#so i feel the crawling again and go to the front where both coworkers are and ask 'is it there again' and they go YES

[chewablepebbles]

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part four - you give steve a ride and he thanks you with dinner 12k

a/n - this took much longer than expected so thank you for your patience!

── .✦

It’s a Friday like any other. Steve arrives at the rec center before you, dressed in an old sweater and a scarf down to his hips. He asks if you’ve slept through your alarm again, the same smile and the same teasing tone he always greets you with. You eat lunch at the same time you always do, in the same office you always have. And there, you offer the same kind of optimism you always bring when Steve sighs about the same never-ending to-do list on his desk.

You’d think it’d have gotten boring by now,  just friends Steve, but as every week rolls onto the next you find yourself just as content as you were in the last. Children bear constant surprises, you suppose. Steve never really runs out of funny things to share about Penelope. But even in those brief stretches where the conversation runs dry and you imagine it’s the start of the end of it all, you find yourself as pleased as ever to be friends with someone like Steve. 

He’s reliable and honest and he has the same sense of humor as you. He’s polite to a fault, not just to you but to everyone he interacts with. He holds doors for strangers and he greets his coworkers like it’s their last day and he stops you from crossing the road if he sees a car driving too fast. 

All to say, you’re feeling especially grateful today for even the most trivial things about Steve like the same walk to your cars parked in the same spots you always park. 

“See ya,” Steve calls just before your car door swings shut. 

You crank your window down when he stops to mouth something unintelligible through the windshield. 

“I said don’t forget your ugly sweater tomorrow,” he repeats. 

You roll your eyes. “You aren’t gonna win. Not a chance, Harrington.” 

“I dunnooo,” he sings with a shrug. “We’ll have to see.” 

There’s an ugly Christmas sweater contest being held at the center’s employee holiday party. You aren’t technically employed, but Steve insisted you’re allowed to go anyway. 

You do more work than some of these people. They should honestly pay you at this point. 

So you bought the ugliest sweater you could find. Yours has an actual wreath attached and fully operational string lights with its very own battery pack. A fire hazard if you ever saw one. Steve has yet to see it and you’ve yet to see his. And yet you’re both certain you’ll win this contest. It’s been an argument all week. And while it doesn’t truly matter if you win, it’s fun to pretend to be so invested. 

“Bye,” you slip in before your window seals shut. 

He crawls into the beamer with a final wave. Perhaps self-indulgently, you watch him stow his bag in the passenger seat and drive his car key into the ignition. It’s a pleasantly warm day for December; even through the windshield, the sun bleaches the ends of his hair blonde, his pale skin more reminiscent of a summer tan. But his golden smile flips, frustration weaving its way between his brows. Each turn of his wrist sends the car engine sputtering, you realize. 

Steve’s eyes snap to yours and blood rushes to your face, embarrassment like an iron to each cheek, but you quickly adopt his concern instead. You open your door when he steps out of his car. 

“Don’t happen to have jumper cables do you?” 

You shake your head, teeth clenched in a grimace. 

Steve hums and bites his lip. He ducks back into his seat to pull the hood latch. You join him at the front where he props it open and scans the cavity. You aren’t exactly sure what he’s looking for— you don’t even think Steve knows what he’s looking for— but you pretend to look too. 

“Must be the battery,” he decides. 

“Oh.” You glance up at the center for any stragglers but there are none. You’d stayed late to help Steve reorganize his file cabinets. 

“Well, shit,” he sighs, scratching his neck. 

“Rich just left right? Maybe I can catch him at the light? He might have cables.” 

“No, no. Let me just– shit.”

“What?”

“Penelope. Her teacher conference is tonight. Shit.” 

“Can you reschedule?”

“I’ve already rescheduled twice and I have to pick her up anyway. God, her teacher probably thinks I’m such an asshole.” 

“It’s okay. I can take you. We can come back with cables and jump the car after?” 

Steve says your name defeatedly. “No, no, I’ll just–”

You swing back to your car, insisting, “Steve, it’s fine. Come on.” 

He shuts his door and opens yours, offering an I owe you frown over the roof. Frankly, he feels like he owes you way too often. He knows you aren’t keeping track but he wishes you would so he could repay you somehow. 

“The car seat,” you remind him at the same exact time he remembers. He unhooks it with minimal struggle and sets it in your backseat to be installed after pickup. 

You’ve never driven Steve before. If you had time to worry about all the little things like if your car is clean enough or your driving is smooth enough, you might. But you’ve no idea where you're going. One wrong turn and he’ll be late. Even if you take all the right turns he might still be, and Steve really hates being late. 

“So, where am I going?” you ask as you pull out of the parking lot. 

“It’s out past Albertson’s on Lakeshore. It’s got a big caterpillar statue in front.”

“Oh, I think I might’ve seen it before.” 

“Yeah, probably, it’s right off the main road,” Steve answers, letting his eyes rove across the interior of your car. It’s nothing fancy but you’ve worked hard to maintain it. “Thanks again.” 

“Steve.”

He throws a dismissive hand in your peripherals. “I know. I know.” 

“What time is the conference?”

He reads the clock on your dash, fingers drumming the center console. “Six. Should just be a few minutes late.” 

And he’s right. You pull in just four minutes after six, parking in the spot nearest to the front doors. But it’s just your luck, or maybe Steve’s, that his seat belt buckle would jam. He tugs on the hilt until his fingers ache and it just won’t budge. Your car is well taken care of, but it’s far from new. 

“Shit. Sorry.” You unbuckle yourself and lean regretfully across the cup holders onto his side, thumbing the belt’s release button with the entire brunt of your arm. “Things finicky sometimes.” 

Steve stretches his arm behind the driver’s seat so you have full access. Your cheek nearly presses his shoulder, your pinky brushing the zipper of his jeans. It’s undeniably intimate but you’re trying really hard not to notice. 

After a few good welts, Steve is free, hopping out of his seat and asking, “You comin’?”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to or if he offers out of courtesy, but you’re excited to see Penelope and where she goes to school so there’s no hesitance in your yes.

You follow Steve up to the tinted double doors. He signs Penelope out on a clipboard at the front desk and whisks down a corridor he’s traveled a thousand times. It’s a small school, only two classrooms before Penelope’s and not many after by the looks of it. 

A familiar scream redirects your attention from the nameplate on the door. And there’s Penelope, scrambling to her feet and flying across the room right past Steve’s legs to slam into yours. 

You catch yourself on the door frame, laughing through your surprise. “Hi, Pen.” 

“Hi!” She looks up at you with the world’s biggest smile, locking hands behind your knees and propping her chin against your thigh. Her eyes flick to Steve briefly before returning to yours. “Hi, Dad.” 

“Gee, that’s all I get these days, huh?” He flicks the ticklish bit of skin behind her ear until she giggles. 

Penelope unlatches herself from you to bestow Steve with his own hug. But he shakes out of her hold as he steps into the room, teasing her, “No, no. I see how it is.”

Her giggle-strewn apology fizzles out as her teacher springs off the floor with the energy of someone half her age, her excitement very distinctly aimed at you. 

“Oh my, now look who we have here!” She shuffles over with a hand eager to shake and a smile double the size of yours. “You must be Y/N. Penelope’s told me so much about you, dear.” 

“Yes.” You exhale the sudden swell of nervous jitters. You hadn’t expected your tagging along to be such a big deal. And you certainly hadn’t expected Penelope’s teacher to know your name. “Good things, I hope.” 

“Of course. Of course! I’m so happy to finally put a face to the name. I’m Mrs. Shepherd, but call me Helen, please.” 

“Sorry, I’m late. Car troubles,” Steve supplies. 

She drops your hand to wave him off. “Don’t you worry about that. It’s this cold. I’m telling ya it gets colder every year. But please! Come sit,” she urges. “Right over here.” Helen steers three toddler-sized chairs up to a similarly short table and takes the farthest seat for herself. 

Penelope bends across Steve’s lap as he sits, watching you crouch down beside him. He drapes an arm across her back and pecks the side of her head. “Good day?”

Her head tilts in his direction as she nods. 

“Good. You can go play if you want, babe.”

She doesn’t answer with her words but she remains where she is, twisting and sprawling across Steve’s lap like he’s a human foam roller. Her attention averts to Helen who’s opening a folder and spinning it across the table so both you and Steve can see. 

You scan the page naturally but stop to wonder if Penelope’s progress is really any of your business. Steve wouldn’t mind, of course. He invited you to come inside. But suddenly attending his daughter’s parent-teacher conference feels a few steps further than friendship. 

Helen points at a graph with the eraser end of her pencil and explains what each dot represents in terms of Penelope’s learning milestones. You aren’t exactly listening to her, not for lack of trying or a lack of Helen’s enthusiasm– she has buckets of that– but because you’re stuck on the fact that Penelope talks about you enough in class for her teacher, whom you’ve never met before, to recognize you the second you walk through her door. 

Penelope taps your shoulder, very politely might you add, so as not to interrupt Mrs. Shepherd. 

You raise your eyebrows. 

She leans across Steve and cups her hand against the side of your head. “I have to show you something,” she whispers, warm breath funneling through her fingers straight into your ear. 

And before you can decide if now’s a good time, she crawls across your legs and drops onto the floor like a slinky. Her fingers slip around yours and she drags you up out of your seat ultimately deciding for you. Helen and Steve don’t seem to mind, though, completely unphased by the antics of four-year-old children by now.

Penelope pulls you to the other side of the room where a Christmas tree stands about the same height as her. She points to the only ornament– a popsicle stick reindeer with a red pom-pom for a nose. 

Excitement comes easy when she’s so good at being cute. “Rudolph! Did you make that?” 

She nods, pride trickling through a very wide grin. “It’s for Daddy. For our tree at home.” 

“Oh my gosh, it’s gorgeous, Pen. He’ll love it so much, I bet.” 

“I get to take it home today since there’s no school now.” 

“Oh, for winter break?”

“Mhmm.” Her eyes drift down to the floor, a large circle rug with every letter from A to Z. “This is my spot,” she says, toe tapping the P. “P for Penelope. But I share with Phillip. Phillip starts with P even though it makes the F sound.” 

“Yes, you’re right. Very good.” 

“We do stories in the morning here. And snack in the afternoon but only sometimes if we’re extra good.” 

“Ohh.” 

She toddles over to a wire shelf. “This is where our crafts go. So they dry.” She picks a piece of paper off the wrack, wrinkled blue and green in watercolors. “I made this today.” 

“Wow, that reminds me of the ocean.” 

“‘Cause it is the ocean.” Duh. 

Your eyes flit to Steve, comically hunched over his knees in a chair much too tiny. He receives your smile from all the way across the room, a soft-set joy tugging each end of his lips. A joy that revels in your recognition. One that says Yes! That’s my kid being so cute! 

“Look at this. My friend Michelle made it.”

You scan Michelle’s artwork and praise it. Michelle’s alright with watercolors but the pride you feel for Penelope’s piece is unmatched. 

“Penelope, come here a sec’.” She shoves the paintings back on the drying wrack and skips across the carpet to Steve. “Mrs. Shepherd has something for you,” he continues. 

Her teacher slides a gold-banded piece of cardstock across the table as you return. “You’ve done such a good job with your letter sounds this quarter that you’ve earned a very special certificate.”

Penelope accepts and inspects the paper. “It has my name on it.” 

“It does. And it says ‘certificate of achievement for mastering early literacy skills’.” 

Steve pokes her side. “You hear that? Means you did a really good job!”

“I did?” Her eyes glow with excitement, snapping to yours over her shoulder. “Look, I got a cerfitacate.” 

You flash her an animated smile and two thumbs up. 

“I’m very proud of you,” Steve says, a hand smoothing the frizz at the back of her head. “My smart girl. We’ll get a treat to celebrate.” 

“Ice cream?” 

He laughs, “Sure.”  

“Yes!” 

Mrs. Shepherd flips her folder shut. “Well, Penelope, you’ve worked very hard this month so enjoy your ice cream. I’ll see you after the break, okay?” 

“Okay.”

Steve stands and pushes in his chair. “Thank you. Happy holidays Mrs. Shepherd.”

“Merry Christmas Steve.” Her waving hand flies to her heart as she smiles at you. “And what a blessing it was to meet you, honey. Please come by again at some point.” 

You smile back and grab the door as Steve collects Penelope’s things. 

She hurtles down the hall to the entrance, palms stamping another set of prints to the bottom half of the front door. “Can we get ice cream now?” she shouts. You aren’t so far that she needs to yell but you suppose it doesn’t matter when you’re the last ones to pick up a kid. 

“Not right now, babe. We have to get something for my car.” 

She gasps. “Daddy, where is it?” 

“What?” 

“Your car.”

“It’s at work.” 

Her hands report to her hips as she spins. A mini Steve in so many more ways than one. “You walked here?”

“No, silly. Someone drove me.” 

Penelope’s eyes follow Steve’s and a grin breaks at her realization. “You’re coming with us?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“You didn’t tell me!” 

“I thought you knew!” You reach over her ecstatic little face to push the door open. Her hand automatically curls around yours. 

“Will you get ice cream with us?” 

“Nell, probably not tonight,” Steve interrupts. 

“I know! ‘M just saying when we go.” 

“Yes, I’ll get ice cream with you.” 

Steve opens both car doors on the passenger side, slinging Penelope’s things across the back row. “Go wait up front. Gotta put your seat in,” he tells her. “Stomp your feet.” 

She stomps her boots against the asphalt and climbs through the footwell into your passenger seat. Her eyes sweep across the interior, noticing just how different your car is from Steve’s. It’s not often she gets to ride in something other than the beamer. The last time over a year ago, Robin and her Suburu when she surprised them with a visit. 

“Cold?” you ask, dropping your keys in the ignition to reach for the temperature dial. 

She nods ardently, nose and cheeks wind-kissed the same shade of pink. 

You rub your hands together and crane over your shoulder, finding Steve with his cheek flush against the headrest, half his arm eaten by the seat cushion. 

“Need some help?”

He bites his lip and grumbles, “Maybe.” 

You meet him on the opposite side of the backseat, clueless as you can be about car seats, but ready to help nonetheless. The problem is Steve doesn’t know your car and apparently neither do you. There’s no reason you should know if your car has hooks underneath the seats but it'd be really helpful if you did. 

You whip out the car manual from the glovebox while Steve scans the instructions on the side of the car seat for alternatives. It takes a while. Long enough for Penelope to ask about dinner three separate times. But the necessary hooks are located eventually– Steve swears he checked that side– and Penelope’s seat is secured right behind Steve’s. 

“Alright,” Steve huffs, checking his wristwatch, “Only took us about twenty minutes.” 

“I did not expect installing a car seat to be such a workout,” you complain.

“Yeah, they don’t tell you about this part in middle school health class.” 

Penelope flops over the center console and moans, “Are we going?” 

“Yes, come here please.” 

She sits up to cross her arms. “I don’t want you to do the buckle.” 

Steve reminds himself that being hangry is hard, especially at her age. But his patience is easier to retain with you around, smiling all pretty and helping every chance you get. He takes a breath. “Then how do you ask?” 

She tilts her head so very innocently at you and puts on her best big girl voice. “Will you buckle me, please?” 

Even without the magic words you’d say yes. Who could resist all that Penelope charm? Long lashes and chubby cheeks and that dainty little voice. Certainly not you. 

She gives you a detailed explanation about which clasps fasten where but it’s not too complicated to figure out yourself. One clips across her chest, two between her legs. Steve teaches you how to adjust the straps and confirms her chest piece is level with her armpits when you finish. 

“Can we listen to Muppets?”

Your lips pinch into a small line. “I don’t have any Muppets tapes. I have Christmas music?” 

Penelope shows you a very unhappy face. You are very aware Christmas is not her favorite holiday but what child does not like Jingle Bells? You’re choosing to blame it on her empty stomach and a half hour spent bored in the school parking lot. 

“Or you can look through my tapes? I don’t really think you’ll like them, though.” 

Steve passes her your box of mixtapes as you settle back in the front. Penelope picks one with Pat Benatar on it because it’s the first name she could sound out by herself. And it’s not The Muppets but she does listen to enough pop rock with Steve to know some of her songs. 

You drive very carefully to Albertson’s around the corner. You stop completely at stop signs, you ride the speed limit if not under, and you triple-check for pedestrians at the light. You’ve never driven cargo as precious as Penelope before. 

Steve gets out alone because Penelope begs to stay with you and it’s easier to shop without a preschooler reaching for things she shouldn’t have. While he’s gone, Penelope unpromptedly shares her opinions about your car. That there’s less stuff on the floor and it smells much gooder than Steve’s. And how there’s barbeque sauce stained on the ceiling of his car but not in yours. She asks if you’ll pick her up from school again and you reply truthfully, that you aren’t really sure. 

You’d like to pick her up again. It’s a surprising type of comfort having company in the car. Someone to look at in the rearview, someone to ask about their day. 

Steve returns with a grocery bag of cables and a second with candy. He chucks a bag of fun-sized peanut M&Ms in the back, smacking Penelope right in the cheek. But she can’t complain, not with chocolate in her lap. 

“Don’t open it yet. Not in the car.” 

Penelope groans, sticking her toes into his seat until it moves. “Why'd you even give it to me then?”

“‘Cause you’re fun-sized,” he grins. “And my peanut.” 

She doesn’t know what he means, nor does she really care. All her focus is on counting the number of M&Ms beneath the paper wrapper. 

“She can have it now. I mean, if you’re fine with it,” you say. 

“She’s messy,” he warns. 

You shrug. “So am I. I don’t mind.” 

He appreciates the gesture more than you know. It’s a nice feeling, knowing he’s not the only one putting Penelope’s needs before his own. Steve twists around in his chair and chuckles at Penelope’s obvious eagerness. “Go ahead, babe.” 

She tears into the bag like a rabid dog, managing surprisingly well to keep the mess contained to her car seat. Steve pulls out his own bar of chocolate and tosses you the grocery bag. “Take your pick.” 

He’s so thoughtful that it hurts. In the bag are all your favorite candies and two glass-bottled cokes. Steve prioritizes healthy eating, but he’s a sweets guy at heart. A little treat every once in a while won't hurt, he says. 

You pick a candy and toss the bag back onto his lap. 

It’s an odd feeling driving to the center so late in the day, but even more odd to have Steve and Penelope beside you while you do it. Their conversations make for an entertaining ride, however; all giggles and spontaneous questions and the occasional argument about something silly like which candy is superior. 

The car brakes squeal as you slow to a stop in front of the rec center. A chain link fence wraps around the building, a gate you never have to worry about blocking the entrance to the parking lot. 

“Shoot,” Steve sighs. “The gate. I didn’t even think about it.” 

You put the car in park as Steve unlocks the door. He steps out onto the sidewalk and marches up to the gate to see how legitimate this lock really is. The city provides a ludicrously low amount of funding to the center but the gate lock? It’s as heavy-duty as it can be. Steve tries his office keys, which of course do not work, and then he stands there staring hopelessly at his BMW on the other side of the fence with his hands on his hips. 

“Is Daddy having a bad day?”

“Just a long one.” You reach across his empty seat to roll the window down. “Steve.” 

He takes a few long strides back to the car and gets in. “I’m sorry. This is such a mess. You wouldn’t know the custodian's number? I think I have it somewhere in my office.” 

“Why would I know the custodian’s number?” 

“I don’t know.” He scrubs his jaw, hand climbing up and back through his hair. He’s frustrated about his car but he feels ten times worse that you’re stuck here with him. 

You duck your head for a full view of the fence. It doesn’t look very tall from where you’re sitting. “Okay, hear me out here…”

Steve raises his eyebrows. 

“I hop the fence—“

“No.”

“It’s not that tall, Steve.”

“Absolutely not. If anyone’s jumping the fence, it’ll be me.” His thumb and forefinger pinch either side of his forehead, though it doesn’t do anything to ease the onset of his headache. “But we can’t even do that. It’s too busy. Someone’s gonna call the cops.” 

“The po-po!” Penelope roars. 

You laugh, turning in your seat to better see Penelope. Chocolate’s smeared across her chin and you’d bet a lot of money her hands are covered too. “We can wait until nightfall,” you suggest, fishing the wad of napkins from your center console to pass to Penelope. “Ooh, a stakeout!”

“It’s not a stakeout. We aren’t watching someone.” 

“We could send innocent little Penelope.” 

Steve drops his hand to glare at you. Not a real one, but not totally fake either. He’s not mad at you for trying to lighten the mood, he just wishes it was working more. And he laughs at your jokes more than anyones, today he’s just feeling unreasonable about things out of his control. 

“Daddy, yeah, I’ll go! I’ll be like a spy on a mission."

“A top secret mission,” you add.

“No. Not happening. Forget it— both of you.” 

You click your tongue. “Lame.”

“Yeah, Daddy, lame.”

He can’t help but smile at that even though he’s trying very hard not to. “You’re encouraging her, you know.” 

“Sorry.” 

You aren’t very sorry, he knows by the stupid smirk on your lips. 

“Okay, why don’t we just come back tomorrow for the party? It’ll be open then. I’ll take you home tonight and pick you up in the morning.”

“No, no–” 

“Oh, come on, Steve. You're shooting down all my ideas. I don't like this whole tough guy I need to do everything by myself bullshit."

“Bad word!”  

Steve sighs. He knows you're right and he doesn't want to admit it.

“Let me help you,” you laugh, giving his shoulder a nice shove. “You’re stubborn as a kid sometimes.”

“Well, which is it? A tough guy or a kid?” 

“Don’t be a smartass.” 

“Bad word! Again!”

He smiles then, mostly in disbelief at your sudden potty mouth. “Do we need to start a swear jar?” 

You pretend to zip your lips and put the car in gear. 

The drive to Steve’s is on the long side but it doesn’t feel that way at all. Not with Penelope in the backseat, sharing every detail of her day from what type of juice box Steve packed her for lunch to how Shannon from the three-year-old class got mulch in her boo-boo at recess. You love every second of it. You catch her animated gestures through the rearview and you ask all sorts of questions back. 

Everything about this afternoon has differed from your usual routine, but Steve’s driveway feels more familiar than ever. You turn the car off out of habit but leave it off in favor of walking them inside. Steve frees Penelope from her car seat and collects her bag and the crumpled candy wrapper she left behind. 

She races up the concrete hill, skidding on a sheet of ice, and landing butt-first with a giggle. You help her up– even after she tries to yank you down with her– and dust off the damp patch on her pants.

Steve’s only just shut the car door, looking up the driveway to see where you guys are. 

“Come on slowpoke!” 

“Yeah, Daddy, hurry! It’s cold!”

“I’m comin’. I’m comin’.” 

Steve sheds his sneakers at the door and Penelope copies him in a much less coordinated struggle. Your shoes remain on your feet because you don’t intend to stay for very long, though Steve quickly reveals his other plans. 

“Stay for dinner?” he says as he offers his softest most convincing face. His backup plan is to call you just as stubborn and bully you into agreeing. “As thanks,” he adds. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Steve.”

“Then as friends?” 

Your face curdles into something unintentionally sour. 

“My cooking’s not that bad I promise,” he chuckles, kicking everyone’s shoes out of the doorway. 

“No, it’s not that,” you swear with a small smile, bending to wedge your finger between your sock and your shoe. 

“It’s Daddy’s turn to pick,” Penelope chimes in. She crouches to pet Cinderella who’s prancing over with a shiny, new collar. 

“It is,” Steve sings like he just remembered. “Hope you like stir fry.” 

“It’s really yummy,” Penelope adds. “If you try new things sometimes you like them.” 

You hum. “Very wise.” 

They branch from your side like opposite ends of a wishbone– Penelope skipping up the stairs and Steve pivoting for the kitchen. You follow Steve, and to your surprise, Cinderella follows you. 

She dodges your attempt to scratch her chin, tail twitching like a snake’s tongue, eyes narrowed into slits. She’s still grumpy with you. Because you catnapped her or because she’s permanently bitter, you aren’t totally sure.

“She’s just begging for food. Acts like we starve her, the little drama queen,” Steve mutters. He pulls a bag of cat food from the kitchen sink cabinet. “Feed her for me?” 

You take the flimsy paper bag and unroll it. The shake of dry food like a bell, sending Cinderella scampering across the room to a pair of checkered bowls. You fill one and trade it for the other to fill with water from the sink. Steve’s hands are busy there, scrubbing an assortment of vegetables in the side without dishes. 

“Do you think cats hold grudges?” you ponder out loud, thrusting the bowl underneath the faucet. 

Amusement flickers across Steve’s face as he glances at Cinderella over his shoulder. “This one? A hundred percent.” 

“I think she resents me for bringing her here.” 

He smiles at you with sealed lips. “She’s not being tortured. Don’t worry.” 

You place the bowl beside its twin, earning a less-than-pleasant sound from Cinderella. 

“She’ll warm up to you,” he promises. You aren’t sure you believe him but it’s a nice sentiment. 

You return to his side, fingertips grazing the cutting board on the counter. “Can I help?”

“No.”

You pull a sharp knife from its wooden block home and slide the slab of wet veggies away from Steve. 

“No. You’re not helping.” He slings a dish towel over his shoulder and dries his hands with it. “Go. Get out.” 

“I am helping. Don’t test me, Harrington, I have a knife.”

He scoffs. “Threatening me? In my own home?” 

“Cause you're so stubborn.” 

“Cause you’re so stubborn,” he mimics. “Says you.” 

“Oh my God. You’re actually a child.” 

He sets a large pan on the stove, only whispers of amusement in the corners of his mouth. “Don’t cut yourself. We ran out of Barbie bandaids.” 

A clink and clatter against the tile steal your attention. Penelope in the archway, a baby doll cradled loosely in one arm, a second on the floor at her feet. She’s swapped her school clothes for a princess dress and a plastic pair of heels. “Daddy,” she groans. “You said you’d get more.”

Steve’s eyes skip from the box of rice in his hands to her frowny face. “I know, babe. I forgot. We’ll go tomorrow.” 

She must not care all that much about the bandaids, clopping over to the stovetop for a peek. 

“Stoves hot,” Steve warns. 

You watch Penelope closely, though Steve’s right beside her, twice her height and twice as vigilant. But she’s well trained, hands clasped behind her back, eyes doing all the nosying. You don’t have to worry as much as you do, but accidents can still happen. 

“Is it almost ready?” she asks. 

“No. Go play for a bit. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Whining won’t make it cook faster.”

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause I did it all the time when I was your age. Never worked. Not even once.”

She hums like she isn’t sure whether to believe him. 

You catch her gaze, backing Steve up with an honest nod. “Wanna help?” you ask. 

“No,” she decides candidly. You imagine Steve’s used to her straightforward nature, though it’s still quite funny to you.  

“Then go play.” He steers her out of the kitchen, a hand gripping her head like a claw. Cinderella swats at his ankle when his foot barely misses her tail. “Too crowded in here.”  

Penelope giggles as he gives her skull a good jostle. “Daddy.”

“Penelope.”

“Will it be ready in five minutes?”

“No.”

“Ten?”

“Goodbye. Take Cinderella.” 

Cinderella leaps away from Penelope’s grabby hands, a brown blur as she’s chased out of the kitchen, and by the click-clack of Penelope’s shoes, presumably up the stairs. 

“My God, you are just massacring that carrot,” Steve hisses, peering over your shoulder. 

“No, this is how they do it.” 

“Who?”

“Chefs. On those fancy shows. You should watch ‘em sometime. Could learn a thing or two.” 

“Are you kidding? These would send Julia Child to an early grave.” 

You snag the towel saddled on his shoulder and give him a fair smack on the arm. “Jerk.” 

But he catches the free end before it’s gone, yanking until you list forward a step. There are mere inches between your chests, the length of your palm at most. And he fucking smirks. He smirks like an arrogant fool who knows this interaction is sending your heart into an endless somersault. 

The air scrapes up your throat funny. It takes every ounce of control not to cough in his face. Your end of the towel drops as you turn away, retreating back to a more comfortable distance at the counter. “I’m surprised you even know anything about Julia Child,” you grumble. 

“My mom watched her show like all the time when I was a kid.” 

You hum, sweeping vegetable scraps in your hand to throw away. Not because they’re massacred.  “She likes to cook? Your mom.”

“No, not really,” he chuckles, though there’s no amusement beyond the sound. “I think everyone just expected her to.” 

“Oh,” you cringe. “Sad.” 

He shrugs, taking the cutting board and dumping your handiwork into the simmering pan. A mushroom cloud of steam billows up as he turns his cheek. “Being a housewife has its drawbacks. 

“Sounds like the life to me.” You sidle up to the stove to watch the veggies brown beside him. “I’d cook and clean all day if I didn’t have to work.” 

“I don’t think she would’ve been happy either way. I dunno, I think it’s more about finding peace and happiness in what you’re doing. Not about what you’re doing.” 

You squint at the side of his nose with accusing eyes. “Are you quoting someone?” 

He squints right back at you, tone washed in fake offense. “What? No, I just thought of that.” 

“You didn’t get that out of a magazine or something?”

“No.” 

You glance up at his hairline and smile. “Wow, you really do have a brain up there.” 

He knocks his shoulder into yours, rough as he can be without doing any real damage. And even with two layers of wool between your skin, the touch sends a buzz from the tip of your fingers up the length of your arm. “So mean," he says.

You might feel bad about it if he didn’t tease you the same.  

Steve stirs in a handful of seasonings and cooks the food until it bubbles. The pot comes off the stove to be set beside a stack of three plates on the counter. 

“Dinner’s ready!” he shouts, and not a millisecond later there’s the predictable thump, thump, thump, down the stairs. Penelope barrels into the kitchen with a long list of demands– more rice on her plate, a very big glass of juice, and most importantly, to sit beside you at the table. Steve lets the lack of manners slide because they're all doable requests and because he is also very eager to eat his dinner.

“This is really good, Steve,” you compliment, across from him at the table, “Thank you.” 

“Family recipe.” 

“Really?”

“No,” he smiles. 

You tilt your head at Penelope. “Why does your dad lie so much?” 

She shrugs with a mouth full of food. 

“Was a joke,” he corrects. “Not a lie.” 

“Mm. Still a lie.” 

“Can you stay for a sleepover?” Penelope butts in, her own train of thought far more important than yours and Steve’s debate. Her eyes are locked onto yours like they’re matching targets. She knows already that you hate to say no to her pretty little face. 

“What? Tonight?” 

She nods.

“At your house?”

Her nose scrunches, an ear dropping to one shoulder. She’s still at an age where her facial expressions are inherently dramatic. It’s nearly impossible to hide what she’s feeling. “Yeah,” she says, hopeful and curious and confident all at once. 

A nervous chuckle slips. You look to Steve for help but he’s busy searching his plate for more onions. “I dunno, hun. Maybe not tonight.” 

“But there’s no school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I… well, I didn’t bring any clothes.”

“You can borrow Daddy’s pajamas?” She looks you up and down, no discreet way about it. “I don’t think mine will fit.”

Steve snorts. “Nell, we gotta talk about it first,” 

“Tomorrow night?” 

“We’ll talk about it. Have to eat all your dinner before I even think about it.” 

“All of it?”

“Every bite.”

It’s not as much of a punishment as she makes it out to be. She really likes his stirfry. 

“Did you take your spelling test today?” Steve asks. 

A mushroom slews down Penelope's chin as she shakes her head. 

“Why not?” 

She swallows hard and her eyes roll to the side. “Because Jamie and Jenna are sick. Um, and Mikey too.” 

“Oh.” 

“Well, Mikey isn’t sick but he didn’t come to school.”

“Oh. How come?” 

Her eyebrows pull together as she thinks. “Umm, he went somewhere. A wedding?” 

“Oh, yeah. His mom got married, right? I think Courtney’s mom told me that a while ago.” 

Penelope hums her agreement, her face turning through several emotions. “Do you think she’s in love?” she eventually asks. 

Steve peeks up from his food. “Mikey’s mom?”

“Mhmm.” 

“Well, yeah, probably.” 

“Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Why is she in love?” 

You smile hard, an echo of Steve’s across the table. The type of smile that can’t be helped or hidden. 

“Well, I dunno. Maybe she thinks he’s very kind. Or maybe he’s funny, or handsome,” he surmises. 

“Or all of those?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. 

Penelope smiles then too, just as big and proud as yours as she declares, “We’re in love.” 

“Sorta,” Steve chuckles. “It’s a different kind of love.” 

“You two are in love.” 

Steve has no food in his mouth to swallow, choking only on the air in his throat. And you, well, you aren’t in any better shape to respond. Your chest is so tight you think your lungs might’ve shrunk, all that squeezes through you is a nervous laugh. 

Steve clears his throat, “We aren’t in love, honey. Not like Mikey’s mom.” 

“But you spend a lot of time together? I think you might be,” she decides. 

“Well, you know, you spend a lot of time with some people. Like your friends… and your teacher, but you aren’t in love with all of them.” 

“Well, no, I guess.”

He takes her hand from across the table and gives it a squeeze. “Think about me and RoRo. We spend a lot of time together when she visits and I do love her but we aren’t in love. Being in love is a special type of love.”

Penelope frowns, more confused than upset. “Wait, so you aren’t having a wedding too?”

Steve laughs, eyes flicking to yours as he pulls back. He’s relieved to find you’re looking at Penelope, two shades warmer with enough affection to ease his nerves. “No, silly. Why’d you think that?” 

She shrugs, arms raising fervently. “I just thought that’s what parents do when they get in love.”

“Well, yes, sometimes. But we– we’re not in love.” 

She blinks several times, some at you, some at Steve, some at her half-eaten stirfry. You get the impression she doesn’t fully believe him. And it’s terrifying as it is hilarious. 

“Oh. Well, I accidentally told Mrs. Shepherd you guys were going to have a wedding too.” 

“That’s okay. What did she say?” 

“I think she was excited. I can’t remember.” 

Steve nods, smile worsening with each tip to his head. Penelope’s… mistake is cute and funny and embarrassing all at the same time. But he’s the farthest thing from mad about it when you're smiling as big as he is. 

“Alright, alright,” he shakes his head. “Eat your food. It’s gettin’ cold.” 

Dinner concludes and Steve quickly takes off for the sink with an empty stack of plates. He’s always on the go. Something to cook or clean or fix. Someone to teach manners and independence and emotional skills. It never seems to stop and yet he never complains. 

You exit your chair, fully intending to fight Steve about drying the dishes when Penelope tugs on your sleeve. 

“Will you stay for games?” 

“Oh–”

Her hands clap together. “Pretty please! With sprinkles and sugar cones and chocolate sauce and a mara-sheeny-cherry on top!”

Your laugh catches you so off guard it turns into a cough. “A mara-what now?”

“Mara-she-ee,” she tries.

“Maraschino.” 

“Yeah, mara-she-oh.” 

Your giggles spill in sync. You fix her puffy princess sleeve where it’s slipped down her shoulder and explain, “If your dad says it’s okay, then I’ll stay for games.” 

Her eyes jump across the room to Steve who’s already yelling over the running sink water, “It’s okay!” 

Penelope takes your hand in her much littler one and escorts you to the living room. Steve’s house is minimally decorated for the holidays, but he has a real pine tree and two stockings on the mantel. Penelope plops in front of the entertainment center to flick through her options, pulling out a board game called Mr. Mouth. 

“I love this game,” she says, dumping the contents of the box across the hardwood. The game pieces roll every which way but you wrangle up the ones headed under the couch. “I always win,” she adds, raking her own handful of coins in a pile. 

