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#i really only know how to make one sort of lighting huh
upsidedownwithsteve · 2 months
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Eddie Munson x fem!reader
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I want to.”
It had become a call and response of sorts, a mantra that Eddie seemed to live by, if not only for you. Usually his words were followed up by a kiss, something sweet pressed to your cheek. Or he’d pull you into him by your belt loops, hands a little rough but his intentions always soft, his face dropping to the crook of your neck so he could nuzzle his nose there, like he didn’t really know how else he could possibly give you all the love he had for you.
So when your car inevitably gave up, the clutch grinding and the gears sticking, Eddie didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even ask, always feeling bad for expecting but it didn’t come to a surprise when he took your keys from you and dropped a kiss to the corner of your mouth, a little off kilter from the early morning sleep that still clung to him.
“Eddie,” you began, as usual. Soft and shy and guilt ridden. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy right now.”
“Never too busy for my girl,” he responded, wincing a little as he dug out his chocolate pop-tart from the still too hot toaster. He’d learnt the hard way not to use a knife anymore. He tore off a piece of pastry, a sprinkle on his cheek, ruby red. “Besides, what do I tell you, huh? I know I don’t have to - I want to, sweetheart.”
He grinned when you scrunched your nose, embarrassment and too much love clinging to you, Eddie’s adoration too obvious when he leaned down to where you sat with your coffee. He let you brush away the sprinkle, grumbling about how he was saving it for later but his protests died off on his lips when you stole them for a kiss, your hands on his stubbly cheeks.
The boy was pink when you pulled back, pleased looking and much more awake. Then, Eddie winked as he spun your keys around own finger, the rest of his breakfast bitten between his teeth as he left for work, always a flurry bed mussed curls and silver chains.
When he didn’t arrive home by five, you knew exactly why. It wasn’t too long a walk to the garage, but you knew he’d scold you all the same. That’s why you had a Tupperware box full of pasta in your hands, a foil wrapped cookie on top, still warm from when you’d pulled it from the oven.
Sure enough, when you arrived at the almost empty garage, your boyfriend was the only one left working. You passed Wayne as you ducked under the half closed shutter, sharing the same fond look of faux annoyance that you pretended to both have for the younger Munson and you promised the man there was more pasta for him at home.
Eddie didn’t see you approach, too busy with half of his body under the hood of your car, poking and prodding it with tools you didn’t know the name of. You made sure to make enough noise before you rested a hand on the small of his back, fingers skating over the bare strip of skin left exposed between his shirt and jeans.
His smile was too much when he appeared from the car, always happy to see you. And like you thought he would, despite his grin and the way his eyes lit up, he grumbled:
“What’re you doin walkin’ half way across town on your own, huh?”
You rolled your eyes even if you didn’t mean it, your expression still fond and you pushed his dinner to his chest. He accepted the food with a happy hum, peeking into the container to eye it appreciatively.
“It’s a twenty minute walk, handsome,” you replied. “And it’s very much still light out.” You smiled at his worry because the evening behind you was barely beginning, the summer sun still high enough in the sky to keep the sidewalks golden, the warmth lingering.
Eddie grumbled again, no real heat behind it as he leaned in for a kiss, careful not to put his dirty hands on you. “Still. You’re too pretty to walkin’ around alone.” Another kiss, this one softer, longer. “Thanks for dinner, sweetheart.”
You beamed, happy to have helped. “Least I can do since you’re fixing my car.” You frowned at the vehicle like it had offended you. “How’s it looking?”
“She’ll live,” Eddie sighed dramatically, giving the roof a pat. “If you remember to change her oil, that is.”
Your cheeks burned.
“But I’ve sorted the clutch, so that shouldn’t stick anymore and there’s a part needed for the gearbox, but I’ve got that on order,” the boy bit into his cookie, desperate for sugar. He moaned, a sinful noise that was meant for both you and the chocolate. “Hopefully it’ll be here tomorrow so I’ll do one more late night, get this hunka’ junk back on the road for you in no time.”
You knew it was a fruitless effort to ask Eddie to let you pay in anyway. Hell, Wayne would shut you down just as hard. Eddie didn’t want you paying for any of his hourly rates, overtime or not. And as he’d told you before, costs for parts could get lost sometimes, receipts slipping down the backs of desks, never to be seen again.
So you smiled at him instead, soft and sweet and warm like the summer. You didn’t mind the oil stains on his shirt as you leaned in, hands against his torso, feeling the faint lines of muscles and soft skin there.
“Thank you,” you murmured against his lips, stretching up on your toes to bump your nose against his. A kiss, tasting like chocolate chips, lingering and lazy. “I love you.”
Eddie went shy like he’d never heard you say the words before. Maybe you didn’t say them enough, maybe you needed to remind him hourly, especially if it got him looking at you like that, eyes all wide and soft and awe filled.
He pecked your lips, your cheek, your jaw, nose pushing at the space under your ear as he told you the same. “I love you too, pretty.”
You didn’t need to hear it back, as nice as the words sounded on his lips. Eddie showed you how much he loved you every single day.
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capslocked · 5 months
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PART & PARCEL
male reader x sana && tzuyu
18k words
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“Is it too late?” Sana asks, and here’s how it always starts with her.
Nevermind that it’s not a question in search of an answer. A normal person could, should, text you. Hey, what’s up? or something equally inconspicuous before turning up the dial, are you busy? can I, like, come over? 
Instead, she’s at your doorstep again, twirling a bundle of honey-blonde between her fingertips as if she doesn't know what all that does to people. Some people say, incorrectly, that these are the hours of the night shared with ghosts. And to that you say: No, these hours belong to Sana, clearly, and apparently nobody fucking else. 
Now in a way, you do get it. It’d be easier to turn back over in your bed and ignore the elegant simplicity of a text message, or one step beyond that, do the unthinkable and finally tell her no, but when she’s standing there - there with that face, like a thousand different excuses or a million little reasons why she needs something from you, right now - and all she has to do is push her lips together, eyebrows going high - 
It is a bit like magic, after all, this feeling when she comes around. 
Everything that happened before - her visits, the first one and then the next - no matter how impossible, gets washed away, and suddenly all you have is her. Her voice, her hair, and a sneaking suspicion that the time apart really isn’t such a bad thing, because you don't always have a guess as to what comes next.
Of course, you were always going to let her in.
“I saw the lights were on,” she adds, starting to shrug off her coat like she knows you will.
“I mean, I’m here,” you say, non-committal.
“Yeah. I can see that.”
The door's half open and the only substantial hesitation you have is when you peer over her shoulder. There’s another girl, propping herself up against the doorframe, with a pretty head of glossy, sable hair falling gracefully down her shoulders, and she looks at least a few years younger than Sana. You smile cautiously at her before giving Sana another, much longer glance. In response, you receive a wink that's as subtle as a brick through a glass window (which only raises more questions). You ask the one that seems most important.
What else would Sana, of all people, possibly want to bring you if not some plaything or another. You've seen it all: girls who liked her money, girls who liked her body, girls who just flat-out liked girls, whatever. The dynamic always seemed to be, as long as everyone is having a good time, nothing to get hung up about - because at the end of the night, everyone comes around to Sana again.
And she comes around to you. 
Why question it.
“This is a little… irregular,” you say with a nod of your chin, as you step back from the door. "Who's the plus one?"
Sana motions the girl in with a sweep of her hand and throws you another disarmingly flirtatious smile - the same one that'd first left you utterly hooked by this strange person, who had, when you first met, walked into your life for five minutes, then fucked your lights out the way she wanted. She goes further with this, of course, teasing a warm smile and slanting an eyebrow.
"I figured I'd bring you a gift," she coos, in this sultry, dusky sing-song of a voice that really needs no followup whatsoever, other than maybe take my clothes off right now, as she makes a show of how she's pushing her shoulders back, like there's an audience to be impressed with the curve of her bust. "Since we were celebrating."
"Uh-huh. What's the occasion?"
"Whatever the hell you'd like," Sana chirps.
With that, she takes you by the collar. And even though the girl she brought is in the middle of, like, peering around curiously in your foyer, Sana leans up on the balls of her feet and kisses you hard. It's a real kiss - no preamble - which is sort of funny, given you would have been more than okay with some. So, naturally, you're caught entirely off-guard. It takes a full ten, fifteen seconds of feeling her hot little mouth pressed insistently up against yours, your mind gone blank with the suddenness of the moment. Your body taking it for granted.
Meanwhile, the other girl blinks - long, dark lashes batting the curve of her cheekbones slowly until Sana has moved to stand in front of her with the full, earnest intention to cup her jaw, tilt her head down a smidge, and kiss her too (very thoroughly, also, in her own way).
Sana lets the girl go with a sharp draw of air and a peck. Then she looks at you, just this side of playful. The way her teeth flash over her bottom lip suggests how she's enjoying, to her bones, this state of affairs: a dalliance with control, with desire, where she can flaunt it.
She tells you to relax, unwind, which you suppose is code for taking another of Sana's friends and bending her over every horizontal surface in your flat and fucking someone the way you've wanted for the last however-long it's been since Sana dropped back into your life. You've done as much. Some rotating cast of characters: Mina, Chaeyoung, Nayeon, the raven haired girl with the perfect tits; some names and faces starting to run together the more Sana pops up at your place with a girl under one arm, usually looking half bored and half shy - or at least putting up some pretense that might justify Sana telling them to strip down while she's already eyeing you with this look like she's wondering which article of clothing you'll be ripping off her first.
"Does she have a name?" you ask, with a nod vaguely in her direction. Of course it's a loaded question. What's her name doesn't matter. You don't know most of their names.
But when you do a double-take, remembering to steal a good look, you're not sure you've ever seen anyone pull off that perfect little white dress quite the way she does - the kind that goes right up the back, tucked under the neck, sleeves coming to a neat point across her fingers. Sana may or may not have a thing for pretty girls in cute dresses, but this is, without question, the most obvious bribe you've ever witnessed in your life.
Sana's still smirking - so much for being considerate, you think for a second, until you’ve got a dainty hand stretched into yours like you’re brushing up with royalty. And well, maybe you’re getting a better look now that she isn’t bathed in the calm, assured wickedness that two A.M. might only ever know - the dark curling like wind around her fingers and down the lines of her spine, cajoling.
She is gorgeous.
And she says - 
“Chou Tzuyu,” in this charming little voice that’s even more mesmerizing than you anticipated, this taut thread winding itself up between the two of you. She says her name with a gentle sigh, a light in her eyes that you know, intimately, not to trust, but you get the sense that she'd rather you make an exception for her - or at least for the night. “Everyone calls me Tzuyu.”
You feel a squeeze at your fingers, an anxious reminder from Sana's thumb, as if she feels the reverie in which you've lapsed. It draws you back, just slightly so.
"Tzuyu," you say, taking mental note of the faint smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth when you do. "How much do you know?"
She twists in Sana's direction, and oh, look how eager and innocent and coquettish Tzuyu's making herself in front of her, smiling. What do I say, the gesture is asking. You can see her effort to hold back a giggle or two as she bites her lip, trying, as all the pretty girls who come through these doors often try, to come up with something cute and modest and small that'll allow you and Sana to picture exactly the right thing. You can tell when a person is not used to having an audience.
"I know Sana..." Tzuyu's voice trails as she gives Sana a furtive glance. "She talks about you a lot. And I figured, you know."
"What? That we were good friends?"
"Sure," Tzuyu laughs to herself lightly again. "Whatever makes it easier."
Sana has her fingers threaded beneath Tzuyu’s chin, studying her like she’s an artifact that belongs behind glass. Expensive. One of a kind. And oh-so-excessively fragile.
The way Sana touches her, she may be trying to prove the point, guiding her body's angles and edges towards whatever form she sees fit, with just fingertips and the slightest tug, showing you exactly how malleable the girl can be. The look on Tzuyu's face is hardly discomfited when her dress slides past the dips of her shoulders or the slope of her waist, when the fabric gets crumpled in Sana's hand like the most expensive balled-up tissues in the universe. You can't decide what animal comes to mind: perhaps a deer, some cute, unknowingly doomed elk.
"No underwear," you note, watching.
Sana draws herself a little closer to Tzuyu with an appreciative gaze, lips gently landing at her shoulders, neck.
"Why bother?" Tzuyu muses. "What were we going to use them for?"
A pull here, a tug there, and the dress puddles around Tzuyu's feet, silk shimmering like the inky dark of a starless sky. And just shy of a pedestal and perhaps a fucking moonbeam, she's the spitting image of perfection: porcelain skin stretching out over a masterwork of curves and bone and muscle. A sculpture, a study in the form that so frequently leaves people just absolutely dumbstruck and thirsty in their wake.
Sana trails her hand around the width of her hip - drawing your eye along the skin of her leg, up and around the perfectly curved thigh - stopping to splay her fingers just so at the base of her spine, as if in demonstration of ownership. Like this: mine.
"Don't get it confused," Sana tells you. "The whole naive innocence thing is a total fucking misdirection."
"Tzuyu," you say again, this time noticing the way it feels in your mouth, syllables sweet and sticking to its roof like honey - maybe something more of an excuse to move forward and touch her yourself, palm her face, brush your thumb over her bottom lip. A taste, something subtle but intense, spreads to the back of your throat, the moment her teeth graze gently over its pad. "Is that true?"
"Are you asking me what kind of girl I am?"
"I didn't put it exactly like that."
"Just answer, sweetheart," Sana says, brow quirked in a faux-display of nonchalance, fingers still pressed, spreading gently at her neck. She's enjoying this a little too much. Though, you're enjoying this too. It doesn't have to be an either-or kind of scenario.
"It's better if you say it," she adds after a second of consideration, and even though it's obvious by now she's only prodding and that this is a foregone conclusion, Tzuyu puts an emphatic twitch in her lips - red, wet, a vision in crimson - like the thought is deeply troubling and will likely require lots and lots of thorough explanation later.
"Fine, okay, in that case," Tzuyu starts with a weary sigh, and then with a blink-and-you've-missed-it flash of a smirk, there's no way anyone's buying any of this, "I’ll say: I'm whatever kind of girl you want me to be."
Sana was right, and she didn’t even need to go so far as to say it. It’s clear - you want her.
But it's half as easy to pinpoint where it all starts: there's the way Tzuyu melts, sinking just that much further when you guide your hands around the curve of her ribs, fingers following the flow of her soft edges, the slopes and valleys of her breasts, and she parts her lips even before yours touch the seam of her mouth, her breath warm, heavy, the kind of anticipation that sends jolts down her neck, her spine, the body electric - a real live wire.
Or, it's because of the way she likes it - like, really likes it. There's something exceptional in a girl who will wrap her legs around your waist and suck your tongue and whimper just by a feather's touch around her hips or between her thighs, where it's damp and hot and holy shit, this is unreal in a very tactile, visceral way. There's no mistaking the noise for anything but genuine pleasure when Tzuyu's trying, unsuccessfully, to bite down the whine sneaking up her throat and into your mouth - where you're kissing her, still - the kind that presses heavy at the bottom of your stomach.
Or, there's Sana yet, pulling her clothes off, and instead of leaving a trail in her wake, folds each piece neatly until she's bared down to this fine little number of lace and cream-colored silk that'd make your head spin if you weren't, y'know, pretty busy, mouth occupied by Tzuyu's pliant moans, both of your tongues colliding.
"God," Tzuyu groans out quietly as you pin her to the wall, and again after another string of kisses, sucking your lip. 
There are fleeting moments that slip through like sunlight that have you thinking: Right, this was a good idea, nothing other than a sweet girl like this all messed up and squirming with the shallow dig of your nails. But only close to perfect.
Sana will explain it.
"Mm. Not god." Sana is grinning when she leans up for the same kiss, but she takes her time with it: mouth slotted tight against Tzuyu's as her long fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of Tzuyu's neck, working her grip up slowly so that the strain gets more noticeable until the girl is a gasp on a choke of breath. The curve of her back is drawn out by that same hand and her ribs pressed, pert and rosy, into the cool air.
"Sir, and please," Sana then instructs, voice just harsh enough for Tzuyu to understand. 
You might imagine she's also drawing in with her nails, teeth, a full-body drag up her exposed front, like some kind of prize, marking and tasting and fucking every inch. There's a whimper, desperate sound of, yes, right, fuck, please, and sir slipping like a sigh off the edge of Tzuyu's tongue. 
"Or better yet," Sana adds, with another searing press into the junction of her collarbone, "say daddy, please," then follows through on the plea with another slow-pull.
You try not to roll your eyes. It's Sana's kink, not yours. It's a whole thing. And with Sana, like most things, you find it best when you simply play along.
More than that, you indulge her. You both do.
"Okay, daddy." Tzuyu's teeth catch the corner of her mouth in a self-amused bite. Twisting and twisting the swell of her lip further until it snaps forward. "I want you to tell me something," she says, which, for the way this typically goes, is a little more self-assured and pressing than the usual fare. Even Mina, who was perhaps less than enthusiastic about the - uh - title in question, came around eventually when she had Sana's fingers, your cock, all sunk so deep inside her she forgot what any fucking words were anyway.
So maybe Sana does know what she's doing with this one. Maybe you oughta thank her.
Tzuyu just lifts her chin, says, "this isn't what I expected when I showed up here."
"Obviously, it's not," Sana says.
"What I mean is, this is all good fun, of course," Tzuyu explains. A charming indignance that slips past, like the fingers down her belly. She swallows hard, muscles clenching as your palm runs slow over a hip, squeezing. "Though I guessed when we left Sana's, I would've been bouncing on his cock five minutes ago."
Sana's lithe little frame ends up closer - nearly naked in lace and wholly difficult to miss. She's a half head shorter than the girl in front of you, but with a tilt of her chin and a beckon of her hand, it's a powerful look about the lines of her face: eyes slightly hooded, mouth curved and devastating. It's as if, at every hour of the night, the simplest glance will have the fabric of someone's clothing coming undone, regardless.
Tzuyu is just slowly trading looks between the two of you. So curious. "So what then, do I have to do," her words curl like smoke up her throat, "to get fucked by both of you, hm? In, like, the next five or ten more minutes, preferably."
"He's not going to fuck your brains out simply because you ask." Which by the way, is the first real lie Sana tells tonight.
Tzuyu is unimpressed, or maybe she's a stoic. "Clearly," she deadpans.
Whatever the expression is that is fluttering those gorgeous lashes, eyebrows pulled down, adds a faint mark of distrust across her brow. The prettiest scoffs you've ever heard. "Isn't the point to get me spread out on your sheets so you can use me like a little fucktoy?"
A sigh from Sana: heavy, calculated. She does not reply in any obvious way to that, no flimsy assurances that it would be whatever the hell Tzuyu likes (though you think maybe Sana might want to take this whole fucking opportunity, all this thinly veiled begging for it, for the first taste of what will probably be the main thing that'll hold her over the edge of an orgasm or two). 
So, instinctually, Tzuyu pushes it, just enough - she tilts her head, and the motion is followed by a wide sashay of her hips as she gently presses a fingertip to your chest, encouraging a step back to better your balance, like the pull between you has a little more gravity.
"Don't go quiet on me." Another sultry note pulls from her mouth when she guides you another foot - or however many, until the foyer opens up into your living room. The chair, the sofa, a table, you watch her eyes wander like she's mapping the territory. And then finally she drops her hands from your shoulders, reaching instead for Sana, taking her waist in her palms.
Holding her. Kissing her.
There's a delicateness about both of them, clearly, and not only how Tzuyu angles their lips, as if she doesn't fully intend for the two to merge but instead taste the line, test the edges, or something; but Sana doesn't fight this. In fact, when Sana's being drawn gently, but confidently into a deeper, harder press, a very eager give, her eyes slip closed. There's a war, and Sana - though she'd be the last to admit it - is losing.
Tzuyu, at the end of a particularly sharp draw of air, simply turns to you, eyes peeking over the tousle of copper hair atop Sana’s head, and asks: "How does daddy want to play with his toys?"
It clicks in your head immediately: she's a natural, could be an actress, maybe a pro - you have no idea where Sana found her - even if that doesn't exactly match with the diction; daddy, and sir, and the baby-girl pout. There are the things she does to Sana, this slipstream of control passed back and forth and back and forth again - a fevered tugging, the give of one or the other. An entirely different dance. Beautiful, fluid, intense.
Eventually, it lands in your lap. Literally and metaphorically. Tzuyu looks up from where she's kneeling between your legs and with a little pinch of your hips, tells you with that intoxicately sweet, melodic voice of hers, that you seem like the sort who wants someone who just takes initiative.
And she's right.
"May I?" she asks, breathlessly, fingers at the zip.
"Of course,” Sana answers for you, settling into her side like you both belong to her. Like she’s about to enjoy this just as much as you are.
What does the room sound like, the darkness giving away? Everything. The hum of the appliances, the purr of the heat, something in the walls is settling into its final position for the night as the floorboards sigh. Breathing. Listening.
What you don't hear:
Chou Tzuyu moving - whether she shifts onto her knees, or adjusts how her slender fingers fall from the waist of your pants, doesn't matter - no crunch, no shuffle. She doesn't swipe away the hair from her eyes or drag the pad of a thumb over her swollen, bottom lip. All she does is pull, just a bit, and the zipper breaks the silence, comes apart down the way.
Sana clears her throat gently, hoping, possibly, that Tzuyu might be the kind of girl who just loses herself to the moment, caught in the headlights. The way every delicate, doe-eyed girl is supposed to do. Sana likes them a little helpless like that - makes her feel big.
It's too bad really, because Tzuyu doesn’t appear like she's awash with anything in particular. Or at the very least, she's done a fairly convincing imitation of not being the slightest bit off-put, completely disarmed or whatever Sana had been looking to see.
She does look up though. Long, pretty face still managing a bit of devastation from this angle. Those full lips slightly pouted and slick in red: such an inviting color against her pale skin.
"Sana," she coos, eyes wide and brilliant - innocent, yet taunting all at once - and she's deliberate in what she says next, flitting her tongue across her canines to punctuate every sound: "Isn’t daddy going to use me now?"
"Oh." Sana leans in, eyes flicking up at you, Tzuyu's hands, her body, and starts slowly, like she's exacting a punishment, "Tzuyu, baby," her own anticipation beaming off the surface of her thousand-kilowatt grin, "you're going to take that perfect cock," the words dripping off Sana's tongue, heavy, sweet, "you're going to take it, get your pretty little lips all over it sweetie, you're going to show him just how good you can use that filthy fucking hole of a mouth for him. You're going to take him until he cums in your throat, and then you're going to beg him for more. And if you can do that, well. Then we’ll fuck you exactly how you wanted."
Tzuyu blinks - doting and innocent like the angel everyone probably thinks she is.
But then what you've learned about the angels that Sana brings you: they're devils in disguise, well familiar with the sin and lust that resides in these places; sunk into the cushions of the couch, pressed against the cold pane glass of a window, wound tight in the springs of a mattress. You had long thought - and think, you do, particularly when doing the unthinkable - it's easier that way, to leave aside thoughts of right and wrong and ask: Just how far can an angel fall?
"Ah. Perfect," Tzuyu says, sounding like an answer, and her eyes widen as she peels past that band of elastic.
Your cock springs forward and bumps into the pad of her finger, which traces the length of it like it's hers to own, to pleasure.
"God," she hums with satisfaction, and even without looking up, or even before you say a damn word, she draws her tongue up along the underside in one swift, wet lick. "Sana you weren’t exaggerating: daddy's cock is fucking gorgeous."
There is that tiny whine, or more precisely a tiny, oh fuck when Tzuyu curls her hand around your shaft. Sana gives her a push. "Say it, Tzuyu," she all but growls at her.
"Daddy," she says, always pausing on the word. Testing it further. "Please."
"Please," Sana mimics in faux-sweetness, repeating it again once you start to nod.
Not that it changes much - the stare that Tzuyu fixes you is charmingly determined, like a challenge. Then, she inhales.
Deep.
That slide into her mouth is smoother than anything, hot and slippery and oh, right - you remember faintly with a shudder: those pretty teeth hidden away behind a perfectly lascivious mouth, so much that a couple sharp, expert brushes are enough to send lightning dancing along your spine. Sana moves her hands across your hips, to the buttons on your night shirt, working her way up until the fabric has fallen to the side and she can open your chest up to the air, let Tzuyu swallow the rest.
This, Tzuyu likes. "Ah," she gasps around you, or she tries to, your cock propped up on her soft little tongue.
She likes the way that feels. The way you fit in her hands, her mouth. And it shows. Her posture curls deliciously, under the satisfaction of her lips wrapping finally having something to wrap around tight, tight, tighter - under Sana's roaming touches, the skirting of her nails down Tzuyu's chest, reaching with slow deliberation across her stomach until there's a whisper of skin across sensitive flesh.
“She’s so fucking wet,” Sana tells you, smiling at Tzuyu from above and fitting a fingernail between her teeth. "Good fucking girl, aren't you Tzuyu?"
The moan that leaks out around the weight of your cock is pure. Pure lust, pure pleasure. Pure perfection. Her tongue flattens beneath you and finds you surging even deeper, a firmer slide of Tzuyu's wet lips that brings you right into the roof of her mouth - as she twists her face around you, a soft scrape against the inside of her cheek.
You sigh.
And Sana sighs back.
"Of course. Always such a hidden talent," she notes, as Tzuyu's perfect mouth moves and plucks and teases your nerves, twirling her tongue around your tip. Again as she swallows you down, slow, savoring.
“Tell me,” you say, because the heat of Tzuyu’s mouth is starting to remind you of a daydream, “how exactly do you know each other?”
"Work," Sana answers, flatly.
"Like-"
"Yup."
"She sings?"
"She does - rather, she will." Sana glances sidelong with a bit of a grin. "You have no idea what that tongue can do to people when it's got some good backing tracks, when it knows a goddamn fucking thing about rhythm. Speaking of," Sana looks down at where Tzuyu has her silky brown head of hair bobbing between your legs.
And then it's clear what she means, Tzuyu humming and rolling your shaft through the flat of her tongue. It's all slick, soaking heat and the tension building and building in your balls, aching, just absolutely desperate for more friction, to be taken and used and stuffed in her throat - or just more of this.
"Here," Sana's fingers are hooked in your pants, helping them off your legs, your ankles, pulling you further to the edge of the sofa. Let me, she's telling Tzuyu, this slight murmur of want she just can't wait on.
"Wait, I'm -" Tzuyu attempts, pulling her lips off the curve of your cock, to where pre-cum is weeping out of its tip, and she kisses it so very tenderly, going back for round two. Round three. She floats her fingers up over her eyebrows, into her fringe, all to tuck some dark, wispy hair gently behind her ear when she starts to hollow her cheeks and again suck your cock in earnest.
Until -
"Tzuyu," Sana reprimands her, "don't play, daddy's got his work cut out for him tonight. So be a good girl, and let me show you what he likes."
It takes a second, maybe three. It might take longer if Sana didn't have her fingernails digging into her thighs, sliding further to grab hold of Tzuyu by the hair and pull her lips off your shaft. There's a thin trail of spit coming off her mouth and stringing across you. Sana closes her fist in the back of Tzuyu’s hair and doesn't so much as blink while studying the look on her face: lips glistening, just absolutely needy, like she can't help the whimper in her throat.
"Hm?" Sana cocks her head to the side.
"But... sir."
"You are his toy," Sana explains, flashing her eyebrows because apparently it needs to be said, "not the other way around."
And it may be the first time you've seen it happen since Sana walked in with Tzuyu and declared her intentions: the fluster, the pink spread across Tzuyu's features like some scarlet-lettered stain. Defenses dropped like a draw-bridge. She's not quite every bit as cool and composed as she wants the two of you to think she is. (They never are.)
But the fact that Tzuyu's coy little smile returns into her lips - how she's wiping the spit off her mouth with the sharp edge of her hand and pointing your cock in Sana's direction with a delicate, arched brow, how she then moves on, untangling herself from Sana's grasp, eyes heavy, but on her - is a marvel in and of itself.
It’s an amusing surprise, a welcome one, for the simple reason that Tzuyu keeps showing both of you that she can have anything she wants exactly like this: wrapped around a slender fingertip, flushed and helpless, and without breaking a sweat. 
"Have you considered daddy wants both our mouths on his cock and maybe a few less words?" Tzuyu scoffs. And even though Sana does scoff right back in retort, that's exactly how it plays out.
(And you may, upon occasion, reflect: you're a real lucky bastard.)
Sana always puts on this act. One that you’ve learned to see right through. 
Like she isn't too eager to follow the momentum, that she hadn't just been just as impatient to touch you - to be on her knees with Tzuyu, all aside this beautiful girl who gives you a pretty smile when her tongue finds the base of your cock. Who likes being bossed around but can just as easily turn her face towards yours - in what seems almost like a taunt - as if saying: You know what else I like? to be challenged, and sometimes when the mood’s right, pushed and punished. 
But Sana doesn't let you see what kind of resolve she has until she's gone another minute, licking, lapping her tongue around your cock - this is her idea, after all. The little white dress in a heap, the adoration and worship that comes with fucking girls she knows are the prettiest things to see ruined.
Listen - even if Sana’s veneer is as blatantly obvious as it is shatterably thin, she’s no less dangerous. 
When she first pushes the very head of your cock inside her mouth, and just that - because why rush it, she's so fucking perfect with those pretty lips - the rest of your brain is shouting something to the tune of fuck me sideways because she knows you better than anyone, knows what really gets your blood burning. 
A few slow brushes, one kiss, this lick that goes bottom to top and over and around. It’s like she's testing the surface, dragging her lips across your aching cock as she settles on a rhythm, a tempo that starts to mirror the movements of Tzuyu's hand.
Tzuyu lets you see: this slow twist, this slide of skin up and down the length of your shaft, her soft fingers rubbing tight circles up and down the path of her palm until it meets Sana’s mouth. And like it’s the most simple thing in the world, she dips down, finds a place at the base of your cock, where Sana’s lips can’t quite reach, and drops a hot, messy kiss right across the spot.
Fuck.
She kisses you everywhere.
"Sana," you start to say, and she looks up through the strands of blonde fallen slightly in front of her face. Her lips sink further down the length of your cock - until she hears your breath catch in the bottom of your throat. Until she’s pulling you up and out, again, just barely past her teeth.
Fuck.
"Mm." She hums it right into your skin, and her eyes are hooded, dipping right down with another pull of spit, and then another, before her lips are at the tip once more, flicking across the slit with her tongue - wet and rough.
"Sana," you try again, biting into your lip as you reach a hand into the gold locks of hair framing her deceptive, pretty little face, and tug, a warning, a reminder. You need. It's too early for you to be repeating yourself, and Sana knows that.
A pop, the release of her mouth slipping off the top of your cock, and Tzuyu moves - wrapping her lips tight and silken around the sides, the rest. It all happens in an instant. You're being taken with the sudden, harsh suction of one mouth, the other, fluid and slipping back and forth again and again.
Sana's nodding along, impressed, as she watches Tzuyu take you - completely, nose to your hip - and has a glint of pure hunger shining through her eyes when you hiss, when she kisses along the lines of Tzuyu's stretched lips. There's another flick of a tongue, and you can feel Tzuyu moan something muffled and choked, a frantic pulse at the base of your spine - pressure gathering like a fucking flood.
"Just how you like it, hmm?" Sana says, her breath warm on your balls as she seals her own mouth right over the base of your shaft. And you swear there's something about this: the drag and suck of both their lips as your hips stutter forward, the feeling of them pressed together in a perfect line, heads tilted and mouths fucking dripping with saliva and sin - your hands, resting on the backs of their heads as they're returning you these greedy little moans that vibrate off the top of your cock and nearly kill you in the process.
“Tell me,” Sana adds, dragging a hot, hazy kiss over the sensitive skin up your shaft. "How's daddy feeling? Hmm? Feels nice and perfect, doesn't it. Feels like you could just let go and release, a hot, sticky load of cum, right down her fucking throat. I know she’ll swallow every drop."
"Fucking hell, Sana-"
Sana doesn't exactly answer to your begging, only hikes Tzuyu a fraction higher over your body to gain better control of the rhythm, and a better view: the hollowed out cheeks, her watery, half-shut eyes, tears welling in her lashes - because the prettiest girls always come apart in the most perfect ways.
You grip into all that silky brown hair, thumb running gently up and over the soft skin behind her ear as she finds an exacting little movement with her lips that will have your spine twitching uncontrollably as you fuck deeper down the perfect arch of her throat, Sana keeping rhythm, guiding you all the way in - a searing heat, and then a new rush of saliva dripping off Tzuyu's chin and back down into the tangle of tongues, fingers, throats, mouths.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The pair of them. The things they're doing.
"Or maybe," Sana muses, tilting her head on an angle that suggests she's weighing her options, and then, massaging a quick, firm twist into the very base of your cock she finally lets spill: "You could make a mess of that perfect face," Tzuyu's faint whimper hardly slips out unnoticed, "I'd hold her hair for you while you cum all over her - how about that baby, should we make a big mess of your pretty face?"
The whimper grows louder - Tzuyu moans long and low, right up against the tightening tension gathering between your hips, right as your balls pull, that familiar coil about to break - and, god, if there's some part of you committed to holding the moment, waiting and wanting to stay in the vision of these two perfect mouths pressed together, it's a fleeting and useless notion - but, as usual, Sana already knows.
