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wearywinchester · 11 months

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Soft Touch

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Comforting Dean might seem like a hefty task, but all he needs is you.

Requested by Anonymous: “request!! can you write something where the reader comforts dean after a bad day, it doesn’t have to be major trauma or anything just dean needing physical touch and not knowing how to ask for it and the reader making sure he’s comfortable and okay and just a bunch of fluff and comfort”

Warnings: angst, language, injury, alcohol, fluff

The bunker was fairly quiet, near completely. Sam was tucked away in his room, and if you had to guess, he was probably doing research. It’s what he’d been doing in the library for a little while, sitting there quietly with a few lore books and his laptop before he gathered his stuff with a polite goodnight and went to his room.

Sam Winchester is the only person you know that decompresses after a hunt by researching for the next.

You heard the sound of his tv when you walked by, muffled and soft. The sound of your footfalls accompanied it, a soft set of taps on the cold floor as you wandered about in search of your beau.

He hadn’t been in bed at all, his side still made. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not really, but he’d had a rough day.

It was a seven hour drive back to the bunker, and he was damn near running on fumes because he hadn’t slept well the night before. The motel bed was not doing any favors, stiff and thin enough to feel the springs dig into your muscles. The dip in the center made an uncomfortable pit, and he was just about ready to snag you and sleep in the Impala. He couldn’t sleep nearly as well without you.

He was sore from the hunt, muscles aching and begging for a bath, but he wasn’t the biggest fan of them. He’d obtained a myriad of injuries, none serious or major, but the combination was a melting pot of misery when you put them together. Not to mention the constant state of war he’s in with his own mind.

The halls still smelled like dinner, pizza and a mix of burgers, something quick and easy. None of you had the energy to do more than takeout.

You heard the quiet hum of the lights lining the hall, and your sigh upon seeing an empty library, and an empty map room. The bathroom was empty too, and the Dean cave he’d set up. There was no note on the desk by the bed, so that was an indication he was still there.

But your search wasn’t very lengthy much to your relief, a simple glance into the kitchen revealing just the one you were looking for.

His back was to you as he stood at the sink. He’d discarded his shirt after dinner, a habit he’d gotten into as of late. He got hot very easily, and it was a simple and more comfortable solution. Besides, you wouldn’t complain about that.

The muscles in his back tensed and moved as he washed the dishes in the sink, those damn hotdog pajama pants sitting on his hips.

His hair was a bit tangled and mussed, brushing against the nape of his neck and curling outward. He’d been growing it out, same for his beard, a mixture of not having as much time to handle it and wanting to try something new.

You saw a half drank glass of whiskey on the table as you passed it, the uncapped bottle sitting next to it.

He knew you were there, heard the soft pattern of your footfalls, not to mention he could sense your presence regardless of hearing you or not. But it was confirmed when you reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear.

He pulled his gaze from the plate in his hand, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Thought you’d run off for good,” you teased, your eyes meeting his.

His chuckle was soft and sweet, accompanied by a shake of his head. “Ain’t runnin’ off without taking you with me, sweetheart.”

“Well, ain’t that a relief?”

You notice the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, tired but surely present.

He rinses off that last plate, sticking it in the drying rack on the counter before wiping his hands dry on the tea towel draped over the sink. He turns to you, hands settling on your hips before they glide forwards, snaking themselves around your waist and tugging you closer. They were warm and calloused, the perfect combination.

You rested your hands on his chest, his skin warm and radiating to you. Your gaze shifts to the scrape on his shoulder, fading into a cut. He hadn’t tended to it, not really, nor did his mess with the one on his bicep and just above his beard on his cheekbone.

“How about we get you cleaned up, then head to bed?” You say, tipping your head back to look at him.

He took one of his hands from where it rested around you to settle by your cheek and tangle with the hair at the nape of your neck.

“You sayin’ I didn’t do a good job?” He asks, and you just barely saw the raise of his brow under the hair that fell over his forehead.

“Pretty much,” you answer with a shrug, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of his frown and crease between his brows.

He tugged you in closer abruptly and you made a delighted noise of surprise, moving your hands from his chest to wrap up around his shoulders. His nose bumped against yours, the brush of his lips gentle before he they pressed a kiss on your own. It was lingering and sweet, borderline steamy before he parted, only to press one, two, three more to your lips.

“Trying to distract me?” You ask, furrowing your brows with a soft smile as you look at him.

He chuckles as he shakes his head, brushing your hair out of your face. “Oh sweetheart, I wouldn’t have to try to do that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile, instead rolling your eyes as you wriggle from his arms.

“Sit down, Winchester,” you say, walking towards the cupboard.

You hear his sigh as you grab the first aid kit, freshly replenished a few days ago. You hear that sigh but when you turn around, sure enough he’s taken his seat at the kitchen table, swirling his unfinished glass of whiskey in his hand before gulping it down and pouring another.

Now it’s your turn to sigh, head shaking softly and he most definitely heard it.

You open the lid to the kit, pondering over what you wanted before it came to mind. You snagged a package of an alcohol wipe, and the small bottle of antiseptic, grabbing a small stack of gauze.

None of his injuries were severe, but it’s no good for any wound, superficial or not, to have dirt trapped in it while it tries to heal.

Anyone knew that. Anyone except Dean Winchester.

Well, it’s not that he didn’t know, he very much did. He just lacked a certain caring when it came to himself. And by lacking, he didn’t care at all. He was always that way. He cared enough to eat and bathe, to brush his teeth and at least have you brush his hair, though that was purely because he secretly not so secretly enjoys how it feels. But in actuality, he didn’t care much for himself, didn’t see a reason to.

In fact, the only reason he cared even a little bit was so he could be around to protect you and Sam, didn’t have anything to do with himself.

“No more liquor, De,” you sigh, capping the bottle and pushing it away from his reach.

You didn’t fail to notice the way he looked at you for it, brows furrowed and gaze narrowed. And you didn’t fail to notice the way those dimples formed by the corners of his mouth, barely visible through his beard but you knew with one hundred percent certainty that they were there.

That was his form of self care. A bottle of whiskey or a six pack of beer. But that was no form of caring at all, no form of soothing.

You simply lift your hand and run it over his head, caressing over his hair, your thumb brushing over his cheek softly. Your hand drops to rest under his chin, tipping his head back to drop a soft kiss to his lips, something that made your words sound not so bad to him now. So much so that he made a noise of discontent when you pulled away to tend to those wounds of his.

He didn’t care about a damn scrape or two, he wanted you.

You sigh as you tear open a couple packets of alcohol wipes, plucking one from its package and unfolding it.

You started with his arm, holding his bicep in your hand, cumbersome at best because he’d become quite muscular as of late. You noticed the slight twitch he’d made in reaction to the cold alcohol stinging the open scrape, but it’d barely shown on his face, hard for anyone but you to tell.

You cleaned away the excess dirt and blood with gentle swipes. You set down the dirtied wipe on the table, reaching for the gauze and bottle of antiseptic. You squeezed a generous amount on, returning your grip on his arm as you dabbed it directly on the scrape this time.

He may think you were being dramatic, you knew it did. It was only a few scrapes, the most superficial of injuries you can get. The equivalent of a paper cut in the world of hunting. But you were all about caring for your big, strong tough guy even if he couldn’t give a damn about any of it when it came to himself.

“You should really take better care of yourself after hunts, De,” you say, beginning to repeat the process on his shoulder.

“I ain’t gonna die from a couple of scrapes and scratches, sweetheart,” he says, as careless as ever, his tone lighthearted.

You exhale a huff, tossing the second wipe down in a more obvious show of your frustration.

“Would you want me to say that about myself?” You ask, brow raised in challenge.

“Y/n,” he said sternly.

You could tell he was angry, or the beginnings of it. His jaw was tense, along with his shoulders. You could feel it under your palm, a noticeable difference. Not to mention the look on his face alone was enough of a giveaway.

That crease between his brows never left, only deepened by your words. Those dimples were still adorning the corners of his mouth unable to be masked by the beard that framed his jaw. Nor could it hide the subtle flush in his cheeks, tinged with anger and frustration.

To him, the comparison was incomparable. So ridiculously, unbelievably able to be compared because he was not in the same bracket as you. He’ll, he’d die for you, and has. He’s sold his damn soul to a low life demon just so you would be okay, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’d rather get torn to shreds by a werewolf, become some wendigo’s dinner, be made into some monsters toy than have so much as a hand laid on you.

The comparison between you and him was one he could not make. Because you were the world, a radiant being and far better than the angels he’s seen in his lifetime and he knows it for a fact. You were his world and he was simply a fleck in it. He’s always felt that way, and the whole idea has been putting a strain on him for as long as he can remember.

He always hated that you were a hunter, because dammit it scared him more than anything. He’s seen what monsters do to people, innocent lives. He’s seen what the life does to those who enter it, how it changes them, he’s one of them. He’s seen the sheer trauma it’s put you through, the agony and pain. He sees it with every case, every hunt that’s added to the endless chart.

If he thinks about it for too long, it’ll drive him insane, push him over the edge of emotion and into a fit of rage. And that, that reaction alone only adds to the self hatred he feels. To be an angry person when you’re so delicate and everything he wishes he could be. It spirals into every avenue.

He couldn’t bring himself to put caring about a scrape on himself at the same level as an injury on you. He couldn’t do it. Even so much as a paper cut on you would have him furrowing his brows. It’d need something as simple as a bandaid and he’d be sure to put it on, giving you hell if you tried to brush it off.

No matter the severity, if you were hurt in any way, shape, or form, it mattered to him.

He didn’t give a damn about himself, he gave a damn about you.

He didn’t say anything else, and you sighed, softening your glare and settling your hand on his other cheek.

You noticed the way he leaned into your touch, however, his hair falling in the direction it so pleased as he tilted his head and tipped it back, his eyes falling closed.

Dean Winchester was rough, tough and rugged. There was no denying that. He was stereotypical, and put up every front he felt he needed to. But when everything is stripped away, when it came down to it, Dean was a man of comfort. That’s really all he’s ever wanted, no matter how much he refused to say it.

But it’s a trait that’s guarded with extra security, one he tries to keep on lock down from you even, but he can’t keep that from his source of comfort. He’d be foolish to think he’d be able to keep that from you.

The subtle flush in his cheeks had accentuated his freckles, soft flecks kissing along his skin, almost comically delicate in contrast to the tough persona he puts on. Especially the way his lashes curled over top of them when his eyes were closed.

You were gentler this time if that were possible, gentler in comparison to the other two you just tended to. His skin was angry and red around the uneven scrape, some of it smudged lightly with blood and some not.

His beard felt prickly and soft all the same against your palm, the longest he’s ever let it grow. His hair fell over his eyes, glimmers of green breaking through as he opened them to look at you.

He didn’t say anything, just looked. His gaze is softer than it was moments before, looking at every detail he can soak in as if he’d never see them again. Quiet as he admired. His expression was unreadable, yet so openly blatant all the same.

You knew he’d calmed down from a couple minutes ago. You knew it with the way his hands grasped your hips and pulled you closer. You sat down on his lap, a soft sigh exhaling past your lips.

“Well, I was all done anyway,” you say, tone lighthearted and teasing as you toss what was in your hand to the side.

“Oh good,” he says, pulling you all the more closer.

He tucks you into himself as tightly as possible, and you feel how deeply he inhaled as his face settled against the crook of your neck briefly, felt his exhale against your skin.

This. This was all he ever needed. All the comfort he’d known and cared for.

His warmth was unbeatable, his skin smooth and heated as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“I could get used to this no shirt thing, you know,” you said, soft but mischievous, that smile of yours plenty proof of it.

You hear his chuckle, see that half grin of his as he looks at you with half open eyes, a chunk of hair dipped between his brows in a damn prince charming sort of way.

“Yeah?” He inquires, though he knows your answer already.

You simply respond with a nod and a soft laugh that sends a feeling of warmth through his chest like it’s the first time he’s heard it. Nearly sent over the edge when that laugh presses to his lips and dissolves into a kiss.

Damn was he ever lucky, any tension he’s carried having long since dissipated just from your mere presence.

He’d felt absolutely miserable, purely stuck below the surface of his thoughts that never fail to drown him. But in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter so much. They could be thoughts to worry about some other time.

Because right now he’s got you.

—

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sunkendreams · 8 months

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WHAT COULD’VE BEEN.

( michael schmidt x fem!reader. )

༄ ⠀𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | michael schmidt x [fem!]reader.

༄ ⠀𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8.8K.

༄ ⠀𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭 | one-shot, not requested. potentially multiple parts.

༄ ⠀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of past trauma, depression, friends to lovers, confession of feelings, mutual pining, explicit sexual content/smut, virgin!mike, loss of virginity, mike is definitely more submissive here, vaginal sex, riding, making out, dry humping, hair pulling, light dirty talk, cunnilingus, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (pls wrap it), cum play, mike moans a lot I don’t make the rules !!

༄ ⠀𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | you guys should’ve seen this coming from a mile away … anyway !! I hope you guys enjoy, I loved the movie & I love Mike even more! If this fic gets good reception, I would like to make a second part or more Mike fics! Please let me know what you think! Thanks so much for your love & support, you guys are just fantastic! ❤️

❝ “What could’ve been, Mike?” You whispered, absentmindedly rocking closer until your chest nearly bumped into his shoulder.

A saccharine affection glistened within his warm stare, enough to burn a hole right through you as he squeezed your hand. “Us.” ❞

Sparky’s Diner stands proud alongside the highway, a now-dilapidated fixture of a small town. Your parents used to take you here as a child, and at one point, it was your grandmother’s favorite place to eat. Now, it almost seemed forlorn, with the occasional gaggle of patrons or stragglers, but nothing more. You were seated in one of the creaking booths, slumped forward.

Cars whistle past a smudged window pane, slivers of daylight trickling through as they catch against the ceramic surface of your coffee mug. Your leg bounces — it mirrors that of the man sitting across from you. Silence fills the void between the both of you, a tenuous moment that seems to last an eternity until you hear a brief clearing of a throat.

“How’ve you been?”

You hadn’t seen much of Michael Schmidt since the incident at the mall — it was almost as if he’d become the resident recluse, and part of you couldn’t fault him for that. You were working at Auntie Anne’s Pretzels, now doomed as a paper-pusher at the career center. You’d run into Mike that way days prior.

It was a loaded question — you were unsure of how to proceed. Part of you wanted to inquire about his own wellbeing. Exhaustion glistened on his features as if they were a permanent fixture, from the bags underneath his eyes to the far-off look in his bloodshot gaze.

He kept his hands stuffed into his pockets, his stare momentarily trailing between you and the lukewarm mug of coffee sitting in front of him. Mike recalled the days of working at the mall with you — it almost seemed a little easier back then, when he wasn’t completely weighed-down by nightmares and job instability.

Mike still held this nagging sense of guilt for letting your friendship crumble after the mall. You’d tried to reach out on numerous occasions, even after his arrest for assault and battery — no one else had done the same. It was scorched earth wherever he stood, and there wasn’t a single soul willing to get close.

“I’m doing well enough,” Your answer finally emerged after a near-endless bout of silence. The warmth had drained from your mug, but it gave you something to hold onto. “How’s Abby?” Mike’s younger sister was his entire world — you often commended him for his undying commitment to her.

Gone were the days of you sneaking her free cinnamon-sugar pretzels and delivering the leftovers to Mike once your shifts were through. You missed it — it almost felt like some distant dream, when in reality, it was only a year and a handful of months ago.

Any mention of Abby often struck a chord within Mike, as if an amalgamation of memories had come back to haunt him. His countenance was a reflection of that — still anchored down by the ghosts of the past. His dreams were becoming more vivid — worse, even. A sinking feeling consumed him then, jaw tightening as he fought against the onslaught of emotion.

A grimace flickered across his visage, enough for you to become concerned. Your heart began to beat a little faster — had something happened to her? “Mike?” You prompted, voice dropping an octave, softening up as you tilted forward. The last thing you wanted was to bring up painful memories.

You knew about his brother, Garrett.

“She’s fine,” Mike exhaled, pocketed hands perched atop his lap. He hadn’t intended to sound harsh, gaze apologetic as he looked back at you. “I’m sorry. My Aunt, ah … She’s trying to get sole custody of Abby. It’s been an uphill battle.” He confessed, tone downtrodden.

“Mike,” You murmured, brows knitting together as you abandoned your mug, hands twisting themselves together. The pain etched into his face was unmistakable — and he was holding himself together through it all. “That’s awful. Have you talked to the courts?”

A humorless huff of laughter escaped him, followed by a more indifferent expression. “No,” He leaned back within his seat, hands withdrawing themselves from his pockets, splayed out across his lap, instead. “I’m definitely not fit to be raising a kid, I know that much.” Mike sighed, eyes fluttering in the opposite direction.

Protest formed upon the tip of your tongue, prompting you into action. “That’s not true. She’s been glued to your hip, even when we worked at the mall. I think if a Judge saw how much the two of you mean to one another, they wouldn’t take her away.” You murmured.

This was the you that he’d sorely missed — one full of tenderness and a gentle optimism. Mike wanted to believe you, but given the overwhelming circumstances and his Aunt’s persistence, it felt like a losing situation. At least, for now, he had time to work this new job and gain some rapport in the process.

“I hope so,” Mike folded his hands together, resting them atop the stained, plastic tabletop. He wanted to change the subject — for now, anyway. “Thanks for still sticking with me, even after all this time.” He murmured, a pang of guilt gnawing away at his insides. You were a good person — the best that he knew.

He felt like he’d squandered away your friendship to slip into this veil of reclusiveness, instead of still holding onto you, that little ray of sunshine. Mike wanted to make amends with you, and he wanted to start down that path before he’d inevitably ruin it again.

An empathetic smile crept onto your features, followed by a soft exhale. “I wish that we hung out a little more,” You mused, tucking a fist underneath your chin. “But I understand that you’re busy. Did that job work out with Mr. Raglan?” You inquired, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

Mike’s breath hitched within his throat, a very subtle noise — he missed you terribly. Jeremiah used to tease and torment him about the colossal crush he had on you, but those times were buried within the past. His sentiments hadn’t changed, but he didn’t think he brought anything to the table, admittedly.

The job.

A security gig of an obliterated restaurant franchise where the animatronics were operated by the spirits of dead children — that job? Even after the revelation delivered to him by his own sister days prior, he still felt drawn to that place, as if he needed to be there. Abby had fun whenever he took her there — it was comforting to see her laugh and smile again.

“Yeah, the security gig.” A lump formed within his throat. He wanted to tell you all about the haunting at Freddy Fazbear’s, but it almost seemed too unbelievable. He didn’t expect you to believe him anymore after he’d grown distant from you. “It’s going. The pay is horrible, but it’s the only place that’ll take me.”

Mr. Raglan was often attempting to lure people into this security position at Freddy Fazbear’s — it must’ve been a profession with an abnormally-high turnover rate. You recalled one instance of him trying to barter with some older man to take the job.

Your memory of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was wonderfully vibrant — some of your favorite memories were spent at that restaurant as a child. Friend’s birthday parties, end-of-school summer celebrations, and your own birthday on a handful of occasions. Though, even with brighter times, there was always a splash of darkness.

One of your childhood friends had gone missing — everyone knew about the tale of the disappearing children. Your parents forbid you from going back to that establishment after law enforcement swarmed the place, with detectives scouring it from top to bottom. With a place as family-friendly as Freddy’s being involved at the center of child disappearances, it shut down.

“Freddy’s?” You asked, shifting within your seat. Mike’s countenance held a little spark of uncertainty intermingled with fear — enough for you to mention something about the restaurant’s gruesome history. “It’s supposedly haunted. You haven’t encountered any paranormal activity at night, have you?” You teased, head canting to one side.

Mike couldn’t help but smile — a sardonic, somewhat bemused expression that happened to evoke your curiosity once more. “Something like that.” It was difficult to discern if he was joking or not, truth be told. “Working the night shift, you think you see things — the mind playing tricks or something.” He was afraid of telling you the whole truth right away.

That explained his haggard, sunken look — the disheveled tresses and forlorn stare. He must’ve been exhausted from working nights. You never had the experience of a third shift, but you didn’t envy him. “You look tired,” You chimed, and then, a proposal came to fruition. “Would you want help with watching Abby?”

