallow you whole and wreck you. Then put you back together how he sees fit.

Your lips try to press together, forming the ‘p’ in ‘please’ as you go to beg him for release again. Watching your eyes glaze over, he nods in response.

“Go ahead babygirl, can feel you squeezing me so fuckin' hard. That tight little pussy is drooling, begging for release.”

He leans over you, till his lips are right beside your ear.

"Cum all over my fucking hand and I’ll pound that pretty pussy from behind till you can’t see straight, make you watch in the mirror.”

That’s all it takes. His filthy fucking mouth unraveling your body while his hands break you apart.

All the heat in your body pinpoints towards your core, as you feel your toes start to curl and your eyes roll back as your cunt tightens around his fingers. The coil deep inside you snaps as he lets off your neck, and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you in waves.

It’s searing, white hot euphoria. Endless ecstasy coursing through your veins as your body locks up and convulses, your pussy gushing around him. His fingers don’t slow down, fucking you through it as you arch off the bed, gripping the sheets with white knuckles, wailing his name as if it’s the only answer.

Forget the studying, forget school, forget anything.

Just Joel.

“There you fuckin’ go.” He murmurs in awe, mesmerized at you falling apart for him.

“My good fucking girl, came so hard. So fucking wet for me.”

He presses soft kisses all over your face, your neck, your chest while murmuring more praise. Pulling his soaked fingers out as your body still shakes with aftershocks, he sucks them into his mouth, his eyes falling shut.

You mewl at the sight and let your head thunk against the pillow.

You feel drained. Flattened. Exhausted in the best possible way.

He rests his head on your tummy, looking up at you with adoration. Like you captured the fucking moon for him.

The hunger in his eye is gone, the depth of his chocolate brown irises replaced with warmth and love. Rubbing his hands up and down your sides and kissing the softness of your skin, he checks in with you.

“Holy fuck,” You huff out as you will your breathing to slow down.

He chuckles, the crinkles around his eyes deepen.

“How was that?”

“Well, I’m not gonna be able to conjure up the definition for statistical significance or interrater reliability without remembering your fingers deep inside my pussy.”

You reach down and bury your hands into the soft mop of curls, trailing them down to caress his jaw. You trace the patchy scruff of his beard as Joel turns his head to press his lips against your fingertips.

“But it certainly is a memorable study method.

You flash him a tired smile. "I’m a big fan”

Sweat beads at your hairline as you feel your hair plastered to your forehead, yet he looks at you with same intensity and adoration.

“I’m glad I could help darlin.’ If you can stand my distractions, I have no doubt you’ll ace the exam.”

Mischief laces his tone as he leans up and over you to kiss your forehead. Moving down, kissing your cheek, your lips, his lips brush your pulse point as he licks and nibbles.

You whimper helplessly and tilt your head, giving him more access.

“We’ll see about that. I’m just lucky I have a very good study buddy”

“Oh we’re just getting started sugar,” he whispers in your ear. “That was just the first chapter of material, we got the rest of the textbook to cover, and the rest of the fuckin night.”

Goosebumps prickle across your skin as you shiver again, warmth flooding from your pussy. His fingers dip down, slipping through your folds as he feels how wet you are. He pulls his fingers up, watching the clear webbing of your arousal coat his fingers, as his eyes darken and his gaze flicks back to you.

“Get on your hands and knees for me.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple weeks later, you get your exam results through the mail. You passed with flying colours, although you’re not really sure how to be honest. But it doesn’t matter as you fling your arms around Joel’s neck, one hand clutching the ripped open envelope as he lifts you off your feet and swings you around, elated for your success.

Needless to say you don’t study by yourself again for future tests after that study session.

[alwaysmicado]

Nightcall

10.4k | 18+ MDNI | Marc Spector x f!reader

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, biting, rough & emotionally intense sex, multiple orgasms, possessive!Marc, choking, spitting, creampie, toxic dynamic Summary: Marc is a bad habit you can’t shake. A/N: This idea has been haunting my dreams like Marc has been haunting reader’s. And just like reader, I couldn’t resist the allure of this elusive, rugged, and devastatingly addictive man. Could you? Happy reading (even though it hurts) and let me know what you think! *Marc lifts & flips you with ease (he’s MK, duh). Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

One year. 

It’s been one year since you’ve last seen him. 

One whole year of wondering where he is, if he’s left for good this time, if he’s even still alive. 

You’ve tried to fill the void in your heart, started smoking again, gave the nice guy from the coffee shop down the block a chance. He’s kind to you, makes you laugh, brings you flowers, and you think you could grow to love him.

You’re trying. 

You’re trying so hard. 

To forget, to forgive, to heal, to live. 

And now he’s back. In your life, standing at your door at 1 a.m.

Marc Spector.

The bane of your existence.

You were lounging on your couch in your pajamas mere moments ago, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls, when a knock at the door shattered the peace you’d begun to find. Your heart stopped, your head jerking towards the door.

It couldn’t be.

You heard his voice, rough and familiar, sending a jolt through your entire being.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice muffled but unmistakable.

You stood, your legs trembling, walking closer to the door in a trance, bare feet on the wooden floor, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You didn’t answer, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

He was alive. He came back.

Marc came back to you.

What now?

Taking a deep breath, you look through the peephole, and your heart flutters when you see his face. He looks as handsome as ever, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, dark curls hidden under a baseball cap, beard stubble a little grayer than the last time you’ve seen him.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a deep exhaustion that pulls at your heartstrings.

He’s tired.

You know he is.

He’s told you in the rare moments he’d let you in, your sweat-covered bodies tangled in your bed, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

You’d see a spark of something in his warm eyes then. Something akin to sadness, longing, regret. But it would disappear after a few seconds, and he’d harden again, turning around to gather his clothes, telling you he needed to go.

You’d find new scars on his body every time he came to see you. He’d show up with barely scabbed-over cuts, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, a split lip. And you’d patch him up, kissing it all better.

You stopped asking how he got his injuries some time ago. He’d always give you the same answer anyway.

“Just a scratch, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

Whatever it is that keeps him going, it has more power over him than you ever will.

Tears blur your vision, and you slide down the door, sitting with your back against it. You want to stay strong, to remember the pain he’s caused you, but his words cut through your resolve like a knife.

“Come on, let me in. I came all this way to see you.”

It feels like he’s been out there for hours, but you know it can’t have been more than two minutes. Why is this happening?

“Let me in, Sunshine. Please.” 

You blink back tears, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, your hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into your palms.

Every time.

Every time, he rips open the wounds he inflicted on you, and you know this time won’t be any different. You want to resist him, want to tell him to go to hell, that he can’t keep doing this to you, that you’ve finally had enough.

But you can’t do it, can you?

Resist Marc.

You both know you can’t. And deep down, under all the bullshit you like to tell yourself, under all the anger, under all the resentment, you know you don’t want to.

You never did. 

Going for a smoke outside the bar, goosebumps forming on your bare arms as the wind blew and the rain fell, your feet sore from being caged in high heels for hours, the only thing you wanted was a minute of quiet, a minute where you didn’t have to smile or act like you were having fun.

You were tired—tired of the noise, tired of the people, tired of the pretense.

All you wanted was a moment of peace.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at your lighter in disbelief as it refused to spark, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Leaning against the cool brick wall, you let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.

How did it get like this? How did you get like this? 

Deep down, you know you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. The problem is you. Not the world, not your parents, not the shitty things that have happened to you. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Need a light?” a voice cut through the rain, smooth and unexpected. 

You opened your eyes slightly, just enough to see a stranger standing a few feet away. “Yeah, mine apparently hates me,” you replied, lifting the offending object.

The man chuckled, a warm sound that contrasted with the cold night. “Here,” he said, stepping closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk stirring something inside you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

He pulled out a sleek silver lighter, flicking it open with practiced ease, producing a small, steady flame. You put your cigarette between your lips, leaning in to catch the light. His eyes never left yours, a connection forming in that brief moment. He then lit his own cigarette, taking a drag.

The first inhale of nicotine calmed your nerves slightly, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside your mind. “Thanks,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall and savoring the moment of quiet.

“No problem,” he nodded, staring into the surrounding darkness.

He was closer now, leaning against the wall next to you, his presence oddly comforting. 

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.” You let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. He was handsome in a rugged way—dark curls, full lips, broad chest, with a confident air that was alluring. “What about you?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Rough night.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the gentle curve of his nose and the laugh lines in the outer corner of his eyes. You also noticed his split knuckles in the neon glow of the party lights hanging above.

“I guess we’re both running from something,” you said softly, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“Is that so?” He smiled at you with a raised eyebrow and you smiled back. “I’m Marc, by the way.” 

You gave him your name and shook his hand, feeling a strange jolt at the contact. “Nice to meet you, Marc. Thanks for the light.”

“Anytime,” he said, his expression turning pensive.

You both smoked in silence for a while, the rain a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

When your cigarettes were nearly finished, Marc turned towards you, his movements smooth and deliberate. He leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall next to your head, bringing his face and body close to yours, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips with unmistakable intent. 

You hesitated for a second, brow furrowed, thoughts swirling. The rain fell around you in a soft patter. You searched his eyes and found something, something that promised a temporary escape from your hollow existence.

You didn’t have anything to lose.

“Yeah,” you said, putting out your cigarette with your shoe.

You ended the night with him on top of you, in your bed, all your troubles wiped away for a couple of hours. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive. 

You thought it was just a one-night stand since he left as soon as you both came down, and you fell asleep, spent and satisfied.

Until he showed up at your door late at night, two weeks later.

There he was, standing in the hallway with that same charming smile, holding up a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s how it all started. This…thing you have going on.

“I missed you,” he’d whisper in your ear, his voice rough with longing as he was buried deep inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

Those words would wrap around your heart, suffusing you with a warmth that felt like everything you had ever wanted. In those fleeting moments, it was as if all the pain and uncertainty melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of being cherished, if only for a little while. But then, like always, he would leave, and the cold reality would set in.

He would tell you he couldn’t stay, but not why. His eyes would darken with unspoken burdens, and he’d brush a kiss against your forehead, promising he’d be back.

Yet, he never told you it was for your safety. He never mentioned the shadows that lurked around him, the dangers he faced on a daily basis. He didn’t tell you about the battles he fought, tooth and nail, just to carve out a few hours to be with you.

He didn’t tell you any of this, and after some time, you stopped asking. The questions died on your lips, replaced by a resigned acceptance. You accepted that you’d never be more to Marc than a brief escape, a distraction from whatever demons haunted him.

Well, your brain did.

But not your heart.

Your heart clung to every whispered endearment, every stolen touch, every heated kiss that promised more than he could ever give. Your heart held onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, one day he’d stay. That one day, this torturous cycle of brief encounters and long absences would end.

You’d lie in bed after he left, the sheets still warm from his presence, his scent lingering in the air. You’d replay the moments in your mind, his whispered words, the way he looked at you as if you were his salvation. You’d clutch your pillow, trying to hold onto the ghost of his touch, knowing that come morning, the loneliness would creep back in.

Every time he returned, it was like a balm to your wounded soul. He’d pull you into his arms, his kiss desperate, as if he was drowning and you were his only breath of air. 

And for those precious hours, you’d let yourself believe that you were his beautiful girl, his light in a world filled with darkness, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

He’d leave again, the door closing softly behind him, and you’d be left alone. You’d tell yourself that it was enough, that these stolen moments were worth the heartache. 

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t. 

You always knew that your heart was breaking a little more each time he walked away. 

And you know now that any resolve you’ve built up over the past year will crumble the second you open the door and look into his eyes.

It’s always the same.

No matter how sick and tired you are of his careless behavior, no matter how many times he chews you up and spits you out, no matter how many nights you spend crying over him, mourning him, cursing him, self-hatred wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

You let him in. You let him do this to you. 

Because you love him. Because you’re a fool.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stand, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You sigh deeply, and before you can stop yourself, your hand turns the knob, opening the door just a crack.

Marc pushes the door open wider, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, and before you realize what’s happening, his cap is on the floor and his lips are on yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he kicks the door shut behind him. He spins you around, pressing you against the wall with a desperate need that makes you dizzy.

“I missed you, Sunshine,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body.

“Don’t call me that,” you protest, your palms pressed against his pecs.

He smiles. “But it’s who you are. My Sunshine.”

“I’m not your anything, Marc,” you hiss, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge. “I’m a warm body for you to fuck. That’s it.”

“That’s not all you are to me,” he says without missing a beat, brows furrowed, thumb brushing over your lower lip with a maddening gentleness. “Why so hostile, Sunshine? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There it is. That damn look. Concern, care, and hunger, all mingling in his eyes, breaking down your defenses bit by bit.

“Are you fucking kidding, Marc?” you snap, snatching his wrist to stop him from touching you. “You–you were gone for a year. No goodbye, no message, no nothing.”

His gaze doesn’t waver as he cups your face with both hands, and despite yourself, you let go of his wrist.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips make you want to throw up. You turn your head, your chest heaving.

He gently but firmly pushes your head back, his hands still cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. His grip is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control—the same strength that has always thrilled you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes boring into yours, pleading. “I’m here now.”

You’re stunned, frozen in place like a deer in headlights, about to be run over.

It’s too late for you.

All you see is him, the man who has torn your heart to pieces and yet somehow still holds it in his hands.

The world narrows to the space between you, and the chaos of your mind falls silent. You’re ready to die in this moment if it means feeling his touch again.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, a surrender, and his lips are on yours instantly.

The kiss is desperate, a clash of lust and guilt, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands move down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer.

You moan into his mouth, your body responding to his touch despite your mind’s protests. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of smoke and mint, and it floods your senses, drowning out the pain, the questions, the doubts.

Marc’s hands urgently explore the contours of your back, pressing you against him, reveling in your scent. You can feel the hard lines of his body, the heat of his skin, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Your back hits the wall again, and he pins you there, his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

One hand finds your breast, groping it for a moment, palm rubbing against your hard nipple, his touch needy and rough. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, his name escaping your lips in a broken whisper. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Impatient, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your panties with practiced ease. You step out of them, exposed, his leg pressing against your core.

You can’t help but buck your hips against him, your body moving on its own accord, driven by pent-up desire and anger. Your hands fist his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His hands are on your ass, kneading your flesh with possessive urgency, each squeeze sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Marc’s mouth is everywhere, hot and insistent, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from behind your ear down your neck. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching. He sucks and nips at your skin, frenzied and desperate, leaving a trail of bruises that mark you as his, each one a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting connection you share.

The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the wet heat of his mouth drives you wild, every touch igniting a fire inside you that you can’t control.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of frustration and need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responds with a growl, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, the sharp pain making you gasp.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip your ass harder, lifting your leg slightly so he can grind against you, his hardness pressing against your core, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You throw your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he continues to lick, suck, and bite with abandon, each mark he leaves on your skin feeling like a brand, a claim that you both know will fade but never truly disappear.

“More,” you whisper, your breathing shallow. “Please, I need more.” You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand down his hard torso, rubbing his bulge over the rough fabric of his jeans.

Marc groans and pulls back just enough to look into your glazed-over eyes, his own filled with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache. “I’ll give you everything, baby,” he promises, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you again, his lips searing and demanding.

You can feel the truth in his words, even if only for this moment, and you let yourself believe it. 

He bites your bottom lip and pulls back with a growl, dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his mouth to your core. Your brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, your mind foggy, your heart racing.

“Marc, wait,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicks out, teasing your aching clit. “I haven’t—oh fuck—I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue lapping at your folds with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. He groans in response, reveling in the scent and wetness you’re spreading all over his face, cursing under his breath as his cock strains against the inside of his jeans.

His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you steady as his tongue and lips work with practiced precision to make you lose control.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, but you barely notice. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, fingernails scraping his scalp.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of desperation and bliss, your body trembling under this relentless, sweet torture. “Oh fuck, Marc.”

Hearing you moan his name is like gasoline on a fire, fueling his desire.

“God, you taste so good,” he pants against your skin, his voice filled with raw need, drunk with lust. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembles as he hums against you, his tongue alternating between slow, teasing licks and fast, desperate flicks before sucking on your swollen clit again.

You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a shaky whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He responds without hesitation, his tongue plunging into your wet heat, tasting you, drinking you, fucking you with ruthless intensity. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He replaces his tongue with his middle and ring fingers, sliding them inside you, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot. His mouth devours you simultaneously, desperately, like a man starved.

Your hips buck harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he finger-fucks you in rhythm with his licks. The dual assault of his tongue and fingers is overwhelming, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

Your nails rake across his scalp, and he groans against you, the vibrations sending ripples of ecstasy through your core.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind hazy as you can’t hold back the moans escaping your lips. Marc starts sucking on your clit with renewed vigor, the sensation sending you spiraling. You’re on the brink, the tension inside you coiled so tightly it’s about to snap.

The wet sounds of your pussy fill the air, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel your body tensing, the telltale signs of your impending climax, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

You don’t get to finish the sentence before you shatter into a million pieces, every nerve ending ablaze with euphoric release. Marc doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, holding onto your hip, continuing to lap at you and move his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until you’re left trembling and spent.

For a brief, blissful moment, you feel pure, unadulterated happiness, your fingers absentmindedly running through Marc’s hair. But as reality slowly sets back in, your living room coming back into view, Marc’s mouth on your core starting to become uncomfortable, the weight of what just happened begins to dawn on you. Your eyes meet his, and you feel it all crashing down on you—confusion, heartache, regret.

Marc finally pulls back, his face and fingers glistening with your arousal, a satisfied, almost smug grin on his lips.

He stands, his hands finding your cheeks as he presses his wet lips against yours, sliding his tongue inside. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, tasting yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“You miss me?” he whispers against your lips before pulling back enough to look into your wide eyes. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and his gaze is filled with an intensity that makes your heart clench painfully.

The casualness of his question tears at you, as if you had seen each other just yesterday, as if he hadn’t just given you an earth-shattering orgasm after crushing your heart with his bare hands.

And all after you swore to yourself you’d never let him do this again.

You want to hate him, you really do. But how could you? He came back from the dead to see you. You know he needs you right now, so how could you deny him?

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes, swallowing heavily. “Always,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.

A smile spreads across Marc’s lips, his eyes softening for a moment, and he captures your lips in a deep, fervent kiss again, as if trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You cling to him, head buried in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He clocks the bouquet of pink roses on your dining room table, notices the little card standing next to the vase. There’s a strawberry drawn on the front, but it’s too dark for him to read what he just assumes to be a lame pun about loving you ‘berry’ much. 

How cute.

Marc lays you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours, trailing kisses down your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist again, rubbing yourself against his bulge, impatient, hands tangled in his curls.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, reveling in the needy noises you make, how you squirm under him, trying to get him to move and give you what you want.

He will. But first, he wants to look at you—at your beautiful body, every inch of your skin.

He gets off the bed and you scoot back, fluffing up your pillows and leaning against them with your back. You watch as Marc turns on the bedside lamp and removes his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscles and the scars that tell the story of battles you’re clueless about. He kicks off his shoes, his eyes never leaving yours. When he unbuckles his belt, ready to pull his pants down and fuck you already, his eyes drop down to your wet pussy, and he decides differently.

“Take off your shirt and show me how you played with yourself while I was away.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull your shirt over your head, your skin prickling with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the look in Marc’s eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. You spread your legs wide and slide your hand down your body, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your other hand moves to your breast, teasing your nipple, and you let out a soft moan, your eyes locked on Marc.

His gaze darkens with lust as he watches you, jeans on the floor, spitting in his hand, wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself slowly. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

God, how much he wants to bury himself deep inside of you, to feel your warm, wet pussy pulsing around his cock, to fuck all his frustrations into you, to hear your sweet moans, to feel your soft skin pressed against his.

It’s all he wants.

All he can think about when he’s away from you. All he needs in nights like this. 

You increase the pace of your fingers, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure builds. Marc’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, his hand moving faster on his cock, mirroring the rhythm of your movements.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he pants. “Missed you.”

Fuelled by his poisonous words, your hips buck against your hand, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “Marc,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m close.”

His eyes burn into yours as he moves swiftly, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your legs. He nudges your hand away and replaces it with his own, his fingers sliding inside you in one smooth motion, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Let go, baby. Come for me.”

And with his words, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your pussy clamping down around his fingers, pulsating, your hands gripping the sheets. Marc watches you intently, his own breath ragged, cock throbbing so close to your dripping hole. 

The ecstatic feeling coursing through you turns into uncomfortable overstimulation quickly, so you grab his wrist, and he withdraws his fingers, giving you a moment to come down. 

You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Eyes glazed over, looking at him like he’s all you see, like he’s all you need. But as Marc holds your gaze, your chest rising and falling, he also sees something else in your big, beautiful eyes. 