Her confidence is charming. You’d challenge her if she wasn’t so cute about it. “I’ve never played. Can you show me?” 

“Umm, yeah. You need to get all the flies in froggy’s mouth. But we got to build it first.” 

Penelope seems to have played enough to know which pieces go where. They slot together easily, a frog base at the center with four arms for launching. And each arm has a corresponding chip color, each chip scalloped with the shape of a fly. 

“I want red!” Penelope claims quickly, picking several red coins off the floor. 

You balance a stack of yellows on the end of your catapult. “So we put ‘em here and launch them?” 

She cocks her head at you, baby teeth perched on her bottom lip as she smiles. “Yes, how’d you know?” 

“Just a feeling.” 

You collect all your coins and count backward from three. Penelope’s hand smacks her lever on your go, sending red flies springing every which way. You join in, smacking and smacking until there are no flies left to launch. The frog contains an overwhelming amount of red to yellow, so much so that a count is not needed to declare the winner. 

Penelope beams at Steve as he plods over. “Daddy, I won!” 

“You did? Oh, Mr. Mouth. She’s like ridiculously good at this game,” he tells you. “What color can I be?”

“You can be blue or green. I think you can be blue ‘cause it’s your favorite.”

“Okay, I’ll be blue.” 

Penelope slides the blue chips across the floor where Steve sits crisscrossed beside you. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his fingers, an ostentatious display of confidence as he smirks. 

“Ready to give up your crown, princess?” 

"Mmm-mm."

"Well, get ready. 'Cause today's the day."

“No, it isn't. Not even in ten-million-trillion-ga-zillion years!”

"It sure is!"

“No, you never win! Not even when you’re sleeping!” Penelope shouts. 

Your laughter is lost to their immediate bickering. Empty insults like a ping-pong ball back and forth across the gameboard. But the real chaos unfolds the second you finish the starting countdown.

For an athletic guy, you’d think Steve would care about good sportsmanship. But not today, apparently. Sabotage is his core strategy– stealing and stuffing Pen’s chips down his shirt, shoving her defenseless little arms away as she screams. 

It’s all in good fun, though. Penelope is so loved she doesn’t consider him truly mean for even a second. But she begs you to convince Steve to play fair for at least a few rounds. And he does, of course, because you asked so nicely and because he wants more than anything in the world for Penelope to have a good time. She wins three rounds in a row because Steve lets her and so do you. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the champion,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t rub it in.” 

“Daddy, don’t be a sore loser.”

“Then don’t be a sore winner.” 

She sticks her tongue out and he returns the favor twice as fierce. Their rivalry resurfaces in a handsy argument about who the real winner is. Penelope winds up licking his cheek which gets her in very serious trouble with the tickle monster. 

She cries your name as Steve hoists her up in the air, the last syllable stolen by a gasp. “Please–” she cackles, “Help me-ee!” 

Steve pins her back down to his chest like a seatbelt, fingers curling into her sides until she screams again and again. “Who’s the champion?” he repeats with a full-blown smile, barely preserving his evil persona.

“Me!” 

“Errr!” He mimics a buzzer sound, sending Penelope into another wild fit of giggles. 

You're so weak with your own laughter, that you aren't sure you could help her if you tried. 

She kicks and flails and wiggles under his ruthless hands until her very last drop of energy. “I give up,” she admits, breathless, dropping to a dead weight in his arms. “You’re the champy-un." 

Steve rolls her mercifully onto the floor where she regains enough strength to flee behind your back, arms looping around your neck like you’re nothing but a human shield. 

You press a smidgen of your weight into her tummy and pat her arm, eyes glued fondly to Steve’s. “It’s okay, Pen. You’re my champion, still.” 

Steve wants to roll his eyes at you but he can’t. Your affinity for loving his daughter never falters. You know all the right things to say, all the best ways to pretend. It’s so deeply unbearable all he can do is smile. And when you smile back, he gets a taste of something he always dreamed of, and he realizes he has all he ever wanted in the world. 

Steve relishes another mindful second of all this make-believe and non-make-believe excitement before sighing. “Okay, princess, it’s late. Go get pjs on. Want Muppets?” 

She pushes up on her toes until you lean forward, her breath warming your neck as she pleads, “I wanna play Bed Bugs.”

Steve scrunches his nose. “But that game makes me so itchy.”

“But I wanna show Y/N!” 

“Another night, babe. It’s really late. If you wanna movie we have to now.”

She sighs. She loves her night-time movies more than most things, even if she rarely makes it to the end. “Bath?” 

Steve squints. “Why? You stink?” 

You feel the shape of her smile through the fabric on your shoulder blade. “No.”

“Do I need to check?” 

“Nooo.” 

You squint at Steve, humming until you run out of breath. “What’s that– Steve, do you smell that?” You sniff the air loudly, nostrils flaring, nose scrunching. 

Steve imitates your dramatic sniffing, inching his face closer and closer to your face. “I think… maybe it’s behind you.”

You whip your head to the side, gasping like Penelope hadn’t been there the whole time. She lets her wrist be dragged up to your nose, where you skip across soft skin in a dotted line up her arm. “False alarm,” you decide after one final whiff. “No stink bugs here.” 

“Alright,” Steve grins. “Bath tomorrow then. There’s clean jammies in the laundry room.” 

Penelope launches herself off of you, stamping off into the other room. 

“Don’t mess up my pile!” Steve yells. 

“‘Kay!” 

He scoots back into the recliner's closed footrest, arms stretching up with a big breathy groan. A rogue coin from Mr. Mouth pokes the underside of his thigh, and before he even gets his hands on it, you can tell he’s itching to flick it at you. Call it friends’ intuition. 

It hurls right past your open palm, catching in the neckline of your long sleeve. He’s not smiling but he doesn’t need to for you to read the satisfaction on his face. 

You huck it back because it brings you the same pleasure. But he doesn’t try to catch it, arms too sore and mind too static for quick reflexes. The toy smacks the center of his chest, sliding down into a crease in his sweater.  

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he admits, setting his aching eyelids to rest. “Think you could be me for the rest of the night?” 

You know he’s only kidding but you wouldn’t mind taking over if he wasn’t. Penelope’s mostly self-sufficient at her age. You feel capable enough by now to babysit without any disasters occurring. 

“We could swap clothes. I don’t think she’d notice.” 

He huffs through his nose, a gentle smile splaying across his lips. “Would you actually do me a favor?”

“‘Course.” 

“Just turn on the VHS. Movie’s already in.” 

You retrieve the remote from the coffee table and power on the VHS. The TV flickers awake to a paused scene from The Muppet Christmas Carol involving several muppets, one recognizably Kermit the Frog. You sweep Mr. Mouth back into its box while the tape rewinds, kneeled in front of Steve who’s slouching lower and lower into the leather footrest. 

You tentatively reach for the last coin tucked in his sweater, stuttering when his hand shoots out to bracelet your wrist. His lips flare into a smile, eyelids peeling open to watch you squirm. 

“Don’t do that–” you murmur, swatting his chest with the hand not trapped in his. “Scared me.” 

“You make it too easy,” he mumbles back, thumb stroking the soft flesh of your arm. He looks up at you with a quiet reverence, eyes rich as soil, so grounding and full of life. 

It’s all but two seconds, two blinks, two breaths; you pretend not to savor the heat of his gaze, not to feel the way your heart chokes beneath his fingertip. You pretend not to imagine the curve of your lips against every freckle on his face. It’s all so easy, this pretending. It’s a million times easier to pretend than to admit you’re caught in something you’re not at all ready to lose. 

Steve unshackles your wrist at the growing echo of footsteps. You lean back onto your heels as Penelope rockets through the room, a long nightgown billowing behind her like a sail in a windstorm. She tackles Steve with swinging arms and heavy feet, rocking the recliner under both of their weight. 

“Ow, babe. That hurt.” Steve complains, a hand darting up to his chin. “You headbutted me.” 

Penelope cranes back to see for herself, one hand on either side of his achy jaw. From where you’re sitting, there’s no cause for immediate panic, only a little red spot on Steve and a guilty little girl in his lap.��

“No bandaids,” she reminds him like it's really rather unfortunate. 

“I don’t need one. Just a kiss.”

She nods and puckers her lips, slotting them in the dip beneath his. 

“All better,” Steve assures as she pulls away. He smiles big to prove it. 

But her inspection is far from over. Sympathetic fingers caress every bend and bow of his face. She sets a second kiss to a razor bump on his cheek and a third to the scar on his forehead. They sink down to a flat heap on the floor, matching double chins and four cheeks dimpling with joy. 

Penelope is satisfied enough to roll over on his chest as the tape finishes its rewind. Steve tugs a blanket from the recliner to shake across their bodies, an arm looped around Penelope like a belt, his chin tucked against her crown. 

And with a heated human pillow to curl up on, it’s a miracle Penelope makes it through the intro credits. She’s dozing not long later, however, one hand discarded across the floor, the other curled around Steve’s on her chest. 

He lifts her with the effortlessness of an experienced parent, retiring her to everyone’s favorite corner of the sectional. Her rousing is mitigated with a few strokes down her nose and a forehead kiss to round it off. 

Steve presses a shushing finger to his mouth and tugs you off the floor. He holds your hand as you tip-toe away, turning you sixteen again, long before you even knew Steve Harrington existed. 

He leaves you at the dining table, swishing away and momentarily returning with a wine glass in each hand. 

“Wine?” you chuckle, pinching the neck of the glass he offers. 

“Apple juice,” he smirks. “Unless you want– I might still have an old bottle of champagne from like a raffle or something.” 

“No, no. Juice is great.” You swivel the cup until gold sloshes up the sides. “What’s the occasion?” 

He sits in the chair Penelope had earlier, slinging an arm around the back and propping his feet up on the bar underneath yours. “Does there need to be one?”

“I think so.” 

He hums. “Let’s say… to not rescheduling the parent-teacher conference a third time.” 

“To that. Sure,” you muse, tipping your glass to meet his with a satisfactory clink. 

You each take a sip donning matching smiles. There’s a glow about him, a tired kind of warmth in his mussed hair and slackened shoulders. It’s a simple thing, sitting here together in this pocket of quiet. But you feel more present than ever, like the world has narrowed just to fit the two of you. 

And maybe it’s the dreamy stillness of this moment. Or maybe the placebo effect works with courage and your pretend glass of wine. But there’s a craving you can’t ignore— a deep desire to stitch together the fragments of Steve and Penelope’s lives you’ve yet to understand. 

“Can I ask you something? Like personal?” you begin. 

“Hmm?”

“Penelope’s mom… is she– well, you don’t talk about her. And I’m just curious if… I dunno. I’m just curious, I guess.”

Steve blinks down at the grooves on the floor. He finds they aren’t all that interesting and they don’t spark any easy answers. You’re right in the fact that he doesn’t talk about her. He’s not sure how to, mostly. 

“I shouldn’t have–”

His fingers skip across the exposed skin of your wrist. A sweet attempt to palliate some embarrassment. “No, you’re okay… Sorry, it’s not like a secret–"

“No, I know, I just– am I crossing a line by asking? I don’t want to–”

“No, no. It’s okay. She’s– it’s okay. Her mom– Annie’s her name. She’s…” The long stream of air blown through his lips catches in a nervous chuckle. “Where do I even begin?” 

“Did she… die?” You hate to say it, to even think it, but it’s the most logical explanation in your mind. 

“No, God no. Not that I know of, anyway.” The apple of his throat bobs as he swallows. “She’s just, I dunno, I think she lives in Texas now. Not really sure what she’s doing, to be honest with you.” 

“You don’t talk?”

“No, not since– not in a long time. Penelope was a baby last time I saw her. What? Like eight, nine months or something.” 

“She didn’t want to help?” 

“She tried, I’ll give her that much, but not for very long, no. She was really unhappy, I guess. How she could look at Penelope and feel that way,” he exhales through his nostrils, “Well, I’ll never really understand that.” 

You hum because you aren’t really sure what to say. You aren’t really sure there is anything to say– not anything he hasn’t already heard or thought himself. “I think some people just aren't meant to be mothers,” you decide. 

“She certainly thought so.” 

Your mouth twists into a frown, a patchwork of sympathy, pity, and the uneasy fear of saying the wrong thing. Yet, curiosity, or even selfish desire, blooms brighter than any other emotion. “Do you still love her?”

He shakes his head definitively. “I’m not sure I ever did. We were only together a few months when she found out she was pregnant.”

“‘M Sorry, Steve.”

He waves you off before you can even finish your pity. “Don’t. Don’t get me wrong, raising a kid alone is the hardest thing I’ve ever done by far. But it taught me a lot about myself. About my friends, my family. I wouldn’t be who I am without Penelope.” 

“Is that why you moved here? From Indiana?”

“Sorta, I guess. I wanted a fresh start after she left. But I think in some fucked up way I was also pushing everyone away so I wouldn’t be hurt again. And so I could prove to everyone– Annie, my parents– that I could do it without their help.” 

“Your parents? I know you aren’t close but… they didn’t help?”

“My parents? Probably the least helpful people I could’ve asked. They’re– I mean, they barely raised me. Old man’s a real asshole. We never really got along. And Mom, well, she’s just… I don’t even know. I don’t think her life turned out how she thought it would and she resents everyone around her for that.” 

“Mm.” 

“I like to think they tried their best, maybe they did, but I sure as hell know it’s not nearly as hard as I expected it to be to just show up for your kid. You know, Penelope, she’s my everything, seriously. I don’t know what I’d be doing without her. Something stupid, probably.” 

“Like what?”

“I dunno, probably taking over Dad’s dealership like he wanted me to. God, I’d be miserable. I’d be just like them.” He shakes his head, relief more than anything.

“Good thing you moved here and met me.” 

“Yeah. Good thing.” He laughs, a real Steve laugh, no self-deprecation involved. When it fizzles out into a smile, he hesitates to ask, “Would you ever come with me, if I moved back home?” 

For a moment you don’t quite understand what he means. Even after the moment passes, you still aren’t totally sure. To visit him is your first inclination. To help him move, your second. But he asks with such seriousness you can’t help but assume he’s asking you to move with him. 

“What?” You try to soften your surprise, stuffing every inch of smile back into a very neutral, normal set of lips. “And be miserable with you at your dad’s dealership?” you joke, a frazzled attempt to play off your nerves. 

“No,” he says incredulously. There’s a soft warmth to his cheeks, a lightness to his voice. “No, you know what I mean.” 

Your mouth opens and closes, your hands growing hotter the more you wring them in your lap. You really haven’t got a clue how serious he’s being. You're thrilled at the prospects of that possibility coming true, but tense with anticipation for how the rest of this conversation will play out. But reality takes the reigns and you're hit with a heavy realization. 

“Do you want to go back?” Your heart sinks down to your stomach hearing the words off your tongue. 

He looks away, a guilty sigh. “I think about it sometimes. I’d have more support there. Robin, Nance and Jon. All the kids, their parents.” His discomfort dissipates with a rough scrub to his cheek. “Sorry, I shouldn’t– I’m not asking you to. It was– was just an idea I had. Stupid.” 

“No, no. I’m not saying I wouldn’t– um sorry, I don’t– I don’t know what I’m saying.” 

He laughs, your stammering a comfort. “I’m being silly.” 

“You’re not,” you promise. 

His gaze traces the framed photo hung beside you on the wall. It’s one you’ve seen several times, a lovely piece of their life to look at. Somewhere outside, Penelope situated on his lap. She couldn’t have been more than two, with more rolls and fuller cheeks. 

“You know something?” Steve mumbles, voice breathy, trailing off in a wisp. 

“Hmm?” 

“I really wanted Penelope to be Elizabeth. Lizzie for short.”

Your lips twitch into an easy grin, focus rotating between him and the photo. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“I like that. It’s pretty.” 

“Yeah. I think so. Annie, not so much. She insisted on Penelope, after her great-grandma.” He shakes his head. Steve never even met her mother, let alone her great-grandmother. “I love it now obviously, I’d never change it, but it took a while to grow on me.”

“Elizabeth,” you chuckle, stuck in a one-sided staring contest with your favorite set of button eyes. They were just as cute then, but she’s really grown into them now. All her features have leveled out, her jaw more square, like Steve’s, her eyebrows darker and more defined. “I can’t picture it. She’s Penelope.” 

“Yeah, she’s Penelope alright.” His eyes flick to you, to watch you watch his daughter with a love so unique. “Maybe if I ever have another I’ll use Lizzie.” 

His words are like an electric shock. The idea of Steve with a second kid– a baby. Not a four-year-old who’s more of a tiny person than a baby. But a real baby with baby hair, baby clothes, and soft baby skin. Penelope’s newborn photos are enough to get you squealing with cuteness overload. You don’t know if you’d survive the real deal. 

“You want another?” You try not to sound surprised as you ask. 

“I dunno. I always pictured myself with more. But, I don’t think I could handle it. Nell’s a handful as it is.” 

“They’d keep each other busy,” you reason. “They say two’s easier than one.” 

“I don’t know about that.” He braces his elbow on the back of his chair, cheek pillowed in his palm as he looks at you. “But I do think about it. God, imagine Penelope with a baby sibling.” You swear his eyes shimmer as he says it. 

“She’d be such a good big sister.”

“She would,” he agrees. His heart thrums at the idea, faster the more his brain builds on it. “I dunno. Maybe if the right person comes along I would do it.” 

Under your chair, you nudge his calf with the side of your foot. “You’re a really good dad, you know. You’d manage.” 

He nods, not like he agrees but rather in recognition that your words are very kind. “Thanks.” 

“I mean it.”

“I know you do,” he smiles so fondly at you your stomach flips. “Okay. Can I ask you something kinda personal now?”

“Oh jeez,” you grimace. “Depends.”

“Come on, I just answered like, ten million questions about my life.”

You really can’t argue with him there. “Fine. Shoot.” 

“I just wanna know,” he smushes his lips together, gaze tapering off to one side of you like he’s thinking very hard about how to phrase this. “Why the fuck were all of my missing pens in the backseat of your car?” 

Realization strikes like the sharp rush of hitting your funny bone. Your jaw drops, straining with the ache of a repressed smile, and your tongue fights to find the least incriminating words possible. “What– I didn’t even– it’s not what it looks like, Steve, I swear.” 

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like, you little thief.” He digs into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cheap ballpoint pen, and slamming it on the table. 

“That could be anyone's!” you defend. You’re both itching to laugh. You can see it on his face as much as he can yours. 

Steve fishes out a second pen, then a third, and a fourth. He takes the fifth, a pink one with feathers shooting out the cap, and points the nib at your chest. “You know, this is my favorite pen! Penelope bought this for me at the book fair!” 

“I was going to give it back! I swear!” 

He pulls another three from his pocket and you’re done for. Laughing, almost wheezing in a hysterical breathlessness. You didn’t realize you’d stolen so many. You’ve been doing it slowly for months. 

“You’re sick for this. Only a psycho would do something like this.” 

You can barely keep your eyes open long enough to look at him. But you find a smile when you do, albeit blurry through unshed tears. “Steve.” 

He grabs a Sharpie from the pile and uncaps it, stealing your arm for his non-dominant hand to hold. Your sleeve is bunched up at your elbow, your wrist turned for optimal lighting. 

“Steve!” you gasp when the cold felt tip of the marker presses into your wrist. 

With a thumb pinning your pulse point, he scrawls PEN STEALER in big letters across your forearm. You hope on all things good in the world that he can’t feel how fast your blood is pumping through your skin. 

“That’s not gonna wash off!”

“Yeah, exactly,” he chuckles. “So everyone knows you steal pens!” 

“But I only steal your pens.” 

He scoffs. “I can't believe you. Here you had me thinking it was that old fart Lenny this whole time. Such a liar.” 

Something about Steve saying ‘old fart’ sends you completely over the edge. You haven’t had any real wine, but you feel almost tipsy, like everything is ten times funnier than usual. His hand staples your hip to the chair to keep you from sliding off as you double over. Your stomach cramps like it’s being twisted inside out. 

“I’m gonna write it on your forehead next,” he beams.

“No,” you gasp, weakly shoving his wrist away from your face. 

Steve’s strong, but he’s far from rough. His free hand settles on the back of your head, thumb and index finger clamping either side of your ear to keep you still. And you’re anything but. Your shoulders wrack with every cackle, and your head shakes with every nefarious warning. The Sharpie quivers its way closer and closer to your skin like a murder knife.

But just before the tip scrapes your browbone, your elbow stabs Steve’s tricep, hard enough to free the marker from his hand. It’s flung across the dining table, spinning off the edge with a final click against the floor. It’s uncapped, and very likely just permanently stained some part of his house black, but Steve couldn’t care less. 

All he can manage to care about in this moment is the way your eyes light up in victory. How your smile lines deepen and your breath shakes out to fan his face in short waves. How the weight of your head in his palm is a feeling that transcends almost all types of comfort he’s experienced before. 

“What now, Harrington?” you goad.

He shakes his head, smiling harder than you’ve ever seen him smile. He’s so close you can see the molars in the very back of his mouth. His eyes trickle down to your lips for a second so long you can’t help but hold your breath. 

“Daddy?”

Steve’s hands snap back to a more friendly place in his lap. “Hey, sweetheart. Hey. What’s the matter?” 

Penelope hustles to his chair, whimpers cut short every step. 

He tugs her up into his lap, tucking in her limbs one at a time. His palm, large but no less gentle, presses frizzy stalks of dark hair flat to her skull. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

“I didn’t know where you went,” she mewls. Her back trembles under his other hand, climbing up under her shirt and falling in long passes down her spine. 

“‘M sorry. We didn’t want to wake you, that’s why we came in here.” He pecks the closest point of her head. “Scared you, huh?” 

His attention on her doesn’t waver. Whatever version of himself he was with you vanished the instant he laid eyes on poor Penelope’s face. Dad Steve comes before any other Steve, Penelope before any other person. 

“Time is it?” she murmurs into his neck. 

“Late. Like way past your bedtime.” 

Penelope remembers you’re still there, turning in Steve’s arms to double-check. Her ruddy cheeks glisten under the dining room light, a heartbreaking frown to match. “Are you doing a sleepover?” she asks.  

You smile, though maybe you shouldn’t. She’s still frowning, but more upset that she might not have been invited to a sleepover that’s not even happening. 

“No, babe. I’ll be leaving soon. It’s past my bedtime too.” 

You think she replies but it’s more sound than coherent word. 

“Come on. Back to bed. Your real bed this time.” Steve lifts her sideways like Sleeping Beauty as he stands. “Say goodnight.” 

“I want your bed,” she says instead, slow blinking at Steve’s sweater. 

“But your stuffies will be so lonely,” he reasons. 

“I’ll bring them.”

“All of them?”

“Mhmm.” 

From the angle you’re sitting, you can’t see most of Penelope’s face, but judging by the look Steve sends you, you imagine it’s pretty damn cute. 

“Be right back,” he assures, adjusting his grip under her knees before he starts for her bedroom. 

Your gaze drops to the wooden spindles of the chair Steve occupied just a moment ago. He was going to kiss you— you’re almost certain of it. The weight of his hand clings to the back of your neck, a phantom touch. And the heaviness to his eyes, replete with intent, only a flash in your mind. Why else stare at someone’s lips for so long? 

You swipe the nearest wine glass and bare your teeth at your reflection. No food is caught between them, no crumbs on your face. You set the glass down. Steve was going to kiss you. Right? 

“Maybe, Penelope’s right?” 

You flinch at the suddenness of his voice, twisting around to find Steve back in the archway. 

He ambles up to the table, fingers wrapping around the back of your chair. “About a sleepover. All that wine, you know? Probably safer if you stayed the night.” 

You huff, not so much a laugh as a breath of air. There’s a blurry line somewhere between joking and flirting and you’re certain you’ve both crossed it tonight. 

“I can handle my pretend alcohol, Steve. Don’t you worry.” 

He sighs, a very theatric upswing to his voice. “If you say so.” 

You roll your eyes and stand. Steve collects the wine glasses to set in the sink and follows you to the front door silently. 

“Thanks for the food. And the wine,” you croon, stuffing into your shoes one at a time. 

“Thanks for driving us,” he replies as you look back up. 

You nod, eyes affixed to his. Not knowing what to say. Not wanting to leave. 

“Don’t forget to pick us up tomorrow.” 

“I have a better chance of winning the ugly sweater thing if I ditch you.”

“And break poor Penelope’s heart?” 

“I’ll sneak her out.” 

His chest shakes through a soundless laugh. “Oh, she’d love that.”

You tap his sweater with the tip of your car key. “I’ll pick you up at noon– if you’re lucky.”

There’s evidence of a long day in the dark crescents under his eyes, and still, he pulls the door open for you and says, “Call me when you’re home. Drive safe.” 

Love, admiration, attachment, whatever it is, it rolls through you like a pinball, shooting from one end of your ribcage to the other. To be cared for on such a level is a weightless kind of overwhelming. A good kind, if there is one. 

“Don’t wait up,” you reply. 

But you know he will regardless of whatever else you say. He’ll call you first, wake Penelope, and drive over to your place if he has to. 

So at home, you dial Steve’s number before you even take off your shoes. And he picks up before the end of the first ring. 

“Can I tell you something?” you ask as soon as the call connects. 

“Hmm?” 

He sounds half-asleep. You consider wishing him good night then, but you didn’t plan to say much to begin with. And you might never tell him if not now. 

“I just… I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in… maybe ever.” 

He smiles, you recognize the sound through the crackle of several miles. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Me neither.” 

There’s a beat. A soft inhale, exhale that shouldn’t sound as lovely as it does. “That’s all I wanted to tell you.” 

“See you tomorrow, pen stealer.”

“Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

The line clicks and you’re left to the stark silence of your home. Joy ripens into something richer, something fuller. You feel whole, like you hadn’t realized something was missing in the first place. 

[yandere-fetish]

Yandere Patient X Female Reader

Part One

warnings: disrespect, rude, slow burn

Yandere Patient is a highly dignified CEO on his way to one of his many companies from the vast countryside. He's reading the newspaper and catching up on the latest magazines, detailing the latest hot topics and debates. The indifferent expression paired with wire framed glasses only made his handsome face more attractive.

The driver comes to a stop at a stop sign while looking both ways. There's no one around. He turns right to drive towards the city.

Yandere Patient reaches for a small drink out of the mini fridge, then the car jerks.

*SKIIIRRRTT*

*CRASH*

Yandere Patient is knocked out as his legs are disfigured in a gory way. The pain was unbearable, but Yandere Patient was in no condition to feel the pain due to the concussion. His eyes flutter shut as the driver is crawling out the front seat, attempting to check on his master.

Yandere Patient scowls at his uncle's suggestion. He doesn't need anyone to take care of him. He doesn't need an extra person supervising the way he moves or watching his every breath.

Yandere Patient didn't need a babysitter. He's a damn grown man, for God's sake!

"They're not a babysitter. They would live in the servants quarters and tend to your needs. Just treat them like a maid. They would only aid you when you need them to—"

"*scowls* And I won't need them!"

"*sigh* Nephew, there's just some things you need to understand in life, mainly that there's no 'I' in 'team'. You cannot do everything by yourself."

"Tch. Watch me! *wheels away in his new wheelchair*"

"Jenna, *sighs and stares at a picture of his sister* what am I going to do with this kid?"

This is where you come in.

You show up at noon, ready to meet your newly appointed patient after hearing so many coworkers complain about how aggressive and snarky this patient has been since joining their agency as a client.

You really hadn't wanted to take this patient under your wing but since the agency was willing to fire anyone who didn't at least try, so you had to.

The sooner you come, the sooner you can leave.

So, here you are, standing on the doorstep of a luxurious mansion with a thirty-foot driveway. You'd never dream of living in a place such as this, let alone working in one.

Funny how you'd be doing both for a while.

When the door opens, you're greeted by a tall and broad-shouldered with a friendly smile. He welcomes you in while telling you, in detail, about his nephew's accident and his.. preferences.

At first, you're shocked and confused, but nonetheless you agree.

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N) from True Home Care. It's nice to meet you, Mister—"

"*scowls and ignores you* I thought they sent the last one?"

"Now, now, nephew. She's come all the way here. The least you can do is try her out for a day."

"I told you and that cheap company that I don't need anyone's help! I'll be fine on my own!"

"Just give her a chance. I'm certain it'll work out this time—"

*glares at his uncle and wheels away*

"*sighs* I apologize, Mrs. (L/N). He's moody, as you can tell. He should come around with some coaxing."

"I.. I'm sure he's not very open to strangers. I'd feel uncomfortable opening my home to one, especially several. And it's Miss— I'm not married. *smiles*"

"You're not? *clicks his tongue at the thought of an idea* I apologize again. Let me show you to your room for the time being."

It's been a a week since you first arrived at Yandere Patient's home. You've quickly become used to your room that's the size of a living room with a comfy as fuck bed to go with it. The 65" TV was definitely a nice addition, and let's not get started on the en suite bathroom and the walk-in closet.

To say you were happy was an understatement.

Now, though, you had wished you were still in your comfy bed instead of in the kitchen, gathering Yandere Patient's favorite tea.

In the sitting room was Yandere Patient and his uncle. They were once again discussing your presence in the mansion, as if you weren't in the other room. The loud noises made you flinch from time to time, but you just reminded yourself that whatever happens will happen. You've done your job well and that's all that matters.

When you're finished with the tea, you serve Yandere Patient, silently keeping yourself to the side while the two argue again.

After the uncle strikes a nerve into Yandere Patient, he walks out of the house. Yandere Patient is so pissed that he slams his hands on the table, making the teacup jump. You flinch as Yandere Patient fists his hands, his muscular arms flexing in anger as he suddenly begins to try to stand.

You're too late; Yandere Patient is all ready on the floor. He slams his fists into the hardwood, bruising them severely.

You're careful to go to his side, helping him up. Yet, the moment you touch his arm, Yandere Patient automatically shoves you away from him with a scowl.

You end up running into a sharp, marble vase table with nothing on it, luckily.

"Get the hell out of here! You're not wanted, nor needed here!"

"*on the verge of tears* You know what? Fuck you!"

"*bewildered at your sudden back talk* What..?"

"You think I want to take care of some selfish, inconsiderate twenty-some year old brat who only calls his uncle when he has a problem? I'd rather lay on my back and give birth to a child to take care of instead of someone like you! If it wasn't for the high pay, I wouldn't even be here taking this damn abuse! I work damn hard everyday to make sure your needs are met, and what do I get in return? Verbally ridiculed and now physically abused! I don't give a mother fuck if you're rich, handsome, or have power; my job is to take care of you and to only take care of you! If I wanted to care for a whiny and stubborn man, I'd go online and get myself a boyfriend!"

*stares wide eyed at you as you're huffing from anger and pain*

"Now, let me help you get up and to the bath so that I can take a fucking break, Sir."

After wheeling him into the bathroom and helping him undress, Yandere Patient is extremely docile and quiet. There's no protest or stubbornness coming from him, much to your relief.

Yandere Patient, on the other hand, notices how you skim over his body but you don't linger anywhere at all. He frowns, not really understanding why. Looking away as both of you help Yandere Patient into his wide garden tub, you silently tend to his needs.

Yandere Patient apologizes, to which you scoff at but accept his apology.

It's silent while you're helping him dry off and get dressed. Even while you're wheeling him to his bed.

But when you begin to aid him into bed, Yandere Patient notices the bruise from earlier forming into a nasty one.

Since your scrubs were moving to reveal your skin when you bend at an angle, he could see how clearly he had hurt you. Something churns in his heart at the memory of pushing you out of anger, embarrassment, and frustration.

Yandere Patient doesn't realize what he's doing until he's gently touching the bruise on your side.

"*flinches while standing up* What are you doing?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you.."

"It's.. it's all right. I'm not bleeding so there's nothing to worry about."

"*furrows his brows* It's not okay. I went too far. Let me make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it, Sir. There's nothing you need to make up for."

"I insist. I'll treat you to a meal, or a day at the spa? Girls care about their skin, right?"

"*smiles* It's not necessary, Sir. Have a good night. I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

*after you've left*

"I'll make it up to you, somehow.. someway."

Part Two?

[boysbellyrubs]

Harry's Illness

I'm deep into assignments and the looming exam season, but here is this fic. Bit short, but sweet :)

---

A sick feeling rested in the centre of Harry’s stomach. It gurgled and growled like a swamp, making him hyper aware of everyone else in the room at the moment. He turned to face the white board, staring at the interconnecting strings and photos of their latest case. They had been working on it for more than a week with absolutely no leads, no suspects, and one detective coming down with a gnarly stomach bug. Harry felt his back twitch as a cramp squeezed his middle, more fiery noises coming from inside. 

The board provided no cover for the noise, but it did allow him to subtly push on his bloated middle, desperately trying to get it to shut up. 

“Hey, Lawrence, does staring blankly help or are you going to help?” One of the other detectives spoke behind him, tense words spitting out of his lips. He couldn’t remember his name for the life of him. 

He turned then, fixing his gaze on the man shuffling through some papers. “Sorry, just not in the mood to look through 500 prison records.” The man scoffed at him but turned back to his work. Harry looked out of the squad room door, watching as Jack approached with a fresh mug of coffee. 

“It’s 6pm.” Harry said lightly. 

Jack shrugged, gulping down a mouthful. “I’m useless if I get tired, these two know.” Jack had worked with the other detectives, but Harry hadn’t met them until that morning. So far, he was only partial to liking Detective Watson. 

“Zombie Woods not making an appearance?” She said, smiling as Jack came to steal a few papers from her. 

He huffed, “Not today. Found anything useful?” He directed the question at Harry, and that was the moment where his stomach decided to announce its distress the loudest. He physically felt his cheeks pale and his knees buckle, the cramp ripping right through him. “Jesus. Hungry?” Jack continued, eyes glued to Harry’s stomach. 

The other shook his head, moving back to the board. He opted to just ignore it along with the wobbly edges to his vision and nausea crawling up to his chest. He felt the others give him looks behind his back, but he couldn’t care less. It was important for him to not fuck this up, he couldn’t destroy his first big case around his older coworkers. Especially in front of Mr Prison Records. God, what was his name? 

“Anyway, I got word from one of my possible witnesses that she usually saw our guy doing his service around the shopping mall near the City Centre. Probably some other witnesses around there.” Jack said to Watson. She responded quietly, or Harry just lost the ability to hear. 

All he heard was the oncoming tidal wave of nausea that was rapidly approaching his throat. He swallowed thickly, an uncomfortable grimace on his face. His stomach was aching and cramping like no other, echoey gurgles bubbling up and out. He knew if he didn’t get out of here quickly he was going to puke all over the floor, ruining the carpet and his reputation. Harry felt himself gulp again, spit gathering faster than he could manage.

Without any warning, he left the room at lightning speed. He walked on unsteady ground, feeling seconds away from tripping, as he made his way to the bathroom. It was the longest walk of his life. 

Bursting into the room, he bolted to the nearest stall and doubled over. Hot, thick vomit poured out of his mouth, the gurgling now residing at the base of his throat. It hurt terribly, both his stomach and his throat. Harry stabilised himself on the wall, palm flat against the plastic, and groaned through a dizzy spell. He felt the urge to vomit again and quickly dropped to his knees, bracing his hands on his legs. The next round was watery but burned worse and it made his eyes squeeze shut. 