The way they're blowing you in perfect tandem, their mouths locked together, kissing around your shaft as they continue to pleasure you, filthy and open - a little more, the thought percolates, a little longer, to let the pressure swell.
"Sir," Tzuyu says, swallowing her next breath, and that's the first you've heard her sound like that: whining, pleading.
She slaps your cock against her lips, her tongue - it's all so wet with spit and precum and slick that her chin is coated, her fingers. A demonstration of what you should have already known: Sana's girls aren't just straight down the line. They want the messy, roughness that comes with the sin; the split in the seam, the wail, the raw, uncut want.
You watch Tzuyu’s lips curl, this quiet smile pressed against your cock, and after a slow draw of air, they fall open again. Asking, "aren't you going to fuck your toy's slutty little mouth?"
The silence of the night swallows up the sounds of Sana's low chuckle and the responding squelch of her fingers tearing free, her hand trailing after. Here’s three bodies in the otherwise ordinary emptiness of your living room, on the edges of the leather sofa, so completely drenched in anticipation and hunger.
There’s a flash across Sana's rounded cheeks, hot, like she's just this small space shy of smirking, or giving into something, you don't know. Tzuyu, however, you've got a fairly clear view of - how her eyes glaze, pupils going wide and dark, staring up at you as she places the shape of your cock so acutely up the length of her perfect features: chin supporting its base, the cute, button-like tip of her nose teasing the soft underbelly of skin pulled taut - a fucked up preamble to whatever the hell it is going to feel like, once she's ready for more.
"Say please, sweetie," Sana says, fluttering her fingers over Tzuyu's neck. And then to you, as an aside: "If there isn't a better way to break in a toy."
When Tzuyu doesn't immediately reply, Sana leans over her, with a fingertip under her chin, guiding her hot, wet lips to the edge of your cock.
"Ask daddy to fuck his filthy little whore."
"Ah," Tzuyu lets out an awkward exhale. "Daddy?" she pauses to swallow, licking her lips, then, with just the slightest inflection, this tight line, right at the border, somehow managing to hit both notes of I'm going to make you beg for it and is it okay for me to be begging you for more: "Please, daddy. Fuck my face."
But then the way she fucking looks - petulant, needy, like if you don't shove your cock down her throat in seconds it could kill her - that's the realest thing you've seen from her since she shuffled through your front door wearing a dress that belongs in someone's heaving, pent up fantasy and left it in a careless pile in the middle of your foyer, tits bouncing on her way into the living room. And somehow, that's a lot to take in: to think this whole debacle has led up to her, this girl you're probably never gonna see again, pressing the pucker of her perfect, pretty lips to the underside of your cock, and -
"Open," Sana cuts in, "your fucking mouth."
Tzuyu gulps thickly and stretches her jaw, blinking expectantly as her pink, slender tongue sticks out the faintest, most insinuating inch.
You lift your hips with one good thrust, the plushness of her mouth becoming soft and velvet as she opens wider, and wider still, and you're balls deep, hilt hitting her lips as she opens her eyes, taking you down her throat, slick and slow.
"Good girl," Sana grins, watching Tzuyu swallow around you. 
You may be buried into her throat but the sound of Sana's encouragement has Tzuyu keening, this wrench in her brow like she wants to focus so fucking badly. Only made worse when Sana bundles a handful of Tzuyu's long, glossy hair into a fist and gets her voice into the shell of her ear. 
"I know you love it, Tzuyu, how he's fucking taking you, huh? That's it. Show daddy how good of a toy you can be."
And oh, the reaction - the very clear one, no less. Tzuyu grips onto the cushion of the couch, a full set of fingers curling around Sana's forearm, any part of you - the one closest and she's digging her sharp nails into your skin and whimpering for Sana to keep talking like her life depends on it.
"Let me see if you can be as good as you think you are," Sana murmurs, and you shift forward again, bucking your hips just barely but getting there, and then there's more, fuck - getting closer to a good steady pace. Slow, forceful. Hitting the very back of her throat, the bottom of her lips.
Tzuyu can only respond by taking you impossibly deep.
"Remember what you told me?" Sana's biting her lip, finding as much satisfaction out of the mere display.
"Mnnph," Tzuyu chokes out before slipping off your cock, only long enough to gasp for another breath, "I said, I said - all the things I would let him do to me." Her voice sounds so wrecked. Broken. Desperate. Filthy, the kind that needs to be fucked. "Please, please," she says again.
"Tzuyu." Sana's fist tightens in Tzuyu's hair, and down Tzuyu goes. "You sounded so sure, baby - when you said you'd making him fucking cum so easy, how you'd make him bust over and over with this mouth, so -"
You're getting too close. It's really not your fault, it's the two of them. Every wince on your face a result of Tzuyu's swollen, shiny lips wrapped tightly around your cock, cheeks flush and hollow with every move of her mouth. She keeps doing this little flick of her tongue as her lips slide around you - even while Sana lifts her jaw up, down, up down, fucking her mouth onto your aching cock with a sort of callous disregard for how it's fucking her up - how it's fucking you up.
"-the prettiest girls make the best fucking cumrags, you know. Really - makes your toes curl," Sana finishes, giving one particularly pointed tilt of her head at the sight of how bad your knees are shaking.
And then, out the corner of her mouth, teeth locked over her lip, because you're so caught up in how good it feels fucking your length through the vice of Tzuyu's mouth, sliding across her wet tongue - "she's not lying baby, is she? Fuck, I bet she feels so fucking good on you doesn't she" - her voice hoarse and desperate, a hint of something caught at the back of her throat like she can almost taste what it's like. What it must feel like.
Sana pushes, and even she can probably feel you pulsing at the way Tzuyu chokes when the tip meets the drain of her throat.
It gets... it ends up too much, too fast. Borderline abusive - and not just the speed, or the sheer roughness - Nayeon was here on her knees, like this, in the middle of the night not too long ago, and deepthroating you is far from the unusual or accomplished, at this point. But, fuck if that isn't something you build up to.
The slight curve of Tzuyu's arms, rising as they tremble with the effort, the little tears that slip down her cheeks, and those lovely sounds she makes. It's not at all intentional - and you're so stupidly certain Sana didn't think you'd be this riled so quickly, like there's not an ounce of willpower in the world that could save you at this point.
And while that's not too surprising on its own - Sana knows you well, this is what she agreed to - Tzuyu must have understood (it was part of the plan, in fact) what she was walking into, what she was signing up for. But fuck it: she was still pretty new, an amateur. And an amateur just wouldn't be capable of doing the things she does, and looking the way she looks, not to the same extent as this.
"Can you cum from nothing but the feeling of daddy's dick hitting your throat? I'll have him sit back and relax while we work," Sana tells her.
It'd make two of you.
"Would you like that?" she's asking you, tilting her head when you've gathered yourself long enough. "No touching, just take my orders while we pleasure you. How does that sound, daddy?"
"Sana, easy," you practically growl, biting down on the inside of your cheek because the twitch in Tzuyu's pulse has you coming far too undone, her chest hitching and lungs heaving and face wet with spit and tears and cum as it's spilling down her chin. You're seconds from telling Sana to dial it back when a low, guttural sound, sputtering, leaves Tzuyu's throat.
The grip in Tzuyu's hair goes loose enough that she pulls herself up, swallowing up as much air as she can. 
And fuck, look at the damage: that swollen mess of her red, glistening mouth; the dark runs of mascara and drying tracks that make a ruin of her face, her neck; a heart-stopping shine of white drool. She blinks the tears off her lashes in a moment.
Sana’s eyeing her over the same way a surgeon might approach a task with a scalpel and a careful hand, or perhaps a fisherman surveying the quality of a catch - before tossing it to the back of a truck to be hauled back home. Like the kind of sight she gets just a little too much satisfaction at. And it's the eyebrow she shoots up into her mess of toffee-blonde hair that asks, quietly, too much?
Fuck. Maybe.
But Tzuyu's eyes shift toward Sana's, and without even an ounce of hesitation - without anything more than a heavy exhale - she opens her mouth again so you can see her tongue run across her top teeth, incensed in her lust. More, fuck me, have me, use me she's saying, telling with you the slight indignance in her eyes that Sana finds perfectly irresistible.
Then, as if unbothered by how far your cock had been slotted in her throat, she swallows. Says, "is that all, sir?"
And the sound that follows it, that shuddering sigh - breaking, cracking, shattering into the calm quiet of your apartment - Tzuyu takes you like it's more than enough. She's swallowing it all back down again.
“Fuck, Tzuyu, you’re-” you try, only to have her moan loud, so loud, when she drags her tongue down your cock and swallows around the whole thing in a way that has you gasping. Your hands end up wound tightly in her hair, weaving through the smooth waves, knuckles straining when it really sinks in. Just how deep down her throat you go, so perfectly deep, the stretch of her lips holding on the side of a grimace because she needs it that way. She can't have it any other.
"Go on," Sana murmurs into the side of your face, drawing closer so she's got her nails curled down into your thighs, leaning in to place a wet, hot kiss into your cheek. "C'mon baby, she'd told me she'd let you do anything - said she'd swallow everything, like the fucking cockslut she is."
Sana's chin digs against the bone in your shoulder, eyes unwavering on where you disappear over and over inside Tzuyu's throat. And it's not just that - Tzuyu's hair clenched tight in Sana’s one hand, the other curled hard into a fist around the base of your cock, her harsh breaths washing over the bare skin of your neck. It's fucking indecent, how needy she's gotten. How needy she always gets. You can feel her greedy little lips finding your ear and biting just shy of savage enough to break skin, and licking - flicking across the vein beating down in your throat, and then -
"That's right," Sana says with a low growl when you look at her. "Cum."
An impoverished sound rips right through your chest. Spreads through you like wildfire.
And just like that, you're spilling inside her, thrusts growing unsteady and lost in the wet, searing heat of Tzuyu's perfect, wet lips, slapping and sliding into her throat, spilling on her tongue with every surge of pleasure drumming in your blood.
Tzuyu sinks down further. So deep that the brush of the back of her throat feels like a hand on the hilt of a knife, tearing into the ends of your nerves, where they’ve come alight and been set ablaze.
Sana picks up again whispering into the cuff of your ear. It makes your head feel like it might explode. And you're almost entirely certain that's what will actually happen, when the combined pressure between your ears and that of your cock becoming so desperately spent builds and builds and doesn't stop, as though waiting. 
Biding time for some perfect snap.
Only, a tickle at the back of Tzuyu's throat has her choking out. The same uncontrolled way your hips start to falter - shaky, jerky motions instead of any precision or rhythm - and you're tilting and winding your head in circles, jaw tensed, squeezing her scalp and oh, oh fuck. Tzuyu's mouth slides itself all the way off you in one hurried gasp, then two and three, just barely giving her a chance to steady herself, all while you're still leaking thick, white cum all over the slick swell of her bottom lip, up over the ridges of her elegant features, the curves of her cheeks, the high arches of her brows.
Look - you're cumming all over Tzuyu's face. You’re cumming all over her pretty face and she just takes it.
She's, fuck - she's so, so good. And not just because her mouth is fucking perfection, or her eyes are all at once bleary but wide open, watching you twitch, her own cheeks flushing as she stares up at you - trying desperately to breathe, taking a quick lick off the end of your cock, flitting her tongue between her knuckles, because apparently another taste can't hurt.
"Ugh," Sana hushes, right into your neck, "would you just fucking look, see that - god, Tzuyu, how does it feel, does he taste as good as you hoped he would?"
There's a subtle, unmistakable bob in Tzuyu's throat as she's swallowing everything down, the evidence, and a small flash of her tongue. "Good, mmn-" and you can see how she struggles in her restraint to simply say so, to let her hand drift to the 'V' between her thighs and sate that ache.
But even if her body seems ready for more, Sana's finger finds its way underneath Tzuyu's chin to prompt, with one, simple command, "let's get you cleaned up before we give you what you came for. Go on, get our little girl up to the shower, won't you daddy?"
-
It's a minor miracle the three of you make it upstairs and down the hall without so much as a trip or stumble, the girls with their fingers woven together and hips swaying as you all stagger up. It's a minor miracle you don't pin either of them against drywall or up against a doorway or do any of the number of filthy things on the mind of a man just fucked, still coming down, with two gorgeous, perfect faces - two perfectly sculpted asses - all in arms' reach.
The bath mat is still bunched at the back of your bathroom door. Still damp from the last shower - Sana's last morning here - which you have to pry apart just a little so the two of them can file in.
And well - it does happen. Eventually.
At the sink.
Just inside the en suite of your bedroom.
With Sana, being the way she is.
While the faucet in the shower starts up a shallow stream of water - tap running warm, steaming the length of the mirror and condensing the glass that Sana will soon have Tzuyu's face up against if she has any say in the matter.
"Tzu," Sana says, carding a hand through her hair and bringing a damp washcloth up to the bend of her jaw. There's a slow trace of fingertips across the lines of her neck. "Keep your eyes right on his while I clean you up, ok?"
And then there's the mirror in the center. The three of you arranged - a sort of hierarchy - with Sana stepping forward and adjusting her stance in order to survey, and clean the mess she's made. (What you've made.)
In profile, you can't exactly make out a distinct detail about Tzuyu's face in the reflective surface, only the silvery blur that is the curve of her neck, and the silhouette of the small frame that her long, slim legs form against the cabinet. But the idea's always the same - she's being used like a perfect canvas. Like an empty, ready-to-use doll that you can twist and turn in the ways you want until all your control breaks and you're just fucking into her, or having her lick and suck all over Sana's gorgeous fucking tits while she's bouncing in your lap.
Whichever happens to come first.
"You missed a spot," Tzuyu tells Sana, as though she hadn't missed several - her head tilts in your direction, eyes wide still, endless in depth. Her mouth gives away what's already burning its way through her blood. "Maybe another pair of hands will help?"
"Mine are a little rough around the edges," you explain, coming in close. The bathroom is this tight, congested space, but at the right angle there's plenty of room, even if your hips knock slightly into Sana's body. Tzuyu's delicate body already has her back flush against the sink basin. "You want to feel them?"
She shakes her head, and even though the hunger on her tongue hasn't been satisfied, even after having a good fill, there's something else she'd rather have now.
"I think," she starts, her words cut off by a hitch of breath when Sana's lips travel to the very tips of her hair and work their way up to the soft skin behind her ear. "Rough is good, when... when I'm being," Tzuyu's closing her eyes - partly so that she doesn't fall off the edge so easily, partly to lean into the sensations of two warm bodies, all attention placed solely on her.
"When you're being worked over?" Sana offers.
"Ngh," she responds - with an attempt, as best as she can, at a smile. And then there's one, light, teasing stroke across her jaw, her mouth. Sana's thumb pressed gently into the crease. "When the fucking gets..." and you'll have to fill the gap - finishing her thought with your hands slotting themselves onto the gentle arch of her hips, pressing a kiss that doesn't even come close to satisfaction on the supple dip of collarbone.
She lets out this pretty sound at the feel of your lips, Sana's, all ghosting down her throat.
"Hard and deep?" you say. Sana smirks at this - continues the effort, "A little fucking nasty, huh, sweetheart?"
"Mhm." Tzuyu is, above all else, a little helpless. “Because - you know me so well.”
But make no mistake: Tzuyu is exactly where she wants to be. With the heat radiating off her bare body, she leans into it all, only flinching when your teeth catch her nipple - when Sana's tongue laps a rough circle over the other. The scene, the feelings, all of it orchestrated precisely - these are the things she likes, maybe loves even.
And after the soft sounds slip through her lips, a moan and another hum, she finds her words and voice, "hard and deep and, rough and, ff-"
"And?"
The quick brush of your tongue flickers across the hard tip. The sensation draws from Tzuyu this very faint cry and the exhale of a word: "Fast."
"Naughty little thing," Sana presses into her jaw, pulling back to regard you both. To lift a finger, wet the pad with her tongue - and reach down, down, down until her fingertips brush the very line of her thigh, into the slick between her legs. "I love it when girls get all messy."
"Please," is all Tzuyu has to say, barely anything but, as Sana's finger drags slowly inside her folds.
"Patience baby," she murmurs into Tzuyu's open mouth. The exchange is swift but thorough; you watch, all tongue and spit, and your fingers twitch with a sense of loss. "Why don't you remind me how this went last time?"
"Mm, listen here," Tzuyu says in an astute breath, the sound of it like tables turning. There's a firm pull on your wrist - the grip on it guiding you, encouraging you, just where she wants them, into the band of lace around Sana's impossibly narrow waist. You feel Sana sigh in relief, shiver at the touch of a warm palm up against her thighs, and into a pulse-wet cunt, as though the slightest touch will kill her. "I think you might be remembering wrong, Sana."
"And why might that be?"
"Weren't you the one begging me? When I had two fingers up your cunt in your apartment," Tzuyu presses forward, voice lilt and darkening like ink, and Sana whines and crumbles in her palms, knees buckling when there's one sudden and rough slide of fingers right on the base of her spine.
"Yeah?" Sana asks with a rising blush, already knowing the answer - it's her fatal flaw: she's all sharp edges and pointed teeth, right up to the point there's a finger at her own throat, a cock in her hands and a girl working at her clit until she's drooling. "Are you suggesting I'm easy? Is that where you're heading with this?"
Tzuyu's leaned up against the counter, turning Sana's slender frame around in her hands, until she has her fingers up on the over the wire of Sana's bra, palms hot beneath the thin cups, feeling for her nipples, and the change in dynamic is as palpable as the steam rising in the room.
"Let’s not put words in my mouth," she responds simply, dropping another kiss into the back of Sana’s hair. There's another one laid along the sweep of her neck, like a careful bite, and with a lift of a brow, a look that tells you what you've always known, "but if you’re asking, then sure, the sluttiest of all sluts. Easy," she pulls the cups down Sana’s chest, "as fuck."
It gets to her, clearly, as if that moan falling out of Sana's parted lips could mean anything else.
"Daddy?" Tzuyu asks, because apparently she's enjoying the bit, easing into all parts of the character. She can't seem to contain her grin.
"What is it, sweetheart?" you ask, dipping your finger down into Sana's cunt, and fuck - the girl is so, so slick for it. She needs to be taken and torn, that much is clear. Her whimpers don't get softer as your hips drive into her stomach, pinning her between the two of you.
"Is she always this much of a bratty tease? Or is that just how she gets when she gets all worked up over your perfect cock. I know she's aching to feel it stretch out that tight little cunt of hers-
"It's never been all that clear," you answer, before Tzuyu can start to say anything further. A moment of composure, in case Sana wants you to step in.
Except that, she doesn't exactly interrupt the play you and Tzuyu are setting up: "So," Tzuyu remarks instead. "Just for me then."
"It's possible."
The room suddenly feels very full, very small.
"Right. Okay. Well then," you say - watching carefully, when Tzuyu gives you an appraising glance. Sana squirms again beneath the pressure of all these fingers printing over her sensitive skin - she'd love to fuck this. Or be fucked.
"That means you'll have to take good care of your needy little princess, won't you daddy?"
It's surprisingly fitting.
-
Though it hasn’t been that long, all things considered.
Not since Sana effortlessly waltzed her way into your life. And slightly less-than-that, the time it took her thereafter to find herself bouncing in your lap and tugging at your hair while you struggled for breath between her tits. This perfect storm, caught somewhere between laughing and choking and definitely, definitely falling.
It's been a year, maybe. If that. But that's plenty to know.
Know every tilt of her mouth, every sly grin. The different moans that shake loose from the curve of her lips.
Know what it means when Sana's palms hit the tiles of the shower wall, fingers splaying as she goes quiet and submissive, letting out the barest noise of frustration as Tzuyu spreads her tongue over the pucker of her ass - know that the knuckle you curl up in her cunt has her that much closer to unraveling in a stream of whimpers, needy fucking pants and a hoarse sound of gratitude.
Ostensibly for getting her so perfectly, perfectly raw.
"Fuck, yes, that," Sana barely manages, between the messy swipe Tzuyu's tongue makes over her hole. Just this thorough lick, drawing tight, swirling circles around her, lapping at the wetness before making a hot and steady pass over the sensitive stretch of skin, drenching it in spit until Sana's scrambling against the hard surface.
She's not close to going quiet: her cheeks look rounder, like she can hardly keep her noises under control as Tzuyu eases a single fingertip inside the tense muscle of her rim and uses the stretch and warmth of the water raining down her spine, to slip in deeper. Sana's sighing as Tzuyu eats her like an act, an invitation.
You push your fingers deep, deeper, slick, pulling, rubbing, coaxing Sana's mouth apart even as your lips press wet into her cheek. She groans louder, needier, with your hand flexing up a three-finger graze over that bundle of nerves. The kind that makes her back fucking arch.
"You," Sana sputters open like a struck match, burning bright in the steam-cloaked shower, "you, you, you," and it’s not really clear who she’s cursing, "going to - you're going to - you're going to make me-"
"Oh no," Tzuyu sings, starting to straighten herself out - until she’s reminding Sana that she’s the smallest of the three of you and in a possible sort of danger.
She reaches an open palm into the stream of water and splashes off the slick running down her mouth, her chin, her neck - gaze anchored to Sana's trembling figure. It's just one, heavy exhale into the hot, hazy air: "You've got it all wrong.”
Sana twists her head around, face still so wildly attractive amidst the look of worry and that flush of pink taking over from the bottom half. The tiny, imperceptible dip in her brows.
But before she can give voice to a complaint, Tzuyu has her spun by a rough grip around her waist, pinning her back to the tile - water beating down the rise of her breasts and the tops of her shoulders.
"If you're going to cum baby, it'll be all over his thick cock, getting your whole cunt so stretched and stuffed full it'll feel like he's cumming up inside your guts."
You and Sana share this wistful groan of a sigh after Tzuyu wraps her long fingers around your cock, aims you true, and brings you close. Closer. Until you can feel Sana's pulse at her cunt, lips wet and slippery and dripping, just a few inches from where the tip of your cockhead nudges the insides of her thighs. Sana's stomach is seizing in a fluttering of heat and -
"Do you like hearing her beg? That's good. Because this girl's gonna do everything she can to make sure you fuck her raw before you even let her come," Tzuyu's voice lowers, a deep register. "How long can you last, Sana?"
Sana gives you this look, all anticipation and pleasure, holding it for longer than is strictly necessary - and then, her pert little mouth falls open, keening, hissing out a shallow, almost painful, "fuck" the moment you bend at the knees and slip inside.
The feeling that washes over you is a beautiful elixir of relief, an indomitable kind of want, tinged with something heavier, and with just the tiniest hint of longing in the sense that this is not enough, nowhere near enough. It never is.
"God, Sana," is all you manage. All you want to.
Sana doesn't wait around any longer before giving you an impatient shimmy of her hips, fucking herself further down the length of your cock, like she wants to choke on it. And the feeling of it, well, she does it well - the tight warmth swallowing you to the base, her cunt squeezing you all at once, slick and smothering. Fuck, it's all in her eyes. How badly she wants to be held down, split apart. How tightly your fist finds itself locked around Sana's long, wet strands of golden hair as Tzuyu closes any semblance of distance - brushing her lips over where she can tease Sana's open and slack mouth, licking down inside, panting.
"Baby, you are so close, I can feel you trembling," Tzuyu teases, running her fingers up Sana's stomach, cupping steady the breast she can fit in her palm. She drops another messy kiss on Sana’s throat and hums: "Go ahead, cum. I'm sure he doesn't mind.” 
"You're such a prissy fucking- nnh-" Sana's words skirt right over Tzuyu's fingertips before they're shoved roughly across the swell of her lower lip and into the back of her mouth. If Tzuyu's intent was to prove a point, she's about as successful as can be - Sana can only gag quietly around her digits, working her jaw over them.
"Sana, shh-shh-shh, baby, don’t fight it; just cum around around his cock, don't put yourself in a corner and try to play games - he'll fuck you right, until you scream, I promise, and-"
It hardly ever takes much. That's something you've come to appreciate: Sana can't ever help it. With the way it actually feels, you pressing right up against where the rest of her cinches so impossibly tight. She was practically teetering on the edge, on the very cliff and within reach of falling right off of it the instant you fit the very hilt of your cock up the molten-hot stretch of her perfect cunt, sliding, fucking into her while water sprays all over her quivering body, so soft beneath the wash of rain.
One of Sana’s long legs gets wrapped around your waist and you can feel her nails start to dig through the muscles in your shoulders.
Tzuyu smirks right into Sana's temple, biting at the slickness of her skin, running the curve of her thumb around the length of Sana's jugular, and sucking with her teeth when Sana cries out. "How does our girl feel wrapped around you? Wet, huh? Needy?"
"Unbelievable," you answer honestly - and maybe that's the point; Sana's pussy is incredible. Hot and silky and absolutely unreal. There’s no question, whether she's a work of art, or if she'll fuck you up, but you love that part.
“Ruin her for me, won’t you?” Tzuyu prompts, with that twinkle of mischief you're rapidly becoming accustomed to. "She looks even prettier when she's fucked out. I know you know that."
She does, she does, she does.
Your hips snap, up, fuck in - Sana mewling around the shape of Tzuyu's first two fingers - then back, drawing the motion slow, long, full - until you’re crashing forward and sinking up into that warmth you know is spreading across every inch of Sana’s body, swallowing her up inside-out as her legs start to shake and give and her tongue laps recklessly along the outline of Tzuyu's knuckles. 
Sana knows she likes to play at coy and control, but this is never part of the act - your cock fucking her submissive pussy apart - it’s hard to argue she doesn’t love how you can come to own her: hot and fast and filthy, leaving her breathless and desperate, every thrust into her tight cunt punctuated with some pretty whimper. And here, she just… there isn't the luxury, there's nowhere to hide.
Nowhere to run or shy or look away.
Tzuyu curses when finally Sana bites down, part of a long sequence of reflexes that bloom from the depth you fuck up into her cunt. And with her voice back in her throat (Tzuyu's fingers shaking out the sharp pain) she fucking whines into it, unable to stop the steady line of nonsense tumbling past her lips, incoherent except for the single-minded purpose of her own release.
"Fuck, daddy, fuck," Sana repeats in the same way she always does, getting fucked, the letters collapsing into each other. "I'm cumming, fuck, fuck, so fucking wet. God, you're, fuck, right there, oh - I'm cumming, daddy, I’m fucking cumming," is the all further she gets, muddied with the sound of your slicked-up thighs moving in quick rhythm with the beat of your heart, slapping loudly against her skin - loud enough so that the neighbors can probably listen in through paper thin walls.
Then she goes silent, face painted with it all. She isn't crying, the tears won't come, but she's gone this quiet sort of wide-eyed that matches the way she's mouthing, cumming, over and over, you’re pulling me a-fucking-part.
And you believe her. You have to.
Just look at the way her legs are doing all the wrong things. Thighs tensing taut, muscles giving out - she’s slipping down the tiles, back bending and flexing and going limp all at once. Tzuyu's already moving, scooping her up like it's something rehearsed, before you even have to ask, "Tzu, help me hold her up, won't you?"
“Tzu, huh?”
It's not much, but it is worth noting: how Tzuyu, her fingers curling and interlacing between Sana's, holds the girl like she's breakable. Tenderly, cradling Sana's small body against her chest.
"Do you slip into pet names and all that with every girl Sana brings around? Or am I," and when Tzuyu tilts her head, her smile has this very palpable bite, "the exception?"
"Every pretty girl thinks they're special, sweetheart."
Tzuyu just glimpses one downward look into Sana, shivering, riding her orgasm down into nothing, and drops a kiss into her hair. A gentle chuckle: "And when have I ever given you a reason to doubt it?"
"Shameless," is all Sana offers up, beyond exhausted, trying and failing to take more than a passing, somewhat disgruntled interest in the scene unfolding around her, while she clings to the strength Tzuyu and the tile and your hands are putting into her body.
Meanwhile Tzuyu, this devil of a daydream - this tall, skinny thing of long hair and smirking lips and cheekbones as sharp as her wit, has her gaze locked. Still curious, and all but relentless - there's more she's dying to say. It seems almost impracticable that such a lovely woman would really be this way, weapons concealed under all that good-girl charm. And in its most uncomplicated form, that's what it is: an open invitation.
You've only managed the vaguest outlines, after all. "Do you mind?" you ask again.
The next movements feel more elegant than they probably are. Cradling Sana's limp body between you, finding a steady hold.
There’s a slight shuffle to discover a proper balance, a hand slapping the glass of the shower door, and yeah, Sana's fucked out. Slurring out sounds that might resemble the shape of words if she had the presence of mind. The rest are whines and whimpers, obscene in all ways.
“Baby,” Tzuyu tells Sana in a growling kiss to the back of her ear. "Keep your fucking legs up."
(That’s a cue if you were looking for one, to get your arms fastened around Sana's small waist as she leans heavy into your chest.)
"More," The girl in your arms starts to complain, when you truly start fucking her.
"Hurt - hnn, please, more - fuck - harder," and all those sharp edges, that arrogance and conceit, it's all gone. Her pupils are blown out, an animal-like-desire set in its place - these are your invitations to wreck her, you realize, pushing so deep into her well-fucked cunt that she arches, and that her head knocks against Tzuyu's, that the small room is entirely empty save for these movements under the metal cloud of shower water, falling like rain.
This is all there is. 
Tzuyu, smirking like she herself might get off on this. 
Sana, begging.
And when Tzuyu buries a hot smile at her throat, nibbling at the skin - urging her, urging you, this sharp, "now give her the fucking dicking of a lifetime, will you?"
When Sana’s reduced down to her pleas of, please, harder daddy, and deeper, god, I can feel you so deep -
Well,
You’re all instinct. You sink your fingers into the firm skin of her ass, grab at the soft, slippery flesh around her hips. You sink your cock into her hole again and again.
The stretch is obvious and absolutely devastating, making Sana cry out and muffle her face in your shoulder. She makes a weak sort of sound around your neck - it could be anything, maybe please don't stop, or maybe please do - it doesn't matter.
"You look incredible like this baby, does he fuck you well?" Tzuyu croons, curling around her so her head rests on her shoulder - eyes watching Sana, meeting yours. "Oh, come on, aren't you always telling me about how it makes you feel - all this, full and hot and better than anyone? Now's your chance, no hiding from him. Or me."
"It's so, god it's - I -"
"Come on," Tzuyu squeezes out one long, eager moan with her hand dropped onto Sana's breasts, pulling and kneading like she owns it. "Tell him to cum in you baby, like the good fucktoy you are, let him cum up into that creaming pussy until you’re all sticky and leaking cum all over, just the biggest fucking mess."
There is measurable irony, you suppose, in how Sana brings these friends of hers back with the clear expectation to be fucked and torn apart, how they each want the same, all wanting to get her unraveling and her knees buckling. Only Tzuyu manages, more efficiently than anyone you've ever seen, to leave her all wanton and squirming against your hard, relentless thrusts into her needy cunt.
It's easy: this isn't difficult, there is nothing hard about falling for each and every promise her face has to offer - knowing her body's secrets and drawing the story out, line by line, so you can fall in love with it over and over, all while Sana starts to go helpless at the shape of your cock filling up that tiny, wanting cunt.
So you cum. Inside her. In one final push, filling her completely.
Sana opens her mouth like she's trying to say something - say yes - say daddy, say fuck yes daddy.
"That's it," Tzuyu strokes down Sana's belly. "I knew it - now keep your pretty thighs shut. Can't let even a drop out, understand?"
"Yes, fuck. It's - fuck - good, he feels," Sana finally sobs, chest heaving as you grind the last little bits of cum deep, so far and hot as it can get. All the way in. Where it's hot and wet and throbbing and slick.
Where it should stay, because you never pull out. You savor the last bit of your pulse, sporadic and lethargic. Because in truth - your mind is made and your mouth won't say it because you don’t need to.
Tzuyu's wringing the water out of Sana's hair, picking the strands into careful folds. "Alright then," and her grin is positively lecherous.
There's a bench in the corner of the shower where you eventually arrive, panting now that you realize it, and Sana makes herself at home right in your lap, face buried in your shoulder. Grinding her hips down in this almost imperceptible circle, circling back and feeling. Holding you inside and murmuring into your collarbone.
(Fucked, Sana is simply and unfairly beautiful.)
It’s all in that exhale of a moment, when Tzuyu catches water in cupped palms from the shower-head, wiping away what stray tracks of soapiness left on Sana's shoulder-blades and breasts and thighs. Her hands all up and down her body, sudsing the crease between leg and torso, down lower still, around her sensitive pussy and her folds.
You wonder if she can hear you swallow.
"Maybe we should actually wash up before we go again?"
-
The first thing Sana's free hand goes for when she stumbles through the threshold of your bedroom is a hair band you didn’t know she was storing in the top drawer of your dresser. She fidgets around keeping her towel wrapped tightly around her chest as though modesty were an option at this point.
"What?" she asks, fixing you with a slightly-irritated, slightly-teasing smirk. "You look like you have something you want to say."
"Nothing." You laugh out loud. "It's nothing. I'm just waiting."