Sadness. 

It’s a deep sadness he knows he’s responsible for—a sadness that cuts through the layers of detachment, apathy, and composure he’s built up to survive the trials in his life. Despite everything, there remains a gentle, tender part hidden deep inside him. A part that makes him vulnerable, scared, and like he could be the man you need…if only things were different.

“My Sunshine,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing over your hot cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions inside him. He leans over you, and the kiss he presses on your lips is soft, oh so soft. 

It’s intense. Intense and unexpected.

It’s easier to push aside your feelings when he’s rough with you. It’s easier to tell yourself you’re just two lonely people fucking to feel a little less lonely if all you can focus on is your body.

But then he pulls shit like this and it gives you hope that you might mean something to him. And after years of asking yourself if he’s just an asshole who gets off on playing mind games, or if he doesn’t care enough to realize what he’s doing is killing you, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Marc pulls you out of your thoughts when he releases your lips and pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening with a different kind of intensity as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Open your mouth.”

You obey, parting your lips, your breath hitching in anticipation. Marc lets a strand of spit drop into your mouth, slowly, deliberately, watching as it lands in the back of your throat, and you swallow it without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, kissing and nibbling on your jaw, your neck, down to your breast, circling your nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his eager mouth. 

“Marc…” you whine, looking down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, your heart pounding. You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touches you, in the way he makes you feel alive. And as you do, you can’t stop the words tumbling from your lips.

“Please stay.”

Marc pauses, his mouth still on your breast, his body tensing. He releases your nipple and looks up at you, his brow furrowing at your watery eyes.

He hates to see you like this.

“You know I can’t,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the guilt that’s clawing at his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

But he can’t comfort you. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be his salvation. Not when he knows it’d be a lie.

He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumps his painfully hard cock.

“Why?” you whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Why?”

Marc leans over you, arms braced next to your head, capturing your quivering lips with his, preventing you from making him feel worse than he already does.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t wait anymore. Needs to be inside you. Needs to make it all right.

He shifts in closer, pressing his cock against you, just sliding it between your folds, up and down, letting out a raspy sigh at the friction of it. His cock gathers your wetness quickly—you’re always so fucking wet for him.

Before falling asleep on whatever cot he’d find himself on, he’d sometimes allow himself to fantasize about waking up next to you, feeling your warm body, hearing your soft breathing, sliding his hand down the front of your panties, and feeling how wet you are from dreaming about him.

His breath catches in his throat just thinking about it.

“Marc…” you plead, and he smiles to himself—it usually takes far longer for you to start begging, so it must mean you really missed him. You squirm again, hips twisting like you’re trying to get him inside you, and he watches you intently, soaking up every little expression, every little moan, every little plea.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, dragging it out just a little bit longer. He loves to hear you, loves to get you to admit it. For you, the truth is in the action of it, but he likes to listen to you say it out loud.

“You,” you moan desperately. “I need you, Marc. I missed you so fucking much, I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Yeah?” he murmurs with an imperceptible smile. 

“Uh-huh,” you nod, staring up into his eyes.

Marc’s cock twitches at the genuine need he can see in your eyes, the sight like a potent drug going straight to his brain and filling him with more bliss than anything else could. He knows what you like, knows what buttons to push, knows exactly how to touch you to make you forget the world around you. 

It makes him feel good to make you feel good. It always has.

And it’s more than the gratification of feeling your pussy pulsating around his cock or hearing you scream his name while your orgasm overtakes you. It’s more than his pride, his ego, his need to feel like he’s doing good for once in his life. 

It’s you.

It’s his misguided effort to make up for all his misdeeds. His atonement. He tells himself it’s enough for him to fuck your brains out, to pour all of himself into you without inhibitions while he’s with you to offset his absence.

He tells himself that, holds onto it—needs it to be true.

“Please…” you whine, and he pushes up against your clit, feeling the pulse of it. You shudder at the intensity, the pressure, and he grins. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“Dirty mouth,” he chides, and you whine in frustration as he brings his hand up, pressing one finger to your slightly parted lips. You open them wider, suck his finger in, suckle for a moment and then bite.

“Fuck me,” you demand, voice muffled and tongue pressing against his fingertip, wet and warm.

Your teeth loosen up and he slides his finger deeper, right to the back of your tongue. You don’t gag, just stare him down defiantly, and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches down with his other hand, guides himself to your entrance, cock pushing deep into the tight heat of you, as slow as he can stand it. 

You’re so fucking good. 

His head starts to roll back instinctively, but he holds it steady and slides his hand over to your hip, gripping your flesh as his cock splits you open.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a low moan, brows furrowing, throwing your head back against the pillows. He pulls back a little only to drive right back in, hard, and this time you moan a hell of a lot louder. Quickly, he stifles the sound with his palm, pressing his hand right over your mouth—not because he doesn’t want to hear you. No, because he knows it heightens your pleasure.

Your resulting moans are muffled against his hand as you start trying to meet his thrusts, your hips working towards him, desperate for it. You love it when he smothers you like this, love feeling his big hand over your face. 

He first discovered the power of it when you were arguing about something silly and you wouldn’t shut up—he did it jokingly, only to be surprised when you immediately fell silent. You didn’t even push him away or do anything obnoxious like lick his palm; you just went totally compliant. It was an instant reaction, as though it was something your body was conditioned to obey.

He grips your hip, feeling your soft skin against his palm, his other hand covering your mouth as he thrusts into you hard, until the bed is rocking rhythmically against the wall. The hand on your hip slides higher, over your belly, groping your breast, pinching your hard nipple. His other hand slips from your mouth and you’re panting now, your face hot and almost grimacing, your whole body taut and tense for him. 

But then his hands meet at your throat, and you go limp, your lips stretching into an exhausted smile. He keeps his hands still, just on either side of your neck, curled around your shoulders, his thumbs across your collarbones. 

“Go on,” you say breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation, lifting up your head in order to strain a little against his hands. He says nothing, smiling wickedly back at you, his hips working shallowly, cock thrusting against your G-spot.

“Go on,” you whine, impatient, and he wants to say, “What?” and grin sardonically and make you beg for it, but he’s too greedy, eager just like you are. 

He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes, quick and sudden, watching your pupils dilate and your lips fall open. You’d let him choke you to death if he wasn’t careful, he’s sure—you get so fucking caught up in it—so he has to be vigilant, letting go when you look like you’re about to pass out.

It’s difficult to judge, though. You look blissed out already, and he can feel your tendons working against his fingers as he jabs his thumb just under your jaw, tightening his grip. You make these sounds—gasps at first, and then little choking coughs, your throat all raw, and all the while he’s thrusting into you, hard and fast.

He eases off a second, lets you catch your breath, and you draw it in, hoarse and gasping, looking dazed. Almost high. 

You jerk your chin at him as if to say, “C’mon, again, what are you waiting for?” and he complies, one hand this time, big enough to reach quite a way around your neck. His other hand snakes down the center of you, down between your legs, along your hot skin to where he disappears inside, your slick folds parting to let him in. He teases with his fingers, finds your clit, gentle there even as he’s gripping your throat so tight he’ll probably leave marks. 

You buck wildly against him and he holds you down, grinning, relentless, finger flickering over your clit as he fucks you, chokes you, brings you closer and closer to the edge—

He feels your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, then his arms, grabbing frantically at him as your whole body tenses, and you’re spluttering out a desperate, “Yes, yes,” and then he feels that same clenching around his cock, a quick spasm, so tight he can’t help but groan. 

You come with your eyes shut and your mouth open, and he keeps going a moment longer than he needs to, stroking you where you’re oversensitive, making you shake and squirm. 

Marc lets go of your throat and takes ahold of your breast instead, chasing his own release, fucking you harder and harder and closing his eyes because you’re gazing at him in that way that chips away at his resolve.

“Slow down,” you suddenly whisper, so full of him, so desperate to keep it that way.

He slows down minimally. “Why?”

“I–I don’t want….” you trail off as he licks and sucks on your neck, his hand groping your breast. “Please, I don’t want it to end…” 

He pulls back a little and just…smiles at you, that irritating smile that says, “You honestly still think you’re in control here?” 

It wouldn’t bother you as much if you weren’t still processing that he’s actually here, flesh and blood, after abandoning you, and having the balls to act like the past year didn’t happen. Like he didn’t stab your heart and leave you to bleed out slowly.

“I know you don’t want me to slow down,” he pants in your ear as he picks up the pace again, alternating between shallow thrusts that hit your G-spot perfectly, and deep thrusts that make you gasp. “You want me to fuck you like your little boyfriend never could.”

You freeze. Marc’s labored breathing, the wet sounds of your pussy, the sound of rain coming from outside your window—it all becomes white noise as your brain catches up with what he just said to you.

And then something snaps inside you. 

Something primal, violent, desperate.

You grab the nape of his neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss, biting his lips hard, tongue swirling around his, the taste of blood in your mouth making your head spin. Marc moans into your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop his own movements inside you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer again, and you hate it. You fucking hate that he’s doing this to you. And you hate even more that you’re letting him.  

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his bloody lips staining your shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you as your nails rake down his arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. You claw at his back, holding onto him with all you have. He groans at the pain and looks into your eyes, reveling in the pure need he can see in them.

You see how much it turns him on to see you like this, and it makes you even angrier.

Marc leans in to kiss you again, but before you know what’s happening, your hand shoots up to his throat, fingers digging into his jaw, pushing his face away. He growls at you and tries to kiss you anyway, stubborn and unyielding, his lips brushing against yours despite your resistance. You buck your hips and twist your body, trying to dislodge him, your hands pushing and shoving at his chest and shoulders.

You manage to get one hand around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Marc groans, his breath hot against your face, but his grip on you doesn’t falter. He grabs your wrists, attempting to pin them above your head, but you fight back with all your strength, writhing beneath him, your legs kicking out, trying to find leverage to push him off.

“That’s enough,” he growls, his voice rough and intimidating as he finally manages to secure your wrists. “Calm do–”

You turn your head and bite the arm that’s pinning your wrist down, canines piercing the skin. 

“Fuck,” Marc hisses through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, as if he’s trying to match your intensity, trying to make you feel the same pain you’re inflicting on him. The bed creaks with the force of your combined movements, the air thick with the sounds of your mutual anguish.

“You wanna  hurt me, baby?” he pants as he lets go of your wrist and instead grabs your chin to force you to look at him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper without hesitation, your pupils dilated, your voice dripping with venom and need.

Marc’s eyes darken with a mix of lust and something deeper, something almost like understanding. “Good,” he says simply, grabbing your ass and rolling you both over, so you can ride him. He pulls up the pillow behind his back, so he’s propped up and you can hold onto his shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He moves his hips slowly, tenderly almost, as if to tell you he’s done fighting with you and wants you to feel good. You’re not there yet, you’re still seeing red. Clawing at his chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches that will take days to fade.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to make him feel the pain he’s caused, to make him understand what he’s put you through. You push his face away, his stubble grazing your palm, and he turns his head, biting down on your thumb, groaning at the taste of you. Spurred on by the sensation, your teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break the skin.

“Stop,” he grunts, the word strained, his cock twitching inside you. You don’t relent immediately, your teeth sinking deeper until he grabs your shoulders, trying to push you off.

Finally, he manages to grip your throat, not squeezing, but enough to make you stop. The pressure is firm, commanding, and it stills your movements. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and desperation. “Enough,” he says with finality, his voice rough and low. “I want you to fuck me, not kill me.”

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, the raw emotion in his eyes grounding you. Slowly, you release your grip on his shoulders, the tension in your body easing as you adjust to the new position. His hand remains on your throat, a reminder of his control, but also of the thin line between pain and pleasure that you both walk.

You start to move, rocking your hips against him, swollen clit rubbing against his trimmed pubes, taking him deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, enough to send a thrill through your body, but not enough to hurt. His other hand grips your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him, each thrust a release of the pent-up emotions that have been tearing you apart.

Mouth slightly agape, Marc’s eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and unbreakable. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Use me.”

And you do. 

Your movements become increasingly more frantic, muscles tense, driven by a need to feel him, to feel that he’s really here with you.

“You left,” you pant, eyes piercing his, pleasure building inside you with every movement of your hips.

“Yeah, I did,” Marc replies, his tone unapologetic and infuriatingly calm. He lets go of your neck and cups your cheek instead, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your cheekbone.

“I–I thought you were dead,” you choke out, tears stinging your eyes as you find the perfect pace, hands resting on his pecs. The pressure in your core builds, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you were dead!” Your voice cracks as the hurt and anger that have been festering inside you pour out, mingling with the unbearable pleasure he’s giving you. 

“I’m not dead, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is softer now, tinged with an edge of remorse. He accentuates his words with a powerful thrust of his hips, driving deep inside you. The sensation forces a moan from your lips, your anger momentarily drowned out.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you ride him harder, your body seeking solace in the physical connection. You lean forward, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling, your eyes closed.

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I fucking hate you, Marc.”

His response is immediate, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “I know, baby,” he pants. “I know you do.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, push you closer to the brink. You hold onto his broad shoulders as your walls tightens around his cock, the muscles in your legs aching. The rush you’re experiencing is intoxicating, the line between pleasure and pain, love and hate blurring until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

As the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, you cling to him, your body trembling. “I need you,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his grip on you tightening. “I’ve got you.”

The words are a promise, a plea, and as your orgasm crashes over you, you feel a moment of clarity. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, he’s here. He’s with you.

You collapse against him, your body trembling with aftershocks, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears stream down your cheeks. Marc wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tight as he chases his own release, his hips moving with relentless intensity. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice both a comfort and a torment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, too far gone to stop himself. 

You’re lost in the moment, too out of it to hear him.

“Tell me,” he urges again, needing to hear you say it.

When you still don’t respond and he feels he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls your head back by the nape of your neck.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, flying high, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he says sharply, slowing his thrusts down as much as he can physically stand it, searching your face until your gaze meets his. 

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats through gritted teeth, brow furrowed. “Please.”

His eyes are warm and you see him—the Marc who shared his favorite childhood recipe with you, the Marc who reassured you after your boss was an asshole to you, the Marc who made you laugh until your sides ached.

“I–I’m yours,” you whisper, the realization that it’s the truth breaking something inside you. “I’ve always been yours.”

Your words are like balm for his wounded soul, and he feels like he can finally let go. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marc. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He’s close. “I could–I could never stay away from you. Never.”

The confession slips out, raw and unfiltered, and it’s like a dagger to your heart. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to silence the sob that threatens to escape as he fucks you with everything he has.

“Gonna come, baby,” he pants. “Where do you want me?”

You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you, your mind foggy. But you know exactly where you want him, where you need him. 

“Inside.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he’s here to give you everything he can. And he does, spilling his warm cum deep inside of you, his cock pulsing, hips stuttering as he groans your name. 

Not baby. 

Not Sunshine. 

Your name.

He wraps his arms around you, softly, almost reverently, feeling your bare, sweat-covered skin against his palms. He holds you close like this for a moment before rolling you both over so he’s on top of you again, his cock still buried inside, his body slumping against yours.

Feeling his weight on you is grounding, soothing, calming you like nothing else in the world ever can. You try to absorb the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, knowing this moment of closeness won’t last. Marc usually doesn’t hold you for long after he’s fucked you. 

You inhale his scent, draw shapes on his back with your fingertips, scratch his scalp softly, nudge his shoulder with your nose, press little kisses on his skin. Each touch is a silent plea for him to surprise you, to stay with you for a little bit longer.

He relaxes on top of you, the deep tension he’s been feeling for so long slowly giving way to a sense of calm. It’s peaceful, his mind quiet for once.

How he wishes he could stay like this forever; feeling your heartbeat, your soft touch, holding you close as you fall asleep, nose brushing the nape of your neck, a protective arm draped over you, keeping you safe. 

He’s convincing himself to stay. He can feel it. 

Just this once. 

To put a smile on your pretty face.

To show you he cares. 

It means so much to you, and how could he–

“I love you, Marc,” you whisper against his skin.

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret saying them as you feel his muscles tense and he pulls out of you, leaving you painfully empty. His cum starts leaking out of you, pooling on the rumpled sheets beneath you. 

Marc sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to you and you sit up, leaning against the headboard, watching his profile with tearful eyes.

“Marc,” you say quietly, extending your hand to lightly touch his arm.

But it’s too late. 

The spell is broken. 

He gets up and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jeans pocket, lighting one up, the orange glow casting shadows on the wall. He blows out a stream of smoke as he pulls up his jeans, sitting back on the bed, eyes distant as he looks out of the window.

You feel a pang of hurt, but you press on, desperately needing him to understand. “You–you don’t have to love me too,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “But please, you’ve been gone for so long and I–I only just got you back. Please, just stay with me this one time. Just this one time.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. You shake your head slowly, resigned, then reach for his cigarette. 

He gives it to you, watching as you put it between your swollen lips. You take a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs, and then exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a moment. 

Marc eyes you curiously, recalling how you proudly told him you’d stopped smoking the last time he saw you.  

Some things have changed, he supposes.

And some things…haven’t.

“Where were you?” you ask. 

“Egypt,” he replies simply, caressing your leg.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“And the…business you had there, is it done?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, an imperceptible smile on his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You take another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to him, the smoke a comforting distraction. “Will you stay in town now?”

Marc looks at you, and for a moment, hope flares in your chest. “Mhm. That’s the plan.”

You reach out and trace the remnants of what you can only imagine was a nasty bruise below his ribcage. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He chuckles. “Of course I am.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy. There’s people who count on me, who need me.”

You avert your gaze, laughing mirthlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with trembling fingers. Marc watches you intently as he smokes, his hand resting on your thigh. 

“I see,” you say softly as you meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t say anything in return.

“Why did you come back?”

I wanted to be as close to you as possible. 

“My…job required me to. And I think it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He gently strokes your leg, unconsciously trying to soothe himself more than you. He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, just something, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I get that I’m not a priority for you, Marc, I really do,” you whisper, your expression so full of sadness he can barely stand to look at you. “You made that abundantly clear when you disappeared without having the decency to say goodbye–”

“Sunshine…”

“–but I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me.”

Marc’s brow furrows deeply as he watches your lip quiver with frustration.

“I-I promise I won’t ever ask you again, but please stay with me tonight. Please. It doesn’t even have to be the whole night. Just an hour, Marc, or–or half an–”

“Sunshine, no,” he says a bit sharper than intended, his own nerves frayed. He gets up and looks at the moon.

You just…don’t understand.

You don’t understand what keeps him up at night, what keeps him away from you, what he’s vowed to protect you from—and he can never tell you. 

He knows he should have left you alone when he saw you outside the bar that night, should have walked away and spared you the pain. 

But he couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.

Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Because he loves you.

He flicks the cigarette butt out of the window, then bends down to put on his shirt, the act mechanical, his face set in a mask of determination. You haven’t noticed before, but now you notice how careful he is when bending and stretching. 

He must be in pain.

“Marc,” you plead, your heart beating so fast you feel like it’s going to explode.

He puts on his shoes, the silence that’s stretching between you suffocating. He’s killing you. He’s killing you, and yet you’re more afraid of losing him forever.

This needs to stop. You need to stop.

“If you walk out of that door, I don’t ever wanna see you again.” 

Marc halts his movements and your pleading eyes search his, the genuine desperation in them twisting a knife in his heart. For a moment, you think you see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man you need him to be—but then it’s gone.

He sighs heavily, then rounds the bed, leaning in to cup your cheek. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you around.”

“Please,” you whisper, but it’s too late.

When he reaches the front door, his cap in hand, you stand in the living room, naked and vulnerable. “I hate you, Marc Spector,” you say, your voice filled with all the pain and anger you feel.

He turns, his eyes softening for just a moment. “No, Sunshine. No, you don’t.”

And with that, he’s gone. 

It takes a few seconds for your body to react to what just happened, and when it does, it’s overwhelming. Your stomach sinks, your chest tightens, and your vision blurs as you grapple with your ambivalent feelings.  

Tears spill down your cheeks as you crumble, the exhaustion and heartbreak taking over.

Heading back to your bedroom, your eyes catch the roses your boyfriend gave you yesterday, a cruel reminder of the life you’ve been trying to build without Marc. All the work you put in, down the drain.

And for what? Why do you do this to yourself?

In a fit of anger and despair, you grab the flowers and throw them off your balcony. You watch as they scatter on the rain-wet street below, the cool night air wrapping around your naked body like a cloak. You stay for a moment, heart pounding, staring at the flowers as Marc’s cum runs down your thigh.

God, you’re a dumb idiot.  

You turn off the TV as you head back inside, turn off your bedside lamp, the darkness a welcome solace. You go to the bathroom without turning the light on, clean up, put on a fresh pair of pajamas. 