Harry groaned, rubbing a useless hand over his tumultuous upper belly. The cramping powered through his touch. “Fuck..” He mumbled, then spat out bile and saliva. The smell was vile. It filled his nostrils and sparked another hearty gag, causing him to cough and choke as nothing came up. With his eyes closed, he fumbled around for the toilet paper, quickly gathering some up to wipe up the mess on his face. The unexpected force had caused tears to leak from his eyes and his nose to run. 

He was a pitiful sight, especially kneeling on the dirty ground. Harry flushed the toilet. He couldn’t take the smell anymore. He just sat down on his butt, leaning against the door as he tried to calm himself. His stomach felt like it was never going to settle. Harry imagined his breakfast and lunch fist fighting inside the organ, swimming around in his stomach acid. The image made him gag. 

Going back into the squad room was going to be a disaster. He didn’t even know if he would be able to pull off being healthy, not with the way his hair stuck to his forehead and his shaky breath and hands, they would immediately suspect something was wrong. Not to mention the disastrous stomach gurgle that everyone had heard. He was done for. 

As if further agreeing with his point, his stomach fired up again. A strong cramp hit his middle alongside another sickly grumble. “Ooh, god.” He moaned, sitting up to lean over the toilet again. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, letting his mouth hang open as saliva dribbled out, jaw aching. Food splashed against his oesophagus and he was vomiting once again. It made his back curl. 

He continued to spew up his insides for the next ten minutes, occasionally interrupted by a random officer asking if he was okay. It was humiliating. Harry breathed deeply through his nose, eyes closed and head resting back on the door. His hands were slowly rubbing along his belly, desperately soothing it and forcing it to stay down. So far, it was actually working. Harry had always been one for physical touch when it came to sickness, so a little belly rub was doing him wonders. 

But, he needed to get up. He was starting to shiver and his ass was hurting from being on the ground for so long. Jack and the others were probably wondering where he was anyway, if they hadn’t already left. Picking himself up was more difficult than he anticipated. His fever was raging, making him dizzy with every movement. 

As he pushed open the door, Jack’s face was the first thing he saw. 

“There you are. You look like shit,” He really needed to work on his bluntness. “Are you sick?” He pushed himself off the wall, arms folded as he peered into Harry’s glossy eyes. 

Harry knew he shouldn’t lie. “Um.” Good job. 

“I see,” Jack nodded, laughing a little, “Right, let’s get you home, rookie. Stomach bug? Think there’s one going around.” He put his hand on Harry’s burning shoulder, steering him back down towards the main room. He didn’t give Jack an answer, embarrassment overtaking his rational mind. 

They walked past the squad room, Harry glancing inside. Watson and the asshole were still in there but they looked off task. 

“They’re really useless. I’m going to miss you over the next week.” Jack spoke quietly into Harry’s ear. His words made Harry feel slightly better. 

“Sorry.” 

They approached their desks, Jack collecting up both of their things. He handed Harry his jacket, waving his car keys up to his face. “I’ll drive. And, don’t say sorry, can’t help getting sick. Just wish it wasn’t right now.” He chuckled a little to soften his words. It was a long walk to Jack’s car, but Harry was grateful to finally sit down somewhere soft. His stomach had begun to hurt while they were walking, so he sank down a bit and held his middle. 

Jack fumbled around in the back for a bit, then got into the driver's seat while chucking a plastic bag onto Harry’s lap. “Use that if you need to be sick.” The car engine revved, Jack immediately pulling out of the spot. Harry was grateful for his partner knowing exactly what he needed. Perks of being detectives. 

Harry kept his eyes closed as the streetlights flashed by. The movement mixed with the flashing was creating a nasty storm of nausea and sickness in his belly. It was a battle, but Harry managed to not puke at all on the way home. 

“Do you need help getting inside?” Jack said, expression blank. 

“Why are you so good at this?” His fever-addled mind made him speak the first thing that came to mind. 

Jack laughed at him, “Younger siblings. Do you need help?” He pushed. 

With his head and stomach spinning the way it was, Harry did. He nodded slightly, unbuckling his seatbelt to plant his feet onto the footpath. Jack’s hand held his forearm, gently pulling him up to standing. 

The entire walk to the door, Jack had his hand strongly planted on Harry’s back, guiding him. Jack probably didn’t realise how much Harry appreciated it, something as simple as a hand pushing him forward calmed his sick mind. 

Being inside was luxury. Harry instantly collapsed onto his couch, hugging the bag to his middle. Jack stood a little awkwardly in the living room after turning on some lights. His eyes wandered around the decorations and eventually he walked over to draw the curtains shut. 

“Okay, you think you’ll be alright? I can come around tomorrow with your car and some supplies.” Jack’s voice gave away his concern. Harry felt himself smiling at the fact that Jack was letting his walls down around him a bit more. 

“Yup.” He spoke quietly, exhaustion now his leading symptom. The room fell silent. Harry could feel his muscles unwinding, his stomach finally letting him rest and he shut his eyes. 

Jack’s footsteps walked away. They stopped. “Get some rest, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

[mandarinmoons]

hiii! aaa. OKAY. so, what abt reader (or spencer) finally getting a new puppy after seeing that is possible to have a lovely dog and work at the bau thanks to luke, lol. and then the other one coming to their shared flat and they are like (spencer or reader, up to you who decides to get the puppy) but sweetheart- (sighs) alright we can keep it because it's cute. hehe. just tons of your lovely spencer fluff! mwah.

You were used to having animals. Growing up you had several pets from goldfish to dogs and cats and when you moved to D.C. having a little loving animal by your side was something you terribly missed. You knew that it would be hard to keep a pet by yourself, especially if it was a dog who needed to be taken out regularly. However, you no longer lived alone, you had your lovely boyfriend Spencer and you were slowly wearing him down on the topic of getting a pet.

After one night of begging, pleading and showing your best puppy dog like eyes at Spencer to go to a kennel sometime soon to look at the puppies they have up for adoption, all that Spencer said was “We’ll look into it, okay?” and that was it for the whole night. The topic wasn’t brought up again for a few days until a better offer came up.

One of your coworker’s dogs had puppies recently and was looking for a home for them. After seeing pictures of the little furballs your eyes landed on one of them and knew you needed to have it in your arms. It was a little spaniel puppy with golden fur and a brown nose, it was adorable.

After finishing a shift you picked up the needed supplies for your newest family member and headed over to pick it up.

A few hours later you were at home and playing with your new love. The puppy was energetic and was gnawing on a toy you got him, holding onto it with its paws as he kept on going. You were so distracted with the dog that you didn’t hear the front door open and close. Spencer walked in and furrowed his brows as he heard the squeak of a chew toy, it couldn’t be what he thought it was. Spencer walked to the living room and was met with you sitting on the middle of the carpet, holding a small dog in your arms.

“Sweetheart…”

“Oh Spence! Come here, I want to introduce you to someone,” Spencer walked over to you and sat down next to you, the puppy immediately crawling over to him and sniffing him. A smile crept up on Spencer’s lips and he gently petted the puppy.

“Isn’t he cute?”

“He is, but where did you get him?”

“Marla’s dog had puppies some time ago and they needed homes, so I thought why not?”

Spencer sighs and tries to hold back a chuckle as the dog bites on his fingers playfully.

“You should’ve talked to me about this first, you know.”

“I know, but you were so hesitant and I really wanted him, Spence. I’m sorry that I didn’t come to you first, but…”

The puppy crawled back over to you and licked your hand, even if Spencer wasn’t too keen on having a dog right now he was going to have a hard time keeping you two apart.

“Well it’s a bit sudden, but I think I can come around to him. Okay, let’s keep him.”

“Really?”

Spencer nodded and you jumped into his arms and kissed him, making the dog bark and jumping up to join in on the fun. Both of you chuckled and Spencer cleared his throat,

“What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one yet, I thought that maybe you could do the honors.”

“Okay um… Spock?”

“Spock? Really? Any other name that isn’t after a Star Trek character?”

Spencer chuckles, “I don’t know um… Sunny? I mean he does have a golden coat.”

“I love that, do you like it Sunny?”

The dog licked your face which made you giggle, “Sunny it is.”

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @indigosamsblog @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden

If you want to be a part of my taglist go here!

You can find my masterlist here!

My requests are open so feel free to send one in! (SFW only)

[peachyjinx]

On The Edge- Ch 2: Stormy Weather

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: You ask for advice on your situation. Loki insists on flirting with you, and you're no closer to finding your orgasm (this chapter is all plot).

Warnings: Just mentions of masturbation and sex

After a few more moments of sitting in silence with Loki, you decided you were going to go for it. Either tell him how you feel or just kiss him. What’s the worst that could happen- Loki would say no? He’s right here, his hand on your knee, and he just came on to you, so of course he wouldn’t say no!

Just as you worked up your courage, you and Loki’s phones went off with a notification. You groaned and pulled out your phone begrudgingly, knowing it’s probably a mission.

Meet at the Tower at 0900.

Great, today was just starting off so well. It’s as if your bosses are deliberately cockblocking you. 

“Well, should we go then?,” Loki stood, holding out his hand for you to take it as you got up. 

“I was really enjoying the peace, this is bullshit,” you muttered under your breath as you walked alongside Loki towards the tower.

“Ah, such is the life of a superhero, Darling,” Loki smirked, and you tried not to melt at the pet name he called you. 

~~~~~~

Day 14

You audibly moaned as the hot water hit your back in your own shower, comforting you. The mission had taken you to Winnipeg of all places, where it was still mostly frozen over. It had been a tough infiltration of a Hydra compound to retrieve the Talisman of Power from them, but the team was successful. While you and Cap provided the brawn (both being super soldiers), Loki and Wanda provided the magic. Despite your strong team, this was still a tougher battle than any others you had been in. Of course Loki saved the day, his magic was stronger than any magic that the henchmen had used against your team.

You could feel the tension in your muscles softening, and you thought of Loki- who was now constantly on your mind. The day in the park was both pure bliss and pure torture. All you wanted was to crawl into his lap, grind on him and possibly fuck him on the very public park bench. Yet he didn’t make a move- he just sat there and tried to chat with you as though everything were completely platonic. 

But you noticed in Winnipeg how he looked concerned when you were thrown against that wall. And that you were the only teammate he checked in on on the flight back in the Quinjet. Why did it seem like he wanted you but wasn’t making a move?  

You felt your hand wander down in between your thighs, feeling yourself get moist thinking about him again. 

~~~~~~ 

Unsuccessful again. This is ridiculous. 

You thought you could ignore the issue of the missing orgasm, but that didn’t last long- you had to talk to someone. You’ve masturbated a dozen times and nothing. Your impatience with your body was wearing thin, and you needed to talk to someone. 

You’d texted your friends back home for advice, but they were swamped with work, or kids, or just haven’t had a moment for a quick call. You decided it’s time to talk to a coworker about it. That’s totally normal, right? 

You’d sat on your couch, feeling anxious as you texted Wanda. She had always been kind, and your bond over the last year had grown increasingly stronger, especially recently.

Hey, want to grab a bite to eat? I’ve got something going on that I could really use your advice on.

Sure, meet you downstairs at noon?

Relief flooded you that you could actually talk to someone about this. You smiled and headed to your bathroom to get ready. 

~~~~~~

You tentatively looked at Wanda as her eyes widened watching the large BLTs being set down in front of the two of you. Your friendship was still new, but now was the time to take it to the next level. 

“Ok this is super awkward, I have to talk to you about something,” you looked into her large green eyes, concern showing there now at your words. 

“Of course, you can talk to me about anything,” she encouraged, setting down her sandwich and reaching her hand across the table to gently squeeze yours.  

Your eyes focused on the diner window next to you, embarrassed to have to say this out loud to Wanda, sitting across the booth from you. 

“Ok, here goes. So…I haven’t been able to orgasm in like two weeks. And, like, that’s not normal for me. At all. And I’m kinda freaked out and just needed to talk to someone about it,” your eyes flicked back to hers. Her face showed no judgment, only worry.

“I am so sorry, that sounds rough-,” her eyebrows tilted towards each other. 

“It’s like I’m blocked up,” you interrupted her, the past couple week’s frustration boiling over. 

“I’ve tried everything, and different things, and just nothing. And there’s this guy…,” you stop yourself before divulging your crush. But what does it matter at this point? You’ve already told her an incredibly intimate detail of your personal life. 

You pick up your sandwich, taking a huge bite to stop yourself from going on about how much you want to fuck Loki. 

Wanda cocked her head to the side, studying you for a moment, a small smile on her lips. 

“Well, first of all, I would not be too concerned. Stranger things have happened to all of us, right?,” she joked, making you smile a little. 

“...and who is this guy you mentioned, is he on the team?”, she inquired gently as she looked at you with thoughtful eyes. 

You chewed slowly, wondering if you should tell her about your full blown obsession. This felt like high school again, when you whispered who you “like liked” to your girlfriends at the lunch table. You swallowed and took a deep breath. 

Fuck it. 

“Okay, but please do not tell ANYONE. I swear, if it gets out, I’m coming for you,” you faux threatened her, pointing at her with your fork. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t even tell Vis. But I may be able to help you if you give me the full story!”, she cheerfully encouraged you. 

“It’s Loki…,” you paused for a moment after saying his name. You rarely said it outside of missions or the Tower, and it carried a heavier weight now. 

“Wanda…I’ve got it bad,” you looked at her hopelessly, trying to gauge her reaction.

A large smile spread across her face as she nodded knowingly as she started to eat her lunch. You read her body language, mortified. She knew.

“Oh NO could you tell?!,” you brought your hands to your face, trying to hide.

“Well I’m not around the two of you much. But I definitely sensed your nerves around him the last few days. I thought it may just be that he puts everyone on a slight edge,” she replied nonchalantly. 

“No, my nerves are for different reasons,” you whined, feeling embarrassed that you were so readable. 

“Because you want to fuck him,” she teased with a smirk. You felt blush all over your face, embarrassed hearing the truth spoken out loud by your teammate.

“Yes, desperately,” you sighed, looking back out the window at nothing in particular.

“I don’t blame you, he is quite attractive. Not my type, but I get it. Well, at least you know someone you could sleep with to test out if you have the same problem with a man!”, she joked as she ate her chips. 

“Oh I want to, I almost tried to hit on him- but I shouldn’t. I work with him. And he would just be so SMUG about it. He might not even be interested and then he’ll reject me, and he’ll just taunt me in front of everyone. Besides, I’m sure he goes out and gets laid all the time, right?”, you asked, hoping the answer was no, but knowing he did. 

“Oh yes, there are definitely rumors, he’s been out all night and comes back the next day. We’ve all assumed that was what was going on, and he doesn’t try to deny it. I’m sure if we asked, he’d tell us all about what he’s been up to. And the way he shamelessly flirts when we’re out…”.

You felt your smile fade as you thought about all the men and women he’s been with. Wanda quickly picked up on your disappointment and tried to lift your spirits.

“....BUT I will say he’s never brought anyone to the tower. And I think you two would be a good match. If that’s what you’re interested in. Are you interested in him romantically?,” she gently prodded more.

You sighed, nodding.There was no denying it, you weren’t just in lust with him- there was affection, too. Damn him. 

You reached your arm out to the server walking by, “Excuse me, I’m going to need a milkshake over here!”.

Wanda chuckled and gave you another all-knowing smile, “It will be okay, I promise.”

Even if she couldn’t guarantee that, it still made you feel better. 

~~~~~~

Day 15

Thunder clapped loudly outside, making you jump awake. Your eyes flew open and you quickly assessed your surroundings. You felt your heart racing as the sound of rain came crashing against your windows. This was something you didn’t like about living in the tower- harsh thunderstorms were much louder. It was the kind of thunderstorm that only came at the changing of the season- loud and violent, as if Thor was battling outside your window. 

You laid in bed, trying to get back to sleep, but the loud claps and flashing behind your eyelids made it impossible.

You groaned and rolled out of bed, deciding to venture downstairs for a snack- there was no way you were going to sleep until it was over.

As you sleepily yawned, you walked to the kitchen and your eyes scanned the living area next to it. 

Loki sat in the corner on a large couch, quietly thumbing through a book. This was the first time you had seen him since Winnipeg. It’s so strange how much he keeps to himself, often lingering quietly in the background. You wondered if he really wanted to be here- sometimes he acted like he was a prisoner. 

“Can’t sleep either, huh?”, you quietly kid with him as you opened the fridge door. 

“No, Gods don’t require as much sleep as a human. Thor and I are often up while you and the others sleep,” Loki remarked as he closed his book with a soft thud, getting off the couch to saunter towards you. 

“Huh, I didn’t know that,” you set the bread and jelly on the counter, looking for the peanut butter in the cabinet. 

You could hear him approaching from behind you, but focused on your sandwich plans. You were not going to let him get to you right now. 

“And why are you up at this hour? Something bothering you?,” his dulcet tone made you quiver as you tried to ignore your body’s reaction.

Loki stopped directly behind you, only a few inches of space between the two of you. 

“Is there something else I can help you with? Are you quite parched, Darling?”, his deep voice tempting you as he stood close to you. 

You felt your body charged with heat, the sexual tension palpable because of his body’s closeness to yours. What did he mean by you being parched? Thirsty? What is he up to?

“No…I just…,” you stuttered and turned your head to look into his eyes- his gaze was intense and a smirk played at the corner of his lip. You need him. Like, yesterday. 

You felt your body acting on its own as you turned to face him, your instincts to close the gap and kiss him raging in your body. He looked down at you, smirking as if he knew exactly what you needed. 

“Hey, what’s going on?,” Thor grinned as he walked into the kitchen, hair wet from his post workout shower.  He looked between the two of you, confused about you standing so close in the kitchen and staring into each other’s eyes. 

Loki quietly chuckled, slowly wetting his lips with his tongue. Your eyes darted to Thor, suddenly feeling embarrassed as cleared your throat.

 “Nothing of interest,” Loki replied as he stepped away from you with a nod to his brother. 

What was that? You realized now your heart was racing, your body yearning for you and Loki to finish what you started. You eyed Loki suspiciously as he walked back towards his couch. He must’ve heard Thor coming- what was he doing? Teasing you on purpose? He always flirted, but this was next level.

You quickly spoke to Thor to fill the air that felt so tense from your moment with Loki. 

“Well I couldn’t sleep, this thunderstorm is loud. So, yea- I couldn’t sleep, was hungry, so I came down to make a snack,” you gestured at the half made PB&J. You returned to your task, messily putting it together. 

“Oh yea? I hadn’t noticed. Would you like me to stop it?,” Thor asked as he casually lifted his gallon jug of water like it weighed nothing, drinking out of it. 

“Wait, can you just stop this storm?,” you looked at him, puzzled as you walked toward him with your sandwich in hand. 

“Oh sure!,” he grinned widely. Out of the side of your eye, you saw Loki sit back down and return to his book. 

Thor pointed towards the ceiling, squinting for a moment. You listened and then walked over to the windows, gazing over the city. The rain had stopped. The sky was now clear, and you could faintly see the stars now. 

“Wow… you guys really are Gods, huh?,” you muttered in awe as you looked back at him.

“Yup! One of the many bonuses,” Thor smiled and winked at you while he pointed finger guns in your direction, and you felt a blush on your cheek. Those Odinsons were very full of themselves. 

Thor plopped down next to his brother, “Loki, what do you think of going out for a bit? I’ve heard there’s this new club-”

“Not interested,” Loki cut his brother off, licked his finger and turned a page, clearly annoyed at Thor’s boisterous presence.

You stood there another moment, replaying the last few minutes as you looked out the window. You and Loki had just been about to…something. And then nothing. Again. Loki definitely made his intention clear. But there’s nothing that can be done now that Thor’s here. 

You felt relief that there was definitely something between you, and you had to suppress the overjoyed smile creeping across your lips.

“Well, thanks Thor. I really appreciate it!,” you nodded and gave him a friendly wave as you decided to go back to your room. 

“Sweet dreams, Darling,” Loki cooed to you without looking up from his book. You felt a pang of need, briefly thinking of inviting him back to your room. Nope, bad idea- not in front of Thor, he was a total gossip.