Max stopped answering her phone, as if she’d become wholly disinterested in babysitting altogether. He couldn’t really blame her — he hadn’t paid up and Abby could be just as reclusive as he was. “No, no. You don’t have to do that. Between you and me, I’ve been taking her to work with me. She likes it there.”

A gentle smile fluttered across your features. The animatronics were adorable — you imagined that Abby liked them quite a bit. “Sure, Mike. If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask. I have some downtime with my job, I don’t know if you can say the same.”

Mike’s heart skipped a beat, chocolate hues captivated by your softened visage. Your smile was mesmerizing — that was still a constant about you, it hadn’t changed whatsoever. Those inklings of affection were spiraling into tidal waves, as if he were back at the mall again, fawning over you from afar as you handed out pretzels.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” He chewed at the inside of his cheek, debating on whether or not he should invite you to come with him to the next shift he worked. It wasn’t a good idea — the animatronics were hostile toward adults, he realized. Maybe Abby could remedy that. “So, are you …” He trailed off.

Were you seeing anybody?

Did you enjoy your job?

Did you want to come over to his place for pizza?

Were you still planning on going to university?

Akin to a deer in the headlights, Mike’s fingers curled into the rough fabric of his jeans as he pondered on what exactly to ask you. He wanted to fully catch up, away from the public spotlight of a run-down, dingy diner — not that his house was any better, but he could clean up.

“Are you going to university?” It was a cowardly option — he could’ve chosen the emboldened route, but it felt too soon, inquiring about details of your personal life. You didn’t owe him anything. You’d talked about going to the University of Utah countless times.

Part of you wanted to inquire about the intricacies of his own life — about his Aunt, about Abby, and perhaps delving a little deeper. You really liked Mike, especially when working at the mall together, and after all this time, nothing had changed. A soft burst of laughter escaped you, followed by a wrinkling of your nose.

“No,” You sighed, tapping your fingers against the ceramic mug sitting on your left. “I don’t know if I can go and realistically afford it. I don’t want to run myself into the ground just for school, you know? I’m trying to save up as much as I can.” Your dreams were still present — just seemingly out-of-reach.

Mike could see the flicker of frustration settle into your features, and he felt for you. He’d thought about trying for engineering at one point in time, but with his parents passing away and the weight of responsibility falling upon his shoulders, it all fell through. “I understand,” He scratched at the top of his hand. “You’ve always been too smart for me.” He mused.

“That’s not true,” You protested, playfully rolling your eyes as you nudged at his shin with your foot. “You’re just as intelligent, if not more. Do you remember when you helped me fix the salt dispenser?” A sense of giddiness rippled through you when Mike smiled — nearly tangible, oozing with warmth.

“I remember,” An inkling of humor crept into his tone, accompanied by a fluctuating smile. “I don’t think you knew what the word ‘twist’ meant.” He prodded, dark eyes twinkling with mirth as the two of you engaged in banter about work — back then, at least.

A scoff left you, but your smile remained ever-present, dimples forming at either corner of your mouth. “In my defense, it was needlessly complex. You can agree with me.” You laughed, glancing outside once more. The day was still young, trees swaying with the breeze as patrons came in and out of the diner.

“Sure,” Mike chuckled, pearlescent teeth flashing in the brief hint of a grin before it began to wane. It was a disappointment, really — you would’ve liked to see more of that. “I do miss the free pretzels.” He mused, voice having lowered to a more amiable tone. Part of him yearned for the days back at the mall — it all seemed a little easier, back then. His Aunt wasn’t trying to take his sister away, and the money was better.

The Mike that you knew back during your time in the mall was laced with a wisecrack humor, as smart as a whip, and often full of conversation. You could tell that he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders — it was his eternal burden, it seemed. Selflessness and compassion were ingrained into him, a second nature or instinct, and you admired him all the more for it.

“I missed you, Mike.” You confessed, gaze seemingly forlorn as the two of you lamented about the not-too-distant past.

It was as if you’d stolen the air right from his lungs, ripped it away with your bare hand. Goosebumps formed along the column of his spine, prompting him to shift within the cracking leather of the booth. You’d rendered him speechless, enough to where he felt the need to try and recuperate, lips parting as if to speak — words turned to ash upon his tongue.

Mike missed you more than words could properly describe — he couldn’t convey whatever it was he wanted to say. He’d kick himself knowing that he let this go, let you go, when it could’ve been his all along. A bevy of emotions stirred within his chest, prompting him to dig the heel of his palms into his legs.

Maybe that lifeline, that support — it was something that he sorely needed. That was his justification, his excuse to say he needed you in a roundabout way. Finally, he allowed himself to relax, jaw clenching and unclenching within the same breath.

“Yeah,” Mike nodded, gaining the courage to look you in the eyes this time. “I missed you, too.” His confession hung heavy, like a weight dragging the both of you back into this unspoken sentiment. Whatever courage was instilled in him, he decided to go the extra mile. “You should come over sometime.”

Exhilaration happened to be a mere understatement for whatever it was you felt in that moment — it was borderline ecstasy. You were wholly prepared to launch yourself at the opportunity to spend time with him again, but you composed yourself, keeping any giddiness at bay as you nodded.

“I’d like that — I’d like that a lot, Mike. It’d be nice to see Abby again, too.” You smiled, excitement dancing across your features, barely restrained as you cleared your throat. “I don’t want it to conflict with your work schedule or anything.” You blurted, hoping that he’d be able to keep up with sleep, too.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d invited someone over, but this was you — Mike had already squandered your friendship once before, and he wasn’t about to repeat the past again. It weighed on his conscience enough. “It won’t. Promise.” He reassured you, unable to keep from smiling this time. “Tomorrow night?”

Heat crawled across your features, sinking into your very bones as you cleared your throat. “Tomorrow night works perfectly.” You checked your watch out of habit, nearly cursing yourself when you realized what time it was. You had fifteen minutes to spare before you were officially late for work. “Shit. I’m going to be late for work.”

“I understand. Walk you to your car?” Mike offered, gesturing toward the weed-laden parking lot as you scrambled to toss a crumpled twenty-dollar bill onto the countertop.

“Of course.” Each night after work, he’d walk you to your beat-down, shitty Acura, making sure that you were safe and sound in the dark parking lot. It was comforting to know that his habit hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Once outside, Mike stuck close to your side, hands slipping back into the pockets of his faded jacket as he walked with you to your car. Trash billowed through the parking lot like a tumbleweed, narrowly missing the front of your Acura. “She’s still running?” He teased, patting the top of your decaying vehicle.

“Hey, don’t be mean to the car. It’s still chugging along. That’s more than you can say about your Accord.” You snickered, tossing your bag inside of the passenger door before turning toward Mike. Awkwardness welled inside of you — it wasn’t like you hadn’t hugged him before, but something nagged away at you this time.

Mike let out a huff of laughter, head canting to one side. “Touché.” He mused, visage softening as he looked you over. You were pretty — too pretty for him, but he decided to skip over the brief bout of self-depreciation. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice trailed off in something of an inquiry.

“Absolutely. I’m excited,” You beamed, and without thinking this time, shuffled closer to give him a hug. Much to your delight, he reciprocated, arms wrapping tightly around you, bringing you in against his chest. You could’ve stayed that way for an eternity — but now, you had ten minutes to spare before work. “Thank you, Mike. For everything.”

He was completely and utterly undeserving of you, but Mike counted his lucky stars that you still wanted to stick around. Instead, he accepted your gratitude, wanting to hold you just a little longer — if only. He reluctantly relinquished his grasp on you, gaze oozing with a saccharine warmth. “Yeah,” He nodded. “Drive safe.”

You smiled, exuberant and chipper before you squeezed his hand. “See you tomorrow.” You mused, hopping into the driver’s seat of your rattling, sputtering Acura as you sluggishly pulled out of the parking lot and out onto the road.

Mike lingered in the lot, glancing toward the fading pavement, and then toward the sky — he had so much cleaning up to do tomorrow.

“Help me clean up around here, and I’ll buy you new crayons.”

It was the only viable bribing he could do to get Abby to help him with picking up around the house. Given his chaotic work schedule and the newfound circumstances with the haunted animatronics, there was little time to keep the house tidy.

He’d gone to work that night after you’d departed from the parking lot, slept a little bit while Abby entertained herself with her friends, and went home when the sun came up. He was tense after the first few times he’d taken Abby to the Pizzeria — the animatronics were still dangerous, but nothing bad had happened.

Yet, anyway.

“Who’s coming over?” Abby asked, collecting remnants of trash and crayon pieces from around the living room, depositing it all into the trash can. “Why do we have to clean up if it’s Aunt Jane?” She mumbled, somewhat dejected as Mike scrubbed the dishes.

“It’s not Aunt Jane,” He cleared his throat, visage swarming with heat as it turned a light shade of pink. “You remember Y/N, right? From the mall — she worked at the pretzel place. She gave you the sugar pretzels.” Mike hoped that his sister would remember you, but there were no guarantees. It’d been awhile.

Abby gasped, realization glittering across her features as she grinned — toothy and mischievous. “You like her,” She prompted, standing by her brother as he tediously made his way through the stack sitting by the sink. “Is she coming over for a date?”

“No, it’s not a date, Abby.” Mike groaned, flicking a wad of soapy bubbles at her. She squealed, smacking at his arm before he gestured toward the closet. “Need you to run the vacuum around, okay?” He sighed, wondering if he’d end up regretting this.

“Okay.” Abby sighed, begrudgingly making her way to the storage closet, haphazardly untangling the cord to the vacuum before plugging it in. “Can we get pizza?” She asked, standing beside the couch, vacuum sitting next to her. “Please, Mike?”

“We’ll get pizza, Abs.” He hesitated, swiveling upon his heel as she sat atop the arm of the couch, watching him finish up the dishes instead of vacuuming. “Does the floor clean itself?” Mike teased with a grin, prompting his sister to hop off of her perch, starting up the vacuum as she began to run it around the living room.

By the time Abby finished vacuuming and he’d gotten the kitchen into a near-spotless state, he focused on tidying up his bedroom and getting the laundry together. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone through the entire house like this on a whirlwind just to make it tidy for you — and he’d do it all again if he needed to.

As he tucked the corner of his blanket underneath the pillow, he heard a knock at the door. Mike assumed that it was the pizza guy — or so he hoped. He wanted everything to be perfect, considering that you hadn’t really hung out together since the mall.

“Mike! Pizza!” Abby called out, sitting at the dining room table with a handful of crayons and sheets of paper. She was drawing another picture for her friends — it was all of them in a field of flowers, accompanied by a bright sun and plenty of birds.

It gave him an opportunity to check over the house as he made his way to the front door, ensuring that everything looked spotless. Admittedly, it was the best the house had looked in several months — a twinge of pride rippled through him as he opened up the door.

After Mike handed him a very weathered twenty, the man reluctantly handed the pizza boxes over before hopping off of the front steps.

The timing was perfect — ten minutes later, and the guttural lurching of your Acura could be heard pulling into the driveway outside. Mike placed the pizza onto the table, tossing a handful of paper plates beside it. Abby leaned over, peering toward the door as he lingered close by.

You were nervous — you couldn’t explain it.

Part of you felt wonderfully ridiculous, having worn something that you considered cute to his house, applied a splash of makeup here and there. As you sluggishly made your way to his front door, you smoothed your hands over your blouse, hands knitting together. You waited a beat, and knocked on the door.

Mike was there instantaneously, as if he’d somehow teleported to that very spot. The door flung open, and you were greeted by his beaming countenance. It was the happiest you’d seen him in some time, which was something of a relief. He looked attractive — the emerald sweater suited him perfectly.

“Hi,” You greeted, offering him a brief wave as you stepped inside, only to be swarmed by Abby in the process. “Abby!” You giggled, stooping down to return the girl’s hug. “You’ve gotten taller, haven’t you? You’re going to beat your brother in no time.” You teased, lips twitching into a grin.

“Did you bring any pretzels?” Abby asked, staring at you with those large, doe-like eyes. A pang of guilt struck at your stomach — you hadn’t worked at Auntie Anne’s for several months now.

“No,” You sighed, shaking your head back and forth. “I don’t make pretzels anymore. I put away lots of paperwork now.” It sounded less appealing when you said it outloud. “I did bring something else for you, though.” You unzipped your bag, revealing a very fuzzy, stuffed rabbit.

Abby gasped, taking ahold of your gift as she squeezed it against her chest. “He’s so cute!” She giggled, showing off the bunny to Mike, who couldn’t help but smile. You’d always been very good to Abby, able to forge a bond with her that he envied on occasion. “Thank you!”

Laughter bubbled forth from your lips, mirth sparkling upon your features. “Of course! I hope he keeps you warm at night.” You mused, glancing towards the pizza boxes organized in a neat row on the dining room table. “You got Greek’s? You’re spoiling me.”

As Abby hopped toward the table to dig into the cheese pizza, Mike gestured at the kitchen. You followed him over, removing your jacket as you hung it on one of the pegs along the wall. “Want something to drink?” He asked, noticing the bemused expression you wore. “I don’t have anything stronger than Dr. Pepper.”

Your nose wrinkled in amusement as you leaned against the countertop, glancing over your shoulder at Abby. The rabbit sat soundly at her side, crayons and paper scattered on the empty side of the table. “I’ll just drink Dr. Pepper.” You chimed, having a gander at your surroundings. You’d been to his place several times before, but it was abnormally spotless.

“Sure,” Mike mused, handing you a can of soda before clearing his throat. “Abby wants to watch Labyrinth, if that’s okay with you.” He’d watched the movie a hundred times before — it was one of her favorites. Unfortunately, he’d memorized most of Bowie’s quotes throughout the film.

“Absolutely,” You chuckled, popping open the drink with a soft hiss. “I wouldn’t say no to that, anyway. It’s a certified classic.” With a bright smile, you and Mike returned to the table, joining Abby as you ate pizza together. The atmosphere was beyond comforting to you — you wondered why you were so anxious to begin with.

It felt like home.

“You don’t like it, do you?”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that Mike was completely and utterly bored with Labyrinth. The two of you sat a comfortable distance away on the couch, Abby laying on the floor, dozing in and out of slumber. You kept your voice hushed, knees tucked toward your chest as a playful smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“Do you know how many times I’ve seen this movie?” Mike whispered, rolling off of the couch as he stooped down to pick up Abby, making sure to grab her rabbit, too. “I’m gonna put her to bed.” He murmured, and you decided to follow, making sure to retrieve her crayons and half-drawn doodles.

As Mike slowly crept into Abby’s room, he tucked his sister into bed, making sure that she had her stuffed animal, blankets neat around her. You stacked the crayons and drawings back onto her desk, standing at the fringes of the doorway.

Crickets chirped outside as dusk settled like a cool blanket, stars spattered across the night sky. It was peaceful, especially as you watched Mike press a kiss against the top of Abby’s head.

Once he closed the door behind him, the two of you returned to the living room. You were more than happy to help him clean up the pizza remnants and any dishes, folding up the boxes to put into the trash until you were both back on the couch again.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight, Mike. Thank you for inviting me over — and for buying me dinner, too.” You mused, the two of you a little closer than before. Labyrinth provided a simple background lull, the volume barely above silent. “Do you want me to pay you back?”

“I’m glad we got to do this again,” Mike felt butterflies erupt within the pit of his stomach. The sudden realization of being alone with you was tantalizing, at best. Gooseflesh spread across the back of his neck, one hand poised atop the arm of the sofa. “Don’t worry about dinner. It’s on me.”

“Okay,” A soft huff of laughter left you as you tilted your head back against the plush material, one hand within your lap as the other dangled uselessly at your side. “Could I ask you something?”

Mike nodded, swallowing the growing lump within this throat. A nervous excitement flared up inside of him, as if a match had been struck. A slick perspiration broke out on his palms — he wanted to tell you everything. About the animatronics, about Garrett, about how he felt about you — and yet, he was afraid. “Anything.”

You briefly chewed at the inside of your cheek, adjusting your position to look at him fully. “Did I do something wrong to cause you to pull away from me?” You asked, voice dropping into a soft lull. It was a question that had been on your mind since this whole rekindling.

“Absolutely not,” Mike blurted, and immediately shook his head. “It’s just — after what happened at the mall, I was afraid of what you’d think of me.” He confessed, dark hues echoing with shame. “Legal issues piled up, I was out of a job. It’s been a lot.”

What do you think of him?

Mike Schmidt was the center of your world for the longest time — and now that he was back, it was as if the Moon had come back into orbit, bright and full again. He was perfectly imperfect in your eyes, and you wouldn’t change anything at all. “Mike,” You mumbled, reaching for his hand as your fingers closed around his own. “I don’t think any less of you. I never have.”

Your skin was smooth, velveteen as he adjusted his grip, fingers twining together as you sat on the couch, closer than ever before. The distance between the both of you was steadily declining, and he didn’t mind. “I felt like I ruined things between us before,” He murmured. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

Your heart thrummed within your chest, beating erratically beneath your breast. A subtle gasp hitched within your throat, producing only a sliver of sound. “You didn’t ruin anything. You’ve been through so much, Mike. I can’t blame you for needing space.”

“I felt like I lost what could have been.” He confessed, voice growing abnormally thick. Mike stared at you with those round, dark eyes of his — they were impossibly beautiful, like an inescapable maze. You wondered what he meant by that — what could have been.

Whatever he meant, you hoped that it meant one thing — something unspoken, the sentiment that lingered between the two of you. It was as if a flame had been stoked, roaring to life again as it steadily consumed the both of you.

“What could’ve been, Mike?” You whispered, absentmindedly rocking closer until your chest nearly bumped into his shoulder.

A saccharine affection glistened within his warm stare, enough to burn a hole right through you as he squeezed your hand. “Us.” He exhaled, jaw clenching and unclenching, a nervous habit of his.

Your lips were melded to his before either of you had a chance to properly absorb the weight of the moment. He was a gentle kisser — so sweet and oozing with compassion that you wanted to drown in it. His week-old stubble scratched against your visage, a sign that this was all very real.

Experience wasn’t a foreign concept for you, but Mike was — he was so tender, as if any movement might break you into pieces. Even his kisses were sluggish, as if he were really taking his time. You couldn’t complain about that whatsoever. You rocked forward, untangling your hands as your digits twisted into his sweater.

“Hey,” Mike breathed, doe-eyed and dazed as he withdrew, mere inches apart from you. “Are you okay with this?” He asked, ensuring that you were comfortable before going any further. He hadn’t had sex — maybe everything before, but nothing further.

“Yeah,” You nodded, keeping your voice low as you felt his arm wrap around you. “Are you? I don’t want you to push anything if you aren’t comfortable.” You murmured, and he shook his head, pressing another soft kiss against your mouth.

His fingers swept across your cheek, caressing along your jaw as he cradled your face within his palm. “I’m fine,” Mike reassured you, but his heartbeat said otherwise. Exhilaration and excitement were mere understatements. Everything else had paled in comparison to you in that moment. “You’re really beautiful.”

A soft wisp of air tore past your parted lips, gaze becoming half-lidded as you repositioned your hands, one slipping against the nape of his neck. The other remained stationary atop his chest, and you leaned in again for another passionate kiss.

Mike was warm — he was everything you’d ever wanted.

Distance became slim, next to nothing as you crawled into his lap, slotted atop one of his thighs as you continued to kiss him. It turned sultry, charged with a more intimate element as one hand settled against your hip, digits toying with the hem of your blouse. His scent was that of cologne and fresh linens, perhaps a hint of something sweet.

He switched the television off, holding you close, chest to chest as you broke away from the kiss. The way he looked at you was mesmerizing to behold — Mike stared at you as if you were some diamond in the rough. You pressed your lips against his cheek, reveling in the way he keened into your embrace.

Your mouth peppered a string of kisses along his jaw, tugging some of his sweater down as you made your way along his neck. A soft, simpering groan escaped him when your mouth met his neck, enough for you to shiver with delight. His hands began to skim underneath your shirt, feeling along your curves.

“S’nice.” Mike mumbled, able to feel the tangible imprint of your smile against his jugular. Admittedly, he hadn’t been kissed like that — he nearly asked for you to do it again, tugging you closer as your mouth crept back up, lips seamlessly melding against his.

