#i love that jacket and i need both the jacket itself and the man wearing it in my life immediately

[r3starttt]

Dress: you and Abby are good friends but you have secret crush on her. You go to a party together and you get buzzed but not drunk and start spilling your guts about your secret crush on her. Little do you know she's secretly been pining over you as well.

Zinnia

a/n: 🤓☝️ Zinnias symbolize endurance, lasting affection, and friendship.

Also, I changed things but the og idea is there I promise 🫠

Warnings: none I think, let me know if there’s any cause this is pure fluff and a bit of angst ig?

Abby had broken up with his boyfriend some weeks ago. It’s not a secret how much you hated Owen since you meet him, so both of you were struggling right now.

Abby felt like shit and you didn’t know how to comfort her, you were happy she left him, but it broke your heart to se her like this, you’ve never seen her cry before, not even this mad.

You didn’t understand why Abby would be crying over such a dumb men like Owen. They met when they were younger, probably high school. When you met her she was already dating him and the more you knew about him, the more annoying you find him.

Abby knew, and would do anything so you wouldn’t be near him, however she never understood what was so wrong about him that made you hate him so much. And no, it wasn’t the fact that you’d meet Abby hoping she was into girls, or the fact that you loved her as more than a friend, not even that he was annoying itself.

You hated him because he would treat abby in the most disrespectful way a man could treat her girlfriend, because every time abby was with him she’d transform. Because you knew how much Abby liked him and how much he would take advantage of it.

And now your feelings were so confusing. You were glad they were over, but you hated the reason. You felt your heart sink when Abby got to your shared apartment crying as you’ve never seen before because she found out Owen was cheating on her.

You also hated how happy you were about this, because you knew how you had no chance with her so feeling positive about this was disgusting and shameful. But you couldn’t help it.

So when you two got invited to a friend’s party none of you hesitated, you needed to get drunk because you couldn’t take seeing her like this and you were definitely more overwhelmed than you should, and she needed to forget about her ex, at least for one day.

Once you were ready and you got out of your room you noticed Abby waiting for you in the living room, laying on a large couch. You glanced at her muscles on full display thanks to the blank tank top she had chosen tu wear, and her long toned legs resting on top of a small coffee table that was settled in the middle of the room.

“You’re ready?” she asked, moving her head slightly to look at you “Mhm” you nodded, signing a small yes.

You walked towards the door, grabbing a small purse that u usually took everywhere as you hear her standing from the couch. The sound of a leader jacket adjusting over her body and the tap of her shoes behind you.

Once you arrived to the party you were greeted by your friend, who went almost immediately towards Abby and tried to comfort her. She seemed uncomfortable, but that look on her face disappeared once she was offered a drink.

You decided to go straight to the kitchen of the house, you were determined to get as drunk as possible. Maybe that’ll make you forget about everything, at least for a long while.

The music was loud, making you feel the beat on your body and not letting you hear anything else than your own self. You kept on drinking, hoping the alcohol could make its effect on you, and it was.

That until you saw Abby, apparently alcohol doesn’t have any effect on the heart. You felt so desperate, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the situation itself, but you couldn’t hold yourself from feeling the need of tasting every bit of her body, to press your lips on top of hers and her body, to make her scream your name and beg for more. And it was so cruel that you couldn’t.

She signed at you to come closer, she had got rid of her jacket and her muscles were basically shining at your sight. You walked towards her, feeling dizzy as the best of the music could be felt on your body.

“What?” You screamed at her so she could hear you properly. She put the beer she was holding on top of a counter near the two of you and just stared at you “Stop drinking, I’m the one that’s supposed to be taken care of don’t you think?” a cocky smile formed on her face, and so did on yours “sorry” your reply came out more like a small mumble than a word but she understood, she just chuckled.

You felt her hands grabbing yours and taking the red cup with alcohol in it away from your hands, yet before you could say anything she lead you to what seemed like the living room, helping you get on a couch. You noticed your friends sitting there as well.

You felt some weight besides you, there was no need to turn around to know who it was. Just by the strands of blonde hair and the feeling of a muscular arm touching yours you knew more than well that Abby was besides you.

“It’s not fair” you say out of nowhere, turning your body towards Abby “what’s not fair?” she asks in confusion “He never deserved you Abby, he’s such a dick. How dares he to treat you like that for years and then cheat on you after all you’ve done for him? fucking asshole” she just chuckles “fucking hate him so much” you let your body lay on the couch, placing both of your hands on top of your stomach and moving your head towards Abby’s.

“You’re way prettier than her” she furrows her eyebrows in response “why do I feel like your more mad than I am?” the sarcasm on her voice made you smile unconsciously “why did you even date him on a first place? He’s hideous” you feel how her arm hits yours softly “why do you hate him so much? he never treated you bad, did he?” You nodded your head as a no.

“I’m jealous of him, he’s been so fucking lucky having someone like you on his life” you felt the tears forming in your throat, it was painful “he also treated you like shit, he never took the chance to understand you, he never cared about you and it was painful to see you with him” just shut up, you thought to yourself.

She didn’t reply, and it made you feel nervous. You saw how she took a sip from her beer and placed it again in between her legs, you gulped silently and stood up, not being able to stand the awkward silence between both. She grabbed your wrist “I’m going for the last one, I promise” your eyes went immediately to her lips, it was painful how much you needed a taste of them. She let you go.

As you were in the kitchen drinking what you expected to be your last drink the same friend that had greeted you when you first entered the house spoke to you. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the pain of your last talk with Abby or the music, but you just couldn’t understand a single thing she was saying, you were getting overwhelmed.

“Are you good?” your brain finally connected the words that seemed like murmurs “Why?” you replied in pure confusion. “You’ve been drinking nonstop” your eyes rolled impulsively as a chuckle came out of your mouth “I feel like shit, hopefully alcohol helps”.

She moved her hands to your shoulders, making you look at her “It’s Abby isn’t?” you felt like throwing up “What’re you talking about?” the beer in your hand was now being tasted, desperately “You like her, am I wrong?” Fuck.

“I won’t say anything, just…. you can talk to me if you want to” and so you did. The beer vibrating on your hand as you placed it top of the counter. “I first talked to her because I liked her. When she told me she had a boyfriend I was dumb enough to think I’ll do good if we stayed at friends” your friend just nodded.

“And then I was even more stupid to agree and move with her to the fucking apartment. I couldn’t take Owen, he wasn’t just annoying, he definitely knew I liked Abby and would do anything to make me suffer. He’d insist abby to take me with them, the fucking excuse being he was trying to be more close with me…. and abby believed every word of it” you felt the tears growing on your eyes “And now I’m so confused because I’m happy they broke up you know? but it’s fucking overwhelming to see her sad like this, it’s gross that I even feel happy, I should be supportive but I just don’t know what to do. I’m so pathetic, I don’t even have a chance with her, I feel like this whole situation has never been fair for us”

Before the tears could run all over your face you took another sip of your beer. You felt the knot of tears on your throat slowly disappearing. “I can’t stand looking at her and feeling so desperate, and I feel like I’m just…. cheating her too” your friend hugged you, and as she did you noticed Abby, just staring at you as she rested her body on the door frame.

She couldn’t have heard you right? Music was louder than your words, or that’s what it felt like in the moment.

Just as you pulled off from the caring embrace of your friend you left the beer on the counter, passing by your friend, almost as if you were running towards Abby. There was no need to explain anything.

Before you could say anything she apologized, a small sorry came out of her mouth. She moved her arm to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to her chest. You mover your arms around her waist, this is all you needed right now.

“You heard me didn’t you?” finally the alcohol was making its part because you didn’t felt ashamed, or maybe it was the mix of the drunkenness and her body holding you, whatever it was it didn’t matter “Why you never mentioned anything Mhm?” her voice was so smooth, so tender.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything” you murmured, loud enough for her to hear you “I’m sorry” you pulled away from her, staring at her eyes in search of any sign that let you know how Abby was feeling.

“Don’t be” his lips moved upwards slightly, and you were about to do the most dumb thing ever. If she had already heard anything why not kiss her before she actually freaks out.

So your lips press on hers before you even realize what you’re doing, and she doesn’t move. You try to pull away but her hands pull you closer, moving to the back of your neck and cupping your face softly.

The taste of your alcoholic saliva mixed with hers made you feel clouded, it tasted way better that you could ever imagine.

“It would’ve changed everything” she replied once she breaks the kiss. The look on her eyes was so different from what you’ve seen before and that definitely had some sort of effect on your body because whatever you were feeling now wasn’t because of the alcohol.

You were so close to her, to her face that you desired to look for so long, to her body that you dreamed of touching so many times before. It felt surreal. Her hands moved from your face to your waist, pressing it gently and making small circles on each side.

“Let’s go home mhm?” suddenly her voice sounded so husky, so genuine and desperate. You we’re gonna taste every inch of her body tonight, any explanation you needed about whatever was going on could wait.

“Fuck you” you did had to let her know you were fucking exploding in confusion though. She just rolled her eyes at you and pulled you for another kiss. Fucking dream you were living today.

#abby anderson #abby x you #abby smut #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby fluff #abby x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #abby headcanons #lesbian #tlou2 #ren masterlist ᵎᵎ ִ ۫ ּ ⊹

[undercoverpena]

hi! Requesting something like these “On a whim, pulling your lover into an alley and pressing your lips firmly against theirs, getting lost in each other's touch while the streets bustle outside. “If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it's on you."” For price please and thank you! I personally would love to feel this big man push me against a wall haha

#mmvalentinesevent

small, dark and kind of shady

john price x f!reader

It’s sudden. One minute the two of you are walking along the street.

Pretending, hand on his forearm, fingers dancing up and down a vein as the sun kisses your face.

The next you’re in an alleyway. The cool air cooling your skin, spine against firm brick, as the building casts you both in shadows.

His hand, large and calloused, captures your cheek. Pulling your eyes to him, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Feeling his knee between yours.

Did y’need to wear a dress? You said blend in—like a tourist. I am dressed like a tourist, John.

Recon. That's what he had said. The two of you to roam some cobbled European streets, take photos, and pretend to be a couple.

The latter being the easiest part of the whole thing.

Naturally, you weren't sure what recon needed to be collected on your face. Not when his fingers had wrapped around your elbow or when he had pulled you into the alleyway.

Less so now as he studies you, letting his eyes draw across every single part of your face. His eyes were almost hidden by the shadows, thankful his cap is backwards—not that you’d never find his eyes.

You always find them. Across rooms, across streets. A silent conversation is always able to be had through them.