“You too, Loki,” you shot back with flirty confidence, turning to hide the beaming smile you couldn’t contain any longer. 

~~~~~~

Day 17

You and Wanda meandered through the crowd, taking in the sights and sounds of the street fair. The storms had passed (thanks to Thor), and the weather was clear and bright. You felt great except for one thing…

“Any news? How is it going with your elusive orgasm?”, Wanda casually asked before taking a sip of her smoothie. 

“Ugh, still absent. I dunno, maybe it’s forever,” you dryly joked, hoping that wasn’t the case. 

“Hm…I think it’s time you had sex, instead of just masturbation. When are you going to ask for Loki’s help?,” she teased you, giving you a gentle nudge with her shoulder. 

“I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. He came up behind me the other night, like inches behind me, and was asking if there was ‘anything else he could help me with’,” you mocked Loki’s tone.

“What do you think he meant by that? Was he offering to fuck you?,” Wanda seemed as perplexed as you. 

 “It sure felt like it, I was about to jump his bones but then Thor walked in. But it’s like he’s deliberately torturing me- he immediately dropped it. It’s starting to piss me off. I haven’t seen him since that night, it’s almost as if he’s avoiding me. I’ve been intentionally in the common rooms more than normal, but Loki’s nowhere to be found!,” you shook your head, annoyed. 

“Why don’t you go to him, then? Just go to his room, make a move!,” Wanda encouraged as she smiled at a group of teens giggling as they walked by the two of you. 

“I don’t know, we keep getting interrupted. I really think it’s the universe telling me to back off. Plus, he's not exactly shy- if he wanted me, he'd just go for it,” you replied, feeling a bit dejected.

The two of you headed towards a jewelry stand, smiling politely at the woman who stood behind the table while the two of you perused her wares. 

“Hmm, perhaps you’re right. It is strange that he hits on you, but then doesn’t follow through. Maybe Loki isn’t the answer. What about Bruce? I bet he can keep a secret”, she asked thoughtfully, while looking at a necklace. 

“No way! I mean, he’s nice and all but not the kinda thing I’m into,” you replied with a shrug.

“Steve?”

You couldn’t hold back your look of distaste as you scrunched up your nose, making Wanda chuckle. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Steve is hot. And he’s a really nice, kind man…,” you walked back your immediate reaction, pondering the suggestion. 

“...But you prefer an asshole,” Wanda finished your thought. 

You laughed, maybe she was onto something.

“I hear Logan is joining the team next week,” she suggested as the two of you left the tent back into the street. 

“Too hairy, not really my type.” You shook your head adamantly. 

“I think the problem is that you’re too picky. And you’re fixated on a certain man. You should just show up at his door, and ask him to fuck you already. And if you’re not going to do that, move on,” a bit of frustration filled Wanda’s voice. 

“Yea, maybe you’re right. I’m going to have to make a decision one way or another, because I think this pent up horniness is messing with my mind- I’m going crazy!,” you said with an exasperated tone. 

As the two of you continued to explore, you glanced around the fair, looking for Loki. You knew he was here somewhere, Thor had talked about the two of them joining the rest of your team after their sparring time.

Your eyes found Loki across the street as you scanned the crowd. His outfit was impeccable as always- a tight emerald green sweater and black slacks that hugged his sculpted body perfectly. He always looked effortlessly cool and put together, and it drove you crazy. You felt an intense need to mess him up, ripping his clothes off of his body as the two of you devoured each other like animals. 

 Loki stood smiling his perfect smile as he took selfies with people- a group of women and men were slowly gathering around him. Others on the street started to gather around Thor and Steve, as well. The team didn’t normally all go out together, and now people were picking up on who you were. 

“Excuse me, you’re on the Avengers, right?”, a deep voice questioned from behind the two of you, breaking your concentration on Loki. You and Wanda turned around, realizing that crowds were not just forming around your teammates, but you two as well.

“Uh, yes,” you smiled hesitantly at the handsome man. He was tall, broad shouldered, and you could see his large chest muscles under his tight black t-shirt. His tanned skin complimented his chestnut wavy hair with blonde highlights. You had to stop yourself from undressing him with your eyes, your wanton desperation seeming to take over as you felt your heart race.

Wanda noticed your immediate reaction, and gently pushed you on your back, moving you closer to him. You shot her a look. 

“Wow, I just want to thank you, you know, for everything. Could I get a selfie?”, he smiled with attentive eyes. 

You suddenly felt flustered- nobody typically noticed you amongst the others, but it felt great. 

“Yea, of course,” you beamed, feeling your cheeks get hot as you posed. You noticed Wanda was also posing for a selfie, and a line had begun to form by her. You scanned the crowd again, realizing what was going on- crowds were forming around the Avengers, wanting autographs and selfies. 

“Thanks again for, you know, saving the world and all that…I live in the Village and once saw you and the others beating up some guys…,” the man shyly smiled at you, and you found yourself taken aback by how sweet he was despite his very buff exterior. 

“Oh, you know, just part of the job…,” you acted nonchalant, playing it cool as you flirtatiously pulled a strand of hair behind your ear and flashed him a smirk.

Suddenly, a shove from behind pushed your elbow, knocking your coffee out of your hand as you gasped. 

“Sorry!,” a teen yelled as he ran towards Tony for an autograph. You rolled your eyes at Tony, who could’ve stayed behind in the tower, but couldn’t help himself as he showed off his new suit to the forming crowds. 

“Oh no! Are you okay? Can I buy you another coffee?,” the handsome man next to you offered. He seemed very gentle and kind. You were wary, but in the back of your mind you thought that maybe this was exactly what you needed. 

“Yea I’m fine…but sure, I’ll take another coffee,” you smiled at him, as he took your hand and led you away from the crowd, towards a vendor stall. 

“My name’s Eric, by the way,” he nodded to you and gestured for you to order your replacement brew. You ordered and briefly wondered how you should play this. Was he being friendly or flirty? He’s cute, and you desperately needed to be fucked. You decided to go for it.

“Nice to meet you, Eric. Thanks for getting me another coffee, you didn’t have to. Are you sure your girlfriend wouldn’t mind?,” you smiled coyly.

You forgot how nice it was to flirt outside the tower. There was a whole city of available men and you’d been pining over a snobby prince with an attitude.

A snobby prince who was headed towards you. You caught a glimpse of Loki walking to the vendor where you and Eric stood. His face was placid, no strong emotions as he slowly strolled forward.

Eric laughed at your brazen flirtation, “No girlfriend. So would it be too forward of me to ask for your number?.” You looked into his hazel eyes, not seeing any malice, only warmth. Just what you needed- someone who was nice and direct, no more head games. 

“No, not too forward at all, I’d love to give you my number!”, you couldn’t help but blush and grin as you tried to continue your breezy facade. 

“Are you alright? I saw that man run into you,” Loki asked as he arrived next to the two of you, showing more concern for your well being than was necessary. Not even Steve rushed to your aid- because it wasn’t needed, it was just a spilled coffee and you’re a super soldier.

You decided to dismiss whatever Loki was up to.

“Oh yea, I’m fine, it wasn’t a big deal!,” you hand waved him away, hoping he’d take the hint. He’s done nothing but toy with you for the last couple of weeks, you’re not about to let him stop you from this.  

“Hi, I’m Eric, nice to meet you!,” Eric extended a hand to Loki, who immediately took it firmly. 

“Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard,” he said in a tone that could be easily considered condescending. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“Oh yea! Nice to meet you man, you’re Thor’s brother, right?,” Eric asked genuinely, not having a clue how incendiary that question was. Loki hated to only be known as "Thor's brother". You internally screamed and looked at him, praying he wouldn't make a scene. He gave a big smile, stepping away from Eric and closer to you.

“Yes.”

Loki didn’t elaborate, he just stood next to the two of you, lingering while you looked at Eric. A brief moment passed as the three of you stood silently, and you and Eric exchanged confused looks. Loki had managed to make this encounter incredibly awkward. Bastard.

Eric finally cleared his throat , “so…your number?”, he handed his phone to you. 

“Yes! Of course!,” you took his phone and put your number in, as Loki continued to stand there, watching quietly, his hands in his pockets and standing confidently reserved.

“Maybe we could grab dinner? I’m out of town for work the next few days, but we could go out when I get back?,” Eric asked hopefully, ignoring Loki like you were. 

“Sounds perfect,” you replied happily as you heard the notification of his test text coming through your phone. 

“Cool, it was great to meet you, text me!,” he smiled, waving to you as he walked back towards his friends in the crowd.

You watched him walk away for a moment, then remembered who was standing right next to you. You suddenly felt very angry. 

“What the hell was that, Loki?!,” you asked, smacking him on the arm. He just smirked down at you. Again, no sign of any affection towards you, Loki simply stood next to you.  

“Just a concerned teammate,” he casually replied, now turning his attention back to the crowds thinning out. 

“Why are you so concerned that I’m talking to another man?! What’s the matter- jealous??,” you remarked in a mocking tone, as you headed back towards Wanda. 

Loki laughed and turned to walk in the opposite direction of you, uninterested in continuing the conversation. You watched as he sauntered away, his regal, confident stride irritating you more. 

You threw your arms up, frustrated at his intrusion on your moment with Eric. This was deliberate now. He’s just trying to prevent you from being with someone else, but he doesn’t want you either. What a dick. 

Wanda flagged you down as she and Vision made their way towards you, the crowds thinning. 

“Well that guy was super cute! Do you think he has what it takes to cure you?,” Wanda cheerfully teased as she hooked arms with yours.

“Are you sick?,” Vision asked, sounding as concerned as an android could.

“Something like that,” you chuckled. The three of you continued to walk through the crowd, and you noticed Loki get swarmed again by a group of men and women. 

----

On the Edge Chapter List

Peachyjinx Masterlist

[tomfoolies]

selfshiptober: tomja edition days 20-21

the moment i've been waiting for !!! i wrote these two prompts as the very first ones back in september, and definitely consider them my favourites of this month! hope you guys like them as much as i do <33

20. trust 

Drinking to soothe his anxiety wasn't the best idea. Sharing his stupid plan with Sonja wasn't very smart either, based on the way she's reacting.

"Tom. You don't have to do it."

Her voice is calm and slow, but the desperation bleeds through. With tears in her eyes like she's seeing the future looming behind him, caught in the middle of receiving a premonition.

He sighs deeply, thinking in circles — the result always ends up being the same. "But this could be my best move. I might not have a choice."

"But you do. I promise you do," she counters, nearly pleading. "Just hold out a little bit longer. See what happens. That's all I ask."

Resolve and hesitation in a headlock somewhere in his chest. She's knelt down in front of him, peering into his eyes; always observing him, paying attention. Seeing to the very depths of him in a way that is both comforting and agonizing. He feels so wide open under her gaze.

She is right, he relents; he does have a choice. He just doesn't know if he's making the right one.

21. nightmare

In the back of the plane, all alone with no crew or any of his coworkers, he thinks about the body, still laying right where he left it.

Small and fragile, a human but not really, not ever. Growing colder by the minute. Broken sternum and ribs from the mandatory attempts to save the conceded heart.

He wants to go check on it, just in case. Make sure it's not breathing again; he wouldn't know what to do if the old man tried to crawl back to life, refusing to quit. He wants to call the siblings, he wants to call her and tell them he's done, they need to come get him because there's only so much he can take and at least he knows when it's time to—

He blinks and then he's awake, staring at the half-open bedroom door leading to the hallway.

Sonja’s deep-sleep breathing prompts him to turn around. The clock on her bedside table tells him there’s still hours left until the morning. The dream wasn't anything special, very similar to the others he's been having lately, but it always leaves a lingering feeling of revulsion. Making it hard to fall back asleep immediately.

To ease that feeling he listens to the sounds of slumber, both hers and the dogs'. Wondering when the ghosts will finally leave him be.

[moonlit-jeno]

red door, yellow door (m.)

pairing: mark lee x fem reader x jung jaehyun

genre/warnings: explicit sexual content | demon au | slight dubcon??? the mans a lust demon idk | Very mild horror themes | minor mlm | don’t attempt this game pls !!!

words: 8.1k

a/n: this is a repost from my old bts blog! pls don’t ask abt it bc i no longer actively follow bts :)

One of these days, you’re going to kill your coworkers.

You love them, you really do, but sometimes they can just be so dumb. It was Donghyuck and Renjun who came up with the idea to play this stupid game, one that is probably only played by naive 12 year old girls during slumber parties.

Normally you’d just brush it off, but Renjun had called you a wimp, so naturally you had to do it. Which is how you’ve ended up on your back with your best friend massaging circles into your forehead.

“Red door, yellow door, any other color door,” is being chanted around the room. You fight the urge to move your neck to a more comfortable position on Mark’s lap. Your hand twitches above your head, where your arms are raised. “This is stupid,” You whisper, and Mark laughs, scolding you lightly.

After a while, the mindless chanting lulls you to sleep, and you feel yourself drift off.

“What do you see?”

Two doors appear in front of you, one red and one yellow. They both look kind of old, paint chipping and peeling off.

“Anything else?”

A black door appears next to the yellow one and you find yourself drawn to it, wanting to go in. This one is shinier, considerable newer and more inviting compared to the other two

“Go in.”

You open the door and walk through, a sense of relief flooding through your senses as you give in to the pull. The room that you find yourself in seems never ending, the only thing in it a large bed.

“Do you see anyone?”

A man appears, sitting on the bed. The suit he’s wearing is unfitting for the plain surroundings- in fact, he’s unfitting for the surroundings in general. His teeth are blinding white when he smiles, not a hair out of place on his entire head. He’s attractive, all golden skin and beautiful features. Almost too beautiful. A shiver crawls up your spine, a tinge of discomfort bleeding into your senses. He smiles, dimples popping out, and you push the discomfort to the back of your mind.

“Who are you?” Your voice comes out distant to your own ears, echoing around you.

“Call me Jaehyun. Why don’t you come here, little bird? We can get properly acquainted.” The voice sounds haunting, like a distorted video. You wouldn’t believe that he’s speaking if his lips didn’t move in sync. Despite the unnatural voice sounding warning bells in your brain, you find yourself moving forward automatically and settling down on his lap when he pats his thigh for emphasis.

“And what’s your name, little bird?” He trails a hand up and down your thigh and you shiver, leaning back against him. He chuckles when you tell him your name, a pleased smile lighting up his features.

“Well, little bird, seems that we’re going to have some fun together.”

Your name is being echoed all around you, and you wake with a jolt, eyes flying open to see Mark staring at you.

“Are you okay?” The rest of your group is also gathered around you, standing in a half circle.

“Yeah, just fell asleep for a bit. Why?” You push yourself onto your elbows, sitting up so that you can lean against Mark.

Donghyuck plops down on the floor, sitting so that he’s facing you. “You were talking like you were having a conversation with someone. Who was it?”

You shrug, trying not to dull his excitement. “I don’t know, just some guy.”

“Was he wearing a suit?” Renjun asks, standing behind Hyuck. He grimaces when you nod. “Y/n, we literally told you not to talk to anyone in a suit. We told you not to talk to anyone. It’s in the rules.”

You roll your eyes, knowing how serious he gets when it comes to stuff like this. “Relax, it’s fine. He seemed nice, and it’s not like it was anything real.”

Renjun still doesn’t look convinced, but Mark interrupts his paranoia by doing what he’s best- or worst, depending on who you ask- at, cracking jokes.

“Hey, was he eating deviled eggs?” He laughs at his own joke, and everyone else groans. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. His place was probably such a hellhole.” The bad mood dissolves into jokes and loud laughter for the rest of the night.

You leave the party- or gathering as Donghyuck had called it because it sounded more mysterious- when it starts storming. The rain drenches you and pretty much everyone else that’s sitting on the porch, leaving you scrambling for shelter. Luckily, Mark offers you a ride.

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite!” Mark hollars out the window of his truck, his words getting lost in the night as he speeds off. His truck hits a pothole and you can imagine him swearing as his head hits the roof. Giggling to yourself, you unlock your apartment and slip inside. It’s close to 2 in the morning, so you decide that if you’re already not going to get that much sleep, why not binge Shameless?

You only get through two episodes before your eyelids feel heavy, and you have to fight to keep them open. On screen, there’s a bar fight that you try to take interest in, but sleep quickly pulls you under.

“Welcome back, little bird.” The voice is all around you, but no matter how much you turn and search, no one’s to be found.

“Turn around, little bird, I am here.” Spinning abruptly, you come face to face with the man from earlier, Jaehyun. He gives you a chilling grin.

“So we meet again,” he starts, and his voice no longer sounds eerie or inauthentic. He sounds like, well, a normal man. “Tell me, what would you do if I were to kiss you?”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips on instinct. “Depends. Are you a good kisser?” You aim for coy, but you miss the mark and land closer to worried.

“You could say that.” He pulls you close with one hand on the back of your head, stopping right before your lips. “May I?”

You nod, and he pulls you in for a gentle, closed mouth kiss.

It’s like that touch ignites a fire in you, because before you know it, your arms are thrown around his neck, dragging him closer to deepen the kiss. You lick along his lower lip and he readily grants you access, a throaty groan leaving him when you suck on his tongue. Liquid heat courses through your veins when he nips at your lower lip, tongue flicking over it in apology. You moan, raw and needy. He likes that, if the chuckle and wicked grin is anything to go by. Picking you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, he walks over to a bed that definitely wasn’t there before.

He drops you on the bed, and then suddenly you’re both naked. Jaehyun leans over you, all lean muscles and golden skin. His cock hangs hard and flushed between his legs, and you have the urge to swallow him down. He groans, as if reading your mind, and then reaches to pump himself slowly, long fingers wrapped around the length. “Not now, little bird, not now. I have something else in mind.” With one gentle push to your shoulders, you’re lying flat on the bed, Jaehyun between your legs. His mouth hovers over your core, already wet and dripping despite not having been touched. He plays idly with the slick on your upper thigh, drawing random patterns into the flesh. His eyes are dark, and you could swear that they’re entirely black, no white visible. He peers curiously up at you from between your legs, watching your reaction as his fingers get closer and closer to where you want him. Your breathing picks up as arousal thrums through your body, center pulsing and aching for some sort of relief.

“May I have you?” His breath ghosts over your center when you speak, the sensation making you even needier. 

You nod quickly. “Take it, fuck, you have all of me.” He grins, wasting no time in diving in. His tongue feels impossibly good, licking up your folds and circling over your clit. He leaves sloppy kisses along your core, one hand massaging your thigh and keeping you spread open. You cry out when his tongue pushes into you, his nose brushing your clit and sending sparks up your spine.

His tongue feels impossibly long, so good inside of you that you feel like you’re losing your mind. Your hips buck up desperately, riding his face to hell and back. One arm gets thrown over your stomach to keep you in place while two fingers from his free hand dip into your soaking core, curling into that spot immediately. Stars flash behind your eyes, one hand coming down to fist in Jaehyun’s hair. Your feet scramble frantically along his back, heels digging in in an effort to anchor yourself, toes curling at the sensations singing through you.

You feel your orgasm drawing closer, heat pooling in your center. You whimper brokenly as you try to chase after your high, grinding your hips along his tongue. He lets you, just holding his tongue flat out for you to ride.

You come like that, falling apart on his tongue, screams of his name falling from your lips. He works you through it, tongue gently licking along your folds, slurping up your arousal as if he hasn’t had a meal in weeks.

You lay there, boneless and whimpering weakly through the aftershocks until Jaehyun pulls away to kiss up your body. He licks into your mouth hotly, reminding you that he hasn’t come yet. You bat weakly at his chest, pushing him onto his back. “Your turn,”

He groans in appreciation at the view of you above him. “So perfect, little bird. I’m gonna have so much fun with your soul.”

This sentence freezes you in your spot. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Jaehyun meets your gaze, black eyes entrancing you. “That means, y/n, that I’m going to have your soul. You belong to me now, hmm?” One of his hands plays gently with a strand of your hair. “That’s what you agreed to earlier, no?”

“N-no.” You try backing away, but the inhuman voice from earlier is back, echoing everywhere, repeating his words over and over until you can’t take it anymore-

You wake with a gasp, hitting your head as you sit up. Your computer is still on your lap, episode fifteen playing. Fuck, you’ve only been asleep for forty five minutes. It’s not even three yet, and you don’t have to go to work until eight. Deciding there’s no way you’re falling back asleep, you get up and decide to bake.

Five hours later, your coworkers love you when you show up with containers of cinnamon rolls, five different types of cookies, and a coffee cake. Mark looks mildly worried.

“You okay? I haven’t seen you bake since high school.” You snap out of your thoughts and turn to face Mark. The look of concern on your best friend’s face is enough to make you feel guilty and you nod, forcing a smile onto your face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Had a bad dream last night and couldn’t sleep, that’s all.” You respond, trying not to show how bothered you actually are.

“Wanna talk about it?” Mark leans forward over his desk, chin planted on his hand.

“No, it’s gonna sound dumb.” You whine, shaking your head. And it is dumb, even to you. You’re scared because you had a dream that some man ate you out and then told you he was going to take your soul?

“Well, you always sound dumb. Of course your dreams are gonna be dumb.” Mark laughs as you chuck a piece of cake at him, infectious laugh soothing you. You sigh.

Mark raises his eyebrows at you when you finish telling him your dream. “You’re scared because you had a wet dream? Damn, I’d be living in a nightmare if I was scared after every wet dream I’ve had.”

You kick him under the table. “Mark! It was really scary. He told me he was going to take my soul!”

Upon seeing that you’re actually freaked out, his face softens. “Look, y/n, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You probably just thought that he was hot, and your brain remembered his face and put it in a dream. I wouldn’t worry about it; what’s the worst he’s gonna do, haunt you?”

You give a shaky nod, agreeing. It’s not like something from your dreams could actually harm you. Mark reaches across the desk, taking your hand in his and giving a tight squeeze, warm brown eyes gazing at you openly. “And if something does happen, just remember that I’m your best friend. I’ll be here for you.”

“Thanks, Mark. Means a lot to me.”

He leans back in his seat. “Anytime, anyplace, anything. Triple A.”

You smile, raising an eyebrow. “Anything?”

His eyes go wide, taking in the glint in your eyes. “Within reason.”

“How about a sip of coffee?” You nod down at his cup, pasting a huge smile on your face.

“I did say within reason, so no.”

You huff. “I expected that.”

Although you don’t scare easily, it’s safe to say that you’re a bit unsettled tonight, especially after your nightmare last night. You find yourself jumping at every little noise, hand slamming the light switch on with your pulse racing every five minutes. This has been going on for an hour, and after a final sweep of your room reveals nothing, you decide that maybe a face mask will help you relax.

Your bathroom has two mirrors facing each other, which is normally a blessing when you do your hair, but tonight it does nothing but make you want to hide under your blankets.

Get a grip on yourself, you chastise, grabbing your phone and opening spotify. Maybe some music will help? You click on your Christmas playlist because what better way to cheer up than to think about your favorite holiday?

A mistake, really, because it seems that you’ve forgotten how creepy Santa is.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake,” Yikes. You stop that song in a hurry, feeling anything but comforted. No music then, noted.

You reach for your face wash, turning the sink on and waiting for the water to warm. You can’t help but glance in the mirror behind you every so often, paranoia getting the best of you. Man, you feel pathetic, worrying about monsters in your closet like you’re six and not twenty-six.

You wash your face quickly, hoping that your fears will wash away as well. No such luck.

You swear you see something move behind you after you dry your face off, but there’s nothing there. Shaking it off, you reach for your face mask, taking your time painting your face with the green clay.

It’s after your face is coated that you spot someone in the glass behind you. You scream, whipping around to come face to face with a man. Not just any man- Jaehyun.

Your heart thunders in your chest, eyes widening in fear. He seems to be in the mirror, copying your petrified expression mockingly.

“Hello, little bird.” He purrs, smirking lightly.

“Are you- are you in my mirror?” You’re in disbelief, mind struggling to comprehend this. First you spot him while in a weird trance, then in a dream, and now in your mirror? Maybe you’re having a quarter life crisis.

“No, I am not. Mirrors are just gateways to alternate dimensions. I’m merely using the mirror to visit you.” He says this like it’s common knowledge. It feels like your throat is made of sandpaper with how hard it is to choke out your words. “O-okay. I’m just gonna- yeah.”

You grab your phone from the counter and bolt, fumbling for your keys before jumping into your car and speeding off in the direction of Mark’s house. You call him, fingers fumbling on the screen. He goes to voicemail the first time, and your heart drops. “No, no, no,” you whisper frantically, calling again. He does pick up this time.

“Y/n? It’s the middle of the night.” His voice sounds gruff, and you feel guilty for waking him up. One glance in your rear view mirror reveals that Jaehyun is joining you on this ride, and you scream, car swerving violently to one side before you straighten it out.

“Where are we going, little bird?”

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Mark’s voice has lost its sleepy edge, taking on a concerned tone. He says your name again, more frantic.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Your tires squeal as you make a turn, now only two blocks away. “Can I- can I come over? I really need to be with someone right now.”

“Of course, you know you’re always welcome. The door’s unlocked.”

You hang up, willing the tears in your eyes to not spill over. Finally arriving, you slam on the breaks and haphazardly pull next to a curb, yanking the key out of the ignition and sprinting to Mark’s house.

You lock the door behind you when you step inside, testing the handle as if a door could stop a mirror traveling demon or whatever the fuck Jaehyun was from coming inside. “Mirrors,” you mumble, reaching the stairs.

“Y/n? What’s-” Mark stands at the top of the stairs, one hand rubbing at his eyes. You cut him off, flying up the stairs.

“Mirrors, fuck. Mark, we need to cover the mirrors!” You breeze by his shocked figure, not noticing the way he turns to stare at you incredulously.

“What, why? Y/n, are you crazy?”

Ignoring him, you throw a towel over the mirror in his bathroom, ripping open a pack of bandaids to use as adhesive.

You throw another towel over the mirror in his bedroom, collapsing on his bed when you’re done and finally allowing yourself to sob.

“Y/n, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” Mark, as gentle and caring as ever, comes over to sit next to you, one hand combing through your hair.

“I- don’t laugh at me.” You stare him straight in the eye, pleading with him. You know you’re going to sound crazy, but you’re praying that your best friend listens to you. He nods, urging you to go on.

“That- that man I saw in my dream and during whatever fucked up game Hyuck had us play? He was in my fucking mirror, Mark. I- the whole night, I had this feeling that I was being watched, and then I went into my bathroom and he was just there, and-” You’re hyperventilating at this point, fighting for every breath, tears clouding your vision. “He was in my car, in the rear view mirror-” Mark pulls you closer, enveloping you in his arms and allowing you to sob loudly into his chest. You cry for a few minutes, until you’re finally able to pull yourself together.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’ve had a rough week, I know. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay.”

He wipes a tear away from your check, patting you lightly. “Why don’t you go wash this off, okay? We can watch a movie after.” He offers, and until that point, you’d forgotten you were wearing a face mask. You grimace at the green imprint on his black shirt, but he just chuckles. “I’ll go grab you some water in the meantime.”

Nodding, you garner up the energy to walk to his bathroom. It’s fine, the mirror’s covered, he can’t hurt you. You close the door just in case, wanting an extra level of protection

You rinse your face with cold water, hoping that it will clear your mind. You give your face a couple more splashes before drying off with a towel.

“You missed a spot on your forehead.” You freeze before looking around wildly. There’s no one around, which can only mean that Jaehyun can still see you. Swallowing, you start the water again, rubbing at your forehead.

“And your left cheek.” You rub at the skin, being way too harsh but you excuse it considering your situation. “No, your other left. My left.”

“Jesus,” You growl in annoyance, reaching up to rip the towel down. Sure enough, there’s a splotch of green on your cheek. Jaehyun’s nowhere to be found. Maybe I am losing my mind.

You finish rinsing the mask off, finding some face lotion buried in Mark’s drawer, screaming bloody murder when Jaehyun appears in the mirror again. “Looking for me?”

“No! Leave me alone!” You cry, head spinning. Jaehyun fakes a pout, holding a hand over his heart in mock hurt. Do demons even have hearts?

“Ouch, little bird. You don’t want to finish what we started the other night? When I had you moaning so pretty, so wet for me. I’m sure your pussy would take me so well, hmm?” Your heart rate kicks up again, but for a different reason this time. You almost moan, thinking about the dream.

Because he was right, you had been so wet. The want comes back full forces, slamming into you like a truck. You remember how needy you were, wanting to suck his cock so bad, wanting him to fuck you like there’s no tomorrow. All fear that you previously had is slowly disappearing, fading into lust.

The demon smiles knowingly. “Ah, little bird, so you do remember. Remember how you promised me that you’re mine?”

You nod, eyes glazing over. You’re wet, panties starting to stick to your throbbing core uncomfortably.

“Mmmh, I bet you’re already dripping for me. Just waiting for me to come out and fill you up.”

Hearing your name leave his lips sends a wave of arousal crashing through you so strong that your knees buckle, grabbing onto the counter for support. He chuckles, but whatever he’s about to say is cut off by Mark.

“What were you say-” Your best friend trails off, eyes wide as he observes the scene. You snap out of your haze at the interruption. His mouth parts in shock. “You really weren’t kidding, shit.” He laughs humorlessly.

Then, quick as lightning, he rears back and punches the mirror. You scream in surprise at the crack, shards falling to the floor.

You and Mark both stare at the broken shards of glass on the ground, gleaming under the lights. “Mark,” You start, trailing off once you realize you have nothing to say. He seems to understand, walking forward until he’s close enough to pull you into a hug. You feel tears start to slide down your cheeks, dampening the cotton of your best friends shirt. You hug him closer, burying your face into his broad chest. He wraps himself around you, and you let yourself be lulled into the sense of security that his larger frame brings you. A sense of security that vanishes once you hear a low chuckle that definitely does not belong to Mark.

You both scream, leaping backwards and away from the noise. Jaehyun stands there, just in front of the door, with a shit eating grin on his face. You cower behind Mark, who is wrapping a protective arm around you while simultaneously trying to hide behind you.

“I really must thank you for finally setting me free. Normally I have to wait for some asshole with a ouija board, but then there’s just so many other demons that I have to compete with. So I just stick to the dream world-” He pauses to wink at you for emphasis “-but this is so much more fun.” His eyes are black, and you can’t tell where he’s looking. Swallowing, you clutch onto Mark’s arm for dear life.

The demon seems to regard the two of you for a moment, before his amusement seems to grow. He begins to move forward.

“Ah, Mark Lee. Lovely name for a stupid boy. Didn’t you know breaking a mirror is bad luck?” By this point, you and Mark are flattened against the wall, while Jaehyun stands less than a foot away from the two of you. There’s nowhere to run. This is it, you think, this is how I die.

Jaehyun chuckles, turning to you. You lower your gaze to the ground; it hurts to make eye contact with him. “No, little bird. This isn’t how you die, don’t worry.”

Then he’s backing away from the two of you, motioning to follow him. The logical part of your brain is screaming not to, but you find yourself drawn to him, legs carrying you after him without your consent, Mark clutching your arm tightly as he walks next to you.

Jaehyun seems to know the layout of the house, leading you straight into Mark’s bedroom. The demon grabs a chair from the desk and spins it around, straddling it so that he’s facing the bed.

He motions lazily. “Go on now, have a seat. Get comfortable.”

You find yourself sitting down on the edge of the bed, following his words like marching orders. Mark sits about half a foot away from you. Jaehyun shakes his head. “No, no, no. That won’t do. I said to get comfortable, did I not?” He raises an eyebrow as if daring you to argue with him. “Go lay down at the head board.”

You crawl to the head of the bed, settling so that you’re on your side, facing the demon. Mark follows suit, pulling you close to him so that you’re spooning. Jaehyun lets out a pleased hum. “Much better. Aren’t you much more comfortable now?” Nodding, you realize that you actually are more comfortable. It’s not just the change of position, but the energy in the room as well. The demon is no longer giving off a threatening aura. It’s more relaxed, maybe even happy? He certainly looks more relaxed, probably as happy as a demon can get, if not a little smug.

Your body is pulsing with energy, and it takes you a moment to place what you’re feeling. The earlier need to run that you had felt has been replaced with another need, albeit further down. Your thighs clench as another surge of heat pulses through your core, and your face warms at the realization. Why now, of all times, are you horny?

Jaehyun’s grin broadens as he seems to sense your dilemma. “Oh, little bird, if only you knew. Tell me, what type of demon do you think I am?” He watches you curiously, black eyes staring into your soul.

You try to tilt your head towards Mark, but the position’s too awkward and you only catch a glimpse of the side of his face. He looks a bit flushed from what you can see, teeth digging into his plush bottom lip, teeth that you could easily replace with your own- you blink, dazedly. What the fuck? Sexual thoughts about your best friend? That’s a new one. Even if you’ve noticed that he’s hot, you’d never thought about him sexually. Now, though, you can feel the hardness of his dick against your ass, and you can’t help but think about how good he could fuck you.

“Incubus,” You finally manage, blinking rapidly to clear the haze of your vision. Jaehyun grins, looking genuinely surprised that you’d gotten it right.

“Good girl. Make a little sense now?” You nod, fighting a moan as Mark starts to rock against you, slowly, as if he’s unconsciously doing it. Jaehyun notices.

“How about you, Mark? You doing alright over there?”

Your friend, your best friend, buries his face in your neck and groans, deep and delicious. It sends another surge of heat through your body, the growing need between your legs pulsing pathetically. “What are you doing to us?” The words are growled behind you, vibrating against the skin where his lips are pressed.

“Oh no, Mark, I’m not doing anything to you. The only thing I can do to you is make you realize your desires. Your deepest, darkest fantasies? I make that happen. Finally being able to fuck the girl you’ve been in love with for years? I make that happen.” The words take a minute to register with you, but you stiffen when the meaning hits you. Mark Lee, in love with you? An unlikely story, bordering impossible.

The demon chuckles at your inner turmoil, rolling his eyes at how dumb humans can be. “You too, y/n. You love Mark, even if you won’t admit it. You let the idea that he was too good for you scare you away from him. Do you not remember how often you thought of him, late at night after first meeting him?”

You groan in protest, not because it’s not true, but because you do remember. It had been so long ago. When you hadn’t known Mark, had only known of him. You pull away from Mark, awkwardly pushing him to lay flat against the pillows while you clamber on top of him.

“Mark, is it true? Do you love me?” You hold his face between your hands, staring into his eyes. He meets your gaze, pupils blown and eyes half lidded. He nods as best he can.

“So, so much.” Mark’s voice comes out raspy, matching his flushed skin. You lean down to kiss him, uncaring of the other presence in the room. Mark moans when your lips make contact, hands pulling you to straddle him. Your eyelids flutter at the feeling of his clothed cock against your center, rocking your hips to try to ease the throb of your core. His hands fly to your ass, pulling and kneading at the flesh as he urges you into a harsher pace.

The kiss is rougher, needier now, open mouthed and panting. Mark’s got his tongue tangled with yours, sucking in such a way that sends waves of heat through you. You want him in you, any part of him really.

Jaehyun seems to agree, speaking up from right next to you. You jump, having forgotten he was there although he’s the reason you’re like this in the first place.

“Let’s get the show on the road. As much as I’m enjoying this, I think we’d all enjoy something else a little more.” The demon reaches for the hem of your shirt and you nod, raising your arms above your head to let him pull the garment off. Mark groans at the newly revealed skin, hands going to cup your breasts through the fabric of your bra. “Fuck,” He whines, staring in awe at your chest. He doesn’t waste time before leaning up to kiss along your cleavage, pulling the bra down to expose your breasts. Another set of hands unclasp the bra before traveling down your torso to rub circles into your hip bones, sliding your sleeping shorts and panties off at the same time. Jaehyun throws the shorts somewhere off the bed. He keeps the panties, a pleased sigh leaving him as he appreciates the ruined fabric.

“Fuck, little bird. You’re really enjoying this,” He comments, as if he isn’t a fucking lust demon that can sense these kinds of things. You don’t voice your thoughts, because Mark chooses this moment to suck a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin so that all you can do is moan. “You’ve even ruined your panties. They’re soaked.”

He hands the strip of lace to Mark, who lets out a throaty groan at the sight. “You’re not getting these back.” He informs you, slipping the garment into his bedside drawer. You ignore him, instead tugging insistently at his shirt. He takes pity on you, grabbing the collar and yanking the baggy tee over his head.

You let your hands slide down his chest in admiration, feeling the hard lines of his muscles. You lick your lips at how broad his shoulders are, how strong he looks. Jaehyun doesn’t give you much time to enjoy the view, gliding two fingers along your slit before circling around your little nub. A cry of pleasure leaves you to mindlessly press your face into Mark’s collarbone, nipping and sucking the flesh until you’re sure you’ve left a bruise.

Jaehyun slips the two fingers into your aching core, curling and dragging them so well along your walls. Sparks of electricity flow through your veins, heat pooling in your center.

Mark groans from below you. Looking down, you see that you’ve unconsciously dug your nails into his hard chest in an effort to ground yourself. You remove your hands, only to spot little red half crescents littered over his skin. You rub your palms over the marks as if to soothe them, but it seems that the man wasn’t groaning from pain.

“Y/n” He sounds so fucked out, voice hoarse and raw even though hardly anything has happened yet. “You look so good like this, so perfect for me.” He brings one large hand up to cup your cheek, thumb delicately stroking over your cheekbone before moving down to trace your lower lip. You part your lips, letting him slide in before sucking around the digit, tongue curling around it as if it were his cock. His eyes darken a fraction, tongue coming out to wet his lips, swollen and kiss bitten.

You moan around the digit as Jaehyun adds a third finger, stretching your walls so pleasantly that you can’t help but buck your hips back for more. A whine forces its way out of your throat as the demon pulls his fingers out of you, leaving an empty ache between your thighs.

“Don’t you think it would be more fun if she was sucking on something a bit bigger than your finger, Mark?” The voice startles you, breath tickling your ear as he speaks. The man under you nods, swallowing thickly. Your eyes are drawn to the way his Adam’s apple bobs with the movement, and a gush of wetness pulses down below. Your thighs are probably covered in your arousal at this point.

You scoot down his body, trailing kisses and bites down his toned stomach. You take your time unzipping his pants, sucking a mark into the soft skin below his navel. He’s hard as a rock, and you moan in appreciation at the sheer size of him once you shimmy his jeans down his thighs.

“No underwear?” You ask, mouth curling up in a teasing smirk. He huffs out a laugh, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can watch. “No, ‘s too restricting.”

You lazily pump his dick, thumb flicking over the tip once or twice. You plan to tease him more, but then Jaehyun’s pushing your head down and you have no choice but to open your mouth wide, innocent eyes peeking up at Mark as you take his cock in your mouth. He’s so big that you can’t take him in all the way, keeping one hand curled around his cock to stroke what your mouth can’t reach. You let it get sloppy, using your spit to ease the glide until you’ve got a pleasant rhythm going. Mark replaces Jaehyun’s hands with his own, gathering strands of your hair in his palms and using that grip to control your pace. “F-fuck,” He lets out a shaky exhale, letting his head fall back against the pillows once he’s satisfied with the pace.