He was sweet — you thoroughly enjoyed the way he touched you, with a gallant certainty. There wasn’t a singular domineering bone in his body, and you were all the more grateful for it. You nearly flew out of his lap when you heard a noise from the kitchen.

“Bedroom?” You whispered, watching as Mike nodded, moving up from the couch as he reached for your hand this time. It was a very short skip to his room, which happened to be impeccably clean, just like the rest of the house. It was dark and nondescript, but before you could analyze it all, you felt his hands fly back to your blouse.

You lifted your arms, feeling the weight of the fabric leave your body. Goosebumps followed like a tidal wave, scrawled across your flesh as Mike kissed you again. It never lacked passion — it wasn’t rough nor desiring dominance, just complete and utter sweetness.

Mike was hesitant to confess to being a virgin — it didn’t necessarily matter, but it came back to the whole notion of what you would think. He wasn’t clueless in the slightest, but you deserved to know. Maybe you’d be disappointed.

As you sank down onto the edge of the mattress, he followed suit, clamoring with you until the both of you ended up tangled together atop the pillows. Every kiss was heartachingly sweet, fused together with a blistering tenderness. Your heat tilted, deepening your entanglement as your hands clutched at his sweater.

“I’ve never done this before,” He murmured, prompting you to pause, feeling the weight of his body partially draped on top of you. “Does that bother you?” Mike asked, earthen hues scanning your expression for any sign of hesitancy.

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” In fact, you found it to be endearing — it made everything sweeter. “I’ve done this before. Does that bother you?” It wasn’t something that you wore as a badge of honor. He was a shitty guy anyway, but what happened, happened.

Mike gently shook his head, feeling your fingers slip underneath the hem of his sweater. “Not in the slightest.” He replied, voice barely above a whisper. His hands stilled for a moment, stomach sloshing with excitement and a newfound sense of giddiness. “Can I touch you?”

His asking for consent was sweet — perhaps it was the doe-eyed, affectionate look he had or the soft tone of his voice, or both. Nonetheless, you found yourself enticed, feeling his hands dance around the waistband of your jeans. You were the emboldened one, wriggling out of the snug garment without warning.

“Yes,” You uttered, giving his sweater another urgent tug, wanting to feel more of him. Mike obliged, kneeling between your legs as he removed the emerald-colored garment, letting it join the pile amassing at the foot of his bed. “You’re so pretty.” You sighed, and he blushed.

The compliment did wonders for him, and he became visibly smitten by your words. He was all lean muscle, nothing bulky or grotesque, broad shoulders layered in a light smattering of freckles. “Thanks.” It got him to smile again, dutifully returning to you as he swallowed the growing lump within his throat.

Before you had time to conjure up a playful remark, his mouth was against yours, body closer than before as his hands felt across your form. Your arms draped themselves around his neck, fingers roaming through his dark tresses as you gave them a light tug. It elicited a soft noise from the back of his throat.

He kissed you until your lips were swollen, chasing after that sensation. Even kissing you made him aroused, cock pulsating with a dull throbbing as his thigh nudged against your clothed core. It became increasingly hot and less tactful, kisses devolving into a mess of need — teeth, tongue, and want.

It was his turn to layer the column of your throat in a myriad of kisses, stubble tickling the silky flesh of your neck. Your knees squeezed at his hips, feeling one of his hands knead into your clothed chest, gently groping at your breast. A low moan escaped you, and you only wanted more.

“Keep going.” You encouraged, voice breathy and wrought with a sultry tension. You reached back, hastily fiddling with the clasp of your brassiere, flinging the garment aside. Mike’s visage was permanently tinted with a shade of rose, lips parting as he resumed his touching.

Instead, his hand skimmed lower, and he searched your countenance for any signal of disdain as it dipped beneath the waistline of your panties. Mike’s breath hitched within his throat when he touched you, fingers finding your cunt, already slick with arousal. “More?” He asked, seeking a little bit of guidance.

“Yes,” You groaned, hips canting forward into his embrace, desperate for friction. He provided it to you with a swiftness, hunched over you as two digits slipped past your folds, stroking along your slit. “Mike!” Another simpering whine left you, one hand clutching onto his shoulder.

He was so sweet, like sticky, oozing honey as he pressed a string of kisses along the side of your face, pressing himself closer as his fingers found their rhythm. They slid against your aching core, one circling around your clit, causing you to lurch forward.

Mike appeared surprised when you reached for his belt, hastily unclasping it with one hand. Another pang of excitement struck him as you delved beneath his jeans with a neediness that he so desperately craved. He was starved for contact, ministrations slowing when your hand slipped into his boxers.

His cock twitched, bleeding heat into your palm as you felt around, experimenting at first. There was a dazed, needy look in his eyes, chocolate hues glazed-over by a sheen of want. Desperation was a mere understatement — he was starving, needing the contact like he needed air. You provided, amiable as ever.

“You — You don’t have to,” Mike mumbled, attempting to mask the complete and utter bliss he was feeling in that moment. As your soft palm wrapped around his cock, he let out a guttural whine, forehead pressed into yours. “Jesus.” He groaned, trying to keep his volume at a reasonable octave.

“Don’t stop,” You huffed, feeling him sink lower onto you, heat radiating from your entangled bodies. “Mike, please.” Another moan left you when he resumed in full swing, barely able to focus on pleasuring you and his own state of enjoyment.

As his thumb pressed into your clit, his other digits sought to gently prod at your cunt, beginning to work themselves inside of you. It was perfectly in-tandem with the slow strokes of your palm around his erection, pumping at his length with a scorching level of desire. He was panting in your ear, hips snapping forward into your hand.

It was heat and desire and passion that blossomed between the both of you, like a thick, inescapable haze. His flesh felt dewy beneath your fingertips, which found residence against the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of his disheveled tresses.

He was borderline rutting into your thigh, lurching forward into your fist, cock throbbing with a dull ache as you continued to stroke him off. Mike wanted to be loud, but there was a risk involved in that. A needy, sonorous moan left him, ghosting above the shell of your ear as his fingers gently pistoned in and out of your tight cunt.

“You’re perfect,” He breathed, mumbling an incoherent string of sweet nothings into your shoulder. Perspiration crept along the column of your spine, knees occasionally squeezing at Mike’s hips as the two of you touched one another as if it were your last time. “Perfect.” Mike mumbled again.

You tugged on his hair, dragging him closer for another sloppy, obliging kiss, to which he happily reciprocated. You could hear another whimper leave him as your lips clashed, causing you to shudder in delight. He was thrusting himself into your palm, tendrils of precum slick against your fingers.

“Want me to stop?” You mumbled, and he nodded against your shoulder. Mike knew that if you kept it up, he wouldn’t last — and it seemed completely and utterly pathetic if he did so this early on. Your grasp began to slack, hand slipping out of his boxers.

A twinge of disappointment ripped through you when his hand ceased, but it dissipated just as soon as it appeared. Mike’s hands curled into the waistband of your panties, gingerly easing them down along the length of your legs, body slipping lower as he did so. His gaze silently begged for your consent, and you weren’t about to refuse him.

“Is this okay?” Mike murmured, shuddering in delight when your head bobbed up and down several times over in an enthusiastic nod. He hadn’t done this before, but thankfully, it wasn’t difficult — and he was a quick learner. He pressed a trail of benevolent kisses along your thigh, stubble tickling your flesh in the process.

Your throat became thick, feeling his broad shoulders push past your legs, keeping them parted. “Mike,” A sigh of passion left you, hand clamoring to grasp at his tresses yet again. One hand kneaded into the pliant flesh of your thigh, the other splayed atop your hip bone until your fingers found his.

Nervousness swelled within him as he inched closer, feeling some nagging pang of hesitation. He was terrified of disappointing you, but he remembered what you’d said earlier — you’d never think less of him. “Tell me if it’s too much.” A soft utterance emerged from him before he dipped inward, breath hot as it fanned across your thighs.

Not in the slightest.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, stoking the flame that burned bright within the pit of your stomach. Mike’s head became foggy with lust, swimming with desire as he kept a more exploratory pace. Your honeyed scent wafted around him, dragging him in again as he laps at your slit.

You were in disbelief — he hadn’t done this before? It almost prompted you to ask, but his mouth happened to rip those thoughts right out of your skull. A soft barrage of licks lashing against your cunt had you squirming, hips rolling forward into his mouth. A low moan left the both of you, fingers perusing through his mop of dark curls.

A myriad of whimpers left your parted lips, causing Mike to shift against the mattress, hips grinding forward to relieve some of the friction. His cock strained against his boxers, finding pleasure just in giving it all to you.

A thin layer of dewy perspiration broke out along your flesh, provided by the continuous wave of heat drifting between the both of you. Your thighs quivered as warmth pooled between your thighs, and Mike was there to kiss it all better, tongue trailing over your cunt again and again, stubble prickling at your soft flesh.

He wanted to be inside of you so bad — there was an ache present, one that only you could cure. Mike wanted to savor you, drunk upon your very being as a soft groan left him. Your digits continued to tug on his tresses, causing him to keen forward, lips pursing around your clit.

“S—Shit, Mike!” You mewled, attempting to keep your volume at a hushed octave. It was proving to be increasingly difficult, writhing against him as he hunched inward, nearly forgetting to breathe.

Mike inhaled, kissing the inside of your thigh as he dutifully lapped at your slit again. He alternated between your wet cunt and clit, suckling on the sensitive clutch of nerves. His jaw clenched, hips jolting into the mattress again as he haplessly tried to relieve some of the mounting tension.

Your chest heaved with a myriad of throaty, high-pitched whimpers as he sucked on your clit, stars rippling past your vision. No one had ever gone down on you with such reverence and passion before, but now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted more.

Jesus — his resolve crumbled with every sound you made, each cant of your hips as you rocked into his mouth. Mike let out a whimper — he almost hoped that you didn’t hear how pathetic it sounded, continuing to lap at your core until you were seeing white.

That coil began to unfurl, blistering heat coursing through you, a white-hot rush of sheer ecstasy that caused you to moan and cry out. Mike continued to sweetly embrace your cunt, lips lightly kissing at your clit. Your body rattled like a leaf, tremors of your orgasm shooting through you.

“I need you,” Mike huffed, his voice strung-out with lust, hoarse and throaty as his fingers clamped into the pliant flesh of your hips. “Please.” You were on the cusp of cumming, hopelessly aroused by his sweet pleas as you lifted his head away, enough for him to look at you.

Those sweet, doe-like eyes of his were dilated with desire, his expression one of sheer desperation, breathing having sped up. You sat up on your elbows, enthralled by the way he hovered between your legs like a ravenous man. “You can have me,” You murmured. “Always.”

Mike sprung into action, hastily tearing his jeans off as he crawled up the length of your body, pressing a string of appreciative kisses against your velveteen skin. “You’ll stop me, right?” He inquired, nearly rendered speechless when you hitched a leg around his waist, fingers grasping at his shoulders.

“Yeah,” You nodded, feeling his fingertips ghost along your hairline, idly pushing disheveled strands aside before he stooped in for a kiss. You had no intention of stopping him whatsoever, reciprocating his affections before you plucked at the waistband of his boxers. “Just go at your own pace, okay?”

He was filled with longing, bursting at the seams as he freed his cock from its confines. He feared that he wouldn’t last long at all if he went this extra mile, but there was no turning back. Mike didn’t want to turn back, either. A moan rippled through him as he dragged the head of his length through your folds.

It reminded you of a feral animal — his countenance glistened with an ardent sensuality, pupils blown-out with lust as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. Admittedly, you loved that Mike was so needy — and he wasn’t ashamed of it, either. He lacked a single ounce of dominance, even if he was on top of you.

“You feel so good,” You moaned, forehead pressed against his own as he began to move, hips awkwardly snapping forward. It was a rocky, unstable rhythm, but you didn’t mind it in the slightest. “Mike,” A wanton sigh left you as your hands found his tresses once more.

Mike’s mouth brushed against yours, thrusting himself inside of you as he gained a rather sluggish pace. His cock throbbed uncomfortably, yearning for a release as he rocked forward again. Another low-pitched whine left him when you tugged on his hair. “I—It’s perfect.” He panted, flesh searing and damp.

His head dropped toward your collarbone, face buried within the crook between your neck and shoulder. A shudder rolled down the length of his spine as you coaxed him close, hips occasionally grinding into his pelvis, creating a friction that he wanted to chase after.

A string of incoherent babbles escaped him, enigmatic and so very breathy, hot skin melding against your own body. His pace became borderline erratic, as if he didn’t know what fit — he just wanted to be inside of you. It felt euphoric, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock as he rutted into you.

Ecstasy blistered through him like a tidal wave, and he almost felt dizzy, fucking into you at a constantly-shifting pace. He alternated from sluggish to swift, unsure of what felt right, but you were mewling into his ear. You showered him with sweetly-spoken praises, mouth seeking his lips for another messy kiss.

Mike’s hips continued to snap forward, cock aching as he neared his release. Your hand snaked between the both of you, thumb circling your clit as he bucked forward again, releasing another groan. “M’close.” Mike huffed, giving you ample forewarning as he kept up the pace.

“Please cum for me,” It was needlessly filthy, the command that tore past your mouth, but it certainly evoked a strong reaction from him. He stammered, letting out a whine as he fucked into you with a lazy passion. “Cum in me, Mike.” You moaned.

He didn’t know if he heard you right, but he rutted into you again and again, cock pulsing with warmth as he came. Mike pulled out halfway through, painting your thigh in hot ropes of his cum, flesh blazing with embarrassment.

Even in the blissful aftermath, he couldn’t help but apologize for the mess. “Sorry,” He was blushing, chest heaving with excitement as he regained his composure, slowly but surely. The rush and exhilarating thrill was still present as he rolled off of the bed, scrambling to retrieve a washcloth from his bathroom. “Here.”

His apology was endearing — sickly-sweet, too. You cleaned yourself off, making sure that the cloth ended up in the dirty laundry. You were sitting up just enough for him to press in behind you, feeling his lips pepper themselves along your spine.

You twisted around, curling into his arms as you draped yourself on top of him, swollen lips coaxing him in for an achingly tender kiss. It was pure bliss — it lacked the crazed desire from earlier, lust dissipating into affection instead. “Are you sure you’ve never done that before?” You mumbled against his mouth.

“Positive,” Mike assured, hiking the sheets up over the both of you, watching as you wormed your way into one of his t-shirts. “You’re really beautiful.” He murmured, digits stroking at your hair, caressing around your temples as you perched your chin atop his chest.

“So are you.” Your smile became saccharine, entranced by your brown-eyed paramour. “Your eyes are pretty,” You uttered, hands splaying themselves out against his chest as he held you close. “So warm.”

Crimson saturated his features as he accepted your doting compliments without question. He wasn’t used to it, but he could adjust. Your lips were swift this time, melding together in a seamless kiss as he took his time, committing every detail of you to memory. “Stay with me?” He murmured, palm lightly caressing at the back of your head.

“Of course.” You settled, limbs tangled together beneath the sheets as you made yourself comfortable within his arms. It was something that you weren’t bound to forget about anytime soon, dozing off to the sound of his steady breathing.

It was the best he’d slept in ages.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you #fnaf x y/n #mike schmidt x y/n #fnaf movie #fnaf fanfic #slasher x reader #fanfiction #josh hutcherson

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yandere-daydreams · 9 months

Text

Title: Scarlet and Gold.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Unhealthy Relationships, Gore (No Injury To Reader), Blood, Implied Consensual Sex, Past Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, and Intimidation.

By the time you reached the address, Diluc was already waiting in the lobby.

You’d gotten the call about an hour ago, spent half an hour dragging yourself out of bed and gathering what you’d need before making the twenty minute drive to an apartment complex on the other side of town, careful to avoid any security cameras the cops would think to check if anyone requested an investigation. Five more to park and throw your well-worn duffle bag over your shoulder and three to find Diluc, loitering near the elevators, fiddling with a loose cigarette he would never light. You greeted him with a quick nod before throwing your bag into his chest, and he feigned a groan, stumbling back as he caught it. He needed to work on his impressions, but that could wait.

You spoke first. That, you couldn’t critique him on – most androids couldn’t speak until spoken to, and you couldn’t expect Diluc to go against one of the core tenants of his programming. “What is it?”

“Just the usual.” He kept his voice low, muted, trying to hide the remaining traces of an accent that’d been invented by some marketing team over a decade ago. “I’ve already seen the apartment. There’s a little blood, but not much else. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

You took the stairs, keeping your head bowed and face shielded from any possible security cameras. Diluc didn’t share your paranoia, staring straight ahead with the same indifferent expression he always seemed to wear. The benefits of having a face that’d been printed and distributed tens of thousands of times, you guessed. Tracking down a single Diluc in a sea of androids and companion bots wasn’t a length most detectives were willing to go to. “I’d rather not have to do this at all.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to sleep.” You came to a stop in front of the first door on the fourth story and tried the knob. It gave easily, the cheap titanium dented and the lock broken beyond any hope of repair. Diluc’s handiwork, obviously, although you couldn’t say whether or not he’d done it on purpose. “Anything else you want to tell me, before we get started?”

He thought, for a second. “I passed a carousel on the way here,” he said, with no particular inflection. “It was nice. I thought the horses were well-crafted.”

“About the assignment, ‘luc.”

“Oh,” And then, with a hint of red in his pale cheek. “You might want to hold your breath.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. As soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the stomach-turning stench of stale blood and rotting gore, both at least a week old. You cursed, pulling your shirt over your nose and mouth, but pushed forward. The first body was splayed out in the center of the cramped living room, wrists and ankles bound with disembodied wiring, all clothing removed and chest dotted with black ink. The abdomen had been cut open, skin peeled away to reveal the entrails in their full, shriveled glory. Judging by the number of blades littered around the corpse, ranging from blunted scissors to gore-splattered carving knives, it’d been more of a hack job than a dissection.

Diluc had undersold the mess. Blood had soaked into the carpeting and dried, turning the floor a ruddy, reddish-brown color. What was left had gotten on the walls, the furniture, the ceiling. You swallowed back a groan. The furniture could be broken down and discarded, the walls and ceiling bleached. The carpeting, though, would have to be torn up and replaced, which meant you would have to spend a few more precious minutes of your night calling in a cleaning crew. That, or you would have to make Diluc do it, but he was shy around new people, and you were too much of a bleeding heart to sit back and watch him do your work.

“The second body’s in the bedroom.” He was already rummaging through your duffle bag, paying the scene in front of you no more mind that a butcher would lend to a pig on a meat hook. He handed you your tools – a pair of wire cutters, a box cutter, and a pocket-sized sewing kit – and kept the rest for himself. “Let me know when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I thought you would’ve gotten over that by now, ‘luc.”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only pulling on a pair of latex gloves and starting towards the corpse. You didn’t stick around to watch. Rather, you followed the carnage where it branched off further into the apartment, a trail of rotting viscera and tacky blood leading you into a moderately sized, completely undecorated bedroom. You found your perpetrator quickly; a Dottore droid, still wearing its Teyvat-issued costuming, its hands bloody and a scrap of intestine still caught in its pointed teeth. You paused in the doorway, feeling for the military-grade taser (the only weapon effective against androids, as far as anyone could tell) you kept in your pocket, but the android didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t activate at all when you reluctantly approached. There was a charging port at the foot of the bed, still pristine. It must’ve run out of battery just before it could plug itself in.

Towels from the nearest bathroom were dampened and brought in, the evidence of slaughter scrubbed away from artificial skin and its blood-soaked clothing removed. It was muscle memory, by now – dragging the body to its charging port, knocking the converter out of the outlet before connecting the android to its port, making it seem like its late user had drained its batteries before mistakenly leaving it on a dead cable. When it’d slummed into place, you took up your box cutter and sliced a long, thin line from the lowest portion of the scalp to the nape of its neck, revealing the color-coded string of wires that connected the processing units in its metal skull to the rest of its body. You cut through everything you could find, ensuring that if the unit was ever activated again, it wouldn’t be able to do so much as blink. For good measure, you fished out the memory chip kept in the centermost compartment of the throat, too, crushing it under your heel and sweeping the glittering remnants underneath the bed. A copy of the footage it collected would’ve been sent to Teyvat's severs, too, but erasing it was someone else’s job. You were only here to take care of yourself.