Not that you care. The two of you rarely get a chance to do this, to watch, observe and admire. So many eyes on you both—the captain and his sergeant.

You almost speak, feeling yourself need to. But, you don’t want to shatter the moment. Snap whatever this is and whatever it could become.

Instead, you allow the cars driving over cobble and stone to disturb the peace at the other end of the alleyway. The entrance closest to you both has people peppering the air with languages you only partially understand.

But, no one notices the two of you.

The two people who should know better, but are acting like teenagers. Even with the clouds heavy above the two of you, threatening to spill and rain down on your plans for the day.

Making the task harder. Making the trip last longer. Again, you didn’t care much. The fake story of being a couple in Europe allowed you both to benefit from it. Allow you to lie with him undisturbed.

Meaning now, the lines are blurred. Allowing you to be lost in him, and he in you.

It makes you not want to go home. To return to base and go back to pretending.

You pull him closer by his jacket. The once-tan but now-a-worn-brown one. The one he’d put over your shoulders months ago, not saying a word as he did, side-eyeing you as you buried your cheeks against the lapels. The ones which you suspect had once been soft, but now were bobbled and overwashed.

His chin tilts, staring into your eyes like you have the answers to all his questions.

"If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, and kind of shady alleyway, it's on you, Captain."

"Won't get caught, love."

"Overconfidence, I like it."

He smirks, his low laugh brushing over your skin. The scent of his last cigar flowed in the little space between the two of you. One you wish would attach itself to your clothes, your skin, your bedsheets.

Merging and mingling with the scent he leaves on your skin. When his hand hooks your leg over his hips and calls you pretty, and good, and a bunch of other praises that make your cheeks and chest burn.

"You going to kiss me then, John?"

He strokes his thumb across your cheek, inhaling deeply, his eyes staring into yours. "Y’always in a rush."

“Have you seen yourself?”

His thumb brushes your cheek. “Enough.”

You grin, light and easily. One he pulls from you without trying—has done since this all began.

Licking your lips, you tilt your head. "If I was pissin' around with Soap, you'd rip me a new arsehole."

He chuckles, low and deep. The corners of his mouth twitch, the wired hair catching the limited light. His other hand slid under the hem of your dress, palm grasping your upper thigh.

"You're not wrong."

"Never am, am I, John?"

He shakes his head. "No, love."

Sighing, you roll your hips against his. Watching his throat, seeing how he swallows.

He tries to hide it. He fails at it like he did when he denied he didn’t want to fuck you that first time. The internal war he had with himself almost allowed you to walk out the door.

You’re thankful he lost to his better judgement. Even more glad that he’s changed his judgement, realising how worth it you are.

He presses his forehead against yours, seeing how his eyes have darkened—just enough to know that his original thoughts of a quick makeout were turning into something longer, something which would have you likely walking funny.

The loud sound of a bang is followed by a car horn blaring. But, neither of you pulls your gaze from the other. Not that he’d let you. His hand still holding your cheek in place.

Even if your pulse quickens—even if he feels it—your hand almost flexes to reach for something. Something you don’t even have on you—

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.”

“I know,” you whisper, hooking your finger inside the waistband of his jeans.

Stroking your touch lightly against his skin, hearing the noticeable inhale.

“That’s the problem.”

“I’m the problem, hmm?”

“Well, I’m not the one in charge, distracting the impressionable sergeant who has to collect intel…”

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. The first indication you’re going to be warned, your thighs squeezing around his knee at the thought.

“Already got enough intel, love.”

“Oh? So, we’re what? Seeing the sights?”

“I am.”

Your skin warms. Eyes flicking down, never sure what to do with his praise, with his flattering words.

“Look at me.”

You do. You’d do anything he asked. “Still the problem?”

You nod lightly, watching him smirk. “If you kissed me, I’d reconsider though.”

He licks his lips, mumbling a fair, and then he crashes his mouth to yours.

Chapped lips against yours, filling you with warmth similar to the European sun on your skin. You whimper, the sound stolen by his tongue and his mouth.

Mostly, you let yourself feel how his hand keeps you close—so close, there's no space left. His lips burn words into you he hasn’t yet said. Your hand tugging his hips flush against yours. Wanting him. Needing him.

Even if you had him this morning. Even if you'd spent hours, when you should have been sleeping, getting your fill of him.

The two of you are like teenagers when the parents are away. Two people who are not scared of being caught.

Nothing like a captain and his sergeant.

Not that you care at all.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price cod #john price x female reader #cod price x reader #cod price #cod x reader

[rodolfoparras]

i n,need gaz

Please feed us more gaz content when you're feeling up to it🙏

Thinking about Gaz and the kinks he likes to indulge in

Pairing: Kyle Gaz Garrick x Top Male Reader

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, power dynamics, mirror sex, facials, homemade movie iykyk, Gaz being a brat, nipple piercings, slight exhibitionism, drunk sex (consensual), possessive kink (kind of?), slight brat taming, hand jobs

A/N: I have a req for him lined up I just need to get to it in the sea of requests 🫣 but I can always share some more nsfw gaz hcs.. and y’all are welcome to use them as inspo for fics if you want , give us starving gaz enthusiasts something to read 🧎🏻‍♂️

First of all I don’t see Gaz as someone who’s into some ‘hardcore’ kinks such as cnc or watersports

However I imagine that Gaz loves wearing your tags or your jacket with all the medals on or whatever it is while he’s riding you, he just love the thought of a man with such authority being eager to fuck him

I imagine that Gaz as the kind of guy who has to have you in his field of vision all the time while you’re fucking him meaning he doesn’t like taking it from the back because he can’t see the faces you make, cant see how good he’s making you feel, and if you’re going to fuck him while he is down on all four it has to be in front of a mirror

I imagine that Gaz loves facials just bc he loves to watch you as you jerk yourself off, loves the faces you make, loves watching you as you eagerly stroke yourself, loves the way you shower him in praise once you cum in his face , will have you record those videos just so he can watch them while out on mission

I imagine that Gaz enjoys when your tags dangle over his face, he’ll even go as far as put them in his mouth just to quiet down while you fuck him

I imagine that Gaz also enjoys very little prep again because he’s eager and he kind of likes the burn that comes with it and you’ll usually let him have his way but if he’s pissed you off in some way you’ll drag out the prep, scissoring 3 fingers inside of him til he’s huffing and puffing for you to just fuck him

You wanna prep him? He’ll be the one to fuck himself down onto your finger. You wanna eat him out? Oh he’ll sit on your face, he’ll ride your tongue and be as vocal as possible about what he wants. You wanna tease him? Well maybe he’ll just go and find someone else to fuck him. You want him to ride you? He’ll do it his way, and he’ll set the pace

Which leads me to the next point, I imagine that Gaz rarely gives head, It’s not that he doesn’t care for your pleasure at all it’s just that he kind of gets lost in the sensation, he especially forgets about your pleasure when he’s riding your dick, not that you mind though. You love seeing him enjoying himself, setting his own pace, focusing on angling himself in the way it’ll feel good for him, and besides it’s kind of cute when he gets tired and all whiny, asking for you to take over, letting you thrust into him while he’s sobbing into your neck and telling you how good you’re making him feel

I imagine that Gaz is very big on foreplay; kissing, caressing, teasing he almost enjoys it as much as the sex itself.

Kissing: I imagine Gaz loves long hot make out sessions, grab at his tongue with your thumb and index finger, spit in his mouth or fuck him with your own tongue, it’s even better if you got a couple of piercings to go along with it, just the rattling sounds that come from the piercing as you graze your tongue with his teeth will have him so worked up. He also loves to taste himself on your tongue

Caressing: I imagine that Gaz is sensitive all over his body, so much so he’s got one or both nipples pierced and it’s so easy to rile him up when the two of you are laying around, just by tracing circles on his nipples. If you have tattoos on your body he’ll probably trace them with his tongue

Teasing: He’s the type of person you can do those silly challenges with like seeing how long one can go without having sex before one of you gives in, he’ll always win because he’ll have you so pent up from all his teasing.

I also imagine that Gaz loves taking risks, if he’s horny on a mission he’ll pull you in for a quicky when there’s a window of opportunity, same with giving you handjobs while sharing tent with the rest of 141, doesn’t even hesitate about making suggestive comments even when there’s other people there

I imagine that Gaz loves to rile you up just so that the two of you can have some heated make up sex, flirts a bit here and there until you drag him to the closest bathroom stall or take him to your bed, would absolutely never cheat and loses interest in whoever he’s flirting with as soon as he sees you making your way over to him

I imagine that Gaz is super vocal in bed, especially when he sits on your face, never too bashful to tell you how good you make him feel, and how he wants you to fuck him

I imagine that drunk sex with Gaz must be the best thing to exist because he probably gets so fucking giggly and so lovey dovey and so needy, and it’s so wonderful seeing all the tension bleed out of his bones, his work and all the worries that come with it long forgotten

I imagine that one way to punish Gaz when he’s being a brat is to blindfold him, the fact that he can’t see your face but hear your grunts and groans as you fuck him drives him insane

I just think that sex with Gaz must be super fun and super playful and it gets better and better the more you get to know each other and the longer you’re dating

#Kyle gaz garrick #Kyle gaz garrick x reader #Kyle gaz garrick x male reader #gaz x reader #gaz x male reader #gaz #call of duty #Alec writes #top male reader #bottom male character

[bullet-prooflove]

Here we go

26. You felt secure, that's called a home

Jimmy Lanik or Sam Abrams or Beau Simpson

I gotta say I would love some domestic fluff with any of them

sending the love girl

It’s after your deployment to Italy that Beau decides he wants you to move in with him. It’s quick, he knows, between his deployments and yours the two of you have actually been in each other’s presence for almost a year at this point.

You’re in the shower when he removes the key he had made for you from his jacket pocket and places it on your pillow. He’s come to think of the entire left hand side of the bed as your space, including the nightstand. He hasn’t kept anything in it for months.

When you leave the bathroom, he feels himself stirring all over again. He had you just over an hour ago and now he wants you all over again. It’s never been like this with another woman, he’s never wanted someone as badly as he wants you. You’re wearing his Navy t shirt and a pair of his boxer shorts, a towel in your hand as you dab at your hair.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He finds himself telling you.

“I’m not planning to.” You tease as you toss your towel into the hamper. “You’re water pressure is so much better than mine.”

It’s then that you see the key resting on your pillow case, it glints in the light from the lamp as you pick it up and hold it between your fingers.

“You mean it.” You say softly as you study it.