Jaehyun slaps your ass, a loud smack sounding throughout the room. You moan, pitching forward onto Mark’s cock and gagging as he hits the back of your throat. A strangled cry leaves the man above you, his hips thrusting even further into the tight, wet heat of your mouth.

The demon kneads your stinging flesh before using his grip on you to pull your hips up. “Good girl,” You keen under his praises, sticking your ass up even higher. The warm, wet pressure against your center has you faltering, moaning almost violently around Mark’s cock. He doesn’t seem to be having any complaints, the vibrations forcing a moan of his own out.

Your eyes roll up into your head as Jaehyun wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. You’re sure you’d be screaming by now if Mark’s cock wasn’t halfway down your throat. You’ve given up sucking him off by this point, content to let the man fuck your mouth while Jaehyun sucks your fucking soul out from between your legs. It feels so good, not used to being the center of even one man’s focus, let alone two.

Mark eases you off of his cock after you accidentally bite him, using your spit to ease the slide as he lazily fucks up into his loose fist. You rest your head on his thigh, alternating between moaning wantonly and mouthing messily against the skin as you feel your orgasm approach.

Jaehyun pulls away at the last second, and you whine loudly as your orgasm is cut off. The feeling of frustration leaves you close to tears, and you jiggle your ass in hopes that it will regain his attention. It does momentarily, as Jaehyun lands a harsh smack on the flesh, but he pulls away again.

“Mark,” The man in question looks up, hand freezing on his dick as if waiting for Jaehyun’s orders. And fuck, what a sight that would be: your normally brash and confident friend being so pliant and submissive to a near stranger… You blink out of it, feeling mildly ashamed even in your current state. Luckily, Jaehyun interrupts your thoughts. “I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll let you go first. You’ve been waiting long enough for this, anyway.”

Mark nods eagerly, pulling you into a desperate kiss. You paw at every inch of skin you can reach, searching for a release from the ache inside of you. Your wish is granted when he hooks two fingers in your soaking cunt, groaning at how wet you are. He scissors you open quickly, hissing at how tight you feel.

“Ready, angel? Want my cock?” The pet name has you moaning, though it draws a low chuckle from Jaehyun, who’s watching from his position next to Mark.

“Hurry up, already. Need you in me, ‘ve waited so long.”

Mark lights up at this, smile stretching his features. He looks so breathtaking in this moment, skin glowing and flushed, hair mussed up, eyes blown wide and half lidded.

“I’m yours,” He breathes, leaning up for one last kiss. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you forward so that you’re hovering above his thick cock. “Ride me baby.”

“I’d love to.” Reaching one hand down to position him at your entrance, you start to lower yourself down. Of course, Jaehyun chooses this exact moment to stop you. He truly is the spawn of Satan.

“Little bird, hold on just a second. I found something of interest in the back of Markie’s brain.” You cringe as he mocks your earlier nickname for the man. “What’s this I’m seeing, Mark? You like it up the ass?” His tone is teasing, but Mark groans in embarrassment. His face has gone an alarming shade of red by this point. “N-no,” He tries to deny, sputtering excuses but Jaehyun cuts him off with a press of a finger to his lips. “Oh, Mark, don’t get shy on me now. It’s a perfectly fine thing to like. Little bird, you’ll get your turn in a minute. You,” He snaps his fingers at Mark. “Come here. Kneel up, just like that. Perfect.” He appraises Mark’s ass for a moment, hands moulding the flesh before slipping a finger in. Mark’s eyebrows furrow, and you shoot up in alarm. “Doesn’t he need lube?”

Jaehyun looks at you, surprised that you care, before chuckling. “I can produce lube. Perks of being a lust demon.” Winking at you, he returns his focus to Mark. You can’t see what he’s doing, but the pure pleasure present on your best friends face has you clenching your thighs together, waves of need crashing through you. If you thought he looked good before, he looks absolutely gone now. Breathless groans are leaving him now, eyelids fighting to stay open as he sinks down on the others fingers. You watch him, mesmerized, before shuffling over to him.

“How close are you?”

He forces his gaze down to you. “Kind of- nngh- close, w-why?” 

Wrapping a hand around his base lightly, you start stroking. “Will you come if I blow you?”

He moans, a punched out sound that takes you by surprise. “Fuck, yes, I’ll definitely come if you blow me.” You pout in disappointment. Upon seeing your crestfallen expression, he continues. “Maybe we c-can- oh, yes- figure something out. Jaehyun,” He turns his head back behind him, struggling to get the words out between moans. “Can I eat y/n out?”

There’s just something so hot about Mark asking for permission from someone else that you can’t help the whimper that escapes you. Jaehyun must nod, because then you’re being laid back, Mark settling between your thighs. He’s sucking sweet kisses into your core almost immediately, pulling your legs over his shoulders to give him better access. You’re letting out sharp cries of pleasure the whole time, eyes fighting the urge to roll back in your head in favor of watching Mark between your legs. A particularly well placed flick of his tongue has your hips rolling against his face, grasping the sheets in your hand as your mind blanks. The pleasure climbing through your system is insane, threatening to burn you from the inside out.

It only gets better once Mark starts moaning, his sinful mouth sending sweet vibrations traveling up your core. You manage to catch sight of Jaehyun behind him, kissing wetly along his shoulders and neck, features curving into a smirk once he notices you watching him.

“Little bird likes this, hmm? Like watching another man pleasure your boyfriend while he pleases you?” You hum, unable to tear yourself away from his gaze, unable to even think, letting his boyfriend comment slide. Whereas before it hurt to look directly into his eyes, you now find yourself getting lost in his dark orbs. It’s like a drug, your pleasure being amplified by the man, demon, whatever in front of you.

You finally break eye contact, head falling back against the mattress as Mark draws you closer and closer to your peak. Burying one hand in his hair, you use the leverage to grind your core against his face, chasing your sweet release. “C-close, Mark, please-” You don’t know what you’re begging for at this point. It’s too much but not enough at the same time. Jaehyun saves you from having to decide by cruelly ripping your orgasm away from you, again, dragging Mark’s face away from your pussy.

A few tears slip down your face at this point, frustration reaching its peak. Jaehyun wipes the tears away, laughing lowly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get what you desire soon.”

He must pull out of Mark, because your friend whimpers before seeming to realize what he just did and clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Mark, would you like to fuck our little bird now?” Mark nods, tongue flicking out to wet dry lips.

Jaehyun smirks. “Good. On your back. Y/n, ride him.” You don’t have to be told twice. You scramble onto your knees, wasting no time in straddling Mark before dropping yourself down on him. You both moan in satisfaction, you at finally being filled and Mark at your tightness. You have to brace both hands on his chest, almost collapsing at the overwhelming relief you feel. Beyond the burn of the stretch, his cock filling you up so nicely, there’s a sweet pleasure, a satisfaction.

You don’t wait very long to adjust, grinding your hips in smooth circles before lifting yourself off of him and dropping yourself back down. You quickly start a rhythm of you bouncing on his cock, eyes rolling at how fucking big he feels in you.

Mark’s hands are locked in a vice grip on your ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh and using his grip to urge you into a faster pace.

Jaehyun decides to join, coming up behind you to kiss at your neck, one hand reaching up to your mouth. “Suck,” He commands, slipping two fingers past your willing lips. You do, hollowing your cheeks and slurping around the digits, wishing that it was his dick. He hums behind you, bringing the wet digits down to your entrance, finding your clit with ease and rubbing fast circles into the little nub. You moan even louder now, feeling yourself speed towards your climax. You’ve been on edge for too long, you can’t hold on anymore.

“You close, little bird? Going to come on Mark’s cock? Gonna make him fill you up, pound into that dirty cunt?” His words get to you, your head falling back against his shoulder once more.

“Yes, yes! Oh, please, please-” He cuts off your mindless rambling by pulling you in for a kiss, one that you melt into. This is the first time he’s kissed you, and you’re quite upset that you hadn’t kissed him earlier. It’s a hot kiss, lots of tongue and teeth. It heightens your pleasure immensely, and you can’t stop kissing him. You suck on his tongue filthily, and oh, he must like that if the resulting groan is anything to go by. Even when he goes to pull away, you won’t let him, one hand fisting in his hair to keep him close. He seems to be speeding up your release, if that were even possible. Your mind feels hazier now, every sensation heightened, core screaming for release. You feel your orgasm twisting painfully at your insides, pulsing before finally exploding. The intensity of it rips a scream out of your throat, nails scratching across Mark’s chest as Jaehyun licks even deeper into your mouth, drinking up the noises you make.

When you come down, Mark is still thrusting desperately up into you, though he stops at the demons command. “From behind,” You hear Jaehyun say, but everything’s hazy at this point. Your mind is still fuzzy from your orgasm, and it’s like watching through a screen. Like you’re high, though you hadn’t had anything the whole day.

Mark manhandles you into position, hands and knees with your ass raised high in the air. He leaves one gentle kiss on your shoulder blade before relentlessly pounding into you, cock hitting even deeper in this position. Jaehyun kneels in front of you, pulling your face in towards his cock. You moan around him as he slips inside, mouth not quite burning at the stretch like Mark, though the demon still has you gagging. His cock has the same effect on you as his kisses did, and you feel addicted. You’re slurping and sucking and moaning around him, not wanting the intense pleasure to stop. You barely hear the kissing above you, taking far too long to register that Jaehyun has pulled Mark into a messy kiss above you. The image has you moaning even more wantonly, ass pushing back against Mark.

The kiss seems to have a similar effect on the man, because then he’s slamming into you at an even more relentless rate, moans higher and more frequent before he’s coming with a shout, finally filling you up. Your core pulses again at the feeling, and you suck at Jaehyun’s dick with renewed vigor. His hands fist in your hair, keeping you still so that he can fuck your mouth as hard as he wants. You relish in the feeling of your throat being fucked raw, spit dripping out of your mouth and down his cock. He lets out a deep groan, hips slamming deep one last time as he finishes. His cum seems to ignite a fire within you, because you’re coming almost simultaneously with him, despite not even being touched.

You collapse afterwards, dragging yourself to Mark and letting him drape himself over you. You let yourself drift off to sleep, sated and still riding the high.

The demon kisses each of you one last time, drinking in the last remaining parts of your soul, watching as the two humans take their last breaths. “Thanks for the meal, lovelies.” He chuckles, petting your head almost affectionately before walking out into the night sky, not sparing a single glance back.

[wheelsup]

okay but can you imagine spencer washing your hair for you?

like, i never (ever) let anyone (at all) touch my hair, but i feel like he'd be really gentle about it, and there is just something so soft and tender to me about the idea of washing someone's hair for them 🥺

that’s my dream <3 ik you didnt specifically ask for a blurb but i think about this very often. i wrote two versions of this, but this one (with two bickering best friends who are v much in love) won my heart. 

wc: 1.6k   contains: friends (to crushes, maybe ;) ), injured reader. gn!reader

-

“Spence, I promise you that I can do it by myself,” you huffed, attempting to yank off your tank top as you walked toward the hotel bathroom, using only one arm while trying to keep the other as still as possible.

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you didn’t sound like you were going to cry,” he snickered, following hot on your trail as you tried to escape his hovering. 

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“Oh really? Lift your arm up, then.” He leaned his hip against the marble counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for you to do it. One obnoxiously smug eyebrow arched on his forehead.

Sometime during the case, you’d gotten into a brief tousle with a suspect, who just had to run away when approached. If Morgan had been there, you wouldn’t have even batted a lash, but he wasn’t. So not only had you detained him by yourself, you also wound up with a minor pulled muscle in your shoulder. 

You shot him a sarcastic smile, toothless and irritated, and raised your right arm into the air. He let out an airy scoff. 

“Other one, smart ass.”

Your arm dropped down to your side, your smile falling with it as you turned sharply towards the shower. 

“Look, I’m disgusting right now. So either I suck it up and shower, or you’re going to smell me until the day we solve this case.”

Spencer’s nose crinkled at the gross truth. He wasn’t ungentlemanly enough to tell you, but sharing a bed with a coworker was quite a quick way to discover if they were in need of a shower or not. Your shoulder might be out of service, but both of you could agree that hygiene was a bigger priority. 

“You can’t even move. Just… just let me help you.”

You snorted. “Nice try, Reid. I’m not letting you shower with me.”

He rolled his eyes at your use of his last name. You only called him that when you were annoyed with him. He pushed off the counter and turned to the wall, hitting the light switch and earning a shriek from you as the room suddenly went dark. 

“I won’t look,” he shrugged, amusing no one but himself. 

“You’re a clown, you know that?” you muttered under your breath, drawing back the shower curtain and fumbling around, searching for the knobs in pitch black. “Absolutely fucking theatrical.” 

You found them moments later and ran the water, testing the temperature on the back of your hand. By the time it went from cold to warm, you noticed that he still hadn’t moved. From the sliver of light peeking under the door, you could make out just his silhouette in the corner, perched on the vanity. 

He was being stubborn about this. That, and the comforting fact that you couldn’t see a single thing –– thankfully, not even his face –– wore you down.

“Close your eyes,” you murmured. 

“It’s already pitch black in here ––”

“Close your eyes, Reid.”

Sighing through his nose, he did just that. To make sure you knew it, and also maybe just to be annoying, he made a show of getting off the counter and turning himself around to face the wall. You peeled out of your clothes as quickly as you could. In the process, you caught the long shower curtain under the heel of your foot and, as you stumbled over it, accidentally dragged it along, sending the metal curtain hooks screeching as they slid along the bar.  

The second you found your ground, you immediately shot daggers into the back of Spencer’s head, waiting for him to make a joke. As if he could feel them, he bit back his quip. Not without letting a barely contained cackle slip under his breath. 

“Okay,” you warned, stepping into the shower. Grabbing the end of the shower curtain, you pulled it tightly over your body to cover yourself as you poked your chin out to talk to him. “I’m in.”

Spencer turned and approached the shower, eyes still shut with his hands out in front of him, feeling the walls for guidance. He was still mocking you for making him close his eyes. You raised your brows; he must’ve thought he was quite funny. 

“You look like Velma when she loses her glasses.”

That knocked the funny bone right out of him. His hands dropped to his sides.

“Just get your hair wet and hand me the shampoo.” 

You drew the curtain shut again as you dipped your head under the shower stream, coming back moments later with sopping wet hair and a little bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo. 

He let you sit on the floor of the bathtub, just slightly removed from the spray of the water. Your back was to him, as he kneeled down on the tile floor, just outside of the bathtub so he didn’t have to get wet. You bent your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them.

Spencer first pushed up the sleeves of his sweater as far as he could before deciding to remove it altogether for the sake of protecting the wool against stray water. The cuffs of his work shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows as he got to work.

Taking a healthy quarter-sized amount of shampoo into his palm, he lathered it between his hands before running soapy fingers through your scalp. The pads of his fingertips softly dug in as he carefully massaged the shampoo in.

When he started working his fingers in patterns, putting pressure near your temples and increasing it as he dragged them up the curve of your scalp, you let your eyes close. He was getting rid of a headache you didn’t even realize you had. 

The tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders eased a little, and it made him think about how much you probably needed this. One of his hands came down to massage the muscle between your neck and your good shoulder, knowing it was best to just let the hot water do its magic on the bad one. 

When the shampoo had been sufficiently lathered, he stood up and detached the shower head, bringing it down to you so you didn’t have to move. You leaned your head back for him as he carefully rinsed the soap out.

You weren’t going to ask, but thank God Spencer told you to hand him the conditioner next. This, he slathered all over the ends of your hair, making sure all of it was sufficiently covered in conditioner before loosely twisting it into a low, makeshift pony for you. 

“Mm. I was about to ask how you’re so good at haircare,” you chuckled lowly to yourself, in a half-sleepy voice with your forehead resting on your knees. Dangerously close to falling asleep. “Then I remembered what you used to look like.”

You had a lazy smile on your face just thinking about the days where Spencer’s hair used to be down to his shoulders. He looked so pretty like that (not that he didn’t look pretty now, too), you always wondered why he got rid of it. 

“Remember when I got shot in the knee?” he hummed, returning to work your shoulder. He adorned a tiny smile of his own as he started to reminisce. “You came by my house at least once a week. Brought me meals, watched movies with me. Helped distract me from the pain. Even drove me to my physical therapy appointments.” 

You mm-hmm’d that you remembered.

“You pretty much did everything shy of helping me bathe. Though, I feel like you would’ve helped with that, too, if I asked.”

You both laughed at that. You hadn’t really noticed the parallels of your situation, being injured and needing his help for once. He was happy to repay the favor. 

“I’ll, uh. Let you wash your body yourself,” he said, coming out of his daydream for a moment. He rinsed his hands off and got up, patting down his wet hands on his trousers. With one nod from you to confirm that you’d be able to do it, he quickly exited the bathroom to give you privacy. 

You emerged seventeen minutes later, clad in pajamas with towel-dried hair. Spencer was still awake as you crawled onto the bed beside him, more than ready for bed after that. He looked to the side to ask you how the rest of your shower was, and before he could get it out, you shuffled up next to him, winding one arm around his and resting your head on his chest.

“I take it you had a good shower?” he laughed. This was one of his “I told you so” moments, and for once, you didn’t mind it. 

“Mhm,” you smiled, chuckling behind it as you shut your eyes. You were falling asleep fast. “Spence, the scalp massage…” 

“Was good, right?” he boasted, inflating his own ego a bit. 

You nodded against his shoulder, not caring if you helped blow up his ego another two sizes. Burrowing deeper into the covers, nestling tighter against Spencer, you got one more quip in before falling asleep. “S’good that I think I have a crush on you now.” 

Joke or not, he pulled the blanket higher until it reached your chin, holding you with both arms and kissing the top of your head before falling asleep himself.

*

*

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[justalildumpling]

⇢friday night

synopsis: every friday night was a relaxing time for you, until one night your ex came to your doorstep and left you faltering once again. conflicted, you call your best friend sunwoo for advice; however, after sharing your vulnerabilities together, left you wondering where his true feelings lie.

pairing: best friend!sunwoo x reader (ft. ex boyfriend!juyeon) genre: angst, fluff, unrequited love word count: 1.2k warnings: drinking, break up, clubbing/partying note: lol i haven’t finished exams yet but i wanted to upload something so here u go hehe ;)

Friday night was your favourite time of the week.

It was your time to settle down on the couch without any worries about your mountainous workload and most importantly, it was quiet. As an office worker you were constantly surrounded by noise; whether it’s the managers nagging from your left to your nosy coworkers gossiping from the right, all you wanted was some peaceful time to yourself.

Every Friday evening had the same routine, go home, order food, shower, and watch TV. It wasn’t the typical Friday night that others imagined, but you didn’t want it any other way.

That Friday evening like every other, had you drained.

After ordering your dinner, you sat sprawled out on your couch, your head resting against its arms. You didn’t particularly feel like getting up, though you knew that you would regret it later.

“Five more minutes,” you thought.

Apparently the universe seemed to disagree as only a few seconds later your doorbell decided to chime.

Letting out a huff, you slowly crawled out of your position on the couch to the door. It was strange, you were pretty sure it had only been five minutes since you’d ordered your food, but then again, time seemed to go by so quickly lately.

With a click, the door frame is pulled towards your body. However, the person who stood in front of you wasn’t in fact your local pizza person, but Juyeon, your ex.

“Juyeon?” You muttered almost audibly, “What are you doing here?”

Juyeon remained silent, like he found it challenging to figure out what to say in response. Silence floated between the two of you, but it wasn’t awkward, but rather solemn.

“I missed you.”

|♥︎♥︎♥︎|

It was a typical Friday night for Sunwoo, leaving work ready to cool off from a long week. Though unlike your usual peaceful evening, his was spent at the nearest club.

There was something relieving about the powerful bass that always played inside the intoxicated place. Sunwoo always found the club fascinating, how quickly someone could change within the acidic hues of the smoky haze. Of course, most of the confidence seemed to arise after a visit to the people’s haven, the drink bar.

Sunwoo wasn’t a huge fan of alcohol, yet there he was every Friday night, downing his electric blue drink in one go, letting out a content sigh as he felt the burning, bitter taste of the drink rush down his throat. From his left he heard the muffled cheers of his friends, which made the corners of his lips turn upwards. Sunwoo was an entertainer, naturally making him love being around people, especially you.

Sunwoo had tried to drag you clubbing a few times, but you had always refused his offers, claiming that Fridays were only reserved for yourself. Sunwoo had always pouted at your words, never understanding why you would want to waste your Friday nights alone, but he never pushed you, especially after your break-up with Juyeon.

Sunwoo and Juyeon became close at university, both known as the faculty’s wildest party animals; it was only natural for them to be apart of the same friend group. You were quite outgoing during your uni days, willingly following Sunwoo to every party, and that’s when you met Juyeon.

It was a typical Friday evening at a stranger’s house, the music pumping through the speakers; the dance floor flooded by a sea of grinding bodies. You stood by the drinks table, sipping on some kind of alcoholic concoction, hoping that it wasn’t going to kill you.

You heard a voice calling your name, and that’s when your eyes met his.

Despite his cold exterior, there was a kind of warmth radiating within his dark eyes. Though, all his frostiness seemed to melt away as soon as his eyes crinkled into crescent moons. For some reason that moment made the corners of your lips turn upwards, your heart chambers slowly but surely opening up to the stranger who stood in front of you.

Your relationship with Juyeon blossomed not long after the party, and all went went until it came to a halt that Friday night. Insensitive comments and resentful screams thrown around the once peaceful apartment; tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you faced his back to you.

Sunwoo never exactly approved of your relationship, though he himself couldn’t understand the exact reason why, and it frustrated him. Sunwoo took another swig of the burning liquor, his head anticipating the pounding hangover due the next morning.

Every Friday night was an unpredictable journey for Sunwoo; maybe that night he'd get into a pub brawl or accidentally end up passing out at Eric’s place. Though what he didn’t expect was to get a phone call from you.

As soon as he heard you speak, he knew something was off—the usual cheeriness in your voice was replaced with a hush tone, your voice cracking every so often.

You rarely cried, but whenever you did Sunwoo was always there. Always willing to drop everything to go to you, always ready to listen or just to simply sit until you were alright again and that night was no different.

After only a couple of minutes, there was a series of taps on your front door. Quickly wiping away the excessive tears from your stinging eyes, you opened the door to face him.

Sympathy lingered in Sunwoo’s eyes as he observed your glassy appearance. Though you remained silent, not knowing how to explain your faltering state, your eyes continued to gaze into his. But once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unsteady stream. You leant into Sunwoo’s arms, pressing your palms to his chest.

“I thought I was over him, Sunwoo.” You whimpered, “What do I do?”

“Let’s talk about it over drinks, shall we?”

—

The two of you sat around your dining table, enveloped by a comfortable silence, sipping on the only thing that seemed to be able to calm your racing mind.

“Pathetic right?” You suddenly spoke fiddling with your shot glass in your palms.

“What?”

“This whole thing.” You sighed. “We broke up three months ago, yet I’m still like this.”

Sunwoo’s eyes only panned to your empty glass, nodding as he poured you another round.

“At first everything seemed okay; maybe the house felt a little empty, but normal nonetheless.” You started though, pausing to take a sip. “So I believed I was over him.”

Though Sunwoo’s lips remained shut, he nodded once again, gesturing for you to continue.

“But when he turned up at my doorstep today, it felt like everything just came crashing down. It’s confusing right?”

You glanced up at Sunwoo to meet his eyes once again.

“Not at all.” he replied softly, a comforting smile adorning his face.

“I know how it feels.” He started. “It’s like no matter how many times you think you’re over them, but as soon as they do anything everything comes tumbling down.”

Sunwoo paused to glimpse up at you, his eyes boring into yours.

The dining room became silent once more, though this time the air felt thick, almost suffocating.

“What?” You whispered, your breath shuttering.

“I’m very used to that feeling.”

taglist: @deputyjuyeon

[ragingbookdragon]

Even Though We May Be Hopeless Hearts Just Passing Through, I Was Made For Loving You PT. 1

Batsis x Kyle Rayner

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I realize the other story didn't follow the whole, dating the brother's best friend trope, so I decided to remedy it. And what do you get when you cross a hopeless romantic with someone who's new to love? Perfection. That's what. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

Saturday mornings, in Dick’s opinion, were meant for sleeping in and quite possibly going to IHOP when everyone finally crawled out of bed at ten. They were not meant for being shoved in the side by a little brother.

“Golden-boy,” a voice grouched from beneath the bedside. “Your phone’s been going off for an hour. Either put it on silent or answer the goddamn thing.”

Dick let out a tired ���pfft’, rolling onto his stomach, face buried in the side of the bed as he looked down to the floor. “Annoyed much, Little-wing?”

“I am going to shove that phone so far up your—”

Reaching over, Dick put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Where are you?

“Still in bed,” he responded, sentence ending in a groan as he stretched. “Why?”

You were supposed to be on the flight back to Gotham two hours ago.

Dick’s eyes went wide, and he sat up, gaping at the bedside clock. “It’s today.”

It is today. I can’t believe you forgot it was today.

“Oh my God, it’s today and we missed our flight.” He stumbled out of the bed, barely registering the shout from Jason as his foot landed in his brother’s stomach. “Jason, get up! It’s today!’

“What’s today?” his little brother griped, rubbing his abdomen.

“(Y/N)’s coming back!”

Jason’s eyes went wide, and he scrambled to his feet, hurriedly finding his bag to change out of his nightclothes. “Christ, I can’t believe we forgot that (Y/N) was coming home today!” he looked at Dick. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Dick yelped. “How is this my fault!”

He scowled. “Big brother wanted everyone to be with a sibling for the night, so they’d be together and be punctual but you and I both know neither of us have any concept of time.” His scowl grew. “I knew I should’ve bunked with Cass. She’s on time no matter what happens.”

Dick threw Jason’s sweatshirt at him. “Dress now, bitch later.” He put the phone back to his ear. “We missed our flight, but we can drive there.”

Your car’s in the shop.

“Shit,” he hissed, spinning in a circle to help his brain circuit enough to think of something new. “Uh-uh-uh—”

“Kyle!” Jason shouted, pointing at him. “Kyle’s like thirty minutes away from Manhattan! We’ll go to him for a ride!”

Dick grinned. “We’ll find Kyle.”

You sure Kyle’s at home?

“Pfft, Kyle’s always home on the weekends. He’s lazy.”

Just get here. (Y/N)’s plane is going to land in less than four hours.

“We’ll be there,” he said. “Is Diana coming too?”

Of course. She is (Y/N)’s mother.

“Nice. Alright, see you in Gotham, Bruce.”

Love you boys. And be careful. I’ve already heard that Cass, Tim, and Steph got into a fender-bender with Damian and Duke.

Dick blinked. “They’re…they’re legitimately driving separate cars? How’d they hit each other?”

Don’t ask.

The line went dead, and Dick looked at his brother. “Ready?”

Jason nodded. “Already got an Uber to Kyle’s place.”

“We could always just Uber to Gotham?” he offered, and Jason recoiled with a shocked look.

“And pay a ridiculous amount of money instead of just paying Kyle’s gas? Fuck no, big brother.” He shoved his wallet and keys into his pockets. “C’mon!” he chirped, rather excitedly. “Our baby sister’s coming home!”

***

When he swung the door open to yell at whoever was pounding on it, he wasn’t expecting to see two of his best friends grinning like idiots. “Wha—”

He’d barely gotten a word out when Jason shoved a bag of fast food in his hands. “Get dressed. You’ve gotta drive us to Gotham City.”

Kyle blinked, glancing down at the bag before looking at Dick. “Why?”

“Our sister’s coming home, and we overslept and missed out flight outta here.”

“And you came to me…why?” he asked.

“Because you have the functioning car.” Jason retorted, antsy on his feet. “C’mon Kyle. We have to hurry! (Y/N)’s coming home!”

Figuring it was better to agree than to argue, Kyle relented, handing back the bag of food before he disappeared into his apartment, reappearing moments later, dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, a graphic tee, and his usual slim casual jacket. He took the bag back and started digging around in it.

“Who’s (Y/N)?” he inquired, biting into a breakfast burrito as he locked his front door behind him.

“Our baby sister.” Jason said.

“I thought Cass was your baby sister?”

Dick nodded, getting out his own breakfast from the bag. “She is. But (Y/N)’s like…the OG baby sister.”

Kyle blinked, glancing over at him as he pushed the elevator button. “That makes no sense.”

“He means that (Y/N) was around before Cass was.”

“And she isn’t with you guys why?”

“She’s been on Themyscira for the last few years training with her grandmother and the other Amazons.” Jason answered as if it was the most normal thing in the world, stepping onto the elevator.

Kyle merely stared at the two brothers who were looking back at him; he felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Wait, your sister’s an Amazon?”

“Yep.”

“Who’s her mom?” he asked, stepping between them.

“Wonder Woman.” Dick said.

Strike two. “Who’s her dad?”

“Batman.” Jason responded.

Believe it or not, Kyle went three for three punches to the gut. “Bruce and Diana had a kid together?”

“Yeah.” Dick murmured. “I think it’s also why B’s so insistent against inter-team-relations.” He nudged Jason behind Kyle. “First time he attempts dating a coworker he ends up with a baby.”

Jason snorted. “And all those lessons about, ‘Children, whatever you do, don’t date anyone on your team. It’ll only lead to babies and limited visitation’.” He laughed again, then he frowned. “I don’t think any of us have followed that lesson.”

Dick opened his mouth to make an excuse but all that came out was a pitiful, deflate of air followed by, “That’s actually a good point.”

The elevator dinged and they watched the doors open before walking out towards the parking garage. They climbed into Kyle’s car, Jason in the front because his legs were longer than Dick’s, and Dick was a contortionist anyways so if anyone deserved to have their knees in their chest, it was him.

Halfway through the drive Kyle asked, “You guys are paying for my gas, aren’t you?”

All he received was unsure responses and he merely sighed.

***

He figured he should’ve just dropped Jason and Dick off at the airport in Gotham and drove home, but he couldn’t help but want to see just what the daughter of Wonder Woman and Batman looked like. He imagined a little girl dressed in a Batman suit three sizes too big and wielding a sword and a lasso way too heavy for her. It made him smile, the way that the two brothers gushed about (Y/N). From their praise, she was their world. Kyle had to see her though, because nothing was going to satiate that curiosity of seeing the big Batman’s daughter.

He watched Dick and Jason crane their necks like birds as they looked around. And honestly, the family shouldn’t have been that hard to find considering that every time Kyle was around the entirety of the Batfamily, they were like psychos on steroids—he very much so understood why the entirety of Gotham’s villains became flighty when every member of the Batfamily was out patrolling.

Kyle wasn’t expecting a voice to crack over the airport, loud and bubbly. “Brothers!”

All three of them stopped, even him who wasn’t even a sibling, looking over towards the call and Kyle’s jaw dropped as a young woman sprinted over to Dick and Jason, slamming into them with the weight of a train. The three of them collapsed into a pile on the floor, but they were laughing so Kyle assumed the siblings were alright.

“Princess!”

“Baby girl!”

“Oh, I am so glad to see you both!” she exclaimed. “I have waited so long to come home!” she was on her feet in moments, pulling them to theirs as if they weighed nothing. And Kyle knew Jason weighed a lot—he’d been crushed under his best friend before in fights.

Suddenly, she stopped and looked over at Kyle who immediately felt his heart lurch under her sharp gaze. “Who is this you have brought?”

Jason gestured to him. “(Y/N) this is Kyle. He’s a friend of Dick and mine. Kyle, this is our little sister, (Y/N).”

She huffed laugh. “I am not little, Jason. I am twenty-one.” Reaching out, she immediately pulled Kyle in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. “It is good to meet you, Kyle.”

“You too,” he murmured, feeling his cheeks warm as she pulled away and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Any friend of my brothers is a friend of mine.” (Y/N) smiled. “Are you a superhero as well?”

He couldn’t help but toss a quick glance towards Jason who nodded. “Uh, yeah. I’m a Green Lantern.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in wonder, and she let go of his shoulders in favor of grabbing at his hands until she found his ring. She stared at it, murmuring quiet, ‘ooo’s and ah’s’. “That is simply amazing!” she chirped, looking at him, and then she silently gasped, raising his hand near his eyes. “Oh…your eyes are almost the same color as your ring.”

Her smile made Kyle’s heart beat a little faster as she expressed, “They are beautiful.”

They gazed at each other, too captivated in the moment to understand that the family had gathered around them by then. Someone’s hand curled around (Y/N)’s wrist and she looked over seeing Dick tugging her hand away.

“C’mon Princess, let’s go get your things on the belt.”

She smiled and followed, giving a small wave to Kyle, who returned hers shakily whilst grinning like a dope.

Someone elbowed him in the ribs, and he gasped, holding his side as Jason muttered, “Don’t ever stare at my sister like that again.”

Kyle blinked, glancing at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you goddamn skirt-chaser.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Kyle spluttered.

“You’re thinking about it.” Jason warned, pointing a finger in his face. “Make a move on (Y/N) and I’ll kill you with your own ring.” Kyle recoiled just as she and Dick were coming back, both holding a suitcase.

“Father!” she called, glancing at Bruce. “Dick and I have retrieved my luggage.”

He smiled at her. “Let’s go put it in the SUV then.” He paused, looking over the large group. He and Diana had ridden together, and since his children had fender-benders, they’d picked up Cass, Tim, Stephanie, Duke, and Damian; there wasn’t room for (Y/N) too.

“Father? Is something the matter?” (Y/N) was staring at him with concern.

“There’s not enough room in the SUV for you too. Maybe we—”

“There’s room in my car for (Y/N)!” Kyle blurted out, smiling nervously at Bruce. “I can follow behind you.”

Before anyone could screech ‘NO!’, mainly Dick and Jason, (Y/N) lit up like the morning sun. “Oh, that is a wonderful idea!” she grabbed onto Diana’s arm. “We should all stop for ice-cream though! Mother, what do you say?”

She smiled at her and leaned over, kissing her head. “I say that sounds like a fantastic idea, daughter.”

Kyle grinned and held out his arm for (Y/N), her giggling as she took it. “You know, I don’t live in Gotham, (Y/N), but I do know a good gelato store around the area.”

“What is gelato?” she asked, and he groaned.

“Oh, I can’t believe you don’t know what that is.” He started off, pilling her along, leaving everyone behind. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you.”

Jason’s face pinched and he looked over at Bruce. “Can I break the no-kill rule just once?”

Bruce blinked, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched his daughter laughing along with Kyle, both looking like newlyweds already. “Believe it or not, I’m strongly considering it.”

“Bruce.” Diana admonished. “Let (Y/N) and Kyle become friends. You know she doesn’t have many outside this family here.”

Dick growled. “Except Kyle doesn’t want to be friends with (Y/N), Diana. He wants to be her boyfriend.”

“They just met though?”

“Yeah, and Kyle’s a propose on week two type of man,” Jason griped. “Jesus Christ, this is going to be a disaster.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but (Y/N) and Kyle said gelato and you guys are just standing here.” Tim said. “Can we go now?”

[itsnsfwalways]

Edge Of My Seat

warnings: female reader, mean dom! mgg, degradation (like.... really intense humiliation and ownership talk), slight daddy kink, exhibitionism, overstimulation, choking, squirting, deep subspace, branding (oops), fluffy aftercare (quite a bit of tears oops again)...... i think that’s everything. good luck.

prompt from the lovely @slutforthegubes / @spencersbed (literally one of my favs): i was thinking maybe a fic where you and him are out with the cast but you keep teasing him. when he almost cums his pants is when he decides enough is enough. he makes up an excuse for y’all to leave. the whole car ride home he edges you. once y’all get him he takes you over his knee and spanks you. after he deems fit, he overstimulates you and makes you beg for him to fuck you. when he does finally fuck he absolutely rails you. afterwards he gives you aftercare. he puts lotion on any marks, cleans you up, cuddles you and makes sure you are okay.

A/N: the fact that this has taken me a month to write..... i’m so sorry bre LMAO. i hope you enjoy and that it hits all the right spots !

See, it wasn’t necessarily your fault that you were riled up. Matthew didn’t touch you once this morning, besides a few kisses and your morning cuddles, of course, but no funny business whatsoever! You knew that you were meeting the crew for lunch later today, and made it your mission today to show him what he’s missing.

“Come on, baby, right here,” he whispers to you, touching your waist as if you were a flower ready to break while he guides you into the table, sitting next to you and immediately putting a hand on your thigh, unable to go a few minutes without any physical contact.

A whimper almost escapes your throat at the touch, so worked up over, what, not getting off before noon? God, who have you turned into? Shaking your head from side to side to clear your thoughts, you turn your attention over to Matthew, who’s already ordering you two drinks, his left hand moving in the air as he speaks to the waitress while his right thumb continues to rub small circles into your thigh. Your eyes zero in on his gorgeous hands, because, wow. His long, skillful fingers didn’t even have to be near you and you turned into a sex-deprived slut around him, only wanting one thing.

You turn your body more towards Matthew, sliding your hand under his shirt to rub his back while your other sneaks around the front, softly tracing over his stomach. He hums, glancing over to you before squeezing your thigh, thinking you just wanted some affection right now, but his eyes harden when he feels you trace his happy trail, just barely touching the skin but it’s enough to make him inhale sharply, covering it up with a cough.

“What are you doing?” Matthew lowly asks, his nails beginning to dig into your thigh, sending goosebumps down your arms in excitement. You shrug, slowly bringing a finger down to trace across his hip, going across his inner thigh to ghost across his growing bulge. You do your best to cover up the smirk crawling on your face but you catch Adam’s eye when you look away, blushing when he says loudly, “Hey! What kinda funny business are you two doing?”

“You wish, Rodriguez,” you laugh, placing your hand on top of Matthew’s bulge and looking back to him, raising your eyebrows to see if he’s okay with it. And of course he is, but you were breaking the rules, and you knew he was going to make you pay for it when you got back. Perfect.

Palming him slowly, you watch as he stutters his way through ordering for the both of you, knowing you’ll be able to see the indents from his fingernails for at least a day with how hard he’s gripping you. You hand your menu over to him with a completely innocent look on your face, and can feel him twitch underneath you when he takes it with clenched teeth, handing it over to the waitress with a tight, “thanks.” Sweeping a hand through his hair, he moves his eyes over to you, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Better stop now, little girl. You’re already in for a punishment for being such a greedy mess while I’m trying to enjoy lunch, don’t want to make it worse by continuing it, hmm?” When he pulls back, you bite your lip to attempt to contain your smile as you shake your head slowly back and forth, beginning to unzip his pants extremely slowly, not breaking eye contact with him. His bottom lip finds itself between his teeth as he stares down at you, not being able to smack your inner thigh because he was literally right across from his friends, and more importantly, his coworkers.

He lets go of your leg finally, grabbing his glass and gripping it with more force than necessary, his blood boiling at the sheer disobedience you were showing him. Deciding the best option for him would be to ignore you, he begins talking to AJ about something random, you honestly could care less, but decide two can play at this game. Tracing him through his underwear, his cock very distinguishable, you turn your attention to Paget, noticing Matthew’s eyes flit to yours when you begin speaking.