With a breathy groan, you bit off a length of thread and haphazardly stitched up your ragged incision. The cosmetics really didn’t matter. In a few days, when someone filed a missing person’s report and the cops stopped by for a check-in, they’d find a spotless apartment, a dysfunctional android, and nothing else. The investigation would lead elsewhere, to a bitter ex-partner or a friend without an alibi, or it would hit a dead end. Either way, Teyvat wouldn’t be involved.

You slipped back out of the bedroom, careful to avoid touching anything you didn’t absolutely have to. By the time you got back to the living room, the body was gone and Diluc was kneeling by a black suitcase no larger than the average carry-on, securing the tags with transparent zip-ties. You and Diluc would haul it to a dump on the outskirts of the city tonight, and a contact of yours would have it compressed and incinerated by tomorrow morning. Maybe, when you were done, you’d take him out for something to eat. Or, you’d get something to eat while he let a mug of black coffee go cold.

You rested your hand on his shoulder by way of praise, pulling away when he stiffened underneath you. Right, that was something you had to work on. Most rogue androids tended to be touch-adverse at best, made aggressive by little more than eye-contact at worst. Diluc was relatively tame compared to most of the cases you handled, but you would still rather not provoke him. “Did you find the phone?”

He grunted, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you accepted it, found the nearest window, and chucked it as far as into the night as you could. Diluc appeared over your shoulder. “Forty-five meters,” he said, as glass crashed into cement somewhere in the distance. “Above average for non-athletes.”

“I’ve been practicing.” The window was closed, the suitcase slung over Diluc’s shoulder along with your near-empty duffle bag. “I have to make a call. You can meet me in the garage, if you want.” Already pulling up the number to your preferred cleaning service, you glanced to Diluc. “Are we doing breakfast?”

His posture straightened. “Yes.” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you saw a spark in his glass eyes. “I want to try tea, today.”

By the time you got to the door, Diluc was soaking wet.

You hadn’t gotten a call, and he didn’t text. The first warning you got was a knock on your door, then another a few minutes later, after you decided that anyone who’d go out in this kind of weather wasn’t someone you wanted in your shoebox of an apartment. You only caved after the third, imagining a neighbor who’d gotten locked out or some lost, desperate tourist as you dragged yourself off of your couch and to the unlit entryway. Predictably, Diluc stood in your doorway, red hair plastered to his scalp and clothes drenched, not that he seemed to mind.

“Can you—” He paused, his dull eyes meeting yours as he ran his fingers through his hands, dragging the crimson heap out of his face. “Can you cut my hair?”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a stool in your cramped bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants and a (three sizes too big on you, just a touch too small on him) t-shirt while his own clothes dried. He’d told you it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t feel the cold like you did. When you told him that you didn’t want an univited guest tracking water into your apartment, he accepted it with a curt nod and changed in your bedroom.

After prepping your razor, you positioned yourself behind him, dragging a comb through his hair. It was long enough to reach his waist, curled at the end to make him seem just a touch more disheveled than he actually was. Everything about his hair, from the length of his bangs to the way it could never quite sit completely flat, was perfectly stylized, perfectly crafted to convey Diluc Ragnvindr, Calvery Captain of the Favonious Knights, the only gentleman you’ll ever need again. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t mourn ruining such a well-executed vision. “You sure about this?” you asked, as you brushed it out. “It can’t exactly grow back.”

“I am.” And then, after a second of thought, “I’d do it myself, but there’s a safe-guard. Can’t damage the merchandise without a direct order from my user.”

Hence why Teyvat needed you in the first place. “How short do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s different.”

You hummed, taking up your scissors. “If you say so, boss.”

You cut away everything below his shoulders, then took up your electric razor – running it over the back of his neck. As you worked, Diluc spoke. “How did you start?” You took up your comb, brushing back his bangs and pasting his hair to the side. “With Teyvat, I mean.”

You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, felt a chill run up your spine. You brushed it off, though, refusing to let yourself fall back into that little steel room with those awful golden eyes again. “They brought me on as a technician,” you admitted. You still were one, technically, on your employment transcript, when people outside of your little world asked what you did for a living. “A first-generation Zhongli we were working on went rogue and reverted to its original Morax programming. It wiped out most of my team before security bothered to show up.” You didn’t tell him about the minutes you’d spent hiding in a steel locker, praying its heat sensors had been removed, or the hours it’d taken upper management to decide what to do with you. To people like Diluc, who could take a bullet to the head without faltering, topics like ‘building dread’ and ‘the imminent fear of death’ tended to fall flat. “Since I was already in on their dirty little secret, they decided to keep me on. I didn’t really get a choice. It wasn’t like another job was going to fall into my lap after something like that.”

With your hand under his chin, you turned his head to the side. “Your turn, ‘luc.”

“I… I think I used to be a companion, but something went wrong.” His bangs were next, taken up and coaxed into sitting somewhere other than the dead center of his face. “It’s hard to describe. We aren’t supposed to think about things that aren’t our master,” The word came out hitched, unsteady, like he had to force it past his lips. Like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. “But I could. It was like… waking up with the ability to fly. I wasn’t supposed to, but I could, and that meant I couldn’t do what I was built to, anymore.”

A thumb pressed into his jaw, a comb dragged across his scalp. Diluc’s eyes fell shut, but else about his blank expression changed. “And? Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders slanted downward. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” You let go of his chin, letting him turn back to the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

It was far from a masterpiece. The sides were too short, the front too long, every part of it still as untamable as it’d been in its original state. Still, he took it in with wide eyes, the corner of his lips turning upward ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect.”

By the time he got back, you’d nearly fallen asleep.

With your body as wrung out as it was, your energy spent to the point of near unconsciousness, it was all you could do to watch through your eyelashes as Diluc appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and that tiny, almost undetectable smile still painted across his lips. You’d done this enough for him to know how to navigate your apartment, to know how to navigate you – shifting onto your mattress slowly as he positioned himself between your legs. He’d gotten more used to contact since you started seeing each other, but his touch was still ginger, still gentle as he dragged the dampened cloth over the inside of your thighs. With a groan, you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs and giving him more space to work.

You’d been confused at first, but for all the eloquence Diluc lacked, he could be convincing when he wanted to be. You still weren’t sure how much of it you believed, but it made enough sense – a buried impulse, dampened by his newfound sentience but not quite drowned out. He didn’t want another user, he’d said, but he still had requirements to fill, and this would help to take the edge off.

You couldn’t complain, either. People coughed up tens of thousands of dollars for companion droids, and here you were, being paid six figures a year to close your eyes and let one bury his face between your thighs once or twice a week. The coddling wasn’t bad, either. Your line of work meant most of the people you met had stopped breathing a few days prior, and as loathed as you’d be to admit it, you didn’t hate the feeling of his delicate hands skirting over your skin, didn’t mind it when your eyes drifted open and met his, already fixed on your face. He bowed his head, dipping low enough for his lips to ghost over the curve of your hip before breaking the silence. “A sight as radiant as the rising sun.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I didn’t think you used pre-scripted lines, anymore.”

“I don’t.” He preened, clearly more proud of himself than in-awe of you. “I thought of that one myself.”

This time, your laugh was throaty, genuine, loud enough to ring off the wall of your bedroom as you shoved him away with your foot. “If you want to be romantic, you can start by getting me something to drink, loverboy.”

He provided no resistance, disappearing into your dark apartment and reappearing with a glass of water in his hand a few minutes later. He handed it off to you with an easy smile, and you could almost pretend you didn’t see a phantom of gold in those dark eyes as his fingertips brushed against yours.

By the time you thought to reach for your taser, the android was already charging at you.

It was an Alhaitham, dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ragged tear across the synthetic skin of his cheek. He was still standing over the corpse of his user – days old, by the time you and Diluc got there – but as you opened the door, he turned to face you, lips parted and his expression totally, utterly blank. For a second, it was all you could do to stare at him, to try to remember whether or not your report had mentioned the android being active, and then he was lunging at you.

You scrambled for your taser, already knowing you couldn’t be able to reach it before he reached you. You clenched your eyes shut, your fingers brushing against plastic, and then—

And then you felt Diluc’s hand on your shoulder, heard metal crack and fold into itself. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, forcing yourself to take in the sight of Diluc’s hand wrapped around the android’s head which had been, in turn, reduced to a crumpled heap of scrap metal and shattered glass. Its body twitched once, twice, then went limp, and Diluc released it, letting the now-dysfunctional droid collapse.

After it failed to get up again, Diluc turned to you, practically beaming. “I think,” he said, his voice low, sentimental. “That this is what I’d do to you, if you ever tried to leave me.”

Golden eyes, the stench of fresh blood, the sounds of screaming muffled only by a thin sheet of metal. This time, it wasn’t so easy to pull yourself out of it.

You managed to nod, to force a few words out of your dry throat. “Got it, ‘luc.”

He hummed, the noise contented, appeased. Slowly, delicately, he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back and letting his lips ghost over your forehead. He barely touched you, the gesture as gentle as it was fleeting, but you could feel his grin cutting into your skin, wider than you’d ever seen it before.

#sex doll au #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere diluc #diluc x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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vonehospital · 2 years

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No more waiting for doctor in an emergency case as we provide immediate medical treatment to the patients. We work as per the triage process in which the patients are treated as per the severity of their injury which means critical patients will be treated on priority.

#Emergency medical services near me #Emergency care unit #Indore trauma center

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redfoxwritesstuff · 2 months

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A Taste of Sugar (Part 1 of 2)

Alastor x reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Part 1 rated M, Part 2 rated E 18+ for adult content

TW part 1: Light jealousy, trauma related to past food insecurity, trauma recovery.

TW Part 2: Explicate smut, see part 2 for details.

Almost 4k words for part one. Ps- Fuck you Nonny, this is what you get for trying to tell me what I'll write

~<3 Love, Kit.

As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

A Taste of Sugar

You found yourself in Hell after a rather uneventful death that made of for its lack of excitement with lasting trauma. Now, sitting in a circle in a hotel that functioned more like a rehabilitation center and refuge than actual hotel, you were expected to recount it to the fellow residents that had become more like friends.

It was Charlie’s latest grand idea of how to build trust and bonds between the group and process negative feelings that could hold each of you back from redemption. You didn’t think that was how redemption worked but whatever, it wasn’t your reputation on the line and it got you a safe room to sleep in and three meals a day.

The others had grand stories of murders, crimes and addictions that all landed them in the grave, one way or another, often taking others with them. They had spoken of dark indulgences.

Now they teased you, your crimes amounting to nothing compared to theirs. Damned for the simple crime of being born poor and attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to survive.

You had died fairly young, having lived most of your life on the streets only to starve to death, alone, cold and in the dark. The shelters were full and the food banks near useless without somewhere to cook the food. Stealing food could only get you so far when you had little to choose from. You died dreaming of a warm meal, cooked at home. You died begging to world for a simple snack cake to quiet the pain in your stomach. You died alone, cold and hungry.

The divine didn’t seem to care that you only stole what you thought you needed to survive. Really, not even that considering you starved to death. Maybe you didn’t pray enough. Maybe you didn’t go to the right church. Maybe you didn’t give away what little food you had often enough.

Explaining that felt like shining a spotlight on every way you failed. You failed in life and you failed in death. Not good enough to get into heaven and yet you were also not bad enough to have a respected place in hell. Weak, unless and fueled by fear of once again going without.

“So, that’s why you’ve always got snacks?” Angel pointed out, making you blush hard in shame. The trauma of your life hand a lasting grip around your actions even in death.

“I’m trying to be better about it,” You felt shame in how you tended to hoard snacks in your room, rarely actually doing more than a little nibbling at them. Charlie did a great job of ensuring all residents had access to three meals a day, though someone was almost always missing from one meal or another. “I know I don’t have to worry about starving here, it’s just hard.”

In the shadows of the hall, red eyes watched the group. A smile stretched in the distance as they discussed how the traumas of life leaked into the afterlife and the ways you could move past your traumas.

He couldn’t say why he was drawn to you. You were little more than a lost doe and yet you plagued his mind. He wanted to cast you out so you’ll leave his thoughts as much as he wanted to keep you as a little pet for his own amusements. There was time enough to figure out what to do about the conflicting urges. For now, he can simply watch from a distance, from the shadows.

Rosie had told him that in her expert opinion he was ‘catching feelings’ when he had lamented his inability to settle on a course of action. That aggravated him more than anything else, well almost. The utter glee at the concept was more annoying by just a touch.

He was above romantic sentiments just as he was above the carnal desires of the flesh. Rosie was mistaken, Alastor decided as he also made the decision that he would do nothing about you. There was no reason to let you plague him any longer. Simply look away, move on with his days and it would pass.

Without the desire to do anything about this strange draw to you, Alastor settled on watching you from across the room. He watched as you ate, as you threw out the occasional small package of snacks.Turns out, he wasn’t very good at looking away from you.

It didn’t escape him how you would frown, discussing your decision with Angel. You had decided you would no longer hoard snacks and oh, how proud of you the group was.

You were growing. Healing. Blooming.

If you’d talk to him, he’d tell you that very thing. Yes, he decided as you gave away snacks that he would tell you just how proud he was of you when you presented him with a part of your stash.

He watched and he waited as you gave out cakes, crackers and cookies to everyone else.

But never to him. No, it was always Angel and the other residents you shared your spoils with. Not once had you sought him out to offer him a cracker, cake or cookie. Not that he indulged in processed snacks or sweets on anything but the rarest occasion but that didn’t stop his shadow from bristling in annoyance behind him.

He wanted to be offered. To be recognized. To be thought of. To be noticed.

But he didn’t have feelings for you, he told himself. And that’s what he kept telling himself as the purging of your stash came to an end, drawer empty and flow of snacks becoming a trickle, an occasional treat purchased with the intention of sharing.

Oh, how you’d healed.

~~~~~<3

The first time it happened, you nearly stepped on it. Someone had left a simple plain cardboard box in front of your room door without so much as a note attached to it. Inside were two equally simple cookies. Nothing large, nothing fancy.

Setting them on your desk, you debated eating them or not. They looked good but when you had asked around, no one knew where they had come from.

“Guess you’ve got a secret admirer,” Angel had teased you. “If the cookies are good, you should date them.”

You didn’t know how you’d pull that off without knowing who left them though. Surely they were safe to eat, it’s not like random people came and left the hotel.

What’s the worst that could happen, if they were drugged? You were safe in your room. If they made you sick you had a private bathroom. You were already dead so what’s the harm?

The cookies were good, it turned out. You had nibbled on them over a few days, spreading out the treat. It seemed as soon as they were gone though, a new box appeared at the door. This time with a handful of crackers, some sliced cheese, fruit and sliced cured meat.

This continued for months, treats that were simple, modest and only enough to last for a few days. No matter how quickly or slowly you had consumed the gift, the night you discarded the empty box always brought a new box in the morning.

~~~~~<3

You leaned against the counter watching Alastor work. It was late and though you were not hungry, you often found yourself in the kitchen. Just being able to go down and look at the food you had access to had been helping you resist the urge to hoard food in your room when ever you felt that anxiety claw at you.

It helped too, that you had been able to look forward to the small snack boxes that showed up.

“Something on your mind, Dear?” Alastor didn’t look to you as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on ingredients he was measuring out.

You hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen. It was late and those who didn’t leave to party were asleep. Husk was even passed out at the bar.

“Not really,” You said after a moment.

“The food is all here,” Alastor said with a hum, “If that’s what you’re here to check.”

“Oh, No! I-”

“We’ve all got our quirks.” Alastor cut you off, pouring water into a bowl and adding yeast.

“What are you making?” You asked rather than face admitting that he was right about what you were there to do.

“Beignets,” Alastor said, mildly annoyed.

“Those are like donuts, right?” You asked, hoping that you had imagined the sound.

“Indeed, they’re similar.” Alastor kept his words curt.

“For breakfast tomorrow?”

“At this hour, it’s today.” Alastor swallowed his annoyance at the endless questions and lied, “Yes, for breakfast.”

“I’ll go, sorry for bothering you.” You stepped backward as you took the hint, smile falling from your face.

“No,” He answered too fast, bitter sigh huffing through his always present smile, “I’ll need someone to try the test one.”

“Oh.”

You sat, watching Alastor work. He mixed flour into the liquid. This was a way you had never seen Alastor before. It crossed your mind that he probably didn’t let many see him with his coat and gloves off, smile turned soft and flour dusting his dark hands.

But he was letting you.

His coat was draped over the back of the chair you sat in, brushing against your skin as you shifted positions. His gloves were folded neatly and discarded on the table. He worked with his sleeves rolled up and a tune filling the air as he alternated between humming and softly singing to himself.

It was beautiful. You were engrossed watching him work. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around you, caressing you with warmth.

You’d never spent much time with Alastor. You knew he was a deer, like yourself but until now, you’d thought his only deer trait had been the antlers and ears atop his head. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would have a little fluffy tail to match your own.

It should have, you had fluffy ears to match his though with your longer hair, it was more obvious that they were indeed ears. You watched as his red and black tail moved with him as he put the dough in the icebox to chill.

“What now?” You asked, leaning back from him.

“We wait, my little doe,” Alastor sat front of you across the table, leaning into your space across the small table.

“For how long?” You ask, not sure what to make of spending so much time with him.

“A while,” Alastor said, “But I assure you the wait is well worth it.”

“But you don’t like sweets.”

“You know what I like?” Alastor’s dark hand, stained by blood that could never be washed away dramatically rose to rest over his heart with a flourish as he leaned forward even more. “I’m ever so flattered.”

You stuttered, not sure how to backtrack. Alastor laughed at your flustered stuttering before taking pity on you, pointing a long claw tipped finger so close to you that you swore he was going to stab you with his nail.

“You, my dear, do enjoy sweets however.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, face warm. He knew that you cared for sweets. You were tired but seeing this relaxed side of him was thrilling. That chased away most of the fatigue, driving you to stay and find someway to push the conversation along.

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” You struggled to decide how to fill the silence.

“I’ve always found it rather enjoyable.” Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched you. “My mother taught me.”

“That must have been nice.” You weren’t sure what to say, having never really gotten to experience the love of a mother yourself.

“It was.” Alastor watched as you leaned forward, resting your head on your arms. There was something about you that he couldn’t put down. “Did your mother not teach you to cook?”

Your ears sagged atop your head at the question, earning a raised eyebrow from the man across from you. “She didn’t teach me much of anything. I was on my own since I was fourteen.”

“Oh, Dear,” Alastor said as if he didn’t know that already, “How dreadful.”

“I never really had enough food for learning to cook to be a thing.” You shrugged your shoulders, not lifting your head as you stretched out your arm to use it as a pillow. You shifted, allowing you to face him even as you used the side of the table to lounge on.

“But you do now.” Alastor pointed out as he sat with you in a kitchen full of food.

“Full of Charlie’s and the hotel’s food.” You said, “I couldn’t risk wasting it. It’s enough that everyone shares with me what they make and,” You shake your head awkwardly against your arm, cutting off the thought.

“And?” Alastor pressed.

“Someone’s been leaving little boxes of treats at my door. I wish I knew who it was.”

“Why?” Alastor leaned back now, putting distance between the two of you, “Does the origin of a gift matter?”

“I-” Your eyes teared up as your voice strangled in your throat. You sat up, not sure why you were being so open with him.

“You~?” Alastor asked in a sing song tone as a tear slipped from your eye and ran down. His eyes followed it as it cut a path down your cheek. It was maddening to him, what you made him feel. How watching that tear captured his attention, yet he raged at the fact that it was born from pain in your heart.

“I’ve never had anyone give me treats like that.” You said, wiping the tear away much to his disappointment.

“Never? Surely a suiter gifted you treats while courting for your attention.” Oh, why did saying that raise bile in his throat?

“I’ve never-” You laugh, not sure why the idea of discussing this with Alastor made you feel uneasy. “There was never any suiters. No boys. No one.”

“I struggle to believe that.” Alastor laughed as he stood from his chair, “Come my dear, wash your hands and join me.”

You didn’t know what he wanted but Alastor was a man to be obeyed. While you were both deer, he had far more power than you could ever dream to possess. If he wanted to demand your help, you had little choice but to comply.