You do hate him.

You need to tell yourself that, for tonight at least.

Curled up in your bed, you clutch at the pillow where his scent still lingers, letting the darkness take you as the man who holds your heart is once again slipping through your fingers. The tears come again, silent and unending, each one a testament to the love you can’t seem to let go of, no matter how much it hurts.

Because for better or worse, Marc’s a part of you, and you can’t escape it.

Down on the street, Marc watches the scene unfold from the shadows, the flowers landing at his feet. He stands there, drenched in regret, his heart heavy. He wants to turn back, to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but he knows he can’t.

Not with the life he leads.

Not until he’s finally free. 

He walks to his car, parked on the opposite side of the street. Coming from the reflection of the driver’s window, the car illuminated by the street lamp above, he hears a familiar voice. 

“You’re a cold bastard, Marc,” the man in the reflection says, his tone filled with quiet condemnation.

“Thanks, bud,” Marc sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You wanna explain to him that we’re gonna be late, then?” He raises an eyebrow, but Steven just shakes his head disapprovingly.

Marc scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think so.” 

He takes the silver lighter out of his pocket, lights a cigarette, and leans against the car door, looking up at your windows. He imagines your silhouette as you’re lying on your side, your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He imagines you’re dreaming of him, finding peace in your sleep.

He knows he’s dreaming himself, knows you’re tossing and turning, cursing him. And he deserves it. He knows he does. 

“Tick-tock, Marc Spector,” comes the resonating voice of Khonshu, his towering figure perched atop a nearby rooftop, his skeletal bird skull gleaming in the moonlight. 

Marc rolls his eyes, takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with his shoe, and shoots the impatient god a glare that earns him a chuckle that echoes through the night. 

He looks up at your windows one last time, his heart aching with a longing he can’t afford to indulge. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets into his car and turns on the radio.

As he speeds down the road, the city lights blurring past, leaving you behind, he feels the crushing loneliness of his life.

It’s strange. 

Feeling lonely despite never being, you know, alone. 

Right on cue, he catches the intense gaze of a dark pair of eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“What? You gonna tell me I’m a cold bastard, too?”

Jake looks back at him with a sly grin. “Nah. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know,” he scoffs. “But it’s a real shame, Marc. Leaving that poor girl to get fucked by boys who don’t know what they’re doing, just ‘cause you don’t have the balls to–” 

“And that’s enough of you,” Marc mutters, turning up the volume of the radio, refocusing on the way ahead.

⚡ Kavinsky’s Odd Look is playing in Marc’s car as he’s driving through the night, thinking of you. ⚡ Marc’s Ferrari Testarossa – the sexiest car there is. ⚡ I adore the synthwave aesthetic if you can’t tell lol.

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: Attack of the Homeowners Association

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 14.3k

Synopsis: A surprise visit leads to some unforgettable encounters.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, established relationship, situationship, set in my IPOB AU (a must read for you to understand this one), Hunter! Reader, Mockumentary AU, WWDITS AU, spider trio appearance, CW food mentions, CW blood, CW injury, TW violence, CW suggestive, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @hyperfix-wip ❤️❤️ come get your food @al1x00 !!! Just a little silly fic that I had so much fun with!

In Pursuit of Blood/Vampire! Hobie Masterlist

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The camera appears from the corner, filming you leaning on the doorway with a steaming cup of tea, and a thick cardigan pulled around your shoulders. The fabric smells weirdly like the vampire you're currently watching.

You almost jump in place when you finally notice the camera's presence. Rolling your eyes, you point at Hobie who's currently standing motionlessly by the window sill. The heavy curtains are open just enough for him to peek through, moonlight shining through the red velvet, illuminating his silhouette. His thin button up leaves little to the imagination. Lean biceps in full show, back flexing every time he shifts his weight.

“He's been standing there since he woke up.” You whisper to the crew, “it's the most entertaining thing that has happened here since I moved in six months ago. The drunken incident doesn't count.”

The camera lowers towards the dark cardigan around your body, earning you a disgruntled scoff. “I was cold, it was the nearest thing next to me.”

Hobie inhales sharply, staying still. You purse your lips together at his heavy sigh.

“That's…concerning.” The producer gives you a questioning look. “I'm not concerned about the man eating vampire, okay. I'm worried that he might be hungry again and look who's the nearest blood bag there is, me, bitch. And you too I guess.” You gesture wildly at the crew.

Jared the cameraman side eyes you. “That was a one time thing, Jeff.” You say his name like he's the bane of your existence, knowing that you called him a different name just to annoy him. “‘sides, I'm not his familiar. He can feed himself—”

Hobie releases a gutteral sound from the belly, growling in place.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” you say under your breath. “I think I should tell him to eat. Be right back.” Walking briskly, the cameras follow you closely. You make it to his side, tapping him on the shoulder with slight apprehension.

His scowl is replaced with a smile when he sees you. Fangs and all. “Darling, you're awake.” He flicks his eyes down to his cardigan, raising a brow at the sight. His grin grows wider, no sign of hunger on sight. Maybe a different kind of hunger that is. “You need anythin'? Me perhaps?” He says unabashedly before he glares at the people trailing behind you. They back away, almost tripping amongst themselves.

“Just wanted to see if you're hungry. You were standing here growling like a fucking hell hound.” You push him away with one finger on his chest. He backs away, but his smile and fond stare remains.

“That's a compliment, love. And I wasn't growlin’.”

“You were.”

“Really? How? Can you show me? I wanna hear it.” He says with a teasing smirk, you almost fall for it.

“You know what? It's too cold for this.” You try to walk away but he yanks you back, twisting you around to look at the window, your back braced atop his chest. “What—? Come on, Hobie!”

“Shush.” He says as he holds you against him.

“Don't shush me!” You wiggle out of his hold. He lets you go but you stay in place after seeing him scowl again.

“There are old people outside. Watching us.” He whispers.

“What? Don't be rude.”

“No, look.” Hobie takes your face in his cold hands, careful not to pierce your cheeks with his sharp nails, sending goosebumps down your arms. He points your face towards the accused. “There, see? Fuckin' Peepers.”

With a roll of your eyes, you peek at the small gap in the curtains. “Huh?” You see a group of old people huddled together on the sidewalk, whispering amongst themselves. “What the fuck? Have they been there long?”

“Maybe, I only noticed after feedin'. Do you think they know?” His hands are still atop your cheeks.

You look up, stuck in place. “They're probably just gossiping. You know how old people are, you're a part of the demographic.”

He lets you go, leaning on the wall casually, arms crossed on his chest. “Basically your type, yeah?”

“Augh,” you resist his awful charms again. “I'm gonna talk to them. Get them out before you decide to eat them.”

“I don't ravage old people!” He yells after you, “I let time do that!” Laughing, he sees the crew staring at him with flat expressions. “What? It's funny.” Waving them off, he goes down the patio to meet with you.

—

You go outside, with Hobie and the documentary crew trailing right behind you, their shoes shuffling quickly to meet up with you.

“Hey!” Waving at the older group, you open the gothic gates, the metal squeaking against its hinges. You take a mental note to get that oiled or it'll irk you. “Do you guys need anything or are you just gonna stand there and block our driveway?” Despite your cheery smile and the lilt in your voice, your words sounded like a threat.

The group looks at the camera crew behind you with puzzled looks before shrugging in understanding. You guess the crew have their permission.

“So sorry, but we're not here to block anything.” An older woman with platinum hair scrunches her wrinkled nose. “We're HOA, and we were actually trying to find your doorbell. Do you even have a doorbell? It's mandatory to have one.” She smiles kindly, but her eyes say otherwise. She reminds you of an entitled Karen you always seem to run into.

“We don't have one. It ruins our aesthetic. Why are you here exactly?” You narrow your gaze at the group who are all staring behind you with wide eyes. Sighing, you place your hand on Hobie's chest to tell him to calm down. You sometimes wish you're the one with telepathy.

“Uh,” the older woman fixes her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Your scowl deepens. “We're here to congratulate you two on your wedding.”

You blink away the glare. “W–Wedding?”

Hobie's breath hitches in his throat, feeling his surprise under your hand. The shock disappears a second later, replaced by a smug grin on his face. “Thank you, love. The ceremony was beautiful.” His arm snakes its way around your waist. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I bet! You seem to have good taste, Mr. Brown. Your father and your father's father did!”

Turning your head to look at him, he winks at you, voice wiggling its way into your mind. “She’s talkin' about me don't worry, I just go on vacation for a few years and come back tellin’ people my father died only to ‘replace’ him. People are idiots, lovie.”

You tamp down a laugh by biting your lip, craning your attention back to the group, you smile sweetly at them. “It's too bad that my in-laws didn't get to see us marry.” Hobie gives you a sly high five behind your back. “Well, thank you for the congratulations, but we gotta—”

“Are you two planning on having kids?” Another old woman with a pink sweater asks excitedly. “It would be nice to have kids running around the neighborhood again. Now it's all tiktok and something about toilets.”

Hobie can't help the chuckle that leaves his lips. Your cheeks are aflame from the simple question. But your hunter training blocks the thought, bringing you back to your studies, eyes narrowing at the prospect of half vampire children.

The scene shifts to you back inside the house, sitting on the dining table with you looking awfully serious at the camera.

“Half vampire children.” You say like you're a host of a true crime show, tone serious. You flip the weighty tome in your hand to face the camera. A medieval painting of a baby with fangs is drawn on the page, adorable but deadly. “Some live happy and long lives but for some they don't even make it through birth. I know very sad but it's worse if they turn out like this—”

Turning the page, a macabre drawing of a baby with a half goat body with bat wings for arms and eyes like a cat jumps at the camera. “Sorry, not exactly PG-13.” you say in your normal cadence.

Closing the large book, you decide to spare them the next gory pages. Going back to your narrator voice, you continue. “They say that when a half vampire is born, god tosses a coin. Whichever—”

“Ain't that from Game of Thrones?” Hobie appears from the doorway, smirk on his lips, eyes glinting with mischief.

“What–? No, Shut up! I'm educating the masses!”

He saunters over to the chair, wine red eyes staring at you softly. He sits on the arm of the chair, which you reluctantly scoot over to give him space.

“Educatin’ huh? Have you told them that one branch of the family where your great aunt canoodled with a vampire?” He glances at the cameras.

You look at him with wide eyes. “I'm sorry w-what?”

It's Hobie's turn to look surprised. “Shit– You didn't know?” His voice wavers, “I shouldn't have said that.”

You stare off at the camera, eyes glossy, mouth slightly parted, looking like you're having a crisis.

“I guess that's why they're disowned–”

You suddenly grip his collar, pulling down towards you. “Did you fuck my great aunt, Hobie?!”

“Fuckin' hell!” He yelps, hands curling around your wrists. “No! It wasn't me!”

You glare at him. The stare sends shivers down his spine, and in between his legs.

“Did. You. Fuck. My. Great. Aunt?” You say through gritted teeth,

“No.” Hobie says with his chest. “I haven't sired any children, darling. She’s not even my type!” He tries to lean away but your hold is too strong. Worried that he might accidentally break your wrists. He leans closer to you, forehead placed on top of yours, he felt your fists loosen. Just a tiny bit. “I'm not that vampire, yeah?”

Hissing, cheeks burning, and palms sweaty, you push him away. “I think I need to take a look at the family tree.” You practically jump away from your seat, avoiding his eyes and the cameras.

Hobie sighs, sitting down where you sat. The crew is stunned to see him smile like usual, red eyes brighter than before. “She's jealous.” He laughs, sounding more like a giggle.

With a smooth transition, the scene goes back to the previous conversation with the HOA.

“So sorry for the late intrusion.” The woman says without an ounce of genuine apology. Eyeing her friend after asking that loaded question. The rest of her lackeys nod simultaneously, reminding you of a group of bobbleheads, “but do you have a cat?”

“A cat?” Hobie's hand squeezes your side, urging you to make up a lie on the spot.

Your mind goes back to the blob mess of a cat that keeps wandering in and out of the house. You feed him occasionally, and he seems to like you despite his terrifying look with his milky white eyes and fur that is akin to a slime more than fluff. You've accepted anything is possible in this world, hence why you're not completely puzzled by the alien-like being, who seems to like you most. You suppose that you've seen weirder things in this world.

“No.” You blatantly lie. “We would know, trust me. I mean…” Pointing at the cameras, you shrug. “Impossible to hide a whole cat.”

“Oh, alrighty then. There have been complaints about cat droppings in the area.” They don't seem too convinced. Hobie's ready to hypnotize them despite his own promise to not use it unless in an emergency. But if it involves you, and that you might be in danger of getting kicked out by a bunch of old ladies, then he's ready to put them under. “We're also here to ask how many people—” she chuckles, “or pets are living inside so that we can properly bill you the homeowner fee.”

Hobie makes a face. “The what?”

“It's just that— oh I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, you're late with your dues.” She eyes you up and down as if you're the bad influence.

“Um,” you feel like you're being scolded by the elders in your family again. The camera moves to zoom in on your clenched fists, shaking as you grip onto the cardigan. “H–How,” you clear your throat but the lump still stays. “I—”

“We’ve never been late in payin’” Hobie answers for you, hand sliding up to your shoulder to massage the tensed muscles. He lies through his fangs just to get them away from you. In truth, he has never paid for anything except for the occasional electricity, water, and internet fee. Other than that, the house is his, and he has never heard of the so called HOA fee until now.

“The city hall has informed us—”

Hobie steps forward, hand still upon your shoulder protectively. “Then we'll go there and see it for ourselves. Have a pleasant night.” He says the last sentence through gritted teeth as he shuts the gates close, then leads you back into the house without another word. The group could only stare at the closed doors as they're left behind outside in the cold.

With the doors locking on its own, no doubt from Hobie's telekinesis, he cups your cheeks, feeling the warmth of your skin against the cold of his undead flesh.

“You alright?” He asks in a soft tone, thumb brushing along your jaw while the crew films the whole interaction with bated breath. “They're not here, Y/N. You're with me, and you're home.”

“Married?” He cracks a smile at the word. You take his wrists, trying to level your breathing. “Are you hypnotizing me?” You ask in a small voice.

“No, love. I'll never do that to you. If I ever do that one day, feel free to put a stake through my heart, yeah?” His wine red eyes look at you softly, as if it's just you and him in the room. “Can't even do that, remember? The curse and all.”

You chuckle, nodding as you take his hands off of your cheeks. Heart beating quickly, Hobie can hear it clearly in his ears. A song that he has dreams of every night. “Thank you, Hobie.” Glancing at the camera crew hunched together in the corner, you back away from Hobie. “I— I need to go to work. Maybe there's some stupid vampire out there who's begging to be staked.”

“I'll pay for the fee, you don't have to worry ‘bout it.” He calls you back.

“No, I don't even pay rent here so I might as well pay for that.” You exhale shakily, fingers still numb from your anxiety building up and bubbling to the surface just a minute ago. “I don't want to be a freeloader.” Hobie frowns at your words.

“But you do pay the rent?” Hobie scratches the back of his neck, wondering where the monthly checks have been coming from.

“I don't?” You turn away from him and towards your room, signalling the end of the conversation.

—

The whole documentary crew pants as they try to keep up with you lest they get burned by a large lava monster out to get you.

“Shit!” You look over your shoulder, hand still holding onto the broken hose, whilst the groaning blob of molten rock runs after you. “Get away from here!” You yell at the crew, “go! I'll be fine!”

Just as when they were about to leave you behind, a loud crash from behind can be heard. You stop in place, panting as you stare at the burn marks left on the pavement, but no creature.

“What? W–Where?” With another crashing sound, you run towards the source, it leads you towards an alleyway. The camera follows right behind you, ready to run away if need be. Taking a glass of holy water from your utility belt, (the only thing you have right now to fight a fire being) you ready to throw it at the beast.

Feet skidding across the pavement, you make it towards the dark alleyway, finding the walls scorched but still no lava monster in sight. Grabbing your flashlight from your belt, you flick it on, watching as the light illuminates the way.

“Stay close to me.” You tell the crew. As you walk towards the alleyway, a silhouette appears, all balled up in the corner with the burning trash. “Hey, you alive over there?” Moving your light, you see a lone man with his clothes singed and fear locked in his eyes. “Cursed, huh?”

He nods, trembling in place. “D–Did I hurt you?”

You stare at the hem of your coat that's singed, other than that, you're perfectly well. “You made me run a couple of blocks. I'm fine, don't worry.” You place your weapon away, taking off your coat and toss it over to him. The stranger immediately drapes it over himself, lips wobbling from the stress of transforming back. “Do you have someplace to stay? Someone waiting for you?” Your mind flicks back to Hobie waiting at home. You shake your head to get rid of the vision.

“Y–Yeah, my wife. I–I think she's waiting for me.”

You stand up, giving him a helping hand. “I'll take you home.”

“You're not gonna kill me and take my heart like the others wanted?” He reaches for you, but retracts his hand back from how cold your palm was.

“No, you were dealt with an awful fate. I'm not gonna take your heart because of it. I just never thought there'd be a human under all the lava.” Hands wringing together, you try to warm yourself up so he could hold onto you for support. “Just a bit of advice from a supernatural expert. Keep your head cool next time. Or at least bring a pack of ice with you and put it on your chest whenever you feel like you're about to turn.”

“Will that work?”

“It's good prevention. At least you won't burn down a whole parking lot next time.” You hold out your hand again, this time he takes it. “Do you know any breathing exercises?”

As you lift him up, you help him waddle back towards your car. “No, do you?”

“God, no.” You chuckle, heaving his heavy form up. “I was hoping you did, I hate for my new car to burst into flames.”

The man smiles, laughing along with you as you help him into your kia. The documentary crew stays back to get into their own car, but Jared the cameraman sees something glinting above a building. He aims his camera at the silhouette, within a second the familiar figure is gone in a snap.

—

Your neck and ankles ache from the hunt, entering Hobie's house empty handed. It was a bust obviously. All you got from it were a bunch of thank yous and a bushel of celeries that the guy's wife gave you straight from her garden. To your surprise, even with the sun peeking from the horizon, you see Hobie in the living room, nursing a burn while he tries and fails to wrap it in gauze.

“Rough night?” You ask from the doorway, shrugging off your coat and leaving it on the coat hanger.

Hobie's eyes flicks down at the celeries in your hand. “For me, wifey? You shouldn't have.”

You scoff with a smile, heading towards him on the couch. The documentary crew is forgotten in the hallway the second you see him bleeding. “You know what they say, happy husband, happy life.” Sitting next to him, you snatch the gauze away from him, helping wrap it around his sizzling arm. It'll heal quickly, but the pain is still there. You want to help in alleviating it, even for a moment.

“It's not just for a moment, y’know.” He whispers to you, but the boom mic still picks it up. You glare tiredly at him. “Sorry, you were thinkin’ too loud.”

You sigh, “it's fine, I was thinking too loud.” wrapping the gauze tightly, you finish him up with an affectionate pat to the back of his hand. “You're done.”

Before you could stand up, he grabs onto your wrist, sliding his hand downwards to grasp at your hand instead. You look down at your interlocked hands, eyes shining in the warm light of his home. You guess it's your home now too.

“Ask.” He softly says.

You chuckle softly, knowing what he meant. Squeezing his hand, you look down at him through fond eyes. “Can I stay in your coffin tonight?”

His crimson eyes sparkle with mischief. “Like yesterday? And the day before that, and the day—”

“Alright, if you're gonna be smug about it—!” He's suddenly carrying you in his lean arms. “Hobie!” You smack his chest weakly. “Don't drop me.”

He leans closer, if his heart still beats, it would beat like a drum right now. “Never, love.”

The lens zeroes in on Hobie's soft gaze on you and at how you're gripping onto him like a lover would. With a puff of dust from the carpet, you and Hobie have run off towards his room. The audio guy hears the sound of shuffling and giggling before the mics get tossed right outside the window with a piercing thump that has the poor guy clutching at his ears.

—

You sit on your desk, fingers kneading at your temples as you glare at your opened laptop that has an absurd interview question. Eyes flicking at the crossbow hanging above the desk, you thump your head against the keyboard, leaving a bunch of Hs in its wake while the camera watches you collapse further into your desk.

The scene shifts back to you, now on the same ancient couch where Hobie once helped you on. There's a steaming cup of tea left untouched on the table with a note in Hobie's scribbled handwriting together with a doodle of you smiling while driving a stake through his heart. That seemed to cheer you up as you smiled slowly, and taking the cup from the coffee table.

“He went out to hunt.” You blow at the warm drink, addressing the camera. Sighing, you already know what Jared the cameran is about to ask you before he could open his mouth. “It's hard to find a decent job when everything in your resume says you kill and hunt the supernatural for a living. A degree in chemistry doesn't help much these days. It doesn't even pay that well— hunting the supernatural, I mean. I think, wait, how did my family get rich from this gig?” Your frown gets deeper, eyes glimmering as you leave the barely touched drink on the table to walk towards your room alone.