“Thank you for those flowers you sent us the other day, I meant to have him tell you,” gesturing to Matthew, squeezing him harshly through the fabric at the same time, “They were gorgeous, have them as our kitchen centerpiece now.” Paget laughs with you, taking a sip from her glass.

“Of course! I’m glad you like them. It feels like forever since I’ve seen your pretty face, your man likes to hide you quite a bit you know,” she points, squinting her eyes at Matthew, who just shrugs, looking briefly over at you. “You need to bring her out to hang with us more, I’m getting bored of just you.”

You laugh out loud at this, but catch yourself before you can really start digging your own grave. You watch him roll his eyes, fake laughing which sends Paget into another fit of giggles, while you just continue to pet him through his clothes, not stopping as the food is dropped off in front of you, Matthew sending the waitress a tight lipped smile as he shoves a bite of food in his mouth, giving him an excuse to groan deeply, the sound going straight to your clit. He refuses to make eye contact with you as he mumbles out, “This food is so good,” not even acknowledging your hand on top of him. Alright, fine.

Your hand finally wraps around his cock, pulling him out of his underwear and watching with a small grin as his lips part and he takes a slow breath out while staring down at his food. Feeling him twitch in your hand, you take it as a sign to begin slowly pumping up and down, taking your time to swipe your thumb across his tip everytime you reach the top. One hand snaps down to meet your thigh under the tablecloth, squeezing hard enough that his fingertips go white from the pressure, while the other moves down his face to hide his mouth, eyes darting across the table.

“Hey, Matthew, did you ever get that script I sent over your way? What did you think of it?” Paget asks, both yours and Matthew’s heads snapping her direction. You turn back to look at him, eyes twinkling with mischief as you put a fake innocent look on your face.

“Oh? I never heard about a script, what’s it about, babe?” You ask sweetly, biting your tongue between your teeth to keep from laughing at his reaction when you squeeze the base of him and he jumps up. His eyes flash dangerously towards you and you feel his nails dig into your thigh before he clears his throat to answer.

“Yeah, I-I did look it over, the Horse Girl one, yeah?” Matthew stutters, turning his head back to Paget and running a hand through his hair. She nods and you make eye contact with her, winking before moving your attention back to Matthew, who, unsurprisingly, refused to look back at you.

“I think it might be a good... a good fit,” he pauses in between his words, eyes slipping shut for only a moment, which fed your ego nicely. “Should be easy to just be an idol of someone, plus my only ‘big’ scene would be having sex with her, so,” he shrugs, picking up his glass to take a swig as your hand stops its movements. Paget’s eyes meet yours and you can tell she’s just as confused as you are by his statement.

“Alright, player, not in front of your lady,” Shemar laughs, gesturing to you and sending Matthew a questioning look. You turn your head back to him and begin pumping him again, much faster this time.

“Ouch,” you say plainly, swiping your thumb over his tip to collect some of the precum gathered there. Slowly bringing it back to your lips, you nonchalantly suck it into your mouth, not breaking eye contact as Matthew’s hips buck up into the air. His lips part, eyebrows raising as he grows even harder, watching your wet thumb slide out of your mouth seductively. His jaw tightens, a vein popping out in his neck when he brings his arm around you, pulling you closer next to him and making it look as if he’s kissing your head to apologize. His tight voice sends shivers down your spine when he whispers,

“If you don’t stop right fucking now, Y/N, I swear to god, I’m going to bruise you purple.”

Pulling away, he watches through clenched teeth as you return your hand to his cock, leaning up to ‘kiss his jaw’, but really muttering, “That a promise or a threat, sir?”, squeezing hard around his base. Your other hand moves to go underneath his shirt, scratching your nails down his back.

Matthew let’s out a harsh cough at that, licking his lips before pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, and biting, his hand slipping to your waist to pinch the skin there. Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth, you move your attention to your food as you begin to pump your hand faster, trying as hard as you can not to move your shoulder and give the two of you away.

Matthew grips onto your side harshly, squeezing the extra pudge on your body in his hands so roughly you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. His spine was tingling, with pleasure, anger, frustration, and frankly, complete shock. He knew you were far from innocent, but exhibition was normally his thing.

Feeling him beginning to pulse in your hand, you start to speed up your hand once more before it’s completely ripped away from his lap, and you watch with a smirk as he stuffs himself back inside his pants, the veins in his shaking hands prominent from how tightly he’s had them in fists or grabbing you.

“Guys, I’m so sorry, there’s an emergency at home that Y/N and I have to go take care of, I hate to leave but we need to go, now,” Matthew stands up, taking your jacket off your seat and directing his last words towards you, nostrils flared in anger as he manages to keep a smile in his face. You try to suppress your grin as you stand up, waving goodbye to everyone quickly as Matthew grabs your wrist and pulls you away.

“Sorry guys, someone’s a little frustrated today,” you call out to them, your laugh being cut short by a sharp gasp when Matthew digs his nails into the inside of your wrist. He definitely shouldn’t be playing with you like this in public but, fuck, you always had to cross the line didn’t you. As soon as you’re out of everyone’s vision, he places a strong hand on the back of your neck, similarly to how you’d pick up a kitten by their scruff.

“You are so fucking lucky we are in public and with my goddamn friends right now or you would be bent over that table in two seconds. Who the fuck do you think you are, almost making me cum where you could be photographed and the whole world would know my girl is a fucking misbehaving cockslut. How embarrassing would that be for me?” You suck in a sharp breath of air at his words, barely registering you’ve made it to the car before he’s ushering you inside, shutting the door behind you and making his way to the drivers seat. Buckling your seatbelt slowly, you begin to rethink everything you did tonight, maybe you went a bit too far. Trying to gain any brownie points, you whisper out, “I’m sorry, sir,” but this just sets him off even more.

His fingers tighten against the wheel as he pulls out of the parking spot, refusing to make eye contact with you. The truth is, he was so fucking close and one move could have him cumming in his pants. But he decides to have a little fun with you instead, after all, you were still being a naughty little girl just asking to be punished. His hand reaches down to grip your inner thigh, fingers pressing into the skin harshly, light scratches coming from his nails digging into your skin. “I think you’re sorry you didn’t get to see me finish, but my good girl would never do something like that, you know who would though?” He pauses to smack your thigh once, quickly, before massaging the reddened area afterwards. You clear your throat before muttering out, a soft, “who?”

“A filthy whore would. But you’re not a filthy whore, are you? Are you, Y/N?” He pushes, smacking your inner thigh once more. You try to clench your legs together but Matthew pulls them apart quickly, gasping when his nimble fingers tug your thong down your legs, lifting your butt up to allow him to slide it off of you. He bunches the fabric up in his hands, and you can’t even start to answer his question before the lacy underwear is pushed into your mouth. He finally looks over at you, your wide eyes staring back at him while you force your hands to stay at your sides, feeling the way his fingers trace shapes along your thigh. “Since you don’t want to answer, I guess you are, which is such a shame. Here I was thinking I could let you cum, but if you’re just here for my pleasure,” he pauses to tut at your whine of protest, “I’ll just use you for me. Spread your legs.”

The harsh command parts your legs instantly, your pussy clenching around nothing but the cool breeze that hits it when your skirt shifts up your leg. You watch as Matthew slips his middle two fingers into his mouth, eyes focused on the road as he wets the digits. He pulls them out after a few seconds, leaving the trail of spit connecting his lips to his fingers as he leans forward to spit harshly onto them, bringing his dripping hand over the center console to land directly on your pussy. His fingers immediately move to collect your wetness before beginning to massage very slow circles around your clit, not allowing you to have him where you really want him.

“Listen closely, you fucking slut,” Matthew spits, glancing over for only a second to make sure you’re looking at him- as if you could be looking at anything else. “You’re not going to cum until I tell you to. I don’t want to feel you fluttering around me, no squeezing my digits, because that means that I would be pleasing you, correct?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with furrowed eyebrows, nodding slowly and attempting to say, “Y-yes, sir,” but your words come out garbled from the makeshift gag. Matthew’s middle finger trails down to trace your weeping hole, tapping lightly on the wetness surrounding his favorite place.

“I’m not here to please you, stupid girl. I’m not here for you to play with, I’m not here for you to toy with, and I’m definitely not here to give filthy whores what they want. Have I made myself clear, or does my dumb little cockslut need to learn her place?”

Chills run down your body at his words and you can’t help the whimper that comes out, having to tighten your hands in fists to stop yourself from clenching, knowing that he’d be able to feel it. Your head tilts to the side to look out the tinted window, hearing Matthew laugh at your reaction, before feeling his finger slip barely inside you, shallowly fucking you so it only just passes his first knuckle.

You sharply inhale through your nose when a second finger breeches you, the two fingers beginning to massage the inside of you, rubbing against that one spot that has your legs shaking. You hum loudly, letting Matthew know that you’re close, but he only speeds up his digits, moving his thumb to rub circles against your clit, the sudden pleasure causing you to clench tightly around him. You can’t even begin to think of what you did wrong before his fingers are out of you and inside his mouth, sucking them deep into his throat to clean them of you, ignoring the harsh exhale you let out. He finally turns to you, laughing at the redness in your cheeks before taking out the panties from your mouth, slipping them into his pocket before he yanks you towards him by your throat, releasing it to slide his still-damp fingers past your lips. You do your best to give his fingers the best treatment you could, sucking them deep into your mouth while tracing your tongue in between them, your stomach swirling with need.

He finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth and doesn’t give you anytime to catch your breath before your back is pinned to your seat and his hand is between your legs once more, slipping inside you easily and only curling faster into your g-spot when you moan loudly, your back arching against the arm on your chest, whining when his thumb returns to your clit, so on edge from this morning. He starts off by making small circles directly on your sensitive bud, ignoring your whining, before pulling his hand back and smacking your dripping sex, a loud moan filling the car.

“Tell me what you’re not going to do,” he demands, two fingers returning inside of you and immediately going to work while you try and think. Your mouth opens and closes as Matthew brings you closer and closer to the edge, watching you stay silent while your legs begin to shake. You gasp out, “Not going to c-cum, not going to,” clenching your fists as you interrupt your words with a sharp whine, unable to keep yourself from pulsing around him.

You almost shout ‘no!’ when he pulls his fingers out of you, but you aren’t even able to catch your breath before he’s going back and forth on your clit, watching you with his lips between his teeth as your breath stutters and your eyes roll into the back of your head, a pathetic, “please,” falling from your mouth. Matthew chuckles, moving his fingers to pinch your clit harshly.

“Who does this pretty pussy belong to? Remind me, darling.”

His even tone sends shivers down your spine as you pant out, “You, sir. It’s yours.” He hums, beginning his slow, circular movements once more. “That’s right. It’s mine, which means what? That I’m the one who controls when, and if, you ever come. I’m the one who decides what you receive, what you deserve, and when you deserve it. Do I need to repeat myself or does my dumb puppy understand?”

Your body thrashes in your seat as you nod quickly, trying to hold back as best you can. “Yours, yours, yours, yours, yours,” you repeat over and over, catching Matthew’s attention when he turns his head over to look at you. Pulling his fingers away from you, he places them in your mouth once more, his eyes moving back and forth between the road and your pretty face, tears already glistening in your eyes.

Removing them finally, he pats the side of your face twice, wipes his hand on his pant leg, and returns it back to the wheel, completely ignoring the panting girl in his passenger seat. He sniffs, trying to hide his grin as he asks, “You green, little love?” You nod immediately and repeat the color back to him, shifting in your seat, but stopping as soon as a hand clamps down on your thigh, pulling them apart. “You keep those there and shut the fuck up til we get home. I’ll deal with you then.”

It feels like forever til the car pulls into the driveway with a harsh stop, causing the seatbelt to dig into your neck slightly. Matthew scoffs when he notices you swallow and take a deep breath, mumbling out, “God, you’re pathetic, even my driving turns you on.” He runs a hand through his hair quickly, turning to you when you haven’t moved, nerves fizzing all throughout your body. “Out. Run along inside, little girl.” His voice dropped to a low, sturdy tone and sent a chill down your back, his eyes scarily calm as he stares you down. With shaky hands, you exit the car, rushing up the stone steps quickly while you mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to experience. The click of the door unlocking barely even registers when you here the familiar sound of the car door shutting, sending a rush of adrenaline through you. Toeing your shoes off at the door, you rush up the steps into the bedroom, almost feeling as if you’re being chased by a scary monster. Which, in a way, you kind of were.

You were just finishing hanging up your coat when Matthew walked inside the bedroom, leather shoes still on which you can’t help but lick your lips at. He just looked too good in them, mixed with the pale pink button up he put on this morning, his appearance alone was enough to send shivers down your spine. The expression he gives you let’s you know how much trouble you’re in, nothing but a simple smirk on his face while he methodically rolls up his sleeves. He motions you over with two fingers when he takes a seat on the chest at the end of your bed, which, to guests, looked fairly normal. You had come to learn, however, it served one purpose and one purpose only: the perfect place for him to sit while he spanked the living shit out of you. Hesitant steps brings you to stand in front of him, almost eye level with him when he takes your hips in his hands to force your body in between his spread legs. The silence in the air cuts through your body like a knife while he slowly unzips your skirt, watching as the fabric drops to the floor before glancing up at you. “Such a shame you couldn’t be good enough to keep your pretty little thong on until we got home,” he tuts, pulling the lacy black fabric from his front pocket to twirl it around in the air. Your face burns from the movement and he grins, hair wild around him making him look almost feral. Unhinged.

The underwear suddenly flies off of his finger and lands somewhere in the room, forcing your vision back up to his eyes. He reaches up with one hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, using it as an excuse to grip the back of your head with his fingers and yank you closer to him. A gasp is pulled from your lungs when Matthew tilts your head back, forcing your eyes to the ceiling so he can start biting down your neck. His teeth follow the artery down the side of your throat, pinching it just hard enough to make your pulse spike and he’s able to feel it on his tongue, the throbbing sensation going straight to his cock. He pulls away just for a second to murmur delicately in your ear, “Do you know how badly you’re about to get it, you filthy, fucking brat? I’m about to destroy you.” His words fall from his lips like honey, swirling around your head and leaving you basking in the gentle, sing-song voice he uses with only you that you don’t even notice when he pulls away until he forces your chin down to look at him. Matthew smiles gently, very gently, at the way your eyes remained unfocused for a second, because he was going to enjoy this, enjoy you. Chills pop up on your skin when your brain finally realizes what he just said to you, mixed with how nice he was being right now. This was the calm before the storm.

Your eyes meet his finally and he purses his lips at you minutely, squinting his eyes as he studies your face. You have half a mind to try and apologize but when your lips part, no words can fall out because you know, you know there is no going back. It’s almost like he knows what you’re thinking when he asks you softly, “You’ll use your colors when you need them, yes?” And waits for you to nod and mumble out, “yes, sir,” while looking down at his lips. He leans in closer to you, stopping an inch away from your parted mouth to ask, “And what are they, sweet girl? Why don’t you remind me?” You have to shut your eyes to breathe for a second and Matthew allows you to have this time for yourself right now, knowing how rough he’s about to be. “G-green, yellow, red, sir. I know em, I’ll use em,” you sigh out, leaning your forehead against his to ground yourself.

“Mmm, that’s a good girl. Why don’t you lay yourself over my lap for me then? Think you can manage?” He hums, the vibration from his throat mixed with his breathy whisper makes it impossible for you to not obey his every command, obediently turning your body to lay across his lap, head resting on his thigh while your feet hold you lightly on the floor for now. You know that they will be limp by the end of this, but you can at least try to have some dignity in the beginning. Matthew stops your thoughts quickly by starting to massage your ass, starting with the left cheek before moving onto the right, alternating between harsh, pointed grips underneath his fingers and soft, slow circles with his palm. “Normally, I would make you tell me everything you did wrong here, ask how many you think you deserve, that sound about right?” He questions, nails digging in to scratch the skin around your hips. You whimper in the back of your throat and squeeze your eyes shut, breathing out, “yes, sir,” to appease him. Matthew hums, moving his hands down to scratch at the back of your thighs, the sensitive skin causing you to suck in a harsh breath of air. You press your forehead deeper into his thigh at his next words, choking on a gasp.

“See, Y/N, I just don’t think you deserve that. You wanted to be a nasty whore in front of all of my friends, so why should I give you that common courtesy when you’re just a little slut?” He punctuates the end of his question with a harsh slap, the pinky ring he put on today biting into the skin of your ass. You barely have time to apologize before he slaps you again, this time on the other side. His other arm reaches for your neck, holding the back of it similarly to a scolded child, tightening his grip when he shouts, “Answer me!” and spanks you once more. The pain bites through you like you fell on ice and Matthew revels in the high pitched whine that rings throughout the room. “You shouldn’t, sir, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, just punish me,” you cry out, pressing wet kisses to his thigh.

Fuck, Matthew liked hearing that and tilted his head back, biting his lip, the rush of power that ran through him at your words had his hands shaking. He feels you choke out a cough around his hand and releases your neck from the tight grip he had it in. He sniffs, running a finger lightly down your spine. “I’d apologize for that but I just don’t really care,” and you can sense the grin on his face when he spanks you once more and has you moaning against his leg.

The feeling is beyond words, the stinging sensation not even pain at this point but pleasure, it feels like every spank is bringing you closer and closer. Matthew’s pant leg has to be soaked by now from your drooling mouth but you don’t even notice, only letting out rough gasps or ‘thank you, sir’. Suddenly, you feel a smack on your upper thigh, and, without even thinking, reach a hand down to cover your skin.

Before you could even blink, Matthew had grabbed your waist, placed you sitting on the wooden chest, and was walking towards the closet, not speaking a word to you. Grateful for the break, you brace yourself with your hands on the chest and try and get yourself back to Earth, wiping the drool off your chin with a grimace. You can feel your sticky, shaking thighs and ass burn from the direct contact but your face burns even brighter when you feel the wood below you become damp from your dripping center. You couldn’t remember how many spanks you had gotten at this point, your head was starting to get hazy and your body was on fire, needing Matthew’s touch. Your head snaps up when the clicks of Matthew’s shoes grow louder and your stomach drops when you see the metal handcuffs in his hands, no change in the calm manner he’s presenting. A rush of heat goes through you when you see the damp circle on his thigh from your mouthing at him. He squats down in front of you to bring the handcuffs up, gliding the cool metal down your face while watching every small change your facial muscles make. A chuckle comes from the back of his throat suddenly and you look up to say a small prayer before looking back at him, watching as he taps the cuff to your bottom lip. “You’re real brave for trying that one, Y/N. I mean,” he pauses to shake his head from side to side, laughing harder when he sees your thighs clench. “You just can’t help yourself, you stupid, stupid girl,” and then your face burns and your core burns and Matthew grabs your face in his hands and forces your eyes onto his.

“Ask me again.” He sounds desperate for it, need filling his quick plea and your mouth drops in his grip, wide doe eyes looking at him. He shakes his head, drawing his lips into his mouth for a moment before tilting his chin up at you. “Ask me to hit your pretty little face again.” He whispers this last part onto your lips, just barely allowing his bottom lip to skim yours before he pulls back to watch the way your eyes slip close and a soft ‘please’ escapes you without hesitation.

The control he had over you was a funny thing, it wasn’t that he had you on a leash, metaphorically, it was you that had him chained and owned. You owned him and he was thrilled to be able to show you just how much he appreciated that. His hand leaves your face slowly and you open your eyes immediately to watch him stand, his prominent bulge now inches from your face. “You can do better than that. Beg for me. Now.” His voice grows dark and he grits his teeth together, unimpressed with your whine. You swallow, looking up at him incredulously before managing to spit out, “Please, I’m so sorry, sir, please hit me. I want you to slap me til I beg you to stop, please, sir.” Matthew watches as your eyes grow glossy with unshed tears and your lungs have you panting for air before you see his hand pull back a ways. You close your eyes in anticipation, lips turning into a sedated smile while you wait for the slap.

The rush of adrenaline never comes and your eyebrows crease in confusion before you open your eyes to see Matthew smirking at you, arms folded in front of him, metal cuffs swinging back and forth in his hand. “You didn’t think I was going to give you what you wanted, did you? Cute performance, though, seems I’ve taught you well. A good little actress you are,” he pauses to laugh at your pouting face before unlocking the handcuffs, not even acknowledging the shocked gasp you release at his words. When you’re still sitting in front of him seconds later, he rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers at you, “Up, now. God, Y/N, do you ever listen?” He sounds annoyed with you, your mind tells you, and your body scrambles to appease him, jumping up so fast you almost fall. His hands catch your shoulders easily, it was second nature at this point, before he spun you to face away from him, forcing your arms parallel behind your back to click the cuffs into place on your wrists. With each touch, his fingers leave behind trails of fire on your skin, and you revel in the hidden gentleness behind each rough touch he allows you to have. Matthew gives your top arm a tug and hums contently when you stumble backwards into his chest, moving your body like a ragdoll back onto his lap, being careful to make sure your neck doesn’t slam down on his thigh. Your fingers grip your arms as you test your mobility, which was, not much to say the least. Matthew’s left hand resumes massaging your ass, and your face snaps back to him when you feel it. How did you not notice it when he first walked out?

Adorned on his middle three fingers were three large silver rings with his initials on them, reading out ‘MGG’ in a bold font. They were something he didn’t wear too often, but when he did, God. He liked to wear them so the letters were facing his palm, and allowed for each spank to mark his initials into you, to claim you as his. Matthew meets your eyes and grins, moving your head to face the floor slowly by taking your chin in his hand and turning it slowly, not breaking eye contact until you’re physically unable to keep looking at him. His hand goes down to tug at the chain between your wrists, lifting them up just enough to put a strain on your shoulders before letting them fall harshly onto your lower back. “Too bad you’re all chained up. Can’t even say no to me branding you, can you? Cuz you like it, you filthy girl,” he teases, finally smacking your ass twice in a row, a light one to warm you up to the metal first before actually allowing himself to let go. You squeeze your eyes closed and let out an almost laugh at the sensation, the feeling completely different. This was painful, and Matthew knew it, which was why he forced your eyes down. He didn’t want you to know when it was coming, to give you time to prepare. You deserved to be punished and he had no problem dishing that out.

A particularly harsh smack rips a moan from your throat and your legs start shaking, you had to be absolutely dripping on him at this point. “Please, sir, oh my god, please,” you cry out, unable to catch your breath when the next one comes, another moan falling from you. Matthew pauses when he feels you choke on a breath, instead going to trace over the quickly forming marks on your backside while he lets you catch your breath. “What are you begging for this time, Y/N, hm? I know my dirty slut isn’t asking to cum, not after being so disobedient today.” The feeling of him writing his initials over and over into your skin mixed with knowing that they will bruise by tomorrow causes you to squeeze your legs together to push off your orgasm, wanting to be good for him.

“I-I’m trying, Sir,” you gasp out, wrists tugging at the restraints. You rest your forehead harshly on his thigh, trying to focus on your breathing when you hear the slap before feeling it. Matthew starts again, hitting you quickly three times in a row, moving his hand to slip his thumb into your open, panting mouth. You suck his finger deep into your mouth, grateful for it, but Matthew has other plans, deciding to hook your cheek and turn your head to lay on his leg, your face dripping mascara when you make eye contact with him. The curls around his face stick to him with sweat, his eyes blazing and lips a dark cherry color, likely to his obsessive biting. His eyebrows raise in a condescending manner, eyes flickering to the wet patch you’ve made on both of his legs now before examining the handiwork he made on your ass. He rests his hand to thumb over the indents, clicking his tongue when you hiss from his actions. “Color?” He simply says, spinning the M ring around with his thumb. You whimper out, “Green,” trying unsuccessfully to stop your hips from bucking up.

He looks unimpressed at your actions, eyebrows raised when he lifts you up so your wet core is pressed to him, you legs straddling his thigh. You try to lift yourself up for a second but Matthew holds you down harshly, ignoring the small, “Sir,” you whisper out from how close you are. He ignores you and begins to slide your hips back and forth on his thigh, spreading your wetness around onto him. Your eyes are wide when he flexes his leg to meet your clit perfectly, whimpers falling from your mouths like prayers. “G-Gonna cum,” you cry out, holding your elbows behind you as your stomach tightens and your legs begin to shake. Matthew shakes his head in front of you, tsking lightly before reminding you, “That’s not how we ask,” and continuing to grip your hips and have you grind on his thigh, leaning forward to bite at your neck and darken some of the marks he left there before. You whine deep in your throat and open your mouth, tongue falling out when Matthew pulls back to look at you. “Please, can I cum, sir?” You whimper, hair sticking to your forehead when you tilt your head back to try and hold it off. Immediately, a hand is wrapped around your bared throat and tugs you closer to him, pulling and pushing you by your throat rather than your hips as his other hand moves to grip your ass in his hand, smacking it once. “No. You can’t,” he commands, stopping his movements and holding your hips down so you’re unable to move on your own. Matthew watches with a mock sympathetic expression at your creased eyebrows and open mouth, a sad cry leaving it which he can’t help but roll his eyes at.

Tucking his thumb into your mouth, he pulls your mouth open and leans forward slightly, the feeling of him spitting onto your tongue from behind your closed eyes is enough to make you drop your head forward onto his shoulder. Matthew doesn’t allow this to happen of course, instead lifting you up onto his other thigh, his grip on your hips not releasing when he begins forcing you to start grinding on him again. You hiss at the stimulation so quickly after you were that close but say nothing, he can tell in your wide eyes that you not only know you deserve this, but you want it. “Got to make my thighs even, yeah? Can’t have a mess on one leg and not the other.” Your eyes move to the thigh you just rode, bottom lip finding itself between your teeth at the large wet patch left behind, glistening in the light. Moving your head back to make eye contact with him, you whimper from the nonstop pace he had set, getting closer to the edge than you thought was possible. “S-Sir, I can’t,” you stress, a clinking sound ringing behind you as you try and move your hands, groaning when they don’t budge.

“Someone’s a little frustrated it looks like, too bad your hands are tied, bet they’d be tugging on my hair like a proper whore,” he finishes this with a harsh tug on your own, pulling you backwards so he can see all of you. Your eyes slip closed and you curse at yourself for being so bold earlier, what the fuck were you thinking. A harsh ripping sound forces your eyes back open and you see your shirt fall off your body, mouth dropped open as you watch his hand immediately move to slap your left tit, moving to pinch your nipple harshly. He looks up at you, a smug expression on his face when he shrugs, gathering the pieces in his hand to toss aside. “It was in the way, I don’t know why you were still wearing it.”

It adds a new element, the fact that you were stark naked in front of him and he was fully clothed, wearing a button up and those tight black pants that squeeze his thighs so well. You buck your hips up in his hand when you start thinking deeper at the power that he just exuded effortlessly, how he didn’t even need to try and you gave yourself to him. “Sir,” you whine out, a tear slipping from your eye in frustration when you feel your toes curling. He gathers your face in one hand with a soft smile, wiping the tear with his thumb before slipping it into your mouth, knowing your body better than you do as the action calms you more than you thought was possible. He leans forward to ghost over your cheekbone lightly with his lips, murmuring, “I don’t really care that you want to cum, darling, it’s not about you, is it?” into your temple, before pulling back. You shake your head, mewling when he slips his thumb out of your mouth and smacks you harshly against the face, lifting your legs up at the exact moment that would have sent you over the edge.

“Fuck,” you cry out, gasping at the slap and trying to stop your hips from bucking up in his grasp. Pulling your lips back into a smile, you blow the hair out of your face before looking up at him. Alright, so you weren’t going to come for a while, if at all, tonight. That also means that he’s going to be spending a lot of attention bringing you to that edge. Good enough. You watch as Matthew tries to figure out what has you smiling, fingers gripping your hips harsher to make you bite your lip to suppress a whimper. Standing up slowly, he moves you to kneel in front of him, forcing your head down with his hand on the back of your neck. He pets your head for a second, running his fingers through your hair gently.

“What’s got you so smiley, puppy?” The nickname he spits out at you sends a rush to your core and you whine at the way it makes you feel, like you’re so small and he’s so big, and god, is this a lot. “T-thought about your attention on me, Sir. Like it,” you moan out, pulling on your restraints and huffing when they don’t move. Matthew’s fingers tighten in your hair, and you feel the cool leather of his shoe sliding up your thigh. Your lips part as you realize where this is going and you can’t lie at how much you want it.

“Yeah, I got a bit of an attention whore as a pet, didn’t I? A tragedy, really, could’ve had you coming three times by now, but, you wanted to be a brat, so my hands are tied,” he comments, talking about you as if you were just a plaything to him. Your core throbbed when you felt the toe of his boot run along it, sliding underneath you so you rested directly on top of it. Matthew’s hand in your hair kept your head facing the floor as he continued. “It’s like you’re just too dumb to do anything unless I tell you exactly how to, you’re just a needy little thing who wants to cum, that’s all you are.” His degrading words mixed with the thrill of riding his fucking shoe rips a sob from your chest, a mess of “please, sir” and “yes” coming from you. He lifts your head up to get a look at your eyes before continuing on. “I’ll make this real easy for you, okay? Yes? Use your words,” He slips his thumb into your mouth and mocks you when you try and speak while your lips wrap around him, laughing when you whine and buck against his boot. He tilts your head up as says slowly, “You’re going to stand up, let me undo the cuffs, and get onto the bed. Then, I’m going to join you and you aren’t going to touch me once, okay? Got to train you somehow.”

Your cheeks burn at his last statement, whispering out, ‘fuck’, before shakily standing up, with his help of course, and turn around silently to let him undo the restraints. You hear them clink before you’re released, Matthew’s hands massaging each wrist for a few seconds before returning them to your side. You roll your shoulders once before moving onto the bed without another word, staring up at the ceiling as Matthew disappears back into the closet. Finally resting your head back onto the pillows, you attempt to shake out the tremors in your legs, whimpering at the cool air on your wetness. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, matching the throbbing in your core and you can’t help but whine in desperation.

Matthew returns shortly after, wearing just his briefs and his button up, shoes and pants left behind. You feel him place something next to your feet on the bed but before your head can turn his fingers are on your chin, making it impossible for you to move. He meets your parted lips with a quick kiss, smiling when he pulls away to rub your cheek with his hand.

Pulling his hand back, he slaps you across the face once, relishing in the harsh gasp he rips from you as your head turns to the side. His fingers move back to squish your cheeks together, his lips pursed as he studies your frame. Your voice shakes when you whimper out a pathetic, “please,” but Matthew just scoffs.

“Please,” he mocks, your spine burning white hot from the humiliation. “Didn’t bring you up here to beg, especially that badly, Y/N, I’m disappointed.”

You can’t help the whimper that escapes as he tuts quietly to himself, shaking his head from side to side. His index finger moves from its place on your cheek to slip slowly between your lips, a chill spreading through Matthew as he feels your breath shake on his hand. He pulls it out suddenly, not giving you time to process before he spits down your throat, your eyes rolling back into your head on instinct.

“Getting too mouthy for my liking. Can you learn your place and shut the fuck up, little girl?” He scolds, angry eyes burning into yours while keeping his tone even. You nod automatically, licking your lips once before pressing them together, catching Matthew’s eyes drifting to watch you. He moves his fingers to trail lightly down your neck, brushing over your collarbone before going further down your body. You hear him chuckle to himself when you place your hands under your back, not trusting yourself enough to keep your hands away from him. His eyes look back to yours for a second before he grabs your nipple between his thumb and first two fingers, trailing the hard nub around them. His touch is gentler than you expected, your eyebrows pinched together when he moves to your other nipple, the fact that he was just playing with them right now was not like him.

“Not enough for you, hmm?” Matthew quips, bringing his fingers to travel down over your stomach, your breath hitching when he caresses both of his thumbs over your pelvis, pressing down just enough for you to let out a whimper, the tight knot in your stomach begging to be released.

“I think,” Matthew starts, completely pulling away from you to grab one of the items he put next to you. You debate turning your head to see but you know that the outcome would probably not be in your favor. Matthew’s hands come back into your eyesight and your mouth drops a little at what’s in his hands, a flogger with many leather strips hanging from the handle.

“Mm, you excited, puppy? You shouldn’t be, because what you showed me today is that my bitch thinks she’s allowed to use me like that. I think, you might need a little reminder of who the fuck I am. Because you know your place, don’t you, Y/N? Speak up, now.”

The grin on his face terrifies you in the best way, and your voice cracks when you whisper out, “Yes, sir.” He hums, flexing his fingers before wrapping them around the handle and beginning to run his other hand through the ends. “Tell me then,” he pauses for a while, turning his head back to lean down and whisper in your ear, “Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir, I’m yours, I belong to you, please, please, pl-,” your whimper is cut short by a swift hit across your chest, back arching off the bed at the sensation. He managed to hit you directly on the nipple with one of the strips, feeling harsh pinpricks of pain course through your body and leaving you gasping for air.

“That’s right,” he condescendingly praises, lightly dragging the flogger over your body. “I think you might’ve forgotten that I fucking own you. You are MINE,” your right tit this time. “My property.” Left. “My whore to fuck as I please.” Right. “And my fucking slut to use.” Two fingers slip deep past your lips for only a second before he’s removing the digits, a loud moan leaving you when he begins slapping your tits with his bare hands, feeling the slight sting of his rings still on.

“Fuck, Sir, please, I know, I know, please, I’ll be such a good slut for you, please, just fuck me,” you cry out, legs shaking from the pain flooding your system, your brain turning it right into pleasure. Matthew laughs at this, a genuine belly laugh, dropping the flogger on the ground next to you. His hand grabs you by the throat, pulling you slightly upwards so you’re forced off the bed a ways.

“Good luck,” he whispers, releasing you before finally beginning to unbutton his shirt, taking his time taking his eyes up and down your naked body, small red marks already appearing from how hard he’s grabbing you. Dropping the shirt behind him, he moves to sit between your legs, forcing your hips to come off the bed and into his lap, a small, “thank you, sir” coming from you. He smirks at you, taking his thumb into his mouth to suck it past his lips, his cheekbones protruding and your mouth watering at how fucking hot he looks, watching closely when he pops it from his mouth and he grins at you, leaning forward to spit directly on your pussy. “I wouldn’t be thanking me just yet, pretty thing.”

A gasp escapes you when he brings his thumb down to your throbbing clit, the slightest touch making your hips jump but you force them down, closer to him. He begins to trace small circles on you, feeling you start to flutter already from the gentlest touch. “Close already, are we?” You whimper out, nodding quickly. “‘S a shame you had to be a bad girl then.” You hold back a groan at his words, clenching tighter to try and hold off your orgasm.

Feeling this, Matthew smacks your inner thigh, hard, and slides a finger into you, shaking his head back and forth when he sees your legs start to shake. “Don’t get all coy on me now, go ahead and relax. Wanna feel how aching you are for me without having to worry if I’ll be able to take my finger out of your greedy pussy.” He finishes his sentence by slipping another finger inside and beginning to curl his fingers towards himself, finding that soft spot inside of you instantly. Your neck cranes backwards while your lungs beg for air, unable to breathe at this point, let alone hold off your impending orgasm. Matthew senses this, and withdraws his fingers at the last second, smirking at the loud whine you release.

“Tell you what,” he starts, pausing to spit roughly on your clit, glancing back up at you when you cry out in frustration. “If you can put that dirty mouth to good use and beg for me, I’ll fuck you. Use those crocodile tears and give me a good performance.”

You gasp out, shaking your head from side to side as your hips start bucking, which Matthew puts a stop to immediately. “Not... not a performance, please, sir, please please please please please fuck me, I’ve been so-so good and haven’t touched once! I’m so sorry, please just fuck me, I’ve learned my lesson, please.” You’re crying by the end, your body on fire and the bubble in your stomach feels like it’s ready to burst, hands shaking from the adrenaline.

“Again.” Is all you hear from Matthew, and you lift your head up and whine, staring up at him with eyes filled with tears, not breaking eye contact as he pushes his fingers inside of you once more, finding your special spot with ease and pressing. Your eyebrows knit together as you moan, cutting yourself off to rush out, “Sir, please, use me, please just get yourself off, fuck me like a toy for your pleasure, please just fuck me. Need you to hurt me, Daddy.” The title you give him spurs him on further and you sigh when you feel him get up and slide his briefs down, your head lolling to the side in exhaustion and, to be fair, preparation for what’s to come.

“Hey,” Matthew snaps, pulling your spaced-out eyes back to see him in between your legs once more, watching as he leans forward to massage his tip against your wetness, coating himself in seconds. “Eyes on me. I’m giving you my cock and you can’t even say anything to me? Don’t care where you are, I’ve trained you better.”

You can feel the degradation as faraway as you were and you blink up at him before nodding quickly, thanking him as if your life depended on it. He leans forward, one arm going to lift up your back, his free hand guiding himself slowly inside of you, simultaneously moaning with you as he sinks deep into your pulsing walls.

Without giving you a moment to think, he sets up a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward and hitting your swollen clit with each thrust, repeated moans and screams falling from your lips as you try and keep breathing from how good he’s fucking you. You can feel his hard, hard cock inside of you, and you know that if you were to look you would be able to see him poking through your skin slightly.

As if he was reading your mind, Matthew pushes down on your stomach and a scream rips from your throat, the pressure from both sides making it impossible to think anymore. “Y’fuckin like that, nasty girl, can see me fucking your tight cunt through your stomach, yeah? Yeah?” He presses down harder until you scream out, “Yes!” thrashing on the bed underneath him. He groans, removing his hand to hold onto the headboard in front of you, keeping his fast, deep pace as he stares down at you.