It’s a shock for you he can tell. Up until now you’ve been the one steering the ship. You were the first one to say you wanted more, to say I love you…

Beau had felt all of these things, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it, because he hadn’t dared to hope that you would feel the same. He’s spent his entire childhood at the hands of an unpredictable, violent man. His worthlessness had been beaten into him from an early age. He thought he’d overcome it once he joined the Navy and started raising through the ranks but it’s always there in the back of his mind. That was until this morning when he’d woken up and realised he didn’t want to spend another night apart from you. You’d both known the deployments would be tough but it’s different when you’re the one being left behind.

“Ally.” He says quietly. “I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore. I want people to know we’re together, I want…”

He trails off before looking down at his hands, the truth is he doesn’t just want more, he needs it. A woman had come onto him while you were away, he’d been polite but she had been persistent. The guys he’d been with didn’t see the problem. He was single, highly ranked, why not have a bit of fun?

He hadn’t told them about you, you’d asked him not to. You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are and you’re not ready to jeopardise that, not for something that feels like he has one foot out of. He doesn’t want to do that anymore, he wants people to know that you’re his partner, that he loves you more than life itself. That’s what tonight is bout, showing you how dedicated he is, that there’s stability here, a home if you want it.

“I want that too Beau.” You tell him, clutching the key tightly in your hand. “I want everyone to know how lucky I am.”

Love Beau? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@justameresimp @agentorange9595 @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @imaginecrushes @flrboyd @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @crimeshowjunkie @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman @tortilla-maria1 @lemmons1998 @dr-alan-grantler @dizzybee03 @burningpeachpuppy @penguin876 @deliriousfangirl61 @goosterroose @kishie8 @skyesthebomb @marshmallowflufffox @whateversomethingbruh @@4everademigod @notanotherpotter @yousigned-upforthis @silversprings-mp3

#beau simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson x you #beau cyclone simpson #top gun maverick

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

The Roommate Series drabble

(This is not happy folks ANGST warning)

This day would always come.

Inside that tiny little house that had been full of dreams laid the forgotten memories of before. Walls full of saccharine laughter and the warmth of gentle embraces rotted beneath the heavy weight of abandonment, no longer a home but a building, cold and ugly. 

A perfect place in the imperfect.

Everything sat as it had always been. A blanket folded on the back of the couch, little items strewn across the house as it had been lived in, loved in. Untouched, collecting dust now as the lights stayed turned off to bring about the heavy cloud of darkness that had settled over it just a week prior that will stay there for eternity.

There are certain risks with loving a man who disappeared for months to serve for the safety of others. Certain realities that one has to come to terms with, no matter how hard you try to deny them, even after long conversations that end with a bad taste in your mouth and tears brimming in your eyes. You could try to argue, try to convince but it would only end the same way it always did.

Long goodbyes made things hard in the beginning but shorter ones made things harder in the long run. 

A meal together, a night spent in bed, the last touches of skin against one another and a kiss. An unspoken promise even if the odds were slim because who wants to listen to reality when you can stay in the comfortability of the home you both had created.

“I’m sorry.”

Spoken with strain, tears hidden and guilt riddled as the warm piece of metal hit your hand from having been clutched by the older man. He stood too stiff as he handed you a familiar jacket and the world spun around you.

A violent torrent of rage and despair, the dam of denial too weak for something like this as you screamed and wept. You begged and pleaded with a man who could never bring back the one who used to wear that chain and jacket. You spewed misplaced venom until you broke and fell into his arms for any kind of comfort.

It wasn’t the comfort you wanted. You would never get that again.

You don’t know how long he stayed, how long you felt rouge tears hit your shoulder as you sat against the floor as the dark evil cloud forced itself against you and the house. How long it took for you to end up in the bedroom or in the bathroom, alone and cold as if the entire sun had been ripped from the skin. You don’t know how long you avoided the entire house because it held those forgotten memories. 

You don’t make it to the funeral. 

Two coffins are lowered underneath the same headstone as a family built from bonds and a family of blood stand to watch a man who died twice and life itself be buried together. A broken heart and a hole in the chest are not that different six feet under as the house is forgotten and so are its memories.

This day would always come but at least you weren’t apart for long.

A/N: was in an angsty mood needed to get it out

NOT CANON TO THE STORY I PROMISE

#the roommate series #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley

[vodika-vibes]

Stolen Moments

Summary: While at a gala, you steal a moment of Commander Fox's time.

Pairing: Commander Fox x Reader

Word Count: 925

Warnings: None

A/N: I needed Fox fluff, so this is wholly self indulgent.

divider by saradika

Of all of the things you hate about your job, the galas have to be the worst. Having to go a far too expensive building, wearing a far too expensive outfit, and rubbing shoulders with people with all of the morality of a wet paper bag-

Well, let’s just say that if you had known that this career path would force you to have conversations with people who were so shallow, you would have gone to medical school like your mother wanted.

You excuse yourself from another conversation with yet another senator (this one spent the last hour bragging about the beach house he bought his mistress with his campaign funds), and you make a beeline for the refreshment table. 

You are not drunk enough to have to deal with these people. Especially since you’d rather be at home, with your boyfriend.

You grab a wine glass, and move through the crowds to reach the open balcony doors. Maybe if you go outside people will forget that you exist and will stop trying to buy your vote.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

“You know,” you jump as a familiar voice breaks through your musings, “Senator Organa’s aide has been staring at you for the last hour.” 

Leaning against the wall, just outside of the balcony doors, was Commander Fox. Dressed in his dress uniform rather than his usual red and white armor, he cuts a fine figure, and you can’t help but shoot him an admiring glance. And you’re not subtle about it.

“How do you know he’s been staring at me for the last hour?” You ask as you step closer to him, thrilled since you didn’t think he had been assigned to this gala.

“Cause I’ve been staring at you too,” Fox reaches out and brushes the backs of his fingers against your bare shoulder and down your arm, “This is new.” He murmurs.

“Nothing else looked right,” You explain as you shiver under his touch, “Do you like it?”

“You look beautiful,” He replies, his fingers trail back up your arm, over your shoulder, and then ghost around the back of your neck to play with the loose hair hanging there, “As always, cyare.”

“Mm, well you look very nice too. Very striking,” You reply as you set your glass on a nearby table, and gently smooth your hands down the jacket of his dress uniform, “I’m surprised you’re not in your armor, though.”

“Apparently our armor is intimidating,” He says with a scoff, “So everyone on guard detail is wearing…this.” He gestures to his uniform with a scrunched up nose.

“I don’t think your armor is intimidating, Fox.” You reply with a small quirk of your lips.

He shoots you a knowing look, “I know exactly what you think of my armor, cyare.” He teases as he lightly tugs on a strand of your hair.

You don’t blush with the ease of long practice, “Well, as it happens, I like the man under the armor more than the armor itself.”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a light kiss against your knuckles, “And I am a lucky man for it.” Fox murmurs against you. 

He gazes at you, soft and loving, and you take a half step closer, your free hand brushing some of his hair out of his face, “I’m the lucky one.” You whisper in return as you stand on your toes to try and tempt him into kissing you.

“Careful, cyare.” Fox murmurs, “We’re in public.”

You sigh softly, “Just a little kiss?”

He gently bumps his forehead against yours, “We’re going to get caught.” Fox warns, though he doesn’t try to move away.

Your relationship isn’t a secret, exactly, but it’s not common knowledge either. In fact, you can count the number of people who know about your relationship with him on both hands…and still have fingers to spare.

“Is that really a concern?” you ask, your voice soft.

“No.” His response is immediate, as he lightly tilts your head back and presses a series of feather light, and quick, kisses against your lips. “I’m beginning to not care if people find out about us.” He says, his lips hovering just over yours.

“Oh?”

He kisses you again, “I’m really, really fucking tired of people flirting with you right in front of me,” He admits after a moment, and he smiles wryly as you laugh.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” You say, once your laughter calms.

“I do know. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to fling them out a window.” Fox grumbles under his breath.

You laugh softly, and lean in to kiss him again, only to stop when you hear someone clearing their throat, “Uh…Commander?”

Fox sighs and pulls away from you, lightly settling his hands on your hips, “What?”

Commander Thorn looks from you, to Fox, and then back to you, and a wide grin crosses his face, “I fucking knew it!” He crows.

“Congrats, if there’s nothing else-?”

“Oh, Right. It’s time for us to switch places.” Thorn says quickly.

Fox sighs and looks down at you, and then a slow smile crosses his handsome face, “What do you think, cyare? Care to dance with me?”

You giggle and nod, “I’d be thrilled to.”

Fox kisses you one more time, and then he takes your hand and tugs you into the building. You’re sure that this gala is going to be the hot gossip in the senate for at least a couple of days.

#star wars #tcw #commander fox x reader #fox x reader #x reader fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

[ofmonstersandlovers]

If it hasn't been done yet could there be some love at first sight hcs for some the bois? Vinnie and knox both strike me as the trope of boy falls for girl while girl falls slowly lol

Lol no you're totally correct on that anon!

Pairings: Knox x reader, Vinnie x reader

How They Fall In Love

Vinnie

Vinnie is a huge dork who tries to act like the toughest vamp around

Leather jackets, cigarettes (they don't affect him since he's like, undead) and tattoos

But deep down?

This vampire falls

Hard

When he first saw you, he wanted to get to know you immediately

Wanted to know everything about you

And as he got to know you, he fell for you hard

Unless you're oblivious, you'd know that Vinnie liked you immediately

Would try to impress you in anyway that he could

He gives you rides on his motorcycle after telling one of his friends he's not worthy to ride his baby

"C'mon, man let's just ride around!"

"Please, you don't appreciate Baby as much as you think!"

Then he just

"Hey Y/N, want me to drive you home?"

Que the friend throwing his hands in the air in exasperation

He evens does something he'd never do for anyone, no matter how much he liked them

He let you borrow his favorite leather jacket. He's down bad

It was covered in band pins and patches, and it was obviously his most favorite one

You expected him to give you one he didn't care for. Not the one he literally wears every day

Will try to flirt

Will try to flirt very hard

He's not good at it

Poor Vinnie

Tries his best though

He'll want to constantly hang out no matter if the weather sucks or if the day itself sucked. He wants to be around you no matter what

"Hey, Y/N! Wanna go to the comic store with me?"

"Yo, there's this new cafe shop. Let's go!"

"This new horror movie came out and I heard it's really freaky! Bet you'd be too scared to watch it!"