You're left to ponder amongst yourself, meanwhile on the second team of the filming crew, they're chasing Hobie while he's on his nightly hunts. He's in a dark alleyway, if it weren't for the camera's night vision, the crew wouldn't be able to see Hobie feasting on a suit clad man with shiny leather shoes.

He lifts up his head from the neck of his latest meal, chin dripping in blood, fangs fully out and eyes bloodshot whilst staring directly at the camera. His eyes glow in the night vision, a proper sight for the start of a horror movie.

“What?” His voice is akin to a growl. He slowly tilts his head towards the camera, claws gripping onto the limp man.

The crew doesn't back away anymore, they're used to Hobie's post feeding haze. But the fear is still there, Hobie can hear their heartbeats thudding against their chests. Just begging to be ripped out. The producer utters your name softly, barely heard by the boom mic.

“Is she still sad?” His fangs retract back slowly, sound squelching as he tosses the body on his shoulder. The camera nods, and Hobie lets out a face. “Nod normally, Jared.” With a whoosh, he's gone, presumably back home. Back to comfort you.

—

You open the front door and are immediately startled by the bright flashing light of the camera. Besides the shock, it’s a beautiful night out, with the stars twinkling in the early hours of night, and the full moon showing itself to you. Giving Jared the cameraman a nasty glare, you button on your coat properly, fixing your hair to hide the warmth on your cheek.

“You guys are late today.” You clear your throat.

Hobie appears from behind the door, yawning and still in his pajamas. He’s wearing your old college sweatshirt, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, and with very fluffy slippers on his feet. He opens the door wider for the crew, keys in hand with a bat keychain hanging alongside it. “Don't forget your keys, love.” The camera pans over to you then back to Hobie. He shrugs, lips shining in the same shade of your lip balm.

The keys jingle as you take them from Hobie, glaring at the camera. “Don't follow me to work.” You point at the lens, making sure to smudge it with your fingerprints, taunting them.

Whilst the crew cleans the glass, moonlight filters inside the house; bathing the now brightly lit home in silver light, blending in well with the warm yellow tone of the light bulbs. Sighing, you glance at Hobie before waving goodbye. He opens his mouth to say something but with the camera following his every move, he shuts his mouth.

“Come home safe, yeah?”

You walk backwards to face him but still heading towards your kia. “It's a grocery store, Hobie. The only danger I'm in is getting stuck in the freezer.” You pause mid-step. “Actually— that's really scary.”

“Well, jus’ don't get inside the freezers then.” He waves back, stepping forward, as if he wants to join you.

You shrug with a smile. “Okay, dad—!”

As the words leave your lips, something or someone flies overhead at unimaginable speed. The air around you almost blows you away, the breeze whistling out a high pitched tone. You shield your head with your arms while the crew braces themselves. Hobie rushes over to you, holding onto you the second he spots a pink blur in the sky.

“Is that a bloody witch?!”

You peak over his bicep while he holds onto you. “I think that's my godmother!” A sultry laugh echoes in the night, and Hobie grimaces at the hazy memory of that sound. He can't quite pinpoint who laughs exactly like that though.

With a whizz of yellow and orange, a crashing sound can be heard inside the house. Glass smashes inside, wood creaking and falling based on the chaos heard. The rushing wind subsides, and you're left with your godmother's words of wisdom in the night.

“Take care of him for me!” Her cackling makes you groan in Hobie's arms.

“Damn it! Not again!” You march inside the house, leaving Hobie's side and pushing away the confused film crew. Kicking the front door open, you enter the house, already noticing the cold air getting inside.

Hobie follows right behind you, your shriek coming from the inside has him immediately appearing right next to you.

“That's my fucking room!” You hold your head in your hands with a frantic look on your face. The camera and Hobie follow your gaze, finding the ceiling now has a person-shaped hole on it.

Hobie had to tamp down a guffaw at how perfectly shaped it is. The hole goes through from the roof to your room then down to the living room ceiling.

“Found the source of the draft you were complainin’ ‘bout last night.” He pokes your side to lighten the mood. “Now you really have an excuse to stay in mine.”

You stomp your foot down, annoyed by it all. “I swear Felicia does this everytime I get my shit together!”

Hobie blinks, then his expression morphs into shock. “That Felicia's your godmother?! The same witch that cursed your whole family?!”

Your eyes widen briefly, head slowly turning towards Hobie. “...no, what I meant was—” The pile of wood and cotton candy insulation moves and groans, the perfect distraction for you. “Oh shit! Someone's under there!” You fail to act worried as you help the person underneath all the rubble.

With a helping hand, a teenager emerges from the splinters. He still holds onto his broom, cloak covered in dust and pink fluffy insulation, yet his hair is still perfect in every way. You're quite jealous.

“You okay?” You flick your eyes towards Hobie who seems concerned about the poor kid who plummeted down through his house.

“Sorry about the damage, lady.”

His deep brown eyes stare into your soul. Maybe he can, your godmother's apprentice always has some gift, that's why she trains them and once they've unlocked their potential, she dumps them on either you or your family members. You still have no idea why she does it though.

The said apprentice notices the cameras following you, and his frown turns into a bright smile. You swear you'll need sunglasses around this kid.

“Oh, cameras! Hello!” He waves back at them all friendly like.

“Did you hit your head that hard?” Hobie gently tilts the kid's head to the side to check for an injury, finding none. He locks eyes with you, answering your question wordlessly, and you sigh in relief.

“Uh, don't think so.” The apprentice knocks on his head and you immediately take his hand to avoid further damage.

“Okay, we're gonna sit down now.” You carefully lead him towards the couch, stepping over debris and a shattered guitar that Hobie doesn't seem to mind being broken.

“A shitty rocker gave that to me, don't worry about it.” He tells the camera and you.

The plush seat helps the kid relax. You take a pen light from your coat, checking signs of a concussion. Thankfully you find none. “You seem good. Can you tell me your name?”

“Pavitr Prabhakar. But you can call me Pav if you like.” He smiles at you, giving you his hand to shake.

“Y/N, and this vampire here is Hobie.” You shake his hand briefly before letting him go and glancing at Hobie, having a wordless conversation.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry about the roof.” He frowns, concerned about the giant hole that is now in the living room.

“Don’t worry, I'll send your mentor the bill.” You stand up, pocketing the pen light. “Felicia does this every time she's bored of her apprentice.” Hobie raises a brow at you, jaw tightening at the name uttered. You ignore it for now. “You seem fine. So come on, where do you live, kid? I'll drive you.” You gently tap him, jiggling your carabiner of keys.

“Mumbai.”

“Damn it.” You hiss.

Hobie finally lets out a loud guffaw that rattles the house, making a plank of wood fall from the ruined ceiling.

“We'll figure this out later.” Checking your watch, you head out. “I'm so late.”

Hobie protests immediately, fluffy slippers squeaking on the floor as he follows you outside. “What about the kid?”

“Just keep him entertained or give him some juice!” You open your car with a beep, entering the driver's seat. “Open tiktok or something!”

“A what?!”

You poke your head out of the rolled down window. “Just don't eat the kid, dude.”

“Dude?!” He animatedly gestures around him like you've scorned him. “That’s not what you called me last night, darling!”

You beam at him playfully. “Dude! There's a kid inside! Don't start!” You're already backing away from the driveway.

He huffs on the porch, hand placed on his hips. “Jus’ don't forget about tonight!”

“Yeah, yeah! Bye!” The car screeches as you drive away wildly as if you're in Tokyo drift.

Hobie exhales deeply, turning around to meet with Pavitr’s polite smile. “D’you like ice cream?” He nods happily. “C’mon, let's get you a bowl. And make sure you grab the one with her name on it, yeah?”

—

The mundane grocery store has you breaking down your defenses that are always on high alert because of your upbringing. So when the camera crew appears right behind you, followed by a familiar black smoke forming into a silhouette, you almost jump in place.

“Nice melons.” Hobie’s face materializes next to you, he glances at the two melons you have in each of your hands with a raised mischievous brow. You roll your eyes, gently placing the fruit back down on the crate.

He leans on the apples right next to you while you were stacking the melons properly after someone took one from the bottom. His brow is raised, eyes flicking towards Jared the cameraman for approval. The said man seems to bite his lip to prevent a laugh from escaping, especially after seeing your deadly glare.

You yank the fruit from under Hobie's arm, making him stumble a bit. “Don't lay on the apples, Hobie.” Your tired voice echoes around the near empty grocery store. This is why you took the night shift, it's more quiet. That and the night deferential salary. “What are you even doing here? Please don't tell me you couldn't keep the kid alive for more than six hours.

His face flickers into concern briefly before smiling softly at you. “Our son misses you.” Gesturing behind him, you peek behind him to see Pavitr browsing the shampoo aisle. “‘Sides, we're here to pick you up for our appointment.” He suddenly groans and rolls his eyes. “I hate that fuckin' word, ‘appointment.’” He shivers in place.

“Pick me up? I'm the one with the car, Hobie.” His grin widens. “No, you're not literally picking me up and flying us towards the city hall.” He pouts, fangs peeking from his lips. “No, remember what happened last time I let you?”

“C’mon, love, it'll be a bloody crackin’ entrance. Strike fear into the hearts of government employees.”

“No, could you guys wait twenty minutes until I finish up my shift?” A thud rings out around the quiet store, you and Hobie look at the source only to find Pav trying to pick up a fallen bottle of shampoo with its strawberry scented contents now oozing on the floor. “You okay?”

“I'm sorry.” Pav's shoulders are slumped, face contorted into fear.

You sigh, heading towards him to help clean it up. “It's alright, don't step into it, you might slip.”

Pavitr looks at you apologetically, “I can pay for it—”

“No need, bruv.” With a wave of Hobie's hand, the oozing shampoo returns back into its bottle on its own. As if being replayed backwards on tape until it flips back on the shelf. Pav stares at him with wide shining eyes. Hobie shrugs at him, patting the top of Pav's head. “See, ‘s fine now.”

“Woah you're really powerful.” Pavitr says with wondernment. “Now I know why my mentor left me with you guys!”

Hobie glances at you only to be met with an empty space. “Oi!” His long legs immediately catch up to you towards the meat aisle. Pavitr follows right behind Hobie, trying not to get distracted by the scented candle aisle they passed through. “Darling, we gotta talk.”

“Uh oh!” You sarcastically say, trying to act busy while you stack up packaged chicken nuggets in the freezer. “We don't, Hobie.”

“What's up with you and Felicia, hm?”

“What's up with you and Felicia?” You throw his words back.

“That was bloody centuries ago, love.” You click your tongue, annoyed at him. Hobie pinches his brows together, instructing Pav to busy himself somewhere while mom and dad talk.

The younger witch makes a face before leaving towards the candle aisle. He was hoping that the crew would do the same but all they did was hide behind a cookie standee to film the interaction subtly. If subtle was an elephant stomping through the aisles.

“Are you fuckin' jealous?” The corner of his lips tick upwards into a smirk. “Thought you didn't fancy me very much, huh?”

You pause, elbow deep in the freezer. “I still don't fancy you.” Emphasizing the word, his smirk turns into a hurt expression. “Don't forget that I tried to kill you, Hobie.”

But he recovers quickly. “That's not what you say every night in my coffin—”

“Felicia is my godmother, there, happy?” You huff, shutting the freezer door loudly. Inhaling, you think of a lie.

You can't exactly please everyone in this situation. If you tell Hobie the truth that your family has broken the curse and is now able to kill him? That could enrage him so much that he could kill you and your entire family in one fell swoop. Sometimes the soft embraces and gentle words make you forget that he was once worshiped as a god. You really don't believe he'll do that but your years of studies hinders you to think otherwise. Or you lie, you keep your family happy and safe, and Hobie stays in the dark. Win/win. If only it were that easy when he's staring at you like that. As if you were the exact person he fell for centuries ago. As if he loved you for who you are and not your ancestor’s face you wear. It's not your fault that you look like her. And yet, it's entirely your fault for falling for him. The one you were supposed to kill three years ago.

“How did that happen?” His voice wakes you up from your internal turmoil.

“They…” you stare deeply into his wine red eyes. Hoping that something will make you fall out of love. But you find none, you find yourself drowning in those crimson pools. Your godmother was right, you're bad with choosing partners. “...They made a deal before I was born. Way before I was born.”

Hobie waits for more but you stay silent, your nails digging into your palms while you lie. “And? What was the deal?”

“I don't know, Hobie. No one told me, it's a family secret— a house secret. The elders only know about it.” You feel awful, like you're spitting venom right at his face.

For a second, you thought that he's able to see through your well concealed lie. But with his nod, he trusts your words wholeheartedly. He trusts you. Maybe he shouldn't.

“Right.” He glances at the cameras still rolling before reaching for your hand atop the freezer to unfurl your fists gently. “We'll wait for you outside—”

The sound of glass shattering smashes the tense atmosphere, followed by Pavitr's muffled apologies. “Gotta help our kid before he breaks anythin' else.”

“Please, before I get fired.” You urge him to go, but his touch lingers on you. Before he could leave, he brings your hands towards his cold lips, pressing softly along the knuckles while he keeps his eyes on you and you only. “Hobie…” Your guilt eats at you.

Watching his back retreat from you has your heart clenching at the sight. You're used to lying, lying to your family about a monster kill when in truth you let them go out of pity. Lying to lovers about your profession; lying comes natural to you. But with Hobie, it's like swallowing a flaming bullet.

“Men, right?” The sudden voice startles you, staring at the source, you find the grocery store owner behind the butcher's counter, with a large knife in her hand.

“It's not nice to eavesdrop, Janet.”

“So is slacking. Get back to work.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you head back towards the front of the store.

You stare directly at the camera, “cut this part out.”

—

“Stop touching shit, Hobie.” You drive recklessly in your kia with Hobie in the passenger's seat, Pavitr in the backseat, and Jared the cameraman holding onto dear life right next to him.

“Can't help it, it's my first time in your car.” He smiles as he checks himself out in the rearview mirror. Smiling, he leans on the center console, teasing you with a simple look. “Your air freshener smells oddly like fresh linen and sandalwood, love. I wonder why.” His grin gets bigger with every word. You've been got.

“I like it!” Pav unintentionally saves you the embarrassment. “Reminds me of an ikea.”

You snort, dodging a car on the road like you're Vin Diesel in fast and furious. “It does smell like it, right?” Glancing beside you, you see Hobie frown and sit up right on his seat with a slight huff.

Hobie side eyes you, eyes glinting with playfulness. “Oi, Pav, fancy a snack?”

“No, thank you—”

“Right! The kid's hungry, love. ‘m sure you've got your stash in ‘ere.” Before you could stop him, he reached towards the glove box, opening it swiftly and releasing a stuffed worn out rabbit to tumble out of it.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. “Don't, Hobie.”

He picks it up by its patchwork ears. “What's this then?”

“Uh, a rabbit. Is this a test?” Pavitr peeks from behind you to stare intently at the plushie. “Yep, a stuffed rabbit.” He confirms.

Your annoyance grows. “Just let it go.” Trying to snatch it, Hobie holds it further away from you. “It's just a toy!” You almost swivel on the road, but you manage to drive straight, eyes keeping up front.

Jared feels like he's about to piss himself.

“I know what it is, the question is, why hide it from me?” He mocks a pensive look, oddly sniffing at the toy. “Pav, mate, any chance that you're a medium?”

“Dude.” You warn. “I swear I will hit the breaks so fast you'll go through the windshield.” Jared hopes you don't.

Pavitr smiles widely, but Hobie stops him. “And don't say that you're a small, bruv. I invented that joke.”

Pav pouts lightly, “...no.”

He shrugs, “damn, the secrets this thing could tell me.”

“I use it as pixie bait, Hobie!” You finally make it to the city hall, thankfully finding it still open even though it's close to two am. You guess that it's a new policy to remain open 24/7? You have no idea, the whole city is weird enough to have goblins and vampires roaming around with no one the wiser.

“Sure…” He flips the bunny upside down, releasing a quiet squeak when he does. Grinning from ear to ear, you already know what he saw whilst you were too busy parking the car. “Then why does it have your name scribbled on it, hm?” To add salt to your wound, he shows the camera your child-like handwriting on the bottom of its fluffy foot. The lens zooms in, making sure that it gets all the details. “Why do you still need a stuffed toy when you have me, love—?” You're already outside, door closed as you leave them behind in the car. Hobie's muffled guffaw can be heard from where you are.

“I think it's cute that she kept a childhood keepsake.” Pav chimes in, opening his door to exit. He leaves Hobie to think about it further.

As you walk towards the entrance, you feel a rush of wind behind you, then a not so subtle arm snaking over your shoulders. Sighing, you stare at Hobie, finding that he has pocketed your bunny inside his coat pocket.

“What? Just keepin’ him safe, don't worry.”

“You better not lose Mr. Prince.” Shoving him off, you leave them behind as you head inside the building.

Hobie looks over at the camera, smirking while patting the rabbit's head.

—

As you enter the glass double doors to collections, you have a group of mismatched people following right behind you, making you seem like you're someone incredibly important. Good thing there's only a handful of people waiting inside. Or else you'd be embarrassed about appearing with a dozen people right next to you. Add the cameras, lights and boom mics, people might ask for Hobie's autograph seeing that he looks like a punk star in his usual red velvet and leather getup. He's in his usual spiked jacket, complete with the numerous pins and patches that you will never confess to anyone that you helped stitch some of it.

And Hobie will never confess to having your initials embossed on the inside, lest you take a peek inside. Which has happened before, if he wasn't fast enough back then, you would've noticed how it's placed right above his heart. The red velvet pants he has on looks comfortable, you know it is from how you borrowed it before when you thought it was pajama pants. His ringed fingers glint in the light, shining as if it's hypnotizing you. The small scattered group of people seem to think so too when they can't get their eyes off of the certain punk. And yet, his eyes don't wander, they're only looking at you as you take a number and sit patiently under the harsh fluorescent light of the government building. Pavitr takes notice of this, so does the whole camera crew. But they don't say anything, just letting him unabashedly stare at you with fondness in those crimson eyes.

Looking up at the screen that says what number they're serving now, you find that you're only two people away from being called on. So you sit tight, pretending that you don't feel his affectionate eyes on you. You try not to glance at him, lest you lean against him and cuddle on his side. You know it's bound to happen when he looks at you like you're the living embodiment of a blood bag. You're not his blood bag, not yet anyway.

The room feels stiff with its drab grey walls, boring PSA posters, and even more boring royalty free music playing softly in the speakers. You feel sorry for the employees right now for hearing that kind of music on loop for eight hours. The air around the place is just incredibly mind bogglingly boring. The room doesn't even smell anything, as if the room itself sucked all the good things and farted it out in the parking lot.

You can hear the whirring of the camera lens while they take establishing shots of the entire place. You're used to the sound nowadays, what you're still not used to is the questioning stares from people around you. Sighing, you feel Hobie's arm snake around your shoulder subtly. While Pav sits on your left, and trying to ignore the blatant PDA, Hobie lounges on the cold metal bench as if he owns the place. You can hear him scoffing and murmuring a “bureaucrat” under his breath after waiting for exactly six minutes.

“Be patient, Hobie, we just got here.” You pat his hand laying on your clavicle, index playing with the frayed edges of your shirt.

The camera hones in on the close proximity, and Pav stares at the camera with a blank stare. One day in and he's already tired of it.

“‘m gettin' hungry, darling.” Hobie replies with a playful lilt.

“You fed after you woke up.” You unconsciously touch the side of your neck where the two pinpricks of scars lay. The lenses whirr again, and you don't have to wonder what they're currently shooting at. Leaning closer to him, a smirk immediately appears on his lips when he gets a whiff of your familiar perfume. “Don't be greedy.” Your whispered words are no use when the mics pick it up clearly.

“Still, ‘m hungry now.” His honeyed wine eyes glance at the bathroom in the far corner of the room. You take notice.

“No.” You enunciate for clarity. He pouts, feigning disappointment. “Keep those fangs in, Hobie.”

“Until we get home?” He whispers against the shell of your ear as you see your number glaring on the screen.

“In your dreams.” You say, standing up to go to the nearest available counter. Hobie's quiet footfalls follow you immediately together with Pavitr's louder footsteps. The camera crew stay a few ways away from you, save for Jared the cameraman who sidles up with you on the counter.

“I love seein’ you in my dreams, lovie.” He calls after you. And you ignore him with a roll of your eyes.

“What are we doing here again?” Pav scratches the back of his head, talking in between yawns. “Are we getting your marriage certificate?”