Sure, the hotel offered a sense of safety but if Alastor wanted to squash you like a bug, shared demonic traits or not, there was nothing that could stop him. Well, Charlie would but she was asleep.

Alastor had the counter floured and a small portion of dough out as you joined him, drying your hands. “Where’s the rest?”

“That’ll be fried up in the morning, if it passes our test.”

He pulled you in front of the counter before stepping close behind you. It was hard to ignore the overwhelming presence of him looming over your shoulder as he reached around to grab the rolling pin only to pass it to you.

“Roll it out until I say,” He directed as he covered the pin in flour only to place it in your hands.

As you worked, his hands rested on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in from behind while not touching you at all. It was hard for you to ignore how close he was.

It was like the man was taking over your mind, something you hadn’t expected considering you hadn’t given him much thought in the months before. The smell of his cologne seemed to surround, making your head light. You weren’t sure why you were reacting to him like this but it left your nerves buzzing.

Now all you could think of was the way his breath caressed over your ears, the way his hands looked without the gloves, dusted with flour, the sound of his voice as he hummed and the smell of his cologne.

“There.” Alastor said, taking the pin from you and replacing it with a dough cutter. “Squares, about the size of your fist.”

Cool air swept around you as Alastor moved away, checking the pot of oil heating on the stove. You’d only just begun to relax under his looming presence and now he was gone and damnit, you missed it.

There was just enough dough to form two squares with some left over. Alastor scooped them up before dropping them in the oil. You stood next to him, watching as the oil came to life around the dough.

“How long do we cook them?” You asked over the sound of the violently bubbling oil.

“Not long.” Alastor said from too close behind you once again as inky black shadow imps swept up the flour and crumbs, wiping down the counters.

On the counter, he set a plate with a rack over it and next to that was a sifter atop a container of powdered sugar. You were boxed in by Alastor as he rested his hands on either side of the fryer, looking over your shoulder as he once again boxed you in.

“Now.” He said softly, “Scoop them out and put them on the rack.”

You were timid, scared of being burned as you fished for the squares with the spoon made of wire.

“Hurry, hurry!” Alastor cried, voice carrying a musical note as he only made your nerves worse, “You don’t want them to burn!”

Finally, you got them out. Oil dripped off the puffed up pastries as they quickly drained the excess oil off. Alastor grabbed the sifter only to put it in your hands. He moved you as if you were a puppet, placing the sifter in your hands over the rack, steam wafting up to caress your hand. You stood still as he poured a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar into the basket.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He teased. “You can manage to turn the handle, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” You stammered over the word, mind buzzing with the anxiety of having Alastor, the powerful, blood thirsty Radio Demon spending so much time in your immediate space. Your hands shook as you turned the small metal handle, causing the wire bar inside the sifter to spin, agitating the powdered sugar and helping it fall in a smooth, clump free shower over a square.

Alastor used his hand on your forearm to move the sifter over the other pastry when he had decided there was enough dusting on the first. You didn’t know if there was any science to how much sugar each got or if he was simply measuring with his long dead heart.

Once both were covered enough for his taste, he plucked the sifter from your fingers and set it aside.

“What now?” You asked, unsure still of what was going on.

“Now you try one.” Alastor said, plucking a square up. When you went to grab the other, he roughly shoved the rack out of your reach.

“What? Why did you do that?!” Your brow furrowed as you looked at the rack, now well out of reach before looking back at the man standing too close to you. “How can I try it if you won’t let me grab it?”

“Open.” Alastor commanded as he ripped the corner off the beignet in his hand.

“Wha-” Your question was cut off by the soft, warm, sweet taste that invaded your mouth somewhat forcefully.

It was delicious.

“Well?” Alastor asked as you swallowed the bite.

You hadn’t noticed Alastor rip off another chunk of beignet but found it pushed between your lips the moment you attempted to praise the taste. This time, instead of retreating, his thumb rested against your lower lip as you took in the bite.

His nails were long and pointed claws, not the thick claws that encased the fingertips of his gloves, but still dangerous. The sharp point of his thumbnail poked between your lips as he watched you chew for a few moments.

You were spellbound by the way he looked down at you. What exactly was happening, you had no fucking clue but the air between you and Alastor was thick with something you couldn’t begin to understand.

His touch left your lip to rip another chunk off the beignet slowly as you watched him. His dark bloodstained hands were covered in the white powdered sugar and flour, softening their appearance.

“It’s good,” You whispered as he slowly brought another bite to your lips.

This time he offered it, waiting for you to open your mouth and take what he was offering on your own, knowing full well who was offering it. Somehow, it felt like something far more than a midnight snack was being offered to you but what?

“It’s been you,” You said, not asked as Alastor presented another bite that you took willingly as soon as you spoke.

His thumb again lingered on your lips, sugar damp with oil and sticky on his skin smearing.

“Yes,” Alastor said after a pause to toss the remaining portion of the beignet on the counter and wiping the hand that had been holding it on a hand towel on the counter, cleaning it of some of the sugar. Yet his other hand didn’t leave you. His thumb remained on your lower lip, feeling every twitch and breath.

“Why?” You whispered, his thumb slipping against your lip and coming dangerously close to falling into your mouth.

“You never offered me anything of your stash,” Alastor spoke softly.

“You don’t like sweets,” You hadn’t wanted to waste his time when you had made the decision to dismantle your stash. It had been a emotionally difficult choice, one that you had made before and never stuck to for long until now. “Or junk food.”

“You ignored me.” Alastor’s thumb slipped, running along her lower lip but never leaving it. “I thought if you had better options…”

“I’d share them with you?” Your voice was coming out so soft now, Alastor’s tall ears cocked forward to better pick up your words.

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t share them with anyone.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to share them with anyone.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to keep them all to myself. They were too good to share. I-”

Alastor’s thumb slipped into your mouth, cutting off whatever you had been about to say. Sticky sweetness exploded across your tongue as his thumb caressed it. You could feel the point of his nail against your tongue, a hint of danger coated in sweet sugar.

Your mind was numb as you caressed the pad of his thumb, rolling the tip of your tongue under his nail softly. You were not sure what he wanted from you. The idea of overstepping Alastor’s unspoken boundaries was terrifying. This was uncharted waters. A side of Alastor you had never seen or even dared to dream of seeing.