Vinnie is smitten immediately and will try to impress you with jokes, flirtation, letting you borrow his things, and wanting to constantly be around you

Knox

Omfg, the stoic second in command beta

Okay okay okay, so he'll also fall instantly

But my God, it's so hard to tell with him, unlike Vinnie

Will give you things that you need to show that he would be the best provider

Need a pencil? Don't worry ,have his. He'll borrow someone else's

Having trouble with a subject? Hell study with you and help in some way

Feeling down? Vent to him, He's here to listen and will be silent support throughout

He's not as pyshcial love language wise

But that doesn't not mean he doesn't enjoy the little touches

When you jokingly bump shoulders together

When your hands brush up against each other

When he ruffles you hair in greeting because he loves the flushed look of indignation on your face when he does so

He's like the rock you need

But even rocks erode at some point

He doesn't know that he's not as obvious with his crush as he thinks

Like, Oliver has to hear him complain that he's doing everything he can to show his interest, and he literally grunted a reply to you

Oliver is tired of him

It isn't until his alpha had to point out that he's treating you like everyone else does he actually decided to confess

It was when the two of you were walking together to lunch, and he just hit you with the following:

"I would like to date you."

The whiplash that gave you I swear

He explained himself after a bit of probing on your end that he's been harboring feelings for a long time now

"I thought I was obvious. . .,"

Knox is more of the quiet show don't tell.

He'll do everything to show himself as a potential mate by providing what he can for you

Even the little things

It's just so hard to tell with him

#monster lover #writers on tumblr #monster fudger #werewolf boyfriend #werewolf lover #werewolf x reader #vampire boyfriend #vampire lover #vampire lover headcanons #werewolf x human #vampire x reader #vampire x human

[javier-penas-wifexx420]

Fictional men Lana album assignments

Ok so I’m always thinking about this, my fave fictional men are literally so lana coded and I have decided to assign them her albums hehe

Javier Peña- Honeymoon

First up we have my husband, Javi. Javi is 100% Honeymoon like COME ON. He’s so Salvatore coded. Honeymoon is all about romanticism but the darkness within it. And Javi is so cunty in his little tight pants like he’s so honeymoon. Also the lyrics of 24 align with him so well it drives me insane.

“Catch me if you can working on my tan, Salvatore. Dying by the hand of a foreign man happily.” Salvatore

“If you lie down with dogs then you’ll get fleas. Be careful of the company you keep” 24

“We both know the history of violence that surrounds you. But I’m not scared, there’s nothing to lose now that I’ve found you” Honeymoon

“It’s no wonder every man in town has neither fought nor found you” Honeymoon

“When I’m down on my knees you’re how I pray” Religion

“I was so wrong not to doubt your Medellín, tangerine dreams” Salvatore

Joel Miller- Norman Fucking Rockwell

Next we got Joel HEHEHEHEHE JOEL omg ok so this one is a no brainer: Joel is Norman Fucking Rockwell. Like come on how is he not. Like so many of the songs remind me so much of him. I could write a whole ass essay on this one. The whole Joe(L) part of How to Disappear like AHHH R U SERIOUS?? Also happiness is a butterfly and hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have- but I have it. HOPE IS A DANGEROUS THING FOR A MAN LIKE JOEL TO HAVE BRO. I feel like the aesthetic of NFR isn’t very frilly either, she’s in her wetsuit at the beach, in her lil shorts yknow? And I feel like that fits with Joel. Also the color green is very prominent in that album and I rlly associate that color with Joel. I feel like NFR can reflect the relationship Joel would have with a love interest but also the relationship he has with Ellie, like if you take her lyrics out of context I feel like it could relate to the relationship he has with her bc she really healed him and changed him and like broke down his walls which imo is all that NFR is about.

Anyway here’s some lyrics that I associate with him:

“You’re just a man, it’s just what you do. Your head in your hands while you color me in blue.” Norman Fucking Rockwell

“Maybe I can save you from your sin.” mariners apartment complex

“All the pills that you take, violet blue green red to keep me at arms length won’t work” cinnamon girl

“Joe(l) met me down at the training yard, cuts on his face cause he fought to hard. I know he’s in over his head, but I love that man like nobody can, he moves mountains and pounds them to ground again.” How to disappear

“If he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt?” Happiness is a butterfly

“You don’t ever have to be stronger than you really are when you’re lying in my arms.” California.

-This is so him he j needs to be held. The fact that he was the little spoon w Tess :’(

NFR is just so Joel don’t even argue with me.

Negan Smith- Ultraviolence

Next we have Negan and I feel like the choice is pretty obvious. Ultraviolence is probably Lana’s darkest album and it fits him so fucking well. He literally wears a fucking leather jacket like that is Ultraviolence in and of itself. He’s also just a violent person and violence is how he deals with things. I can really see the relationship between him and a female oc being like ultraviolence: really toxic but she can’t get enough. So many lyrics for him. So many

“He hurt me and it felt like true love” Ultraviolence

“I can see my baby swingin’, his parliament’s on fire and his hands are up” West Coast

“When he calls he calls for me and not for you” Shades of Cool

“You’re fucking crazy” Cruel World

“Lay me down tonight, I’m your favorite girl.” Fucked My Way Up to the Top

“You didn’t warn me at the time, but you were worth it anyway” Guns and Roses

“You’re my cult leader, I’ll love you forever, I’ll love you forever” Ultraviolence

“If you send for me you know I’ll come and if you call for me you know I’ll run” Old Money

“Get a little bit of bourbon in ya, go a little bit suburban and go crazy” Cruel World (when he went to Alexandria, got drunk, played pool and murdered a dude)

“But I can’t fix him, can’t make him better” Shades of Cool

“Loving you is really hard” Ultraviolence

“I wait for you babe that’s all I do babe you don’t come through babe it’s just what you do” Pretty when you cry

HE DONT GIVE A FUCK ABT U BITCH CAUSE UR PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

Tommy Shelby- Born to Die

At first I was vibing with Tommy being Ultraviolence but he’s more Born to Die. His whole outlook on life is very consistent with born to die- when lana said I wish I was dead already. Tommy feels like he’s already dead after surviving the war. He’s Born to Die because although he’s dangerous and a lil toxic he can be very loving and he’s always so gentle with his ladies. And when he falls he falls hard (i.e. Grace) also Off the the Races?? That’s literally Tommy bro

Lyrics:

“My old man is a bad man but I can’t deny the way he holds my hand and he grabs me he has me by my heart” Off to the Races

“Come take a walk on the wild side let me fuck you hard in the pouring rain. You like your girls insane” Born to Die

“I’m in his favorite sundress watching me get undressed” Video Games

“No one even knows how hard life was I don’t even talk about it now because I finally found you” Radio

“He headed out on Sunday, said he’d come on Monday. I stayed up waiting anticipating and pacing but he was chasing papers. Caught up in the game it was the last I heard” Blue Jeans

“I don’t know how you get over, get over someone as dangerous tainted and flawed as you” Million Dollar Man

FINALLY

Pedro Pascal- Did you know that there’s a tunnel under ocean boulevard

Ik I said fictional men but Pedro is the source of my comfort in this cruel world and I had to include him. I feel like Pedro is this album because it’s Lana’s most personal album. In the other albums on this post she’s kind of creating these stories but with tunnel it’s very personal and real. Since Pedro is an actual real person I feel like this is an appropriate choice since he has a lot of depth just like tunnel. Also Pedro really cares about family- his relationship with his sister, and has suffered loss to suicide just like Lana has. And tunnel explores themes of family, loss, healing and trying and struggling to find love. Like bro Pedro is Sweet. He’s sweet and he’s Sweet. Yknow?

Idk abt lyrics bc idrk what he’d resonate with but here’s the songs i associate with him:

The Grants, Did you know that there’s a tunnel under ocean boulevard, Sweet, Kintsugi, Paris Texas, Fishtail, Let the Light in, Taco Truck x vb

Ok that’s all thanks for listening🖤🖤

#dilf lover #fictional men #pedro pascal #jeffrey dean morgan #joel miller #negan smith #tommy shelby #cillian murphy #lana deal rey #lana album #javier pena narcos #i love joel miller #i love dilfs

[kaesficrecarchive]

nct dream rarepair masterpost

jaemin x chenle

Casualty of his dreams by rocketlele (1/1 | 9,088 | M)

School is cancelled and single dad Jaemin needs to find someone to take care of his daughter. The only solution being his neighbour, 23 year old Chenle who owns the local tattoo studio and has a crush on the man stood at his door asking for the favour. Cue, bring your neighbours kid to work day.

two-part trust fall by shuijing (1/1 | 65,000 | E)

"So which one is it? Which half of the old married couple?" Chenle asks, shoving a huge piece of pancake into his mouth.

"Which one is what?" Jaemin says, and sips his coffee.

"Which one are you in love with?" Chenle says, and upon seeing the face Jaemin instinctively makes, dumps more salt on the wound. "Don't give me that look. I know when the person I'm hooking up with is thinking of someone else. It's gotta be one of them. So, Mark or Renjun?"

"Neither," Jaemin finally says, though five years ago the answer would have been different. This coffee is too cold—sharply so—for 8am. "Jeno. Jisung's... boyfriend."

Chenle's eyebrows raise together with another forkful of pancake. "Huh," he says. "Not so predictable, then."

jeno x mark

Google: I Think I'm a Pervert by deluluenjenie (Jenaurasaurus) (1/1 | 21,363 | E)

> Google: Can you break up with your dog? 

Search Results: What happens to dogs when you break up? 

“They could withdraw,” he says, “or it can make them nervous — pacing around, whining, becoming destructive where they hadn't been before.”

It's easy to see it as sadness over the breakup itself, but really, he says, it's a reaction to the change in ambience… 

(Life changes after the hypnosis is lifted. Mark... copes.)

renjun x jisung

Perfect by subak_jumokbap (1/1 | 32,940 | T)

“We don’t like each other like that,” Renjun reminds him.

Mark raises an eyebrow challengingly. “You think he’s cute.”

“And hot,” Donghyuck adds.

“Ignoring all of that,” Renjun says flatly, not wanting to give his friends more things to tease him about. He should be allowed at least a tiny piece of pride to hold on to. He shrugs. “We’re just roommates who get along well, that’s all. It’s not unheard of.”