“What?” You almost yell in shock. “No, we're here to pay our dues.”

Hobie chuckles, “Where'd you get that idea, bruv?”

“Marrying your familiar isn't unheard of—”

“She's not my bloody familiar.” Hobie says, a bit offended.

Pavitr gives an apologetic look, hands raised in surrender.

“I'm not his fucking familiar.” You simultaneously say with Hobie, but the second you let out the sentence, the person behind the counter appears. “Shit– sorry, hi. We're here to check our balance?”

“Uh,” the brown eyed boy wearing an oversized hoodie glances at the camera next to you, then his eyes widens at the sight of you and Hobie. Recognition flits across his face for a second before clearing his throat. “HOA fees right?” he's already typing, weirdly enough, he doesn't ask for your name or Hobie's, he didn't even ask what the camera crew is about. Hell, he didn't even ask what's up with the bunny inside Hobie's pocket.

You flick your eyes towards his nametag, reading his name and position internally. ‘Miles Morales, intern.’

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie rests his chin atop your shoulder, while Pav tries to take a peek at what the guy behind the counter is typing. You resist the urge to cup the back of Hobie's neck.

“Hey, aren't you my age?” Pavitr suddenly asks, face pressed against the glass.

“Uh, don't do that. The glass is nasty.” Miles answers while still typing. Pavitr immediately moves away from the glass pane. “Yeah, I guess.” He taps his badge, “got the short end of the stick.” Pav nods, now leaning on the glass all nonchalant, copying Hobie.

“Let me guess,” Hobie chimes in, hand slyly pressed on the small of your back, giving you enough space to move away. But you remain still, even leaning against him. The producer and Jared the camera man take note of this. “Your old man gave you community service for spray paintin’ hm?”

Miles pauses from typing, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “I didn't give you permission to read my mind.”

Now it's your turn to be confused. “You know that he's a vampire?” Pointing at Hobie's chin, you can feel him smile on your shoulder.

“Bro has red eyes, and has been glancing at your neck.” he shrugs, “What else could he be?”

You and Hobie chuckle nervously, getting called out is embarrassing enough, but getting called out by a teenager is much more mortifying.

Hobie looks impressed. “I didn't read your mind, mate. I saw your phone wallpaper and it has your old man wearing a copper’s uniform. Then I saw the paint on your hands, I put two and two together. I don't do that invasive shit, come of it.”

You crane your neck to see him looking back at you smugly, proud of his own perceptiveness.

Miles smacks his lips together, continuing to type, keyboard clicking loudly around the room. For a half second, Miles' eyes turn white, as fast as it came, it's gone. If you blinked right there and then, you would've missed it. Pavitr seems to notice too, he moves next to your side, hand cupping your elbow. He's probably freaked out about it but didn't want to say anything. Hobie noticed it, based on how he squeezes your hip lightly. Jared looks like he saw a ghost, his hands trembling as he holds the camera.

“Right, Brown residence on—? Watch out for the mail cart!” Just as he says it, the sound of rolling wheels and metallic clanging can be heard right behind you. The presumably mail guy runs after it frantically, trying to catch up.

Grabbing Pav out of the way, Hobie in turn moves the two of you away from harm as the cart smashes against the counter. Envelopes and packages fly off, the sound of metal bending has you gnashing your teeth together. If not for Hobie, you would've been pancaked by the cart. Good thing Jared the camera man had enough time to jump back. You can't exactly pay for the damages if he got run over by the homicidal mail cart.

“Shit, sorry about that!” The man running after it quickly picks up the packages with yours and Pav's help. In a minute or so, he's already wheeling the damaged cart away.

“Knobhead should've been more careful.” He pats the space between your shoulder blades, wordlessly asking if you're alright. With a nod, he returns his attention towards the mysterious Miles.

“You okay, Pav?” You nudge him, smiling kindly at him.

“Yeah,” he pats himself all over, checking for injuries. “You saved my life.” He gasps at you, eyes shining.

You chuckle, “don't worry about it.” Turning towards Miles, you tilt your head curiously at him as he presses gently at his temple. “Headache bothering you?” Hobie glances at you with a soft smile, while the other two stare at you with wide eyes. “One of my cousins was clairvoyant, I know about the skull splitting headaches after a vision.” Grabbing a piece of paper from Miles’ table, you take your pen light, scribbling down a recipe. “She brews these everyday. Helps with her migraines.” You give it to Miles without another word.

He takes it gingerly, skimming through it. “Thanks. It's getting worse these days.” Clearing his throat, he shows you his computer screen. “Turns out you're fully paid for everything. I guess the system got it wrong the first time. It happens a lot.”

Hobie grins at him. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Did you think I rigged the system?” Miles glances at the three of you. “It wasn't me, even if I could do that. You're actually just fully paid. It was probably an error.” He shrugs, “we're good here.”

“Wait, are you sure?” You try to confirm. Flicking your eyes towards the vampire, he just shrugs, more than ready to go home as he tugs you away.

“We need to go before I start eating everyone in ‘ere.” Hobie whispers, pulling you and Pav away from the counter.

“It was nice meeting you, Miles!” Pav waves a goodbye, now getting hauled away by Hobie. The entire crew exits with the three of you, finding the whole encounter boring except for the fact that they just filmed an actual clairvoyant in action.

“You too, Pavitr.” He tiredly answers back.

“He knows my name?” Pav wonders as Hobie opens the double doors with his mind. With a gust of black smoke, he teleports the three of you outside, leaving the crew in the dust.

—

“That was anticlimactic.” You say as you unlock your car, which Hobie quickly sits on the passenger seat before Pav could call shotgun. “Did you know about that?” You ask, leaning against the doorway, head peeking in.

Hobie buckles himself, still holding Mr. Prince hostage. “You better get inside or the rabbit gets it.”

“I'm with Hobie on this one, Y/N, I'm really tired.” Pav yawns, head leaning against Jared's shoulder, all weary.

You sigh, “fine, we still need to get you settled in one of the rooms.”

“Don't worry,” he fights a yawn while you start the engine and put on your seatbelt. “It's only temporary until Felicia takes me back home.” His eyes close gently, lashes fluttering as he relaxes in his seat.

You feel sorry for him, knowing that your godmother dumped him over to you after unlocking his powers. Now he's all by himself after being practically raised by her. Hobie seems to think of the same thing, red eyes turning into a softer hue as he looks at Pav in the rearview mirror. Turning towards you, he knows what you're thinking.

“The blue room. I'll clear it for him.” Without thinking, you reach over the center console to kiss his cheek. His eyes close briefly, breath staggered in his throat.

“Thank you.” Leaning away, you pat his cheek Without looking at the direction of the camera. Good thing that Pavitr's already asleep. “I'll help clean it up.” Hobie seems to be stuck in the moment, leaning against your palm, eyes cast on you.

A loud metal thud ruins the saccharine moment. Screaming in shock, you see Miles huffing in front of the car, fists knocking on the hood. Pavitr snorts in his sleep, none the wiser at what transpired.

“What the hell, man! I just bought this!”

Hobie's eyes glare dangerously at Miles for ruining the moment and for punching the hood of your kia.

“I—I need help!” He heaves, panting like he ran after you three. “It's my friend! She's in trouble!”

Hobie's demeanour changes. You're already unlocking the door for Miles. “Get in!”

—

“There!” Miles points at the city's cemetery.

Fog rolls in, blanketing the grassy knoll and grey gravestones. Curved trees loom overhead, moonlight beaming down, painting the leaves in its silver light. You slow down the car into a stop, eyes trying to decipher what's hiding in the mist. Before you could stop Miles, he's already running further into the cemetery.

“Fuck! Don't run off!” You yell after him, releasing your seatbelt as you quickly grab a dagger under your seat. Opening the door, Hobie grabs your wrist, clawed hand wrapping gently around you. “What? I gotta help the kid!”

His red pupils shake, lips pursed into concern. For a moment you thought that he'd protest, or even teleport you back home. “I'll come with.” Instead, he releases you, exiting the car in a blur of smoke as you stare at the trail he leaves behind.

You turn towards the backseat, finding Pavitr still sleeping off the day's fatigue. Then you glance at the camera and the van parked right behind your kia. The filming crew could be in terrible danger if they come with you, but with Jared's curt nod, you exhale sharply.

“Stay far from the action and don't do anything reckless. You got that?” You don't wait for his reply as you're already getting out of the car. Speed walking towards the trunk, you open it quickly, yanking the false bottom away to reveal your array of weapons towards the film crew. “Shit, should've asked what we're killing.”

So you chose the quickest thing you have and the most universal thing that could kill an entity, silver tipped arrows and crossbow. Grabbing the quiver, and your utility belt filled with toys for hunting down the supernatural, you head towards the direction Miles went while you frantically equip yourself.

“Hobie!” The cold pinches your cheeks, lashes fluttering in the cold autumn air. Yours and the documentary crew's footsteps crush fallen leaves whilst you dodge gravestones on your way. The fog parts for you, and now you see what you're up against. “Oh good, at least it's not a gang of pixies.”

The ten foot werewolf howls, blond fur matted with dried blood, claws drenched in the same ichor. Your worst fears come to mind, but the second you see Hobie hauling away Miles on his shoulders, you sigh in relief.

The crew listens to you after seeing the behemoth, choosing to get out of your way instead of getting the shot that might win them a golden globe. Instead, they'd rather stay alive in the sidelines even if the footage will be grainy and far away.

Loading the crossbow, you step on the cocking stirrup, anchoring it on the ground as you load the arrow in its crosshairs. Knocking it back with some force, and putting it in place. The sharp string cuts your palm open but you ignore it while your blood drips on the grass below.

“Damn it.”

The camera pans from you over to the werewolf, its teeth are bared, maw opening and closing as it whines, as if it's in pain. Its blue eyes glint in the moonlight as it sniffs the air, head moving until it stops in your direction.

Heart stuck in your throat, you raise the crossbow. The wailing werewolf bounds over to you, paws as big as your head digging into the soil below.

“No, don't shoot!” Miles manages to wiggle out of Hobie's hold, now running towards you, desperately trying to reach you.

“Miles!” With one lightning quick move, Hobie yanks Miles away, and in turn snatching you off your feet, making you miss your shot.

The arrow pierces the tree right next to Jared's head, you swear you can see him collapse on his knees from where you are.

The werewolf slashes at thin air, howling and huffing from the missed mark.

“Why'd you do that?!” You ask Hobie, bracing yourself on a gravestone as you try to keep your dinner down from the sudden jerky movement.

“She's my friend!” Miles answers for Hobie. “Don't kill her please.” He grabs you by the shoulders, and you now notice how he limps. “She's already hurt.”

You glance at Hobie, who nods at you. Looking at Miles’ friend, you find her clawing at her head, still crying out in pain. Tilting your head, you notice that her ears are bleeding, claws digging in her ears. Like she's trying to quiet down the noises. But you're at a cemetery, the quietest place you can be at night.

Miles yells your name, shaking you awake. “Can you help her?!”

“I think I can.” You stand up straight despite your nerves inching its way into your chest. “Go wake up Pav, tell him he needs to do a trapping spell, one that is strong enough for her.”

“W–What?” Miles is panicking, hands shaking and body trembling from fear.

“I know we just met but you trusted us enough for you to ask for help.” You clasp his shoulder. “Please do what I tell you so we can help your friend properly, okay? Nod if you understand.” He nods, still trembling. “Good, wake up Pav, tell him to cast a trapping spell, one that would last for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Before he does that, go to my trunk,” you hand him your keys. “There's a leather pouch in there filled with vials. Take the whole pouch and then my mortar and pestle. As much as possible, avoid her. She won't be able to recognize you in this state. Hobie and I will keep her occupied.”

“Mate, do you understand?” Hobie takes a look at the werewolf then over to Miles. “You can do it, weave through the trees, avoid her eyes, easy, thread the bloody needle.”

“O–Okay.” He takes a deep breath. And you encourage him with a smile. “Her name's Gwen, please don't hurt her.” With those words, he enters the thicket, running even with his sprained ankle.

Gwen doesn't seem to notice him just yet, she's still wincing and groaning on the ground. Paws still clutching at her bleeding ears.

“What do you think, lovie? Should we call your uncle the Jersey devil?” Hobie sidles up to you, nudging you with his shoulder.

You chuckle despite the dire situation, hands feeling for the things in your utility belt, making mental notes of what you currently have. “Don't call him that just because he has a birthmark in the shape of Jersey.”

“I think he's the only family member you have that I like.” He says while slipping off his leather jacket and draping it over a tombstone.

“I'll tell him that.” Dropping the crossbow, you opt for a more defensive strategy. Hobie walks in front of you, subconsciously protecting you. With trepidation in your veins, you hold him back with your hand clasped around his wrist. “Don't die. I'm the only one who's allowed to kill you.”

He looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “‘m immortal, remember?”

“Immortal, not invincible.” His red eyes soften into a pinkish hue.

“Fuck it.” Hobie grins before cupping your cheeks and leaving a chaste kiss on your lips. Leaving you breathless. It was so fast that you barely felt it. Like a breeze fluttering by, but you savour it nonetheless. He runs his thumb across the scar he left on your neck lovingly. “Twilight fans will cream themselves when they see this fight.”

“You ruined the moment.” You whisper, leaning closer to peck the corner of his lips. In your peripheral, you see Pavitr is now awake, with Miles rummaging through your trunk. But the most concerning thing is Gwen is now noticing the two boys behind her. “Go fulfill some fanfic, vamp.”

He winks all suave, then a puff of smoke envelopes you, hugging your form before a large bat appears through it. Hobat flies towards Gwen with a determined screech.

Hobie distracts Gwen, his bat form circling around her wildly as he dodges her clawed swipes. She continues to yelp and huff at him, blue eyes darkening with annoyance at the shrieking bat that is the size of a grown man. You've seen this bat form of him a few times before, but it always astonishes how flawless he flies overhead. Even though you've seen him drunk in this form before.

Whistling out loudly, you take Gwen's attention briefly before she could side swipe at one of Hobie's wings. His claws dig into her matted fur, tugging and pulling at it like a playground bully.

You step into the fray to help him. You can't help but worry with every second that ticks by. Taking a smoke canister from your utility belt, the can is filled with bright pink smoke, you throw it in the direction of the frantic werewolf, obscuring her vision and staggering her backwards from the hissing sound the cans emanated. You circle around her, throwing more and more of the canister. Her yowling echoes in the cemetery, sending shivers down your spine. The pink smoke is dyeing her blond fur, mixing in with the darker crimson hue.

Miles suddenly calls for you, inadvertently getting Gwen's attention from Hobat. “Ah shit!” Gwen turns towards him, ready to pounce at her friend. “Gwen, it's me—!”

Gwen raises a large clawed paw, and you don't even think before you lunge at Miles to push him away from harm. Your bag clatters in the ground. With a thump and the sound of cloth tearing, you land with Miles on the soft soil, dry grass clinging to the both of you.

“You okay?” You huff, giving him a once over to check for injuries. He nods his head, eyes wide with panic, and staring above you. Looking over your shoulder, you see her going in for the kill. “Hobie.” You whisper into the wind, he hears it, frozen heart clenching at the scene as he tries to get Gwen's attention.

It's futile.

Within a half second, Hobie turns into his regular form above Gwen, fist raised, ready to strike. He meets with your fearful eyes, your own body shielding Miles. Dread fills him as Gwen's knife-like claws get closer and closer to your head— he can't see you die again.

A sudden blast of light blinds him. Instead of landing a hit on Gwen's furry face, he slams unceremoniously on a glass like dome, face smashing against it harshly. He groans, body sliding down the dome slowly. As he hits the ground, he immediately runs towards you at unimaginable speed.

Yelling your name, he finds you sitting on the grass with Miles, still heaving from the close call. “Love!” He makes it to you, hands immediately cradling your face. “Fuck, I thought I lost you.”

Taking his wrists, you close your eyes, leveling your breathing as you inhale his perfume to ground you back to reality. “I'm o–okay.” There's a sudden ache on your leg that you ignore for now. “We need to put her to sleep.”

Miles stares up at Gwen, claws piercing through the spell but still holding her in place. “That won't hurt, right?”

“No, it won't. Just think about it like a sleeping pill.” You try to stand up, but you feel something wet just under you. Placing your hand under your thigh, it's warm and wet. Lifting your palm, you see red. “Oh.”

Hobie smells the familiar scent, alarms ringing in his head just as when you lift your hand up. “No,” he immediately rips a piece of fabric from his shirt to quickly wrap it around your wound. “You'll be okay.” His hands are drenched with your blood, and not in a good way.

Pavitr makes it to your side, hands glowing with the same yellow light from the spell. His eyes widen at your bleeding leg. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Miles' terrified stare has you rethinking your injury. Gwen mumbles incoherently inside the bubble, snout sniffing at your spilled blood. “It was an accident.” He whispers, you don't know if he's saying it to you or to his friend.

“I'll be okay, just a flesh wound.” You tug at Hobie's arm, feeling the tingling sensation from the loss of blood. You have to do it quickly. “Hobie.” Tying the cloth around you tightly, he's too panicked to hear you, blood rushing in his ears, fangs out as he tries to tamp down his hunger. “Hobie.” Cupping his cheek, he finally looks at you. “I'll be okay, we have blood bags at home, and we can stitch this later. For now, someone go get my kit, Pav can't hold her back forever.”

“I can wait—” Pav's glowing hands are starting to shake.

“No, you can't.” You say as you take the leather bag from Miles' trembling fingers. “I can survive this, don't worry.” You can tell that he's feeling guilty. “I won't turn into a werewolf if you're worried about that. I need to get bitten to turn.” Hobie gives you space to work, your leg aches but you carry on.

“I think you dyin’ from blood loss is our main concern, love.” Hobie stares at you fondly while you expertly pick your herbs and flowers into the mixture inside the mortar. Using your teeth to open the vials, pouring just the right amount as if you're not actively bleeding.

“Nobody's dying today, Hobie.” You glance at him, smiling softly before you return to crushing the ingredients together until it turns into a metallic purple shade. “Needs more wolfsbane.” You add a bit more into the concoction, crushing it into the mortar.

“Y/N?” Pav's shaking voice has you pausing in place. “I'm g–getting tired, I'm sorry.” Sweat dribbles off his forehead, straining from the spell.

“Just a few more seconds, Pav, you're doing great.” You have no time to finesse the crushing, so with a few more strikes to the bright purple powder, you immediately take a handful of it. “Help me up.” Hobie quickly grabs hold of you, arms enveloping around you as you anchor yourself against him. “Can you open it a bit?”

“What?” Pavitr swallowed thickly.

“Just enough for the powder to get inside.” You see the apprehension in his eyes. “You can do it.”

He nods slowly, still unsure. His left hand balls into a fist, unclenching it slowly. Lips muttering a spell softly. You watch while a hole emerges from the side, Gwen roars at you, an ear piercing sound that has the birds waking up from their nests.

“It's okay.” You slowly approach the opening, fist unfurling in front of it. Without wasting another second for Pav's sake, you gently blow at the powder, sending it fluttering inside the dome that encapsulates her. The opening closes, keeping the substance inside. “C’mon, go to sleep.” Hobie feels you weaken in his hold, he brings you back down on the grass, letting you lean against his body. “Thanks, guys. You all did well.” Voice wavering, you look up at Hobie as you hear Gwen's soft yawning. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Oi,” his tone cracks, “don't die on me.”

“Not a chance. I think I inhaled a bit of it.” You chuckle, craning your neck just in time to see Gwen slump on the grass, snoring softly. “She was hearing voices, wasn't she?” Eyes flicking over to Miles, he nods, relief evident in his shoulders.

“Yeah, she— she's a medium.”

You nod, understanding fully. “She has no pack because of her ability.”

“Yeah,” Miles sniffles, and Pav releases the spell, opening the dome fully. Light fades away, replaced by the bitter blue of dawn. “She only has me.”

“A medium werewolf, there's a joke in there somewhere.” Hobie quips, admiring you in the glow of the early morning sky. He has never seen you in this light, and this is the closest he has gotten to sunlight in a thousand years. But warmth? He feels it everytime you walk into the room. Hand reaching for the stuffed bunny, he places it on your arm for comfort. “Let's get you some blood, yeah?”

“Oh how the turn tables.” You chuckle, hugging Mr. Prince as Hobie lifts you up and carries you. “Hold on,” you look at your childhood companion in its button eyes. “I think Gwen needs him more than I do.” You hand it to Miles so that he could place it on the crook of her arm. Gwen immediately feels the fluffiness, curling around the plushie and hugging it in her werewolf form.

The sun peeks from the horizon, now it's your turn to panic. “Do you want to be toasted, Hobie? Because if we stay for a minute longer you'll be a pile of ash. And that doesn't look good on T.V.”