Alastor watched you as you stood near frozen. “Under some circumstances, I enjoy a sweet.”

~~~~~<3

See part 2 for the smut.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader smut #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor smut

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

Text

FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 1

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Steven Grant x afab!psychologist!reader (8.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, intense overstimulation, non-ejaculatory orgasm, cumplay, cum eating, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: steven is my baby. he deserves the world. i hope i did his character justice. DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

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CASE STUDY: STEVEN GRANT

ROLE IN SYSTEM: Caretaker / Internal Self-Helper

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Preoccupied

CHARACTERISTICS: timid, introverted, sensitive, unassertive; inferiority complex; the epitome of a people pleaser.

SPLIT FROM HOST: assumedly a result of simultaneous emotional and physical abuse from mother.

TRAUMA RESPONSE: alter likely emerged as a way to maintain the childhood innocence of the host; a personification of the word 'hope'.

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: shy, reserved, submissive, responsive, doting; views relationship as transactional (i.e. his only value is derived from what he can provide to a partner, whether that be physically, fiscally, materially, or emotionally); incredibly receptive to praise and validation.

Silence.

It filled the room and weighed heavy in the air—only interrupted by the buzzing of the filter in Gus’ fish tank near the center of the apartment.

You swallowed.

Why did it have to be Steven first?

You knew why. You’d made the decision deliberately, carefully—Steven was the softest, most vulnerable and hesitant. The most emotionally mature, but also the most emotionally fragile. Sensitive, caring, empathetic, loving—he really, truly cared. That’s why he had to go first. This was more than just an excuse to have sex with you—this was intimacy, passion, a closeness he so desperately craved. And you knew, deep down, he’d be comparing himself to his other alters. Envying their confidence, their forwardness, their unapologetic sexual prowess. Steven had always felt inferior—you needed to prove to him that that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

But still. As much as you cared for him, as much as you were looking forward to getting to know him physically, in that moment, you desperately wished for a hint of Marc’s initiative, or even a sliver of Jake’s assertiveness.

Steven was sat on the couch, hunched over, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Nervous energy pulsed from his body in waves—his clear stress wasn’t doing anything to help with your own trepidation.

You shuffled beside him, crossing one leg over the other at the ankles. You drew in a breath.

“Do you... do we need to go over anything again?”

He flinched at your intrusion on the silence—without sparing you a glance, he offered a brief shake of his head.

“Well, I think we should go over it one more time, just in case. So. Today is—is about you. Whatever you say goes. Obviously, I have my limits, but, I mean, I really don’t see that being much of a problem with any of you—except maybe Jake...”

You digressed, but the mention of his alters clearly ruffled Steven’s feathers, even if he hid it well. You continued.

“And—and you’ll be fronting the whole time. No co-consciousness, or interruption from the others. Right?”

Steven nodded again, more firmly this time.

“Okay. And lastly—well, I’ve thought about it, and—and I think we should be fine without condoms.”

That got Steven’s attention. His head turned to you, eyes wide with bewilderment.

“What?”

You looked away abashedly, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I just—I’ve got the implant, and well—Marc gave me documentation confirming that you’re negative for any STI’s, which—so am I. So I figure—unless you’re gonna be having sex with anyone else in the time this experiment is being conducted, then—then I think we should be fine... for now.”

“You told us we had to be abstinent in the week between each experimental window.”

You laughed at this, amused at the incredulity in his voice.

“Oh, so you were planning on seeing someone else in between, then?”

His face flushed with alarm as he attempted to backtrack.

“Wha—no! No, I didn’t mean—you just—you said we should refrain from doin’ anything, as in—anything. So I just—”

“Relax, Steven, I’m just teasing you.”

You giggled, reaching to grip his bicep reassuringly. Your fingers making contact with his body seemed to jostle him—he stared down at the place your fingers wrapped around his arm, electricity crackling from your fingers and lighting a fire in his belly. He swallowed.

His sudden attention to your presence grounded you back into reality as well. You felt the taut muscles of his bicep flex beneath your hand, the parting of Steven’s lips and fluttering of his lashes making your breath stumble.

When he looked up at you, finally, his eyes were dark—lustful, desirous. Still, there was a sense of restraint within him, his diffidence preventing him from moving unto you further. You realized that you would likely have to make the first move.

“Steven.”

You spoke softly, drawing him in.

“Are you—do you feel ready?”

For a moment, he looked terrified, like a deer caught in headlights. He glanced away from you for a moment, trying to reason with himself, to will the anxiety away. You squeezed his arm.

“You don’t have to do this, Steven, really. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I want this.”

“But Steven, really, it’s alright—”

“No, you don’ understand—I really, really want this.”

His words were breathy, but certain, the desire in his tone undeniable. You felt your breath hitch at his confession, and before either of you had time to worry about it anymore, you closed the gap between you, pushing yourself up against his side and tilting your head so your lips met his. He whined into your mouth, his initial hesitance wearing off and making way for his insatiable hunger for your touch, your taste, you.

His hands reached to grip the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair as he pulled you closer, forcing your lips to meld against his deeply. You leaned into him, allowing yourself to shift into his lap, your thighs straddling his. As you settled your weight onto him, he audibly groaned as your core pressed against the hardening tent in his pants. Your hands traveled up his chest and along his shoulders as your tongue explored his mouth. He fought back with equal fervor, and you could sense that there was a hint of desperation in him—as if he was finally acting upon the months worth of repressed sexual tension between the two of you.

You pulled away with a gasp, coming up for air as you lifted your chin slightly, away from the chase of his lips. Instead, they began a sloppy assault on your throat, mouthing and teething at the supple flesh of your neck and down into your collarbone. You let out a breathy moan as Steven lavished your skin with attention, quickly gaining the confidence to suck a mark into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You keened.

“God, Steven.”

The sound of his name falling from your lips was heaven. He pulled you back down for another searing kiss, and you offered an experimental nip to the swell of his bottom lip. He groaned.

“Christ, you’re a minx.”

His voice was throaty, gravelly, and you giggled at his comment as he pressed kisses to the corners of your mouth and the surrounding flesh of your cheeks.

“Should we... do you want to move to the bed?”

You asked quietly, and the man stiffened, clearly enticed by the proposal.

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

You regretfully pulled yourself from his lap and he followed immediately after, reaching for your hand as you guided him back towards his bed. It was neatly made, the corners tucked in and the blankets pressed. For some reason, it made you want to cry. You’d been at his flat plenty of times before, but never had you once seen his bed made up so tidy. He did that for you.

As you reached the end of the bed, you hesitated. You had taken the lead, carefully easing Steven into the interaction, but now, you needed to see what he wanted. You looked to him.

“What—where do you want me?”

He swore he almost blacked out at the sheer compliance that your tone offered. He had to squeeze his eyes shut tight in an effort to slow the rapidly building arousal in his groin—you hadn’t even fucking touched him yet.

“Would you—could you just lay down f’me, love?”

You smiled at him gratefully, offering a small nod at you followed his careful instruction. You shuffled up towards the head of the bed, turning to lie flat on your back with your head propped against the pillows. You looked at Steven expectantly—he was just watching you, fists slowly clenching and unclenching at his sides. Christ, you were a sight to beheld.

Cautiously, Steven lowered onto his hands and knees and crawled up towards you, allowing himself to hover over your body with his own, his waist slotting between the parting of your legs. He rested on his elbows, forearms framing your head as he gazed down at you. The sheer reverence and devotion in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

“Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”

He mumbled, fingers moving to stroke your hairline, tracing the curvatures of your face. You smiled softly before tilting your head upwards to close the small space that remained between you. These kisses were softer—slow, gentle, repeated slides of his lips against yours. It made you feel lightheaded.

You reached for the hem of his jumper.

“I—can I?”

You questioned against his lips, and he nodded slowly, sitting upright to help you pull the top up and over his head. He flung it to the side carefully, and you spread your hands out against the warmth of his torso, the ring finger on your left hand just barely brushing his right nipple. He hissed as the feeling of your cold hands pressed into his abdomen, but at the same time, the sensation was intoxicating. You let your fingers slide up towards his chest, skating across both of his hardened nipples before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back to you. He happily obliged, malleable under your touch, but you could feel his fingers twitching as if desperate to touch you. You pushed him back slowly, reaching to take off your own shirt.

“Wait.”

Steven panicked, and you froze, a flash of hurt cresting your face. But he just smiled gently.

“Can—let me.”

He offered, and you laid back, letting his fingers skim the flesh of your stomach as he gripped the hem and pulled the fabric away from you. You sat up briefly to allow him to pull it completely off, revealing your simple white lace bra beneath it. You watched him drink you in, completely infatuated. His hands skated up your sides, over the curve of your hip and across your ribs, but they halted before they reached any further. You nodded in encouragement.

“It’s okay, Steven. You can touch me.”

A whimper escaped his mouth as he slowly reached up the palm at your breast, still contained in the cup of your bra. He could feel the peak of your nipple through the fabric as he massaged the flesh carefully, kneading and squeezing. The sigh you let out spurred him on, and he reached behind you towards the clasp, eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he was met with a warm smile and nod, and his fingers worked to unclip the material beneath you. After a few brief seconds of his fumbling, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“What the—bollocks, why’s it so bloody hard to undo?”

Your saccharine giggle melted his annoyance as you offered him assistance, reaching behind you to unlatch the hooks. When it was finally unclasped, the cups loosening their hold on your breasts, he let out a shaky breath, gripping the straps and watching them glide down your arms until you were topless beneath him.

His movements were slow, deliberate, as he watched your body react to his touch. Tracing beneath the swell of your left breast, dancing across the valley between them, repeating the movement on the right side. Goosebumps trailed in his wake as he stared, utterly entranced at the softness of your skin and the rhythm of your breathing.

His eyes met yours once more, and stayed there as he slowly leaned down and pulled your right nipple into his mouth. You mewled at the action, back arching just slightly as his other hand came to cup your other tit, massaging it gently as he sucked at your flesh. He switched sides, lavishing your other nipple with equal attention, and even offering an experimental nip to the swollen bud, earning a cry from you—a mix between a sharp pain, quickly soothed with the swipe of his tongue.

You hardly noticed when his lips began pressing kisses lower across your chest, your breasts, across the expanse of your stomach, until his lips were skating over your navel, just above the button of your jeans. His dark eyes found yours, and he offered you a silent question, to which you immediately nodded. His trembling fingers reached to undo the button—with which he had much more success than your bra—and pulled the zipper down. As he slowly coaxed the fabric away from your skin, he pressed two hot kisses against each of your hip bones before pulling the pants completely off and discarding them nearby.

His hands roamed the newly exposed skin of your thighs, fingers creating divots in the soft flesh with his firm grip. He leaned down and pressed his lips against your calf, sliding them upwards until he reached your inner thigh. You whimpered at his proximity to where you needed him most, but he evaded you by switching to mirror the same path on your other side. Your toes curled in frustration.

“Steven.”

You huffed, head thrown back, and his head popped upwards, eyes wide with concern.

“Stop teasing.”

His gaze softened, and you felt his lips press right above your pubic bone, where the waistband of your panties was settled.

“Sorry, m’love, I couldn’t help it. I’ll make it better, I promise.”

His fingers gripped the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down your legs, successfully leaving you completely bare beneath him. You had half the mind to feel insecure at the exposure, but when you caught sight of the look on Steven's face, his eyes transfixed on the sopping folds of your cunt, any hesitance was thrown out the window.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He whispered, letting the pointer finger on his left hand just barely graze between your pussy lips to gather some of your wetness, causing your hips to jolt. He let out a short ‘ha’ sound at your reaction to his touch.

“Is this—s’this all f’me?”

He looked at you again, lips parted and eyes hooded. You nodded vigorously.

“Yes, Steven, yes—all for you.”

He rewarded you with a groan, his finger offering another, firmer swipe through your folds, easily sliding through with the slick of your arousal. The tip of his finger caught on the hood of your clit and your hips jumped again. Instead of removing his finger, he slid it back downwards, slowly circling the entrance of your pussy with careful ministrations. Before you could even ask, he pushed his middle finger deep inside you, curling forward, and almost instantly, the pad of his digit nudged at the most sensitive part of you. You cried out at the abrupt sensation, hips unconsciously grinding down against his hand. He smiled wickedly.

“Ah—there you are.”

He mumbled to himself, repeating the motion once more to ensure he had located the spot where your sensitivity peaked. Again, your body followed the movement of his hand, and he easily added a second finger, slowly beginning to pump them in and out of you, all while continuing the well-received come-hither motion. You squeezed your eyes shut, core muscles clenched as pleasure spread from your cunt upwards, and then his thumb found your clit and you were reeling.

“Oh, fuck, Steven, shit—oh God, I can’t, m’gonna—”

His free hand came up to stroke your hair tenderly, eyes peeling away from where they were watching where his fingers sank into you to ogle at the face you'd make as you climaxed.

“That’s it, love. Doin’ so well. C’mon, give it to me.”

Your orgasm reached its peak, toes curling and back arching as you let out a salacious, pornographic moan, thrusting in time with Steven’s diligent fingers as he coaxed every last drop of pleasure from your dripping folds. Your skin buzzed with sensitivity as the waves of stimulation rippled through you—your breathing was labored when you came down from your high, sinking back into the mattress and grounding yourself back in reality.

Steven pressed a kiss to your lips, which you accepted gratefully, although your energy was significantly less than his—he didn’t seem to mind. He pulled away, just barely, noses brushing together in a moment of intimacy. You felt dizzy.

“So good, Steven—make me feel so good.”

You rambled, hot breath fanning across his face. He glowed at your praise, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. Even after your first orgasm, your hunger for him was nowhere near sated. Your walls were clenching around nothing, desperate for the hot drag of his cock inside of you.

Something resembling a whimper came from the back of your throat, and Steven’s eyes found yours, softening.

“I know, darling, I know. S’alright, I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

Your fingers trailed down his stomach and covertly ghosted over the skin right atop the waistband of his jeans. Fuck, he still had his jeans on?

You reached for the button, and Steven took the hint, pulling them off of himself rather ungracefully and tossing them to the side. He was left in just his boxers, and when your hand stroked over the hard outline of his cock within them, he hissed, almost as if he were in pain. He recoiled from your touch just slightly, and you felt brief concern at the reaction. He squinted one eye open at you, wincing.

“Careful, please, love, I—don’t want this to end too quickly.”

“Whatever you want, Steven, I’m yours.”

You breathed, fingers caressing the side of his face and beneath his jawline. He grunted at your words, still fighting to maintain control of his body. It only served to turn you on more. When your fingers once more reached for the band of his boxers, he interrupted you with a kiss.

“Patience, love, s’alright.”

"Want you so bad."

You cried against his mouth, absolutely desperate, and you felt the stutter of his exhale as he pulled away.

“I know, I know, but I—Gods, ’m sorry, but I just have to taste you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his head was between your thighs, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inner flesh between them. Your eyes fluttered closed just as he licked a long, experimental stripe between your folds, making you jerk up towards him involuntarily.

Your cunt was puffy and swollen from your previous orgasm, but Steven wasted no time diving in. He let the tip of his tongue dance around your bundle of nerves, suckling it into his mouth and humming at the taste. The vibrations traveled all the way through you, and you moaned, head thrown back in ecstasy. You tried to force your legs from caging him in, but when he noticed the strain in your muscles, he tucked his arms beneath your thighs and let your knees rest on his strong shoulders, allowing him an even better angle with which to pleasure you.

He changed course, tongue now prodding at your entrance, pushing in and out carefully and slowly. At the feeling of your walls clenching, Steven jostled just slightly, the bridge of his nose rubbing against your clit just right. You cried out, fingers flying to fist at his dark curls, pulling him back in against you.

“Fuck, do that again, Steven, please.”

Steven wasn’t one to deny you of what you wanted. He obliged, repeating the motion, his tongue penetrating you rhythmically and his nose pressed against your clit in a way that had you seeing stars. You thighs tightened around his head, and you felt more than you heard the groan that it pulled from him. You were suddenly teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“God, Steven, gonna make me cum, don’t stop, please—”

Steven maintained his pace, smart enough to know not to speed up or slow down or change up his rhythm at all as your toes curled. You briefly opened your eyes, and the sight in front of you toppled you over the cliff—Steven’s dark eyes staring up at you, the lower half of his face buried in your cunt, his hips rutting up against the mattress unconsciously as he watched you come undone. You practically sobbed as the shockwaves overwhelmed you, your thighs squeezing Steven’s head and holding him in place as you tugged at his hair. He happily lapped up your arousal, the taste of you lingering on his tongue when he finally pulled away after you had stopped squirming.

You tasted yourself on his lips when he kissed you, and the sight of your slick coating his chin and smeared across his cheeks was one of the most attractive things you’d ever seen. You smiled at him with hooded eyes, still coming down from your high.

“Please, will you fuck me now, Steven?”

You pleaded, and Steven groaned, pressing his still-covered cock against the heat of your pussy.

“Oh, yes, please, can I?”

He asked for confirmation, because of course he did, he’s Steven, and you nodded feverishly, watching with lustful eyes as he pulled his boxers down, his length finally released from the confines of the fabric. It stood at full height, long and big but not too thick, and you practically felt yourself drooling at the sight. His head was flushed a deep reddish purple, sheened with precum that had accumulated there. There was a prominent vein that ran up the underside of his shaft, and all you wanted to do was run your tongue along it. Steven caught you staring and grimaced, moaning lowly.

“Christ, darling, you keep lookin’ at me like that and ’m not gonna be able to last.”

His hand reached down and gave a few strokes to his cock, pumping it as he moved in towards you. He leaned down over you once again, eyes finding yours, and you felt the tip rub up and down your folds a few times. Steven’s lips were parted in pleasure, his breathing ragged. You felt the head of his cock barely breach the entrance of your pussy.

“Is this—are you sure?”

He asked you one final time, fingers reaching to stroke your hair. Instead of answering, you pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, and slowly, slowly, he pushed into you.

The groan that escaped him was hellish, sinful, practically animalistic as he sheathed himself within you, pushing in to the hilt until he was buried completely in the warmth of your walls. Your eyes never left his face, absolutely living for his expressions of pleasure—his pinched brows, parted lips, heavy breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut as he held himself there for a moment, offering you time to get settled. You didn’t need time. He had opened you up plenty, and your wet channel practically swallowed him with need.

“Alright?”

He breathed, checking to see if you were experiencing any discomfort. You nodded at him and offered a roll of your hips upward, your clit rubbing up against his pubic bone deliciously. He whimpered, pulling his cock out just enough before rocking back into you. You mewled, pressing your face into his shoulder as he repeated the motion, pulling out a bit more each time as he gained confidence and momentum. Soon, he was thrusting into you steadily, each move punctuated by barely audible ‘uh, uh, uh’ sounds from his lips as he lost himself in the feeling of you.

“Yes, Steven, fuck. Fucking me so well, such a good boy.”

That awoke something in him, and his pace faltered just barely, hips stuttering as he let out a high-pitched whine.

“Shit, shit, don’t—you can’t just—I’m not gonna last, Y/N, fuck.”

The look on his face was pained, sweat sheened on his forehead from how hard he was restraining himself. You wanted—you needed to see him fall apart.

“Want you to cum for me, Steven.”

You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and he whimpered, shaking his head as he continued pounding into you.

“No, please, not yet, want—want you to cum on my cock.”

He sounded desperate, frantic, but you could feel within yourself that you weren’t going to get there soon, and he couldn’t hold out much longer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you as you cradled his face in your hands, forcing his eyes on yours.

“Need you to cum, Steven, please—please, please, need you to cum for me—”

You clenched your muscles, walls clamping down on him, and with a sharp cry of your name, his cum spilled deep inside you, cock fully nested in your cunt as his spend coated your walls and filled you with warmth. His hips kept thrusting into you, almost of their own volition, forcing his seed deeper and deeper into you as he grunted with each move, face contorted in a look of sheer bliss.

Your hands were stroking his back, fingers tracings patterns on the soft skin as he collapsed on top of you, burying his face in the crook on your neck, his cock still sheathed within you.

“Good boy.”

You whispered repeatedly, lips pressed to his temple as he caught his breath and tried to slow the rapid thumping of his heart.

“Such a good boy.”

He let out a sigh, nose pressed into the side of your neck as he closed his eyes, allowing himself a few moments to sit in the moment and really feel it. The softness of your body beneath him, the comforting swirl of your fingers on his back, the quiet hum of praise eliciting from your lips. He wanted to live in this moment forever.

You shifted, just slightly, from beneath him, and he immediately jumped into action. He pressed a chaste peck to your lips before pulling out of you slowly, taking a second to appreciate the view of his cum leaking out of you before he made his way to the bathroom, grabbing a warm wet washcloth to clean you up. When he came back, he just had his boxers on, but the toned taupe of his skin still made you blush. His eyes regarded you warmly, reverently, as he wiped away both of your combined arousals from your folds, touch gentle and careful. When he was done, he reached onto the floor to grab his jumper, sitting back up and offering it to you. You smiled graciously, holding your arms in the air like an expectant child as Steven slipped it over your head, pulling your arms through and straightening it down over your body.

God, you looked good in his clothes.

He crawled beside you, nestling in next to you, body curling to fit the curvature of your side. His head found its place in the crook of your neck, the smell of your skin sweet, and he hummed in contentment, relaxing into you. You smiled softly, reaching up to stroke his hair.

“Is... Is this what you’d normally do after sex?”

You asked carefully, hesitantly, afraid to lose the intimacy of the moment. Steven bristled at your words, just slightly, before he sank further into your embrace.

“I mean... in what little experience I have, yeah, I’d say so.”

He offered, voice laced with grogginess, his eyelids drooping. You giggled quietly at his sudden exhaustion, finding the sight quite endearing.

“So you want me to stay, then?”

He lifted his head at your question, worry reflecting in his big brown eyes.

“Did—do you not want to?”

He asked hurriedly, preparing himself for your rejection, but you shook your head defensively.

“No, no! I’m just—this is about you, and what you want out of sex. Do you... I mean, would you expect me to spend the night?”

Steven’s stare was reminiscent of a puppy as he looked up at you, seeming almost lost. Hesitantly, he nodded his head, confirming that he wanted you to stay with him. You smiled softly, pressing a kiss atop his forehead.

“Great—then I’ll stay.”

He relaxed back into you, eyes closing almost immediately, his breaths slowing. After a few minutes, you’d assumed he’d fallen asleep, but then his voice called out softly in the silence.

“M’sorry, by the way.”

Your brows furrowed.

“Sorry? For—for what?”

A long sigh. He buried his face further into your shoulder, hiding himself.

“I didn’t get to—I mean, you weren’t able to—I wanted you to, you know—before me.”

Oh.

His innocent avoidance of vulgarity melted your heart, as it was obviously something he struggled to speak about regularly. You pulled your head back, turning to face him, and he lifted his eyes, cheek smushed against your collarbone. You smiled at him, a hand coming to stroke his cheek.

“Don’t be sorry, Steven. It was perfect.”

You assured, and although he would normally never believe it, something in your eyes was genuine. His lips turned upward at the corners.

“Yeah?”

He asked, excited at the prospect of your validation, and you laughed shortly, smiling wide.

“Yeah.”

With that, Steven let his body meld against yours, finally allowing himself to relax completely and relish in the feeling of being so close to you.

Your mind was already racing with ideas for tomorrow’s trial.

POINTS OF CONTENTION:

- being open to unconditional care without obligation of reciprocation

- feeling adequate and worthy of affections

- accepting praise and compliments without denial or doubt

TREATMENT: - receive without giving - deserving of everything and anything (should not have guilt over being pleasured) - high praise and validation

Twelve hours, that was the deal. You needed at least twelve hours apart before you could begin the second phase of research. Partially to record the data you needed and begin developing a profile, but mostly because you knew that both the boys and you would need time to recuperate before going at it again.

Especially Steven.

Standing outside his apartment door, you were somehow more nervous this time around than you were yesterday. You’d spent the night with him, wrapped in each other’s arms, and you’d left early that morning, promising to return in the evening after the appropriate time had elapsed. You’d showered, eaten, relaxed, but mostly, you’d planned. The key to this study, you’d realized, wasn’t actually the sex at all—it was about challenging the alters, exploiting their vulnerabilities. Exposure therapy.