She makes this face at you, guilty - so sorry about the contraband - as she twists her wrists and pulls the hair band round her middle-finger, wrapping her palms around her knot of wet blonde and bundling it into a half-assembled ponytail. It leaves the length of her nape exposed and vulnerable, neck flushed pink-from-showering in all the most wonderful of places.
"Waiting," is what she hones in on.
Tzuyu is pulling out of the bathroom. Her hands, washed clean and dried off with a fluffy, off-white towel. When she sets it down, she steps back, leaning on the frame. "He's waiting, for what I wonder?"
She's made of all things smooth-and-sharply-cut. Even from here, even through the sleep-haze fog, the silhouette of her nude figure gives itself to a small sense of anticipation. The long and smooth sweep of her chest, from breast, up and out, and then tapering along down to where her hips flare. She takes a step and then another and lets her fingers ride her side, from the very top of the shallow indentation in the dip of her waist, up. Then the tautness of her abdomen and further still, running slow and over the breast, coming to cup its full weight, pushing the bottom of the curve outwards.
"Waiting to," and she wets her lips in something akin to expectation. "Pound me into the fucking bed?"
You’re smiling when you explain, "I was going to say a request…"
Tzuyu’s dimples deepen. "You mean, like, we can tell you what to do?”
You sit on the bed, which is actually more of a proposition than you realize. "I suppose."
"Sana, sweetie, is there something I should be doing for him," Tzuyu looks up, wearing that trademark kind of playful expression that is definitely deliberate and not at all a tell. "Or maybe I've got this all wrong and you know exactly what you want."
"Well," you manage in reply, sounding surprisingly sane. "Don't both start coming forward with any ideas you have no intention of following through."
"And what if I have no ideas at all? What would you tell me then," is the challenge you find hanging around the slender outline of Tzuyu's wrists, and then at the back of her fingers, as she cards her hands through her hair and pulls it prettily over rise-and-falls of her collarbones, until it's barely curtaining her breasts. 
(Barely.)
She crosses over to the bed - to you and Sana - and without much other movement than that, finds a knee on either side of you to let a lone fingertip skirt the tops of your hips. Flirting with the towel around your waist.
"For the record," Tzuyu says, flicking a glance at Sana and leaning down into your jawline. The palm she slides over your thigh is so warm, so promising of its heat and pressure you'd swear you can almost taste the touch of her. "I never, ever go back on my word."
"Try me," you tell her.
"I do have some, ideas." Every time her fingernail ends up between her teeth, it’s another drop in a well that runs god knows how deep. "Though very few of them involve this towel."
“And about the ones that do?”
"Well," Tzuyu starts to purr - reaching a hand down and spreading the flat of her palm on your chest, "I figured if I ever wanted something to bite down on, well, you know."
It's just a subtle little rock - and the perfect view: she starts like this, her hair all tucked behind one shoulder, the arch of her back lifting. Slow at first, Tzuyu only pausing after every other short breath to lick and kiss your lips with hers, and the edges of her teeth, all soft and insistent. You are sure - that with a subtle twitch, a minor jerk of the knee or hip - she is almost right over the perfect place, and when her hips grind in these micro-friction little motions that have her sighing and pushing herself flush, it's clear that all she's looking to do is rub her cunt down all over the erection you've been holding in since the last time your towel was hanging somewhere above your waist.
"Hold, please," Sana interrupts, when she leans over and plucks something out of the messy contents of the nightstand - a few hair clips, and, more importantly, a condom. She swears aloud when the package tears the wrong way, but she's quick to apply a lip balm-slick finger-tip on the inside of the ring, and hands the thing to Tzuyu by way of a passing roll, "so, I assume you've got this under control."
"Give me that."
"Mm. Have at it."
There is an intrusive thought that finds its place, wedged somewhere at the base of your skull when Tzuyu starts the careful act of lowering herself down your shaft - like this, it has an inevitability - a forward momentum, the familiar sense of excitement building a force in your heartstrings. Sana must have a similar sensation, as she scoots her ass and slides one hand over the same place you feel that force thrumming, her palm reaching right for Tzuyu's ass, while Tzuyu hisses out a tiny sound at the added stretch.
"Careful," Sana says, fingers drawn back from the cleft of Tzuyu's beautiful ass with a string of slick that's unmistakably arousal. "You try going back after having his cock. And trust me, there's nothing to go back to. Like, ever."
"That must be why you're always like this," is Tzuyu's cock-sure comeback, finding herself flush with your hips.
You're biting down. You're holding back. You're probably digging nails into your palms hard enough to break skin, because you could be double, triple wrapped, latex running up your length like a goddamn balloon and you'd still feel the hot, melting perfection of Tzuyu's pussy swallowing your cock in one, slick, seamless motion. There isn't any sound either more pleasing than that hitch-groan-slip you hear as Sana helps guide Tzuyu's hips back, forth, back again and to a steady beginning of this proper pace: smooth and full.
You both need a second, because, fuck - and she's biting into a grin. Eyes already half lidded as the speed builds. As Tzuyu starts really enjoying the drag of it, the feeling. The god-damn-fucking-stretch.
"Oh? Like what?" Sana asks, smirk filling out her lips to bridge the silence you're both groaning into. "Like what?"
"Greedy," Tzuyu says. The only part that really needs to get filled in. "Because he fucks the self-control right out of you."
Now Sana lets that settle, and it's not like she doesn't know. Or doesn't understand. And still, "Mm. That does sound like me, doesn't it, daddy?"
(Yeah, well- you- )
Tzuyu watches you watch what happens next: Sana peeling out the cotton slip of her bath towel - sizing up just how good Sana looks. Fuck-me-raw.
And then she laughs, deep and gorgeous. "Didn't he just do a number on you - hn, god. Can you hear him all up inside me? Fucking, splitting me apart."
It's true.
All of it.
The way Tzuyu rides your cock. Faster, faster, rolling her body and drawing her hands together behind the length of her hair and neck until the point of her chin is upturned, showing off the hollow of her throat. A tension that glitters with sweat.
The tightening in the space between the bottom of her ass and your cock - all of it is heaven. This slow-and-rough, rough-and-fast. Tzuyu picks the tempo of it to fuck out a particular pleasure that has you catching her and pulling her closer to your body, holding her through the upward grind, where your cock meets the heat of her cunt - pressing her closer.
That's it.
Possessive. That's what both girls have the good grace to read.
Sana's hands come up Tzuyu's ribs, fingertips skirting the muscle-taut-surface of her stomach, the bumps and grooves of her ribs, and up further still, riding the path of her breasts as they're bobbing-jostled and going full-on heavy - her thumbs go at her nipples. Rolling around the hardened tips - the faintest tug at them, enough to start to pull - then just teasing them between thumb and forefinger and loving the sight of you wincing. Loving that you love that.
"She's pretty, isn't she?" Sana laughs.
"It's a real show," you bite the compliment out. The very least you can get to.
(You'll be fucked if you can hide how much you want to stay buried in this girl and cum a fucking waterfall between those perfect, creamy thighs. Oh, she knows. The dirty little smile, the filthy laugh, you're holding tight - even if the act is useless.)
"Like how she clamps down," she hums. "That's the part I've always loved, you know. She just does everything so slow, so fucking good, so... deliberate."
There's a fist in Tzuyu's hair and no trace of sympathy or self restraint in her friend when Sana tells her, "Baby, ride him slow for me, can you do that?"
When Tzuyu sucks a hiss through her teeth, mouth caught around the sharp intake, Sana just licks a slow line along the curve of her lower lip - as though saying, baby, like the slut you are, remember who asked nicely? 
And it turns out: slow is worse. You can feel every tiny tremor of friction, every little shift of Tzuyu's cunt squeezing you. Clinging tightly. Your fingers wrap around her rib cage and hold her right as her ass hits your lap, while her head rolls back into her own hair. It is enough, finally, to draw an out-of-breath little pant out of her, making a beautiful blush crawl and spread across her cheeks - there.
(Oh, fuck, your brain echoes. So, you want slow, that's what the noise from your throat says as she eases back, rising up. So slow, you-can-feel-all-of-me. She makes the effort so flawlessly, it's fucking you both over, because she's looking at Sana with this flutter-beat look, eyes wide, wet and round and pleading.)
It gets that much worse the minute Sana pushes her down by the shoulders. Giving her some resistance. Showing you both she can take you inch by slow goddamned inch.
"Harder. Deeper, sweetie."
Tzuyu does everything Sana says she'll do, loving her fingers in her hair, pulling tight. Control given as easily as that. Because she looks just how she feels: utterly surrendered. A helpless kind of want, like there's something broken in her chest when the head of your cock pushes her deep, deep. To the point she feels something more than an ache.
"Want it," Tzuyu whispers out against Sana's smile. "From the back, like you promised," she says, and takes the shudder out of your breathing.
Sana cups her jaw, laughing. She puts one arm around Tzuyu's throat and bites at her chin, at her ear. "I bet he'd do just about anything to give you what you want, baby."
Tzuyu’s hips snap down onto yours again. Melting your cock in this thick, molten heat.
And again, faster. Needier.
The kind of movements across your lap that make everything louder - a beautiful chorus of small-sounds. Slaps and squelching. Wet and gasping and begging and skin-on-skin. You'd never, ever considered the act a competition before, not with Sana. But when Tzuyu seems to be seeing who can pull the most erotic of noises out from underneath your ribcage - or the highest pitched sigh - the wetter and louder it all gets -
"Sana."
"Tzu."
Tzuyu rides the pressure and finds her voice, head thrown back, jaw slack. "Sana - tell him to, I'm gonna, soon. Tell him what to do."
"Beg for him," and Sana gives her the fakest-of-all-pouts when she slips her hand along Tzuyu's inner thigh, nearing her where the two of you meet, then slowing her pace, bringing you both to an immediate stand-still, while her fingertips continue, ghosting across the shape of your stomach. "He doesn't need anything less than the truth."
Tzuyu's face. It's the most gorgeous thing you've seen. Her hips are winding slow against you when you hit a spot you're not entirely sure either of you can recreate at your own whim: deep inside. Her eyes as wide as they can be. All of her sharp edges now just these subtle things - the very shape of the shadow beneath her clavicle, the tensing of her thighs at your sides, the gentle lines that curl up from the wide bottoms of her hips when your fingers thread up her belly, palm open flat.
"I want," is where Tzuyu starts, not hiding it any part. "I want you to bend me over the bed." 
And in a breathless voice: 
"Please, please let me have what I want. Just bend me over the bed, shove my legs apart and take me. Hold me down. Fuck me and fill me and don't let me move or say a thing. Until we're both fucking finished."
You swallow. Hard.
Because here's what Sana's brought you: this tall brunette with an impossibly beautiful ass and thighs to die for, a sin-full mouth. The curves in her waist and back and tits a distraction, that you might try to map out until you're so lost you forget how to leave, how to ever take your cock out of this tight cunt.
"Is that a thing you can do?" Tzuyu practically purrs in one long tone, pushing herself up your waist, until your cock falls out and hangs there. Until you can only see all of this clear, gorgeous skin in front of you and hear her pretty little moan. "God, please, daddy, I’m begging you."
(She says this last part in a way that lets you know this isn't something either of you will get over easily, the kind of pleasure, the feeling and the flash. She's unreadable - almost, not quite- just too honest, there's nothing else for you to believe. Maybe that's where the shiver comes from, or your palms itching, or the sounds of your bedding ruffling as you spin her onto her back, her tummy - pull up on her hips until they're sky high and you can palm her breasts, let her press her knees up and apart on the duvet. Until you get that first look down the column of her spine and the sudden, stunning shape of her ass in a view you never want to say goodbye to.)
Tzuyu slides her hands across your sheets, all this stretch. A flex of muscle. When she opens her hips and you push two fingers deep, inside, easy - then back out -
"How much of that," Tzuyu interrupts, blushing furiously, "do I have left to beg with? Please."
- because she's been soaked and aching all day just thinking about it. Just begging for a good fucking - or so she told Sana, who now giggles and leaves small kisses up the ridge of her spine, crawls alongside the dip-line of the mattress, and after curling her fingers around the column of Tzuyu's throat - smooths a single fingernail up and down and presses, tracing, the groove of her jaw as you nudge your cock against her.
It’s not on purpose, this needlessly drawn-out moment - simple brush of latex against her slick, dripping folds, the tightening in her core and how it matches the tension in Sana's wrist and the coarseness of the bed-linens and the hardness of you - but everything eventually folds, into her.
And you're not helping, the way you're fastened to the narrow point of her waist like it's a handle. Your thumbs riding the arch of her hips, taking every opportunity to sink your fingers hard into the flesh, grip tighter and push, pulling Tzuyu, if only to really work that friction between your hips.
"Fuck, it's all in. Finally." Sana gasps like she's the one being bent, arched, fucked from behind, then lays herself down against the length of Tzuyu's shoulder, chin bumping her cheek. Watching Tzuyu. Taking it all in.
You have a hard time making it out, but Tzuyu starts this half-whimpered litany about how she needs to be fucked (that is, roughly - deep and long, or maybe rough and short and deep, or whatever, as long as it makes her lose composure), followed with some shoddy mix of cursing and your name and Sana's - the things all three of you might consider for another chance meeting.
And as you're following up the suggestion with a low groan, that's exactly how you notice that grind in her hips - a jerk back, a twist, bucking against you. She feels so, so incredibly tight when she writhes onto you, squeezes. Like she wants to tear her heart out her chest, she's so overwhelmed. So thoroughly and totally taken by this fuck. By you. "Harder," is all she says.
This one line does it, then two more. All in-and-out thrusts from behind, fuller the second time, then the third.
Only when you find Tzuyu peering back over her shoulder with a pair of eyes that say, please, pretty-please, all liquid and warm and wanting. "Fucking ruin that cunt, I want - god. Do you have the slightest idea how much," and that is where the words disappear into a slow and sticky whine.
"Yeah baby," Sana whispers.
She knows what it is. Tzuyu wants so much more, so you give it. Give her the just-this-side-of-ruthless fucking and the slow-pace grind you know can push her right over the edge. Give her more, all of you, and get her hands twisting in the pillow and grabbing fistfuls of sheets, burying her face into the space above her wrists and nearly choking on her hair with how she moans and yelps - loud.
Her whole body jolts forward the next time. The arch to her back deepening. Body drawing in on a flawless line.
Tzuyu does cum. Eventually.
She keens and rolls and begs you not to pull out or slow, just stay put and fill her with your cum - keep fucking going, please. The only thing keeping her from landing flat on your mattress as she practically unravels around your cock are fingers you have under her hips, tightening. Bruising.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck me, you’re,” you’re railing out of her lungs, where the words hang on sex-stale air.
First with Sana whispering promises into her ears and letting Tzuyu swallow, and suck around the length of her index, then two, fingers. Then licking a kiss into her mouth, tongue tangling up hers and finishing up the act with, "cum for us, Tzu, like the sweet girl you are - you take him so well."
Then, with your hand held over her ass-
(She could cry from it. From how everything pulls you in, like a riptide, and, really, with no regard for things like safety or drowning.)
-the utterance off her lips has your stomach twisting into knots:
"Keep," you hear her ask Sana. Barely getting the words out as you ride, fast. "Please, keep, telling him that I - god."
It gets worse before it gets better.
"I can't - I need; fuck, I can’t, with the rubber, I want him," and Sana smirks like she knew all along. "Sana, please-"
"You want the real thing, sweetie. Isn't that right, baby? Hm. Of course it's okay," and Sana soothes a hand through her friend's fringe, pushes it away from her eyes and over her ears, making something that sounds like an adoring laugh slip out. "You want him to fuck his cum so deep in that pussy, I know you do, don't worry."
When you slow down the grinding, wipe the sweat from your face, Sana gets your attention and nods to the very place your cock is disappearing between the cheeks of Tzuyu's ass, "go ahead. If you want the mess-up, sweetie - let's make sure that's exactly what he'll give you."
Who exactly wants what most is hard to say. Sana's the one pulling off the condom, the rubber stretching to an obscene limit that has you fearing for your life should it snap back before it breaks. Tzuyu is already a sort of gaping mess with it all, her own fingers snuck under to rub harsh circles in the absence of cock and something firm and heavy to fill her. To feel full.
And there's you, asking, or maybe, double-checking: "Tzuyu, you're saying you want me to-"
"She doesn't care," is what you're interrupted with, courtesy of Sana. "Fuck a baby into her cunt, that's what she wants."
(Like you wouldn't fucking love it too. Or have the frame of mind to even begin to unpack all of that.)
It’s a lot, admittedly.
And not just because Tzuyu has never looked better: on all fours, pressed, and presented. Legs all the way apart and ass and thighs in your grip, with that smile all pointedly certain and wild-eyed, like, she knows, that you know exactly what to give her - what she really wants - filling her so full and marking your claim by fucking your cum right to her very core.
Tzuyu drags her head back, so she can peek over her shoulder and meet your eyes.
She does things. Like sighing this small sound and laughing and - she has this thing for noises, for things breaking under the strain, where she won't say a word, except to murmur some part of your name into your jawline, a raggedness in her breathing. Sheer hunger.
"I want - want you to, fuck me."
You will. Or you are. Or you're going to, only - Sana's lips are fast around your cock, fingers fluttering delicately between your thighs and drawing these stuttering sounds in your breath, "I will. I will. I'm - I will."
Sana just hums, copper hair bobbing in place. Her hot mouth and wet fingers pulling and sliding and pulling and sliding. Tongue moving in all the ways she knows you like.
Which, here’s a fact: Sana can be mean. No one would believe it.
But sometimes this is the price of admission. You have to be honest about what it takes, how, exactly, you intend to break this beautiful brunette whose ass is swaying back and forth in this mesmerizing little waggle of the hips. It's hard not to marvel, not to ask questions and not wonder at what a pair of friends so similar and so opposite do to each other and other people and to themselves in those small, private hours and space no one else shares, that has you panting and burning and her clasping the hollow of your neck and asking with her body if this is okay, because sometimes, in moments of absolute need, just a glance can mean your end.
So, there's no tease; Sana is well aware of what it feels like when you're throbbing and ready to burst - she's working you up and over and right to that point of no return-
"Can I? Fucking-"
"Fine," she replies, maybe having now considered every other way you might spill a hot load out and make a mess of the sheets. "Have at her," and a flick of tongue catches around the tip of your cock - the final tease, the best punishment.
And the promise of how Tzuyu makes that perfect whimpering cry. Something entirely wounded. Because as soon as it begins - your cock in the shallow depth of her creaming cunt - you're both made aware how she's wetter than she was an hour ago and clenching at nothing, hands balling themselves in frustration, palms bunched white-knuckled up in fists. She needs something, anything. Something for her to squeeze against. For her to bear down on and bounce her cunt off-
The sound all three of you make when you grit your teeth and bury yourself deep into her pussy is a guttural, aching thing, with you biting a lip and gasping. Tzuyu half-growling-half-sobbing into the sheets.
It doesn't matter that she lets Sana cover her open and slack mouth in an attempt to quiet it.
It doesn't matter because in a blink, the exact point in which you sink completely inside - where it's the first, the best, feeling of Tzuyu’s hot pussy taking your cock.
(Mind-numbing, is the word that doesn't come to you.)
Under you, Tzuyu is writhing and hot and tight into the mattress - and so desperate.
"Please," is about all that gets away from her. Which is just too cute to ignore: she's been dying to be fucked, ever since stepped into your foyer and was introduced by the softest, most deliberate of gestures that wound up being all-too intimate. "Please- I need - harder, fucking-"
Sana takes to touching you, her own little form of enjoyment that ends with her fingertips mapping the shape of your jaw. Pupils blown, "Isn't she amazing?" Sana laughs into your neck.
"Fucking," is what your first real stroke back into Tzuyu pulls out,  “unreal."
The friction has you both grinding your bodies together at the base, and she arches, this throaty moan, before looking back up at you and letting her mouth fall open - this wordless sentence of plea, over and over again. She's shaking. Body-full. It's almost something painful to see, that she's so undone - and what if you were the only person who'd ever fucked her like this: into ruin.
Tzuyu clenches around the next thrust - begging, so-sore-and-begging to cum.
The demand is practically written in her muscles, and all you want is for her to let go for the second, third, last time - until she loses track of the count. To get there before you have the time to register that she is actually doing it. She's already half-way gone and at your mercy - her only choices now, being: cum, or let you chase the orgasm you're currently rubbing all around the curve of her cunt.
Sana swallows her scream when the first little cry comes, that you've edged out of her. And it gets worse and better the second time her ass meets your thighs, where she's making a real mess on your hips and all but yelling out her orgasm in her state of such incoherent stutter and disarray. The arch to her back is this thing out of your best imagination, which has you - pounding out all her noises - gripping and curving over the plane of her stomach. Until Tzuyu's beginning to make these different cries, somewhere new, somewhere you're finding a whole lot deeper.
"Hold her ass up and fuck her 'til she's full of cum," is the advice you get from Sana in the end, as you fuck her and fuck her through the tumultuous rise and fall of orgasm after orgasm, "oh baby, does it hurt so good? Do you feel that heat spreading down your thighs and getting you all slick? You always knew the best toys are the ones that get bred, sweetheart."
And from her, barely, "fuck, yes."
That's what does it: the desperation just that tangible in all your voices.
Sana manages to get her lips on yours. A kiss that could knock the wind out of your sails under normal circumstances, one that curls a fist and tugs around a familiar part of you. But Tzuyu's eyes roll and drop low, fluttering shut, while your hips crash in quickening succession:
"Fuck-you're so-perfect, cum in me again, daddy - make me," and, "please, so fucking full, just give me more. Want more of you, until it's-"
Tzuyu gets you. Just there. Just the way you needed it. Just like that.
There's something addictive in how her muscles clench and grab around the head of your cock - drawing everything you'd been holding back to a painful front, and - Sana's taste in your mouth still so sweet, mixed with salt and sweat, while you fuck and pound, with absolutely zero respite. Cum buried deeper and deeper until it's spilling and Tzuyu whines for the filthy feeling. Until you're fucked through, emptying every single drop into her open cunt. Until your legs feel sore, a slight shake all through the muscle and the tension in your neck and shoulders, and you're growling this thing that might be her name, and "Tzu, my god, baby, you feel, so amazing," in between thrusts.
It earns you an appreciative whimper.
Something breathy and not-at-all restrained. She doubles down on it when your cock slides out of her swollen, well-fucked cunt.
At first, she only hums a sleepy smile and turns her face in toward the touch, eyes closed and unresponsive. A long exhale. Even like this - especially, perhaps - Tzuyu is lovely.
Either out of exhaustion or overbearing satisfaction, you collapse into her - bodies folding up like that old-cliche about a stack of cards or dominoes - with your cheek to her back and your arms wrapping around her chest, tight, trying to squeeze. Like you're hugging someone from behind. Which isn't too far off. Because for the next five or ten or fifteen minutes or a half-hour, you lie there, pressing your face in against the side of her neck, smelling her hair - how sweet the strands are - then down along her shoulders, and under, listening to the soft way Tzuyu falls into her breaths. 
In, out. In, out.
Sana follows all the while with, "should we not have let her ride, first?"
To which, Tzuyu says, "fuck off."
Sana brushes it off, crawls around your shoulders and slips two, three, five kisses into your forehead. That's when you know to shuffle over, dragging and tugging limbs and muscles and bone in the same direction - careful not to let the sticky sensation linger anywhere it shouldn't. Not even for an instant.
The three of you are laying in a total fucking mess. But it's your mess, and that's beautiful in a sort of thought-provoking poetic way.
You turn your head. Tzuyu's there, still, blinking slowly.
"Hello again, hi," you say and the smile comes up all sorts of natural. "Okay?"
Her gaze shifts into something vague, so much quieter, but she nods. So it must be. Okay.
-
“Is it too early?” Tzuyu asks two weeks later, and nothing has ever, ever started like that.
She’s at your doorstep, a little too dressed up for the middle of the afternoon, hair pulled away from her face in two loose braids, bright eyes, lip-gloss that shimmers just enough. Something innocent in the whole way she looks and stands and smiles. Nothing, on the surface, that gives the truth away.
You lift an eyebrow, skeptical. Always. "I wasn't expecting company."
"Yes you were," and she dangles a set of keys.
"I'm sorry, did you steal those?"
The laughter from her chest is as surprising as it is gorgeous, rich and thick like molasses, rolling over the shape of her tongue. It hits you hard that two weeks - really, any amount of time - it’s not nearly long enough.
And before Tzuyu can admit as much out loud, Sana chirps from her spot aside the door, knee bent and grinning, "maybe I did."
"Well," you say, hands on your hips, "this is all a little..."
"Irregular, I know." Sana's giving her best impression of you: so exasperated.
"Which is, honestly," she continues to explain, pushing away from her perch and approaching in these small, gentle steps. "We need, that thing you promised you'd do," she trails a finger up the buttons of your shirt, under your jaw. You're already drowning. "Whenever" - is her very worst torture - "we called."
(Might just be a little bit of trouble, is the one honest answer, to whatever you were trying to start when you saw their faces and recognized their bodies and said: yes, come inside and meet me and fuck my brains out, all that.
What a way to begin. What a story it'll be.)
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a/n: these two are fucking adorable.
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steddiehyperfixation · 4 months
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don't you forget about me (part five)
(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)
No nightmares make their way into Eddie’s mind that night, no bad memories stir in his subconscious. That night, instead, he dreams of Steve:
Steve sat in the back of Eddie’s van, lounging against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, perpendicular to Eddie who sat against the back of the seats, legs also kicked out and propped up on top of Steve’s as they passed a joint back and forth, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. The windows and doors were closed to keep the night’s cool summer breeze out and the smoke in, the air in the van pleasantly warm and thick and hazy; their minds so too. 
Steve took a hit of the joint and attempted to blow smoke rings when he exhaled, making funny shapes with his lips and failing so spectacularly it made Eddie burst into a fit of raucous laughter. He threw his head back with it, hysterical and giggly in his high. Steve shoved at Eddie’s legs in mock offense at being laughed at, but it lacked heat, and he’d already caught the giggles from him too. 
“You’re really beautiful, you know,” Steve said, dopey smile on his face as he watched Eddie laugh. 
Eddie snorted. “And you’re really high.” He plucked the joint out of Steve’s hands, not giving the compliment much weight at all. People just say things sometimes when they’re too high, and he knew Steve’s tolerance for any sort of substance had gone way down since he’d gotten caught in that mall fire a couple weeks ago. Something to do with trauma or whatever. 
“Yeah, I’m gone,” Steve agreed, blowing a raspberry at him. “But I meant it, though,” he said. His dazed eyes drifted lazily over Eddie’s face. “I think it all the time sober too, every time you laugh or smile or the light hits you just right. You have pretty lips and pretty eyes and pretty hair.” 
“Yeah, it’s the long hair, man.” Eddie laughed, genuine but dismissive, taking a hit of the joint and saying on the exhale, “Got the wires all crossed in that lovely little head of yours. Your high brain’s just got me confused for a girl or something.” 
“No.” Steve frowned at him, bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pout as he shook his head. “I’m not confused. I don’t think you’re a girl. I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy.” 
“Hm.” Eddie took another hit, felt the weed float through his veins, cloud his mind even further. “In that case…” The smoke escaped past lips stretched into an unsuppressable grin. “You wanna know a secret?”
Steve angled his body towards him and leaned forward in interest. “Uh huh.” 
Eddie snuffed out the joint, pushed away from the back of the seats, and pulled his legs off of Steve, sitting back on his heels instead as he shifted to face Steve better and move closer. Inches apart now, Eddie brought a hand up to Steve’s cheek and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy too.”
Steve giggled, smile wide and cheeks pink. He hooked an arm around Eddie’s waist and swept him onto his lap, making Eddie giggle too as he was pulled in close. Their foreheads rested against each other. Steve’s heavy-lidded eyes settled on Eddie’s lips, and Eddie thought he got the hint. He leaned in, and for a second Steve leaned in too, only for him to duck away at the very last second, the would-be kiss amounting only to the barest brush of their lips. A small whine, confused and wanting, escaped involuntarily from the back of Eddie’s throat. 
“Waitwaitwait-” Steve said, one hand pressed lightly against Eddie’s chest to hold him back. “We should be sober first.” 
Eddie huffed, but agreed, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” His hand still cupped Steve’s face though, thumb running over his cheekbone as he asked, “Will you even still want to kiss me when you’re not high?” 
“Of course I will.” Steve leaned into his touch. “Will you?” 
“Of course I will. Have you seen you?” Eddie said with a light laugh. “How could I not?” 
Steve grinned, bumped his forehead against Eddie’s again. “I’m gonna kiss you breathless when we’re sober, I promise.” 
“You better.” Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek instead, for now. “I’m holding you to that, pretty boy.” 
He was rewarded with another giggle and both of Steve’s arms wrapping around him now to pull him closer to his chest. Eddie slipped an arm around Steve’s waist too and settled against him, curled up so that he could rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. His other hand dropped from Steve’s face and drifted instead to land on the bicep of the strong arms that cradled him. 
The giggly elation of their high was beginning to give way to a stoned sleepiness, the weed-soaked air draped around them like a blanket. They probably could’ve fallen asleep like that - it wouldn’t have been the first time they’d passed out back there after a smoke sesh - but the air would soon grow stale, not to mention every breath inside the hotboxed van only maintained their intoxication and Eddie kind of really wanted to be sober as soon as possible. 
“It’s getting late,” he mumbled, reluctantly pushing himself away from Steve. “We should head inside.”
“Yeah, alright.” Steve, equally reluctantly, let go of Eddie and let him leave his lap. 
They separated to climb out of the van and make their way to the trailer and back to Eddie’s room to get ready for bed, but they gravitated towards each other again, drawn together like magnets once they laid side by side under Eddie’s sheets. It was almost unconscious, really, the way they both reached out and pulled each other close. 
By the time morning came, they were completely intertwined: both of them had both arms wrapped tight around the other, their legs entangled, Steve’s head tucked beneath Eddie’s chin and face buried in his chest. Eddie idly ran his fingers through Steve’s hair; Steve stirred at the touch and muttered a muffled, “‘Morning,” which Eddie softly echoed. 
Steve pulled his head back from Eddie’s chest then and shifted himself up so that they were face to face - or, more accurately, nose to nose. “Oh.” He smiled a little. “Hi.” And Eddie echoed that too, with a matching small smile. 
“About last-” Steve started to say, at the same time Eddie began to ask, “Did you-?” They both broke off into a light chuckle. Steve shook his head and said, “Sorry, you go.” 
“Did you mean what you said last night?” Eddie asked, voice quiet and careful and hopeful. 
“Every word,” Steve replied, his gaze soft as his eyes met Eddie’s. “Did you?” 
“Every word,” Eddie confirmed. A slow grin spread across his face, and he slid his hand from Steve’s hair to trace his fingers along Steve’s jaw. “You have a promise to keep now, big boy.” 
“That I do,” Steve agreed with a smirk of his own, pulling Eddie closer.
Their lips met, properly this time. Steve kissed him gentle and sweet and slow, and Eddie all but melted into it, a syrupy warmth flooding his veins. He kissed back, matched the pace. Steve flipped them over, pressing Eddie’s back into the mattress as he deepened the kiss and settled his weight on top of him with a languid, full body roll. Eddie moaned softly beneath him, his lips parting to accept the caress of Steve’s tongue which licked into his mouth in easy, tender strokes. His hands curled in Steve’s hair again and in the fabric of his shirt, back arched in an attempt to press himself even closer as Steve continued to kiss him like he was drinking Eddie in, like Eddie was something precious and Steve was determined to savor every taste. It was dizzying, hypnotizing, thoroughly fucking intoxicating. 
When Steve finally pulled away, Eddie was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to breathe, how to speak. He stared up at him, dazed, eyes wide and mouth still open soundlessly. 
“Told you,” Steve said, a smugness in his smile, “breathless.” 
“Man of your word.” Eddie found his voice again, remembered how to pull air back into his lungs. “An attractive quality,” he murmured before tugging Steve down into another kiss. 
This one got a little more heated. It was Eddie who took control this time, and he kissed Steve with fervor. He switched their positions, rolling over so that Steve was the one lying beneath him now, Eddie’s body grinding down as he landed on top of Steve. It was not soft and neither was the sound Steve let out in response: a guttural groan that rumbled against Eddie’s lips. Eddie swallowed that sound, bit down on it, devoured it; craved more of it. He left Steve’s mouth to kiss down his neck, scraping his teeth against those stupidly biteable moles and sucking a bruise onto the skin. Steve’s breath stuttered; as Eddie paired the lovebite with another harsh grind, Steve’s hips bucked up to meet him, pulling another deep groan from them both. 
“Eddie,” Steve gasped out then. “Eddie, we should slow down.” 
Eddie immediately clambered off of him. “Right, yeah. Too much. Sorry.” He put some distance between them, sitting more towards the edge of the bed and looking away awkwardly.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Steve said as he sat up and shifted closer, placing a hand over Eddie’s. “I just- I don’t want this to be just that.” His other hand reached up to turn Eddie’s face back towards him. “I want something real with you. I want to do things right.” 