The filming crew walks towards the group now that it has calmed down. They're still shaking from what happened, but they're alright. The sun slowly inches its way over to you and the group, flooding the way behind you in its golden rays.

Hobie's skin is starting to sizzle, and yet he still smiles with endearment at you and the little rag tag group he's lucky enough to run into. You stare longingly at him while the glow of the sunrise bathes his face. You can't help but imagine a life where he could walk in the light again. One day, he'll be able to once he reaches a certain age, but for now, you're well alright with walking the shadows with him.

Hobie’s tempted to kiss you right then and there if not for the threat of him becoming cement. “Take large werewolf and that's so raven ‘ere and meet us back home, Pav.” Your car keys leap off from the ground and into Pavitr's hand. “Don't forget my jacket.” Before the sun fully blankets the cemetery, you and Hobie disappear into a puff of blackened smoke.

Pav sniffs, “But I don't know how to drive.”

—

“Well, I'm alive!” You gesture at yourself on the couch while Hobie lounges right next to you. His arm is perched right on your shoulders, fingers brushing along the pin prick scar on your neck. “It's been a long recovery.” You sigh, “too fucking long.”

“But we made it.” Hobie pats your stomach lovingly. “Two months and we've got her runnin’ circles around us.”

You scrunch your face into a scowl, flinging his hand away from your tummy. “Don't do that, they might think I'm knocked up.” Shrugging, he instead pats your face with his palm covering your entire face. “This isn't any better, Hobie.”

A blond girl with pink highlights walks behind you, leaning against the couch with a smirk. “Congratulations on the little abomination.” She flicks her blue eyes towards the camera, pointing at herself. “Gwen, the werewolf who almost killed her.”

Hobie finally releases your face. Revealing your glare, which he covers up again with his hand. “Right, I guess she lives here now too.”

Gwen rolls her eyes, jumping over the couch to sit next to you and yank off Hobie's hand away from your face. “You guess? You're the one who invited me here, Vampire.” She leans over you, eyeing him up and down. “You of all people should know the value of an invitation.” Sticking her tongue out, she places her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your arm.

“Get off my darling, mutt.”

“Nope, bloodsucker.”

You stare at the camera with a flat expression. “Just do the montage for context.”

—

The scene shifts with you while on bed rest, flipping off the camera that the crew has sneakily managed to peek through the crack in the doorway. Gwen, now in her human form, has taken the mantle of taking care of you. Even though you've told her numerous times that it's not her fault and shouldn't feel guilty about it. She always answers with her puppy dog eyes, and you always surrender.

She's covered in bandages herself, still healing from what you've been told— from a werewolf pack that decided to pick on her during the full moon. With some help from your books, you found a way to tamp down the ghosts that haunt her. And in turn, shutting up the lifeless voices she hears. There's nothing you can do about the transformations though.

Gwen pauses from her reading to you, sniffing at the air. “I smell death.” You roll your eyes at the comment.

“Not again, Gwen—”

With smoke slithering inside, Hobie appears in the room, carrying bags filled with take out. Gwen makes a face at Hobie, nose scrunched up. “Oh, just him.”

Hobie smirks at her, but his eyes glare at her before turning soft when he sees that she was reading to you. “I guess you don't want your spring roll then?”

Gwen gasps, offended. “No, I want it!” She pounces over the bed, bodying Hobie. He falls back into the door, shutting it closed, slamming into Jared and making him stumble backwards into the stairs.

The camera falls with him, landing directly next to Pavitr's feet, it catches his shocked expression. His scream almost cracks the lens. He panics around the groaning cameraman, calling for Miles who appears from the doorway, joining Pav’s side.

“Why's Jared on the floor?”

—

The mics pick up the soft hum of the record player, the candle lights gives off a lens flare when the camera moves to fix the angle they're capturing. There you are sitting next to Hobie on the long dining table, laughing with Miles about something, while Pavitr accidentally knocks his glass of orange juice from his bout of laughter.

“It was one time!” Gwen exclaims, giggling along.

“That poor leprechaun, Gwendy.” Hobie shakes his head, acting as if he's disappointed at her. He takes a subtle look at you, smiling with his bloodstained fangs from the goblet of blood that he's having. It makes you laugh harder.

The camera moves downwards, recording what's under the table. Hobie's hand is atop your own, fingers interlocked with yours lovingly.

“I didn't know they don't like lucky charms, okay!”

The house fills with laughter, warmth blanketing around the once cold and barren home.

—

“A bat!” Pavitr shoots a web of light from his hands towards the shrieking fruit bat flying around the ceiling of the living room.

“Don't let it bite me!” Gwen hides under the couch blanket you specifically placed there for movie nights.

“Transform or something, Gwen!” Miles screams when the tiny bat plunges down towards him, chasing him around the living room as Miles knocks down several knick knacks off the shelves. “Catch it!”

“No, fuck off!” Gwen says, still balled under the crocheted blanket.

“Keep it still, Miles!” Pav shoots wildly, almost hitting the camera directly. “Sorry, Jared!”

“It's gonna bite me! Help!” Miles' voice cracks, feet stumbling all over the carpeted floors.

“Y/N! Help!” The trio simultaneously yells for you.

Within a few seconds, you're off the bed and making your way downstairs with your crutch helping you walk.

“What?! Are the goblins back?!” You skid off the floor, side hitting the door frame but otherwise fine. Looking around, you see the mess that was previously the living room. Then you see Hobat flying around in his smaller bat form, playfully teasing them and riling them up by flying close to each of them. ‘Hobie, change back and stop scaring the kids!’ Is what you would've said if not for Hobie's happy screeching. Instead, you join in on the fun. “Pav! Watch out, it's gonna get you!”

Their simultaneous screams have you guffawing in place. Hobie will change back in front of them later for sure, but until then, he's gonna have his fun.

—

The security camera sits stationary in the living room, pointed directly at the rubble filled floor where Pavitr fell in. The footage is grainy and in black and white, but clear enough to see everything that's happening.

“Keep it still, Pav!” Hobie's muffled voice can be heard from upstairs, followed by some rustling.

“I'm trying! Miles, help me!” Pav answers back, tone muffled from the security camera.

“It's slipping!”

With a yelp, Hobie falls into the hole, plunging down on the living room with a harsh thud.

He groans, Gwen rushing towards the crash. When she sees him lying on the rubble, her loud laughter sends the camera's mic into a scratchy audio that would rock your hearing.

—

Miles leans against the kitchen island, head placed on his palm while you and Hobie help each other with the dishes. If someone told you that you have to actually read a proper cookbook, and shop for ingredients that aren't instant ramen or coffee, you would've told them to get back inside their alternate dimension. But here you are, washing the dishes with a thousand year old vampire you were supposed to kill years ago. Together with a teenage werewolf who can see dead people, a former witch apprentice, and a clairvoyant who probably knows when you'll die but remains quiet about it. He's nice like that.

“So still a no on me being your familiar then?” Miles asks again, and you're sure that he's only doing this to annoy Hobie now.

“No!” He says, towel flipped on his shoulder, and hands placed on his hips.

Miles smiles, getting the reaction he wanted. “Okay, dad.” A chorus of laughter floats around Hobie as he looks down at his very dad-like posture.

If you're not honed in on his micro expressions, you'd think he's proper annoyed or embarrassed, but with the slight tick on the corner of his lips, you know that he's amused and endeared by it all.

“Does that make Y/N our mom?” Pavitr chimes from the dining table, helping Gwen wipe down the oak.

You feel their stares right on your back. Turning around, you face a very smiley Hobie, and a trio of teasing grins. “Get back to cleaning or you're all grounded.”

—

“I heard my name!” Pav saunters inside the living room, flour still sticking to his cheek.

“We were telling the crew how bad of a driver you were.” Gwen teases as Pav sits next to Hobie with a pout.

“We made it didn't we? You didn't even wake up from the bumping!” He argues over you and Hobie, Miles hears the whole thing, following right after Pav.

“It was because of Mr. Prince.” Miles says, falling on the couch with a groan. He sits next to Gwen, pointing at the bunny plushie’s head that's peeking from her back pocket. He makes sure that the cameras zoom in on it.

“Shut up, Miles.” Gwen says through gritted teeth, hiding the bunny with her cardigan.

Pav and Miles snickers in their seat, while you and Hobie look at eachother affectionately. The producer behind the camera tries to ask you a question above the arguing from the three.

Hobie chuckles before shaking his head, he tells you his plan in your mind. He sniffs at the air, fingers snapping together. “Oi, what's that burnin’ smell?”

“Wait, the sourdough!” You play along, acting as if the loaf you made with them is burning inside the oven.

“No!” The trio jumps off the couch, scrambling towards the kitchen and leaving you and Hobie once again.

With a grin, Hobie scooches closer to you, arms pushing you closer to him. You've given up on hiding the affection from the cameras, hell they even captured the kiss, no matter how grainy it was, there was obvious lip locking happening in the cemetery.

You lean your head on his shoulder, that's the line you're willing to cross in front of them. Lest they have to change the content rating on the documentary.

“What happened with the HOA?” The producer asks clearly now.

“I honestly forgot about them.” You glance at Hobie, finding that he's already beaming at you. “They never came back to the house. I guess your payments went through this time.”

Hobie furrows his brows, side eyeing you. “I didn't pay for jack shit, lovie.”

You blink, thinking. “I pay for the electricity and the groceries just like we talked about.”

“Yeah, and I pay for the other shit like the internet and the water—” he points at the camera, “which should be free by the way.” Then he returns his attention to you. “I'm not payin’ for some membership so that the old coots would judge our bloody lawn.”

“That's true, they always complain about the lumpy soil and the wildflowers.”

“Where else would I bury the bodies? The thames? It's already nasty enough.”

“Wait,” you place your hand over his mouth, which based on his eyes, he's fond of it. “Who's been paying for our shit?” You two look at eachother with confusion.

—

“Why did I leave my apprentice with my favourite goddaughter?” Felicia is being interviewed right in front of Hobie's house. Platinum hair blowing in the wind, still in her witch attire, and hand holding onto a broom. “He's too happy for me, literally, his mood is changing my aesthetic.” She grabs a handful of her bright pink cloak. “This used to be black.”

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[jeonqbunny]

sounds like denial

megumi fushiguro x reader smut ♡

summary: megumi & you never got along as roommates, until one day you found him using your panties to get himself off.

content warning: dom!megumi x sub!f!reader, degradation, pussy slapping, choking, cnc if you squint, edging, use of petnames (slut, whore, good girl) MEGUMI IS AGED UP!

word count: 3.7k

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI!

megumi fushiguro was the absolute bane of your existence. his cold shoulder was one that made you fume with anger. he was a neat freak, constantly moving your items from the place where you had left them to leave you frantically searching for them in your time of needing them.

“megumi– i swear to god if you move my keys again, i will strangle you.” you growled under your breath as you snatched them out of the top drawer in your shared kitchen. he shrugged, not paying much mind to your anger as it didn’t intimidate him like you thought it did. his spiky raven locks fell into his face when he snapped his head to look at you scurrying out of the kitchen and heading towards the front door.

“yeah yeah ye– wait, where are you going? don’t you have something better to do? like y’know.. study for your finals?” he crossed his arms over his chest, his dark blue orbs burning holes into your skin. you reached up to tug at your hair in annoyance, shooting back the same glare he gave you.

“god, is what i do really any of your business megumi? you’re my roommate, not my fucken dad.” you spat, adjusting your stance as you rested against the door frame. “you’re in a pissy ass mood and i’m not having it. if you’re gonna go, just go.” he barked back, a hint of annoyance coating his words. kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, he rested his arms behind his head as his eyes closed as if to instigate some more.

he tried his very best to act nonchalant, but you were genuinely striking a nerve at this point. normally, as much as he hated to admit it, he did enjoy getting a rise out of you, but only when it really benefited him. and right now, you weren’t benefiting him in the slightest.

you swallowed thickly, biting back the venom that your thoughts threatened to spit at him. you let out a scoff, pivoting on your foot to leave the apartment dramatically. you had a meeting with your teacher to go over your exams, and no thanks to megumi, you were now running late. when megumi heard the door click shut, one of his eyes opened to the side as if to make sure you were really gone.

he hesitantly stood to his feet, a thought weighing on his mind as he lugged himself to his bedroom. he threw himself onto his plush mattress, a small ‘squeak’ sounding from the extra weight added to the wooden bedframe. he let a soft sigh fall from his pretty lips, his eyes closing once again as he tried to gather his thoughts

suddenly, memories of his friends constantly teasing him about his supposed crush on you filled his mind. it angered him to think about, there was no way in hell he would ever find you, of all people, attractive. at least that’s what he told himself every time he took a huff of your panties while fisting his throbbing, leaky dick.

the view of you walking around the house in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear began flooding his mind, his member stiffening and straining against the fabric of his sweats. the way your hips swayed with every step you took, the moans he would hear coming from your room late at night when you felt lonely. god, he wished he was the one to make you moan so prettily like that.

his hand ghosted along the expanse of his toned abdomen, slipping under the waistband of his sweats to palm at his needy cock. a whine bubbled in his throat, his hips gyrating forward into his hand to cause more friction. his hand shot over to his nightstand, haphazardly tugging the drawer open before stirring around his belongings. that’s when he felt it, the fabric of a fresh pair of your panties he stole from your dirty laundry hamper the night before.

he gripped it in his clutch tightly, slamming the drawer shut before sniffing them. a wanton groan fell from his throat, his eyes closing tightly as he inhaled your scent. his hand moved against his cock faster, pants and moans of your name filling the air as he continued his more than sinful ministrations.

the lustrous fabric of his boxers decorated with precum became increasingly more annoying, causing him to huff in frustration before tugging his pants and boxers down. he sighed in relief when his needy dick sprung free, the tip flushed a shade of angry red as his precum dribbled down his shaft to his balls.

a pang of guilt filled his chest as he began to fist the tip of his cock, his thumb brushing over his aching slit. he used his precum as lube, a loud squelching sound following each swift stroke of his hand. he ran his tongue along the fabric of the panties where your pussy would sit, shivering in ecstasy as his head flopped back in pleasure. “i’m so sorry y/n.. i– i’m so sorry..” he whimpered under his breath, gripping his member tighter and thrusting it into his hand.

he felt this climax approaching rapidly, the scent of your pussy lingering on the panties he was lapping at so desperately. the knot tightening in his abdomen and threatening to burst at any moment, and just as he was right about to finish.. he heard his door slowly creak open as you began to talk.

“sorry for wh– oh. oh my god?” there you stood, looking like a deer in headlights as you took in what laid in front of you. you chortled in shock, your palm smacking your mouth to stifle the laugh that threatened to come out. you didn’t really know what to say or do at this point, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you stood there, entirely unable to move as it all processed.

those were your panties, a pair you’ve been trying to find for a hot minute, in fact. megumi ceased his movements all together, scrambling to try and pull his pants over his hips as he tossed the panties to the side in an attempt to hide them. but it was already too late, he had been busted jerking off with your panties pressed to his face. his cheeks were just as red as yours, the both of you exchanging a look of ‘what the fuck’ for a brief moment before you padded over to sit on the edge of his bed.

“that’s literally humiliating, i would not want to be in your shoes right now.” you mocked, a toothy grin growing on your face as you watched his chest heave in anxiety. he didn’t know what to say or do, wanting nothing more than to just disappear from existence in that moment. “shut the fuck up oh my god. just– just get out!” stammering, he sat up in bed and huffed at you in exasperation. this only caused you to giggle under your breath, shaking your head gently as you slide your hand up the length of his leg before reaching the erection twitching in his sweats.

“well you started, might as well finish it.” your head was spinning in confusion, you never in a million years would have thought that megumi saw you like that. you were palming at his erection teasingly before his hand flung down and gripped your wrist tightly. you gasped, slightly taken aback, your eyes flickered into his with confusion written all over your expression.

he wasted no time in pushing you to your back, crawling on top of you before he made the decision to let go of your wrist. “listen, if you think that i’m actually attracted to you, you’re–” you cut him off swiftly, letting out a scoff and smirking at him. “oh, so you only find me attractive enough to sniff my panties while getting yourself off?” you retorted, your head tilting to the side as his body caged you in. “sounds like denial to me, ‘gumi.”

this only provoked him further, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration before looping his fingers around the waistband of your shorts and yanking them off with little to no effort. you shrieked, squirming to escape his grasp as you began to protest. “stop bein’ stupid and let me go, you asshole!” you whined, your body writhing underneath him only stroking his newfound ego all the more.

“oh, so your little pussy soaking your panties means you don’t want this? sounds like denial to me.” he snapped back like a rubber band, a cocky smirk gracing his glossy lips as he looked down at you. you rolled your eyes, a slight pout forming on your lips as your legs quivered. his hand reached in between your legs, pressing two fingers against the outline of your soaking wet folds through the panties. he didn’t expect you to give in so easily, but it didn’t exactly surprise him, either.

he rubbed up and down your aching slit with two of his fingers, entirely neglecting your swollen clit as if to tease you even more. you struggled a bit more, bucking your hips on his fingers for at least some stimulation on your swollen nub. he tsked, leaving a harsh smack on your sloppy cunt before rubbing his palm against it to soothe the sting. “you’re such an annoying slut, even in bed.” he husked out, his steel blue eyes eating up the way the thin fabric of your panties stuck to your pussy.

you mumbled out a small ‘sorry’ as you bucked your hips forward, in urgent need to get your pussy touched by him again. “not so hard, now is it? i just knew you were a cock hungry whore, scampering around the house in your dirty little panties to tease me..” he trailed off, two of his digits ghosting over your clit. “just admit it, you need me to fuck you.”

“i hate you.” you hissed back, your eyebrows furrowing in anger from the way he teased you. he pulled his fingers away, throwing a glare your way before shaking his head. “nah, i don’t think you do, y/n.” he cooed, his fingers running along the edge of your panties to provoke you further. “but i could make you hate me, if that’s what you want.” he snickered, his eyes darting between your angry expression and your throbbing core.

“fuck you, disrespectfully.” you still tried to show even an ounce of control, but deep down you wanted him. you knew it, and he did too. “so that’s how you like it?” he asked in a low grumble, slowly sliding your panties down your plump thighs. his gaze never left yours, your panties now hanging loosely at your ankles before you kicked them off to the end of the bed. 

megumi felt his breath catch in his throat from the sight of your leaky cunt, swallowing thickly, causing his adam’s apple to bob in its wake. he visibly shuddered in excitement when he finally made contact with your bare heat, his tongue sliding across his bottom lip in concentration as he swiped the pad of his thumb over your clit.

you let out a whiny yelp, reaching up to grip his shoulder as he continued pleasuring you. his chest was swelling with pride at this point, his pretty blue eyes fluttering closed as he felt your grip tighten with every movement of his finger. “such a pretty pussy.. i wanna taste it..” he groaned, his eyes snapping open to look at the way your arousal dripped down to your ass and onto the bed sheets below.

“i thought you said you weren’t attracted to me.” you snorted, batting your eyelashes at him with a knowing smile pulling at your lips. with this, megumi wasted no time in grabbing your panties and shoving them into your mouth. “do you ever shut your whorish mouth up or what?” he shoved them further into your mouth, causing you to gag and whine. the sight of you choking on your own panties made his cock twitch in his pants, a dark stain bleeding through his gray sweats.

“doesn’t feel so nice does it? choking on your panties, and you still need more. now you really understand how i felt.” still rubbing quick circles on your aching clit, his other hand gripped your inner thigh, digging the tips of his fingers into your skin and holding your legs open with ease.

“can’t say much now, can you?” your reactions amused him, his thumb never relenting from the pace he set on it. he reached up with his spare hand, spitting on his middle and index finger before swiping them against the edge of your needy little hole. he pushed them in slowly, his forearm tensing up from the way you gripped onto his digits.

“fuck, you’re so mmnhh– tight. for a greedy slut, that is.” he pumped his fingers in and out of your heat, his jaw falling slack as he watched his fingers slip in and out with a loud ‘squelch.’ you mewled at the feeling of his fingers sliding against your gummy walls, your eyes closing tightly as a sheer coat of sweat started to grow on your forehead. “please ‘gumi.. please fuck me.” you cried out, your syllables breaking with every thrust of his fingers.

the sight was absolutely marvelous from megumi’s point of view. the way your lips parted, your legs trembling and the way your eyes slammed shut in pleasure as he ravaged your insides with his fingers, fuck it was all almost too much for him to handle. he was finally able to put you in your place after months of torture with your bratty and unbearable attitude. 