Both Mark and Donghyuck scoff. Renjun doesn’t appreciate it at all.

jaemin x donghyuck

blurry now, but i meant it then by wildnothings (1/1 | 14,465 | M)

When Donghyuck walks into the room, Jaemin realizes he’d sooner face an excruciating death than attempt to start a conversation with his ex-boyfriend. He imagines it would go something like this: Hi. There’s a bunch of power hungry aliens trying to destroy the world as we know it. Red is a good color on you. Is that a new jacket? Also, I think I’m still in love with you.

jeno x dongyuck

but you come over at night, and we practice all the breathing by onceuponalazy (1/1 | 23,817 | E)

Jeno just looks ordinary. His dark blue hair slowly fading back to black as it grows out, wearing athletic shorts and an oversized hoodie that he pulls up and over his head. He’s barefoot, barefaced, with his smile lines on full display. He has surprisingly bony knees. Donghyuck can see the outline of his dick in his shorts. His heart is racing just looking at him. Oh, he’s so fucked.

mark x renjun

fell for your idea of love by renbrulee (1/1 | 26,267 | M)

"Don't you find it ironic?" "What?" "In every other universe Mark Lee has a Renjun Huang, Renjun Huang has a Mark Lee." Renjun lifts his head to meet Mark’s eyes. "Why were we the exception? Why did you and I have to lose ours?" Or Spidermen Mark and Renjun, in every other universe are meant to be together but their own.

#jaemle fic rec #markno fic rec #rensung fic rec #nahyuck fic rec #nohyuck fic rec #markren fic rec #nct dream #masterlist #kae's fic rec #nct dreaml fic rec #jaemin x chenle #mark x jeno #renjun x jisung #jaemin x donghyuck #jeno x donghyuck #jaemin x haechan #jeno x haechan #mark x renjun

[440mxs-wife]

One Friday Night....

Pairing: Santiago García x F!Reader. Other Characters: Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Will Miller, Benny Miller, Sophia (OFC), Todd, Brandon, Dylan (OMCs)

Word Count: 4950

Warnings: Angst due to an ex, minor bar fight, Protective!Santi, FLUFFFFFY ending

Summary: You love going out with your best friend, Sophia, who’s been there for you through so many ups and downs. Whenever you go out, she tries to set you up with someone, but the guys she finds are usually more interested in Sophia than in you. Then you meet the one man who does the unexpected. Will you let him steal your heart, or are the walls around it too much for even Santiago to handle?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"No."

"Oh, come on, I know this great place we can go Friday night. Has an outdoor seating area, and the music's not too loud, so we can actually carry on a conversation without having to shout," your best friend, Sophia, pleaded. "Might even be some hot guys there, you never know," she smirked.

"Soph, it's only Tuesday. I don't even know what I'm wearing to work tomorrow, let alone what I want to do Friday night," you replied.

"Promise me you'll think about it? Please?" she whined. You were ever so grateful that you couldn't see the puppy dog eyes she had to be doing. Because if you had seen them, you'd have caved for sure right then.

Instead, you rolled your eyes, which Sophia couldn't see either but knew you did. "Fine, I promise I'll think about it. Deal-io?" you asked, though you probably knew you'd give in.

"Deal-io, chickie babe," Sophia giggled as she ended the call.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sitting in a bar on a Friday night should be the perfect way for you to wind down from a stressful week. Have a couple of drinks and listen to some music while you laugh and catch up with your friends. Then you watch as, one by one, they slip away from the table to go off with some guy who gathered up enough courage to ask one of them to dance.

It was the same thing that always happened when you went out with your friends. Group of women, with hair, makeup, and clothes perfectly put together, all dressed up for a fun night out. So why was it always you left behind to hold down the table, make sure no one's purse or jacket got stolen?

Your best friend till the end, Sophia, would try her best to help steer guys your way. She'd leave the table and come back with two guys following her. One would accompany her out to the dance floor, while his friend would take a seat next to you and start talking. You started with the easy questions, like work, family, hobbies and favorite sports teams. It generally worked for a while, and gave you an opportunity to see if there was any spark between you.

Unfortunately, more often than not, the conversation would eventually sort of die out. After several awkward and usually silent minutes, he would start asking you questions about Sophia. How long you'd been friends, is she seeing anyone, then the evening would end with him asking for her phone number instead of yours. After a while, you learned to expect it, and you developed a tough exterior as your way of dealing with it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After your call with Sophia, you flopped back on your bed and stared at the ceiling, giving more thought than usual about Sophia's invitation. It had been some time since the two of you had been out together. She indicated that this was somewhere new for you both, so maybe history wouldn't repeat itself. Much.

It wasn't long until your eyelids started drooping heavily, the need for sleep threatening to overtake you. Before you completely crashed, you got up and went through your nighttime routine. You made sure the doors were locked, then slipped under the covers. Most nights, you read a little in bed to help you relax, but tonight it wasn't necessary. Within a few minutes of your head hitting the pillow, you were already asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Santiago "Pope" García walked into his favorite bar and scanned the crowd for his friends. It was finally Friday night, and he was looking forward to hanging out with the guys over a few drinks. Frankie "Catfish" Morales caught sight of him and waved him over to their table, indicating there was a drink already waiting for him.

When he got to the table, Frankie, Will, and Benny--his brothers in arms, really--each stood up to greet him, either with a hug or a handshake. The four of them had literally been through hell and back with each other through their time in Delta Force. Now, they were all trying to put the past behind them and move forward with their lives, whatever that meant for each man.

As Santi drained the last drop of his beer and lowered the bottle from his lips, his eyes were drawn to the door of the bar. Being somewhat of a regular customer there, he didn't recall ever before seeing the two gorgeous women who just walked in. They looked a little apprehensive as they reviewed their surroundings, hoping to find an empty table.

One woman was of medium height and had long, wavy blond hair with vibrant, sapphire eyes. She had on a black leather skirt that stopped mid-thigh and knee-high black boots. Under her black leather jacket, she was wearing an ivory tank top. She flashed a brilliant smile at her friend, then grabbed her elbow to steer her to the open table near the window.

Benny followed Santi's line of sight over to where a server was taking the drink order for you and Sophia. "Whoa, I see a couple of fine-looking women over there, eh, Pope?" he grinned as he elbowed Santi. "Should we go over and introduce ourselves?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Santi rolled his eyes. "They just walked in, haven't even gotten their drinks yet," he replied. "Relax, let 'em get settled before you go over to harass them," he muttered as he signaled for another beer.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You finished giving your order for drinks, then chatted with Sophia about what you thought of the new place to hang out. Your outfit included a stonewashed denim skirt that stopped just above your knee, with brown ankle boots. Under a matching denim jacket, you were wearing a purple tank top with gold stars painted on it.

Santi's gaze drifted over to where you and your friend were chatting while you waited for your drinks. With the way you were waving your hands around and the expressions on your face, Santi found himself staring. Even though he couldn't hear the story you were telling, he could feel the passion behind it in your movements.

Your smile lit up your entire face, and Santi thought he'd never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. When he heard your laugh, it was like the melody for his favorite song, one he'd gladly hear as the only sound for the rest of his life.

It wasn't long before your friend left the table to get the next round of drinks, only to come back with two guys following her. She had shed the denim jacket, draping it over her chair, then introduced the men as Todd and Brandon. After taking a couple of sips of her drink, she and Todd headed for the dance floor, leaving Brandon at the table with you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You glanced at Brandon and gave each other an awkward smile. While you were more content with sitting at the table talking and getting to know each other, Brandon had other ideas. He motioned behind him to the dance floor, asking you to dance but you sadly shook your head. Brandon gave you a tight-lipped smile, shook your hand and left the table.

So much for history not repeating itself, you thought bitterly as you discreetly wiped away a stray tear. Just because you didn't want to dance, Brandon left you sitting by yourself at the table. But before he completely departed, he asked for Sophia's phone number, in case it didn't work out between her and Todd. You did give him a phone number, but it belonged instead to the nursing home down the street and not to Sophia.

You absently stirred your drink and sipped at it through the cocktail straw, wondering how much longer you should stay. If Sophia was going to be dancing all night, there was no sense in taking up the whole table by yourself. So, you decided to move and sit at the bar for the rest of the night.

After placing your phone in your purse, you pulled out your compact to check your makeup. In the reflection, you were startled to see that behind you, a man was staring in your direction. He was definitely gorgeous, with his warm, coffee-colored eyes and a bit of mischief behind them. His raven hair was slightly long, but curly and with a touch of silver that somehow suited him.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, which brought out his devastating and lethal smile that made your mouth run dry. He raised his glass in what you thought was a salute to you, but at that moment, Sophia and Todd returned to the table. Must've been directed at Sophia, you concluded as your smile fell. You explained to Sophia and Todd about what happened to Brandon, then picked up your jackets and headed for a seat at the bar.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Santi had been observing your interaction with Brandon while the other couple went out on the dance floor. He was surprised to see the man leaving so shortly after his arrival, then noted the dejected expression on your face. He couldn't be sure, but Santi also thought he saw you discreetly dabbing at your eyes, at which he frowned.

Asshat, Santi thought, shaking his head. Poor bastard doesn't know what he's leaving behind, Santi mused. He was going to get up and walk over to you when he saw Brandon turn back around and ask you something. Maybe he's reconsidering his decision to leave, Santi thought, and sat back down. Then he watched you furiously scribble on a napkin and hand it to Brandon, whose eyes lit up, and he left for good.

Santi paid little mind to the conversations going on behind him with his friends, instead focusing his attention on you. He glanced your way in between drinks of his beer, noticing that your drink was almost gone. Your gaze landed on the bar and the open seat at the end, so you started to gather your belongings.

Before leaving the table, you pulled out your compact, and Santi could see his reflection in its mirror. You gave him a small smile, so he gave you his best smile in return. He raised his glass in salute at the moment your friends returned. For some reason, the smile of yours he saw in the mirror dropped and you snapped the compact closed.

A jostle at his right elbow threatened to spill his beer and he turned back towards his friends, ripping his attention away from you. "Earth to Pope, Earth to Pope. Man, what's with you tonight? You haven't heard a word we've said," Frankie grumbled.

Benny snorted. "I know what's up with him, it's that chick in the denim skirt. You know, the one that came in with the one all in leather? Hasn't been able to take his eyes off of her all night," he smirked.

Santi took a long pull on his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. "Something about her, though. Her friend went off to dance with one guy, leaving his friend at the table. They talk for about five minutes before he's booking it away from the table. Oh, but not before he asks for her friend's number," he spat out. "That’s a dick move, if you ask me," he muttered.

The others agreed with Pope's assessment of Brandon, both for not sticking around to get to know you, and for asking for Sophia's number. Santi returned his focus to chatting with his friends, which included an invite to Frankie's daughter's birthday party. When he hazarded a glance over to your table, you were gone, and it sent him into a mild panic.