“Hardest I’ve been in my fucking life, I swear, got me fucking whipped for this cunt, but I know you’re just as bad for my cock, huh, baby? Gonna feel me for days.” He moves his arm out from underneath you to cup one of your cheeks, watching with a smile as you nuzzle into it out of habit. He leans down to kiss you sweetly, too sweetly for how he’s fucking you, his lips meeting yours and just sitting there for so long, just giving you his touch before he’s peppering small kisses on your lips, before pulling away and humming, and you hear the slap before you feel it against your cheek.

He’s fucking cruel, watching with a grin as your head rolls back and you clench so tight you almost push him out, but he slides back inside easily and resumes his borderline torture on you. His fingers make their way over to pinch your cheeks together, your tongue falling out automatically which Matthew hums at, spitting slowly into your waiting mouth. Some of it falls down your chin, but Matthew catches it with his thumb, sliding it right back into your mouth. You whimper around him as your legs begin to shake again, unsure of how long you’ll be able to hold off.

“S-So close, Sir,” you gasp out, cutting yourself off with a loud moan when his hand moves from your face to push your legs over his shoulders, fucking harder into you than he had ever tonight, reaching spots so far inside of you that you weren’t even sure existed.

Breathing felt like a chore at this point, you didn’t know this level of pleasure existed, as if you were completely filled and satisfied, but also on fire and so close from the biggest prize of your life. You try and express this in a whine, and hearing Matthew tut, as well as his hips stutter once, you know what’s coming next.

His hands wrap around your throat and begins to use it as a handle to pull you on and off his cock, choked moans and gasps being ripped out of your vocal chords. Matthew groans deeply, pulling his left hand away to smack you across the face once, throwing your head to the side as your back arches off the bed, the new angle allowing him to slip even deeper inside of you.

“Stay there, stay right fucking there. God, my cockslut doing so well for me, letting her owner fuck her so hard, so deeply.” His left hand grips your hip, using it as leverage as he begins to pull on your neck harder, speeding up the pace. A mix between a gasp and a whine falls from you, chest rising and falling quickly as you try and comprehend how fucking good this feels.

“G-gonna cum,” you cry out, whining when you see Matthew shake his head side to side, causing you to squeeze tighter around him to try and hold off. Matthew chokes on his moan and his hands fall from your body, hips stilling inside as he sits up more. While you’re grateful for the opportunity to breathe again, it’s short lived when Matthew smacks you across both cheeks, not even giving you a second before backhanding you on both sides. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your body shakes underneath him, pussy fluttering around him as you try not to cum.

“Oh, you fucking liked that didn’t you, you dirty slut. Think I should take a picture of you like this to show to the world, let everyone know how filthy my girl is. What would they think, seeing you so close with my handprints across your face, saw how rough you like it.” His head’s tilted back, lips dark red and bruised from how hard you were biting them, chin glistening from your wetness, looking like a devil in an angel’s body. His tongue peeks out to swipe along his teeth, chest heaving but he stares down at you with a grin on his face, watching your body thrash, bark arching and falling repeatedly while your hands clench into fists as you try and hold off your orgasm.

“Please, please, please!” You beg, openly crying and squeezing the absolute life out of Matthew. Hearing you sob underneath him, he finally takes mercy on you, bringing a hand down to rub fast circles on your clit, the other tightening around your throat, squeezing as hard as he knew you could take.

“Give it to me, come on, let go for me. Need it so bad, now, Y/N,” he moans, looking into your open eyes before finally spitting in your open mouth, the bubble building up inside of you finally shattering and you scream, your body convulsing as you cum, and squirt all over the sheets, Matthew, and yourself, feeling as if your orgasm would never end.

It was like your pussy got stuck by lightning, you didn’t know this kind of pleasure was possible, it was like every nerve in your body was exploding, every atom being stimulated by Matthew, and you knew your voice was going to be sore tomorrow but you couldn’t stop moaning, the feeling otherworldly. You vaguely felt him release your throat, gasping as you tried to catch your breath, feeling as if your entire body had a vibrator held to it, the aftershocks hitting you again and again as you tighten and release Matthew’s cock again and again.

Matthew swore he saw God that day, watching your head roll back into the mattress and cum so hard he had to hold you down to keep you still, fucking you through his own as he came deep inside you, unable to wait after being drenched with your squirt. Your moans sounded like a choir in his ears, spurring him on to make sure to get every last bit of your orgasm out of you, groaning lowly in his throat before resting his forehead in the crook of your shoulder, continuing to slowly thrust in and out of you. His arms tighten around you immediately when he feels how much your body is shaking, lifting his head up to get a look at your eyes.

“Oh precious baby,” he murmurs, smoothing out your hair around your face. Your eyes were looking right through him, not even realizing he was there as you basked in the warm cloud you were currently on. He leaves a few kisses on your temple before trying to pull out of you, a loud whine stopping him quickly. His thumbs brush away the tears that had already started falling, hearing you moan, “No, no, no, no, no.” Slipping his thumb in your mouth, he rushes out,

“Okay, okay, not going anywhere sweet girl. Mm, you wanna tell me your color, honey love? You feeling good?” The hand in your mouth moves up and down as you nod slowly, eyes drifting back to the ceiling. “You did so well for me, pumpkin, such a good girl. Do you wanna go take a nice, warm bath? Make you feel so much better, how does that sound? Good?” You blink slowly up at him, squeezing them shut when they start to burn with tears. Matthew wipes them away faster than they can fall, biting his bottom lip nervously. You had never been this far under before, he was sure, and to have you so unresponsive made him a little scared. He just wanted to take care of you.

“Babygirl,” he breathes, pulling his thumb from your mouth to wrap around the back of your head and pull you closer to him, head tucked into the crook of his neck. Your bare chest is pressed against his and warmth spreads over your body, happy to be close to your dom. You hum contently and light suck on the skin your lips touch, holding it gently between your teeth, not even processing the groan Matthew lets out. He makes sure that he’s feeling you breathing under him, mind moving a million miles an hour trying to think of what he should give you first. Nuzzling your head out of his neck, he presses his lips to yours, lightly sucking on each of your lips to distract you while he pulls out.

“I know, I know, I know, honey, here, I’m still with you little one,” he tries to console you when you whine into his mouth, his fingers moving to replace his now softened cock. His hand moves to cup your dripping sex and he gently pushes a finger inside, but by the look on your face he knows you felt empty. “You can warm my cock later, but I’m gonna sit you up right now, my love,” he whispers, sliding his finger out of your quivering heat.

Pulling away slightly to make you chase his lips, he uses this as an opportunity to gently lift you up and sit in his lap, arms deadweight over his shoulders and your forehead pressed to his sternum. He wraps one arm across your entire back, holding you tightly towards him while the other hand strokes your back up and down. He continues to murmur, “good girl,” and humming in the back of his throat, knowing the deep vibrations from his vocal chords is soothing to you. The change in position allows him see all the marks he’s left down your back, nail scratches, small angry red marks left by gripping you a bit too tightly. He also gets a look at the top of your ass, handprints and small ‘MGG’ clearly visible all over. He winces while looking at that, maybe he went a bit wild on that one. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels you move your lips against his chest, whispering something too quiet for him to pick up on.

“What was that, baby?” He asks, pitch raised as if talking to a young child. You repeat what you said, his heart clenching at your small voice asking him, “Bathtime?” Stroking your hair softly, he holds you to his chest, lungs releasing all the air inside of him. He pinches his eyes shut and his voice cracks when he coos,

“Yeah, sweetheart, we can go take a bath now, do anything you want. Oh, little one,” he murmurs, feeling your tears fall onto his chest. He takes your face in his hands, studying your expression carefully. Your mouth parts slightly and he takes it as a sign to place his thumb back inside your mouth, watching you hum in appreciation. Lifting you up carefully, he brings you over to the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub with you in his lap while the water begins to run.

A small whine catches his attention from where he was pouring epsom salts into the bath, his head snapping to yours quickly. Your big y/e/c eyes stare up at him, still very hazy but recognizing where you are now. Releasing his thumb from your mouth, you begin to mumble, “Love you, love you, love you, love you,” over and over again, reaching your arms over his shoulders to hug him tightly. Feeling his arms wrap around your back, you breathe in his scent, senses overwhelmed with HIM. His lips kiss the side of your head as he sighs into your ear, squeezing you closer.

“Love you so so much, angel. Oh, you have no idea how loved you are, pretty thing.” You hum quietly, shaking your head back and forth. “Oh, you do know then?” His fingers run up your side lightly and you giggle, trying to lift yourself away from his skillful fingers. Pulling away to look up at him, you lose your words for a second when you see the bright smile on his face, eyes looking at you with nothing but appreciation, love, and a bit of worry still in them.

“Tickles, Daddy” you say around his thumb, having placed it back in your mouth already, as your eyebrows crease slightly because you think it makes you look intimidating. He hums, turning the water off behind him before his attention returns to you. A small chuckle leaves his lips when he sees your expression, watching with a lovesick smile when your lips turn up and you place a small kiss on the tip of his thumb. He swipes the digit across your lower lip, leaning forward to give you a kiss, sighing deeply into it.

“Why don’t I put you in the tub and you get all cozy while I go get some things for you? Oh, baby, don’t cry, only for one minute, okay? Daddy’s good girl can do it, so brave,” He consoles you, not liking the way a pout rested on your lips.

“Promise?” you ask pathetically, voice cracking while you let him slide you into the warm water, his arms getting wet when you hold onto him for longer than needed.

He can feel his heart breaking at your bambi eyes, overwhelmed with the amount of care he needed to give you right now. “Be back so quickly you won’t even notice, okay?” When you huff out all your air, he takes it as a sign to slip away and quickly grab everything he needs to, leaving you alone in the tub.

You bite your lip, reminding yourself that you were Daddy’s good girl, she could last a few minutes without him. Whining quietly to yourself, you rest your head on the side of the tub, feeling the effects of the last few hours catch up with you. While you were doing this, Matthew was running around the house like a mad man. He first grabbed the biggest glass of water he could find, some dark chocolate and peanut butter so he could get some protein in you, and finally grabbing the robes he threw in the dryer when he first got home. It was a habit of his at this point, he always wanted you to be warm, cozy, and safe.

You hear the record player turn on in the bedroom and perk up, the soft sounds of jazz slowly filling the space when Matthew walks through the door, arms full of different items that he places on the table next to the tub. He smiles down at you, taking your outstretched hands in his as he slides in behind you, pulling you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your waist. Soft kisses are pressed behind your ear as he sighs deeply, finally able to relax and completely focus on taking care of his baby.

“Look at you, my perfect girl, did so well for me. I got some lavender oil, you wanna put a few drops in the tub?” he asks you gently, holding the glass bottle in front of you. His other arm caress up and down your side, making it difficult for you to focus on anything else. “Y/N,” he draws out, his soft voice getting you to turn your head and look at him. “Lavender, yes or no?”

You nod slowly then, taking the dropper from the bottle and placing four drops into the tub, feeling so much praise when Matthew continues to tell you how good you are. A happy squeal comes from you when you curl back into his chest, feeling his laughter reverberate off of you. His hand reaches up to hold your head against him, the two of you sighing as you sat in your own little perfect world, nothing but love and calmness filling the space.

Hearing you sniffle, it breaks the silence you were surrounded in, sending a hot flash down his spine, Matthew’s arms pulling you back to look at him, your teary eyes making his fill with worry. Before he has the chance to speak, you choke out the most pitiful, “Bad girl?” His hands take your face in them immediately, bringing you close to kiss your forehead and shake his head back and forth. “No, baby, you’re my best girl, so good for me, so so good for me. My Y/N was just a little naughty today, yeah? But Daddy’s not mad, pretty. Got such a good girl for me.” When you shake your head back and forth in his hands, his eyebrows furrow, pulling away to look at you eye to eye, wincing when he sees how goddamn faraway you were. “Do you want to tell Daddy what got you so worked up? Maybe let me know your color, little one?”

You let out a wet sob, looking at his kind eyes staring at you with so much love that it physically hurts. “I just wanted you to touch me, b-but you would only let me kiss you! N-No lovin on me, but y-you are so good to me and I was being selfish,” you finally end, suckling your bottom lip before Matthew’s thumb replaces it, his other hand moving to cup the nape of your neck. His lips softly kiss your swollen eyelids, then your nose, then your lips, removing his thumb for a moment to pour his love into you.

“Not selfish, sweet pea, just gotta tell me you want me. I know I’ve got an insatiable puppy, who I love very much, yeah?” He smiles sweetly at you, pushing your hair back behind your ears to tsk, seeing another tear roll down. “I think you’re also just a little overwhelmed, should’ve let you eat more before I went so rough on you.” You can barely think of what he’s saying with the way he’s holding you and how kind his tone is, like you were a little child he needed to care for.

A cool glass pressed to your lips pulls you out of it, looking up at him while you drink it slowly, not having to lift a finger as he tilts his hand up for you. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, watching as you drink almost the whole glass, turning your head away when your done. He drinks the last few sips in one big gulp, placing it to the side before unwrapping the chocolate bar. His thumb presses against your lip as you bite into the piece he gave you, the bitter flavor having you crinkle your nose in response. Matthew laughs at you, placing the other half in his mouth.

“I know, sugarplum, not too sweet, but so good for you. Got some good antioxidants in there.” He continues to hand feed you half of the bar, eating the other half for himself after you bite each square. It takes more coaxing for the peanut butter, but he knows that you trust him with your entire being right now and you’ll listen to anything he says. It’s almost unreal the minimal amount of effort he has to put in for you to do what he says, something that takes some getting used to, but, god, does he relish in it.

You feel his hands start to rub soap up and down your body, taking his time near your shoulders, neck, and back to give you gentle massages. A long sigh fills the air as you lie there, feeling so well-cared for by him. A cup of water rinses off the suds from your shoulders, but your eyes have slipped shut a long time ago. Matthew takes his time washing your hair next, scratching your scalp and making sure to not tug on any knots, you can worry about those later. Right now was just to take care of you.

He feels you shift in his lap while he’s rinsing out the conditioner, his eyes snapping to watch yours open, still very far-away. Leaning his head down, he gives you a kiss on the nose, feeling so full of love when you giggle at his actions.

“Love you, Daddy,” you whisper, feeling like any louder would ruin the moment. He places the cup on the table, turning you around to face his chest as he hugs you, kissing the top of your head. Your eyes fill with tears out of nowhere and you tighten your arms around him, making it difficult for him to pull you away to look at your face. His hands hold your cheeks while his eyes search yours back and forth quickly.

“Hey,” he gently starts, a small smile on his face while he wipes your tears. “I love you so much, little love. So so much. You’re quite far away still, aren’t you? Still feeling green?” His body can finally relax when you repeat the color back to him, tension dropping from his shoulders from the verbal confirmation. “Good girl, so good,” he hums, the praise sending flutters to your stomach. “Thank you for telling me your color, angel. Do you want to get out and Daddy can put some lotion on you? Got some ouchies we need to take care of.”

After receiving your nod, Matthew unplugs the drain and stands you up, helping you out of the tub and immediately into a robe. The two of you walk back into the bedroom, his arm around your waist while you lean on him. He had changed the sheets when you were in the bath, not wanting you to have to lie on the soaked fabric. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you allow him to braid your hair quickly, knowing that you hated lying on the bed with wet hair splayed everywhere. You hear the elastic wrap around the ends and then his arms are around you, head tucked into your neck to kiss you softly.

“You warm enough for me to do your butt, honey?” He whispers, grinning when you nod happily. This was one of your favorite parts of aftercare. He gently slips you out of the robe, letting you get comfortable on your stomach before he sits crosslegged next to you, gently ghosting his hand down your spine.

“I’m using special lotion today, do you want aloe instead?” Special lotion was what you always called the cream Matthew put on your marks, something your faraway self once muttered when he was taking care of you. With no surprise, you agree with him, and he uncaps the pot, beginning to massage the cool cream on your ass. His heart clenches when you hiss at the ring marks, immediately spitting out, “I know, I know, shh, it’s okay.” His thumb traces over them, cock growing when he feels how indented his name was into you. He snaps out of it when he feels you shift under his hand, continuing to apply the lotion on your ass, and a thin layer across the scratches on your sides and back.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N,” Matthew breathes, caressing your back while you turn your face to look at him. “Just, such an angel for me. So so lucky to have my good girl.” Your cheeks turn pink and you try to hide your face in the pillow, not making it far before his hands turn your body over to look up at him. Crawling over your body, he rests himself on his forearms, dipping his neck down to plant soft kisses on your lips. After a minute, he pulls away to lift up the covers and shuffle the two of you under them, immediately wrapping his arms around you to tuck your head into his chest. This was his form of aftercare just as much as yours, he needed to remind himself that you were there and his and that you loved him.

“No more cryin’, honey, don’t like to see those tears on my girl, okay?”

His arms hold your naked body to his chest tightly, like if he let you go the world would end. Feeling your soft sighs hit him every few seconds was enough to make his eyelids begin to droop, and hearing how even your breathing has gotten, he figured you had already fallen asleep, and finally allowed himself to breathe. You were safe, loved, and cared for. He’d just have to get some food in you when you two woke up from the nap.

THREE HOURS LATER

Your eyes slowly flutter open, the bright golden sunlight hitting them from between the gap in the curtains. Turning your body to face Matthew’s once more, you exhale slowly, trying to get out of the sleep haze you were in. Or maybe you were still under.

Perhaps your thinking was enough to wake Matthew, the dom side of him always just knowing when you were up. He groans lowly, tightening his arms around you to pull you tighter into his chest, feeling him kiss the top of your head a few times.

“Still floaty, baby?” He softly asks, holding the back of your neck in his hand, the feeling so deeply comforting to the both of you. You shrug, muttering out, “dunno,” before looking up at him finally, seeing his tired eyes already crinkled from the wide smile on his face. You lean up to press a soft kiss on his lips, just holding them there and allowing Matthew to suck softly on your bottom lip, shushing the small whimper that comes out of you.

“Love you, baby,” he whispers, smiling softly when you repeat it back to him. “You know you’re my good, perfect girl, yeah? Gave me a good fright seeing you so sad over me,” he frowns, tracing your cheek with his thumb. You nod slowly, whispering “good girl,” to yourself, smiling when Matthew tugs you closer to him, thumb moving down to play with your bottom lip.

“Feel like I should also let you know I changed into a pair of clean shoes when I got home, don’t want my girl to actually be dirty,” and you whine into his chest, blushing at his loud chuckle.

“Who knew I had a squirter as my little love? Why’d you hide that from me?” Matthew fake pouts, and you blush, trying to hide your face in your hands, but Matthew’s quick to pull them away by your wrists. Trailing a hand slowly down your face, he turns your jaw to examine the bruises on your neck, small, but distinct fingerprints outlined on your otherwise unblemished skin. He tuts, to himself mostly, placing his fingers over the purple marks and lightly pressing down, reveling in the gasp you release.

“Such a shame your pretty pussy’s much too sore to take me, because I’m doing that again and again and again to you, very soon, my dear.”

A/N: so...... yeah. lol. i’m sorry ? idk what to say after this. that was a lot. hope you liked it !!! i’m ASS at taking requests (seeing as this took over a month) but i’m going to see if i can get into blurbs or little drabbles or whatever they’re called hehe so send in requests !! (i’ll have to dm you for clarification for my piece of mind if it’s a long piece, so expect that haha)

- lana xx

[literaila]

an epiphany we cannot

spencer x reader 

request: hey there! would you by chance, be up to writing something where the reader is finishing grad school and working as a new agent for the bau? and spencer has to go check in on her because she hasn't been showing up to work/class because of depression, and he helps to clean her hair and tidy up the house with her before asking her what's up? sorry if that's a little weird, but i just want a fic where the reader isn't suddenly fixed. i feel like you're the perfect person to do that! 😅

warnings: symptoms of depression, lack of eating + sleeping + showering, maybe angst? its just terrible poetry really 

a/n: the writing of this fic is intentionally chaotic. its meant to be put into the perspective of someone who hadnt slept in week(s). so, if it gets confusing, that was on purpose. 

*

Sleep was an epiphany. 

A strange thing that only came when it was pitch black outside, when the birds had all gone to bed and there were no clouds to be seen in the sky. A strange thing that only came from the deepest feelings in her chest that could not be described. Feeling that she didn’t dare try to mutter aloud. 

How could she? Entirely alone- what would be the point? Why might she try to explain anything when she could simply... 

Breathe in and out. Take in air, she liked to think that she really didn’t need, breathe in and out, and hope that her feeling would soon disintegrate into her body so that she could- for once -feel that strange sleep. So that for once, she could merely forget that she had that feeling at all. 

It had been a hard week, a hard year, one too many too many hard seconds pounding down on her body, the time tick-tocking until she was too tired to breathe. 

She couldn’t sleep. Really, not at all. Not even when she laid in bed for hours, cursing only in her head at the terrible sounds that filled her small apartment. Wondering how the world was acting when she was away. She never slept. Not after hours of thinking, of breathing in the same rhythm, her heart beating just the same as it had hours ago- 

She hated it. 

But, she promised herself, she would not leave this bed, would not leave her house until she could sleep. Until this dreadful feeling was gone so far away that she could no longer think of what it had been. Until her eyes were shut, her body was relaxed, and she no longer had to work to breathe. No more work. 

Her thoughts were jumbled, her mind running on the air she was breathing and nothing else, her conscious mind having no sense of what was going on. 

She was sure there was a smaller part of her screaming somewhere. Sure that this tiny little part of her was banging on the walls of her heart, pushing the ideas, the air, out of her body. She was sure that this part of her was in agony- or something far worse -because of the promise she had made to herself. 

But she wouldn’t think of it, sleep was far too important. 

An epiphany she could not have. One she thought she might dream of if she could. 

She often wondered if other people were struggling just the same as her, if other people were far too surrounded by the whirl of thoughts, by the promises, by the exhaustion, to even think of sleep. If they too, also felt that sleep was an epiphany that would never come. 

She supposed that there wasn’t anyone else, and if there was, she wished their eyes would finally flutter into a peacefulness that they longed for. 

She wished it was herself she was thinking of. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything good, the last time she had done anything to improve the state of her mind- hysterical, mad, running itself into a place where air was not a thing that could be achieved -to improve the state of her house, which of course was filled to the very edge with things she didn’t recognize. Things that she’d used weeks ago when she could think sane thoughts. 

She wasn’t doing anything, she wasn’t sleeping, was barely breathing, she tried not to move. She sat in her silence, in the hot air of her room. She wondered when she would fall so far into this bed so that she would no longer be there, when she could finally sink into the hole that seemed was her life, when she could disappear so she didn’t have to wonder about anything at all. 

No one could tell when it had started, when she had laid down and promised herself. If you had asked her, she wouldn’t have answered, she would have laid in the same spot, her body a corpse that was somehow still breathing, and kept quiet until it was too late for questions.

It had been weeks, surely it had, and no one had seen her. No one knew where she was. 

No one had seen her in this state, this terribly fragile, desperate state. 

She thought that she might like to keep it that way. She didn’t like to listen to that tiny voice that wanted her to let someone in, to let them help. She didn’t like that tiny voice. 

It kept getting in the way of the vows she had made to herself. Foolish, unknowing of what she truly needed. 

Sleep.

But, even still, sleep didn’t come. Even when she announced it was the only thing she needed, the only thing she wanted. Even when she thought she was screaming out into the world, begging the universe to take some mercy on her and give her that gentle release. Even when she thought that she didn’t have a voice to beg with anymore. 

Sleep had not yet come. And she could no longer count the days that had gone by. 

She didn’t want to anyway. 

Pounding though. There was definitely pounding. 

She could definitely hear that. 

Different from the one that she heard in her head, different from the banging she was familiar with. No, that banging was a dear old friend she wished to greet at her door. 

This pounding in the air was something else, something on her walls. 

She barely felt herself groan, could barely tell when she ran a hand over her eyes, trying to weigh them down with sheer force. 

“Y/N?” the pounding called, too loud when she was trying to fall asleep. Too loud when she was sure that it was the middle of the night. A voice accompanied it, following too far into the hallway to her bedroom. 

She was trying to sleep, she wanted the epiphany. Pounding could wait, it would. It would just have to wait for her. Wait until she could sleep. 

But, when her body was tingling so far off the bed, and suddenly irritation was crawling its way up her spine, wrapping her in its fury, suddenly she could get out of bed. For once. For what felt like the first time in weeks. 

A strange epiphany she did not think about. 

Still, she barely recognized how to walk, barely knew that her feet were still attached to her legs anymore, but still, fury followed her as she stormed her way down the hall, as she latched herself onto the wall for support. 

As she stopped the sudden pounding that was burning that fire in her throat. 

And while she was aware there was a voice. A raspy tenor tone coming from the other side of the door. It was one she might have known weeks ago before her promise, but because she didn't recognize it she was surprised when she saw the man standing in her doorway. 

But, strangely enough, he looked more surprised to see her. 

His eyes were wide, shock displaying on all of his features. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting to see the devil of a person that Y/N was. He’d been expecting the girl she’d been before, brighter, alive. 

Spencer stood there for only a moment, taking in the breath of air that was Y/N. It had been three weeks since any of them had seen her since she’d stopped returning their phone calls. Finally, that morning Spencer decided he had to stop over at her apartment before going home, and it wasn't like anyone had tried to stop him. 

There was clearly something very wrong. 

Y/N winced at the light creeping its way into her eyes, winced at the sky, and tried not to think about how tired she was. 

She sighed and looked up at Spencer, who was still standing shocked on her doorstep. 

“What’re you doing here Spencer?” Her voice was an unfamiliar scratch to the both of them. A fraction of the voice she used to have. 

Spencer snapped out of his shock, bending down so he could get a more clear look at her face. It took him one more moment before he got the courage to clear his throat and say something. 

“Where have you been? Why haven't you answered the phone?” 

When there was a lack of answer in the air, Spencer invited himself into her apartment. He knew well enough she wasn't going to do it herself. 

He pushed past her into her living room, too focused on what he saw to notice how she struggled to stay up on her feet, how her eyes couldn't focus and her world turned black for a couple of seconds before she could look at him again. 

No, Spencer didn't notice that. He was too stuck on the appearance of her apartment. 

There were cups everywhere, papers and textbooks scattered around the floor, clothes on almost every piece of furniture. It was clearly very well lived in, but Spencer couldn't see anyone. All he saw were some ghosts sitting in his coworker's house. 

“What happened?” He asked too quietly for Y/N to hear from the other side of the room. 

Her mind was locked in her bedroom, in the hole that was supposed to be enveloping her at the moment. Her mind was focused on the screaming in her head, telling her 

No, you can't. You cannot have that you cannot. Her mind was a repeat of all the things she wasn't doing, all the things she wouldn't do, the promises she’d made, the words that she’d been telling herself for days. 

No, you cannot go back to bed. You’ve been sleeping long enough. 

And so, she couldn't hear Spencer. Not over this demand. Not over this insisting she was inflicting upon herself. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, now in front of her, looking at her with concerned eyes that she didn't want. “When was the last time you slept?” He questioned, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling. 

Huh. She hadn’t even noticed. 

Her mind was a glass of water, tipping off the edge. 

“I don't remember,” she murmured, her thoughts too overwhelming to count the days back. To think of the weeks she had lost. To think about how much she might have missed Spencer, how she could be enjoying his company right now. 

Too overwhelming to think. 

“Your complexion is sallow, you’re blinking at an unusually slow rate, and you can't stand up straight.” Spencer paused, looking over as if he had just heard her. “You can't remember?” his voice was almost too loud. Much too loud when she was right next to him. 

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, her head still pounding even though she had left him in, her mind still yelling even though she had kept her promise. Her body was tired, her mind was almost gone, and it was hard to even stay focused on Spencer. 

“When was the last time you ate Y/N?” Spencer asked, his voice now demanding and worried. 

She just shook her head, letting him know that she still didn't remember. 

“Shower?” he asked slowly, keeping his eyes on hers. 

She didn't express a thing, just made an effort to keep her eyes on his. So that he would know she wasn't ignoring him. 

Spencer sighed, keeping his hand on her arm and gently leading her to the couch. 

Y/N tried to not think about how she would’ve liked to take a nap. Would’ve liked to get some escape from this moment. Even if it was Spencer. 

You see, there had been a flicker between them weeks ago. Before the promise. Before Y/N couldn't sleep, couldn't breathe. When she used to answer the phone, they used to spend time thinking about each other, denying the daydreaming they did. Spencer used to stare at her over the book he was holding, his eyes trapped by her. Y/N tried to pretend she didn't do the same. 

There had been a flick between the two of them weeks ago, and even now, Y/N wanted to show him that he cared. 

Even when she could barely keep her own heart beating. 

Spencer stared at her for a while, making sure that she was still breathing even if he looked away. He observed her dull eyes, her lifeless body, and the weak composure of her face. 

He couldn't deny that he missed her, that he’d been worried before he’d even seen her. But looking at her, he wished he didn't have to see this. Wished that she wasn't a pile of flesh before him, wished that they could go back to weeks ago when she had smiled at him. 

He finally went into her kitchen to get her a glass of water. 

He wasn't sure if she would be able to keep anything else down, and frankly, he was more worried about her lack of sleep. Of how exhausted she looked. 

“Do you want to take a shower? Hot showers help relax the muscles and nerves so that your entire body feels more relaxed. It might help you sleep.” 

At the mention of sleep Y/N’s eyes went wide. 

Her mind was begging begging begging, telling her not to do it. That she couldn't, wasn't allowed to. She didn't know why she was trying to torture herself, why she was inflicting this stone-cold pain on her own mind, erasing herself from everything. 

She didn't know why she couldn't get these thoughts under control even when she was with someone else. 

Not allowed. Can't. 

Sleep was an epiphany. 

A strange thing that only came when it was pitch black outside, when the birds had all gone to bed and there were no clouds to be seen in the sky. A strange thing that only came from the deepest feelings in her chest that could not be described. Feeling that she didn’t dare try to mutter aloud. 

A feeling she didn't want to feel anymore. Wanted to get rid of, throw it into the sun. Burn it to ash until she forgot about it completely. 

She finally nodded, words frozen in her throat, her eyes falling so quickly now. Sleep was an epiphany she had not had for so long. 

She would have to force herself to stay up any longer. 

She would just have to ignore the voice, let him help you. Spencer. 

Spencer helped her into the shower, making sure that she was secure before leaving. He smiled a sweet smile before walking out of the room, giving her something to imagine as hot water pounded against her skin, a feeling that had become so unfamiliar to her in the weeks following her promise. 

Spencer waited a couple of minutes after. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but he also didn't want her banging her head on the tile while he was gone. 

After he was sure she was staying awake, he preoccupied himself with cleaning up her apartment. Even slightly, by throwing away the trash and gathering all of her clothes into the hamper he had found in her closet. 

He could see the pain and the desperation on her face, could feel it in the air when she was just looking at him and not uttering a word. He had to help, in any way he could, just so that she wouldn't feel that any longer. So maybe she would smile before he left. 

He was interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. 

JJ was texting him, checking on Y/N, and asking him what was going on. He’d almost forgotten that he’d told everyone else he was going to see her. 

Spencer waited a few brief moments, listening for the sound of the shower before he called her back. He wasn't sure if Y/N would want to know that they were all worried about her. 

Spencer wasn't even sure Y/N wanted him there at all. 

“Spence, is she okay?” forgoing a hello, JJ asked. Spencer could hear breathing in the background, two other people talking. He figured that the rest of the team was all gathered around the phone, acting as if they had nothing else to do but ask him what was going on. 

“She's alive,” Spencer said, laughing bitterly at how relieved he felt about that. “She's taking a shower right now, she said she didn't remember the last time she’d had one.” 

“What?” confusion littered the tone, and Spencer wished he didn't have to explain, but he also knew that no one else was going to take silence as an answer. 

“She hasn't been sleeping enough, she doesn't remember anything she's done in the past few weeks- and she doesn't seem to mind that. She almost fell over just standing up, and it took her five minutes to come to the door. She's the clinical definition of fatigue.” He told JJ, sighing as he picked up papers from across the floor, textbooks that he was sure Y/N hadn't even touched. 

“Did she say anything about why?” Derek’s voice flooded through the phone, Spencer clearly now on speaker. 

“She could barely pay attention the entire time, she was completely withdrawn from our conversation.” 

Spencer paused, hearing the water from the other room shut off. He almost felt worse now, and it was a lucky excuse that Y/N was going to come out. 

“She just got out of the shower, I have to go.” Spencer rushed out, ignoring the arguing pleas that came his way. “I’ll call you later.” 

By the time he had hung up, Y/N was walking out of the bathroom, a robe wrapped around her shoulders, her body curling into itself as she walked over to him. 

Her mind was still yelling and the world was still pounding on her back, chipping her into little pieces. 

And she could still feel that feeling, the one she had tried to throw away. 

But, at least she was clean. 

“Good shower?” Spencer asked, watching her as observed the newly cleaned living room. She nodded as she looked around, her voice still lost with the rest of her mind. “Are you okay Y/N?” Spencer blurted out, his voice thinking faster than his mind. 

He was worried, even after she had managed to take a shower and fall asleep. Even if she looked more alive, and a little bit less in pain. She was still silent, and she still hadn't slept any. 

“Can I go to bed?” She whispered, ignoring his question similar to how she ignored the yelling in her head telling her she 

Could not would not cannot 

She took a breath in, so familiar with remembering how to breathe. 

Inhale, exhale. Keep your heart beating. 

Spencer stood in front of her, still observing. She was avoiding his eyes, his careful hands, his thoughts so that maybe she could get away from there. She appreciated his company, she really did. As always. 

But, she really just wanted him to leave. 

“I think you need to eat something first,” Spencer whispered back, waiting for her reaction, hoping that he would just let him do this one last thing before she threw him out. 

Y/N was barely listening, but still, she nodded, her disagreement clouded by the weight of the world on her shoulders. The promise she still had to fulfill. 

The thoughts of the person Spencer used to know too powerful to avoid. 

Oh, how she was ashamed that she had turned into this person unable to take care of themselves. Oh, how she was ashamed that he was the one that had to see her like this. 

She just wanted to sleep. 

“Chicken broth is rich with vitamins and minerals, which are useful against common ailments like the common cold, the flu-” Spencer paused, shaking his head. “Nonetheless, you just have to drink a couple of cups.” He told her, leading her back to the couch so that she wouldn't fall asleep standing like he was worried she would. 

He then left the room, clicking on her TV in an effort to keep her entertained while he heated some water. 

But Y/N didn't pay attention. She was too lost in the memories of the last few weeks, that black hold that was her bed, the pounding that was her life, the breathing that she still couldn't get right no matter how many times she practiced. That feeling she just couldn't get rid of. 

She had no idea how she had abandoned everything so easily, how she could have ignored the common sense that she surely had. She had no idea how she had made a promise and still not fulfilled it. 

Stress was a powerful being. A friend that knocked onyour door, said they didn't want to be a burden. A friend that kicked down all your walls and set your hair on fire, simply because they could. Stress was a victim you didn't want to get rid of, a person you were supposed to be taking care of. 

Stress, had never really been her friend. 

It had only ever led her down the path of pain, of exhaustion, of 

Cannot, will not, would not. 

She wouldn't sleep. No, just like stress had said, sleep was an epiphany. 

“Here you go,” Spencer said, handing her a cup. She blinked rapidly, not even aware that he had walked back into the room. She grabbed the mug from him, her hand a deadweight carrying on to nothing. 

Spencer stared, he wasn't sure what else he could do. Y/N needed to get cleaned, she needed to eat, and she needed to sleep. And Spencer could only be responsible for two of those things. He couldn't control it all. 

Y/N took a sip of the broth, the liquid was both comforting and uncomfortable. After all, she didn't remember the last time she had eaten anything. 

“I studied for three days before I went to bed,” she finally whispered, her words making no sense to Spencer. But still, he would listen. “And then, I couldn't fall asleep. I can't remember how long I laid there, hoping that maybe I would finally close my eyes.” 

She almost wanted to sob against him, almost wanted to fall asleep in his arms. 

Almost almost almost. 

Inhale, exhale. 

“And then I made a mess, I was so angry, I just threw things around. I spent a day making a mess of everything, promising myself I wouldn't leave until I fell asleep. And then I went back to bed.” her voice was gravel against the air, her tears burning her skin as they fell. 

Spencer listened, not saying a word. 

“And then you showed up, right as I was sure it was time to fall in too deep.” 

And then the silence weighed in the air between them. Y/N was finished, and Spencer could finally start to make sense of what was going on. He could finally understand how a friend could become the worst betrayal. 

So, he moved a little closer, put his arm around her shoulder in a brief moment. 

And, as she barely ate, he held her close, reminding her he was there. 

Sleep was an epiphany, a strange thing that hung itself in the dark, wrapped itself in the sky at night when the world could barely breathe. 

It was a thing that could be blocked by the littlest of obstacles, a thing that she 

Could not, cannot, will not. 

“Come on Y/N,” Spencer whispered, noticing her eyes falling a little bit harder than they had before. He grabbed the mug from her hands and set it down on her coffee table. Taking her hand for the last time that night, he led her to her room. 

He helped her lay down, wrapped her in underneath the blankets. He held her shaking hand, rubbed her back until she was no longer quivering from the cold. 

He whispered words to her in the silence of her bedroom, reminding her that even with stress, even with all the things that she couldn't get out of her brain, he was there. And he still felt the same, still knew who she was to him. He let her know that he wasn't going to leave her alone again. 

wasn't going to walk away. 

He whispered words to her until her breathing evened out, and her eyes were shut. 

And then, he stayed up, making sure she was still breathing. Caring for her in the only way he knew how. 