“now you’re begging, such a good little whore.” he chimed, his fingers curling upwards into your g-spot, his wrist moving back and forth rapidly. your body tensed up, your hands gripping the sheets below you until your knuckles turned a pearly shade of white. “i’m so close.. i’m so close.. please..” you sobbed, your hips lifting off the mattress to match the thrust of his fingers.

megumi halted his movements, watching you writhe and cry from your orgasm fizzling away. “you’re not gonna get to cum that easily, sweetheart. you gotta work for it. you can do that for me can’t you, slut?”  he chuckled deviously, his fingers moving inside of you once again, you immediately clenched around his fingers, that familiar feeling building in your tummy again.

“gonna cu–” you were immediately cut off, his fingers pulling all the way out and leaving you empty. you squealed in displeasure, a flood of frustration filling your veins as your hips stuttered forward in a desperate endeavor to reach an orgasm. megumi tsked again, biting the inside of his cheek briefly before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your clit. 

“don’t worry, i’ll let you cum. eventually.” he goaded, running the tip of his tongue up your slit to lap at your juices. this elicited a blissful groan from megumi, his tongue diving into your throbbing hole and licking upwards to gather more of your slick. your hands shot down to tangle in his jett black hair and pull him closer to your pussy, your moans unwavering as he slurped up your cunt like his last meal.

“me– megumi!” you gasped, your thighs slamming closed around his head. he removed his tongue from inside your cunt, licking up your folds to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. he swiftly pulled your thighs apart, pinning them down to the mattress as he continued to suck your clit hungrily, his tongue sliding against it. your eyes rolled into your skull, your head falling backwards onto his silken pillows. “i’m– fuck. i’m gonna cum.” you choked out, your voice muffled from the panties in your mouth as your fingers grasped at his hair tighter, your hips grinding against his lips.

he let out a hum of approval, the vibrations of his voice shooting through your mound as you squeaked out in pleasure. your long awaited orgasm finally crashed over you, your back arching off the bed and your legs trembling as your tight walls pulsated and fluttered continuously. megumi collected your cum on his tongue, swallowing down every last drop that dripped from your pleasure-ridden cunt.

your chest heaved as you finished riding out your high, looking down to find megumi already slipping his painfully hard cock out of his sweats. “your pussy tastes better than i could have imagined, the panties didn’t do you nearly enough justice.” he said, his voice laced with pure and utter arousal. he gently plucked the panties from your mouth, shooting you a devilish smirk. you whined, your head falling back again as he pressed the tip to your entrance.

“now it’s my turn, greedy slut.” he pushed the tip in, your walls struggling to accommodate his length as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. he trembled, taking a deep breath through gritted teeth as he pushed in to fill you up to the hilt. you shrieked, a sting shooting through your inner walls from the sudden stretch. you reached upwards, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold yourself together while you adjusted to his size.

he remained still, his patience running thin as he felt your hot gummy walls coil around his cock. “i’m gonna move now, so be the good little slut you are and take it.” he growled, reaching up with one of his hands to grip your chin firmly. he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, letting your slick cum coat his dick entirely before setting a pace.

his hips slammed into you ruthlessly, the bulbous tip of his cock grazing over all of your sweet spots with every thrust of his hips. he fucked you like his life depended on it, he’d rather die than have to stop fucking you. months of fantasizing about your tight pussy, and he was finally getting it.

your cum from your previous orgasm splattered with every harsh thrust into your pussy. still reeling from the way your walls gripped him like a vice, megumi let out a strained moan and slammed his eyes shut tightly. his hand slid down your chin to your neck, squeezing the sides lightly while his other hand grazed your hardened nipples through your shirt.

“i want this off, wanna see how pretty your tits look when they bounce.” he grumbled, his hand getting closer to the hem of your shirt to pull it over your chest. he gasped slightly, his eyes drinking up every curve of your breasts before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking softly. you wiggled underneath him, the sensitivity making your head feel like it was going to explode. he pulled off your sensitive bud with a subtle ‘pop’, his dark eyes finding yours to send you a threatening glance. you immediately knew what it was for, trying your best to hold still as you clamped down on the cock that was currently splitting you open. 

“that’s more like it, good girl.” he praised with a hum, running his slick hot tongue across your nipple again before sucking it between his lips. he drifted the hand that was gripping your neck tightly down to your other breast, kneading at the flesh. his hips began to stutter from the way your gummy wet walls clenched around him, an exasperated huff coming from his chest.

you could tell he was getting close from the way his manhood twitched inside of you, and you really weren’t far behind him. “i– i’m gonna cum ‘gumi.. ‘m so close..” whimpering and moaning, megumi rutted his hips into you faster. a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as he looked down at you all fucked out on his cock.

“i– fuck. i’m close too. go ahead and cum for me, slut.” he permissed harshly, his hand gripping your tit tighter as he felt you unravel around him. your second orgasm hit you like a truck, your head light and spinny as it rolled to the side. sobs and moans tore through your throat, pleads of his name rolling off your tongue as your slick absolutely drenched his dick.

this threw megumi over the edge, gritting his teeth, his thrusts became a lot less calculated and a lot more sloppy. “gonna cum inside of you, make sure you really know your fucking place.” he mumbled in finality– his cock now pushed right against the entrance to your womb as he filled you up with his load.

you hissed, sucking in air through your teeth as you felt his hot cum paint your walls. megumi’s arms shook as he held himself up, choking back moans as he came down from his high. once you were both finished and panting, you looked at each other in a certain way that had you both holding back laughter.

he pulled his softening dick out of you, hurriedly getting up from the bed to grab a rag. “fuck fuck fuck such a mess.” he stammered, reaching you to wipe up the cum that was beginning to leak from your insides. you cackled breathlessly, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him as he cleaned you up, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

“you literally just came in me, and you’re worried about the mess?” provoking him in your fucked out state was the wrong idea. he laid another harsh smack on your clit, causing a loud shriek to rip out from your lungs. he smirked, swiping your leaking slit once more before tossing it in the dirty bin.

“you just became a slut for my cock and you already forgot how to speak to me?” he paused, sliding on a new pair of boxers as he looked down at you all sprawled out on his sheets. “i thought you were pretending to be stupid, but maybe you really are.” you scoffed, your hand gripping your chest in faux offense before speaking. “i hate you so much.” you mumbled, your lips forming into a small pout causing a throaty chuckle to bubble up in megumi’s chest. “i promise, i hate you more.”

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“take it off”

A/N: so yesterday I was talking to @itsokbbygrl about how Joel would react if baby love ever wore a piece of Brazzers merch around him and well…😵‍💫

~word count: 960~

Summary: Joel catches you wearing a pair of Brazzers spandex shorts 🤭

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, established relationship, punishment, teasing, dom!joel, meanish!joel, possessive!joel (reader is into it) spanking, sir kink, praise kink, language, Joel calls the reader a naughty dirty little slut in a non derogatory way, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions (outside of having a big ass and thighs) +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

It’s laundry day, and you’re faced with an unfortunate problem on your hands. The only pair of clean shorts that you could find in your drawer happened to be a pair of black spandex shorts with a BRAZZERS decal stretching all the way across the stretched fabric. Why was this such an unfortunate dilemma you may be asking yourselves? Well, you already had a feeling that Joel was gonna lose his shit if he saw you wearing these shorts…

Fuck it, we ball!

And oh, did he lose his mind alright.

All afternoon he had been working on fixing an issue he was having with his truck, and with Tommy’s generous help after refusing to take it into the shop. No, the Miller brothers were the kings of DIY. Joel came striding into the kitchen to grab two more beers, shirtless and reeking of car oil and grease, he was frozen on the spot when he saw you bent over the sink, working through the dishes in the tightest pair of spandex shorts he had ever seen. Your cheeks and thighs were practically spilling out from under the strained fabric.

Then he saw the familiar logo that was once the bane of his existence, and his eyes narrowed into slits, grease stained fists clenching at his sides, teeth grinding together and jaw ticking.

Fuck no. Not on my watch.

His boots were heavy on the tile as he approached you and before you could even turn around, his heavy set palm was making harsh contact with one of your cheeks, smacking your ass so hard, you swore you saw stars for a second as your body lurched forward against the sink and a soft surprised yelp slipped past your lips.

“The fuck are these, baby love?” He growled against the shell of your ear, crowding over your back like a cloak made of pure cement from how hard he was pressing into you. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the stench of car grease flooding your senses, dizzying your brain. Your covered cunt pulsed around nothing but the prospect of him punishing you just for wearing these damn shorts.

“It’s laundry day, baby. And I’m all out of clean shorts…” you let out a sigh of faux disappointment when he began to rub the plush flesh of your ass with his big meaty palm, “it’s a million degrees outside, and I found these in my back drawer and probably just never got rid of them when I moved in.”

He smacked your ass again, watching the way it recoiled against his palm, “Yeah?” He rasped, “well, baby love, they ain’t it.” He shook his head, grasping the hem of the spandex and yanked them right down your ass and thighs and all the way down to your ankles.

He dragged his hand right back down between your cheeks, spreading you open just enough that he could slip just the tip of his thumb into your already sopping tight cunt. “And you ain’t ever gonna wear them again, we clear?”

“Y-yes sir!” You squeaked out, arching your back into his hand so his thumb would slip in further.

“Good girl.” He chuffed a laugh as he retracted his hand despite your soft protests for him to continue, “Sorry I had to do that, baby love. I’ll get you a pair of mine, okay?”

You laughed it off, steeling your racing heart in your rib cage as you looked over your shoulder at him, “it’s okay, baby. You’ll just have to get me a better pair to strut around in.” You responded with a wink.

“‘Suppose I can arrange that.” He stalked off to the laundry room, grabbing you a fresh pair of his boxers and he even helped you step into them before he bent down and snatched up the Brazzers shorts and shoved them deep into the pocket of his jean cut offs. “Think Tommy and I are gonna go out for some burgers soon. Y’want anythin’, baby love?”

“Mmm, yeah I’ll take some meat.” You said with a giggle, turning around with your arms crossed against your chest in a challenging stare, “preferably the kind of meat that is shaped like your cock. Think you can deliver on that, baby?”

He closed the gap between you once more, looking even taller and broader than usual when he crowded you against the counter. His brow was cocked in amusement, lips spreading into a deep set grin. “Sorry, baby love.” He tutted softly, bringing his hand down between your thighs and pressed the heel of his palm directly against your covered cunt as he leaned in, “naughty dirty little sluts don’t get rewarded that easily.”

You leaned into his hand immediately, trying to pull him in for a kiss but he was being stubborn and nipped at your jawline instead while you let out a pathetic whine.

“Joel, baby, c’mon, please?” You nearly begged him.

“Nuh uh.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips before retreating out of your grasp.

Joel: 2 | baby love: 0

A week has gone by since the little incident and when you wake up late one morning and head downstairs to make a cup of coffee, you find a pink box on the countertop next to your mug. The box is wrapped in a pretty pink bow, and there’s a note under the ribbon addressed to you.

To my naughty little baby love,

Here’s a better pair ;)

-Joel x.

You untie the bow and lift the cover from the box and beneath the perfectly crisp wrapping paper is a pair of black spandex shorts. Upon further inspection, you find that the back of the shorts have a decal stretched across the fabric as well. However, instead of Brazzers, it reads Miller-Co in bold lettering.

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[unholyhelbig]

hold on can we have more firecrest?

Title: Firecrest (Part 3/???)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Sub/dom dynamics, strap-on, nipple play, nipple clamps, Slight edging (idk I don't write smut often), horrible parenting, talks about neglect, horrible grammar

[A/n: For some reason, this is the only story that I can sit down long enough to write, so let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Her apartment was located above a pizza shop that operated well into the early morning hours. You’d never seen in truly closed but had only been here twice before. There was the constant acidic scent of tomato sauce that somehow bred comfort.

A man was hunched on the curb, folding a slice of dripping pie at an angle that covered his face in the greasy discharge. He had mumbled something to you around mouthfuls of cheese and dough, nodding vaguely at the cement block that propped open the door to the units.

You thanked him with a nod and slid into the air-conditioned corridor. The coolness seemed to bring clarity with it, but you didn’t stop your legs from sorely dragging you up the steps towards the unit. Why were you here? Kate Bishop was not your girlfriend. Not really.

She was cocky, and clumsy, and the object of your fathers desired attentions. For all intents and purposes, she should be your worst enemy. The bane of your existence, and in some moments, she was. But right now you swallowed your pride and realized that you needed her. Even if she didn’t need you.

You were entirely confident that Kate would turn you away. It was late. You’d spent most of the day shut-in your own apartment; the blinds drawn and mindless movies bathing you in a blue glow. You hadn’t eaten, or showered, or done anything that was considered productive aside from icing your knee with a bag of peas.

When you knocked, you hadn’t expected a muffled bark as an answer. Maybe you had the wrong apartment, or at least, you thought you did until you heard Kate’s tender admonishing. Three deadbolts clicked and clacked until the door was swung open.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of her. Kate’s hand gripped the doorframe, her muscular frame hugged by a tank-top and a pair of purple boxer shorts with little arrows sprinkled across the fabric. You could see her abdominal muscles as she steadied her breath. Her cheeks were tinted a light red.

You’d seen that look before. It was arousal. The sweet smell of sex was emanating from her, a light sheen of sweat catching the overhead lights with each inhale. She panted out “Hi,”

“I’m sorry,” You shook your head, blinking a few times “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I can just-“

When you attempted to take a step back, her hand darted out and grabbed onto a fistful of fabric, pulling you out of the hallway by your shirt. You dumbly allowed her to manhandle you and stumbled into her space before she closed the heavy oak door.

“No, you’re fine I’m… alone.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and she gave you a nervous smile, unhanding you and wiping her palm on the front of her own shirt. You opened your mouth to rib her (just a little) but caught the sound of nails clicking against linoleum. A smile, a genuine one, spread across your lips.

A blur of fur, golden and soft, failed to hide excitement as a dog clomped towards you. He stopped a little short, sliding on the floor and barreling into your legs. You knelt down and scratched behind the marvelous creatures ears, noting that he was a bit of a misfit like you, pirated and plagued with one eye.

He licked your face generously and you giggled. Actually giggled, because you had forgotten the audience in the room. Suddenly screwing your face back into it’s signature scowl and flicking your eyes back up to Kate. She bit the side of her hand to hide her own grin.

“I thought you said you were alone, Bishop.”

“Oh, this free-loader? Lucky doesn’t pay rent, so he doesn’t count.”

“Lucky,” You breathed, carding your fingers through his fur. He wiggled with excitement, his tail pounding against the floor as he shoved his head under your chin, nudging you to get closer than he already had. “You’re a good boy, I bet. Don’t listen to your mean old landlord.”

When you stood, much to Lucky’s dismay, Kate was staring at you with a starry look in her eyes. You narrowed your own, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’ve just never seen you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Soft.”

You scoffed indignantly “I am not soft!”

She hummed dismissively and padded across the room until she reached her kitchen. Kate popped the fridge open and that was enough of a call for Lucky to abandon you (maybe he was a traitor) and wait expectantly for something to drop. Nothing did, and Kate squeezed the tip of an orange juice container before chugging diligently from the carton.

Kate was captivating like this. You’d seen her in many settings, but relaxed like this, was not one of them. Her hair was slightly muffed and she was mostly bare. The cold of the room made it hard for you not to notice the way her chest perked up under the thin fabric of her shirt.

You were in deep, down bad. Not having been sexually satisfied by anything more than your fingers since the little arson incident. So, you cleared your throat and sidled up to the other end of the kitchen island. At least there was that separating the two of you. She set the carton down and leaned forward, pushing her breasts out.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, y/n?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the smirk on her face eluded to that. It was a subtle shift, from being embarrassed about her current state, to milking the arrogance.

“Nothing I just… was restless, I guess. Didn’t want to be alone.”

Her expression softened “Did something happen?”

You shook your head. She didn’t need to know about Clint and his valiant effort to protect the one he really cared for. It would throw her into turmoil, threaten something she had worked so hard for. You may resent your father, but you were a far cry from resenting Kate.

“You’re pent up, then?”

“Excuse me?”

She shrugged her shoulders and took another long gulp of orange juice. You felt your mouth dry as her throat worked at the drink. Even with the carton blocking her expression, you could see that she was smirking. Her eyes gave her away, and she didn’t break contact with you for a single moment before pulling it away, and predictably throwing it into the trashcan with accuracy.

“We could go upstairs,”

Kate closed the distance between the both of you. Your skin felt like it was on fire, arousal shooting straight from your gut the second you could smell the dangerous mix of wintergreen and citrus on her breath. She had a few inches on you, her arm snaking around your mid-section. She pulled you flush against her with a quickness that took your breath.

“That is, if you promise to not to get fire-happy.” Her slender fingers started to play with the silver necklace hanging between your clavicle. “I just repainted after the last one.”

“The last one?”

Kate didn’t’ answer you, instead she pressed her lips against yours, her tongue suddenly exploring your mouth. There was a sour, orange taste to her kiss and you sighed into it, seemingly melting into the archer. Hell- you could ask her about the fire after your mind stopped fogging.

There was a something so alluring about Kate Bishop that made your mind shut-off. You’d do anything and everything she said and that was apparent from the first time the two of you had laid together. She had you on your knees in a matter of minutes, completely stripped nude of your own accord. Her fingers were between your legs and nothing else mattered. You knew that she would take care of you, and you her.  

She pulled back and nudged her nose with yours. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” You whispered, voice tinged with lust.

A yelp escaped you when she hauled you up into her arms. Her hands grasped at your ass, holding you in place as you encircled her hips. You knew Kate was strong, but you were a rock yourself. She seemed to hold you effortlessly, not looking where she was going as she ascended the steps and nipped sloppily at your neck.

Stars swallowed you, heart pounding in your chest. You’d been here before, yes, mostly to drop off something for Eleanors fundraisers, or to return a gym bag that was left behind. They were short interactions that certainly never led to the bedroom.

For all of her haste, Kate set you down gently on her comforter. It smelled overwhelmingly like her. There was something digging into your spine, and you squirmed, propping yourself up on your elbow and producing the silicone vibrator that had been keeping Kate company. Of course, it was purple.

“Seriously?”

“Shut up,” she husked, snatching it from you and throwing it down onto the carpeted floor. “I have better toys than that.”

That did effectively silence you, blush coloring your cheeks. She was smiling down wolfishly at you, so much so, that an attractive growl that bordered human escaped her. You’d never heard a more attractive noise following a statement so bold. Desperately you craned your neck and kissed her, hard.

Her fingers were cold, goosebumps rising against your skin as she moved them under your shirt and scratched down your ribs. You desperately moaned into her mouth and she swallowed the sound effortlessly. Her hand had found your right breast, and you twitched as her thumb brushed over the sensitive bud.

“What,” You snarled into her mouth, each one of her exhales splaying against your cheek. “Kind of toys?”

A look of apprehension seemed to cross her face. The archer was completely on top of you, grinding down against your body in a motion that gave way to the desperation that you felt. Both of her hands were planted on either side of you, holding herself up.

Kate had suddenly switched back to her bashful self, and while the expression was cute, you were thoroughly worked up. You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and spoke softly. “Hey, you aren’t going to break me, okay? If I’m uncomfortable with something, I’ll tell you.”

“I know it’s just,” she paused, frowned in almost a pout before a look of finality crossed her face. “what if I want to break you?”

While you were rendered silent, you felt a pang of arousal swim to your gut. A noise had pushed past your lips. Something that was so desperate, you weren’t sure it even came from you. Here was this girl, this person that you’d wanted to beat your entire life, and she had you pinned beneath her.

“Kate, I think I’ll physically die if you don’t take what you want, and fuck me until I’m dumb.” You arched yourself from the bed, stopping just short of pressing your lips to hers. You murmured against her. “Use me.”

That vicious spark returned to her eyes and she was suddenly scrambling off of you. For a moment, you were worried that you’d scared her off, but she nearly tripped over her discarded combat boots trying to get to her walk in closet. You could hear things clanging, falling over, and being sent across the room.

“Just, hold on! Don’t go anywhere!” softer, mumbled with a poisonous determination “I know it’s here somewhere.”

When she remerged, she was out of breath and leaning suavely against the door. The bulge that pressed against the opening of her boxers, you had seen before, many times. Kate had never used a strap on you before. Most of your intimate interactions were isolated to storage closets, or locker room showers. Her’s, of course, was bigger than you expected, and the same royal purple as the rest of her personality.

She held something in her right hand, something you had, of course, seen while your Bluetooth headphones were on and saving you the embarrassment of playing porn out loud. A silver chain that ended in crocodile clamps on each side. Black rubber tipped each clip for comfort. A bigger silver ring sat comfortably in the middle, the perfect size to wrap two fingers around and tug.

“Huh,” you let the corner of your lip quirk up affectionately.