"Relax, Pope, she didn't leave, she's sitting at the end of the bar. Maybe you should get the next round for us," Benny murmured.

"Yeah, next round's on me, boys," Santi announced as he gathered up the empties. The bar was crowded, and the only open spot to stand and order drinks was near you. Perfect, grinned Santi.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When you checked your phone, you noticed that you had been at the bar for more than an hour, but you were seriously considering leaving. Sophia seemed to have made a good connection with Todd, so too-bad-so-sad-for-Brandon, you smiled to yourself. You decided to give it another fifteen minutes before sending Sophia a text and heading home.

You were about to signal for a refill on your drink when you realized you were face-to-face with those chocolate-colored eyes you were admiring earlier. They looked even warmer up close, and you almost had to sit on your hand to keep from running your fingers through his curls. You cleared your throat to regain control of your thoughts and returned your focus to your phone.

"Hello there," the man greeted you.

"Hello," you responded coolly.

"Haven't seen you in here before, are you new in town?" the man persisted.

"No, this is a new place for my friend and me," you replied.

The man stuck out his hand for you to shake. "My name's Santiago García, but you, hermosa, can call me Santi," he grinned.

"Nice to meet you, Santiago," you answered as you shook his hand, then signaled the bartender for another drink.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" he purred.

"Listen, Santiago--is it?" you started and he nodded. "I'm not sure why you really came over here, but I assure you it wasn't for me," you shook your head.

"Well, since you brought it up, why do you think I came over here?" Santi countered.

"Hmm. Lost a bet with your friends?" you suggested.

"Nope. Try again," he grinned.

"You're participating in a scavenger hunt, and you have to find the most ditchable prom date in the place?" you replied.

"'Most ditch'-what? Anyway, nope. Strike two," he remarked, leaning towards you and catching a whiff of your lilac-scented perfume. It took all of his self-control not to inhale deeply and fill his senses with your alluring fragrance.

You started to get a little nervous that Santi was so easily wearing down your defenses, so you fell back on the only weapon you had left. "Look, I'll just save you the trouble of calling strike three, so there you go. Here's my friend's number, I’m out. Good night." You slipped your phone into the pocket of your jacket and hopped down from your bar stool. Then you turned and pressed a piece of paper into Santi's hand with Sophia's name and phone number on it.

Santi quickly stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket and started to run after you. However, you had a bit of a head start on him and wove your way through the crowd to the door. As you reached for the door handle, it was pulled away from you. In walked the last person you ever wanted to see--your ex, Dylan, walk in with his new girlfriend.

Dylan's eyes narrowed as he took in your appearance and tightened his hold on his girlfriend. "Well, well, fancy seeing you here," he drawled.

"Yeah, well I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you, Dylan, but it's really not," you shot back as you tried to push past him.

"See, this is why you're leaving the bar alone. And you'll always be alone, on account of no one's interested in you, at least not while Sophia's around. In fact, she's the only reason anyone pays any attention to you, because they'd rather be with her than with you," Dylan sneered.

You could feel the tears threatening behind your eyelids, but you were damned if you were going to let him see that his words had hurt you. With your elbow, you were able to wrench yourself past Dylan and his latest fling, and out into the cool night air.

Keys in your hand, you wandered until you found your car. You slid into the driver's seat, placed both hands on the steering wheel and tried your best to get yourself under control. You realized that Sophia would wonder where you went, so you pulled out your phone. Before heading home, you sent Sophia a quick text to apologize for your abrupt exit and promised to call her in the morning.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Santi had almost caught up to you when he noticed you were talking to another man and his girlfriend. By the looks of it, you knew him but it didn't appear to be a pleasant meeting between you. He got close enough to hear what the man was saying about you ending up alone, since everyone was only interested in your friend. Santi knew that wasn't true, because he wanted to get to know you and had no idea who Sophia was.

After he saw you push your way out of the bar, Santi realized he had two choices. He could ignore the jerk and his girlfriend, then run after you to make sure you were okay. Or, an alternative solution would be to teach the guy a lesson about how to treat women. A look over to his friends at the table showed them getting up and walking over to where the confrontation was about to occur.

"Excuse me. You don't know me, but I heard what you said to that lady, and I believe you owe her an apology," Santi started.

Dylan snorted. "You're right, you don't know me. Or her for that matter, so what's it to you?" he snarked.

"I may not know either one of you, but I was up at the bar earlier, talking to her. And you're wrong. Even after the little time I spent with her, I can tell she's someone worth knowing. Also, where I come from, we don't speak to women the way you just did. She deserves better, meaning somebody better than you," Santi continued.

"Look, man, it's not any of your business how I talk to my EX-girlfriend. And you're welcome to her. Nothing but a miserable excuse for a woman who's really not much to look at. In fact, her best attribute is her hot-ass friend," Dylan retorted.

Santi's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, as did those of Frankie, Will and Benny who had walked up behind him. "Miss, I would be careful around this guy if I were you. If he talks about his ex like this, I would wonder how he talks about you and your friends behind your back?" he asked Dylan's girlfriend.

"You son of a--" Dylan growled and pushed his girlfriend behind him, while taking a step towards Santi. Dylan took a swing at Santi and missed, which threw him off balance. Santi took the opportunity to land a punch to Dylan's gut, causing him to double over.

"Have a care how you speak to a lady in the future. Next time my friends and I won't be so understanding," Santi remarked. He nodded at Dylan's girlfriend, who he hoped was texting someone to pick her up. Santi caught the bartender's eye and gave her a two-fingered salute, then he and the boys filed out of the bar.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You walked into your house and slipped off your boots, stacking them neatly by the door. Well, tonight couldn't have ended any worse, you grimaced. Seeing Dylan with his current girlfriend was not on your "Top 10 Things to Do on a Friday night" list, if there was ever a good time.

The one bright spot was meeting Santiago and having a rather pleasant conversation. Of course, as with most times you're out with Sophia, the conversation starts out nicely. Then you run out of things to talk about and it's awkward silence, until he asks you about your friendship with Sophia. Your defenses automatically go up, knowing how the discussion will end.

But it didn't seem that way with Santiago, or Santi, as he said you could call him. For some reason, he didn't back down. You threw your best one-liners at him, and still he seemed interested. So, why did you give in and slip him Sophia's number without him asking for it? Maybe to prevent the inevitable. Or, perhaps it scared you to think that someone might actually want to get to know YOU first instead of Sophia.

You checked your phone one last time to make sure there wasn't some emergency text from Sophia, then you put it back on your nightstand. Evening must be going well for her, you thought with a smile. Good. I'll call her in the morning, you promised yourself. As you closed your eyes, visions of a suave, brown-eyed, curly-haired man danced through your head and occupied your thoughts.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Santi pulled his truck into his driveway, turned off the ignition, but didn't get out right away. His thoughts were of you, not only of the lost opportunity to get better acquainted with you, but also because of your ex. He hoped you got home okay and wished he could call you to find out, but he only had Sophia's phone number.

He grinned when he thought of the brief conversation you did have. You were spirited, that was for certain. And Dylan was wrong when he said you weren't much to look at, because Santi could see how dazzling you were. He was certain that your inner beauty could only equal or be surpassed by your outer beauty. If only he got another chance to find out.

Santi finally exited his truck and walked up the pathway to his house. Once inside, he toed off his shoes and hung his hat on the hook by the door. He headed down the hallway to his bedroom, where he slipped out of his pants and socks, leaving him in his T-shirt and boxers. Before throwing his clothes in the hamper, he dug into his pants pocket for the little slip of paper you gave him. "I'm not giving up on you, querida. I hope to see you soon," he promised before slipping under the covers.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sophia woke to the sound of her ringing phone on her nightstand. After the text you sent her last night, she had a feeling you'd be calling. However, she didn't recognize the number, which made her think that maybe it was Todd instead. Although they'd had a good time together, Sophia asked him to bring her back to her house. He understood, and she agreed to another date with him.

Maybe he couldn't wait, she thought, internally screaming. "Hello, Todd," Sophia answered calmly but with a smile on her face.

"Um, sorry, but this isn't Todd," the man admitted. "My name is Santiago García and--" but he was interrupted.

"How did you get this number?" Sophia demanded.

"Y-your friend, the one you came to the bar with? I wanted her number, but didn't realize it was your number instead. She wouldn't even give me her name. Please, I need to find her. I need to know if she's okay after what happened," Santi pleaded.

Sophia paused. "I'm sure she's fine, but what did happen?"

Santi proceeded to tell her about your encounter with Dylan and his girlfriend, and how disrespectful Dylan was towards you. He explained that the few minutes you shared with him only left him wanting to know more about you. "She left the bar alone, very upset, and I wish I knew if she was all right," he added.

"What did Dylan say? About my friend, what did he say about her?" Sophia asked quietly.

"Nothing I really want to repeat, but I know she definitely deserves better than him. I don't know if that's me or not. Still, I'd really like the chance to find out," Santi answered.

Sophia considered Santi's words as she tried to decide whether or not to provide your number to him. While she continued to think, a text message came in from you, asking about brunch tomorrow at the usual place. A grin slowly crept across her face as an idea formed in her mind. "Hey, Santiago? Do you have plans around brunch-time tomorrow?" she asked.

Santi thought for a moment, wondering what she was thinking. "No plans as of yet, why?" he wondered.

"I just got a text message from her, asking to meet me for brunch tomorrow. We have this place we usually go to, where we're kind of 'regulars'. Here's what I was thinking," Sophia described her plan, which was to have Santiago meet you instead of her.

"Sounds like it might work, but what if it doesn't? What if she sees me and decides to bolt again?" Santi worried.

"Trust me, I know exactly what to do," Sophia promised. "Here's what I need you to do, though," at which time she went through the plan step by step with Santi.

"Tomorrow, 11:00 a.m., The Red Teakettle on Madison Street. Got it," Santi affirmed.

"Santiago? I hope you're in this for the right reasons, that you truly care about her. I don't want to see her get hurt again. It took a long time for her to get over Dylan and the crap he put her through," Sophia muttered.

"I swear, the last thing I ever want to do is hurt mi princesa. One chance, that's all I ask," he pleaded.

Sophia's lips twisted into a wry grin, even though Santiago couldn't see. "All right then. See you tomorrow. And by the way," she ended the call after giving him your name.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sunday morning had you out of bed early to get ready for brunch with Sophia at The Red Teakettle. After your shower, you searched through your closet until you found your favorite sundress. It was pale blue with cut-outs at the shoulders and a hem that stopped just past your knee. There were various flowers and twisting vines embroidered around the scoop neckline. You kept your jewelry simple, and slipped on your white tennis shoes before heading out the door.