“Oh. Yeah, I wouldn’t just-” Eddie shook his head and smiled softly instead, taking Steve’s hand from his face and holding it. “I want something real with you too.” 
Steve sighed, smiled with visible relief. He squeezed Eddie’s hands. “Okay, good.” 
Eddie’s stomach grumbled audibly then, and he said with a grin, “So, how about you take me out to breakfast, sweetheart, and we can go from there?”
Steve laughed. “Sounds good to me,” he said, leaning in to give Eddie one more lingering kiss first. 
Eddie wakes up wanting, a deep ache in his heart like there’s something missing now that he’s awake. Steve is still holding his hand, and Eddie looks over to see the guy passed out in the bedside chair, head lolled to one side, mouth open, a line of drool crusted down his chin. It’s disgusting. It’s fucking adorable. The ache in his heart twinges.
“Goddamnit,” Eddie groans to himself. He knows what this is. He’s got a fucking crush. On Steve fucking Harrington. Of all people. Of course he does. 
For all his anti-jock rhetoric, even for all his protests yesterday about not being obsessed, Eddie always did have a sort of fascination with Steve Harrington in high school. More of a passing fancy, really. He thought Steve was attractive, sure, but in the way a celebrity is attractive - unobtainable and unreal - so it was always more like Steve was just his favorite reality TV show rather than an actual crush. But now Steve is real, and worst of all, he’s kind. King Steve Intangible Hot Asshole Jock Harrington is now Sweet Lovely Gorgeous Goofy Perfect Steve who holds Eddie’s hand when he’s scared and tells stupid jokes to make him laugh and always seems to know exactly what he needs, so of course Eddie never stood a single goddamn chance. Of course Eddie only had to spend one fucking day with this man for his old teenage fascination to trip and start falling for him, for Eddie to start having stupid, sappy dreams about him. 
Because Eddie’s sure that’s all it was. No way was that dream a memory; his brain was just taking bits and pieces of what Steve had said yesterday and filling in the blanks with fantasy. Dumb, sweet, soft, romantic fantasy. Complete with fucking yearning and shit. 
Eddie groans again. Why couldn’t it have just been a sex dream? He knows how to handle sex dreams. Sex dreams don’t come with actual feelings. 
Steve begins to rouse then, probably stirred awake by all Eddie’s grumbling. 
“Morning, sunshine,” Eddie says as Steve lifts his head and wipes the crusted drool from his mouth. 
“Eddie?” Steve rubs his eyes with one hand, then blinks and squeezes Eddie’s hand with his other as his face breaks into a smile. “Hey, you slept through the night!”
Eddie snorts. “You don’t have to make it sound like I’m your infant child reaching a milestone.” He puts on a slight character voice, pitching up his inflection, “‘Baby Eddie slept through the night for the very first time! Mommy Steve was finally able to get some rest!’” 
“Ew.” Steve wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, even as he scoffs out a laugh. “Do not call me mommy.” 
“Oh, sorry, would you prefer daddy?” Eddie asks with a smirk and raised eyebrows. Because he’s stupid and has no fucking filter. 
“Uh-” That startles a nervous chuckle out of Steve, pretty pink blush blooming in his cheeks. Then he closes his eyes for a moment, shakes his head again, and takes a breath to regain his composure. “Yeah, no, that’s not my thing either.” 
“Noted,” Eddie says, and then physically bites his own tongue to stop himself from asking something even more stupid like so what is your thing then? 
“Anyways-” Steve seems a little desperate to change the subject. “No nightmares last night?” 
“Nah.” Eddie taps his fingers against Steve’s hand. “You’ve got some sort of magic touch, man. I never have nightmares when I fall asleep with your hands on me.” 
Steve smiles at that, a small thing. “Told you I’d fight them off.” 
“Man of your word,” Eddie mutters. His heart gives a little lurch as he echoes his dream, a reaction which is consequently made clear and apparent for anyone to see by the immediate uptick of beeping from his heart monitor. So that’s going to be a problem. 
“Yeah-” Steve glances at the monitor, then back at Eddie, a concerned pinch between his brows (Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it away; his heart only beats faster). “Are you alright?” 
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Eddie glares accusingly at the heart monitor, like it’s betrayed him on purpose. “I don’t know why it’s doing that.” 
Steve doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? I can go get someone to check on you-” He starts to stand like he means to leave, but Eddie tightens his grip on his hand so he can’t get too far. 
“I said I’m fine, Steve,” Eddie insists, a little sharper than he meant to. He takes a breath, smooths the edge off his voice. “A slightly increased heart rate is not gonna kill me, alright? You don’t have to worry about me so much.” 
“I always worry about you,” Steve mutters. Though he does settle back into his chair, he keeps eyeing the heart monitor and worriedly chewing on his lip - as if that’s going to help Eddie’s racing heart situation. 
“Okay, you gotta stop doing that, man.” 
“What?” 
“Acting all nervous like I’m about to drop dead,” Eddie says. “You’re stressing me out. No wonder my heart’s beating faster.” 
“Right, sorry.” Steve looks away from the monitor and releases his lip from between his teeth, bitten red and plump now. Jesus. 
Eddie breathes in slowly. He can be calm, he can be cool. He takes another few breaths until his heart rate finally starts to chill the fuck out and the monitor stops beeping so incessantly. “See, I’m totally fine.” 
“Yeah.” Steve relaxes visibly. He squeezes Eddie’s hand, gives an apologetic smile. “Of course you are. Sorry I stressed you out.” 
“That’s alright.” Eddie smiles back with a shrug, brushing it off. “Means you care, Stevie. I appreciate it.”
Steve’s expression turns warm then, and about 95% of Eddie’s higher brain functioning is now completely focused on trying to keep his heartbeat steady under the glow of Steve’s smile and the warmth of his hand. He doesn’t even hear whatever it is Steve says in response, just lets the timbre of his voice wash over him. It sounds like something soft, something kind, but not something that requires a reply, so Eddie stays quiet and continues to count each beat of his heart in the easy silence that settles over them. 
Steve can’t decide if he wants to stay right here forever, holding Eddie’s hand and making sure he’s alright, or if he still wants to run so far from the ache it leaves in his chest. 
Hanging out with Eddie yesterday had been overwhelmingly bittersweet. It felt so good to laugh with him again, to talk with him the way they used to, to see his face all lit up and happy. It felt so good to know that Eddie wanted him there, that he enjoyed spending time with him. There were moments that set Steve’s heart aglow, moments so effortless, so simple, so them, that he could forget, just for a second, all that was still missing between them. But each good feeling came with a stinging aftertaste of grief as Steve would remember and he felt the difference in the depth of their affection like a great gaping chasm, vast and black and bleak. 
His emotions are frayed, all stretched and pulled in so many different directions at the same time. He wants and he worries and he aches and he loves; desire and despair.
Time makes his decision for him, though, as he catches sight of the clock on the wall and suddenly remembers, “Shit- I have to go, sorry. I promised Robin I’d finally come back to work today so she’d stop having to be stuck on shifts with Keith,” Steve says, starting to stand. 
“Oh.” Eddie blinks like he’s been startled out of a trance. A brief disappointment flashes across his face. “Okay.” 
“I’ll be back tonight, though,” Steve promises with a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “Soon as I can.” 
The corners of Eddie’s mouth tug up into a small smile then. “Yeah, I know you will.” He lifts Steve’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it before letting go. “You’re my good luck charm.”
It’s such a small, innocent thing, but it wrenches Steve’s heart. The feeling of Eddie’s lips lingers on his skin like it’s haunting him, taunting him; the barest trace of something that once was, a ghost of what he’s lost. It’s almost cruel. Steve hates it, and he aches for it. 
He’s quick to leave the room before Eddie can see the tears in his eyes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t like to see him sad.
(part six) taglist (CLOSED): @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (taglist continued in replies; please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. if you didn't make the taglist but still wanna follow along, you can follow the tag #dyfamsteddiefic to keep up with new updates!)
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peppermint-toads · 10 months
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𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎, 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗?
𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛
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𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 long time no see and 80s slasher summer is here
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 light piv sex, insecure reader, 1.4k words, bad grammar and smut writing sry
𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 you and eddie are camp counselors and hookup every summer, but it’s not enough for you and poor eddie baby
“Miss me, Munson?” You asked from the door, waving away the milky smoke that pillowed from his spot on his bunk.
Twelve summers at Camp Blue Lake had led you and Eddie into your early adulthood where you’d become counselors.
As the summers got hotter and you grew older, you and Eddie had started an annual summer fling of sorts, a tradition, really.
Like clockwork, you would sneak away during the evenings when the campers were in the mess hall, making the most of every moment whether it was in his bunk or yours, the art cabin, or sometimes the woods.
You popped your hip out, hoping he would like the new shorts you bought for the season.
He rolled his head towards you, looking you up and down to see what time apart had done to you. He tried to look uninterested. He was shirtless, and you couldn’t help but ogle. He’d gotten new tattoos.
“Don’t you know this kinda thing is bad luck? You know what happened to those counselors in Friday the 13th, right?”
“What? Did the Hawkins girls treat you too well this year?” Your dejected tone didn’t go unnoticed, even though you tried to conceal it with a smirk.
You thought maybe he’d found a girlfriend and didn’t need you anymore.
Truth was, Eddie dreaded seeing you more and more each summer because leaving you was getting harder and harder. And missing you was even worse.
He laughed a little as he exhaled.
“Not quite.”
His smile faded into something sad as he succumbed to your pretty face staring at him with an insecurity he wasn’t used to.
“Indianapolis boys treat you well?”
You shook your head. You hadn’t even bothered with other boys since the summer of ‘85; you were completely and totally hung up on Eddie.
“You don’t have yourself a little boyfriend, huh?”
He sat up on his palms, finally nodding you over to him. You plopped onto his tiny bunk happily, snatching his joint from his fingers.
“You don’t have to say it, it’s okay. I know you missed me.”
He scoffed.
You lie on your side, facing him and taking in all of the features you missed so much during the year. At some point, he’d worked up the courage to run his fingers softly across your cheek and through your hair.
It was slow and shy, but it was like riding a bike. You never really forgot how to love Eddie.
You watched him carefully, and he watched you back.
“It’s gonna be a hot summer,” you mumbled, looking away from him. His hand stopped and you frowned.
“D’you think Brad will wear those denim cutoffs this year?”
You sighed dreamily, “I can only hope.”
Eddie smacked your shoulder. “Hey!”
After a short fit of giggles, silence settled over the empty cabin again, and the buzzing of the cicadas became overpowering.
“If you don’t want to… you know… hook up or whatever you can just say so.” He sighed.
As if he hadn’t already stashed heaps of trojans underneath his thin mattress.
“Why wouldn’t I? We do it every summer? Unless—unless you don’t want to.”
You could feel the heat rising in your throat and heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Eddie really had probably found some sweet girl in Hawkins and felt too bad to tell you—
“Of course I do!” He rushed out. “I just thought I would… dunno, give you an out?”
You weren’t the only one feeling insecure. You decided to do the one thing you knew best.
The thing that always calmed you down. The thing that you did to celebrate winning color wars for the fifth summer in a row. The thing you missed so much while you were apart.
His lips felt the same as you remembered, instantly calming you despite the taste of stale weed on his tongue.
Usually, the first hookups of the camp season were eager and excited, squeezed in before the campers were set to arrive. But as you sunk down onto Eddie’s dick, something felt different. There was no rush.
The smell of his hairspray mixed with the heavy, humid air of the cabin, and the way Eddie felt so deep in your stomach after months without him almost made you cry.
He was so soft with you, and his eyebrows stayed knit together as he watched your breaths become more shallow and skin more flushed.
Everything felt so familiar, and as you dropped your forehead onto his shoulder you could barely contain the words nagging your tongue. I love you, Eddie. Please, please, please. I can’t spend another minute away from you I—
His soft grunting pulled you from your thoughts. You could tell he was getting close.
Psycho. You’re just his summer fling. Always have been, always will be.
You told yourself that, but you didn’t believe it.
Maybe Eddie could tell it had been a while since you’d had sex, because you were already whimpering into his shoulder like you did when you were close. But you could tell he was in the same boat.
The last time you’d had sex with anybody was a year ago in the very same spot on the last night of camp. You’d snuck away during the closing bonfire to feel each other one last time. That was the first time you’d let him fuck you without a condom.
When you collapsed onto Eddie’s chest, the setting sun was seeping through the damp and rotting wood of cabin 5, clinging to your sweaty skin.
“Campers will be here soon. We should probably set up for s’mores.” You said absentmindedly, tracing shapes onto his skin.
“Those slackers Brad and Cindy can do it. Let’s stay like this for a little longer.
Eventually you had to get up, the bustle of the rest of the counselors arriving meant soon the cabin would be occupied by campers, and you decidedly would not be reliving the incident where Tommy found your pair of Tuesday panties. He attached them to a stick and ran around the grounds screaming “Girl panties, girl panties!”
As the hours passed, more and more campers came tripping out of their cabins and onto the lawn where the girls huddled around each other trading scrunchies and talking about the boys they hoped to kiss that summer, and the boys played tag in the dark after seeing whose feet had grown the biggest.
The night sky blanketed the camp, and you relaxed into Eddie’s side, listening to the screeching and laughing of the campers.
“You remember our first kiss?” You asked him.
Eddie smiled and hummed deep in his throat.
“Mhm, right here in front of this very campfire.”
“We were what? 15?”
“Yeah, and everybody went down to the lake and we stayed back. Then you just laid one on me.”
“That is so not true!” You whined. “You so kissed me first, asshole!”
“I’m remembering it a little differently, sweetheart.”
Eddie had kissed you first. He was shaking and stumbling over his every word as he leaned in, bracing himself for you to shove him away from you. Really you were just as nervous, sweating because you thought you might’ve had marshmallow stuck in your braces.
Quiet settled over you again, and the sounds of the cicadas were back droning in your ears.
“I was thinking about moving into the city, you know. Getting my own place and all.”
“Really?” You asked, sitting up to face him.
Your face was bathed in orange light, and he swore he’d do anything for you.
He nodded.
“Dave said I could work at one of his shops in Indianapolis, like a transfer.”
“What about Wayne?”
You knew why Eddie was moving, and you wouldn’t be the reason he left his uncle.
Eddie just scoffed. “He’s got a new lady friend, Darlene. He’s plenty occupied.”
You smiled. “That could be nice, then.”
“I was also thinking about taking you on a date. Someplace without mosquitoes?”
“You going all soft on me, Munson?”
“Oh absolutely not, I’m still gonna bang your brains out after. Just thought we could go somewhere nicer than the mess hall beforehand.”
“What do you mean? Chef Agatha’s cooking is totally romantic.”
You leaned in closer to Eddie’s side, your chest and stomach warming at the idea of finally getting to be his.
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unsolved-duvall · 1 year
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𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 𝐞.𝐦. (𝟏𝟖+)
eddie munson x fem!reader
warnings 18+ smut, soft eddie, soft reader, kissing, references to being in sub-space, fingering- fem receiving, no use of y/n, overuse of nicknames (baby, sweetheart, pretty girl, etc.). this is only a small blurb but i hope that’s okay <3
Always thinking about soft sex with Eddie.
Soft Eddie who just wants to make you feel good, who wants you to stop thinking for a while and just be there with him. He would make sure you were falling apart for him before he’s even touched you, leaving soft kisses across your neck and letting his hands wander. He trails your body with his ring-clad fingers like it’s a map only he gets to know.
He knows you. He knows your body. He knows the sounds you make and what each of them mean. He knows when he’s got his lips over your sweet spot on your neck and his hands wrapped around your back pulling you flush against him, that you’re about to let out the prettiest little whimpers he’s ever heard. He knows that when he gently bites down on your neck, the way you like, your hand is about to fly up to tangle itself in his hair, and you’ll hold back a moan.
He knows your about to whine and pull him up to kiss you, desperate to feel his soft lips against yours; which is exactly what you do. And of course, he obliges happily, because why wouldn’t he? You like to feel like he’s the one in control, it’s just what you like. But the truth is, and what Eddie knows to be true, is that really you’re in complete control here. He’s following your every move, your every sound, you’re the one in control of him, even if you don’t know it.
It might be ten minutes or an hour later, but eventually Eddie’s hand will wonder down between your thighs, resting just above where you want him to touch you. He’d let his hand rest there until your hips involuntarily buck up against him, searching for any sort of relief from that ache that only Eddie can pull from you.
“You need me to touch you sweetheart? yeah?” you’re nodding and your eyes look so heavy that he’s ready to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You just look so pretty for him.
You’re trying to talk, trying to tell him that yeah, you do need him to touch you. But you’re breathing so heavily and you’re feeling so fucking good already that you can’t get the words out.
But Eddie knows.
“It’s okay baby, you just lie there and look pretty for me, huh? That what you want? Just want me to keep helping you make those pretty little sounds?”
Eddie knows you. So he knows when you get into this headspace he wants to make sure you’re still completely there, still with him. It’s why he grabs hold of one of your hands and intertwines your fingers with his, it’s why he squeezes your hand every now and then. You know the rule, you squeeze his hand back, you open your eyes and look at him, and he keeps going. If you don’t, he stops. No questions asked, no matter how much you beg him to keep going.
But tonight? Tonight you can’t keep your eyes off of him, and he’s making sure you feel every little touch. His fingers rub light pressured circles over your clit, and his lips go back to kissing yours, his tongue meeting yours and sending sparks flying between the two of you.
You’re struggling kiss him back, and Eddie’s swallowing every moan and breathy whimper you can’t hold back against his kiss-swollen lips. He knows your close, that you’re about to come, but he also knows you need him to talk you through it. You’d never admired it out loud, but he knows now you always come the hardest when you can hear his voice.
So that’s exactly why he moves to have his lips pressed against your ear, taking your ear lobe between his lips and kissing before he talks you through it as you crumble under him.
“Are you gonna come for me, angel? You gonna let me see how pretty you are when you come all over my fingers, huh?” Your chest is drooling up and down in an almost manic pace, you’re fighting for every drop of air that Eddie so effortlessly steals from you just by being around you.
“God I don’t know how I got so lucky sweetheart. A girl as sweet as you who goes dumb the second I get my hands on you, huh? Isn’t that right? You’re the smartest person I know but the second my fingers are inside you, there’s nothing going on in your pretty little head, is there?”
He hears you whimper against him and he smiles, you’re holding back, letting him keep talking to you, because you want to hear everything he has to say.
He loves you for that.
“Come on sweet girl, I can feel you clenching around my fingers, shit you drive me fucking insane, you know that?”
And then you do something he truly wasn’t expecting. Your free hand, the ones he’s not holding, moves between your bodies until your letting yourself feel him over his jeans, even through the thick denim you can feel how hard he is, and it only makes your whole body cry out for him more.
“Oh- fuck- sweetheart, I need you to come, okay? You gonna come for me? Yeah? I know, I know-”
And suddenly everything hits you all at once and you’re pulling Eddie against you so you can bury your head in his neck, completely consumed by him.
He talks you through your high.
“Fuck that’s my girl.”
“God you sound sweeter every time.”
“I got you pretty girl, just let yourself feel good.”
“That’s it- you did so well for me, I love you, baby”
And you’re shaking and your whole body is on fire and it’s too much but it’s also not enough. It’s everything you could ever need but you still need more. It’s Eddie.
It’s all Eddie and he’s everything you could ever have asked for.
.
.
.
thank you for reading! i’m sorry it’s not very long or very good and if there are any spelling or grammar errors i can only apologise. i’m going to try so hard to write a full length fic soon. i’ve just been struggling to write at the moment 🤍
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not-an-alien-scientist · 11 months
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Barometric Pressure
Kay: *rubbing some gel onto her wrist and hand*
Si'miel: Kay that is quite a strong scent, I thought most humans preferred their "perfume" to be only slightly noticeable
Kay: Huh? Oh, no, sorry, this is just a painkiller. Smells funky but works decently well
Si'miel: *pales a little* pain ...killer?!
Kay: sorry, I'm out of sorts right now, its a pain reducer. Can you do me a favor?
Si'miel: Oh yes, I will gladly help you in your time of pain *feels slightly honored most humans simply tell one 'don't worry about it' and never consider one's ability to help*
Kay: Alert the ship's maintenance engineers that the atmospheric pressure is dropping
Si'miel: . . . Kay I'm certain the sensors would have alerted them to that!
Kay: *slips on an odd black device that covers her wrist and partially her hand* Well the sensors are faulty. My joints are all messed up but especially my ankle and wrist. So I know.
Si'miel: *alarmed* We must go to the infirmary immediately!
Kay: nah I used my gel med and splinted my wrist so it can't move mu- -
Si'miel: You've immobilized your own body?!
Kay: *deep sigh* Si'miel us humans sometimes have bad joints and when atmospheric pressure drops the pain in our joints increases. My right wrist is just slightly worse than the others, so making sure it doesn't move around as much prevents an increase in pain.
Si'miel: You..... you just walk around with your joints hurting? It...it can detect pressure changes? How? Do all humans have such a skill?
Kay: Bad joints are bad joints not much I can do about it. And no, not everyone can, I'm so envious of people whose joints haven't gone on strike. Anyways we have no idea... well I have no idea why, but I can just feel it. The ship's atmosphere is definitely dropping. *sad smile* haven't felt the awful sensation it gives since I left Earth, I just really want to go have some soup and watch whatever dumb movies we got recently, so can you let the engineers know?
Si'miel: *nervously twitches their front appendages worried for their human crewmate* I will let them know .... are you sure you don't need the infirmary?
Kay: Yeh definitely sure, had this issue since I was 21, sucks but hey thats life. Thanks for letting them know, I knew I could count on you *heads off*
___
*Si'miel walks into the main work station of the ship maintenance engineers*
Engineer 1: *looks up* do you need something?
Si'miel: I do not wish to insult your work but a human crew mate informed me that the atmospheric pressure of the ship is dropping. I'm certain you would know if such a thing were true but.... the manual on humans says we should not ignore them when they use the phrase "I can just feel it/ I can just tell" so I thought I would alert you to her statement
Engineer 1: Thats not a possibility our signals would have gone off, but *sighs* new protocols state that we can't ignore a human's warning *rolls two of their 4 eyes... an odd expression they ironically picked up from humans*
Engineer 2: I'll check manually *heads down the corridor a bit and after a few minutes*. . . Activate protocol 651!!!
Engineer 1: W-what?? thats not possible
Engineer 2: *running back to the work station* just do it! Another hour of the pressure dropping will make the system go critical, we'd have to emergency land, and we'd both lose our jobs now do it!
Engineer 1: *hurriedly gets to work*
Si'miel: interesting so it is tru- - -
Engineer 1 & 2: Be quiet!
Si'miel: *startled and heads away without interrupting them further*
___
*Si'miel finds the lounge Kay decided to relax in, an empty soup bowl on the table next to the lounge chair, the TV being the only source of light in the room*
Si'miel: *takes the seat next to Kay* Kay, when you say "hey that's life" what do you- -
Kay: *snores*
Si'miel: ah *takes the blanket draped on one of the the other chairs and lays it across Kay's body* With the pressure fixed you may feel better.... sleep well human friend...
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tropes-and-tales · 5 months
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Lieutenant Steal-Your-Girl
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Day 8: Cuckolding (Bob Floyd x F!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader)
(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 
CW:  Light angst (relationship woes); open relationships; cuckolding, but not really, I think I did this one wrong but got too deep to turn back; Jake is a bad boyfriend; smut (Oral, F!receiving; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.
Word Count:  5536
AN:  This was requested for Kinktober by an anon!
AN2: This might not be for everyone. People feel A Certain Way about open relationships, and this is very much a Reddit revenge version of that. Cuckolding? Maybe if you squint. I dunno. It got away from me and my original intention for this. Also, if you're a Jake fan, this won't be for you. Read at your own peril.
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The sentence makes Bob Floyd short-circuit.  A question, in English, uttered by Jake with his smarmy grin, but it’s so incongruous, Bob’s mind cannot grasp it.
“You wanna fuck my girl, Baby on Board?”
Bob sputters at the question.  He feels his cheeks heat up as blood floods his face in a furious blush.  He wonders if it’s a joke, a put-on by the other pilots.  He glances around—to the piano where Rooster is perched, to the bar where Nat and Javi wait patiently for a fresh pitcher—and finds himself without backup.  It’s just him and Bagman by the pool tables. 
Bob can’t help but glance out the windows of the Hard Deck to see where you’re sitting.
Where you’re waiting patiently for Jake to rejoin you.  Where you often sit alone while Jake flirts with the local girls.  Where the other members of the Dagger Squad often sit with you, an apology of sorts, a paltry way of making up for your boyfriend’s inattention.  Where Bob, more than any other Dagger, often sits with you, distracts you from your wayward boyfriend, makes you laugh with his corny jokes. 
You explain to him one night how you and Jake are trying an open thing, an open relationship, a way of spicing up your long-term thing—but Bob hears the misery in your voice, and he sees the hurt look in your eyes when you see your boyfriend openly flirting with his next conquest—
Jake snapping his fingers brings Bob back to focus.  He opens his mouth, manages to answer Jake (“of course not, she’s your girl, Bagman”), but it’s the flimsiest of lies.  Bob knows it.  Jake knows it. 
Bob has wanted you from the moment he clapped his eyes on you.
-----
Another night, another moment where Bob finds himself alone with Jake.
The same question posed to him.  “You wanna fuck my girl, Bob?”
This time, Jake doesn’t let Bob sputter out a lie.  The man shakes his head, offers a rueful grin, then claps Bob on the back hard enough to nearly jolt him off his stool. 
“It isn’t an accusation,” Jake clarifies.  “It’s a question.  An offer.  You interested?”
Another lie when he stammers out, “no, I wouldn’t…I mean, I don’t think—”
Jake cuts him off with another hard clap on the back.  “Let’s take a walk, huh?  Me and you.  We’ll talk.”
-----
That’s the night Bob learns that his understanding of kinks is incomplete.  He always thought of kinks as things like role-playing or handcuffs or outrageous lingerie.  He never knew of cuckolding beyond, perhaps, a vague memory of reading the word in high school when they read Shakespeare in English class.
That’s the night Bob learns that beyond opening up your relationship, Jake has a thing for cuckolding.  It’s only theoretical; you haven’t slept with anyone but Jake, but Jake has taken full advantage of the open relationship and has had many lovers beyond you. 
And Jake finds the idea of you with another man intoxicating.  However, when he’s broached the subject with you, urged you to go out and find yourself a one-night stand, you’ve balked.
Hence, the need for Bob.
“She is comfortable with you,” Jake explains, and it sounds so commonplace, so everyday that he’s offering his girlfriend up as a potential one-night stand for his fellow Dagger.  “And I know you like her.”
Bob ends up declining.  Of course he likes you.  He’s wanted you for as long as he’s known you.  He lies awake at night, plagued by insomnia that has its origin in you. Evenings cheering you up at the Hard Deck haunt him—your sad eyes that always track Jake around the bar, but the way you laugh at Bob’s jokes, the way you chat with him earnestly about books and movies, about hiking trails you want to conquer, places you want to travel to.  You’re Bob’s dream girl but you’re taken, whether your relationship is open or not. 
Bob declines Jake’s offer.  Besides, it feels too close to a business deal, edging too close to something akin to sex work, albeit without money changing hands.  Jake and his smarmy grin feels too close to being a pimp.  Just two men making a deal about a woman without her input.
So Bob declines, but when you make a similar offer weeks later, that’s something else entirely.
-----
It happens at the Hard Deck.  You’re outside nursing a drink, separating yourself from where Jake chats up a local woman.  Bob sits beside you, and he tells you a story from when he was stationed in Pensacola, but you’re not really listening.
You cut him off halfway through his story, turn to face him.  Your eyes, usually so sad, have a fire in them he’s never seen before, and it pulls his up short, strikes him mute.
“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” you ask, and if Bob stammered his way through Jake’s offer, he doesn’t hesitate a single second when you ask.
“Yes,” he replies.  “Absolutely.”
-----
Bob has no idea what the rules are.  Jake made it sound like a tawdry hook-up, a late-night meeting with sex and nothing else.
You?  You ask him if he wants to go out with you, and Bob interprets that as a date night.  He gets your number, texts you throughout the week, and makes plans.
A proper date night.  Bob can’t tell if Jake knows or not.  He’s unclear if there’s a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy in place, despite how open Jake seems to be with his own dalliances.  Bob keeps it hush-hush, and late Saturday afternoon, Bob finds himself at your apartment.
-----
Years later, Bob will be able to admit to himself:  this isn’t just a date for him. 
It’s an audition.  It’s a job interview.  It’s Lieutenant Robert Floyd doing his damnedest to show you that he’s a better bet than Jake. 
Bob sees how unhappy you are with Jake, how miserable you are to be in an open relationship you didn’t want.  It’s Bob trying to show you that Jake isn’t the only man in the world; that there are other proverbial fish in the proverbial sea, and that maybe another man (Bob, specifically) would cherish you, would love you, would never offer you up to other men.  Cuckolding isn’t Bob’s kink at all, so he misinterprets Jake’s insistence as guilt.  Jake must feel guilty, Bob reasons, and offering you up feels like a twisted version of atonement—a chance for you to explore other men.
It occurs to Bob that Jake chose him because he doesn’t feel threatened.  Bob Floyd—quiet Bob with his terrible, Navy-issued glasses, with his quiet voice and lack of braggadocio—is no threat to the handsome, cocky pilot.
Years later, it will only demonstrate:  Jake Seresin doesn’t know Bob Floyd at all, but more to the point—Jake Seresin doesn’t really know you.
*****
As far as first dates go, Bob knocks it out of the park.
Not that you have a lot of experience.  You’ve only ever had one first date—all the way back in sophomore year of high school—when Jake took you out to Sonic and then felt you up in the cab of his truck.
You try not to compare Adult Bob against Adolescent Jake.  It wouldn’t be fair.
It doesn’t stop you from comparing Adult Bob to Adult Jake, and the differences are stunning.
Bob greets you at your door with a bouquet of flowers, cheerful daises that nod their fat little heads as you invite him in to put them in water.  Bob does his usual Bob-stammer, a faint pink tinge to his cheeks as he tells you how beautiful you look.
When was the last time Jake got you flowers?  When was the last time Jake complimented your looks?
You often feel invisible with your boyfriend, and it’s always been that way.  Star running back Jake, hometown hero, dating the perfectly average, perfectly middle-of-the-road girl.  Jake with his good looks, his perfect smile, his perfect tan, his perfect muscles…and you. 
Jake’s idea of a date night is typically the Hard Deck, and since the two of you have opened up your relationship, date night has ceded to hunting for new prospects.  You dread it every time; you sit outside and listen to the ceaseless roll of the waves, and you wait with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach to see if you’ll go home alone or if your boyfriend will turn up at last call, disappointed to have struck out, disappointed to go home to boring old you.
You are desperately unhappy.  Your emotions veer wildly.  You swing between extremes:  manic periods where you work out, get your hair styled, where you scrub and polish and pluck yourself as near to perfect as you can get.  Depressive periods where you can barely summon the strength to shower, ground down by the thought of your boyfriend fucking other women.
You know you should end it.  When Jake sat you down all those months ago, your stomach had fluttered with butterflies.  This is it, you thought.  He’s going to ask me to marry him.  You’d waited so long, patient and unswerving in your devotion.  Through college and flight school, bouncing around in his wake as his assignments and deployments dictated.
Instead, Jake told you he was bored.  That he read up on it, and he thought opening the relationship would be good for him.  For you, too.
“As long as we always come home to each other, I don’t see it as a bad thing,” he had told you, and you—always invisible, always trailing behind him like a lost puppy—had hated yourself when you nodded in agreement.
-----
Bob takes you first to an independent bookstore, a tucked-away little gem, and you realize immediately that he isn’t playing fair.  When you tell him so, shaking your forefinger with a mock-frown, he only gives you his soft Bob Floyd smile.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he claims, and he holds his palms up in surrender.  “We just have a little time to kill before our reservations.”
Bad enough he’s brought you here.  The two of you talk books all the time, and it’s a thoughtful date idea.  But what makes it worse is when he sidles up to you as you read the book jacket of a new release and says, low near your ear, “get whatever you want.  My treat.”
It’s the moment the bottom falls out for you.  It’s like you’ve been wading around in the shallow end of the pool, and Bob’s sweet date paired with Bob’s surprisingly low, grumbling voice near your ear is your foot slipping into the deep end.  You find yourself treading water.  You find yourself fighting off the panicky urge to flail.
-----
Dinner is at a restaurant overlooking the ocean, and you wonder if Bob timed it so that you’d be there during sunset.
You suspect he did.  You’re starting to suspect that this isn’t just some prelude to fucking, the crude reality of this open relationship you and Jake are doing, the cuckolding fetish that Jake seems to have.  Bob could have just invited you over to his place, but he’s planned such a lovely first date.
You are out of your depth, but when the panic starts to grip you, you only look across the table to see Bob:  his bright blue eyes, his gentle smile, the tips of his ears pink underneath the soft wave of his hair.  You look at him and it feels natural, and the panic ebbs away but it’s replaced by something else.