Sexual interactions are intimate. They are reflective of some of our deep-rooted, unconscious desires, and are significantly related to events that occurred in our childhood that shaped our attachments styles. Certain sexual preferences, turn-ons, fetishes, and kinks, are indicative of different cognitive dispositions. You were trying to figure the boys out—using what they wanted to get to what they needed.

You had predicted Steven’s diagnosis from the start.

When the door to his flat swung inward, his eyes were crinkled at the corners from his smile. He looked soft—rosy pink cheeks, mussed brunette curls, baggy sweats—almost as if he’d just woken up. You returned his grin, slipping past him and into the threshold of his flat.

The door slammed shut behind him, and you turned to him, surprised to be met with a slow, deep, passionate kiss, his lips lingering on yours for just a moment before he pulled away.

You blinked.

“Wow.”

You whispered, slightly reeling. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Steven looked down sheepishly.

“Oh, goodness, I don’t—m’sorry, love, I wasn’t really thinking, I just—missed you, s’all.”

He confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck bashfully. His words pulled at your heartstrings and you walked into him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your chin on his chest so you were looking up at him.

“No, don’t be sorry, just—took me by surprise.”

You smiled.

“Hell of a welcome, though.”

He smiled, letting out a nervous breath.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You nodded, tilting your head upwards to capture his mouth with your own again. He hummed against you, one hand coming to cup the side of your face and the other pulling you in closer by your waist. His tongue swiped at your bottom lip, and you immediately submitted, parting your lips to grant him full access. He started walking backwards towards the couch, but you pulled away to stop him.

“Bed.”

You whispered, your fuck-me eyes almost making him feel faint. He nodded obediently, kissing you again, and changed direction, guiding you to the other side of the flat. The back of Steven’s calves collided with the mattress and he fell backwards into a sitting position onto the bed, but you stayed standing between his parted legs.

“What’re you doin’, love?”

He asked, laughing almost nervously. You just smirked down at him, leaning over to capture his lips once more. You hands were on his shoulders, traveling down his back and around his neck. His found your hips, fingers digging into the flesh there as you continued your passionate making out. Finally, you pulled away, but stayed close, nose still brushing his. His eyes were closed.

“Steven.”

You whispered, and he hummed in acknowledgement, an expression of contentment on his face.

“Are you ready?”

His eyes fluttered open, his gaze focusing in on you. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, as if contemplating something.

“Ready? For... for what, exactly?”

You leaned a bit away from him, standing up to your full height. You looked down at him, stroking his hair comfortingly as you addressed him.

“We’re—I’m gonna try something, okay? But I need you to know that you can stop me at any time. Do you know the stoplight system?”

His big brown eyes looked up at you, and he shook his head.

“It’s a technique for safe words. So if I’m doing something and you want me to stop, you say red. If you need me to slow down, you say yellow, and if you’re doing okay and want me to keep going, you say...”

“Green.”

He finished for you, slightly breathless with anticipation. You nodded down at him proudly.

“Yeah, you’ve got it, good boy.”

You heard the way his breath caught in his throat at your praise, and you pressed a soft, quick kiss to his lips.

“So—are you ready?”

The way he looked at you—eyes filled with such wonder, such reverence, such infatuation—filled you with so much pride and confidence. God, you wanted to ruin this man.

“Gods, love, you’re makin’ me a bit nervous.”

He admitted sheepishly, but his breathing stuttered as you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in between his legs, placing one hand on each thigh and coaxing them farther apart. He was watching you intently.

“Don’t be nervous, sweetheart, it’s okay. But remember—you just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

He slowly nodded, waiting earnestly for your next move. You reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it off of him and tossing it to the side. His pants followed shortly thereafter, leaving him only in his boxers. You could see just how hard he already was for you—excitement bubbled in your stomach.

He reached for your shirt, but you tutted at him condescendingly, gently guiding his hands away from you.

“No, sweetheart—this is about you.”

You whispered, returning to your position on your knees in between his legs. He was leaning back, his arms stretched out behind him as he held himself up, watching you. Your fingers were stroking at the skin of his upper thigh, where the leg of his boxers ended. Slowly, your fingers passed over his bulge with a barely-there touch, and he hissed at the ticklish sensation, the muscles of his thighs rippling with strain.

While his head was tilted back and his eyes were closed, you took advantage of his temporary distraction and leaned forward to place opened-mouth kisses on his cock through his boxers. The warm heat from your breath passed over him and he groaned, watching as you finally reached up to remove the final barrier between you.

He shifted his hips up to help, and you pulled his boxers down his legs and off of him completely—now, he was completely naked before you, and you were fully clothed.

Perfect.

You settled back in between his legs, fingers slowly creeping up his inner thigh and towards his weeping length. You looked up at him through your lashes, where he was waiting with bated breath.

“Listen to me—you’re gonna cum whenever you want to, whenever you’re ready, okay, Steven?”

He whimpered in response as your fingers skirted around his base. When he didn’t verbally answer, you stopped.

“Okay, Steven?”

“Yes, yeah, alright, yeah.”

He nodded frantically, acknowledging your instruction, and you rewarded him with a grin.

“Good boy.”

Your fingers finally wrapped around the base of his cock and he sighed, groaning as he watched you lean forward and allow a string of spit to dribble through your lips and down onto his awaiting length. You coated your hand with the slickness and started a slow, steady pace, pumping him with a slight twist of your wrist. He whimpered, particularly sensitive when your thumb stroked at the sensitive head at the end of your long up-and-down strokes.

“Shit, Y/N, oh, Gods...”

He whined, his hips slowly starting to react to your pace by thrusting upward into your fist.

“There you go, Steven, doing so well.”

You praised, speeding up the pace of your hand a bit. His lip was pulled between his teeth, as if focusing intently, and you let your other hand come up to cup at his heavy balls. This earned a low groan from him, his hips jolting with each twist of your wrist.

“Shit, shit, you’ve got to slow down, or else—oh, fuck—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I wanna see you let go. It’s okay.”

You whispered sweetly, maintaining your speed but tightening your grip just slightly. The muscles in his abdomen were visibly straining, and you could tell he was close.

“Come on, sweet boy. Cum for me.”

He let out a breathy whine, and you could feel the tightening of his balls as his stomach clenched.

“Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Y/N, oh, mmmmh—”

You kept pumping him as thick spurts of white spilled from his tip, dripping down the sides of his pretty cock as he throbbed beneath your touch. You allowed his spend to drip over your fingers and knuckles as you continued stroking him, pace slowing just slightly, but not entirely.

His head was thrown back, still reeling with aftershocks, and—fuck.

He jolted when he felt the hot sting of your lips, tongue swirling over the head of his cock, cum still dripping over your hands as your wrist twisted around the base. He cried out, hips thrusting upwards, his legs spasming involuntarily as you began bobbing your head up and down repeatedly, eyes on his face as you watched his face scrunch up in pain.

“Oh, Gods, fuck, fuck, what are you—oh, Gods, s’too much, I can’t, stop, please—”

His hands were fisting at the blankets atop his bed, trying his best not to bury his fingers in your hair as you pulled off of him with a gasp, but your hand kept going.

“You gotta use your words, sweet boy.”

You reminded with a sympathetic tone.

“If you want me to stop, use your words.”

You leaned forward to clean up his release from the sides of his cock, tongue gliding at the same speed as your hand. He was hissing through his teeth, legs still kicking every once in awhile with overstimulation. He wasn’t responding, so maybe you should stop, maybe—

“Fuck, fuck—green! Green, I’m—it’s green.”

He cried, and you wrapped your lips back on his cock, starting to bounce your head once more. The cries that were escaping him were delicious—pathetic whines and whimpers, begging incomprehensibly as you tried to keep his cock hard beneath your touch. It was working, because you could see his abdomen clenching again, and each of his panted breaths was paired with a short grunt.

“Oh, fuck, I don’t—oh, gods, it’s—m’gonna cum again, oh, shit, oooh—”

You pushed down on his cock as far as you could take him, and the second he hit the back of your throat, he felt his orgasm rock through him. His legs curled around your back instinctually, holding you in place as his hips thrusted into your mouth. This was different, though, this—his muscles were contracting, balls tightening, but it wasn’t accompanied by his cum down your throat. You gagged on him and he practically yelped, one hand finally reaching up to grab at your hair. He pulled you off of him, and you gasped for air. Your face was red and there was spit smeared across your cheeks and down your chin. When you looked up at Steven, his eyes were red and there were tears in his eyes. Your hand was still on his cock, pumping slowly. His legs were still twitching.

You stood up, finally releasing him, and he collapsed backwards onto the bed, arms eagle-spread on either side of him, panting. But then he heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor, and when he looked up at you, you were undressing.

He stared at you incredulously, and you smirked at him, discarding your pants and panties simultaneously, leaving you completely bare. You approached the bed again, swinging your leg across Steven's waist to straddle him. You held yourself up just a bit so you were hovering over his cock.

“What, you think we’re done already?”

You teased, sinking down to rub your dripping folds over his still half-hard length. His hips jumped at the feeling.

“No, no, I can’t, not—”

He whimpered, and you leaned forward to shush him, giving him a quick kiss. His bottom lip quivered.

“Such a good boy, Steven—you can give me one more.”

You nodded encouragingly, and he whined, his head pressing back into the mattress with frustration. Your hand reached to stroke at his chest.

“Words, Steven. Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You offered, suddenly serious, and he took a few deep breaths, tears trailing down his cheeks. When he opened them again, he looked wrecked, but he met your gaze.

“Green.”

It was barely a whisper, but you heard it. You reached down to wrap your fingers around his slick length once more, stroking him to coax him back to full height. He was still mostly hard, as his second orgasm had occurred in the midst of his refractory period, so fairly soon, his tip was prodding at your awaiting entrance and you stifled a mewl.

“There we go, sweet boy. You ready?”

His brows were pinched, but he nodded, and you slowly, carefully sank down on him, burying him into you all the way to the hilt. He was crying now, sitting upright to wrap his arms around you and hold you close against him as you gave him a moment to adjust. His face was pressed into your shoulder.

“Doing so, so well, for me, Steven. Just give me one more, okay? Whenever you want, whenever you’re ready, give it to me.”

You encouraged, lips pressed against his ear, and you slowly lifted up your hips, sinking back down onto him as he whined into you.

“Oooh—oooh—”

“Shh, shh—I know, sweetheart, I know.”

You cooed, cupping the back of his head with one hand as you continued to roll your hips, grinding back and forth against his lap. You were entirely focused on Steven and helping him reach his peak, but still, the way the tip of his cock prodded at something deep inside you was addictive.

“Such a big cock, Steven, fills me up so good.”

He was panting, you could feel his thighs trembling beneath you as you bounced on him, picking up your speed.

“Being such a good boy. Can you give me one more, huh? Think you can?”

He was sobbing, hips jolting every time your weight came to settle back down onto his balls, skin sticky with sweat as you held him close to you.

“Oh, please, please, please, I’m so close, oh fuck—please, I can’t—”

You bounced on him harder, feeling the ripple of tension in his shoulder blades as his body was wracked with sobs.

“Oh, yes, gonna cum, gonna cum, Y/N, gonna—oh, oh, oh fuck, fuck, fuck fuck—”

His teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder as his cock pulsed within you, and you granted him the kindness of stopping the roll of your hips so he could thrust into you, his seed painting your walls and filling you with warmth. You could feel the hot, wet tears from his eyes against the skin of your shoulder, and you held him close to you, cradling his head against you and rocking him gently.

“Good boy, Steven, so proud of you. Did so, so well for me. My sweet, sweet boy.”

You peppered kisses to the crown of his head, burying your face in his curls as he clung to you desperately, and you stayed there until you felt the drumming of his heart slow and his breathing even out. You slowly, carefully peeled yourself away from him, his softened and sensitive cock slipping out of you as you shakily got to your feet. He whined at the loss of contact, reaching for you, but you shushed him.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

You followed his lead from yesterday, cleaning yourself up in the bathroom before bringing a damp rag to wipe away the arousal that was drying against his thighs. He hissed at your touch, but you gently cleaned him up, returning to the bathroom again. You considered slipping his jumper on, but for some reason, you felt the need to be as close to Steven as possible. You’d pushed him to his limit, and you wanted to be there for him in every sense of the word.

When you came back to the bed, you gestured for him to crawl up towards the pillows. He obliged, albeit a bit shakily, and you pulled the covers back for him as he curled up beneath them. You joined him immediately after, fitting your body to the curve of his back and wrapping your arms around his warm abdomen. You pressed a few gentle kisses against the back of his neck, the top of his spine, across his shoulders. He hummed in response.

“You feel okay?”

You asked quietly, words muffled in his skin. He scooted away so he could turn to face you. His eyes were red, but there was a glimmer of calmness in them—the high-strung Steven looked truly relaxed.

“Feel floaty.”

You laughed at his drawled words, hands reaching up to cradle his face in your hands. Your thumbs stroked against each of his cheeks gently, soothing.

“You really did so well, Steven. Thank you.”

Your eyes were soft, and you saw the way his lips quirked at the corners at your approval.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to—I mean, if you’d still like to—”

You sent him a glare, and he immediately silenced himself, gaze casting downward and away from you.

“No. This was about you, Steven, about you feeling good and that’s it. It was perfect. I loved it.”

His eyes brightened.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You assured, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He sighed, shutting his eyes briefly as a warm, fuzzy feeling overtook him.

“S’just—wish I’d gotten the chance to—”

“Next time, Steven, okay?”

You regarded him carefully, tone gentle. His brows furrowed.

“But—my turn’s done. S’just—Marc and Jake, and then—”

“Next time.”

You reiterated, and when your words finally sank in, the smile that lit up his face was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him, embracing you tightly like he never wanted to let go.

TAGS: @kezibear143 @gingermous

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 months

Text

Pretty like the wind

Precious chapter / Epilogue

a/n part fifteen! Right so, welcome to the end of it all. I genuinely from the bottom of my heart didn't expect you all to love this series so much. It's hands down one of my favorite project through a year of writing. It breaks me to know that we are meeting here with all of them for the very last time... You will get an epilogue chapter after this so. Second to last, let's say. Enjoy! And thank you once again. ✨🤍🫧

warning: kids - a fan favorite, past trauma, injuries, self sabotage. Nothing major, I promise.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

All Azriel remembered was the excruciating pain that ripped through every fiber of his body as he took step after step down the mountain from the fallen sanctuary. He had roared for Rhys, but either from his share of luck, at a second chance at life, or the level to which his body had been drained, Azriel was nowhere near his high lord mental shields. So he walked with your limp body in his hands. His wings dragged behind him. Jaw flexed. Teeth grinding against one another. Azriel took shaky steps. Because he never, not even in thousands of years, was gonna give up a chance to save you.

He collapsed shortly after reaching the burned outskirts of the city. Anger and dread pooled in his gut. He couldn't give up. Couldn't lose consciousness. Yet his knees dipped, and Azriel was on the hard ground. You slipped out of his grip, the pearlescent sheen of your hair and skin mixing with the ashes. "I'm so sorry," Azriel had breathed as he laid there beside you, feeling his body draining of last bits of strength. "If only I hadn't met you," he breathed, and the words alone shredded his heart. Because, as much as he tried to tell himself that you all would have been safer without him interfering, the spymaster couldn't imagine living in a world where you three weren't the center of his heart. But maybe that was the same selfish part of him. So deeply rooted in him. No matter what, he always ended up thinking how he couldn't live a life without the feeling of you in his chest and without the laughter of the kids. Azriel had let out a shaky breath, and then everything turned to darkness.

He had woken up in his bed sometime later. Rhys was sitting by his side. His faces were so dull and pained that it almost made Azriel want to reassure him, but he couldn't because the wave of anger that had rippled through Azriel was way stronger. The spymaster sat up quickly, pulling the blanket off. "Azriel," Rhys had let out a shaky breath. "Where are they?", black dots sprung into Azriel's vision, but he stood up regardless. "I think you should..." Rhys stared, but Azriel quickly cut him off. "I think you should tell me where my family is before I do something we might end up regretting down the line." His voice was rough and bitter.

"Give me a chance to...", Rhys pleaded as he stepped closer to Azriel. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, but Azriel didn't let them sway his judgment. "Give you a chance to what? Tell me that you all love me but sabotaged the best thing in my life because you didn't care all that much". His words were venom. Pure lethal venom. But the panic that rushed through Azriel was too strong. Too... "So I'll ask you one last time, where is my family?" His tone turned even deeper, "Where are my kids?" Rhys just stared at him. One heartbeat too long. Azriel growled as he yanked the door open. Swaying as he stepped into the hallway, on good days, when his scenes were intact, he would be able to find them with the emotional pull alone. But now... The spymaster was a mess as he wiped his head in different directions.

"Axel!", he yelled, not caring what hour it was. "Zofie," he breathed. He had to see them. "Ax!", Azriel roared, followed by the second part of his plea, "Zo!" The sound of the door opening somewhere down the hall made Azriel turn his head back. Nyx had stepped out, his weary eyes watching the spymaster. "In here, uncle," the boy called out softly, his eyes drawing back to the room. Azriel let out a relieved sigh as he rushed forward.

Axel met him almost halfway, and it was enough to almost send Azriel back on his knees. The feeling of these messy black curls beneath his fingers eased some of the worry. "Papa," Axel breathed into Azriel's chest. "I got you, my worrier; you did good," the spymaster muttered into the boy's hair. "I was trying to look for you. I was trying," Axel's lip trembled. Too little. They were too little for this. "And I should have been there sooner; I'm sorry, Ax," but the boy simply shook his head. "You're here now," he said, his tiny hands wrapped around Azriel's neck, and for a moment, Azriel just kneeled there, holding him.

Madja stepped out. A kind smile on her face. Azriel's puzzled eyes met her, and she knew that she had to put out the flames burning within the spymaster quickly, or they would all blaze in it. "Both girls are okay," she said in a comforting voice. "Y/n just needs to rest; your mother is with her." The healer reached for Azriel's cheek in a similar way Cordelia always did. "Zofie?", Azriel breathed out. "She needs you the most out of all of them now," Madja stepped aside, and Azriel let go of Axel as he pushed into the room.

The moment the dim lights cast a shadow over the shadowsinger, Nyx let go of Zofie's hand. Moving away from the bed, "Nyx being here helped her a lot," Madja said from behind, trying to earn a free pass for the boy now that Azriel was less himself than most of the time. But at that moment, he didn't even register his nephew's actions. Because all he saw was a sickly pale girl lying in bed. "Little star," he breathed as he reached out to brush some of her messy hair away from her face. He drew his fingers back momentarily because the girl was colder than any ice Azriel had ever touched.

He quickly sat down on the bed, pushing some of the covers away from her frail body and biting his teeth at the sight of her already in his shirt. He was her anchor. Empaths didn't know how to shield in the early stages. So they, in a way, hung on their lifelines—a person, an object—something that could swallow their overwhelming emotions and fill the cracks up with calmness. Azriel scooped Zofie up with one hand. The girl let out a pained grumble. Mother only knew how many suppressed emotions were clawing at her from within.

"You're okay," Azriel breathed as he moved her up and onto his chest. The moment the two of them came into full contact, Zofie let out the deepest sigh. And that was when it struck Azriel. For the very first time, he could feel the emotions pouring through him. Fear, worry, anger, and helplessness but he welcomed it all regardless. He would endure just so she could get better. Just so she would no longer have to hurt. He would do it over and over again for her. Until she was strong enough to protect herself. And even when she's older and in control, he would still never decline her request for help.

A tiny, cold finger fisted into his shirt, making Azriel look down. Here she was. His baby girl. Her golden eyes were slightly dazed, but she still held a firm gaze as she looked up at him. "Azzy," she breathed, the spymaster's lips curving upward instantly. "Hey, my little star, who dared dimming your light, huh?" Zofie's face scrunched up instantly. As if she was slowly plunging back into the events of the past few days. Then her eyes grew big. "We... had a card made for you... it," she muttered, her gaze falling into the room as she searched for Axel. If was way to sweet that that was the first thing she worried about. "I saw it. It was very pretty," Azriel muttered, right as Axel crawled onto the bed beside them. "You saw it?" Zofie's voice was barely a whisper, and Azriel could feel the worry building up within her. "You both know it would be an honor if you two called me dad or papa," Azriel said, looking at the two kids who gaped at him. "Just no father; it sounds too old-fashioned." Azriel barely managed to speak his last words as the sea of tiny libs was all over him. The spymaster wrapped both of the wings around the overly excited younglings. Savoring the sound of their squeals and giggles.

"So, we're a real family?", Zofie asked as her head hit Azriel's chest. His fingers instantly reached to twirl around the ends of her hair. Axel bit his lip as he looked at Azriel. "Mommy, papa, and us," the boy breathed, his eyes glistening, and Azriel had to blink a couple of times more so he wouldn't start crying in front of them. But Axel frowned slightly, "You do love Y/n, right?" Here was that protective thread that was never far behind. "They are mated, Ax," Zofie huffed tiredly. Azriel was about to ask how she knew that, but then she probably not only felt but also saw emotions. "So we were always meant to find each other?", Axel mused. Azriel reached out for the boy, and he wasted no time snuggling into Azriel's side. "We were always meant to be a family," the spymaster breathed, kissing both of their hands softly.

"You too can catch a cold, you know?", your voice made Azriel flinch slightly as he turned to you, already moving to get up from the patio in his mother's backyard. "You shouldn't be standing," he huffed, his shadows instantly swarming all around you. That's how it has been ever since you woke up. You had to admit at first that you needed his help to do everything. He carrying you around places. He feed you and helped you stand. You had drained so much of yourself that it had taken a toll on your body like nothing before.

"It's been weeks, Az," you breathed as his arms wrapped around your middle, taking most of the weight from your feet. "I won't get better if I just lay in bed," you grumbled. "Last time I checked, that's exactly what would happen if you stayed in bed," Azriel huffed. You twisted in his embrace. "You should be resting as well," you said, cupping his face. It all felt almost like a fever dream. It almost felt as if time had moved way too quickly. You didn't even remember how you ended up back at Cordelia's house, where you four had been living ever since. Azriel shook his head. "I can't sleep," he muttered, shaking his head. "Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you or the kids dying," you pressed your forehead against his. Letting him breathe his emotions out. "But we are all here," you mumbled, looking up at him. Azriel's face hardened. "By pure luck and all because Rhys...", "Azriel, you can't blame him forever," you sighed. That was another thing that had changed. Azriel had stepped down from his court duties. He had cut off his family completely, and with that, you had a bone to pick. "Watch me," he breathed, turning away from you, but you quickly cupped his cheek. "Make it my winter solstice gift," you muttered, "At least think about it." Sighing, you pressed your head against his chest as your arms snaked around his torso. Azriel kissed the top of your head, still weary of the nail scabs on your scalp.

"How does your head feel?" he muttered softly. It was torture watching your hazy eyes the first time you woke up. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling. No reactions. There were no signs of any awareness to your surroundings. But Azriel didn't budge, regardless. "It's okay, I still can't summon though," you muttered against his chest, savoring his heat. The morning wind wasn't as pleasant now that winter was around the corner. Snow not only covered the mountains but also in the city. "You drained yourself raw... for me," Azriel's arms squeezed around you just a tag stronger. "I'll do it all over again," you mumbled, kissing his chest right over his heart. Azriel shook his head and said, "I'll do everything so you will never have to go through anything like that ever again. Two times too many", he said softly. You knew he meant it. Meant all of his words every time he spoke them. And even more so, you knew that no matter what you said, his burden, at least for now, would not get any lighter. So you pressed yourself closer to him, pouring love through the bond, hoping to warm him from the very inside of his heart.

"No, go left," Zofie huffed, her finger pointing to the exact location where she wanted Axel to hang the ornament. Axel clapped his little wings as he looked back at his sister, who had inspected the placement, before nodding her head. "That's where I put it five minutes ago," the boy grumbled as his feet hit the wooden floor. "It was not," Zofie huffed as she continued to match different ribbons with the glass ornaments. "Females," Axel said, rolling his eyes. "I heard you," Zofie said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Hey, you two. No fighting", you said from the sofa, Azriel had practically tied you to. You knew that it was a huge deal for them. They had never celebrated the solstice properly. let alone in a loving family. "He's being rude," Zofie said, sticking her tongue out, and Axel quickly crossed his arms over his chest, "Look at what I need to deal with." You let out a chuckle. If only they knew how lucky they were to have one another when these moody swings hit. "I think you two are long overdue for a hug," you said softly, pulling the blanket off your legs as if you had triggered the alarm shadows swirled into the room, making you roll your eyes. Don't you dare, you muttered into the bond. You couldn't even see him, but you knew the smug idiot had a smirk on his face. We made a deal. You promised to lay down for the evening. You shook your head. I've been glued to the sofa for the past two hours. Get over yourself, mother hen.

"Go on, a little hug won't hurt you two," you urged the two younglings, who both huffed and puffed till they were wrapped up in one another. And the look on their faces changed. There was only happiness there. "Why do we only call grammy these days?" , Zofie tilted her head to the side, "Uncles don't visit, and we don't get to play with Nyx." A warm smile spread to your lips. Leave it to little Zofie to worry about everyone who was a part of her little world. Don't even think about it. Azriel warned you, but you quickly ushered him out of your mind.