Sophia was already waiting at your usual table when you arrived. She stood up when you got to the table and pulled you into a quick but fond embrace. You noticed that a cappuccino had been ordered for you with a flower design in the foam.

"I want to apologize, Soph, for leaving you at the bar Friday night. I was your ride home, and I should've waited for you. I am sorry for doing that, and I promise it won't happen again," you stated firmly.

"Hey, I heard about what happened, and I don't blame you for wanting to get away from Dylan. Besides, I had a great time with Todd. He's really nice, and he didn't get all 'weird' when I asked him to drop me off at home, by myself, I might add," Sophia giggled. "How did it go with Brandon?"

You grimaced. "Not well. I thought we'd sit and talk for a little bit, but he wanted to dance. When I politely declined, he left the table. Then he comes back and I thought he changed his mind. Instead, he asked me for your phone number," you muttered.

Sophia reached over and covered your hand with hers. "I'm so sorry that happened, honey. You didn't deserve that," she murmured.

"Please don't worry about it. At least your night worked out for you. I'm glad you found someone, and I hope it works out for you two. Or you at least have fun for a while," you laughed.

Sophia joined in on the laughter. "I hope so too. Your night wasn't a total loss, though, was it?" she wondered, or more like hinted.

"Wellll, there was this one guy, Santiago, who came over to talk to me. He was nice, but I'm sure I ruined it. I thought he was trying to go through me to get to you, like Brandon. So, I was my usual charming self and didn't give him much of a chance. Wish I would've, though," you added softly.

At that moment, Sophia's phone rang, and judging by the look on her face, the caller ID showed it was Todd. "Do you mind if I get this? It's Todd," she confirmed.

"Go, take your phone call," you laughed and waved her on. "I'll wait until you get back to the table before ordering," you promised. She gave your arm a squeeze as she walked by you on her way out the door.

Several minutes passed while you looked over the menu. Suddenly, you noticed a shadow, indicating someone was standing next to your table. "Excuse me, hermosa, but is this seat taken?" a deep voice asked.

You looked up to see a pair of familiar brown eyes and a handsome face framed by messy black curls. "Santiago," you whispered, then gestured for him to join you. He took your outstretched hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "How--how did you find me?" you wondered.

"Please don't be angry, but I called Sophia yesterday morning, looking for you. I told her what happened with Dylan, and how I 'took care of the situation'," he remarked.

"What 'situation'? What did you do?" you inquired.

Santi's hand rubbed the back of his neck to calm his nerves. "He was being very disrespectful to you, and when I called him on it, he took a swing at me. I swung back," he added with a shrug.

"Wow," you breathed. "I think that's the first time anyone's ever defended my honor. Thank you, Santi," you murmured.

"Querida, you deserve that and so much more. If you can give me another chance, I would like to start over, really get to know you," Santi requested.

"I would like that very much. I'm so sorry for how I gave you the brush-off Friday night. That wasn't fair of me, and I hope you can see your way to allowing me another chance," you pleaded.

Santiago grinned. "Let's start over. Hola, me llamo Santiago García, y me gustaría acompañarte a desayunar," he remarked.

You smiled and gave him your name. "Y me encantaría que me acompañes a desayunar," you responded.

Santi's smile grew even wider when he heard your response in his language. "Oh, mi tesoro, I can't wait to learn all about you," he replied, still holding your hand.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Spanish Translations:

-hermosa: beautiful -querida: darling -mi princesa: my princess -Hola, me llamo Santiago García, y me gustaría acompañarte a desayunar: Hello, my name is Santiago García, and I would like to join you for breakfast. -Y me encantaría que me acompañes a desayunar: And I would love for you to join me for breakfast. -mi tesoro: my treasure

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

@huffle-pissed​

#santiago garcia x reader #santi x reader

[tiptapricot]

what things do you think jake has that make him feel at home? I think he would struggle a lot with identity becsuse he doesn't front a lot and doesn't get to live where he wants to. so I imagine he has a few things from the past to remind him of who he is.

Anon I am KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH this is such a fun question.

First I’d love to point you to this post by the always wonderful @mockspector that goes more in depth when it comes to each of the cities the system has lived in and Jake’s feelings on each, as well as his feelings on having a home in general. While a lot of this post is going to be my own ideas, I’m also going to be building off points explored in that meta so YEAH. Ok ok.

So to start off from the end of the linked post, I agree that I don’t think Jake views himself as having “a home,” as in having a place to live that is his where he truly belongs and feels comfortable and is. And that’s simply because i don’t think there’s anywhere that can give that to him, not yet at least.

New York was close, enjoyable and comfortable and the right type of vibe and people, but it was never the full thing. Maybe it could’ve been, but he wasn’t there long enough to make it something more. He didn’t get to settle, didn’t get to create somewhere or someone to go back to. And that’s been his whole life, right? Always getting close but never close enough, because he’s never there long enough to mean enough, or for something to mean enough to him.

So then your question comes up: what does he do about it? What does he hold onto for familiarity and comfort that he can take with him? That can stay with him through every change? How does he make “home” when he doesn’t have one?

I think it’s a lot of things, a mix. Jake Lockley is a man that thrives and exists on personhood and identity, on taking hold of and making things his own and in doing so, reclaiming his existence and sense of self. He’s also autistic, and while I don’t think he’s adverse to change in exactly the same way I could see someone like Steven being (Jake’s whole life having been sudden fluctuations and unexpected moments already), I still think he would need something solid to rely on when things do inevitably get overwhelming and out of control, a structural support for himself. In both cases, being able to keep hold of “home,” of belonging in a space in his own way, and having something constant to keep him balanced, would be vital.

And honestly? I think he starts building that with himself.

He curates himself into a shape that he can always fall back into and find comfort in inhabiting: the jacket, the gloves, the crease and press of his shirt, the mustache, all sealed with a low cap. No matter where he is, no matter what he has left, Jake Lockley can always exist within himself. He can dust off his collar and straighten his tie and settle into the feeling of being contained by things made for him, fit to his comfort, and know that he belongs there.

Maybe he has some light scent that he spritzes on his clothes, too (he can’t wear it on his skin because Marc or Steven would smell it, but if it’s the cloth itself…). It keeps him grounded on the job, pulling him back down and reminding him who and what he is at the moment, and it’s something he gets to return to every time he gets dressed. Something strong but not sharp, like sandalwood or vanilla or lavender, sticking to his shirt cuffs and reminding him that this is his space, that he is himself.

And outside of that, it’s things.

Small things. He gets notepads and calendars and puts them in his glove compartment to create a routine to return to and build on. He gets a few mini cars, models he likes in colors he likes, and runs his fingers over the wheels as he drives, or eats, listening to the metal whizz beneath the pad of his thumb. He keeps old folded maps of his routes even when the streets change or the city does, muttering the sign names under his breath like a log that he was there, that it happened.

It’s never much, he never owns much. He can’t, exactly, but it’s a few things. Sweet things, happy things, at least to him. They make him feel like he has weight on the world, like he is allowed to own and store and build up pieces of a life he’s not sure he’s actually lived, but they’re there, so he must be too. Plus, they’re portable. Marc won’t notice if a hot wheel is tucked between his sweatshirts, or if a note pad with different handwriting slips into his old mission tub, and they give Jake something moveable and constant to hold onto, belongings of his that get to follow him, that get to reshape each new place into something tied to the past.

And finally, he finds and maintains spaces.

His cab, with the familiar squeak of his its seats, the buffed out scuffs, the barely visible places where he’s sewn the leather back together in late night alleyways when the others are fast asleep, the grip of the wheel, the playlist mix burned to a CD and kept in the glove compartment.

His community, Latino clubs and neighborhoods and music, where no matter where he is he can push and find people he can feel connected with, can find things he knows. Like Gena’s, with the classic red seats, the food that feels right and warm in his stomach even if he didn’t grow up with almojábana or mondongo, the easiness of her smile, the squeeze around his waist when her kids visit, the promise of AC and music and a good cup of coffee, no matter how close he cuts it to closing time.

And finally Steven’s flat and Marc and Layla’s apartment, in their own ways, cigarette packs stashed between old shelves, a book or two of his own hidden among the rest, a suit the others never wear, the TV out of place, a chair pulled up to settle and watch a show and let his bones rest.

They’re all touch stones in different ways, constants, but none of them are full in what they give him. They’re pieces, places, people, but they don’t make a whole, and he knows that. His cab never parks outside the flat, Steven and Marc never heckle Gena over the best arepa fixings, and Ricky and Ray never visit to feed Gus. They’re disconnected from each other, distant rungs on the same ladder leading up and out of the dark places Jake has fought to escape. A car to store a body and a steering wheel to cry on, food to keep him solid and a hand to keep him steady, places to maintain not for himself, but for others.

Because in the end, Jake Lockley does not have a home. Homes are for people. Homes are for living in. Homes are for Marc and Steven, for marriage and warm sheets, postcards and pinboards. Not for Jake. They never are and never were. He simply exists within them, between them, fitting himself into the seams and keeping them tight. He eats leftovers on a couch sunk with books, and washes blood off his face in a gas station bathroom, and watches a woman from across the room until she turns to face him and he has to be someone else.

But he’s still there, he always will be. And as long as Jake can tighten his laces, and straighten his cap, and twist his key into the ignition, he thinks that maybe a flashing open sign can be just as good as a welcome mat.

For now, at least.

It’s always good enough for now.

#moon knight #jake lockley #moon knight 2022 #(psst his real home comes when all of these things are able to intersect and become a whole that encapsulates him) #(which can only happen once he becomes part of Marc and Steven’s life beyond the blank space they ignore) #(only then will the walls be able to merge into the shape of a living room and a driveway and a roof) #(a life to return to where he gets to wipe off his feet and say he’s home) #mikes mk meta #the fruit is talking again #the fruit is answering again

[ms0milk]

i found this fic i wrote in 2014 (when i was 14) and i'm obsessed,, it's honestly not bad at all lmao pls enjoy my baby-kill la kill-throwback

(i literally just copypaste from my old email account so everything below this line is an untouched primary document 🤭)

Title: Dating for Dummies

Pairing: Gamagoori/Mako

Rating: T (<- what does this mean? -2022 pom)

Disclaimer: not beta’d and Gama is best dork

(based off of ^this^ end credit cap -2022 pom)

Gamagoori clutched the pink bouquet with shaking hands and mutely followed the other Devas through the streets. He hoped he didn’t vomit. Or faint. He wasn’t sure which was more likely; his entire body seemed to be fighting a war with itself. A war of nerves.