Doubt.  This date with Bob is a crack in the foundation of your relationship with Jake.  A tiny little trickle of doubt slips through.
Why does this feel so easy, you think as you pick at your meal.  Why does this feel so easy but everything with Jake feels so fraught?
It feels easy because Bob talks to you, not at you.  He’s endlessly curious about you:  your history, your likes, your dislikes.  What your job is like, what your childhood was like.  Where you see yourself in five years, in ten, in twenty?  Do you like the country or the city?  The ocean or the mountains?  Do you like dogs or cats or both?  What’s your favorite book, what’s the last movie you saw? 
Jakes doesn’t ask you those questions, and you half-convince yourself that it’s because you’ve been together for so long.  Jake knows everything there is to know about you.
But you know that’s not true.  Bob pays for dinner, then takes your hand in his.  He walks you to a nearby gelato place for dessert, and it’s nearly perfect.  This second first date with Bob Floyd while your boyfriend is out doing god know what (or who). 
It’s nearly perfect but not entirely because you admit to yourself that Jake doesn’t know everything about you at all.  He’s never asked what you’re reading, who your favorite author is, and it hits you suddenly that Bob—who you’ve known for a handful of months, if that—might know parts of you better than your boyfriend.
At Bob’s truck, he puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t turn it yet.  He turns to face you, and his face is a furious red.  He’s blushing, you realize.  Something is making him blush.
“Take you home?” he asks, and his voice has a strange tension in it that you’ve never heard before.  You think of this date, all the effort he put into it to make it perfect.  You think of all the times he’s kept you company at the Hard Deck, how sometimes he sits in front of you, makes his body block your line of sight so you can’t see Jake leaning in on some girl who is prettier than you, more adventuresome than you—
“No.”  You shake your head, then smile at Bob.  You don’t care about Jake and his stupid cuckolding kink; you’ve been on a low-simmer of growing desire ever since the bookshop when Bob leaned in and growled in your ear.  You want Bob for Bob’s own sake.
 “Take me to your place,” you say.
*****
It’s a dangerous thing, how Jake never once crosses Bob’s mind once he gets you to his apartment.  Bob forgets the reality of this situation:  that you’re taken, that this is a one-time thing, that it’s actually feeding into Jake’s kink, not yours or Bob’s.
Bob forgets all of that.  He’s only focused on you:  lovely, perfect you.  The best date he’s ever been on, and Bob feels like a million bucks at how surprised you’d been with each part of it.  The way your face lit up at the flowers, at his compliments.  The squeal of surprise at the book store, the shy way you only chose one book for him to buy you—he would have bought you the whole store if you’d asked.  The content sigh each time you looked at the sun setting over the ocean, and how natural it felt to hold your hand as he walked you back to his truck.
Bob doesn’t think of Jake until afterwards, and it’s dangerous because Bob instead thinks about second dates, third dates.  He forgets that you’re spoken for, and instead he spins out an entire future where he meets your family and you meet his, where he cleans off a shelf in his bathroom for you, where the two of you move in together…
Who could blame him, though?  Once he gets you inside his apartment, he turns to ask if you want a drink, but you’re right there, standing so close to him that he can see the little amber flecks in your eyes and the question is only halfway out of his mouth when you kiss him.
Of course Bob doesn’t think of Jake.  He’s wanted you since he first saw you, and here you finally are:  your hands on him, holding him steady as you press your lips to his, as you bump against his glasses and knock them askew, then break the kiss to gently reach up and set them right again.
“Sorry,” you mumble, and Bob doesn’t link your sudden reticence—you avoid his eyeline—to Jake.  He doesn’t make the connection between your bashful expression and how you’ve only ever kissed Jake, slept with Jake, and how monumental this all must feel.
“Don’t apologize.”  Bob cups his hands on your bare shoulders, pulls you in for a hug.  “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”
“I’m not very good at this.”  It comes out muffled, your face pressed against his shoulder.
Bob has always guessed that your rocky relationship with Jake has shaken your confidence, but he doesn’t think of that now.  He only feels you sigh against him, embarrassed, so he pushes you away gently, touches his forehead to yours.
“You’re fine,” he assures you.  “You’re perfect.”  Then he leans in, kisses you this time, and when his glasses get knocked off-kilter again, he just takes them off, folds them into his pocket, then leads you into his bedroom.
*****
You’ve spent a lot of time on the internet researching cuckolding as a kink, and you had settled on the belief that Jake was into it because he was turned on by the idea of another man using you.
Or maybe he just feels guilty that he’s the only one taking advantage of the open relationship.
Who can say?  When you try to talk about it, Jake brushes you off, tells you not to worry about it too much, so you never are quite clear on what motivates the man you thought you’d marry one day.
But as far as being used goes, nothing about your dalliance with Bob says used:  the man worships you.  He kneels in front of your body like a penitent, and his hands are so gentle, his voice so soft as he asks permission every step of the way.
“Can I kiss you here?”
“Can I touch you here?”
Is this okay?  Does this feel good?  Tell me what you like.  Tell me what you need.  I’ll do anything.  Let me make you feel good.
Is this what Jake wanted—a change from the usual?  Because being with Bob feels like a revelation:  you’ve never been loved like this.  He kisses his way down your naked body, then reverses course until he’s between your legs, his broad shoulders holding your thighs open.  His mouth on you, the shy little swipes of his tongue until he gets a taste of you—then he devours you like a starved man, completely unabashed at the groans leaving him, at the way he grinds into the bedding at how turned on he is to feast on you.
You open your mouth to tell him not to bother, that you’ve never come from oral alone, but then you feel how your body is responding, the answering arousal to Bob’s skilled tongue, and when he slides a finger inside you, you’re reminded of that too-deep feeling from earlier.
But instead of feeling panicky, you feel a sharp throb of arousal.  You aren’t afraid of being in too deep now.  You aren’t straining to return to shore. 
You want to be swept out to sea, and you want Bob to be the one to do it.  When your orgasm approaches, you reach down and tangle your fingers in Bob’s hair—it’s as soft as it looks, just as silky—and Bob looses a groan that vibrates up from your pussy to the very top of your head.  He reaches up and holds your hand against his head, mumbles against you to use him, to grind against him, so you do.  You lift your hips and press against his mouth, feel the bump of his nose against your clit, and you realize that you’re about to come from oral for the first time in your life and that it’s not your boyfriend who’s done it.
When you come against Bob’s mouth, every single thought of Jake is erased from your head, and you won’t think of him again afterwards.
*****
Bob takes a long beat to get control of himself.  He was dangerously close to coming as he ate you out, and he waits for his own orgasm to fade into the background before he continues.
Instead, he props himself on one elbow and just watches you.  If you looked beautiful before, you look even more so now:  all of the tension is gone from your face, and blink up at him sleepily, dreamily.  Your smile is lazy, and when you sigh, it’s nothing but content.
“Good?” he asks, grinning down at you.
You nod, just as lazy as your smile.  “The best.”  You purse your lips, pout up at him.  “Kiss me?”
How can he resist?  He leans down to kiss you, and you wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer to you.  Eating you out has relaxed you, banished whatever doubts you had from earlier, and you kiss him now with a passion he’s never experienced before:  you part your lips, you slide your tongue into his mouth, you lick against him.  You must taste yourself on him because you make the cutest damned whimper, and it goes straight to his dick, hearing how undone you are.
Then you do this cute little wriggling move underneath him, and Bob’s body moves independently of his brain:  he slots himself between your thighs, slick from his earlier attention, and his erection bumps against your hip, your belly before you reach down and guide him to where you want him most.
Bob breaks the kiss long enough to mumble his question about protection, and it won’t occur to him until much later—what it means when you say you’re on birth control but also that you’re clean, that there’s no risk.
It won’t occur to Bob until later, what it means for you to say you’re clean.  It won’t occur to him that you’re in a committed relationship, that your boyfriend has regular hookups but you remain STD-free since your last checkup.
It’ll hit Bob in the middle of his workday at Miramar, what you are telling him now:  that your bedroom with Jake is dead and has been for a while, and that this moment with Bob is the first time you’ve had sex in months.
He’ll realize that later.  Now, there’s only the feeling of your pussy—warm, wet, perfect—as he pushes into you.  There’s only the sound of your sharp inhale, your whine as you tell him to go slow, to be gentle, but you don’t need to tell him that.  He’d never hurt you, and he can feel how tight you are, so he goes slow.  He works himself into you carefully, watches your face for any sign of pain. 
He sees none.  He goes so slowly that he only sees your expression go from worried to stunned:  the lines in your brow smooth out and your lips part as you gaze up at him, a perfect oh of surprise. 
When he’s fully seated in you, buried in the silky depths of your pussy, Bob stills—and he realizes that you are trembling underneath him.
“Honey,” he breathes out, the sweet nickname falling from his mouth without thought.  “You okay?  You want me to—”
“No.”  You cut him off, gift him with a shaky smile.  “Stay with me, okay?  Just stay with me a minute.”
“’Course.”  He leans down, bumps his nose against yours until your smile firms up, seems steadier.  “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Bob only moves enough to settle more of his weight on you, and then he takes the time to kiss you:  he trails featherlight kisses across your face, your forehead, your flushed cheeks.  He kisses the tip of your nose—it pulls a giggle from you, and the sound makes him smile.  He kisses along your jaw.  He dips his head near your ear, whispers how gorgeous you are, how good you feel, how he’d happily stay like this forever.  He doesn’t miss the little shudder you give at his praise.
Bob doesn’t realize that he’s shifted your worldview entirely.  Just this simple liaison—not even complete, and nothing extreme—has rearranged everything you thought you knew.  You aren’t actively thinking of Jake at all—he’s been banished until afterwards—but you’re considering the balance of your entire erotic history against this single moment with Bob.
You’re realizing that sex can be so much more than just an act…and with Bob, a man you haven’t known that long.
You eventually stop trembling.  Bob feels it when you relax; the tight clench of your cunt slackens a bit.  He feels your hands on him, shy at first and then bolder as you run your warm palms over the planes of his back, along his shoulders and arms.  As you thread your fingers through his hair, comb out the tangles there.  As you rest your palm along the back of his head and lead his face back to yours.
“Thank you.”  You whisper it, and your eyes are wide.  Earnest.  Bob isn’t sure what you’re thanking him for, so he just kisses you again.
“I’m ready,” you mumble against his searching lips.
“You sure?”
A nod, a purposeful roll of your hips that makes Bob see stars, makes the edges of his vision turn hazy with desire. 
“Take me, Bob,” you tell him, and he’s never heard you so assured.  “I’m yours.”
So he does.  He takes you in small movements, focused on your pleasure.  He is used to sitting in the backseat of a billion dollar plane, all those systems to keep track of, so focusing on you is an easy, wondrous thing:  the expression on your face, the moans he manages to pull from you.  The way your eyes flutter shut or roll back or fix on him like he’s responsible for setting the sun in the sky.  The way your hands touch him or hold him, sometimes soft and stroking, sometimes clinging to him like he’s your life preserver.  The way your cunt feels, slick and warm and gripping him, obscenely wet as he fucks into you harder, the sound of skin on skin, the heady scent of sex filling his room, and he hopes it lingers for days afterwards, he wants the moment to never end.
He focuses on your pleasure as it rises, crests around you:  the way you tighten up, bear down harder on him until he loses some of his rhythm.  He reaches a shaky hand down to touch you there, the slick, swollen place where he disappears into the confines of your body, and he rubs a tight circle against you.  He begs you to come for him; he’s so close, he feels his balls tightening against his body, and he needs you to come for him first, needs to feel you before—
When you come, you say his name.  You breathe it out, a hot pant against his ear, and Bob is grateful for it because it pushes him over the edge.  He groans out your name too, chokes out a curse, and you come together—your pussy pulsing around him as he buries himself in you, comes inside you.
Marks you as his.
-----
Afterwards, Bob remembers Jake and feels a sting of conscience—but not enough to send you home.  That had been integral to the cuckolding thing, Bob sending you home thoroughly fucked, to sleep beside Jake, for Jake to know you’d been with another man and to be turned on by it.
A mean little part of Bob wants to.  He wants to send you home satisfied, his cum dripping out of you.  Part of him sees the allure of it from his side; Jake doesn’t consider Bob a threat, so it’d hit the smug bastard hard to see you satisfied, happy from your dalliance with the back-seater.
But Bob doesn’t give a shit about Jake.  Not when you’re sitting in his bed with the sheets wrapped around you, uncertain all of a sudden, and Bob kisses you on the forehead and tells you to stay.
“Just stay the night,” he says.  “Please.  I’d love for you to stay.”
He sees the doubt on your face.  He knows you’re thinking of Jake, and Bob feels a flare of something—anger, protectiveness, whatever.  It gives him the courage to speak up.  He takes your hand in his, settles on the bed beside you.
“Honey, is this even what you wanted?  I had a fun time with you, but would you have asked me out if Jake hadn’t wanted it?”
Your expression turns from uncertain to surprise in an instant.  “No!  I mean, I asked you out because I like you.  And because I’m in an open thing.  I thought…”  You trail off, stare at him as you try to assemble your words.  “Did you only agree to take me about because of Jake?”
Bob shakes his head.  “No.  I took you out because I wanted to.  I brought you here because I want you.”
Your surprise turns to a shy smile.  “Really?”
He squeezes your hand.  “Really.”
Your smile fades away by degrees, and your eyes shine with unshed tears.  “I never wanted any of this, you know.  I…I wanted to get married, have kids, all that, but he…”  You sigh, drop your head.  “I don’t like the open relationship.  It makes me feel like I’m not enough, you know?”
“Honey—”
“Like if I were better somehow, he wouldn’t have to go out and find other women—”
“Hey, no, don’t—”
“Like, what is wrong with me?  Why aren’t I enough? Why—”
“Stop.”  Bob places a finger over your mouth to silence you.  He hates all this doubt, hates how little you think of yourself, so he stills your words.  “You’re enough,” he tells you.  “Hell, honey, you’re everything.”
You blink at him, surprised.  The shimmering tears shake loose, start to course down your cheeks, and Bob pulls you to him, holds you as you cry.  He wraps you in his arms as you sob against him, gasp out that you don’t know what to do, that you’ve felt lost for months now—
“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmurs against your head.  “You just need a good night’s rest.  That’s all you need to do tonight.”
Your tears taper off.  You push away from him gently and swipe at where your tears have made his bare chest wet.
“Stop being so wise, Lieutenant,” you grumble, but there’s a teasing quality there that makes Bob smile.  You sniffle and glance up at him, and he’s struck how beautiful you are even with swollen, teary eyes.
Maybe you’ve rearranged his world too.
No, there’s no maybe to it.  You’ve definitely rearranged his world.
“Stay with me tonight,” he says, and he keeps his voice low and even, tries to keep the excitement out of it.  He can sense that a sea-change is coming, and he doesn’t want to jinx it.
“Stay tonight,” he repeats.  “Things are always clearer in the morning, I find.”
So you do.  You nod at him, and you wave off his offers to get you clothes to sleep in.  The two of you fall asleep in record time—the cure for Bob’s you-induced insomnia is you, both the cause and the cure, your warm, naked body curled up alongside him as he fades into sleep. 
And you were right:  Bob is wise.  You’ll wake in the morning to an empty bed, a room full of sunlight, the lingering scent of sex.  You’ll pad out into Bob’s kitchen and find the man putting the finishing touches on breakfast, and you’ll let him feed you before you let him fuck you again—this time on his kitchen counter, the room full of light so you can see the blatant love in his expression as he claims you again.  And then a third time, together in the shower, a slow moment so full of feeling that you’ll cry when you come, and Bob will hold you, will choke back words as he comes too, and you’ll wonder later why those bitten-back words sound so much like I love you.
And then you’ll let Bob drive you home where Jake will be waiting for you.  His smug smile will fall as you breeze past him, his cuckolding fantasy falling apart in front of him because he was the only one turned on by it, the only one turned on by opening your relationship.  Jake will realize too late that he only opened the door for someone else to come and steal you away, and that the thief will be Robert Floyd, who taught you that love should never be such a fraught, painful thing, and that you may not be enough for Jake, but for the right man, you are everything.
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greetings. may i requst the GEnshin bois saying something hurtful to you mid argument, gotta adds some angsttt, thank you :) Cyno, scaramouche, tighnari, and ayato
Yes you may, my dear. Let the angst begin. :)
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Cyno: ┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐ Lately you've been feeling lonely due due Cyno being busy investigating academic troubles for the Akademiya. Despite this, Cyno is a attentive lover who holds up to his promises, he can also prioritize the passion of his works and forget about you. You try your best to be supportive and welcome him over to your home with open arms if he decides to visit after his investigations.
However, due to feeling lonely, you decided, why not get a friend? You were the usual adventure who was doing commissions and happened to meet a friend along the way. This friend became a nice source of interaction for you, they have all sorts of information and connection. Additionally, they are very funny, and very nice to spend time with. Your friend also provides good advice on how to handle the dessert heat and the humidity of Sumeru Forest. Most of all, your friend became someone you go do commissions together with all the time.
Cyno returned from investigation his current mission and eventually decided to visit you, to your place. He was sitting next to you and explaining his investigations on illegal use of drugs that is supposed to make you intelligent, but only creates a dangerous addiction. Now, it was your turn to tell you how your days have been doing, you told him everything and how your friend really makes you happy and keep you company. Until you told him her name--
"That name..." Cyno said putting his hand up to his chin pondering.
You tilted your head to the side. "Yes? What about it?" "I don't like this friend of yours, I believe I saw her name on my list as one of the major suspects of selling these drugs."
"Haha, don't be silly Cyno, this friend is important to me, don't say things like that." You have a light chuckle but deep inside you were annoyed. You just made this friend, now you have to lose her too?
Cyno's face turned serious, as if he was back to his justice judgement persona. As you know, Cyno takes his job seriously and is thorough. "No, you should stop hanging out with her, I don't want you to fall into these types of things. And to add, this is a large organization, therefore, a large sum of the population can be in this practice."
You started to get more annoyed. "Listen, who told you that you can tell me who I can be friends with or not? I can be friends with whoever I like, this person makes me happy. You are just jumping to conclusions. You have no proof. Plus, she keeps me company, you are gone for most of the week or two and that makes me lonely. I have someone who makes me happy and not make me feel lonely."
"So I guess I should consider you a suspect of this drug organization as well then?
"....Huh?" You immediately went into a daze.
Since you would like to continue to hangout with her, you'd be considered a suspect on my list of people to investigate." Cyno said coldly, and stared straight at you. He was expressing annoyance and irritation of your resistance to his advice of course, however, his seriousness is rubbing you the wrong way. This just feels like he immediately turned against you. You were not a lover to him at the moment, just another suspect of his job and investigation.
You felt a stinging pain in your chest. Was all the things we did together meant nothing? Why did he switch to this narrative? Why did he do it, without hesitation? Is this what you do to a lover?
You were taken aback by his sudden yet subtle accusation. With a quivering lip, trying your best to not cry in front of him, you got up and walked to your door and opened it. " G e t o u t."
You told him without a flinch. Your voice radiated threat as one hot tear stroll down your cheek, keeping eye contact on Cyno.
Cyno opened his mouth to say something, but it transition to a sigh. Without another word, he slowly got up and left. That sign didn't help, that made it worse. You slowly crept to your bed and began to bawl on eyes out into your pillow.
How could he? You thought you meant more to him then that. Why did it have to turn into such a debate? You wanted a friend, not to be lonely. What was all of this for?
Scaramouche:╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗ You were worried, Scara hasn't come home for two weeks, and you have been asking around -- nothing. This concerned you substantially, not only has he been gone for two weeks, he would have at least alluded to you in someway or some form of to where he was. However...nothing. This leads you to pace and forth in your home on a daily basis. Just what is going on with him? You know Scara can be dramatic and harsh at times, but this seems a little way out of line.
After two more days, you heard a door open. Immediately, you jumped out of your seat and opened the door wide open, yanking the door knob out of his hand.
You were delighted to see his face again, relief washes over you and you planted yourself onto him and gave him a tight hug. He wasn't hurt and he was okay. That is all that matters.
Scara raises his eyebrow with an annoyed expression and patted your back slowly in a "Okay that's enough" body language. "What's gotten into you? You act like I was gone for centuries." You pulled away and sighed. "Where were you?" "Why is that your business?" He shot down your question, right away.
"Because you were gone for two whole weeks, you can't just up and leave me like that!" You walked in front of him to get his attention to be on you. "Do you know how worried I was??"
"What? I am not a child, you don't need to baby me. Why are you so concerned about the dumbest things. You are annoying sometimes." He sighed and walked away from you.
There was an ache in the pit of your stomach. You decided not to push the subject any farther since you know he can say what he wants but it always leads into something deeper than that.
"C-Can I at least get a hug? You've been gone so long." You looked at the back of his head with pleading eyes. "Didn't you just hugged me? Why do you need another one??" He crossed his arms and shook his head. " I still don't understand you sometimes."
Rejection after Rejection
This is what echoed in the pit of your stomach, repeatedly. You feel neglected, unloved and uncared for. Why were you in a relationship with him? Why did he want to be with you, if he was going to do these things to you? Were you not good enough? Didn't he even miss you?
Overthinking swallows you whole. "I'm s-sorry."
He sighs and looks at you with the same annoyed expression as if he was dealing with some needy child. "What are you sorry about no-?" You cut him off immediately. "I'm s-sorry I can't do this right now. I need a moment to myself." You whimpered quietly to yourself holding back your tears. You didn't want to annoy him any farther by being sensitive and crying. You grabbed your things immediately and left without closing the door. Scara looked at you confused. "Huh?! Hey!" He was left behind, confused and dazed. He didn't even finish his little rebuttal.
Tighnari ╒══════╕╒══════╕╒══════╕╒══════╕ You were tending to Tighnari's garden and plants while he was out on his patrols in Sumeru Forest, along with mentoring Collei. You decided maybe you can do something nice for him. You weren't that great at gifts but maybe you can get him something nice to eat or something he can have on him with his patrols.
You went inside his house and decided maybe knitting a little notebook holder with a pencil holder will help him out on his journeys. He can also collect stuff and add it into the bag you are knitting him. After you finish knitting him a green bag with cute flowers on it, you gently placed it in a box and wrapped it neatly for him. You were excited, you wanted him to be happy and you wanted him to use your bag everyday.
You held the box near you, you then made him a nice healthy dinner since you known him to be a bit of a health finantic. You made use of a lot of vegetables and avoid using the meats. Maybe a veggie pizza sounds wonderful for him to come home too.
After a few hours, you heard a gentle click of a door and a tired Tighnari yawning in his fennec fox-like body language. You hopped up from your chair and ran to him excited. "Tighnari!" You hold the box to him.
Tighnari immediately held his hand up to you and waved you off. "Not right now. I am not in the mood for your jokes right now."
"Huh? Jokes? I am not joking about anything right now." You turned around. Tighnari didn't respond, he was busy reviewing his journal while he was sitting by his desk. His tail was messy with leaves and petals from the forest.
This was another opportunity for you since your present was for his notebook, so you tried again. "Tighnari, about your notebook, ther-"
"Please, give me a moment." Tighnari sighed and didn't move from his original position. You started to feel a little unhappy on how he was treating you. Of course you knew he was tired, but he could have at least greeted you and kiss your cheek hello. Seems like you completely out of his mind.
"Tighnari." You tried to call for his attention once more. Tighnari signed in a defeated manner, and turned his chair around to face you and leaned back and crossed his arms at you. "What do you want?"
"H-huh? Why are you being so rude and mean??" You started to feel unappreciated for your efforts and feel that it was uncalled for the way he was treating you.
"You kept calling my now, now you have my full attention now, what do you want?? If you have nothing to say, then I'm getting back to work. Don't bother me." Tighnari leaned back in his chair once more, with his legs parted, and knees hanging opposite way, and his arms crossed. A tired slouching position.
This was unfair, you did so much for him today, everyday. "Listen here. I understand you are tired, but I am no punching bag for you." You stated sternly, asserting some boundaries. "What are you even spouting about? You're wasting my time right now, is that all you wanted my attention for?" He responded harshly and uninterested. That was it. That was it? That was all?
"You know what? Forget it." You threw the present at him, and put on your raincoat on.
"What the hell do you think you are doing??" Slightly angered of you throwing a box at him, Tighnair was taken aback at your sudden throw. You ignored him. If he wants to be petty and rude, lets get petty and rude.
You went out the door and slammed it. You didn't need this. You ignored Tighnari's protest, since it was in the middle of the night in Sumeru. You decide maybe you could take some time for yourself for a while. Maybe Tighnari isn't the one.
Ayato: ..••°°°°•• °°••….••°°..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..°°••….••°°..••°°°° Today was the day that Ayato was working a heavy load of files due to a back up along the way in the initial submissions. There was an issue that had to be resolved which caused a surplus of documents to be sent straight to his desk. This load was taking him a week or even two at this point. He hasn't talked to you nor pay you any mind ever since. Thoma has tried his best to reassure you in the best way he could but Ayato was still sending out small commands to him and voicing his needs to him rather to you.
You sometimes go in and say hello, but will always be met with no response in return or mumbling about the documents in front of him. This time, you wanted his attention, you tried your best to make relaxing tea for him, maybe he can take a break a bit and finally talk to you and you can see if you can help him. You brought a tray of tea in slowly to his room and called out to him. "Ayato?" "..."
No response still. You gently placed the tea next to him and greeted him. "Ayato sweeite, you have been working for while, maybe talk a break and go for a walk with me?"
"..."
You sighed, and gave up. You decided to leave him be. You stood up until you nudged his desk, spilling his tea all over the documents he was working on. This was followed by a loud slam on the desk.
"What the hell is wrong with you?
You flinched at the sudden noise in silent room and panicked. "I'm sorry, I didn't think that would happen!" You took a cloth and wiped up the mess and gently patted the drenched document that he was working on.
Can you see that I am working? Please leave. If you want attention that bad, go pester Ayaka or Thoma."
You began to tear up right away as tears began to flow nonstop as you continued to clean up the tea from the desk and ground. Pent ip emotions and negative thoughts have all came to a wall at this very moment. You couldn't control it. All you saw was blurry and felt warm tears on your cheeks. You were trying your best to hold yourself together and not show weakness on how his comment has affected you. However, you were failing miserably, making it worse.
Ayato signed while face palming himself. "Listen my dear, I'm so-" He attempted to reach out his hand to wipe away your tears or hold your cheek as he was talking.
However, before he could even finish his sentence, you packed up the fine china quickly and walked out of his room, sliding the door shut behind you, to leave and to numb his voice behind you. Oh, now he wants to respond to you. You hear him calling your name behind you even still but you ignored it. You were feeling too much right now, you want to be left alone. After putting the tea set away, you went into your room and locked yourself in there, refusing to respond to servants, Thoma or even Ayaka.
Note from Admin Update: I fixed it up and added correct spelling and stuff. :) - Admin: Spicypepperohni
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justagalwhowrites · 22 days
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TikTok Trend
Beautiful decides to take part in a TikTok Trend with Joel. A New in Town drabble.
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^We're borrowing Mr. Ben for a late-40s Joel, OK? I desperately need more gifs of Pedro's Joel from that era, I'm too reliant on other characters and actual Pedro gifs for these fics GIVE ME SOMETHING PLEASE
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from New in Town
Warnings: Not much! Age gap but not the focus of the fic (reader is 36, Joel is 48). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.
Length: 1.4k
A/N: I got stuck thinking earlier how Joel would react to the "call your boyfriend your husband" trend and this is how I think it'd go. This is set about 3 months before the last chapter of New in Town. This can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that reader is Sarah's best friend and Joel and Reader have an established relationship of about a year.
“So what’s this for again?” Joel asked as he sat down at the picnic table in the park. 
“It’s a TikTok challenge,” you said, settling in beside him. Joel opened the paper bag the two of you had just gotten from a food truck and started taking out the tacos, putting some in front of you and him. 
“Right,” he said. “And… I’m sorry, baby, but what’s the point?” 
You laughed as you set your phone against your water bottle so it was propped up and ready to film. 
“There isn’t really one, I guess,” you said. “It’s just a fun little video you make and then share. Those interns I have until May are all about it, they were showing me some of theirs the other day. Figure if I work in marketing, I gotta keep up with the trends!” 
Joel smiled a little. 
“So this is the kind of shit Sarah does, huh?” 
“Yeah, she does,” you laughed again. “Her and the interns made one for the company social page the other day, actually.” 
“Can I see?” He asked, interest suddenly piqued. 
“Sure,” you picked your phone back up and found your company’s TikTok, scrolling to the video and handing it off to Joel. 
“We work in marketing, of course we over analyze every ad we see,” Sarah said through your phone, a small smile on Joel’s face as he watched. 
It made you smile, too. One of the fun parts about being in the strange middle ground between your boyfriend’s and best friend’s ages was serving as a bit of a translator between them. Joel still didn’t quite get TikTok. Sarah didn’t understand why her dad refused to go all in on streaming and still had cable. You, at least, could see both sides. 
But this TikTok effort had nothing to do with Sarah. You did try to keep up with the trends on social media to better craft campaigns and content - capitalizing on trends meant that you had to move quick and you couldn’t afford to be out of touch - but your personal TikTok account was mostly empty. It was pretty private, anyway, shared with only a few close friends like Sarah and Maria. All it had were a few reposts of things you liked, some montages of video snippets from you and Joel’s first vacation together, that sort of thing. 
“You should do some of the trends!” Jason, one of your interns, said earlier that day. 
“Just being in the loop on trends is plenty for me,” you waved him off but smiled. “I don’t need to participate.” 
“But it’s fun!” Kenzie, your other intern said. “They’re not all dances and stuff, you know…” 
“I know,” you said. “But it’s just not what I want to spend a lot of time doing is all.” 
“Some don’t take much time,” she said, opening her phone and scrolling for a second. “Here, this one’s easy. You said you have a boyfriend, right?” 
“I do…” 
“Cool,” she said. “So all you do is record yourself making a video where you call your boyfriend your husband, just to see how he reacts. No crazy edits or anything, it’s super easy.” 
You caved after some light convincing and came up with a plan to get Joel in front of the camera. You told him it was a spicy food challenge, just to see which of you handled the heat better and, while you knew he wouldn’t really get the point, you knew he’d be supportive. He always was. 
But there was something about this trend in particular that made you a little nervous. It’s not like the two of you hadn’t discussed marriage. You’d been together a year now, you’d just moved into his house. It had definitely come up. But it had come up in the way that far off things do, something that might happen some day if things fell into place in just the right way. You didn’t want to push it, didn’t want him to feel rushed or obligated, especially since you’d only been cohabitating about a month. Bringing up marriage - even like this - made you nervous. 
“OK I think I get it,” Joel handed you your phone back after watching Sarah’s video twice. “But we’re not doin’ that same thing, right?” 
“Nope,” you said. “We’re going to see who handles the spice better.” 
“Think we both know which one of us is gonna win that one, Beautiful,” he teased, nuzzling his nose against your temple before kissing your cheek. “Us southern men are made of sterner stuff…” 
“Yeah yeah,” you rolled your eyes but smiled, leaning close to him. “We’ll just see about that.” 
You set your phone up to record again, propping it against your water bottle. 
“Here, you gotta get in close because the TikTok format is vertical,” you said and Joel adjusted so you were half beside and half in front of him, his arm going around your waist, hand finding your hip, thumb slipping up below your shirt to find your bare flesh above the band of your pants and brushing you slowly, sensually there. You gave him a look. 
“What?” He asked, brows raised, smile barely contained. 
“Don’t act all innocent,” you shook your head. “You know exactly what you’re doing…” 
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s make your little TikTik video…” 
“TikTok,” you rolled your eyes but adjusted yourself, your heart pounding. 
“Whatever the kids are using now,” he said. “Because the sooner we’re done the sooner I can get you home…” 
“Alright, I’m going to record,” you cut him off. “Behave yourself!” 
“Always do, Beautiful.” 
You rolled your eyes again but took a deep breath, leaned forward and pressed record. 
“Hi everyone,” you smiled, watching the recording of you and Joel as it was made on the screen. “I’m here with my husband and we’re going to do the spicy food challenge…”
“Your what?” He cut you off and you turned so you could see him a little better. 
“What?” 
“Did…” he paused, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if you were losing it or he was. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad. “Did you just call me your husband?” 
“Yeah,” you shrugged, turning back to the camera. “Anyway, my husband and I both really love spicy food and…” 
You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence. Joel grabbed your chin almost roughly, pulling you around to face him and all but crushed his lips against yours, clutching you close, kissing you deep and hard, like he couldn’t get enough of you. When he finally let you go, you looked at him and laughed a little, watching him. 
“What was that for?” You asked. 
“You wanna call me your husband?” He asked, a serious look on his face. “Beautiful, we will go to the courthouse right this damn second, don’t tempt me…” 
“Joel, it’s 7 p.m.,” you laughed. “The courthouse is closed.” 
“Don’t care,” he said, giving you a quicker kiss this time. “C’mon, we’ll grab Sarah on the way, see if Tommy wants to meet us…” 
“That’s all it takes, hm?” You teased, heart pounding but for a good reason now. “Just me slipping up and calling you my husband and you’re ready to run down the aisle?” 