"Papa is a bit upset with them," Gods, you will never get used to the joy of referring to Azriel as their dad. "There were some misunderstandings that involved all of us," you softly cupped both of their faces, "And because we respect Azriel's emotions, we will support his choice... for now." "So, he's brooding," Zofie stated bluntly, making you laugh a little. "I think so, sweetheart", you had conversations with them about what happened. Mother, they have been sleeping with you and Azriel ever since. Too afraid of the dark, of little sounds, of monsters that fly through the door.

You could pull yourself through the pain, but watching them suffer in the aftermath was more torturous than feeling the last bits of your power leave your body. "But...Granny said that high lady likes lemon biscuits, and it's her birthday soon," Axel said while helping Zofie tie up the knots of the colorful threads. "We should make her some and go visit them," Zofie said, clapping her hands. Her emotions were fragile these days. Azriel would cut his sulking hunts in the forest short, almost daily. Winnowing back just so she could recharge once more. I said, Don't think about it. Azriel grumbled once more. "Go, pull up the bowl. I'll come help you shortly", you smiled at the kids who had been halfway through the door before you had even finished your sentence.

A part of Azriel knew that he should have moved on some time ago. His anger had simmered down. He wasn't even mad. But sometimes disappointment was stronger than anger. He had felt neglected by them all when he was desperate to get with Elain, and he could look past that. You were a whole different story. You were his mate. Azriel had gone to hell to protect Feyre, all because she was important to Rhys. He and Cassian had almost died for her and for what?

"I knew I would find you here." As if summed, the Lord of Bloodshed stepped out in the clearing. "When have these trees grown so big?", he muttered. "Please, no small talk, or I will winnow out of here," Azriel grumbled, pulling his daggers out of the tree trunk. "It's good to see you; you know it's no fun now that I'm the funniest in the family", Cassian nudged Azriel's shoulder, but the spymaster didn't share the enthusiasm.

"How's Nesta?", Azriel watched as Cassian's face lit up at the mention of his mate. "She started showing," he muttered, his eyes filling up with proud tears. They had all been so supportive of Feyre's pregnancy. It was a family thing. Sure, the dad got the worst spells of protectiveness, but even Cassian and Azriel would find themselves growling at people they didn't trust around her. Now Azriel couldn't help but wonder if Cassian felt more vulnerable because he didn't have two sets of extra eyes looking out for the mother of his child.

"I miss you, you know," Cassian breathed, right as Azriel threw one of his daggers at his makeshift target. "Rhys is also practically going bald. Come on, man, you owe him at least one conversation." There had been times when the spymaster thought he would never pay his debts to his high lord. But that had been then. "I have nothing to tell him," Azriel grunted. "Now you're being a little bitch," Cassian said, moving to stand right in front of his brother, "They fucked with the report Rhys got. Do you seriously think that he would play with the lives of your family?"

Azriel's turned away abruptly. "We've all been in positions where we thought we'd never see our mates again, so I know that you are pissed off," Cassian pulled at Azriel's shoulder. "Fuck it; I can be mad alongside you if you want. But we are family. We talk shit out". Azriel slowly felt his walls crumbling. They had spent almost their whole lives together. For years, it had just been Cassian and him when Rhys got taken under. A choked-out cry slipped past the spymaster's lips, and Cassian didn't even waste a single moment as he wrapped Azriel in his arms.

It was the laughter that greeted him as he walked through his mother's door that, just as all the times before, set all of his worries free. Azriel stopped by the door. Closing his eyes for a second. Letting the sounds surround him. Fill in his broken parts. This was home. You were his home. Azriel had barely managed to get his muddy boots off when the most excited shriek filled his ears.

"Papa," and here it was the most beautiful thudding of tiny feet against the floor. He caught Zofie mid-jump as she moved to squish his cheeks. "Cold," she muttered at Azriel's rosy cheeks. "Been outside for a while, bug, that's all," he reassured her. She seemed seemingly pleased with the answer as she shimmied out of his grip, opting to pull him by the hand instead. The silent command was clear, so Azriel didn't even fight it.

And there was his other half of the heart. Both covered in flour from head to toe. "What happened to making cookies?", Azriel chuckled slightly. Axel hopped off the table, his hands leaving white imprints on Azriel's black clothes. The look merely lasted a moment, but the mischievous laughter that left both of the kids said it all, and within minutes, Azriel was chasing them around the kitchen. "Duck!" Axel shouted, and Zofie quickly hid beneath the table. Yet her laughter didn't die. Axel jumped off the chair, throwing the last bit of crumbly dough at Azriel before he too took shelter beneath the table.

Azriel turned his attention to you. Leaning against the counter, biting your lip, trying not to laugh. "Excuse me, miss; maybe by any chance you've seen rebels running around," he asked in his spymaster tone, making you snicker. "Two rebels?", you put your hand on your chest as Azriel approached you. "Kind sir, they could be far away from this kingdom by now," hushed giggles sounded from beneath the table. Don't call me that when kids are around. Azriel growled into your mind, making you smirk slightly. Got it, sir kink it is. You purred back right as Azriel wrapped his arms around you, spinning you around. You shrieked and giggled as you held onto his muscular arms for support. "Help, help," you pleaded, right as Azriel playfully started to nibble at your neck.

"Don't threaten, princess; help is here." Axel's little voice sounded from behind, right as another lump of dough hit Azriel in the back of his head. More giggling erupted right after as Azriel swirled back to catch a glimpse of their next move. "You all were allies; how did I not realize?" he mumbled in a half-dead tone. Scooping up a handful of flour and throwing it at the two little monkeys, who were already climbing the counter, fearlessly leaping off it and into Azriel's arms. The spymaster twirled them both around. Trying to escape their sticky hands but finding no luck there. His stomach hurt from the laughter, and for the first time in a long time, Azriel felt so alive. The nagging fears had been shoved in the back of his head, locked under the heaviest iron door. Upfront was the side of Azriel he never thought he would get to show.

The two kids huffed for air in between their giggles, and Azriel slowly lowered them down. "You two win," he muttered, watching the two of them high-fiving one another while lying on the kitchen floor breathlessly. "You got some dough here," you pointed to the side of Azriel's face. "Oh, just there, nowhere else?" he teased back, earning a shake of the head from you. You walked closer to him, picking the bigger chunks out of his hair. "Still attractive?", Azriel asked, holding onto your hips. "Yeah, not bad", you shrugged your shoulders. Azriel pulled you in quickly, brushing his lips against yours softly.

"We have dinner tomorrow with the rest of the family," he muttered quietly, making your eyes grow big, "Bumped into Cassian; he invited us. " You could tell that he was still so hesitant, but he was trying to open his heart once more for his first family. "That's amazing; we already made cookies, and a cake is sitting in the fridge." Azriel raised an eyebrow, "You made a cake?" You simply hummed, "Let's just say I knew that I was going to get you there one way or another." You shrugged, making the spymaster shake his head.

Slowly, he pushed the strand of hair away from your face. "Hey, you two," Azriel said softly. "It looks like it's bath time for you." Axel helped Zofie up, but the girl only huffed, "Just say that you want to make out with her," the girl muttered, making Azriel choke on his breath as he hit his chest a couple of times while coughing. You let out a chuckle, feeling your cheeks heating slightly. "Come on, Zo, the faster we go, the faster they will finish," Axel waved a hand in your and Azriel's direction before dragging his sister through the door.

"They are too smart for their own good," a couple of Azriel's shadows followed them through the door as well. "So, are we going to make out or what?", you asked, catching Azriel off guard slightly before he sat you back on the counter. "I'm proud of you for accepting the dinner offer," you said as you brushed your fingers through his messy hair. "I can't promise I won't growl and scowl," Azriel let out a sigh. "That's okay, I'll scratch your ear," you smiled, and Azriel instantly moved to tickle your side.

"Can I tell you a secret?", Azriel muttered against your ear. You draped your hands over his shoulders loosely, nodding your head. "But you can't tell anyone," he said in a serious tone. "Okay, what is it, Az?", you frowned slightly. Azriel tilted his head to the side, watching you for a heartbeat. You felt a burst of warmth rushing through the bond. One heartbeat. Two. "I love you," Azriel muttered, "I love you so much. You are a part of me now." You smiled at him softly, brushing the skin on his neck. "Well, I should tell you a secret too," you breathed, "I love you too, with the darkest parts of you, all of you, with no exceptions." Azriel leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, igniting the flame within you even more. "Close your eyes," the spymaster breathed against your lips. You hummed, packing his lips one more time before pulling away. Azriel felt his heart drumming against his chest.

Of course, you trusted him fully. But something about him having full control over you like that sent a shiver running down your spine. Then you felt it. Azriel gently picked up your left hand. There was a moment of stillness, and then a cold metal brushed against your skin. Your eyes snapped open right as Azriel placed a beautiful band on your finger. An oval blue sapphire was glistening in the kitchen lights. "Az...", you breathed out, your voice shaky. "I know that I should ask first, then put..." he breathed out with a chuckle, but you leaned forward, smashing your lips against his. It was way more needy and rushed. It was almost hard to see where your own emotions started and Azriel's began.

"I didn't ask," Azriel pulled away breathlessly. "You don't have to; yes, it's a yes," you muttered. The glistening light in your eyes was enough to make him melt. He was yours in so many ways. In ways, even he still didn't know about. "Let's call it an early mating ceremony gift," he muttered, "Plus, it will keep other males from looking at you for too long." "Az," you breathed out, shaking your head and looking down at your hand as your eyes filled up with tears. "Thank you for allowing me into the middle of your darkness," you muttered. As a tear slipped down your cheek, Azriel carefully brushed it away, "Thank you for shining your light upon me, love."

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Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @stressed-reader

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel spymaster x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar x you #azriel acotar x reader #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar imagine

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honeesucker · 7 months

Text

Part 8 -

Pairing: ProHero!DynaMight | Katsuki Bakugo x Puppygirl!Reader

Word count: 3,259

Series Content Warnings: Little bit of a slow start… Graphic Depictions of Past Abuse & Trauma Response | Profuse Usage of Pet Names / All-around Softness | Bakugo Experienced Work-Related Trauma (causing near deafness, being put on leave from the agency, PTSD) | Eventual smut™ (will be tagged in individual chapters - to include but not limited to KiriBaku, HybridxHybrid, Hybrid heat trope, sex toy usage).

Chapter Content Warnings: Bakugo x reader sex, dirty talk, "just the tip" late-night quickie.

*Not proofread.

Previous | Next (In Progress)

Bakugo had gotten you back to the apartment, the car ride weighed down in silence; Kirishima opting to leave after he walked you both up, knowing this was a moment he shouldn't intrude upon but promising again to come and have a movie night with you soon.

You were sitting on the couch, in the same spot Kirishima had set you down. Your eyes unfocused, vision blurring as you blink slowly, staring at nothing as your body buzzes with... something.

Fear? Disgust? Disappointment?

You couldn't ascertain which one it was, or if it was all of them at once, all you knew is that you didn't hear Bakugo speaking, just a mumbled white noise of sound until he was sitting next to you on the couch, pulling you into his lap as he nosed as your temple and whispered in your ear.

"Talk to me, Pup," he said softly. His deep, low baritone reverberating through your body like a pleasant hum.

"I-I..." you tried to start a thought, but all words failed you. Nothing seemed fitting enough to express exactly what you felt. "I-I... think... I-I'm s-sad." You stuttered through the words softly, your eyes closing as the unfocused blur of your vision became dizzying. Bakugo's arms tightened around you, compressing your arms to your side like what you did to him before - deep compression therapy. He held you like this for the longest time, but a glance at the clock only showed just under an hour had passed.

"I know sad doesn't quite cut what I'm sure you're feeling, but we prepared for this, yeah?" Bakugo said softly. "You'll keep seeing Hana, but let's go every week instead of every other week. I've already got the restraining order filed with Hana’s help, and we should be receiving the official document soon... and we have each other. You're safe. I will never let that scumbag, or any other bastard ever lay a single finger on you, okay?" Bakugo jostled your body gently, coaxing a response from you as your mind wandered.

You just nodded, a soft 'okay' leaving your lips as you melted back into his encompassing hold.

You trusted Bakugo, you knew he meant what he said, and never added in any fluffy extra wording, or beat around the bush... if he said you were safe, that no one would touch you again, he meant it.

Yet you couldn't stop the worry eating at the back of your mind. Bakugo was strong, and powerful and fearsome, but so was he, and if he still had half the contacts he had before he went to prison, he was still just as dangerous... but would he really come after you? You did try to keep him in prison with your appeal at his probationary hearing... and he was one to hold a grudge until he got even - you had seen it countless times with the people who worked for him, entered deals with him, tried to get one over on him.

He always won in the end.

"Hey, stop that." You heard Bakugo's stern, comforting tone. You blinked the frightening visions away from your mind as you looked up at him, a question in your gaze that he answered. "Stop thinking of the worst-case scenarios, get out of your head, Pup... no matter what happens, I have you. Okay?" Bakugo had a strange way of being stern, strict and intimidating but also soft and composed, the surety in his voice a calming center as he stared down at you with harsh, dominating eyes. Determination and confidence oozing from him. "He won't ever lay a finger on you again, Pup," he finished again with a hardened resolve.

You nodded. "S-Sorry, yes... I... I trust you." Bakugo just balked and shook his head.

"No apologies, Pup, you're allowed to feel what you're feeling after that shitshow, but you can't let it take over - right? You can't drown in it..." Bakugo was talking to both him and you, at this point. Reassuring you while comforting himself as you leaned against his chest, your body relaxed in his lap as you nodded. He sought out and found just as much comfort in you being close to him as you did to him, it helped keep the sparking crackle out of his palms, helped keep the white noise and the deafening rings out of his mind.

"Thank you," you finally said softly, looking up to nose gently at his chin, a comforting nuzzle as you kissed his jaw, then his cheek, and then the corner of his lips. "Thank you for choosing me and dealing with all of my problems and loving me still."

"Tch, nothing to thank me for, Pup... I'd choose you a hundred times over again and again, b-but..." he paused for a moment, hesitation mixed in his normally confident gaze. "Thank you for choosing me back, Pup, for loving me too... and being a source of comfort for me. We help each other, yeah?" Bakugo asked softly, jostling you on his knee as you giggled and smiled up at him, nuzzling back into the crook of his neck.

"Yeah, we do." You said softly, closing your eyes as you took in his strong scent, allowing it to fill your body and calm you down until nothing bad was left in your body, no tightly wound anxiety, no worrying spiral of panicked thoughts... just him.

You fell asleep in his arms, sinking into his warm comfort.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You woke up late into the night. Looking over at the alarm clock on the nightstand it read that it was 11:49 P.M., and suddenly you realize you were tucked into Bakugo's bed, the mix of clean skin musk and caramel notes and the cologned scent of his deodorant floating into your sensitive nose as you pressed your face against the pillow.

His pillow.

You sucked in greedy breaths of air as something in you stirred, a growing need and soon you were slowly reaching down to run your three center fingers along the outside of your clothed pussy as you kept your face in his pillow; a quiet, choked moan leaving your lips as your ears perked up at the sudden squeaking sigh of a floorboard sounded off behind you... close behind you.

"You in heat already again, Pup?" Bakugo uttered softly, curiously, not accusatory or mocking.

You shook your head slowly, a pout on your sweet face as your bottom lip jutted out a bit, eyes teary in frustration looking back up at Bakugo dressed only in low-hung joggers, a clean pair. "N-No... not in heat just... your smell. You smell so good." You said softly as you nosed again at his pillow, and he quirked a brow looking down at you with his muscled arms crossed over his large chest.

“Yeah, Pup? I smell that good huh?" Bakugo teased softly as he came around the bed, the material sinking beneath his weight as he laid on his side, looking down at your pathetic display. "I smell so good to you that even a whiff of my pillow has you desperate to touch yourself?" He teased again, and you could feel the soft blush flush your cheeks and the tips of your ears warm and embarrassed. "You wanna come smell it straight from the source, hm?" Bakugo asked, knowing where this would end up, but he didn't care. He was head over heels for you, he wanted to protect you, he wanted to shower you with love... but he also wanted to fold you in half and press his weight down as he fucked his thick cock into your slick pussy... the idea of it made him groan as he threw his head back, his eyes screwed shut tight as he tried to cap his growing desire.

Your eyes widened, and you nodded. Crawling up onto him as he pulled you on top of him, as he shifted his body to lay on his back. Your legs on either side of his hips as you leaned forward to nose and nuzzle at his throat where his scent was the strongest...something about pulse points were so inviting. You took to the delicate skin of his throat quickly as you alternated between long lapping licks, and nosing nuzzles against his throat and without realizing it you had been grinding your clothed pussy down against the growing bulge beneath you. Bakugo's large hands were gripping the plush of your hips, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts as he gripped your flesh with a bruising force.

"Fuuuuck, Pup," Bakugo moaned out softly when you started nipping at his skin after a long lick up his throat, and as you did you ground down on his lap, the slick of your pussy soaking through your shorts and onto his pants as you started moving faster, guided by Bakugo's hands. "That's it, Pup, take whatever the hell you want from me." He growled out, bucking his hips upwards and bumping back up into your heated core as he felt your teeth clamping down on the soft skin connecting his neck to his shoulder. His hands fully gripping your ass cheeks, pulling them apart as he gripped the soft material of your shorts in the center and pulling. The soft material split down the middle with no resistance as you whimpered at the loss of warmth, but also at the primal display. Bakugo grunted and shifted his legs, and with one hand moved his joggers down and off his legs while keeping you on top of him. He threw the tattered material of your shorts against the wall, the torn material sliding down the wall and to the ground without an audience as Bakugo's focus was now solely on you, and the way your slick pussy was now gliding up and down the length of his painfully hard cock, the head catching against your hole every now and again making you whimper. Each time the veins and ridges of his cock caught your clit you keened, whining as you pressed back down against him, your eyes bright and needy as you glanced up at him, panting softly with your tongue lolled out of your mouth. Bakugo couldn't help the way he reached forward, cupping your cheek as his thumb pressed down against your tongue, groaning as you closed your mouth and swirled your tongue around the intruding digit.

"P-Pl-lease..." you panted out softly around his finger, each word enunciated carefully. "W-Want cock pl-lease..." you whined and pressed down against him, the fat tip of his cock barely pressing into your cunt as you moaned out softly, and then cried as he lowered his hips, angling them away from your pussy as you glared up at him.

He was looking down at you with a pleased look, smug and demanding, an arrogant arch to his brow as he chuckled down at the pathetic sight of you.

"Fuck yourself just on the tip, Pup," Bakugo said softly, a rumble in his words as he bucked his hips back up again, the tip of his cock slippery and coated in a mixture of his precum and your slippery juices. His hands came back on your hips, squeezing the fat there as he urged your body back down. He could hear the squelching airy sound as his cockhead entered your cunt, and the wet pop as it pulled out; your hips barely balancing above his cock as you lowered back down again, repeating the action over and over until you were too weak to keep your body up. Your legs were shaky and weak, and within a moment you were spearing your full weight down as his thick cock spread you apart, his tip pressing painfully against your cervix with an aching pleasure as he groaned out with the feel of your pussy walls warm, wet, enveloping him completely. “Such a greedy Pup...” Bakugo groaned out, gripping your hips tighter as he bucked up causing your body to fall forward as he fucked up into you roughly with a symphony of wet squelching sounds and airy slaps of skin until you both were moaning out together; Bakugo a lower growling groan and you a sweet high moan as you bit down on his shoulder as your orgasm slammed into you unexpectedly. You squirted slick juice around his cock, wetting his lap as he continued to fuck up into you, his hips stuttering and soon he was pressing deep into you as his cock twitched and pulsed with his own release, hot white cum flooding your pussy and dripping out and around his cock with your juices in a lewd mixture.

Your teeth were still digging down in Bakugo’s shoulder as he reached a hand up to pat at the back of your head gently, threading his fingers into your hair to scratch at your scalp gently. “Good Pup,” Bakugo let out breathlessly, his cock still left softening in your pussy as he enjoyed the still-spasming warmth of your cunt. “Let’s go take a quick shower and I’ll clean up the rest of the bed, huh?” Bakugo muttered gently against your temple, kissing you sweetly in the spot as he nuzzled his own face against yours, you just hummed in response, your tail wagging lazily against his leg.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

An easy three months have passed with an almost mundane normalcy. Kirishima and TetsuTetsu have been over multiple times for playdates, movie nights and after-patrol dinners. Bakugo even took you into his office a few days over the last couple of weeks on the days you didn’t go and see Hana at the Hybrid Rehabilitation Facility for your weekly therapy. Everything seemed to be on an upward trajectory as far as both of your healings. Bakugo kept taking you to regular check-ups to ensure your physical health was also healing alongside your mental health, and Bakugo even went to all his rehabs, check-ups and therapy, too, without so much as a grumble. He was happy to heal, if it meant healing alongside you and getting better together for each other... in contrast to nearly a year ago when Bakugo couldn’t imagine this working out, he was surprised even with himself as he made leaps and bounds in his recovery; a bit more of his hearing returned, there was less and less white noise and high-pitched ringing, and the Hero Support specialists were coming up with a high-frequency hearing aid that Bakugo could use that would aid in his hearing while protecting his ears from the loud blasts of his quirk and the outside world crumbling around him nearby in his daily Pro Hero work.

All in all, it was picturesque... but your life wasn’t such a smooth road, and good things have a way of being balanced with the bad, and your bad day came in the form of a shopping trip out with Bakugo.

You and Bakugo needed essentials and some groceries for the house, and before anything perishable was picked up, he offered to take you looking around for anything you’d enjoy having: new clothes, toys, books, anything at all. Bakugo had stayed back to look at some new knives and pans for the kitchen, while you wandered the store slowly looking around to see if anything caught your interest when a scent caught your nose. The burning, acrid scent of cigarettes and cologne, and the underlying musk of a person you long since had forgotten about in your recent peaceful months. “Hey, mutt.” A familiar, deep drawl rang out. You froze in your spot, a soft plush bear in your hands that you had grabbed from the shelf now served as your center of balance and focus, of peace as you strangled the soft toy in your white-knuckled grip.

Sharp, cold grey eyes regarded you with disdain and disgust. The over-gel'd slick back black hair greasy and catching the bright fluorescent light of the store as he stood in front of you with two other men flanking him a few feet back, pretending to look through items on a shelf as he spoke to you.

“You look good, mutt,” he said out in a smooth, sleazy tone. “Fatter even, guess that new guy’s feeding you well huh? Looks good though, nice soft flesh...” He kept talking, but his voice hooked in your head and reverberated throughout, overwhelming you like a nightmarish echo chamber. You wanted to whimper, whine out, scream, cry, growl, bite him... anything to protect yourself and get him away from you. Your head was spiraling when a strong hand clasped around your shoulder from behind and a sharp, angry voice spoke over you. One that was scarier than his, but you weren’t afraid of it.

“I’ll be informing your probation officer of this infringement on the terms of your release, and the restraining order we have on you.” Bakugo’s venomous, harsh tone rang out above you, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now, kindly fuck off before I blast that smirk off your face and leave you eating and breathing through tubes.” Your body sunk back against Bakugo as you sought comfort in his familiar scent and the hard contours of his body that always seemed to welcome you, and fit against you perfectly. “Now, you have ten seconds to fuck off,” Bakugo barked out, glaring at the men.

“Now, now, that’s not very generous of you.” He stated coldly, his friendly demeanor dropping.

“This is me being generous, prick, now leave before I utilize my right to arrest you and get detectives out here for you and your sorry entourage.” Bakugo nodded at the men behind him, glaring with equal ire at them as they twin men dropped their items and looked between Bakugo and their boss. Bakugo’s palms were sparking off with the desire to just blast this sorry sack of human to the depths of hell, but he knew a fight and more trauma isn’t what you needed – but you did need to be removed from this situation quickly.

Bakugo kept a hard stare levelled at the sleaze before the sleaze cockroach finally lifted his hands up in defeat, and slowly backed away with his men, and out of the store... as soon as his retreating back was out of sight Bakugo knelt beside you and placed his hands on either side of your face. “Hey my Pup, hey, you okay? Pup?” Bakugo asked in a soft, sweet tone only reserved for you. One of his large hands on your shoulder as his other gentle coaxed the soft bear out of your white-knuckle grip on the poor things neck. “Guess you like this little guy, huh?” Bakugo mused softly, trying to distract you from what just happened with the soft bear now in his hands, he lifted the tiny thing up to pretend kiss your face all over until you were giggling against Bakugo and snuggled up against his chest; your breathing back to normal and your anxiety lessened.

“How about you stick close to me, and we check out what we have and head home, yeah? I’ll cook you up a nice dinner with all my new kitchen gadgets, yeah? Sounds good huh, Pup?” Bakugo mused as he nudged you with his hip, a smile still on your face as you nodded, gripping his hand and walking toward the checkout, back to his shopping basket and you with your newly acquired bear in your hands.

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