And sleep, 

She could.

* 

my masterlist here. 

[langdxn]

OMGGG PLEASE WRITE FOR STAN ✨✨🖤🖤

well if you insist...

off the record | stan bowes x reporter!reader

WARNINGS: pretty graphic smut, fingering, vaginal sex, pet names errywhere, trump mentions, dom!stan

WORDS: 2.9k (excessive but necessary)

A/N: 110% not proofread yet so apologies for any errors which i’ll fix tomorrow.

The hustle and bustle of 5th Avenue spared Stan the embarrassment of leaving a torturous meeting at work. Tumbling out into the chaos of the New York streets offered him the anonymity he craved after a confrontation with Matt, the ability to blend in amongst the faces that couldn’t recognise him from the next suited, briefcase-toting businessman.

Bursting out of the doors to Trump Towers, Stan dropped his briefcase and rinsed his face with both hands, pressing his fingers to his eyes in a vain attempt to wipe away the day he’d just had. In that moment, no eyes were trained on him, no pressure on his shoulders, no demands of his time.

That is, until a sugary voice broke the crowd’s monotonous buzz.

“Trouble in economic paradise, honey?”

Stan’s hands dropped to his side as he searched for the source of his interruption, eyes intently scanning the street until they fell upon you, leaning against the building’s opulent marble pillars at the entrance.

“Sorta,” he mumbled under his breath, a grimace gently tapering his lips as he gazed down at his shoes. In an attempt to avoid your attentions, he trained his sights on a particularly worn paving slab. His distraction worked right up until your heels clacked toward him and planted right on his slab, the smoke from your cigarette swirling in his peripheral vision — there was no avoiding you, no matter how hard he tried. Stan’s head raised to meet your gaze, his deep brown eyes betraying a sadness and insecurity he may never put into words.

“I hear Mr Trump can be a harsh master,” you goaded your victim into spilling his guts, taking a deep puff of your cigarette before blowing it back to hover over his brown curls like a makeshift halo.

“I... I wouldn’t know, I barely see him,” Stan confessed, grabbing his suitcase and nodded toward the street. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss.”

Time for drastic action. The brunette stepped toward the street, ready to dismiss this exchange and continue his day.

“I smoke out here to drive your boss up the wall, you know,” you called after him, booming over the hubbub on 5th Avenue. “Admittedly he doesn’t come out much, but that jerk-off on the 41st floor certainly reads me for dirt every Friday night. What’s his name, Matt Bromley?”

Stan stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, so you know him too?” You pressed, pacing toward him with a staccato clack of your heels.

“He’s my superior, or at least he pretends to be,” Stan turned to face you, that same pained smirk dancing across his cheeks as his voice cracked between sentences. “Be careful around him, yeah? He’s not exactly one of the nice guys.”

“You’re telling me,” you scoffed, taking another swift drag while tipping your head to the side. “Luckily if he laid a finger on me, I’d put it front page of the Post and he’d never work in this overpriced dump again.”

“You’re a reporter?” Stan’s eyebrows quirked, intrigued but nonetheless concerned. Should he even be talking to a reporter like this? Will every word that passes his lips end up on tomorrow’s front page? He shook his head to dismiss any suspicious thoughts, he certainly didn’t have the headspace for that yet.

“For now,” you admitted with a pout and an eye-roll. “Your asshole ‘superior’ tries to rectify that on a regular basis. Keeps telling my boss I’m soliciting outside Trump Tower instead of reporting. Always digging through my personal life and not coming up with so much as an overdue rental VHS. Someday my editor will believe him, but I’m on my last warning as it is.”

“Seriously?” Stan’s smirk grew more sympathetic with the realisation one more life was being wrecked by the man he had the misfortune of sharing a floor with. “That’s pretty crazy.”

“That’s Manhattan, honey,” you smiled warmly at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not doorstepping you, I just happened to be here on a tip-off.”

“A tip-off? What sort of—.”

Stan cut himself off on hearing the approach of a familiar obnoxious voice on a cell phone booming in the golden foyer behind your exchange.

“Shit, that’s Bromley,” Stan panicked, suddenly grasping your arm and leading you away from the door, casting your half-smoked cigarette to the kerb. “Let’s get you outta here.”

“My nameless knight in shining armour,” you chuckled to yourself, somehow instincively following his lead on the street until you merged with the throngs of passers-by. “Where are we going, sweetie?”

“My name’s Stan Bowes, and I have absolutely no idea where we’re going.”

———

“You don’t look like a Stan,” you mused at the businessman seated across the table from you, tapping your chin with a finger as you contemplated alternative monikers. “More like a... Colin? Peter? Yeah, you’re a Peter—.”

“Can we just... rewind here?” Stan interrupted, eyes darting frantically at your surroundings, scanning the faces at the other tables. “D’ya mind explaining to me why we’re in a Five Guys right now?”

“You’ll thank me later, toots,” you quickly dismissed his objection as you swirled your soda cup in your other hand. “You think your psycho friend from the 41st floor’s gonna look for you in a diner? He’ll go straight to the Plaza... or even Indochine. Never a Five Guys. Plus, I needed somewhere I can afford to pay the bill so the Trump Organisation expense account doesn’t feel the burn.”

A wordless nod and raised eyebrow from your company suggested his silent approval, but his hands idly toying with the burger before him betrayed his confidence in your genius escape plan. Folding the lettuce edging out from beneath the bun, tugging at the rings of onion and nervously picking the sesame seeds from the top.

“You never told me what your tip-off was. What were you doing outside my work?” Stan raised his manhandled burger to his mouth, daring to undo all the strategic dismantling he’d just put into action.

“Somebody told the office that the blonde egomaniac at the top of your food chain is planning to run for president.”

Stan nearly choked on his first bite, resisting the temptation to spit it out in shock. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“‘Fraid not.”

“That... that can’t be true, he’s too busy with the plans to buy the Plaza two blocks away.”

“The Plaza?!” Your inquisitive voice changed pitch.

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” Stan screwed up his face. “Wait— you’re not gonna print this, are you?”

“I’m not here to rat you out,” You raised both surrendering hands in the space between you. “See? No notebook, no tape recorder, no agenda. It’s just me and you, baby.”

The brown haired man smiled warmly, visibly releasing the tension in his shoulders, comforted that he wasn’t being examined.

“So if you’re not here for business, why is a beautiful girl like you talking to me? I’m nothing special, I’m just a guy in an overpriced suit.”

Caving into the temptation to look him up and down, your gaze wandered to Stan’s hands, gently trembling as he held his burger.

“Because I like you, Peter,” you grinned at the sound of your company’s new moniker. “You and that suit. But you’re so much more than that suit, you know.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that. Matt doesn’t seem to think so either.”

“Screw what Bromley the office bully thinks,” you slammed the table with your palm. “This is about you. The guy who stopped to talk to a girl who looked like she was hustling outside your building, the guy who’s not afraid to sit in a diner with a total stranger to save her from his coworker. Face it, Peter, you’re one of the good guys.”

His lips tapered into a warm smile. “Thank you, miss, for not jumping to conclusions about me.”

“Don’t get me wrong, the pinstripes suit you. They’d look better on my floor, but...”

Stan immediately looked up from his food to your eyes, scanning for any sign of humour or any chance you were just trying to make him feel better.

“Did you just—?”

“I think I did!” You giggled, a hint of disbelief in your own words. “Is that a problem?”

Frozen in the moment, Stan just stared at you for a minute. His next move was exhilaratingly unpredictable, leaving your heart rate thundering in your ears, but something about the shimmer in his eyes suggested you wouldn’t have to worry.

“Peter, what’s wrong, did I—?”

You were cut off by Stan’s lips crashing into yours, lunging over the table and hooking a hand around your neck to draw you in. His kiss deepened with every second, dipping his nose into your cheek and moaning softly into your mouth. As you parted, his ear-to-ear grin beamed back to mirror yours.

“Yuppies don’t kiss like that,” you joked.

“You should see me in the bedroom,” he retorted with a laugh.

“Deal.”

———

Hollywood movies were right about one thing: sex in the throes of passion often starts in the same way — bundling through your lover’s uptown hotel room with your legs wrapped around his waist while he juggles his keycard, both peppering sloppy open-mouthed kisses and showering each other with distracted affection until he drops you onto the satin sheets.

Stan, courteous as ever, gently placed you on the sprawling bed without his lips leaving yours, crawling between your thighs before thinking how to undress himself. With both his hands preoccupied passionately lacing into your hair, you grasped at the hem of your dress to take it off yourself.

“Hold on, princess,” he muttered into your mouth, immediately untangling a hand to trace down your figure and met your attempts to hitch your skirt. “Let me strip you.”

Stan thumbed at the edge of the fabric, savouring the moment before you became so much more than a beautiful stranger to him, before slowly rolling your dress up, passing your neck and whipping it over your head to limit the time before he could kiss you again.

“Peter, are you sure about this?” You queried out of respect while casting aside his evidently expensive belt, tearing his braces from his shoulders and laying waste to his shirt buttons.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he hummed against your lips between hot and ragged breaths. “And my name’s not fucking Peter.”

Stan made light work of yanking your panties down to your knees around him, unhooking them from one leg for quicker access and throwing the bundle of lace across the room, soon followed by your bra. In the blur of clothes flying, you tackled his suit pants down to his knees and slipped his silk boxers to join them. The less you thought about those silk boxers, the better.

With no clothes left between you, Stan pressed his bare chest against yours, his heart racing so fast it could burst out of his rib cage.

A needy groan erupted in his throat as he tore his lips away from yours, journeying to pepper heated kisses down your throat, sucking gently as his lips reached your collarbone and followed south to your breasts. While his tongue expertly swirled around one nipple, his hand travelled to the other and kneaded hungrily, gently rolling the hardening bud between his thumb and forefinger.

Your soft moan as he sucked harder gave him the signal to trail his fingers down your frame, his palm traversing the plane of your hips before he reached your exposed clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves. Your back arched wildly into his touch, reaching a hand to wind into his brown curls when your helpless, urgent moans grew in volume.

“Don’t worry baby girl, I won’t leave you hanging much longer,” Stan whispered through a satisfied smile against your breast. “I just need to taste you first.”

His circling finger journeyed south to track around your folds, swollen and pulsing in anticipation of his next move. Slowly dipping the tip of his finger through your soaking entrance, your hips bucked upwards and instinctively widened your legs beneath him.

“That’s my good girl, spread yourself wide for me.” Stan’s eyelids fluttered excitedly, adding another finger inside your aching cunt and hooking both to graze your soft walls. His lips left your nipple so he could gaze at your form writhing beneath him, completely at his mercy.

His curled fingers pressed urgently into your walls, building an uncontrollable pressure within you and forcing your eyes to roll to the ceiling. Stan noticed you nearing ecstasy and immediately withdrew his dripping fingers, raising them to his lips and pressing them to his tongue.

“I knew you’d taste like heaven,” he cooed gently, lifting up to dip his head into your neck placing searing hot kisses beneath your ear. “Cat got your tongue, Miss New York Post?”

“I... I...,” you stuttered weakly, your whole body alight with waves of heat and anticipation you’d never felt before. “I...”

“You’re not usually this quiet,” Stan whispered. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I... need... you...”

He hummed contentedly, trailing his hand south to line the head of his cock with your throbbing entrance.

“What’s that, princess? You want me to fuck you?” Stan questioned with false innocence, a devious smirk plumping his cheeks. “You’ve been such a good girl waiting for me, I think you’ve earned it.”

In one smooth rock of his hips, Stan’s length slipped through your folds and bottomed out inside you. Your eyes journeyed to the ceiling as he filled you, spine arching recklessly craving more friction. He drew his hips back slowly, but his next thrust slammed his cock inside you so hard, you let out a hollow gasp.

“I know baby, I know,” Stan comforted you, curling his hips to ensure every thrust brushed the tip of his length against your deepest points and revelling in your squirms under him. “You’re taking me so well.”

Lost for words in the stars emerging in the corners of your eyes, you remained speechless as Stan broke down every single one of your weaknesses and turned you into putty in his hands. Jerking uncontrollably and sinking your head back into the pillow with every devastating thrust, Stan kissed your exposed neck and moaned deeply. Seizing his opportunity, both hands flew to lightly grasp your throat, his thumbs calmly resting on your windpipe — his aim wasn’t to choke you, just to hold onto you enough to assert his ownership of you, claiming you as you writhed beneath him. He leaned back to admire his work of unravelling you, possessing you.

“Look at you,” he hummed through a grin, not missing a single beat of his determined thrusts. “You’re so, so beautiful.”

Chasing you to your height of ecstasy once more, Stan’s staccato rhythm jackhammered into you at the same rate as the tremors consuming your body beneath his. Your vision of his bouncing brown curls above you started to fade behind the glittering haze taking over your mind. Fighting for consciousness, you stuttered a hollow cry for release as you approached your climax.

“Stan, I— I need to... I’m gonna cu—.”

“It’s okay baby, I’ve got you,” Stan reassured, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his chest as his hips grew frantic and sloppy. “Let go for me.”

With a deep growl and a final erratic thrust, Stan spilled against your walls, flooding warmth inside you that sent your head dipping into the pillows. His lips gently pecked your throat again as he poured his length back to the depths of your pussy, pushing his load as far inside you as possible.

Emerging from the depths of the pillow as you regained control of your legs wrapped around his waist, Stan slowly drew his hips back and slipped his length out from your swollen folds, his gaze dropping to your entrance as if making sure his cum wouldn’t drip out. Content that he hadn’t left any suspicious stains on the hotel sheets, Stan returned to gaze into your eyes and beamed from ear to ear.

“You... you called me Stan?” He quizzed while tumbling down to the pillow beside you, a puzzled eyebrow quirking beneath beads of sweat.

“You called me princess,” you retaliated with a joking tap of his chest. “I think we’re equal here, don’t you?”

Stan chuckled to himself and turned to face you, propping his head up with an exhausted, trembling hand. A palpable silence fell as he composed his next sentence.

“Was this, er... would you... can you...,” He stumbled nervously over his words; his assertive alter ego must have left as soon as he came.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr Trump Organi—“

“Stay.”

Your gaze dropped to your chest as you laughed it off. “As much as I’d love to, I got the feeling this was just a one-off for you?”

“That’s what I thought you wanted, too,” Stan confirmed with a quirked eyebrow.

Chuckling to yourself, you shook your head to dismiss all the worries that the dapper businessman would make you do the walk of shame once he’d finished.

“Then I’ll stay, sugar,” you beamed, settling into Stan’s chest as he scooped his arm beneath your head.

“We’ll get room service to dry clean your dress and I’ll drive you to work in the morning, if that’s okay?” Stan’s courteous streak had definitely returned.

You smiled broadly, nodding against Stan’s chest and swooping an arm around his waist.

“Besides, now you can tell me all about that presidential tip-off you had,” he quizzed. “Trump may be an extremely powerful guy, but he’s never gonna be president…”

[honghunni]

"I'm going to fucking ruin you today."

San x Bottom male reader

Non Idol oneshot

NSFW SMUT

2794 words

Contains: Slight Impact play | Bondage | Breath play | Unprotected sex | Public sexual activity | Orgasm denial | Dominance and Submission | Wax Play | Hair Pulling | scratching | Light Blood Play |

You woke up to the sound of the front door closing and your boyfriend, San, shuffling around the house. You rolled over and saw the time. 9:30 am. You heard his small giggles get louder as he approached the bedroom. San walked into the room with a box and a boxcutter. "San what are you doing?" You mumbled half awake. He sat at the end of the bed facing away from you and started opening the box, continuing to snicker to himself. Once he opened the box and started playing with what was inside his playful giggling became slightly maniacal. "I was worried this wasn't going to arrive on time."

You sat up and crawled towards San wrapping your arms around his shoulders, still not quite completely awake yet. Your drowsiness subsided a bit when you realised he was holding a small, purple, insertable vibrator.

You pointed at it.

"We have enough of those why did you get another one."

San removed your hands from his shoulders and gently pushed you onto the bed. "This one is different." He began explaining while sitting on top of you. "This one has a wireless remote..... I can control it from anywhere."

"Is there any reason why you wanted this to arrive today?" You asked. "We have a double date lunch with Wooyoung and Seonghwa today." He paused briefly to kiss you. "And I want to see how long you can last before you start begging." He said in an extremely patronizing tone. He jumped up and went to the shower. You didn't know how to react to what just happened. You did all the stuff you typically do while San is showering. As usual, you were ready to shower right when he was finished, he thinks it's a coincidence but you actually timed it because you like seeing him right after he showers.

"Tell me when you're done showering and keep the door unlocked." He said while walking past you back into the bedroom. You did as he said and unsurprisingly, he walked in with the vibrator and a small bottle of lube. He put them both on the bench "Come here." He said while aggressively pulling you toward him. He held you close and kissed you. Without warning, he suddenly slipped one of his fingers into you, it wasn't painful since he had a small amount of lube on his finger but it was slightly uncomfortable since you weren't expecting it. You reflexively moved because of it.

San held you tighter trying to stop you from wriggling. "Stop squirming." He chided. He fingered you slowly and with his other hand, he gently stroked your hair. "I've been a bit bored lately, " He explained. "You've been busy and we haven't had much time to do something fun." He slid his fingers in deeper causing you to gasp a little. He looked at you. "There?" He asked. You nodded and he smiled. Once he thought it was time he picked up the vibrator. "Look at me," San demanded. He slowly inserted the vibrator inside of you, you owned a few vibrators but you could really feel this one because of the way it's curved. It wasn't even turned on yet.

San turned it on and your knees buckled slightly, it caused you to break eye contact with him. San forcefully grabbed your face and pulled your head up.

"Look. At. Me." He growled and then smiled. "This is only the mid setting." He laughed. "I am going to fucking ruin you today."

He grabbed your hand. "Don't forget this is the non-verbal safe word." He said while drawing a circle and then an X on your palm with his finger.

He turned it off but not before briefly turning it to the highest setting just to fuck with you. He put the remote in his pocket.

You took a moment to both recover and mentally prepare for what San was going to do to you. You continued to get ready for the day.

You and San both arrived at a small strip mall cafe and sat down at a table. You weren't waiting long before you heard Wooyoung's distinctive shrilly chatting down the street. "Hiiii San," Wooyoung said loudly. "Hi y/n." Seonghwa leaned down to San and spoke in a hushed tone. "I will be back in a minute he hasn't shut up the whole way here and I need a break from him."

Wooyoung sat down and scanned the menu that was taped to the table.

"How have you been," San asked him. "I've been well for the most part," He replied while tapping his feet. "Seonghwa hasn't been home much recently though."

"Oh, why is that?" You interjected.

Wooyoung draped over the table. "He says he has to work overtime."

"Woo get up please we can't see the menu," San said.

"Sorry." He sat back up. While choosing what you wanted to eat you felt San gently hold your hand and saw him put his other hand in his pocket and then shortly after you felt the vibrator turn on which caused you to grip his hand, he gripped back. Seonghwa returned.

"I'll go in and order just tell me what you want. I come here a lot with my coworkers so I have the menu memorised." Said Seonghwa.

Wooyoung and San both told Seonghwa what they wanted and then it was your turn. As soon as you started telling him what you wanted, San turned the vibrator up a bit higher, making it slightly difficult to get your words out. After you told him what you wanted, he looked over to San skeptically and went inside to order. San turned the vibrator back down, though this made it easier to talk and function you also wanted him to turn it up again.

Seonghwa came back with some drinks, sat down and placed a small black object on the table. "They will be 5 minutes." He announced.

"What is that for?" You pointed at the black square on the table that Seonghwa brought with him from inside. "That's a coaster pager it vibrates and beeps when our food is ready." He explained.

"Ah, that's kinda c-..." You couldn't finish your sentence since San had suddenly turned the vibrator up quite high. "Are you okay?" Wooyoung asked concerned.

Seonghwa appeared to be quietly giggling to himself.

You tried your best to engage in conversation with everyone without making it obvious what San was doing to you. The small pager on the table went off and the moment it did San turned the vibe up very high. He had timed it so that it would mask the sound. All you could do it lay your head on the table and focus on not moaning. "Sit up, Seonghwa won't be able to put the food on the table otherwise."

You pulled yourself off the table and San quickly whispered in your ear.

"You're not allowed to cum if you do I'll make sure you can't walk for a week."

Seonghwa placed the food you all ordered on the table and Wooyoung immediately started eating. He placed his arm around Wooyoung's shoulder and also started eating while talking about.......what are we talking about? All you can think about is your boyfriend and trying not to cum. "Are you going to eat?" You heard Seonghwa ask you. Your brain started somewhat functioning again. "Yeah I- I was just distracted by something."

Seonghwa smiled to himself. "Yeah, I know you are." He looked directly at San. "Text me where you got it from." You choked on your food, realising that he knew exactly what was going on. "Get what from? Is he okay? What is going on?" Wooyoung questioned. "Don't worry about it, just don't blame me for what's going to happen to you in about 2 weeks." San giggled. Wooyoung was still very confused. You began trying to eat your food when suddenly San placed his hand on your thigh, you realised then how much your leg was shaking. He pressed down a squeezed your leg trying to stop you from shaking so much.

You continued chatting and eating and reached for your drink.

San turned up the vibrator to the highest setting causing you to spill the drink on yourself, you didn't have time to react to that however as you realised you had failed to stop yourself from cumming. At least the water all over your pants hid any evidence. You grabbed San's hand and drew a circle and an X on his palm with your finger, signalling for him to stop. He turned it off. Wooyoung went to help you but Seonghwa stopped him. He and San both looked at each other. "I assume you're leaving early." Laughed Seonghwa. San helped you up. "Yeah." San moved your plate toward Wooyoung. "You can eat the rest." Wooyoung leaned back in his chair. "I'm so lost...." He said.

You and San both left and walked into a single stall bathroom together. "Did you cum?" He asked while helping you clean up. "Yes." You answered. "Pathetic." He jeered. You removed the vibrator and put it in your pocket before leaving.

You got home and San threw you on the bed wasting absolutely no time and attacking you with kisses. You felt him grinding against you.  You kind of found it cute how easily and quickly he got hard. He stopped and walked over to a box where you kept all your toys and laid out everything he was going to use and then took off his shirt.

He positioned himself on top of you, grabbed your hands and placed them on his chest. "This is the only chance you get to touch me before I tie you up." You dragged your hands down his body and then sat up and pulled him towards you. He hugged you. You took the opportunity to mess with him a little bit, after all he put you through today (and what he was about to put you through) you wanted a bit of revenge.

There was one place that made San weak. You licked up from the base of his neck to his ear and his nails dug into your back. He let out a small moan. You bit down gently on his ear and you felt his entire body relax. "Fuck you." You heard him say quietly and slightly angrily. He pushed you down and firmly held down your wrists. He abruptly grabbed your neck and squeezed hard. "You didn't think you would actually get away with that, did you? Especially not after you're already in trouble for cumming without permission." He kissed you deeply which only made it harder to breathe. He stopped choking you and started kissing your neck while unbuttoning your shirt.

He took a ribbon and tied your hands together and then tied the rest of the ribbon to the bed. He began kissing down your body, biting occasionally. He took a red candle. "I think this is the one that burns the most." He said while lighting it. San held the candle over you and you watched the wax slowly melt, when it hit your skin the pain was sharp and sudden, the wax cooled quite quickly so the burning didn't last long, however, there was a lasting subtle feeling of heat and sensitivity. You flinched each time it dripped onto you which San clearly enjoyed. Eventually, he had covered most of your torso with hot wax.

San then held the candle over his neck and let it drip onto his skin, he winced but evidently liked the feeling of it. He let it drip a few more times before blowing the candle out. He peeled the pieces of wax off of you as well as the few drips on his neck revealing small red burn marks. He took the time to kiss the burn marks which was slightly painful. San took off your pants as well as his and flipped you over, he hit and aggressively grabbed your ass. "I saw this recently so I'm going to see if it has the same effect on you." You looked back at him. "What is it?" You asked. San lubed up a very small corded bullet vibrator and inserted it as far into you as he could.

He then slowly eased himself into you,

you had never had someone fuck you with a vibrator inside you at the same time. San held your head down. "I'm only going slow right now because I feel generous." He said. Because of the vibrator it felt like he was going much deeper than he actually was. He smacked the back of your thigh hard which made you yelp.

"Does that hurt?" San asked.

"Yes." You answered.

"Good." He said while hitting you again. He pulled your hair, forcing your head back.

You could feel his other hand tightly gripping your waist, you could feel him pull your hair harder after every few thrusts. He let go of your hair and pulled out to remove the vibrator. "I can't be too rough with the vibrator or it might get lost," San said while turning you over again to lay on your back. He untied the ribbon that was restraining you giving you a short break before changing to 2 ropes. He tied your wrists to opposite sides of the bed having your arms effectively stuck to the mattress. San leaned over you and cupped your face with his hands.

"You're so cute." He said gently while sliding his hands down your face and neck. When his fingers reached your chest he dragged his nails down your torso, his nails caught on the burn marks from the candle and it felt as if he was dripping wax on you again. You inhaled sharply because of the pain and as you did San suddenly slammed into you. He grabbed your leg and put it over his shoulder which helped him get a better angle. He placed his hand on your neck tightly. You could hear his breath begin to become shakey, he put more of his weight onto your neck.

"You're not allowed to cum you have already cum once today." He let go of your neck and put two of his fingers in your mouth, impulsively you bit down a little. San pushed down forcing your mouth open.

"No biting." You had to grip the bed because of how rough he was being with you, even though you were tied down it felt as if you didn't hold on you would fall off. He suddenly stopped. "You're bleeding, should we stop?" You realised the rope had rubbed and cut into your wrists as well as bleeding from San going a bit too hard. You looked up at San.

"I don't think it's an issue." You said.

He untied you and lifted your wrist up to his mouth. Still fucking you, but less aggressively, he licked the small amount of blood off you. He immediately leaned in and kissed you, going back to the fast pace he was going at earlier.

The taste was metallic. He tangled one of his hands into your hair, his other arm around your waist. You could feel his sweat dripping onto you, the heat from his body slightly re agitated the burn marks. San pulled his face away from yours and buried his face in your neck, his grip tightened and you could feel his body shudder.

You put your arms around him and he stopped and you felt him relax, practically melting into you.

"Did you-" before you could finish your sentence San interrupted.

"We've had sex how many times and you still can't tell when I've cum?" He said breathlessly. He jumped up. "I should have known you would bleed I should have used a towel. Does it hurt?"

You shook your head. "Nothing really hurts more than usual."

San went and got a towel and a few other things to take care of you. After you had both cleaned everything and put on clothes San sat on top of as he often likes to do. He gently lifted your shirt.

"What now? Are you still not satisfied?"

"I'm not doing anything like that," San replied.

He placed his thumb on a part of your stomach and you felt a sort of cold sensation.

"I'm treating your burn marks." He attentively treated every small little wax burn on your body, you slowly started to drift off to sleep due to how exhausted he had made you. Before you fell complete asleep you felt San lean into you close to your ear. He whispered.

"I love you."

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi❣️❣️ so this morning i saw this post by @emsemotional and i haven’t stopped thinking about it!!! so here is a soft & short pre-s11 ficlet about gallavich getting high together <3

--

Sometimes Ian would come home so tired after a long day of work— aching limbs, a buzzing brain too syrup-heavy after lifting boxes and pushing carts and stumbling through idle conversation with middle-aged coworkers—to really think about anything other than pushing one foot in front of the other through the creaky front door, anything other than pulling himself up the stairs with a firm grip on the railing and collapsing face-first onto the bed.

Usually Mickey was already there, sprawled on the bed like a kid at a sleepover, watching some dumb video on his phone, ending a hard day of whatever the fuck Mickey was up to these days since the lockdown started, since Mickey had cloistered himself away within these four walls after the wedding. It was a reaction to the pandemic, sure— but it was maybe also a reaction to the breezed-by attempted shootout of their floral-scented honeymoon suite, a reaction to the world feeling a little more looming and frightening now that Ian and Mickey were married, yes, but so much of the home that Mickey had known before he’d been locked up was gone, replaced by shiny new apartment complexes and organic grocery stores.

Ian wasn’t going to question it— this lockdown shit was hitting him hard too, was grinding down on his hard-fought sense of stability and rhythm and pressing in on his grand notions of work ethic and savings and finding a place, somewhere, for the two of them someday. It seemed like since the wedding, shit in general had only gotten worse and worse— he and Mick were fine, they were existing, but something about a global pandemic stopping the roller coaster on its tracks as it headed up the mountain, leaving them suspended, had torn something irreparable in them both— they weren’t going to go back to that shiny-faced, post-wedding bliss that Ian had wanted to savor forever.

He’d give anything to go back to that time between then and now, between whenever they returned from their honeymoon and whenever he’d developed a now-permanent slouch in his shoulders from long days at a dead end job, and a scruffy five o’clock shadow that he didn’t really have the energy to deal with both when he came home from work and when he crawled out of bed at 5 in the morning before sunrise, shifting out from under Mickey’s hand that always rested with a solid weight on Ian’s chest as he slept. Today, Ian fully expected to turn the corner into their room to that same habitual evening scene—Mickey laying there on his stomach, brows furrowed in the same permanent lingering discontent that they both seemed to be harboring these days, watching a video of some outdated trend blasting at full volume.

Instead, Mickey was seated in the bed, a pillow smushed between his back and the wall, hair ruffled and eyes bleary like he’d just woken up. He was wearing a dark tank top, the neck damp with the summer humidity trapped in the room that could barely escape through the narrow window— and he had a packet of rolling papers in his hand, a grinder beside him on the bed, his eyes drifting up and then back down to his task as Ian entered the room.

“You just get up?” Ian tried to keep his voice measured, tried to bite down any edge of resentment.

Mickey’s eyes flickered up again from where he was silently rolling the blunt in a tight cylinder, then freed a hand to flip Ian off.

“Was fucking napping. Still on my honeymoon, man.”

Ian rolled his eyes, letting out a little puff of air through his nose, but he kept his mouth shut— this was it, the whole crux of their problem these days, that they were both taking this shitshow of a situation very differently. Mickey was allowed to sleep the day away in his grungy threadbare bathrobe if he wanted to— in the same way that Ian was allowed to get up at the crack of dawn and leave him alone at the house all day, was allowed to be up his ass about money and expenses and “financial planning.” The world was burning around them, was tilting off-kilter— and they both had different ways of finding a rope to grab on to, of keeping their feet on solid ground.

Mickey was lifting the paper to his tongue now, then sealing it shut with practiced fingers. Mickey had always been good at rolling blunts—he was always patient and methodical in a way that Ian rarely was with shit like this, shit that felt meaningless and the aesthetics unnecessary. Mickey was still looking downward at the rolled cylinder in his fingertips; maybe because he was focused on his task, or maybe because they were out of practice being around each other since Ian had started his job. He barely made eye contact with Ian as he stretched to grab a lighter off the nightstand and doused the end of the blunt in flames with one fluid movement.

Ian shook off his sneakers, walking over to perch on the edge of the bed and watching as Mickey inhaled deeply and let his head sink back against the wall. Part of Ian, flaring up as a small twinge in his stomach, felt oddly jealous— how could Mickey be so fucking chilled out right now, while so much was uncertain and Ian was working his ass off to keep a roof over all of their heads?

And still. That wasn’t fair. Deep down, Ian knew that.

Mickey finally shifted his gaze upwards after taking another hit, tapping the blunt against the rim of a mug that they kept on the nightstand as an ashtray— and then reaching the smoldering cylinder out to Ian, who was still sitting on the side of the bed like a stranger who’d stumbled into the room. Mickey’s arm reached out— a contrast of rough hands and tattooed knuckles that delicately pinched at the filter, tilted at a practiced angle over the linen blanket.

It struck Ian that this was a peace offering—they’d been so close yet so distant for weeks, sleeping pressed together at night but mostly traveling in their own orbit. This outstretched hand was Mickey wanting to share an experience, a moment in which Ian could breathe—a moment that Ian could let him in rather than putting up walls of demands and stress, looking through Mickey rather than at him as he headed out the door.

And knowing this, Ian reached outwards, fingers fumbling on the paper.

It had been a while since Ian had smoked—the first few weeks of quarantine they’d pretty much been constantly high, alternating between sleeping and smoking and fucking and smoking again. But after a while, the doubts and the demands started lurking in, and the space of their bedroom felt too constricted, too close. Ian had lifted himself out of that space, finding a job and ending their days cocooned in the bedroom together— and Ian hadn’t really let himself deflate since then.

Mickey was content to stay in this comforting space behind closed doors, and Ian let him— Mickey hadn’t had a place like this, a place to lay and get high and watch videos on his phone, for years at this point.

Ian took his first drag, and felt the bitter smoke linger at the back of his throat before blowing it outwards. He let out a dry, sputtery cough, one that started in his throat and seemed to end in his ribcage, making him hack again and again— and Mickey let out a disbelieving laugh, lighter than Ian expected, and reached over for the bottle of tepid Gatorade that was sitting on the nightstand.

“Fuckin’ lightweight, man.”

Now it was Ian’s turn to flip him off, swigging back the Gatorade with tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

Mickey just chuckled again, and plucked the blunt out of Ian’s fingers.

And— fuck. How long had it been since Ian had let himself feel like this, loose-limbed and heavy-headed? He wasn’t even sure if the weed had hit yet, or if it was some Pavlovian response to the act of smoking, of inhaling deep and feeling his belly expand amid the humidity hanging heavy in the room— but instantly Ian felt the trickling in of a pleasant buzzing in his brain, of the warm and floaty release of his clenched shoulderblades, the fuzzy warmth of starry-eyed admiration as he turned his head and watched his husband take another hit, blowing curls of smoke out of his pink mouth in an exhale.

Ian must have been staring for a second too long, eyes lingering on the contours of Mickey’s jawline as the cloud of smoke dissipated in front of him, because Mickey turned and furrowed his brows.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

Ian just smirked to himself, causing Mickey’s forehead to crease even deeper—but he held out the blunt again, and Ian took it, reaching over to give Mickey’s knee a light squeeze in thanks. It was better this time, breathing the heavy air into his lungs, letting it out with a sigh. He was definitely feeling the actual weed now, the feeling soft as cotton that made everything a little easier, a little lighter.

Mickey was definitely there too, slouching back against the pillows and lazily flicking through his Spotify library to find something to let drift through the room through the tinny speaker of his phone— usually he’d play some sort of weird ass techno music that neither one of them actually listened to, or some sort of mellow pre-made Spotify playlist that Mickey would only stoop to listening to when he was high out of his mind.

It felt like there was a heavy blanket wrapped around Ian’s body—warm and liquid, keeping him weighted on the bed. And without really thinking, he let himself slump down farther on his side, slouching down onto Mickey’s shoulder. At first, Mickey stiffened at the unexpected touch— then Ian felt his shoulderblades relax, his body soften as they laid leg to leg, arm to arm.

Tentatively, Ian fumbled until his fingertips tangled with Mickey’s, until they were slotted just right— the movement felt like it took multiple minutes, like they were suspended and swimming through time.

Mickey peered to look at their clasped hands. “Gay,” he huffed out under his breath before bringing the blunt to his lips again.

Ian snickered, like that was the funniest shit he’d heard in weeks—because honestly, it was. They’d been drifting apart, on separate edges of a jagged faultline— except now Mickey was here, his same grumbling self, and their bodies were pressed together, and they were warm, warm, warm.

Ian buried his face in Mickey’s neck, continuing to laugh until he felt a dull ache in his abdomen. After what could have been an hour for all he knew, Ian finally peered his head up again— Mickey was tracing a pattern up and down his arm, eyes half-open and listening to the music, until he turned to Ian with a bemused expression. “You good?”

“Do you want a snack?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You sound like you’re fuckin’ babysitting Franny right now.”

“Well, I want a snack. So I’m gonna go downstairs and get one.”

“M’not fucking getting up, man.”

Ian poked Mickey in his side. “C’mon.”

Begrudgingly, Mickey let Ian pull him up by his elbow, rubbing at his eyes like a sleepy toddler and stubbing out the blunt that was still in his hands, letting it fall into the mug.

They crept down the stairs to the moonlit kitchen— Ian had a fleeting thought that they probably thought they were being stealthier than they were, given how he kept feeling like he was about to stumble over his own feet—and Ian flung open the kitchen cupboard, rifling around for a half-eaten bag of Doritos on the top shelf.

“Stop slamming shit, Franny’s sleeping.”

Ian perched on the edge of counter, Mickey hoisting himself to sit next to him,  and Ian placed the chip bag between them, letting them eat in a comfortable silence. Ian forgot how fucking hungry he always got whenever he was high— he and Lip used to creep down the front staircase after sharing a joint and blowing the smoke out the cracked bedroom window, eating fistfuls of whatever bargain junk food was in the cabinet. Ian felt a sudden softness that this silly childlike ritual, in this home— this belonged to Mickey now, too.

Ian noticed a bit of cheese dust on Mickey’s chin, and he licked at his thumb and smeared it away without thinking. Mickey immediately swatted at his chest, ducking away and bristling like a cat that didn’t want to be pet.

“Stop treating me like a fuckin’ five year old!”

Ian felt his shoulders shake with laughter— one wave, then another, and all of a sudden he was laughing again for no fucking reason at all, laughing because it felt good and warm and spread through his belly. Mickey rolled his eyes; but a grin was cracking through, sloping the corner of his mouth upwards.

“I’m never getting high with you ever again,” Mickey breathed it in a chuckled exhale. “You’re getting too fuckin’ old to handle this shit, your eyes are all red and everything.”

Ian shoved him back in the chest. “I’m not a fucking lightweight.”

“Mhm.”

Ian hopped off the counter, dropping the crumpled Doritos bag back on the shelf and slamming the cabinet shut again with an alarmingly loud whack that resounded through the kitchen and made Ian jump— and this time Mickey was laughing, and Ian was slumping forward against Mickey’s shoulder again, leaving a damp spot on the shoulder of his t-shirt where tears sprang up and spotted.

And then the moonlight softened; Mickey began to run a hand up and down Ian’s back, from sternum to spine to shoulder blades and back again— and Ian was suddenly reaching his hands for Mickey’s hips, reaching through the haze of dark cotton and softness around them. Now it was just blood rushing against blood, sweaty skin pressed together against the cool linoleum of the counter. Ian’s head dipping down, dropping kisses and pulling gentle bites of teeth on skin— Mickey pulling in breaths of air and doing the same, leaving scalding marks with lips that Ian could feel echoing and rattling in his entire body.

They made their way upstairs, wading in the darkness, wading against each other, bodies floating— landing on soft bedsheets, tugging and giving way.