“Baby, I’ve been ready to run down the aisle for about a year,” he pressed his forehead to yours. “Just been waitin’ on you to catch up.” 
“Well,” you kissed him softly. “I’m more than caught up. But think I’m still gonna make you ask.” 
“Good luck stopping me,” he said, kissing you again, longer this time, needier, until you pulled away with a groan. “Forget this food challenge, I gotta get you home and devour you. Let’s go, wife.” 
You laughed and stopped the recording on your phone, saving the video to drafts as Joel gathered up the food. You made the mental note to edit out that last part before posting, no need for the interns or Sarah to know quite that much about your sex life. 
“Sorry for ruining your little video,” he said as you started back toward the car. “We can try again later, promise to actually behave myself then…” 
“That’s alright,” you smiled, lacing your fingers with his. “I already got everything I need.”
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allysunny · 7 days
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I'm the Lucky One
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Pairing: Bale!Bruce Wayne x Drunk!Fem!Reader
Synopsys: You got a bit too drunk at the club tonight. Luckily, your husband is quick to come to the rescue and take care of you.
Words: 3.2k words
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and being drunk of course, drunken speeches, just a lot of fluff and a bit of crack, reader is mentioned to be quite a bit drunk. Some suggestive themes, cursing and vulgar language (not on Bruce's side). Just a fluffy, funny fic, really.
A/N: Hey everyone!!!! So, I got hammered last night and I was wondering how nice it would be if I had Bruce taking care of me,, so I wrote this. It was hilarious, I got home and got my keyboard and my tablet and just started typing away as I sobered up.
I love this man so much I wish he was the one taking care of me omg... Anyway I hope you guys like this! It's just a small fic, something short, I wanted it to be short and sweet <3
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“You’re literally the most handsome man I have ever seen in my life.”
“Am I, now?”
“You are. Holy fuck. I think I'm in love with you.”
Bruce chuckled softly at your words as he helped you down the stairs of the club you found yourself in. His arm was steadily wrapped around your waist, his other one reaching for the limo door.
It was a lovely night in Gotham, and you had decided to go out with your friends.
“It’ll be fine, Bruce, we’re just celebrating Maggie’s return with a couple of drinks and that’s it. No need to worry,” you had told him, punctuating your statement with a kiss on his cheek. Bruce had believed you. sort of. He'd told Maggie to warn him should you go overboard with the drinks, and two hours later, he was getting a call from her about how you were fucking plastered.
“Are you single, by any chance?” You asked, turning to him with an extremely serious expression. Bruce cocked an eyebrow and held you steadily, both hands on your hips, preventing you from swaying as obviously as you were. “There’s no way you are. You're far too hot. Fuck, you really are one handsome fucker. Look at his jawline – “ You reached to touch his face and Bruce softly caught your hand, bringing it down next to the other one and releasing it once he understood you would not try to touch him again.
“How about we get in the car, huh?” He asked, opening the door before him, and making sure you got in without tripping or falling or hurting yourself – a miraculous feat in itself.
“What a gentleman, holy fuck,” you slurred, shaking your head, “Mister, not only are you the hottest man I've ever seen, you’re also a gentleman. You're the whole package. You know, I think I'm in love with you. I’m so in love with you, it’s actually insane. Holy shit.”
“Well, we have been married for a couple of years. I'd expect you to at least like me.” He replied nonchalantly.
Next to him, your jaw dropped. Your mouth hung wide open, and you blinked repeatedly, staring at the man in front of you. You didn’t seem to notice the car was already in motion, Alfred looking amusedly at you through the front mirror.
“We are?” You asked, blinking a few more times, much to Bruce’s delight.
“We are.”
“We’re married!?”
“For almost three years now. Happiest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The information took a while to settle in your brain. You turned your head comically slow to the side, and stared through the window, Gotham’s city lights blinding and eternal. Then, you turned to him again. There was no way the handsome man before you was your husband, was he? He was wearing a lovely dark blue sweater polo, and dark pants. His hair was combed back, but there seemed to be no product on it. He looked effortlessly perfect, and it was hard for you to just believe he was yours. I mean, how could a man like this belong to you?
Bruce seemed to read your mind, because he took your hand in his and turned it in his palm, showcasing the pretty gold band around your ring finger. Your eyes widened even more as he showed you his own, and you looked from his hand to yours, trying to put the pieces together.
“We are married.”
“We are.”
“Holy fuck. You're my husband.”
“And you’re my wife.” The phrase was said with a soft smile that often accompanied whatever words Bruce said about you – after all, he was whipped.
You stared at him for a while longer, before bringing your hand up to your arm and pinching it.
“Are you sure this isn't a dream?”
“I’m sure. We're here, honey,” he said, looking out of the window. The car ride had felt like an eternity to you, but maybe that was simply because your notion of time was warped. In only a few minutes, Alfred had parked in front of Wayne Manor and Bruce was leaving the limo to help you out.
“C’mon, hold my hand,” he said, extending his arm to you. You looked at him, at his shiny hair and beautiful eyes and giggled like a schoolgirl in live – which was exactly how you felt. You took his hand and did your best to maneuver your way out of the limo. Unfortunately, your head had other plans. You stood up far too quickly and your head began to spin, causing Bruce to hold onto you tighter. He pressed you against him to keep you from falling, but your body swayed from side to side before catching on itself. You tripped and were quite sure that’d be your end, when you felt Bruce’s hands steading you.
“Where are you going?” He joked, turning you to face him. You gazed into his eyes, and he chuckled at the confusion and laziness laced in yours. You had a dazed look to yourself, lips slightly parted and brows furrowed.
“Think you can walk on your own?” Bruce asked, even though he knew what the answer would be.
“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” You asked, looking around. Once you caught sight of Wayne Manor, you chuckled, pointing at it like an excited child. “There’s no way. That’s where we live? We live in a freaking castle!? Can this day get any better!?”
The man before you just smiled and shook his head. Whatever you’d drunk had worked you up pretty well. He bent over slightly and scooped you up in his arms, earning a giggle out of you.
“Hey!” You exclaimed, swinging your legs slightly, before you realised just how nauseous all the motions made you, and decided to stop. “What're you doing?”
“I’m taking my lovely wife to bed, because she’s unwell.” Was his response as he crossed the threshold of your shared home, Alfred following close behind.
“Should I prepare a bath, Master Wayne?” The butler asked, glancing over at your figure, now far too busy gaping at the magnitude of your home.
“Yes please, Alfred. I'll try to get her out of these clothes.”
“Very well, sir.”
Alfred moved to your shared bedroom, and Bruce followed, albeit slower. He was afraid moving too quickly would cause you to feel sick, and the last thing he wanted, was you vomiting. Not because he didn't want your puke all over his floor or anything – simply because seeing you in pain or discomfort caused him an ache that was too big to even describe.
Once he reached your bedroom, he placed you on top of your shared bed, holding you closely.
“I’m gonna let go of your arms to take off your shoes. Think you can manage not to fall?”
“Why you letting go of me, handsome?” You pouted. It was adorable really, and it took every ounce of control in Bruce’s body not to claim your lips with his own. He wasn't going to take advantage of you, not when you were intoxicated and not thinking straight.
“It’s just for a while. Let's get you out of this dress, okay? And won’t it be nice to take off your shoes?”
“Yeeeeeeeah,” you whined, wiggling your legs in front of him. “They’re hurting me so bad. Why did I choose to wear heels?”
“Well, you said you looked, and I quote, really fucking hot in them.”
“Shit. I bet I did.” You chuckled. For a few seconds, you lost balance and fell backwards on your bed, laughing loudly. Bruce looked at you and just sighed, trying his best to avoid your legs as you kicked and wiggled around, before finally being able to take off your high heel shoes.
“Master Wayne, the Madame's bath is ready,” came Alfred’s voice as he returned from the bathroom.
“Thank you, Alfred. Feel free to retire for the night.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yeah, I'll take care of her. Just go get some sleep.”
“Very well, then. Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight, Alfred.”
“Goodnight, miss.”
“Goooooooood niiiiiiiiiight!” You laughed loudly.
“On second thought, could you please get her something to eat? A toast would be nice, something light. I can’t possibly give her medication on an empty stomach.”
“Right away, sir.”
Alfred left the room, and you rolled around on the bed, unknowingly scrambling away from Bruce’s body.
“Honey, please stop moving. The quicker we do this, the quicker you can go to bed. Don't you want that? To get some rest? Get into your comfy pyjamas, get under your blankets?” He tried bargaining with you, but he knew it would be heard in the state you were in. It was like getting a hyperactive child to go to bed.
“Nope,” you popped the “p” with a grin, and quickly sat up, eyeing your husband with a knowing grin. “I want a kiss from you.”
“Bath first. Kisses later.”
“No, kisses now. I want a kiss from my husband. You are my husband, right?”
“I am.”
“Okay then, kiss me.”
“I can’t. You're not feeling well, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.” Bruce explained calmly.
“So, you don’t love me.” The seriousness in your voice stopped Bruce in his tracks. What?
“Honey, I do love you. That’s why I'm telling you to go to sleep. Right now, you need to get some rest. The sooner, the better.”
“You don’t love me,” your lip wobbled almost comically, and large tears welled up in your eyes. Instead of being annoyed, Bruce found it somewhat endearing. He could never find you irritating, no matter what the context was. To him, you’d always be the most important person in the world, no matter how you found yourself. “You don't love me, and you don’t wanna kiss me. Is that it? Is our marriage a fraud? Did you even ever love me?”
“Darling, I do love you. Come on, let’s get you in the tub, is that okay?”
“You don’t love me anymore,” you leaned your head backwards as tears rolled down your cheeks, and Bruce was quick to move next to you on the bed, gathering you in his arms. You cuddled against him almost instantly, pressing your face against his neck and wrapping your arms around his middle. Bruce soothed you with soft words of reassurance. Yes, he did love you. Very much. You were the light of his life, and he worried so, so much about you. He never wanted to see you in pain. That was why he was being so bossy, because he just wanted you to feel better. All of this because he loved you immensely.
After a while, you looked up at him, bottom lip jutting out.
“So you love me?”
“Incredibly so.”
“Kiss me?”
“Just once. And then, bath.”
You nodded eagerly, tilting your head upwards and making kissy motions with your lips. Bruce rolled his eyes in amusement and leaned down, giving you a soft peck.
“There. Now, bath.”
“What!? That wasn't a kiss! You barely touched me! I want a real one,” you whined again, pushing away and looking at him with a scandalised expression. “A big one. And then bath. Pleeeeeeeeeease?”
“You’re so lucky I love you,” Bruce mumbled before cupping your cheek and tilting your head upwards so he could kiss you. This time it was longer, his tongue darted out to explore your lower lip and he could still taste the alcohol you’ve had at the club. You melted instantly into his touch, humming, and pulling him closer. However, the moment you tried to deepen the kiss, he pulled away and tutted.
“No. Time for a bath now. Okay?” Bruce caressed your cheek softly and pressed a kiss against your forehead.
“You're a really good kisser. I want one more, c’mon.”
“No, we agreed on one kiss. Now you need a bath. After that, and only if you’re good, I'll kiss you some more. Okay?”
You gave him the dreamiest smile he thinks he’s ever seen, and sat up almost immediately, bringing your hands to your head shortly after. “'s spinning…” you mumbled.
“I know, honey. Let me take care of you, alright?”
“Alright.”
Bruce picked you up in his arms once again and brought you to the en-suite bathroom. he sat you down on top of the toilet lid, carefully helping you remove your dress and underwear and pressing kisses against the exposed skin every so often to make you smile. After you were naked, he removed your makeup and helped you inside the bathtub, where you laid back and sighed in relief. Bruce was quite sure you were getting to the drowsy state of your drunkenness, so he didn't force you to talk or tire yourself out even more. All he wanted was for you to feel good.
He helped you bathe, lathering up soap and rubbing soothing circles on your arms, legs and whole body so you could wash the day off you. Once he started washing your thighs, you turned your head to him and gave him a cheeky smile, to which he replied, “Not tonight, you need to rest”, and that was the end of it. This handsome man who happened to be a really good kisser (and apparently your husband) seemed to know what he was doing, so no matter how much you wanted him to touch you somewhere else, you’d agree with what he was saying. After all, he was right, you were already feeling much better.
Once you were done, Bruce wrapped you around in a fluffy towel, carefully drying you off. The fluffy fabric was soft against your skin, and you smiled as Bruce applied body lotion on your body. Even if you were tired and couldn't do it yourself, he would always do it for you. He did promise you forever, in sickness and in health. And he supposes in intoxication and sobriety as well.
When he sat you back down on your bed, you were wearing your pajamas and your eyes were threatening to close.
“How about you stay here while I get something for you to drink?” He asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You frowned. Why was he leaving? And why was he getting you a drink? You didn't want any drinks. Drinks had made you feel like this. You wanted the handsome man to kiss you some more. Fuck, he really was a good kisser. Maybe you could convince him to kiss you in your –
“Honey? You hear me?”
“Why are you going? Don’t go. I don’t want any drinks. My stomach is hurting,” you chided softly.
“I’m getting you something for your stomach, okay? It'll make you feel better. Do you trust me?”
“I do. I think I trust you with all my life, you know. You've been so kind to me.”
Bruce smiled at your words and kissed the top of your head, whispering “I’ll be right back”.
Almost as if on cue, Alfred knocked on the door of your shared bedroom and walked in after Bruce opened it for him. He handed the Wayne heir a small plate and offered you a sympathetic smile before leaving the room.
“Hey honey, think you can eat some of this?” Bruce asked, returning to your side.
You looked at the plate in front of you and at the sheets in your bed.
“I'm not gonna eat in bed.”
“It’s okay, we’ll just wash the sheets later.”
“No, that’s – ewwww! No, I don’t wanna eat in bed. C'mon, help me up.”
Bruce only had a few seconds to remove the plate from in front of you when you threw the covers back and tried to stand up on your own, failing miserably and having to clutch onto his arm.
“I’ll do it there,” you pointed towards your vanity and Bruce nodded. He'd always comply.
Once you sat down and busied yourself with your toast, Bruce hurried towards the bathroom. He prepared a glass of water and some pain relievers to prevent a potential headache. Once he returned, you were already up on wobbly legs, doing your best to make it to the bathroom bu yourself.
“Hey – hey,” Bruce put down the glass and pill, immediately rushing for you. “Why are you up?”
“Look, you’re super fine and I totally wanna do you,” you slurred, “But you’re helping me far too much and I don’t wanna bother you. You've been like a babysitter, and I'm not a baby, and I can walk on my own because I am a strong independent woman, and I don’t need your super strong arms to carry me, even though I really like it when you do that because you’re so hot. I’ll walk on my own.”
Bruce smiled at your words. You'd always been one to dote on him and compliment him. He was used to flattery, sure, but he always knew you meant every word you said, they weren't just empty phrases to get you on his good graces. He brought you closer by the waist and caressed your cheek.
“I know you’re a strong independent woman.”
“I am.”
“And I know you can do it by yourself.”
“I can. I can do it by myself.”
“I know. But let me help you.” He kissed you softly and you sighed against his lips. There was really no argument here, was it? It wasn't a hard choice. You let Bruce help you as you walked towards the bathroom. He turned around while you peed (not like he hadn't seen you like that before, he just wanted to give you some privacy), and steadied you while you washed your hands and made your way back to bed.
Once you were comfortably sitting down (again), he brought the glass of water and the pill to you, which you took with no complaints.
“There’s my lovely girl. It’ll help you feel better in the morning.”
“Okay,” you nodded, placing the glass on the bedside table next to you. “Are you gonna go now?”
“Why would I? I'm going to bed too.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Here.”
“We sleep together? In the same bed?”
Bruce walked around the bed so he could lay down on his side, and you followed suit, although much slower.
“Every night.”
You sighed and turned to face him, a silly smile playing on your lips as your eyes fluttered close.
“I can’t believe I'm this lucky. I'm married to a really hot gentleman, my house is super big, and I get to sleep with you every night. This is the dream.”
Bruce chuckled and wrapped one arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. And something in your subconscious mind must’ve recognised his touch because you molded yourself against him, leg wrapping around his waist and head resting just under his chin. You mumbled something incoherent under your breath and were out within seconds.
Bruce could only smile. He knew tomorrow morning you might have the worst of headaches, of nauseas, and he would be more than happy to spend his day catering to you, holding back your hair if you puked, and nursing you back to full health. You were the love of his life, and you’d already done so much for him, bringing life and colour back to his once bleak existence, teaching him what true love was like, and turning his house into a home, a safe space he could always return to.
He pressed a kiss on top of your head and squeezed you tighter, whispering four words in the quiet night.
“I’m the lucky one.”
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A/N: And that's it!! I hope you guys enjoyed this. I love this man so much, I wish it was him taking care of me instead of myself. Would not have tripped and swayed so much yesterday if I had his strong arms around me fr. Anyway, I love alcohol, I have zero regrets and I even got to write a Bruce fic. Win-win!
Have an amazing day, y'all!!! <3
239 notes · View notes
stevenose · 1 month
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thinking about baron literally switching up on you during sex 🫶🏻 reader with a vagina, no pronouns used for reader!
to be honest, the accent is a little grating. he’s saying things that make no sense, creating euphemisms that confuse you and take you out of the moment. you almost shove your fingers in his mouth to shut him up, but his sweet moans are too good to muffle.
baron. weird name. lamram is even weirder. in fact, ‘lamram’ sounds fake, some kind of made up name only a bimbo like baron would think of. but you have no reason not to believe him. he’s incredibly unassuming. sweetest thing alive, you think.
but you’re really starting to doubt the truth of his confession that he’s a virgin.
and it’s not really because he’s a good kisser. and he is, very much so. so humble and modest and yet he kisses you with such fervor that it’s staggering. claims your whole mouth with his, those big hands coming to cup your cheeks and keep you pressed against him like you might leave. you wouldn’t dream of leaving. certainly not after feeling his bulge, resting pretty on his lap, your tv blaring something useless behind you.
and it isn’t because he’s huge. jesus, is he huge. and your reaction, a wide eyed, open mouthed stare, makes him smirk. you didn’t think a sweetheart like him knew how to smirk. but he frowns when he catches you looking, furrowing his dark brows. “is - is it all right?”
“yeah,” you tell him quickly. “you’re just really big, baron.”
he shrugs a shoulder and smiles, bashful. “didn’ really know that.”
your hand wraps around his shaft, so hard and soft and hot. veiny. long. it nearly looks like it’s on the wrong body, but that isn’t very true, either. it fits his body, certainly - those big hands, strong biceps, hairy chest. it just doesn’t really fit his personality.
“no one’s ever told you before, huh? how big you are?”
baron shakes his head, that wide eyed wonder forcing his brows upwards again. “‘s it too big? can - can y’take it?”
and, no, it’s not that his fingers curl up and find your sweet spot immediately when you guide him to stretch you open. or that he knows where your clit is. you can chalk it up to beginner’s luck, or maybe he’s watched a lot of vintage porn. his expression shifts again while you mewl on his lap - smile widening, like he knows something you don’t.
“am i bein’ good for ya?”
you nod, grinding down onto his lean fingers. “mhm, yeah, baron, feel so good - add another, baby, please?”
“baby,” he says, sort of laughing, all giddy. “could get used t’that.”
what really makes you think he’s not a virgin is the way his hips rut up into you when you finally get him inside.
you have the lead at first. moving your hips up and down nice and slow. letting him savor it for his first time. playing with his long hair and trying to ignore his forced out little sayings. you’re moving so slow, and you swear baron’s clenching his jaw, his eyes turning hooded instead of wide, and then he suddenly plants his feet and starts fucking up into you.
you gasp, caught entirely off guard, and baron seems surprised himself. “that right?” he drawls. “‘s it ‘kay?”
you nod, and he continues, his hands - once hold you in a soft, feather light grip - suddenly tighten. squeezing the fat of your hips roughly. not enough to bruise but enough to make you realize he’s much more confident than he comes across.
and then - the nail in the coffin - he stops speaking with that terrible accent.
you think maybe it’s just getting warbled with his pleasure until he sounds - well. sounds like any other guy you know. voice deep and soft and sweet and yet so entirely sexy while he drills you with that long cock, hitting you deep, angling his hips to keep his tip rubbing against your sweet spot.
“feel so good,” he groans, no accent detected. “ah, fuck -“
“didn’t think you swore,” you pant, brows furrowed in pleasure and a lot of skepticism.
“i - uh.” and the accent’s back. “y’just feel better’n an ice cream cone on a -“
“quit it,” you moan, bouncing down on his cock. “you’re not a virgin, are you?”
he stares for what feels like eternity. and then he shapeshifts - relaxes, his face turning soft but eyes staying dark, gaze fixed instead of dazed. and he fucks you harder, lets his hands wander, lets his fingers tangle in your hair before pulling you in for another kiss. your stomach flips and you don’t feel scared, just shocked. confused. very horny.
“i’m not supposed to do this,” he says against your lips, smooth like butter, grunting from exertion. his free hand skirts down along your side before settling at your clit, rubbing circles into it. his dark eyes bore into yours and make your skin set alight. “but - but i- i’ll be honest, sweetheart, i needed this.”
“i - i guess that -“ you gasp, tilting your forehead to rest against his. “you- you’re not a virgin, then?”
the man scoffs. “do i fuck like one?”
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melrodrigo · 16 days
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Tardy, part 11
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11
Tara Carpenter x Fem Reader
Summary: It’s time for you to face Ghostface head on.
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: Pretty gnarly violence, Tara being protective and kinda batshit crazy, betrayals left and right
A/N: lol
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Shit.
When you open your eyes and see nothing but a hot blinding light, you think you might've died and gone to heaven.
"God?" You whisper, blinking slowly.
It was in fact, not god, you find out once your eyes properly adjust.
You're stuck in a tiny compartment; so small you think you might suffocate. The walls are painted a shade of obsidian black that makes you feel like you're stuck in a black hole. Only one single flickering lightbulb grants you sight.
Your arms are sore; so sore, and it only intensifies when you try and pull them up from the weird position they're in.
Huh, I can't move my arms.
You tug at the rope-like fabric of material that's holding your hands together. It doesn't budge in the slightest. Panic rises like wildfire in you.
You breathe deep. Try to gather your wits and make sense of anything that is possibly going on.
"Get it together." You remind yourself.
You blink once.
Feeling a little more clear, you realize that you're strapped tight to a chair, back pressed uncomfortably close to the ridges.
Where am I?
There's no time to find the answer to that question since the wall is moving- oh it's a door-, and Ghostface appears right in front of you, smiling.
Well, you don't really know if he's smiling. But the way he's moving, all confident and cocky, makes you think you're not too far off.
It hits you all at once. Now that you're fully conscious, you can feel everything.
One inhale and your lungs feel like they're on fire. Breathing is hard.
You groan, the pain all too overwhelming for your brain to work properly. It would be embarrassing how loud you were if you cared in the least.
You can only seem to think of one thing.
"Where is she?" You ask, with all the confidence of someone in the position of interrogating Ghostface.
Tara. God, what did they do to Tara?
“Of course, your first words are about her." Ghostface spits, still using that goddamned voice modulator.
“Where is she?” You spit, trying your very best to look intimidating.
It's not very convincing when you're heaving and gasping like a fish out of water.
"Would you believe me if I said she was already dead?" Ghostface drawls, tracing their knife along your jawline, pressing just enough for you to feel it.
You scoff.
"Right...you'd kill one of your beloved 'main characters' before the finale." You say, sure you've read him to filth.
"But, this is the ending. Don't you see?" He continues to tease, unbothered by your last comment.
You huff, but you feel your heart picking up speed slightly.
What if...he was telling the truth?
A shrill scream sounds throughout the theater, and you feel your blood run cold as you recognize exactly who it is.
"Tara." You breathe, half terrified and half relieved she's still alive.
"Tara!" You yell, as loud as your lungs are willing to let you.
Tara doesn't say reply. But what you do get is a smack to the head and an elbow to the jaw.
"Be quiet." Ghostface hisses, and you can almost swear he sounds sort of scared.
"Be quiet or I'm going to get my ass whooped." He mumbles, and you pull back as far as you can, eyebrows raised.
You bite back the need to tell him you definitely don't care if he gets in trouble or not, not wanting to get slapped in the face a billion more times.
"Come on." He grumbles, gripping the back of the chair and lifting it up swiftly.
The feeling of your feet dangling off the chair reminds you of one of your favorite memories.
"Mint ice cream sucks," Tara tells you definitively.
You squint your eyebrows at her and bring up a hand to your heart like she's just stabbed you.
She's sitting with her ice cream in hand, a good distance away from you. You guys peer down at all the university students walking around, now the size of ants; trying to point out people you guys recognize.
It was your own little secret spot. Tara could never really go study outside uni, since her sister was always up her ass about traveling unknown spaces. You never asked her why, pure sister protectiveness, you guessed.
A couple of weeks into knowing Tara, she'd brought you up to this mini garden haven of hers, all shy and smiley.
She's sitting now and she's looking so pretty with her big brown eyes and freckles out for display. They shine bright today, sunshine illuminating her face and making everything just pop the slightest bit more.
You get a wicked idea, and before you can stop yourself, scoot yourself closer and place your arm around her.
Tara cocks an eyebrow at you, but before she can speak a word, you start tickling her sides.
"Stop!" Tara squeals. Her face turning a bright pink comically fast.
You're careful not to tickle her too hard, or else you think she might just slide off the ledge and fall right here.
You're close now, closer than you should be. Tension swims in the air. You lean down to whisper into her ear.
"That's what you get for saying mint sucks." You huff, smirking a little as she shudders from the feeling of your breath fanning her ear.
When you pull back and look into her eyes, you're surprised to see them wide and dilated. She has a weird expression her face, like she's fighting something in herself.
You lean in slowly, stuck in a trace with the way she's looking at you.
She grips your shirt and pulls you in further, your noses brushing. And then suddenly, like she's just snapped out of her daze, she sits up abruptly.
She laughs nervously, letting go of your shirt.
"I think Sam's calling me. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?" She's saying, but she's not even giving you a second to answer before she's sprinting away.
Despite the sort of failed kiss, you chuckle a little. You feel the blush creep up to the tips of your ears.
The day your crush on Tara Carpenter officially started.
It's a bad time to start daydreaming, but you figure if you're going to die right now, it wouldn't be so bad to think of the love of your life while you go.
The sound of Tara's voice brings you back to life.
"YN!" She gasps, from somewhere behind you. You're still getting dragged, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes blurred.
You try your best to blink everything back to focus.
She's standing on the platform slightly below you, beside Sam, looking relieved. There's a brick in her hand.
You try and say her name but all that comes out is a painful groan. Everything feels heavy. Your shirt is painted red where your stomach wound is, and you figure you must've ripped the stitches.
There's another Ghostface beside you, the two of them bracketing you on either side.
Not that you would have the energy to up and escape anyway.
"Tara..." Sam warns, eyeing her sister like she knows what she's about to do.
Tara rushes forward, ignoring Sam's protest, trying to get to you. To hold you in her arms, to press her hands against your wound, to kiss it better; to do anything.
The Ghostface to your right swings their knife as soon as she comes into the vicinity, and slices the skin above Tara's collarbone easily. She gasps from the jab. Red liquid seeps out immediately.
You feel the Ghostface to your left tense, a mixture of a gasp and a yell stuck together.
"Anika wait-!" The Ghostface is saying, the name slipping out as easy as second nature.
Everybody stills.
It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
The other Ghostface whirls around, shoulders tight.
Sam tugs Tara back quietly, looking between the two Ghostfaces. Your head is swimming.
"What did you say?" Ghostface- supposedly Anika, says.
"What the fuck." You manage to spit out, but it goes unheard, everyone being laser-focused on the scene unfolding right in front of them.
"I'm sorry- I'm sorry I didn't mean to say that. It's just, I thought you were going to kill Tara. I couldn't let you do that." The other Ghostface reasons, albeit unconvincingly. He stumbles over his words, in a tone that's all too familiar to you.
"Ethan?" You hesitate, tears brimming in your eyes.
The Ghostface that's hovering above you drops down to your ear level, whispering softly.
"Well, aren't you just a smart little thing?" And promptly slides off that wretched Ghostface mask, and even though you knew, you have to gasp at who you see.
Anika.
Sweet sweet Anika.
"Just take it off. It's not like they don't already know." Anika tells Ethan, an order more than anything.
You tilt your head just enough to see Ethan take off his mask, grinning nervously.
"What the fuck?" You hear Tara say, but it sounds so far away.
"But, but how-" Sam starts, pointing at Ethan, her face as pale as a ghost.
He looks good, healthy. More alive than you've ever seen him. There's a glint in his eye you've never seen before.
"I'm alive. Surprise!" He grins, flashing the four of you a pearly white smile.
I must be dreaming.
You squeeze your eyes shut. He's still standing there when you open them again. Shit.
"But I watched you die, I felt the blood. You-you died in my arms. I saw the ambulance pick you up." You splutter, voice cracking unevenly.
"You know...some fake blood and a couple of acting classes can do wonders. You guys really are not good at picking up on hints." Anika sing songs, waving her dagger in the air.
"Seriously...we even had to send you a note." She continues, scrunching her nose in disgust.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you so hell-bent on destroying us?" Sam asks, fire in her eyes. She looks scary. Messing with Sam was one thing, but messing with her sister? You have a feeling they'll be dead in minutes.
Anika sighs dramatically, putting a hand up to her chin and feigning thought.
"Gosh. Where do I even start? Let's set the scene: it's 1996. There's been two mysterious murders in the small town of Woodsboro, leaving everyone in fright." She recounts, words slipping out of her mouth with ease like she's rehearsed them a million times.
Sam rolls her eyes, fed up with this godforsaken story that seems to follow her anywhere.
"Akio Kayoko however, lives happily, because finally his two bullies Billy and Stu aren't on his ass anymore. They have more important things to worry about."
Sam cuts in before Anika goes any further.
"Are you fucking kidding me? This is all because what, your dad couldn't handle a couple wedgies? Are you a little daddy's girl?" She says, fed up.
Anika shoots her an icy glare, but continues.
"You don't even know what you're talking about." Anika tells her, voice lowering to soft and almost sorrowful.
"Poor dad, he just had to go to that party. Do you know what happens to a person when they go through something traumatic? It changes them. He came out the only bystander that survived, but not without a scarred face and a scarred soul to show for it." She murmurs. She turns suddenly, a new pep in her mannerisms.
"Your father," she points at Sam accusingly, "and your father," she points her knife at you, "fucked my dad up royally. He got diagnosed with severe depression and bipolar disorder from it. And for what?" She seethes.
"Your guys' fathers are just racist assholes. You deserve everything that's coming to you, don't you even doubt it for a second!" She sneers, with so much venom and power that you can't help but agree.
You open your mouth to say something, anything, try to explain that you aren't your dad, but Anika beats you to it.
"Did you know he left me? I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was 6." She tells you, voice getting softer. Your heart tugs for her.
She straightens up, as if just realizing where she was, and her icy facade once again builds up.
"Anywho, motive enough for you Sam?" She tilts her head up, eyes bright.
Sam stands scarily still, but you can see the concern swimming in her eyes.
Ethan's standing wide-eyed like this is all new information to him.
"It really wasn't that hard getting you two to meet. All I had to do was invite Tara to that party and just give YN a little bump so you two would talk." Anika continues, and you furrow your eyebrows. Party? You met Tara at a party?
Your eyes dart to Tara and she's looking at you a little solemnly, and suddenly it hits you like a truck. Memories that have never been unlocked before replay in your mind now. The angel from that party.
That was Tara.
"After that, everything just fell into place. You guys are one pathetic predictable group of people." Ethan pipes up.
"The friendship, the night you got stabbed, it was all planned. I mean, why do you think I took you back to the apartment? For Anika to "stitch you up?" He asks excitedly, looking at Anika for approval to speak further. She gives him an annoyed nod.
"And guess what the best part is," He giggled midway, but gains his composure again. "Every time she came to fix you up, she actually poisoned the wound. Never too much that you would notice- but enough to guarantee your death today. It's infected." He cheers, like he hasn't just told you you're going to die.
"Jesus, you never told me how bad it was," Tara says, making your eyes dart back to hers, trying to catch her gaze to inadvertently say your sorry, but she doesn't meet your eyes.
"I didn't want you to worry." You sigh.
Ethan makes a noise of disgust. He looks at you with scrunched eyebrows, a little crinkle of his nose betraying his chill facade. His gaze shifts to Tara, and you can't help but notice his voice move just a pitch higher.
"Poor Tara. Caught in this sick twisted web between your sister and your girlfriend. You didn't even do anything wrong right, baby? Don't worry...nothing's going to happen to you. I've made sure of that." He tells her, and it hits you all at once.
"Baby? What are you talking about? " Tara asks, cocking her head to the side.
"I love you, Tara. I did all of this just for you. When the both of them are dead, you and I can get together. Finally." He says, between deep breaths.
You don't know how you never saw it before. Memories of the prior weeks flash in front of your eyes.
His heart eyes for your girlfriend every time the group would have a movie night and you two would cuddle, the weird lingering around the both of you whenever you'd go out.