“Oh god, you hate it.”

“No, no. I didn’t say that. Just surprised is all.” You sat up entirely, feeling your pulse point at your core. You were still much too clothed for your liking. They started to itch against your skin. You were going to lose it if she didn’t’ rip them off soon. “Impressed, actually.”

She lifted an eyebrow at you and once against closed the distance. She towered over you completely, standing between your legs in the same exact way she had at the gym. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering dangerously to how she’d feel inside of you, stretching you.

“We should have a safe word,” She purred, brushing her hand against your cheek. “You need to tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Okay, what do you suggest?”

She smiled “Flame-on”

You groaned and buried your nose in the warmth of her neck. You could feel the vibration of her glorious laugh and the quiet it brought you was unmatched. You knew you were fucked, but it was easier to ignore the looming thoughts of something more in exchange for this.

“Fine, fine. Not a fan of Johnny Storm, then?” You pulled back and leveled her with a glare. You’d never met the man and frankly despised the notation that everyone with pyrotechnic powers knew one another “How about red?”

Contemplating didn’t take long. It was a simple color that reminded you of stop. You didn’t want to tell Kate that most of your forays into the depths of the internet involved the very items that she held in her hands. This seemed to be new for both of you. Red was good. Red was comfortable.

“I’m all yours,” You wrapped your arms around her waist, her stomach level with your eyes. You peered up at her, knowing that they glowed with your own arousal. “Do what you want with me.”

“Take off your shirt.” She snarled, suddenly switching back to that dominant woman who had carried you up here. Now that the rules were set, you were confident that she wouldn’t be edging into her demure nature anytime soon. “I want to see what’s mine.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. Kate had seen you naked before, but each time, she got a misty look in her eyes that spurred you on. She seemed to admire the expanses of skin that she could nip at, and soothe with her tongue. The burn scars that never quite healed. All of you, she found beautiful.

Her stare moved down to your front-latching bra, head tilting to the side. “Wow. Were you expecting something to happen tonight, slut?”

The word sent shivers down your spine, especially when they came from her mouth. Kate straddled you then, her weight familiar. You moved to encircle her, hug her close, but her hand splayed against your chest and held you there. “No touching. I’m in control tonight.”

You nodded, too desperately for your liking. Her fingers dragged down to the latch and unhooked it. The familiar pressure was instantly relieved and Kate’s eyes hungrily devoured your breasts. You knew she had a thing for them- always had- which is why the shock wasn’t so visceral when it came to the clamps.

Kate’s strap was aligned with your stomach, but, she didn’t seem to notice how intimidating her length was. Her mouth dropped to your breasts and a content sigh escaped you. Your hands itched to run against her, but that would just delay the pleasure that she offered.

Her tongue expertly circled one nipple, while she teased the other between her forefinger and thumb. You arched towards her and gasped as her teeth scraped against the sensitive area. In a matter of seconds, she had you writhing under her, a complete mess.

“God, you’re desperate.” She hummed against you. “I’ve barely touched you, baby.”

You were well aware of that. An embarrassed flush crept across your neck. Normally, you wouldn’t let Kate have the satisfaction. But right now, you would let Kate have anything she wanted. The chain made a soft noise. You shuddered as it’s chilled surface was dragged between the center of your breasts.

You took a deep breath, Kate’s stare dominant, but questioning all the same. You were both well-aware that this was on the tamer side of things. But you’d never let someone have full control before, including her. She was taking this slow, and it was something you appreciated. Something you needed right now.

When the first clamp was placed, you couldn’t help the shudder that rocked through you. It was an odd, pinching sensation that was soon replaced with a bolt of pleasure. Kate’s thumb brushed lightly against your other nipple, not letting up on it’s torment. She clamped the second one on and this time, a heated groan left you.

“Fuck,” She gripped your sides, moving back to get a good look “You look so beautiful like this.”

Her hands moved down to your hips and in a swift, possessive, movement she had you flipped onto your back. She unbuttoned your pants and started to slide them down your legs. You were impossibly wet, having soaked through your underwear. If you prayed that Kate wouldn’t notice, your hopes were dashed by her cocksure smile.

“Katie,” You whined, the cold air hitting your legs just seconds after she had discarded your jeans. Your fingers brushed against her side, instantly conjuring goosebumps. “Please,”

She hissed through clenched teeth, grabbing both of your hands and pinning them above your head with one, strong grip. When she pressed the lower half of her body down on top of you, you felt the pressure of the much-too-intimidating strap.

“I said no touching, remember?” She lilted her head, took the slack of the chain and twirled it around her finger “I would hate to have to punish you, pet.”

You wouldn’t. There were a few seconds where you contemplated testing your luck, being a brat, just to see if you could get a rise out of her. But she pulled the thin strip of fabric covering your core to the side, dipping her finger into your heat.

“Oh, fuck.” You arched your back off the bed. “Kate, I’m… I need you inside of me.”

You reveled in the way a chill ran through her, her grip on your hands slackening just a moment before it tightened. “Just checking to see how ready you are.”

Beyond. You nearly folded when you felt her guide the cool tip of the strap against your entrance. It’s head pushed the smallest bit into you. Truthfully, you had never taken something this big. But you were nothing, if not determined.

Kate pushed her full length into you in a soft motion, all the while tugging at the center of the chain. The combination of sensations brought a stream of expletives that you hadn’t used in years. Both of you seemed to forget about Kate’s rule about not touching.

She pumped in and out of you, keeping a steady pressure on the chain. Your moans seemed to synch, her overwhelming warmth increasing the building peaks of your core. You hugged her as close as you could, hands splayed against her back.

“Shit, you’re so tight, baby.” She growled into your ear, “You take me so well. Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”

She shifted, hitting your g-spot with ferocity. Each thrust pushing a satisfied moan from your lips. Between each one, you exhaled “I’m going to come, shit, Katie.”

“Not yet. Not until I give you permission.”

She was getting close, you could feel the subtle tightening of her stomach. Kate had a tendency to bury her face in the small of your neck when the tension built like this. Two more even pushes and her nose was against your throat, feeling the pulse point that quickened with each passing moment.

“Come for me, you desperate, little slut.”

Again, she pulled on the chains, distinct pleasure rushing through you. You tightened around her, the moans becoming more desperate. Kate came with you, breathing heavy, mewling against your throat. You could feel her heart against your chest, could feel the fire brewing just below your fingertips. You were true to your word, however, and kept your promise. No arson.

A whimper escaped you when Kate unclipped the clamps, still inside you. Feeling returned to your nipples with a blast of pleasurable pain followed by a wave of warmth. She smirked at you, face red and hair messed up. She sat perfectly on your hips, you still twitched around her.

“Jesus, y/n.” Kate panted, leaning down and kissing you sweetly. You eagerly returned it, still able to taste the citrus on her tongue. “Who knew you were a little freak?”

Her hand pressed down on your stomach with the slightest pressure as she pulled out of you with a wet noise. She landed next to you, trying to catch her breath. You found yourself laughing, fully sated, fully pleasured.

“That? It was nothing.” She gave you a mock frown, and you backtracked “Expertly done, and very, very hot. But it’ll take more than that to break me.”

“Who said I was done?” Kate smiled lazily at you, “I’m just going to… rest my eyes for a second. Get ready for the second pounding of your life.”

You watched as her eyes slowly closed, a look of pure bliss on her face. It was a thing of beauty, one that you could get used to. She could sleep anywhere, falling into unconsciousness with a graceful ease that you lacked.

She’d hug her gym bag close as a pillow under the florescent lights of the convention centers you frequented in childhood. She’d curl up under a tree when you both attended university together, often getting patterns burned into her skin, easy to make fun of.

It was always endearing, but it settled you with an admired warmth right now. You easily shifted her until she was laying comfortably, pulling her duvet up to her chin. Kate made a small noise at the back of her throat and curled into a deeper slumber.

God. You were so fucked.

The sun flitted the industrial windows in Kate’s apartment that you hadn’t noticed before. They were dusty with time, but still allowed a considerable amount of light. The whir of a fan in the corner lulled you into a peaceful afterglow.

Sleep didn’t come easily for you. Sometimes, you would drift into a half-state of lucidness on the sofa, the movie you put on as some form of noise droned on and you’d always startle awake with a kink in your neck and a strange tiredness clinging to you.

Your therapist had suggested practicing healthy sleeping habits. Only use the bed for sleep, don’t read there, don’t doom-scroll on your phone. You were meant to utilize the exhaustion in your bones to your benefit. And for the first few nights, it had worked.

But, then the nightmares that often accompanied the rem cycle started to push to the forefront of your mind. The same terror on your mothers face as a cobalt blue clouded your vision. It was suffocating, and the sharp burning in your chest would bring you back to the inky black, too-cold, room.

A sleepy groan escaped you, pressing your face closer into the warmth that you embraced. Kate lacked her signature scent, and she seemed… furrier than usual. You didn’t want to pry your eyes open yet. You didn’t want the lazy morning to end with the harsh reality of feelings you were less than enthusiastic to explore.

It took you three more seconds of pressing your nose into something that smelled suspiciously like dog, to realize that’s exactly what it was.

Lucky was fast asleep, pressed flush against you over the duvet that you had shimmied under at some point in the night. He was a buffer between you and the empty half of the bed. You figured Kate was an early riser, or something had stirred her. She spooked easily. You hoped desperately that it wasn’t you who had scared her.

She was rifling around in the closet. Your hand splayed against golden fur, you absently ran you fingers through it. He was a lazy dog, and it was something you appreciated. Both of you watched with unimpressed eyes as she emerged, not expecting you to be awake.

Kate smiled at you, and then seemed to realize that it was effortless, because it took a few moments for her to school her features into something stoic. She was still wearing her boxer shorts and tank-top from last night. You fought back a frown. Kate had gotten you naked without even trying. Your own clothes were scattered across the room.

“Promise you won’t freak out?”

You propped yourself up on your elbow. Lucky huffed in annoyance. “I can’t promise that”

She gave you a nervous look and tossed a sweatshirt towards you. The fabric was soft, and it was her signature purple color, and what she was rifling around the closet for. You felt your cheeks heat up, holding the cool garment flush against you.

“Clint is on his way,”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, oh my god.”

Pretending to be anything more than friends with benefits sounded good on paper. It made Clint irate and that was good for some cheap thrills. But the two of you hadn’t practiced any form of affection outside of the bedroom. You had a cold exterior, and a single look could send Kate into a rambling mess, as if she’d been injected with truth serum.

“I can sneak out the window?” You pulled the sweater over your head, reaching blindly for your jeans. The button had fallen off, and you couldn’t locate your underwear. Kate watched you with a quiet amusement until you stood across from her. “Second floor isn’t too bad. The daylight kills my cover a bit, but-“

“You should stay.” Her voice came out a little too loud. She took a deep breath, “I want you to stay.”

A pang of affection ran through you, reflexively you dropped your hold on your jeans. They fell around your ankles in a pool of denim. It earned a snicker from Kate, but you didn’t’ mind. The sound was heavenly and made your head feel unbelievably fuzzy, despite the embarrassment.

She wordlessly thrust a pair of sweatpants into your hands. It was soft, and you would swim in it. This would be easy, a simple way to pull at Clint’s nerves. Cruel, maybe, but each time you imagined that pitying look on his face as he pleaded with you to leave Kate alone, that rush of anger came back.

When Kate turned, you pressed you palm to your lips to keep from yelping out a laugh. Kate’s tank-top was still it’s stark white, just with two scorched marks in the shape of your hands. You had kept your promise, not catching anything on fire, but you came pretty damn close.

You wanted to tell her, really, you did. But the sound of the front door opening and closing caught your attention. Lucky let out a terse bark and cut through the both of you to fling himself down the stairs. Clint, you had heard from your mother, had a way with all animals. Not just birds.

“Katie Kate! I grabbed some bagels from the bodega on the corner. I know you only have one knife but I grabbed extras.”

She gave you a sheepish smile, leaning forward and kissing the corner of your lip. You froze, Kate’s hands squeezing your arms. The archer didn’t pause in her movements, as if they were second nature. She started to head down the stairs, leaving you in a bewildered state.

You let out a shuddered breath, clenching your eyes shut to steady yourself. Not even the dog was left in the room. A simple display of affection that seemed to just be for the two of you. This warmed you like no one-night-stand and horrible instant coffee could.

Clint noticed you instantly, using a plastic knife to separate two halves of a doughy bagel. His movements stilled; taking in your disheveled hair and the oversized clothing that you dawned. It was more than clear that you’d spent the night and his mouth opened with an audible pop.

Kate was pouting quietly at the empty carton of orange juice that she had drained last night. Lucky padded over to you, pushing his cool nose into your palm, tail thumping. Clint watched the interaction, one half of the bagel hitting the kitchen island with a plop.

“Good morning, baby. Sorry if we woke you.” Her scent was suddenly invading your space, another kiss, this time, more than chaste, landed on your lips. Clint paled, swallowing hard. His eyes flicked to the scorch marks on Kate’s shirt.

“Mm, not at all. Good morning, Clint.”

“Morning, y/n.”

Kate wrapped her arms around you effortlessly and hugged you against her front. Her chin rested on your shoulder, cheek pressed to your own. You were convinced that she could feel how rapid your heart was beating.

She had fit into the role of girlfriend perfectly. You, on the other hand, bit your tongue to keep from malfunctioning. Last night was so effortless. Your lust drove you, and your skin prickled at the memory of Kate’s tongue between your breasts. You shivered now, and she smirked into your neck.

“What are you guys up to today?”

You asked the question out of politeness, but your voice wavered all the same. Kate gave you an encouraging squeeze. Clint darted his eyes back and forth. An air of panic seemed to seize him and he made quick work of putting cream cheese on an untoasted bagel.

“Nothing.” Clint is quick to dismiss you. There was almost a hint of jealousy there, something that Kate picked up on too. The twitching of her fingers against the smoothness of your skin was enough to alert you to the fact.

You drew out your next word “Okay, I suppose I should get going, then.”

Playing the part, Kate let out a dissatisfied groan in response. You turned in her arms and gave her a look that was met with concern. Real concern. She pressed her forehead against your own and whispered ever-so-gently. Are you okay?

And you nodded, because you were. At least of the time being. The disgruntled actions of your biological father was enough. Having Kate hold you, even if it was all for show, was enough.

The key turned in the lock with an audible click. You made a point, when entering your mother’s shared space with Lance, to make as much noise as possible for both your benefit. The buttery scent of pancakes overwhelmed your senses and filled you with warmth.

It was Sunday, all of the windows open and an incredible dosage of sunlight filling the home. You’d grown up here between your travels and training. Bobbi had kept your room the same, hadn’t dared touched the pictures that lined the stairway. Professionally done and the portrait of a perfect family.

Your mother sipped a glass of orange juice at the table. Lance was humming a disjointed tune as he flipped a blueberry pancake, perfectly cooked and golden brown. He was wearing his glasses and a pair of plaid pajama pants. A far cry from the suits you were used to seeing him in, lately.

Bobbi’s pale green eyes flicked up from the paper she was reading, then back down before darting towards you again. Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Good morning, darling. Purple suits you.”

Lance turned with a furrowed expression. You’d worn the color before, it wasn’t as if there was an aversion to it. You’d successfully macgyvered your jeans before leaving Kate’s this morning, but you were still swimming in her sweatshirt. You found the minty scent comforting.

“A bit big, isn’t it?”

Bobbi was smirking behind her glass. You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you flopped down into the chair next to her. You leveled her with a glare that held no malice. She knew exactly what it was like to fall for a Hawkeye. They were charming, persistent, and overall, annoying.

The latter was starting to ebb away in the furthest reaches of your mind. There had always been jokes made by the elite families of New York, the ones who ran in the same circles that Eleanor and Lance did. Tabloids that voyeuristically took interest in the Bishop and Morse heirs.

Eventually, everyone proclaimed through silent looks and not-so-silent gossiping, you and Kate would end up together. The fire had squashed those rumors, and then reignited them glory. The attention made it hard to do your real job. But your chest oddly swelled with pride when Bobbi lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Is there something you want to tell us?”

Lance had flicked off the stoves burner and set a steaming pile of pancakes in the center of the table. None of you dug in. Your parents watched you, instead, almost giddy. They’d both had their fair share of run-in’s with Kate Bishop.

During your senior year, you would storm into the house and pace back and forth, seething about an award that Kate won or a competition that ended in a tie. They’d bide their time and wait. They waited for years and part of you dreaded giving them the satisfaction. You straightened in your chair, ran a finger over your fork.

“Not that I can think of,” You smirked.

“Okay,” Lance nodded “be that way.”

You huffed and reached for the plate, but he pulled it back slightly. A scrape sounding as porcelain hit wood “No Pancakes for you.”

They were enjoying this too much. You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at them with shock. Blueberry pancakes were your favorite, and you had a less than satisfactory morning. This felt like the SHIELD torture techniques they’d taught you years ago.

“Fine. Kate and I are seeing each other. Happy?”

You reached for the pancakes again, and again, Lance slid them back. “For how long?”

“Awhile”

“That’s not enough.” Bobbi cut into a pancake she had transferred onto her own plate, soaked in syrup and dripping. She took a bite and moaned in bliss. “Wow, babe, these are your best yet.”

“Before the fire at the benefit.” You supplied, hating the desperation that was in your voice. The way your stomach squeezed in hunger fueled your need. “She’s been my girlfriend for months.”

The words sent a thrill down your spine. They were entirely untrue, but your mother and Lance didn’t question it. In fact, he pulled out his time-worn wallet and produced a twenty-dollar bill. Bobbi took it wordlessly with a shit-eating grin on her face. She pushed the plate back in your direction.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You were betting on us?”

“It’s more of a pool, really.” Lance defended, having the decency to blush.

“Unbelievable!”

Really, it wasn’t. Not with the rumors that swirled around the two of you since sandbox days. Your hunger overtook your indignance and you pulled two fluffy pancakes onto your plate. Angrily (as angrily as you could) you cut them into little pieces and chewed slowly with a frown.

Bobbi returned to reading the paper and Lance raised his hand for a high five. You scowled at him, shaking your head. Sheepishly he lowered it and returned to his own breakfast.

You’d scarfed down food faster than necessary before pouring yourself a cup of coffee and retiring to the wooden swing on the front porch. You breathed in the early morning air, the cool mist that coated the lawn. It was a quick moment of peace to settle your thoughts.

Your toes pushed against the porch, settling into an easy sway. You were left to your own devices, letting the rising sun warm your bones. Eventually, Bobbi joined you with her own cup of coffee, cupping the mug and lowering herself onto the other end of the bench with a slight groan. The chains screeched in protest.

Her hand found it’s way to your knee, giving it a slight squeeze. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk.”

You knew exactly what she meant. It wasn’t about Kate, though, you could sense the buzz of questions at the tip of her tongue. The two of you hadn’t addressed the Clint shaped elephant in the room, and you bit into the soft flesh of your cheek to calm the storm that washed over you in an instant.

“Are you okay?” She whispered

“I don’t know.”

The silence returned, and you wanted so desperately to break it. But you didn’t know what to say. Your throat tightened and you swallowed a gulp of scalding coffee. The heat pinched at your eyes and they watered listlessly.

“I hate that he matters. Clint Barton is a stranger to me, but he still holds this… this power.” You drew one leg up to your chest. “I wasn’t enough for him to stay.”

“Oh, baby”

Her gravelly words of comfort made you fold into the overwhelming emotions. Bobbi’s arm was around you and your face buried into her neck. You knew your nose was cold against her skin, but she said nothing. She gripped your side and pulled you close to her. You suddenly felt like a child again.

“That’s not true,” She pulled back, cupping both of your cheeks with her hands. She frantically wiped away your tears with her thumbs “We were both kids when we had you. I grew up, and he didn’t. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t want you to doubt yourself. Your potential.”

“He…” You swallowed thickly, the words bitter in your mouth “he loves her more than me.”

It was an accusation that had tremendous merit. There was no malice towards Kate, not this time. She’d fallen into his good graces by pure luck. She’d told you the story as over two amber bottles of IPA that went down less than smooth.

“I mean, fuck, mom. He gave me the shovel talk.”

She frowned and pulled back, a certain anger falling over her facial expression. Your biological father warning you to stay away from his protégé was in bad taste. It left an ugly film over your skin. A seed of doubt that was planted by the man who abandoned you.

“You’ve never made me doubt myself. Every day of my life you’ve reminded me of my value, of what I’m capable of. I don’t want him to come over and blow that all down like the big bad wolf.”

“Sweet girl,” She pulled you back into her side, her floral scent coating your lungs. You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you cuddled into your mother as if you were nothing more than a scared child. Your fingers grasped at the fabric of her shirt like a life raft. “We’re stronger than that.”

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