You just figured he really liked your company.
"You're out of your mind you sick fuck. Tara would never date you, even if you were the last person on earth." Is what Sam says, and despite the consequences of what's sure to come, your heart sings.
Last person on earth.
Ethan stutters, like he never thought of the possibility that she would reject him. You see tears forming immediately, frown apparent. He's trying to keep it together- you can tell.
He leans back slightly, dejected. His eyes cloud with something you can only describe as hatred, and for a scary moment, you think he seriously might jump at Tara.
However, he doesn't get the time to act on his thoughts, because in less than a blink of an eye Anika's moving over and stabbing him in the neck.
"Agh!" He grunts. A trickle of blood runs down the side of his mouth, then it bursts. So, so much thick crimson liquid gurgles out.
Anika stands behind him, sliding her knife out his back, wiping the blood clean.
"Gosh, what a bore he was, right? True love this true love that. I couldn't listen to that shit any longer." She gags, leaning over to stick her tongue out at Ethan's lifeless face. She stabs him again in the jaw for good measure.
She looks back at the three of you, who are clearly aghast.
"Gotta make sure he's dead right?" She smiles, and it finally gets through to you that she's lost it. Whoever you thought you knew, that person never existed.
No one answers her as she stands up.
You turn stoney-faced as you look up at her. "So what's the plan Anika? How are you gonna get away with this?"
She turns around, rolling her eyes. Before you know it, she's advancing towards you, knife raised. She jabs lightly at your wound. Teases her knife against your skin. You really wish people would stop picking that specific part to hurt you.
"Do we really need to go over this again? Kill you guys blah blah blah, find Mindy and kill her, say that you and Sam went crazy like their fathers. Really, it's not hard to understand." Anika continues, shuffling her feet as she speaks like she's bored.
Time is ticking before she snaps and just decides to kill you, you know it. Not to mention the fact that you were actively dying.
"What do you really want from us? Just name your price now, and we'll- we'll get it. Just let her go." Tara splutters, almost begging.
Anika stomps her feet with the energy of a three year olds tantrum, "I want revenge! Have I not made that clear enough?" she basically yells.
Sam moves forward slowly, like a wildlife expert moving towards a wild beast.
"Look I'm sure we can come to an agreement about something-" She's saying, but Anika rolls her eyes once again and advances lazily towards you.
Nothing happens in slo-mo like the movies, you can barely register her face before she's plunging the dagger deep into the other side of your lower stomach. You can feel it pierce it's way through your whole body.
You hear a scream but it sounds a million miles away. You gag, moving your head to the side to try and puke, but nothing comes out. You try to groan in frustration but it makes your skin sting everywhere that you stop. You just stop for a moment.
Tara's fully sobbing now, you think. You can't really tell.
All hell breaks loose. Sam breaks out into a sprint at Anika, effectively knocking her down till both of them are tumbling on the floor.
You see flashes of black and gray and blood spurting from someone.
"Stay with me." You hear someone say, and try with everything in you to blink back everything into focus. It's Tara.
Her mascara is everywhere. Black stripes of tears and makeup streak down her pretty face, and you feel the urge even now to bring your hand up and wipe the tears away.
You try and tell her to stop crying but the words die in your mouth. What feels like fire engulfs your lungs.
"Stay with me. I'll be right back." She whispers, pressing a kiss to your chapped lips.
You search your mind desperately for a way out of this mess, a solution, but everything goes blank. Your ears ring, eyes rolling to the back of your head in pain.
With everything you have in you, you squeeze Tara's hand one last time, and tell her to take the knife currently lodged in you out.
Tara's eyes darken, the most cloudy you've ever seen them.
"No, no. I couldn't do that." She says, another round of tears falling down her cheeks. She shakes her head adamantly, but you shush her.
"Please. For me." You manage to get out, then with the utmost acceptance, you let yourself go.
Tara doesn't remember much of what happened after that. She remembers sobbing, she remembers someone screaming, but she can't be too sure if it's her or someone else. She remembers the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip on her hand, and she remembers seeing red.
With no where else to channel her emotions, and with your words engraved in her mind, she turns on Anika.
She hurries over to where she's still wrestling with Sam, expression tight, and grabs the first thing she can find in this shithole of a theater.
Your father's wooden box.
She remembers faintly telling Sam to fuck off, and smashing the box over Anika's head. Then picking it up and doing the same thing again. And again, and again. She remembers taking the heel of her shoes and smashing it to Anika's nose, breaking it in one clean hit.
She remembers going back to you, your white as paper skin, and yanking the knife out of you.
And the final thing she remembers is screaming at Anika while she buries the knife in and out of the girl’s body, everywhere, again and again.
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Malleus, Deuce: Like Mother, Like Son
BRO'S STILL MAKING THE "ARE YOU LOST BBY GHORL" FACE … Malleus’s birthday hits different knowing what I know now 💀 ALSO THE FACT THAT DEUCE SAID "THAT" ABOUT MALEFICENT VS THE HUMANS IS... (trying to keep this wording vague so as to not spoil people who haven’t gotten there yet)
It’s nice to see Malleus and Deuce in the vignettes, I feel like they don’t get to interact that much (which is a shame because I think their dynamic is cute). They had a chapter together in the manga anthology too! I’m glad they could hang out some more.
A Tale as Old as Time.
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The princess and her prince were picture perfect in the painting.
The woman, with golden curls that tumbled down her back. Her cerulean gown spilled to the polished floors like a fabric waterfall, the tiara in her hair catching the soft evening light. She gazed up at her lover's warm, twinkling eyes, and smiled.
The man, brunette, locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was handsome in a red tunic with a high black collar, a crimson cape billowing out behind him with each step he took. His gaze was locked with the princess's, his one and only.
Onlookers gathered in a ring around the two, spellbound by how they danced, bodies twinning like threads bound together. It was something precious they dared not disturb, even their breaths clutched like pearls to prevent their escape.
This was happily ever after, a dream come true.
It should have been.
Yet Malleus frowned. His brows drew together and his mouth pursed, a brewing storm settling over his face.
“Draconia-senpai?” Deuce called to him anxiously. “I-Is something wrong? You look a little scary…”
The first year glanced at the portrait of the royal couple. He jumped. “D-Don’t tell me, did this painting piss you off?! Er, I mean... Did it offend you?"
“No, nothing of the sort,” Malleus replied. He rested an index finger against his chin. “It sparked memories of my own days in court. As the crown prince to the Briar Valley, it goes without saying that I've attended a number of occasions similar to what is depicted here."
"Oh, for real? That makes sense, you being royalty and all. What were those events like?"
"Most are rather solemn affairs. Grandmother, the senators, and other politicians gather to discuss diplomacy, trade, and national policies. For certain occasions, there are traditional rituals that must first be performed. A royal birth, for example, must be blessed before the festivities can commence. If it is a knighting, then all the royal guard shall be present and a speech of one's accomplishments read."
Deuce blinked a few times, as though shedding sleepiness. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of a prince's duties. He dropped the smartest sounding response he could: "That sounds tough."
Malleus lips slightly lifted. "I do not mind it. There is pride to be had in conducting such work."
I don't have a reason to doubt what he's saying, but... Deuce clenched his fists at his sides. If Draconia-senpai really feels that way, why does he still seem so pained?
The fairy drew out a sigh, as if dissatisfied with the silence. "... Ah, but how strange. When I look upon this painting, I see many people present... yet the princess touched by diurnal fae and her prince take no notice of them. They have eyes only for each other."
His words were velvet-lined, soft on the ears. Beneath them, a pang of longing rose like a fine mist at daybreak.
"What must it feel like to be so beloved?" Malleus wondered. "To have someone who considers you the most special being in all the world?"
Vines twisted in his gut, thorns prickling his insides. Frustration and molten discontent pooled. For all the power that he wielded, he failed to attain such a basic thing.
Love.
"Do you understand such a feeling, Spade?" The inquiry was pure acid.
"H-Huh, me?!" Deuce startled, not prepared for the demand in Malleus's voice. "Well... uh, I guess my mom calls me her big, strong man. Does that count?"
Malleus's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Is it customary for children of man to refer to their offspring as 'big, strong men'?"
"I think that's just my mom's thing." He shrugged. "I'm the only man in the house, so I try to help her out if I can. She jokes about it when I do."
Malleus made a face. It was difficult to discern the emotion he wore.
"Moms, right?" Deuce gave a nervous laugh. "They can be embarrassing, but they care about us a lot."
"I never knew my mother."
"... Oh." A rock dropped in Deuce's stomach. He hurried for an apology as dread rippled through him. "Shit, my bad! I didn't mean to..."
Malleus held up a hand in an elegant dismissal. "Be at ease. I harbor no anger."
There was no point, he told himself, in rage expressed for a woman he had no bond with. Her face, her voice--they were all a mystery to him. She was but a stranger adrift in an abyss.
Still, a part of him sparked at the thought of her, of someone he had yet to meet--would never meet. The thrill of fates closely intertwined, the tenderness of a parent's love.
Malleus went quiet, lowering his hand.
"Grandmother and Lilia have done their utmost to mentor me in her stead." He sounded hollow, insistent. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Deuce.
The Heartslabyul student swallowed. He placed a firm hand on Malleus's arm and squeezed. "... It's not enough, is it?"
He received no answer.
“Your mom is thinking of you, wherever she is.”
Malleus pulled away, presenting his back to Deuce. "Dead fae do not tell tales," he said simply.
“That doesn’t mean she loved you any less,” Deuce stubbornly protested. “Right up until her last breath… she must have been so happy to have you, thinking about what kind of person you’d grow up to be.”
Dreaming of the day when she can, at last, meet you.
Blink, and his eyes were wet. Blink again, and his vision blurred. Heartbeat hot and quick, galloping upon coals.
Did my mother truly…?
“She’d be damn proud of you too.” Deuce flashed a wicked grin. “Believe me.”
“… Hah.” Malleus chuckled dryly.
The longer he considered it, the more appealing the idea became.
A woman in his likeness—or was he made in hers? Papery kisses, fond embraces, words of affirmation. Fire that burned strongly, warding off the darkness.
Wouldn’t that be something?
"I love you, Malleus," whispered that she-phantom. Sweet nothings that sated his starved soul. "Forever and always. My dear son, my pride and joy."
The carefully constructed stone fortress around his heart faltered. His desire burned like a falling star.
He took a breath, and fell from the heavens with his wish.
“Thank you, Spade.”
Just for this moment, let me walk once upon a dream.
A single tear slipped down Malleus’s cheek.
And what a wonderful dream it was.
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melodygatesauthor · 10 months
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The Best Kept Secrets - Marc's Story
dbf!Marc Spector X f!Reader
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Not Beta Read - Masterlist - AO3 Link
Suggested reading order - Marc -> Steven -> Jake -
Steven's Story - Jake's Story
Summary:
You've just graduated college and you find yourself developing feelings for your dad's best friend after your graduation party. Three different versions of the same story all with different boys.
Tags/Warnings (for all three fics):
NSFW, age gap (reader is about 22 - boys are 40), reader is not race-coded, reader graduated college in America but isn't necessarily American, p in v creampie, unprotected sex, dbf trope, oral sex, coercion (sort of on both sides), Jake being Jake, Marc being Marc, Steven being Steven, forbidden relationship, forbidden sex, blowjob, mild bondage, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, car sex, bad puns
Word Count: 9.4k (apparently I can't write anything short anymore)
You got out of the Uber when it stopped in front of your childhood home. Your dad was already waiting for you by the front door, smiling wide. He came over with his arms out, pulling you into a big hug. You grunted from the tight squeeze.
“Hi dad.” You choked out.
“I sweetie.” He let go of you and looked you over. “How was the ride from the airport?” He started taking two of your bags out of the trunk and walking back toward the house with you in tow.
“Long,” you said with a tired laugh.
“Well, hope you’re not too tired cause there’s a few people here to see you.”
He opened the front door and you were greeted by several relatives and family friends in the kitchen. They all shouted, congratulations! at once, holding up an assortment of beer bottles and glasses of wine. Knowing your dad, the drinking had been going on for a couple of hours before you arrived.
“Thanks everyone,” you said with a big smile, feeling a little shy having all those eyes on you.
You noticed the black and gold, congrats graduate, banner adorning the wall above the table in the dining area. With the initial excitement over, the crowd dissipated and you watched everyone start mingling once again. Your cousins came up to you and started exchanging quick updates on their lives while everyone else chattered around you throughout the house.
“What do you think, huh?” Your dad asked, coming up behind you while you admired the cake in the center of the dining table. He handed you a mixed drink.
“Dad, this is really great. There’s so many people! I really wasn’t expecting this when you said we were having a graduation barbecue. Thought maybe only a couple people would show up.” You looked to see your aunt talking with one of your dad’s friends in the living room.
“You know me better than that. Not everyday your kid graduates college,” he patted your back proudly, “shit, gotta go check the grill. I’ll be right back.”
While he was gone, you watched your aunt and your dad’s friend finish their conversation. You’d known Marc since you were a kid, but it had been a long time since you’d seen each other. He came over to you and held up his beer as if to say cheers. He still looked so rough around the edges, just how you always remembered him. You looked him up and down, trying not to make it seem too obvious.
Has he been working out?
“Congrats. College…wow.” He took a swig off his beer bottle, “all grown up.”
You gave him a nervous giggle, “yeah, I guess.” You felt inexplicably shy all of a sudden, you tried to make small talk, “How have you been? It’s been so long.”
He shrugged, “been keeping busy, staying out of trouble,” he gulped some of his beer down and then looked at you with those brown eyes that seemed to sparkle when the light hit them just right.
You felt your cheeks getting flush for what felt like, at the time, nothing worth getting flustered over. Marc was handsome, anyone could see that, but you’d never looked at him that way. He’d always just been your dad’s best friend. Then again, he’d never looked at you like that. Were you imagining things? He seemed to be sneaking glances at different parts of your body. His eyes trekked over your neck, down to the crevice of your slightly low cut shirt, beyond your denim jeans and finally onto the floor which is when he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous.
“Still fixing toilets?” You sipped your drink, trying to change the subject quickly.
“Yeah…well…sort of. I do all kinds of handyman stuff, not just toilets. I also do home inspections.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it over to you.
You read the print and huffed out a laugh at the obvious pun.
Marc Spector
The Home In-Spector
“It’s dumb I know.” He rolled his eyes, taking another drink.
You raised an eyebrow, “I think it’s clever. Definitely memorable.” Someone called your name from outside, interrupting the casual conversation. “Oh, I gotta go, see you around, Marc.”
“Yeah…you too.”
After several hours and a few drinks later, you were sitting around the firepit with only your dad, one of your cousins and Marc. You remembered the roaring laughter over a dumb joke that Marc made at your expense. You grumbled and gave him the finger. You weren’t actually upset, and had a hard time keeping yourself from bursting out into laughter as well. Marc flipped you off in return and smiled at you. Marc’s smile was so fucking beautiful. Why hadn’t you noticed before tonight how good looking he was? This feeling you had was so wrong…but you wanted him so badly all of a sudden. It had to be the alcohol, that was the only explanation.
A little while later, you were tipsy and felt your eyelids closing involuntarily, no matter how hard you tried to keep them open.
They closed again, and when you opened them this time, it was only you and Marc left around the fire.
Closed again.
You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sudden movement stirred you awake. You were being carried by a set of strong arms. Did your dad come back to get you? No. He would’ve woken you up so you could walk to bed. You wrapped your arms around the man’s shoulders and buried your face in his neck. Marc, you thought.
He smelled warm, like he’d been in the sun all day. Your lips brushed the soft skin there, and you felt a strong sense of comfort wash over you. Alcohol had a way of making you forget to filter your emotions, and right now you were hoping Marc would never let go. You didn’t know why you felt that way. None of it made sense. It’s not like he’d made any sort of pass at you during your growing up, and he had certainly been respectful all night.
So why did you feel like you wanted him to fill you up with everything he had?
It had to be the alcohol. You drank too much, and it was making you feel flirty, and foolish, like you didn’t care about the consequences of any bad decisions you might be inclined to make. Marc sat you down on your bed. You didn’t lay down yet, you just sat there, clutching his shirt so he couldn’t walk away. He grabbed your wrist and looked down at you through his own hooded and intoxicated gaze.
“Marc,” you said softly.
He knelt down, eyes level with yours, “what?”
You looked between his eyes. What did you want from him? Did you expect him to throw away a friendship that was older than you’d been on the planet so that you could fulfill this seemingly random and new feeling? If you would just let go of his damn shirt, he could leave and you would go to bed. It was so simple, but you felt an ache between your legs and a burning desire for him that you couldn’t make sense of.
“Don’t go, please.”
He gave you a gentle smirk, “I have to go to bed,” his smile almost killed you, “you gotta let go of my–”
“Take care of me first…don’t you know what you did to me?”
You were both breathing so heavily, and his eyes kept darting to your lips. You weren’t sure who dove in first, but you both started kissing each other hungrily, motions made sloppier from the alcoholic influence you were both under. Marc continued to claim every moan that left your mouth while you guided his hand down to the waist of your pants. He tucked his thick fingers in and felt between your soaking wet folds.
“Holy shit,” he commented in a breathy rasp, “did I really make you that fuckin’ wet? How long have you felt this way about me?”
“A long time,” you lied.
You always had found him attractive. Objectively speaking, Marc was a good looking man. Regarding wanting to let him take you on every surface in your childhood home? That feeling was brand new to you. Something between the drunken fogginess and the sweet way he carried you changed something in your DNA. You needed him…badly.
All too suddenly, Marc gained a conscience. He pulled his hand free from your pants, and backed away from you quickly. He looked you up and down, running a hand through his hair, eyes plagued with guilt. It was all too clear that this fantasy of yours was over. Whatever this moment was that the intoxication had afforded you, ended with some sense of clarity that tore through Marc.
“No, no.”
That was all he could say, not one word more before he left your room in haste. He didn’t need to say anything else. You knew deep down you were dumb for thinking Marc would actually do anything with you. You knew that was a one-time thing, and that he would want to go about as though it never happened. For your father’s sake, you would take an oath of silence, despite the feelings you were keeping buried deep.
----
The next morning at breakfast, Marc had flat out refused to make eye contact with you. Even when you asked him to pass the orange juice, he kept his head down when handing it to you over the turntable. You scowled when you took it from him, but took the bottle without added drama. Of course you understood that things were awkward, but if he kept treating you like you didn’t exist, that was even weirder. If he thought blatantly avoiding you in front of your dad wasn’t suspicious, he was sorely mistaken.
The moment your father went up to use the bathroom, you took the opportunity to talk to Marc who, at that moment, was clenching his jaw and pretending to look at his phone. The man still used a Motorola flip phone. You couldn’t imagine there was anything very interesting on a phone without internet access, unless he was trying to avoid you deliberately.
“Marc, I’m not going to say anything to him or anyone, but you acting like this is more suspicious than if we fucked on the table in front of him so–”
“Can you please watch your mouth. Don’t say things like that.” He said in a harsh whisper, “I just don’t want to think about it, alright?” His thick Chicago accent always came out when he got irritated.
“I’m fine with that, I just mean…you’re not being very subtle. Just pretend nothing happened and treat me like I exist…please.”
When your dad came back downstairs, Marc seemed to make a better effort to act like he always did around you, and it worked. Even you had a couple moments where you almost forgot that there was something awkward between you two. You kept reminding yourself it was only a kiss, and it was only a kiss, but you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want so much more.
----
For two weeks you fought off thoughts about your dad’s best friend. You tried so hard not to think about the way his arms felt carrying you up to bed the other night; so hard not to think about the way he smelled when you had your face buried in his neck; you tried so fucking hard not to think about the way his fingers felt brushing over your clit while he kissed you so passionately.
You were surprised when your father left for work and only a couple of hours later, Marc arrived. You didn’t know he was there, and nearly screamed when you heard him whistling downstairs as you were stepping out of the shower. You peered out the window and saw his truck with his company logo on the side. You let out a sigh of relief, realizing that there wasn’t a burglar in your home, but that initial fear was quickly replaced with an anxiety that you couldn’t shake. The only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted to feel his lips on yours again.
After you changed into your shorts and a tanktop, you decided to make your way downstairs to see why he was there in the first place. Marc was laying under the sink, cabinet doors open on either side of him. You couldn’t help but notice the way his biceps flexed under the tight t-shirt he wore, and the dark trail of hair that disappeared under the waist of his pants on his exposed abdomen.
“Marc.” You said gently, as though hearing your voice any volume higher might send him into a rage.
He froze, letting out an exasperated sigh that split through the room. He clanked some of his tools and grunted as he sat up to look at you. He held a furrowed brow, daring you to say something about the night you shared two weeks ago; daring you to bring the memory of that deep shame back to the forefront of his mind. You found yourself having a hard time speaking all of a sudden.
“Look, your dad asked me to come by and fix a few things, just stay out of my way and–”
“M-my air conditioner isn’t working and I was hoping you could take a look at it.” You spat your words out so fast you weren’t sure if he would even be able to understand you.
There was, of course, nothing wrong with your air conditioner, but you wanted to get Marc in your room, alone again, if only for a second. He stood up, aggravation still apparent in his furrowed brow.
“Your ac is broken?” He crossed his arms over his chest, “what’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know, isn’t that your job? I just need you to look at it.”
He grabbed his toolbelt off the ground and followed you up the stairs with a look that told you he was unimpressed, and hardly believed that you needed him to actually fix something. When you got to your room, he went to the window where your perfectly functioning air conditioner sat, and you silently latched the door behind yourself. You felt it getting harder to breathe.
He turned the air conditioner on to test it, learning immediately that he’d been tricked into going up there. He turned slowly, brow furrowed in frustration. Despite his obvious aggravation, you noticed the quick shift of his eyes taking in your frame before looking back at your face. He crossed his arms tightly, scowling at you.
“The hell are you trying to pull huh?” His accent came out in his peeved tone. He walked up to you, but you stayed firmly in front of the door. “Move.”
You looked up at him, “Marc please, I can’t stop thinking about you since we kissed.”
He grabbed your shoulders roughly and you thought he might slot his lips over yours in a flurry of breathless kisses, but he didn’t. Instead he turned to scolding you as though you were a child, which only served to piss you off.
“It was a drunk mistake that never should’ve happened. I let it go, you should too,” his voice was low and harsh.
It was crushing to hear that he wasn’t even going to entertain the thought, though it wasn’t exactly a surprise. You weren’t sure what you’d expected. Marc was always trying to do what he considered to be the right thing, and now was no different. You were his best friend’s daughter. Of course he wasn’t going to do anything with you. But when you looked over at his flexing biceps on either side of you, and felt the strength in the way his hands held onto your shoulders, you couldn’t help the way you wanted him.
“I can’t. I…I think about you almost every night.”
There was another cold silence, save for the hum of the air conditioner that was still working exceptionally well. You weren’t normally so forward, but it was true. Despite your attempts to not think about him since your encounter, you’d failed. Most nights since then were spent with your fingers two knuckles deep in your soaking wet cunt, thinking about all the ways you wanted Marc to take you under your father’s roof.
“You’re stupid you know that? Just stop, you’re my friend’s kid. He know you act like this? Huh?”
If his tone wasn’t evidence enough that he was through with the conversation, his actions were. Marc moved you aside by force and then made a quick escape from your house. He hadn’t even finished working on the sink downstairs. You wondered if Marc was going to tell your dad about your conversation that day, but when your dad got home that night, he never said a word about it. You tried to move on, despite the ache in your chest.
----
You wondered if Marc would ever come back to your house again, until your dad was on his way out the door for work and told you he was coming back to finish the sink. Your cheeks grew hot immediately when you thought about it. Your dad left, and you rushed around getting ready for Marc to show up. You knew he’d told you to back off, but thoughts of him continued to plague your mind and you couldn’t seem to help yourself.
What the hell am I gonna wear, you asked yourself.
It was foolish to think about what you were going to wear in a silly attempt at seducing your dad’s best friend. You couldn’t even begin to understand why you were attempting to seduce your dad’s best friend. It was obvious that he didn’t want you, he’d pushed you out of the way the other day. That didn’t stop you from wondering what it would feel like to brush your lips over the soft skin of his throat again. It didn’t stop you from thinking about what his thick fingers would feel like stretching out your pussy while you dug your nails into his toned shoulders.
When he finally arrived, you waited to make sure he was working before you went downstairs. You were silent, knowing that alerting him to your presence might make him run off. You’d chosen to wear a short little skirt, a tank-top, and you opted out of your bra and panties. You needed to make it as easy as you could for him to take what he wanted from you. Despite the way he pushed you away, you knew he wanted you.
He was working hard, twisting a wrench around one of the pipes. His arm obstructed his view so he didn’t see you coming. Without a word, and without his knowing, you walked over to him, standing on either side of his thighs. He noticed you when you dropped to your knees, straddling him. He looked at you with that signatured furrowed brow.
“What the…you’re starting to be a real fuckin’ problem, you know that?” His voice was dark and threatening.
“Am I?” You asked in a coy tone, dragging your cunt over his crotch, feeling the brush of the denim against your clit.
He sat up fast, and you thought he might shove you off of him, but he didn’t. Instead, his hand grabbed your hip firmly. You gasped when his face got close to yours, eyes narrowed and wracked with guilt. His nose brushed against yours. You felt your hips involuntarily rock against the growing bulge behind his jeans.
“What’s it gonna take for you to let this go, huh?” He used one hand to push your skirt back while the other slid up your inner thigh. “What’s it gonna take for you to stop this shit?”
You put both of your hands on his shoulders for stability. His fingers found your folds and you felt your entire body surge with desire. Marc’s chest rumbled when he leaned in to steal your moans in a mess of deep kisses. His grasp on your thigh was so tight it left divots in your skin. He pulled you forward, sliding his middle finger deep into your channel.
“Fuck, I get you that worked up?” He said against your lips.
You hummed an affirmative into his mouth. He slid another finger in, and already you felt the delicious stretch of his thick digits testing your hole. It was a tight fit, two that is, and it felt better than you could’ve dreamed. If you’d known it was going to be like this, you might’ve been more persistent when he came up to your room the week before. He curved them, touching that sweet spot that made you whine in response.
“Where are all the boys your age? Why aren’t you going after them, hm? You like pissing me off?”
You didn’t want to answer him, because the truth was stupid. You didn’t care about the “boys your age”. Most of them wouldn’t know their way around a pussy if you had an arrow pointing to all the important parts for them. They also didn’t know you like Marc did. Marc was there to talk to you on the late nights after a family barbecue when you couldn’t sleep and your dad was already in bed. He was there to judge your prom date with a threatening glare if the guy ever tried to hurt you, and he was there when you left for college, making sure you knew how to properly use your pepper spray keychain.
He was there for you now when you were wet and dripping down his wrist while moaning one desperately hungry kiss after another over his lips. The third finger hurt a little, but the ache of the burn became more bearable the more he worked in and out of you. Marc brought his face to your throat, leaving soft kisses there that had your cunt fluttering over his thick fingers.
“M-Marc I’m…I’m so close I–”
“Sh, just shut up. Don’t want to hear it.”
You didn’t know if it was the guilt causing him to act so cruel, but it didn’t matter to you at that moment. You were there, seconds from sweet release, but the beep of a car door locking froze you both to your core. Marc pulled his hand from you, leaving you feeling empty. You stood fast and ran up the stairs quickly, leaving Marc down there to deal with your father. You felt bad, but knew he could handle it.
When you got to your room, you could hear them start talking downstairs.
“Hey Marc!” Your dad said as he walked in, “how’s it coming?”
You heard Marc huff out a laugh, “it’s not.”
----
It would be a lie to say you weren’t thrilled at the prospect of Marc coming by to check on you while your dad was out of town for the week. You wondered if he was excited too, or if he wished that he’d never met your dad now that things had become more complicated between the two of you. Complicated wasn’t even the right word for it, it wasn’t like this was something you did regularly. You hadn’t even seen him since he fingered you by the sink two weeks ago. He seemed to be limiting his time spent at your house those days.
You understood, you weren’t stupid, but at the same time it didn’t change how badly you wanted to see him again. In fact, most days, he was all you thought about. Something about him was intoxicating. Maybe it was the danger of getting caught? Or perhaps it was the thrill of something new? It could also be the fact that he was older, and you had a feeling he knew exactly how to make you come undone like no one ever had before.
When he finally showed up, it was after dinner. You were sitting on the couch watching some crappy movie about five guys taking down a Columbian drug lord. You paused the movie and turned around to see him standing there. He ran his hand over his face and crossed his arms over his chest. You felt your heart rate picking up.
“I’m just here to check in on you, I don’t want any funny business.” He said firmly.
You gulped, and nodded, “okay, yeah that’s…I understand.”
He dropped his hands to his pockets. You watched his entire body relax before your eyes. While you understood that he didn’t want to continue the little thing you two had going on, it didn’t change the fact that you still wanted him, badly. Marc’s face looked irritated, nothing new there, but there was a mild softness to his brow.
“Well, I’m just watching this dumb movie…do you wanna watch with me?” You gestured to the other side of the couch.
Marc sighed before nodding and walking over to sit as far from you as possible on the other side of the couch. You pressed play and sat in silence for some time. Just being in his presence was making your mind buzz. You couldn’t stop replaying him fingering you by the sink on repeat in your head. When you looked over at him, his eyes were trained on the television, not because he was interested, no, it was painfully clear that he was trying to avoid eye contact with you. You couldn’t sit there anymore. The ache between your legs was growing and if you didn’t go take care of it, you were going to do something to upset him.
“I have to use the bathroom, you don’t need to pause, I'll be right back.”
You went upstairs and closed the bathroom door behind yourself. You knew it would be suspicious if you spent too much time in there, but at the very least you needed to clean yourself up. You were soaked, so wet that you probably left a mark on the couch downstairs and you didn’t know what to do. What if he saw it? Surely he’d be upset if he thought you might be thinking about him again.
When you were finished wiping up, you opened the door. You were fully prepared to go down there and tell him to leave, but you didn’t make it that far. He was standing right outside the bathroom door, eyes looking you over like he might devour you.
“Marc I–”
He stole your next words when he slotted his lips over yours. Your mind went blank, focusing only on the way his tongue tasted when it entangled with yours. His hands grabbed your shoulders, sliding down until he found purchase on your hips. A soft moan slipped through your lips while you brought your hands to the waistband of his pants. You weren’t going to beat around the bush this time, you knew exactly what you wanted and you intended to take it. 
You brushed your fingers over his pubic hair, relishing the way it felt against your skin. Marc lifted you by your rear, and you were forced to grab his broad shoulders for stability. He carried you to your room and gently laid you down on the bed, never disconnecting his lips from yours. Marc started grinding his hips against you, the hard prod of his erection apparent through his jeans.
“This what you wanted from me?” He looked at you with a combination of anger, guilt, and lust, “think you can even handle it?”
You whined, “yes, I need it, please Marc.”
In a blur, you and Marc got your clothes off so your bare chests were against each other. His skin was deceptively soft. The feeling of his thick cock gliding over your inner thigh was maddening. You arched your back upward and brought your hands around the base of Marc’s neck. He used both of his hands to pin your wrists down above your head.
“You turned out to be such a fuckin’ brat you know that?” He was almost growling out his words.
“Guess you’ll have to put me in my place-OH SHIT!”
Marc thrust himself into you and buried his face in your neck. You weren’t quiet while he moved at an unforgiving pace. His lips dragged over your throat, leaving soft kisses in their wake. The juxtaposition of between his harsh fucking and tender kissing was making your mind go blank. Everything he did felt so good, better than you could’ve imagined. You still couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
“Marc-feels so good fuck-yes!” You shouted through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, I bet it does honey, bet it feels really fucking good. You happy now? You glad you got me to fuck you? Hm?!”
Marc was taking his guilty conscience out on you. He picked his head up and looked down at you, grabbing your jaw tightly in his hand. You whimpered at his firm grip, but you were enjoying the way he manhandled you. His lips were pulled together in a thin line while he huffed in tandem with his thrusts. A few stray hairs fell down from their normally slicked back place and into his eyes. Fuck he’s so pretty.
“Yeah, I am,” you taunted, knowing it would only serve to piss him off even more. “Are you really going to act like-oh shit-like it doesn’t feel good? You make me so wet-fuck!”
He was slamming your bed against the wall with how hard he would pull back and then snap his hips forward into you. You were writhing underneath him from the sensations all over your body, but you couldn’t move your arms still. He went back to sucking on your neck, and you were surprised when his hands slid off of your wrists and moved to intertwine your fingers in his.
Marc was being intimate with you.
Just when you thought it couldn’t feel any better, he was starting to nuzzle his nose behind your ear, taking a deep breath and inhaling your scent. His movements slowed to a more even pace, as though he were trying to savor every delicious movement, rather than fuck the guilt away. You turned your head to the side, meeting with Marc’s lusty and hooded gaze. Electricity sparked in your stomach at the sight of him.
“Marc–”
He started kissing you again, as though the sound of your voice was going to cause him harm if he had to hear you speak any longer. You wondered if it reminded him of who he was sleeping with. You didn’t care that he was your dad’s best friend anymore, you hadn’t for a while. Nothing had ever felt so good in every way. His hands squeezed around you tighter, and you heard him start moaning louder into you.
“Gonna fill your little pussy up baby, then we’ll see how mouthy you are.”
You couldn’t speak as your climax approached faster than you’d anticipated. All you could do was let your eyes roll back and your body melt into the bed. You felt your cunt squeezing around his thick cock as he filled you with his hot spend. Fuck he sounds so good. He was moaning deep rasps into your ear while he fucked his cum into you.
When his thrusts finally slowed and you were both a sated and panting mess, he pulled out of you. You mumbled about the towel on your dresser that he used to clean himself off and then toss to you. You wiped yourself up and then slowly stood, starting to change into your clothes.
“You can stay,” you said to Marc, hoping that he wasn’t going to just fuck you and leave, but you knew better.
Marc finished getting dressed and then he looked at you, brows furrowed and guilt etched into every pore on his face. You knew that he was going to say no, so when the words left his lips you weren’t surprised. That didn’t change the disappointment that you took with you downstairs while saying goodbye.
“We can’t do this again,” Marc said coldly in the doorway, “it’s done…alright?”
You nodded sullenly. He nodded in return and left. You were alone again.
You weren’t sure why it made you emotional to hear him say the words ‘it’s done…alright?’, but you felt a pit in your stomach. Was it because he’d been so intimate with you not ten minutes ago? Was it because he made you feel like no one else ever had? Perhaps it was a combination of both. Either way, you spent the evening finishing that terrible movie with your face buried in a box of tissues, just begging for sleep to take you away from your overwhelming feelings.
----
You didn’t see Marc again for three weeks. So much happened in three weeks and you were determined to act normal when you saw him again after that time had passed. When your dad had told you he was coming over for dinner, you froze. It had been a while since you and Marc had been in the same room, and even longer since you’d been in the same room together with your father present. The pit in your stomach was already forming.
Your phone buzzed on the counter and you picked it up. Joey, the guy you’d met last week at the local coffee shop was asking if you were still on for tomorrow night. You replied, ‘yes’, and then put your phone in your pocket. As hard as it was, going out with someone else was a necessary step in getting things back to normal. What were you holding out for anyway? For Marc to come in and sweep you off your feet? To tell your dad that he’d been sleeping with you and that you were going to be together now? Maybe if you both had a death wish, that would be a perfect plan.
When he walked into the house, burgundy shirt hugging his chest a little too tight for your sanity, you felt your breath hitch in your throat. He was still so handsome. It’s not like you expected that to change, but you’d hoped that maybe you would’ve stopped mentally putting him on a pedestal by now so you could move on. But you didn’t, and you couldn’t.
“Hey, Marc.” You said softly as he made his way to the dining room.
“Hey.” He actually looked at you this time, as if he wasn’t going to burn alive by meeting your gaze.
The heat rose to your cheeks in a rush, making you feel lightheaded. You sat down at the table and both Marc and your father joined. The small talk was just what you needed; your dad asking Marc how business was going and Marc asking you about your job hunt. Marc was making a career out of drinking his wine. If anything was a sign of his nervousness it was that. You were glad that you weren’t the only one feeling the awkward weight in the air.
“So, why don’t you tell Marc about…you know,” your dad gave you a knowing look.
You shifted nervously, “um, well…” you looked into Marc’s dark brown eyes. His brow was knitted together tightly, “I’m going on a date tomorrow with a guy I met at the coffee shop up the road.”
You swigged your own wine down in one gulp. It was quiet except for the ticking clock above the archway to the kitchen. Your silverware clanked on the plate while you poked the lettuce from your salad. You looked back up at Marc.
“You like this guy?” Marc finally asked, never taking his gaze off of you.
“I don’t know,” you tried to sound indifferent, “only talked to him a couple of times.”
Marc paused before responding, “good…it will be good for you to find someone you can spend time with.”
This conversation wasn’t about you and Joey.
“Yes…and someone who isn’t going to just take advantage of me,” you stabbed your fork into your food harshly.
“Oh definitely,” he sounded sarcastic, “and make sure you’re careful with what you wear and how you act, some guys your age might get the wrong idea about the kind of girl you are.”
Asshole.
“He’s right, you know.” Your dad chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the private conversation you and Marc were having right under his nose.
“So are you saying I dress like a slut?” You stared at him, waiting to see how he planned to answer that one.
“Alright now you’re just acting like a brat, I never said–”
“Who wants more wine?” You asked, getting up and going to the kitchen and trying to end the awkward back and forth that you, admittedly, started.
The glasses of wine were filled while you and Marc continued your eternal staredown that your dad seemed oblivious to. You both guzzled down three more glasses each while your father and he entertained more small talk. When dinner concluded, he got up and went outside to start putting together a fire, and your dad asked you to do the dishes and join them when you were finished.
You did the dishes, but you didn’t join them. You told your dad you weren’t feeling well and instead retreated to your room. The last thing you wanted to do was continue the awkwardness that transpired at the dinner table. You thought that would be the end of it, that Marc would’ve had enough of your attitude and never want to speak to you again.
You were wrong.
Your father had gone to bed almost a half hour before you heard Marc working his way upstairs. You thought for sure he would walk right by your room and go to the guest room, but he didn’t. Marc twisted your door handle and walked in, closing the door quickly while he stepped inside. You sat up and looked at him quizzically, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes.
“What are you doing in here?” You asked.
Marc sat down next to you, leaning over so his face was close. You could smell the alcohol on his breath. He reached a hand up to cup your cheek, you felt him pulling you closer.
“You know exactly what I’m doing in here,” he said in a low whisper.
Of course you did. His lips were soft and tasting of liquor when he pressed them to yours. His tongue tasted even more like alcohol, but you didn’t mind. Whether it was the intoxication, or maybe he was just more comfortable with you now, his tongue felt soft while it melted against yours.
“So you have a date? Hm?” Marc looked at you, eyes dark and brow furrowed.
So that’s what this was about.
You nodded, “mhm.”
“He can’t do for you what I can do honey.” He dropped his hand from your cheek and rested it on your waist. He kissed your neck right by your ear and said, “I know just what you like.”
“I can go on a date with him…in public.” A breathy moan escaped your lips as he sucked on your skin more.
He stopped and looked at you again, “that’s not fair.”
“Nope it’s not.”
“I could take you out if–”
“But you can’t so–”
“-so, he can’t make you feel the way–”
“Maybe he can–”
“Shut the hell up.” Marc’s mouth covered yours, rendering you silent save for the moans escaping you.
He slid you forward so you were laying down and then pulled your covers off your body. That’s when he noticed that you were in nothing but a t-shirt and your underwear. His mouth closed over yours, and his hand trekked over your lower abdomen and tucked into the hem of your panties. You felt the pad of his thick middle finger brush against your clit. You could hear the wet sound it made when he started circling there.
“You’re such a little brat, you know that?” He was so breathless.
“I know,” you said just above a whisper. You arched your cunt toward him, chasing the feeling his fingers gave you .”You sound like you’re jealous.”
“I’m not, you can do whatever you want, not gonna stop you.”
“I want you, and you do keep stopping me.”
Marc sounded like an animal the way he grumbled and pulled your panties down to your ankles. You grabbed his pants and worked on getting them off, hearing his belt clank against the floor when he tossed them aside. You writhed under him, feeling the way his fat cock brushed your inner thigh. You could’ve cried it felt so fucking good to just have him touching you. Marc was right…that other guy would never be able to give you what he did. He could never make you feel the way Marc made you feel.
His erection was prodding at your hole, the leaking tip testing to make sure you were ready to take him. You grabbed his hip, pulling forward while arching into him, feeling it go in just a little further. You were feeling needy and impatient.
“Marc please,” you begged, “please.”
He dropped down to his elbows, resting on either side of your head and caging you in. You leaned up and kissed him. One of his large hands cupped your clothed breast as he thrusted full to the hilt inside of you. If not for his mouth covering yours, you would’ve screamed and awoken your father who was sleeping only two doors down in the hall. He pumped slowly, being careful not to make the bed creak.
“Better be quiet, keep your pretty little mouth shut honey.” Marc was whispering harshly while glaring down at you.
The head of his cock dragged against that spot deep inside that you could never quite reach on your own. You choked on the cries that your lungs tried to punch out of you. You wondered if this other guy would make you feel like your guts were being pushed aside every time he plunged his length deep inside of you. You wondered if he would make it hard for you to breathe every time his girth twitched in response to your fluttering walls. Mostly, you wondered if he would act like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen every time his eyes landed on yours.
A gasp fell from your lips.
“You trying to wake up daddy? Hm? Want him to hear his little girl getting railed out of her mind?”
“N-no it just…it feels so good,” you whined. 
“I know baby, oh yes I know,” his voice was low, “no one else can make you feel like I do, right?” His voice was rough and wrecked.
“No one…n-no one, Marc.” You were struggling to keep your voice down so he covered your mouth with a large hand.
“That’s my girl.”
My girl, you thought. He said you were his girl…you wondered if he meant those words or if it was the alcohol talking.
“I’m always going to know what you need. I’m always going to know how to make you cry and squirm and fucking-fuck-baby-squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight-shit.” He started moving faster, you heard the bed creaking and you began to panic.
“Mmmm!” You couldn’t get a word out.
You felt numb, and at some point his hand became slick over your lips with the drool that leaked out beyond your control. Your mind was gone, and all you could focus on was the pleasure rolling through you with every smooth glide of his cock through your channel. Your body trembled beneath him. Your knuckles ached from how hard you grabbed his hips.
“Are you going to be a good and quiet little girl for me when you come? Or are you going to embarrass yourself, hm?” Marc’s grunts were getting louder and you started to feel nervous. “Oh honey, you feel so good. Such a tight little pussy baby-f-fuck.”
You both came at the same time, bodies pressed into each other as tight as you could so you could feel it. You noticed the way his abdomen flexed against your tummy with every pleasured groan that escaped him. You noticed how his lips tightened along with his closed eyelids; you noticed the way his cock pulsated, stretching you out while filling you to the brim with his hot cum as your cunt clenched around him firmly.
God you just wished he could stay. You wished so badly that he could just lay there in your arms when he was done and the two of you could drift off to sleep together. There was hope though. He called you his girl. He would only say that if it meant…
“Marc,” you said finally as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“Yeah?” He slid his underwear on over each leg.
“If you’re saying I’m your girl, does that mean we’re…you know?”
He looked at you with a raised brow, “what? Oh…no it’s…it’s not a thing.”
You couldn’t help the heartbreak that fell over you. You weren’t sure what you were honestly expecting. It was dumb to think anything else would’ve come from this. What were you thinking? That Marc really meant he was going to…what…go into your dad’s room and tell him that you were dating now? That he was just going to hold your hand in public and shout to the world that you two were seeing each other despite him being your dad’s best friend?
Of course not. Marc would never. The guilt would eat him alive more than it already had. You were stupid for even suggesting such a thing. He probably wished he’d never slept with you in the first place.
“Oh.”
He sighed and put his hand on the door handle.
“You have a date tomorrow, you should go on it and enjoy it.” He opened the door, letting the light from the hall pour into your bedroom. “Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.”
“That’s it then? You’re done with this?”
“Never should’ve started this in the first place. Try to have fun. I’m sorry.”
The door closed, and you just felt empty inside. 
----
You’d never felt so stupid.
There you were, standing in the rain outside of the restaurant where you’d been stood up. Your dad was gone for the weekend on business, and you didn’t know who else to call, that’s why you called him. He’d always be there for you, you knew that. No matter the situation, no matter the time, he would always come to your rescue.
Marc.
He pulled up to you, stopping fast by the sidewalk and getting out of the car. He ran over to you and immediately took off his jacket to put it around your bare arms, but not before muttering about how dumb it was for you to wear something so impractical in the first place. You pulled the coat closer to your body as he opened the passenger’s side door for you and you sat down inside.
You looked like a drowned rat as you observed yourself in the mirror. Your makeup was running down your cheeks and your tight red dress was soaked through. He was right, you were dumb, but not just for your clothing choices. You were dumb for thinking you could avoid him, for thinking you didn’t want him, and for thinking even for a second that you could possibly grow to love anyone besides him…but he didn’t love you. He’d made that abundantly clear.
The ride to your house was silent, awkwardly so. You felt a pang in your chest over the fact that Marc wasn’t talking. It meant, to you, that he was serious about his words the night before.
“Thanks,” you said as he pulled into the driveway.
He put the car in park and turned off the engine, “couldn’t leave you out there in the rain. Your dad woulda killed me.”
“You can come inside if you want. Dad has some extra beers in the fridge.” You opened your door.
“I probably shouldn’t I–”
You paused for a moment and then muttered, “fine.” You took off his coat and shoved it in his lap. “Goodnight, thanks again for the ride.”
You tried to wait until you got inside to start sobbing, feeling vulnerable and rejected, but you failed, feeling the tears coming down along with the rain. You never should’ve made all those moves on him over the course of the last couple months. It was all a huge mistake, and deep down you’d always known that, but now after your failed date, and Marc’s refusal to comfort you, you felt the weight of your stupidity on your shoulders. The rain drowned out his footsteps, so it shocked you when you turned to close the door and he was holding it open, pushing through to follow you inside. That’s when he noticed the fresh tears escaping you.
“Are you okay?” He asked, furrowing his brow, eyes darting rapidly between yours.
“No, Marc, no I’m not okay!” You walked to the living room and stood with your back to him. “Just go,” you said when you heard him coming in behind you.
“Why are you doing this? Huh?” He was raising his voice at you.
You flipped around and looked at him incredulously, “excuse me? Why am I doing this? You are just as guilty as I am! I am sick of you acting like the victim here.”
He stepped closer, “I know I kissed you that first night, alright? I know I shouldn’t have done that but everything else is on you.”
“Oh so I’m the one who made you walk into my bedroom last night? I’m pretty sure I went to bed and avoided you.” You prodded his heaving chest with your index finger, “you’re the one who came into my room to torture me last night.”
“Oh really? You call that torture?” He stepped closer, chest brushing against yours. “Didn’t sound like torture honey, sounded like you were having the time of your fuckin’ life! You know what’s torture? When your best friend’s kid acts like a goddamn tease and he’s expected to keep his hands to himself.”
“Oh poor YOU! Big strong guy getting seduced by a little girl? Fuck you Marc! You didn’t have to do anything and you know it!” You shoved him with your arms, but he stood like a brick wall, “get the hell out of my house.”
“That what you want? You want me to go?”
His face was close, nose brushing against yours. You were mad at him. You had half a mind to slap him and push him away again, but you didn’t. You stupidly kissed him, letting his body melt into yours. You were crying even harder now, and Marc stopped, pulling back to look at you and cupping your cheeks in his hands.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No, I don’t ever want you to go, I don’t know what to do but I don’t ever want to be without you.” You said finally, letting your feelings come out.
Marc nodded, breathing heavily while he scooped you up, holding you against him and walking you to the couch with his lips over yours. In under a minute he had his pants around his thighs, and your panties pulled aside so he could plunge his cock into your wet heat once more. You both let out a pleasured cry into the living room.
“Marc please,” you looked at him, not really sure what you were begging for, but you were begging. 
“Please what?” He rolled his hips forward, never taking his eyes off you, “say it honey.”
“Please don’t push me away again, I can’t take it.”
You had more tears trickling down your face. Marc brushed them away with his thumbs. He kissed you softly, moving his hips at a slow, sensual pace. He looked at you with a forlorn expression. He was filled with pain, guilt, and something you couldn’t put your finger on.
“I won’t. I promise.”
He grabbed your hip and started moving faster, pulling you in as he pushed forward. You’d never felt anything like it, the unseen but warm comfort that filled you with his words. You brought your lips to his again, tangling one hand in his hair while the other squeezed the meat of his behind.
His moans made your body feel soft and made you pliant for him. You would’ve given him even more of yourself if it were at all possible. He rested his forehead on yours, eyes boring into you while he continued his smooth glides deep into your cunt. You’d never felt so connected to anyone, you’d never felt so special to anyone.
“Are you ok?” He asked, moving to kiss your cheek.
“Y-yes, mm, yes. Better now.”
“There’s my girl.” He cooed, forcing your stomach to flutter.
“Oh, Marc.” You whined in his ear.
He hummed into your neck, brushing his lips there gently. You felt him thrusting harder, stuffing you and stretching you wider with every forward snap of his hips. His breath was punching out of his lungs right into your skin. You felt an overwhelming swell in your chest, a desire to hold onto him and never let go. You felt him getting harder as he moved. His breathing was heavy and rough against your neck.
“Gonna make you feel good all the time honey, always gonna fill you up,” he started moving faster. “It’s insane how-fuck-how good you feel.”
“Good enough to make a good boy misbehave?” Your giggle was followed by a sharp gasp when Marc nipped the skin on the side of your neck.
He started really fucking you, skipping over the part where he gradually ramped up his speed and moving straight into the skin slapping thrusts you craved. You could tell he was getting close, forcing you so roughly into the couch you thought you might become one with it.
“I think if anyone’s been misbehaving, it’s been you honey, couldn’t just let me be could you? Needed to feel me that bad? You’re always so wet. S-so fucking wet for me.”
“Always so hard for me,” you dug your nails into the flesh of his rear.
“Hear that?” He stopped, sliding back until his cock was about to fall out of you. As he pushed back into you, painstakingly slow, you heard the sound of his cock moving along your slick coated walls until he was flush against you again, “such a wet little girl.”
You were never going to last if he kept talking to you like that. Your pointless contest of who was harder or who was wetter ended with his display. He’d won, and that was fine with you. He was right anyway, you were soaking wet, slick coating your thighs and probably his too. You brought both hands to his cheeks and made him face you, lips pressing to yours while you both approached your climax.
“Are you gonna come for me? Make a mess all over your daddy’s couch?”
“Yes, oh fuck yes!” You kissed him deeper, feeding him your heavy groans while your orgasm overcame you.
You arched into him, feeling his mouth while he kissed through your pleasured cries. He huffed loudly while he came, holding you closely as his cock pulsated hot ropes into you. You felt like, when you were finished, your bodies let out an exhale of relief. All the emotions, feelings and physical desires pent up inside of you both were released with that one moment you shared. You’d come to an agreement, you were going to be together.
“Where do we go from here?” You asked, looking deep into Marc’s eyes while he grew soft inside of you.
He sighed heavily, “we’re going to have to find a way to tell your dad.”
No matter how tough things would be, you knew everything would work out now that you had Marc, and Marc had you.
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goldribboncottage · 4 months
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Rock Her Shit | Hazel Callahan x Reader
Brain is rotting all I can think about is Hazel Hazel Hazel so I wrote this. Your crush Hazel punches you in the face and needs to do first aid. Locker room lesbian activities happen.
plus size/tall reader implied, she’s bigger than hazel is at least. i will probably make a part two because i fantasize about reader kicking PJ in the chest after saying mean things to Hazel
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.
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Your favorite thing about Hazel, besides her deep blue eyes, dimples, and adorably awkward personality, was her rings. All silver, probably curated from years of thrifting and estate sales. Your favorite was one she had favored on her right middle finger. It was some sort of bug. You were never able to get a close enough look at it. But it hurt like a bitch when it collided with your face. 
Slamming down on the gym floor added to the pain. Hazel was a lot shorter than you, and probably half your weight. You had taken a liking to platform shoes lately - that only added to your size difference. But as little as she was. she was strong. 
“Oh SHIT!” You heard one of the girls say. Your ears were ringing. A blurry Hazel is above you, hair falling wildly over her face. Your head falls to the side, searching for some comfort on the cold hardwood floor.
“Y/N? Y/N are you okay?” Hazel looked so concerned, pleading eyes and furrowed brows. She pouted and shook you to get a response. You could hear the other girls in the fight club chattering, wondering what to do. All you could think to do was laugh. 
“What the fuck Callahan.” You turn towards her and smile, but see tears welling in her eyes “I thought we were becoming friends. Help me up.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to ohmygod you’re bleeding. SHE’S BLEEDING SOMEONE GET A TOWEL!” She grabs your arm places her hand under your head to help you sit up. You brought your hand up to your left cheek feeling warmth and see crimson as you lift it away. Huh. You were bleeding. 
“Hazel, I’ll be fine. I’m super tough. One time in girl scouts I slept in a tent. For three nights!” you tried to ease the tension and sad look on her face. This made her smile a little bit, so you continued. You couldn’t stand her looking so remorseful. “And once, when I went to a movie, they were out of blue raspberry ICEEs. I was so brave about it. I only drank cherry that night. I can basically handle anything.” 
You can see the tension in her melt away, and Sylvie hands her a towel. “This still looks pretty bad. Let’s go to the bathroom so I can clean you up. I think my ring cut you.” Hazel hands you the towel and shows you where to hold it. 
Standing all the way up now, you make your way to the locker room with her. 
You lean against the sink, looking at your bloody face in the mirror. Could be cool, you thought, a scar right on your cheek. Maybe it would make your eyes pop. 
Hazel brings an old plastic chair for you to sit in. “My lady,” She gestures you to sit down. She also found a first aid kit in the coach’s office. She throws the bloody towel in the trash and begins to clean your wound. It stings, but you try not to show it. She leans over you as she helps you. Hazel is really gentle, taking her time to clean your cut. 
“Does that feel better?” 
You nodded but didn’t know what to say, so you just sat quietly, letting her do first aid on you and taking this opportunity to study her face. Her eyes seemed darker somehow. You knew they were blue, but the bad locker room lighting made them almost black. You noticed how sometimes a piece of hair would fall into her face and annoy her. You wanted to tuck it behind her ear for her. Pieces stuck out randomly, her hair looked so soft. She kept making eye contact with you and abruptly looking away.
You had never been this close to her before. You had admired her from afar when fight club started, reading her recap emails and giggling at the weird things she said. You had shared classes with her since freshman year but had never really /noticed/ her. Too caught up in your own world and studies. But she crashed into your life and demanded attention. 
Your eyes, naturally, fell to her lips. They looked kind of chapped, and she had a small tear from a fight with PJ last week. They looked so soft. Pink. Kissable. Something overcame you then, and before you knew it your hand was on her face, fingers resting on her round cheeks, thumb brushing the injury on her bottom lip. 
“Y/N?” Hazel locks eyes with you. Frozen. Unsure what to do. She just punched you in the face and cut your cheek with a dragonfly ring, now here you are staring up at her with glossy eyes and parted lips, your hand on her face.
“Yeah?” You bite your lip in response. No going back now. You tuck a piece of hair behind her face and she kneels down before you.
“Are you gonna kiss me?” Hazel inquires. 
“Do you want me to?” You ask back. 
“Yes please.” 
Your lips meet, tasting like honey chapstick and Hazel. Your hand finds the back of her head and you deepen the kiss. Her lip splits open again and adds the taste of metallic blood to your kiss. You didn’t care. Something insatiable was unlocked in you, Hazel’s grip going to your hips that spilled over the small school issued chair. 
She climbs up on to you, straddling you and gripping the back of your head. Your other hand goes to the curve of her lower back. All of the pain in your head is forgotten when she grips your waist and pulls you into her. 
Open, wet kisses follow, moaning into each other, needing more more more. She grabs your face in her hands and moves you toward her. The pain of your cheek only intensifies the pleasure of Hazel’s lips on yours, tongues together.
Hands go wild on each other, hers lift the side of your shirt to grab your love handles, so aptly named. Your hands creep under the back of her oversized t shirt, when you hear the door to the locker room open. Thank god you’re out of sight. 
“Hey Hazel how is Y/N doing? Do you guys need any help?” 
Hazel’s eyes grow wide and her head whips towards Josie’s voice. Breathless, she replies “We’re good! Thanks! Just bandaging her up now! Be out soon.” 
You look at each other again, and Hazel places soft, tender kisses to your lips and uncut cheek. 
“What just happened?” She asks you, as if your guess is any better than hers.
“I don’t know, but I’d like if it happened again. And again, and again.” You smile and look up at the girl in your lap. Her bunny teeth and dimples show as she nods furiously. 
“Let me actually clean you up now. Shit. There’s blood on my hand. Oh my god. I’m not a very good nurse. I told them we needed to bring in a first aid person! PJ never wants to listen to what I say.” As she lifts herself off you, you can’t help but miss the weight on your hips. 
“Well I am very sorry for interrupting your healing nurse Hazel. If there’s any way I can make it up to you please let me know. I promise to be the perfect patient next time.” You make your way over to the sink and wash your wound once again. “It doesn’t look too bad, I think just a larger bandaid will be fine. I’ll take good care of it. No more hot girls grabbing my face.”
“Hot girls? What?” Hazel looks worried before you reassure her.
“I mean you. You are the hot girl.” You smile at each other.
“Oh. Okay” She sounds relieved. “Yeah just, let me grab a bandaid and we can go back out there and nothing happened here okay?” She turns away from you and opens the first aid kit, searching for something to protect your face.
“Hazel, I don’t want to forget this. I really like you. Like. Romantically as a human person. I know there’s obvious sexual compatibility but I would love to take you out on a date if you want?” You were incredibly nervous to ask her out, despite the fact that you had been dry humping less than a minute earlier. 
She opens the bandaid and places it lovingly on your cheek, looking up at you before responding. “Yeah. Yes. I would really like that. My mom just bought me a car so I can take us anywhere you want to go. The planetarium is starting a new series next week. I like to go there. Or we can go on a picnic or see a movie or something. I like to go to the special screenings the theater has where the sound isn’t as loud. It’s on Saturday mornings and it’s mostly kids movies bu-“
You cut her off with a peck on the lips. “I’d be happy to do any and all of those things. But let’s get back out there, okay? I don’t want the girls to worry about me. I’ll call you when the club is over.”
“Yeah, okay! Yeah” She motions for you to lead the way out. Back into the gym of a dozen girls wondering why it took you so long to clean up, concerned for your well being.
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wolfjackle-creates · 5 months
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Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 20: FINAL
So guess what I realized this morning. Today, November 13, 2023 is the one year anniversary of me posting my first DPxDC fic to tumblr. It was the original fill for this very fic. (Which you can find here.)
So I decided I just had to finish this arc and get it posted. This year has been amazing and so much fun. I've become a much better writer and joined a community that has brought me so much joy. I'm glad to be here and I'm glad so many of you like to read what I'm sharing.
I noticed I got a few new readers over the past week or so, so welcome to all of you! Hope you enjoy this early update!
In personal news, my nephew was born and he's adorable and I'll be meeting him tomorrow! (As soon as I'm done posting this, I'm off to make food for his mom.)
Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.
Arc 1
Arc 2: Part 1, Previous
Word Count: 1.2k
-----
In the end, it ended up taking several hours for Danny, Sam, and Tucker to escape their families and converge on the park. In that time, Tim had called Bruce to let him know he’d be back in Gotham by tomorrow and finished most of his homework.
While he worked, Wulf and Bart were having an animated conversation in Esperanto.
Tim was pretty sure Wulf would be bringing Bart to the Ghost Zone for a tour sometime and started making plans to learn Esperanto himself and bribe Bart to get in on them.
Cassie was helping Conner sort through some of the music Sam had given him. Tim was jealous as he solved more banal trig questions. Why did school have to be so boring? He tapped his pencil on the paper in time to the beat of whatever music Conner had playing.
Tucker was the first to arrive. “Danny and Sam not here yet?” he asked as he plopped down next to Bart and Wulf.
“Nope. Haven’t heard from them, either,” said Tim. He opened his phone notifications again just to be sure, but there was nothing new.
Tucker shrugged and pulled out a stick of jerkey to munch on. “Not surprising. The Fentons will be all overprotective after the mayor was kidnapped by a ghost on live TV. And Sam’s parents are just as bad. Only they smother rather than check the weaponry.” He turned to greet Wulf in Esperanto.
An email came through on Tim’s phone and he groaned. “Our evening interview was canceled. No one wants to hear us try to defend Phantom anymore.”
Cassie cursed. “Course not. Bet the paper won’t publish our editorials either.”
Conner looked over, confused. “Won’t they? Clark works for the Daily Planet. They publish stuff like that all the time.”
Tim didn’t look up from his math as he answered, “That’s the difference between a big, Pulitzer winning publication and a small-town op-ed.”
Tucker sighed. “Well maybe someone will remember your interviews from this morning in a positive light.”
Bart rolled his eyes. “Come on, we can’t change it. So let’s move forward. Next step, make friends with more ghosts! Wulf says there’s a bunch of cool people in the Realms.”
“Realms?” asked Tim.
“It’s what he says the Ghost Zone is actually called. The Infinite Realms.”
“Huh. I’ll have to check JL databases, see if they have any information on them.”
Tucker asked something in Esperanto and Bart burst out laughing as Wulf looked on in confusion.
With Bart’s help, though, he rephrased until Wulf was able to reply. And then the three kept to Esperanto. Tim really had to find time to learn it.
Sam was the next to arrive. She grinned and sat down next to Conner. “How you liking the music?”
Conner grinned and showed her the sheets where he ranked the bands so far based on which songs he’d listened to. She then took over the speakers and searched for specific tracks to try and change his mind about some of the bands he liked the least.
Tim let his eyes close as his friends’ voices washed over him.
After some indeterminate time where he dozed between sleeping and awareness, a foot nudged his hip. Tim grumbled out what was supposed to be a, “What?” but was too mumbled to really be understood.
“Come on, Secrets. You can do better than that.”
Tim cracked an eye open to see Danny grinning down at him. He pushed himself up slightly and blinked heavily in the sunlight.
“Finally got away from your parents?” asked Tim.
Danny collapsed on the ground next to him. “Ugh, don’t remind me. They’re freaking out over everything that’s happened the last few days. Jazz and I are basically going to be on lock down until they feel confident the ghosts are gone.”
“Did you have to sneak out to get here?” asked Cassie.
Danny shook his head. “No, I told them I was going to find you guys to make sure you were all safe. You’re welcome to come back to ours tonight, by the way. Mom and Dad basically insisted on it.”
“What do you guys think?” asked Tim. “Spend one more night here at Danny’s and head out in the morning?”
Cassie sighed. “My mom’s already freaking out that I’ve been gone longer than planned. I should get back tonight.”
“I’ll stay,” offered Conner. “I’m your ride home, anyway.”
“Why don’t you come to my place, Conner,” offered Sam. “Your nails need a fresh coat after fighting today. And I need teach you about the different brands of makeup and what to look for in terms of cost, quality, and ethicality. Plus I can get you more music.”
Tim laughed when Conner looked to him. “Go for it. Have fun.”
Conner grinned. “Then yeah, let’s do it!”
Bart shrugged. “Wulf is going to go back to the Realms soon. I’ll head out after. Wally and Linda want me over for a family dinner tonight.”
“Well, looks like that’s it, then,” sighed Danny. “Been fun having other heroes around.”
Tim nudged his shoulder. “Join the Young Justice. You could join us and we'd help out whenever you wanted. Get you around people who actually appreciate what you do for them.”
But Danny was already shaking his head. “I have to stay here. And now Amity trusts heroes even less. I want to improve that, not make it worse.”
“Even if you don’t join,” declared Conner. “You’re not getting rid of us now.”
Bart nodded his agreement. “Yep. We’re gonna be stopping by all the time. You’re in the group chat.”
“Exactly,” agreed Tim. “And we’ll figure out ways to help you. Starting with how to minimize property damage. That seems to be the big thing people focus on. You can make shields, right? How big can you make them and how much power do they take?”
Danny smiled wryly. “Can’t say I’ve really tested it.”
Tim laughed. “Well, I know one thing we’re doing tonight. We’re going to go back to Nasty Burger—” Tim looked around at the whole group “—all of us. Then Cassie and Bart are going to go home. Danny and I, at least, are going to take a nap. Then we’re gonna test the current limits to Danny’s powers.”
Danny bumped their shoulders together. “You know, this is just like gaming with you all those years.”
“Yeah, well, it’s best to be thorough.”
“We’ve measured, like, his top speed and stuff,” said Tucker, pulling out a PDA. “Want to see what we’ve got so far?”
“Absolutely.” Tim took the device and looked through it. “You’ve a decent amount of information here. Maybe instead of taking a nap, I’ll help you organize it and come up with a testing plan.”
Conner flew over to him and pulled the PDA out of his hand. “Not after pulling an all-nighter you won’t. We’re going to get some food, then the two of you are going to sleep for at least four hours.”
“I’ll set Jazz on you, too,” threatened Sam. “Don’t think I won’t.”
Tim pouted as the device was given back to Tucker. And grumbled more when Conner picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.
“Come on, food time.”
“I am going to put kryptonite in your phone,” threatened Tim.
“Bingo!” shouted Cassie.
Danny laughed as he stood. “Does this mean I can join the next round?”
Tim scowled. “Traitors, all of you.”
-----
Next
And that's the end of this Arc! Arc 3 will pick up where the original fill did. (Only this time, Tim won't be the only DC character there to help Danny.)
I'd say something like I can't believe it's only been a year, but so much has happened to me in the last twelve months that it feels like a lifetime ago, to be honest. But it's been a good year and I'm glad this community has been part of it.
Please follow the subscription post if you want updates for when I start transferring this arc to AO3 or begin posting Arc 3.
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