“We should have brought an extra change of clothes,” Nonon mused. “But Froggy had to wear a suit. Are you proposing or confessing?”

He stared at the bright pink flowers and chose to ignore her teasing. The snake would always lead with its fangs, after all. Even in the case of helping someone else. She was helping, and that was what mattered.

“They’ve stopped again,” Inumuta informed them, looking at his tablet. The tracking device in Satsuki’s purse allowed them to easily follow the trio.

Gamagoori somehow managed to look up from the flowers to focus on the little blinking light on the tablet screen. He swallowed. They were only a few blocks away now which indicated it was almost time. His eyes swung back to the flowers and he clenched them tighter. He couldn’t remember a time where he was more nervous. Standing up to the bullies, fighting Satsuki, waging war against the life fibers…no prior event had caused his insides to twist in such a way. He tried to calm himself by taking slow, even breaths, but his heart rate remained stubbornly elevated and he was still perspiring heavily.

Nonon, always one to sense any amount of weakness of will, stood before him with a scrutinizing look. “I gave up going shopping for you,” she informed him darkly. “You better not back out.”

Gamagoori nodded. “I know.”

He understood this was a matter of do or die. Soon it would be over with and he could relax again. Gamagoori tried to look forward to the future but found it was impossible to predict. If she wasn’t interested what would he feel? What would he do? The tiny, pink flowers had no answer for him, so instead he tried to work on what he wanted to say. Yes, no point in thinking that far ahead. For now he needed to practice what he would say to win Mako’s heart.

Gamagoori closed his eyes. Now, he thought. How should I put it?

He remained still, hunched against the wall as he meditated…until all at once his eyes bugged out. He’d been so worried about everything else he hadn’t even considered what to say. His mind was a complete blank. He couldn’t string any sort of meaningful love declarations, no poetic recitations, and certainly no sweet-nothings. At the moment, he could barely remember his own name.

Gamagoori’s breathing rate began to increase again as his panic rose. How could he have forgotten to come up with a good line? Something. Anything. He looked dumbly down at the flowers, which were starting to look both blurry and patronizing. A shocking feat for mere flowers.

“Here they come,” Inumuta warned.

He jumped to his feet without knowing why. They were coming and Gamagoori had nothing to say. He had flowers and nothing else. Just himself; a large, mute man who couldn’t even properly speak to the girl he liked. But he was going to try. No matter what, he was going to try.

Inumuta adjusted his glasses and looked up at him. “I took the liberty of placing note cards in your jacket pocket. In case you find yourself…without words.”

Gamagoori look down, surprised. “Y-yes. Alright.”

“You don’t need note cards,” Uzu voiced. “Just speak from the heart.”

He nodded again. “From the heart…” All he could truly muster was parroted responses. At a later point he would communicate his gratitude towards them for their help. For now it was all he could do to stay standing.

“There they are,” Nonon voiced, excited. “It’s time!” She waved a hand at him and said, “Good luck, Froggy.” Soon she was dashing out to intercept the girls, followed shortly by Inumuta and Uzu. They gave him a passing thumbs-up, and he was left alone with his flowers.

This is it.

He would not hide anymore. It was time for him to truly, truly go Nudist. With his heart, at least.

Gamagoori moved out from the cover the building provided, looking across the street where the group had met up. Nonon was directing Mako to a food stand down the way, and the girl had run off eagerly, her large bag of goods bouncing behind her. He headed in the same direction, planning to intercept her. His expression was one of determination with a tinge of nausea. Now that he was finally acting, his body at least seemed to be behaving correctly. Steely-gray eyes remained fixed on his target as he closed the distance between them.

Suddenly, a crowd of people spilled out of a bus, clogging the path with pedestrians. At the same time some moving-men began moving large furniture right in his path. It was as if the world had all at once conspired against him in the most non-humorous way possible. Briefly he took his eyes off of Mako as he picked his way past people and furniture, and when he looked back up he couldn’t see her amongst the crowd. Gamagoori stopped, eyes scanning for the engorged bag that Mako had been carrying. Even though he was larger than everyone, he didn’t immediately spot her.

“Mankanshoku…” he muttered, moving forward again. He needed to remain calm. She couldn’t have gotten far, and he knew where the food stand was located. The busy sidewalk was only a minor annoyance. He would find her.

When Gamagoori reached the stand, his heart sank. She wasn’t there, and he hadn’t seen her along the way. He looked at the store fronts, wondering if she made a side-stop in any of the buildings nearby. If he had to, he’d check them all. With another glance around the area he spotted a bulbous round bag. There she was.

He pushed through the people and called, “Mankanshoku!” Half-stumbling, he made it to the curb, eyes catching the sight of a large round bag…being thrown into the back of a garbage truck. Gamagoori’s shoulders slumped. It hadn’t been her at all. His panic was beginning to rise now. He didn’t know if he could bear facing Satsuki knowing that he had managed to lose Mako in the crowds. The hand that clutched the pink bouquet hung loosely at his side.

What should he do now?

“Oh! Is that you, Gamagoori-senpai?”

Gamagoori turned at the sound, wide-eyes falling on the very girl he had lost. “M-Mankanshoku…”

Mako was looking at him with a tilted head. “Wow you look all dressed up today,” she said. Then she jumped in surprise, pointing at the flowers. “F-flowers!? Oh gosh t-this…I know what this is!”

His brows snapped together. “Y-you…you do?” Inwardly he sighed in relief. Leave it to Mako to understand, yet again, what he was truly feeling. He should have never worried.

“Yes!” she confirmed. Her hands snapped up above her head and for a moment she appeared cloaked in a faint light (<- if you don't watch the show you don't understand what a hysterical addition to the fic this is -2022 pom). “The suit, the flowers, and all of the other things up until now. The entire atmosphere and even the Confession Moon! It was all leading up to the same thing.”

(it's genuinely alarming how accurate i got this characterization, pls god watch the show and read this again -2022 pom)

He tried to follow, but she was moving around very enthusiastically and making gestures that he couldn’t decipher. “Ah, y-yes. That’s what I-”

Mako held her hand up suddenly. “You don’t have to explain yourself! I understand.”

A warm, bubbly feeling spread through his chest at her words. His cheeks were red, but he looked at her with a tender expression. “Mankanshoku…”

She smiled, bright and cheery. He had feared for no reason. This person would not harm him, surely. She was kind and honest and brave. Why had he been afraid?

“We’re friends, senpai, so I’m going to help you! I’ll help make sure your confession goes perfectly!”

He blinked down at her with a dreamy expression before his expectations completely shattered. Gamagoori didn’t attempt to mask his horror as he stuttered, “N-no, M-Mankanshoku, you d-don’t-”

Mako made a sound of disappointment as she nimbly snagged the bouquet from his hand. “Aww, senpai, something happened to your flowers.” She waved the broken and droopy bouquet in front of him before tossing it over her shoulder. “If you’re going to confess you should buy some better flowers first. I’ll help you pick some out!”

Before he could muster a response, she took hold of his finger and dragged him along through the crowd. Those in their path wisely moved out of the way; Mako was too busy detailing all the reasons why he couldn’t possibly make a confession without nice flowers to notice anyone else. She pulled him to an outdoor market full of stands selling various wares.

“Mankanshoku, I have to-”

“Flowers!” she broke in, pointing. She tugged him forward again, ending up in front of a colorful flower stand. “Ooo! They’re all so bright and pretty!”

“Thank you,” the stand’s owner replied, her wrinkly face stretching in a smile.

“Hmm, what do you think would work best, senpai?” Mako asked, scrutinizing over the selection. “You probably have to think of their meaning.”

She grabbed a bouquet of yellow daisies and held it aloft saying, “These are saying ‘you are the sun in my sky’.” Then she exchanged those for some pink carnations. “And this is ‘my feelings are like a gentle blush’.” Her next pick became red roses. “These say ‘my blood is raging with passion for you’.” Mako’s face became serious as she advised, “These are only for the most serious intentions, senpai. Are you ready for that? You know. That.” He watched as Mako made a strange gesture which involved her pinky.

No, he certainly didn’t know that. He was starting to sweat more again at the very suggestion of…whatever that was. “Uh…” he uttered lamely, looking between the flowers and her intent expression. “What do you suggest, Mankanshoku? Surely you can advise me well.”

Mako blinked and then smiled wide. “I won’t let you down!” Gamagoori thought he could bask in such a smile endlessly. It warmed him to his core and chased away any apprehension that remained. He wanted to receive that smile from her again and again.

“I think this one!” Mako announced finally, choosing a multicolor bouquet. It was rather large but packed with a diverse number of flowers of different colors.

“Why this one?” he asked, honestly curious.

Mako stood triumphantly, hands on her hips as she explained, “Because it says ‘I want everything’! Gamagoori-senpai isn’t the type to hold back his emotions.” Mako punched the air in front of her. “You let them all out.”

Gamagoori quickly attempted to cover his blush. “That…that is a good answer, Mankanshoku.” He turned to pay the old woman while feeling light-headed. While Mako was not the most observant or attentive about certain things, in other ways she understood a lot more than one would expect. It was what made her so incomprehensible. That was simply her.

After he had paid he turned back to her and asked, “What else can I do, Mankanshoku?”

Mako took on a thoughtful expression. “It couldn’t hurt to give her some cute gifts! Girls like cute gifts.”

He nodded and picked up her large bag to carry it for her. “Alright.” Bashfully, he held out his hand and said, “Take my hand, Mankanshoku. So I don’t lose you.”

She placed her hand in his without hesitation and led the way. Gamagoori held her small hand gently as he allowed her to pull him to various stands. He felt content in a way he had never felt before. Never would he have expected such simple acts to feel so meaningful.

Whatever Mako suggested he was willing to accept. She looked overjoyed that she was being helpful to him. Chocolates, stuffed animals, matching cellphone charms. Mako pointed out things and advised him on why they would be perfect. She truly wanted to see him succeed and had no inkling that it was entirely about her in the first place.

Finally, when she was satisfied he had enough gifts and his arms were loaded with all the things she suggested he buy, Mako decided they should head back so Gamagoori could have his ‘shining moment’. The small girl bounced excitedly in front of him as she led the way, commenting on how she didn’t think anyone could say no to him. He smiled faintly at the encouragement before he looked ahead of them. The group was in sight now.

“Mankanshoku,” he voiced, stopping. “I have to tell you the truth.”

Mako stopped moving and turned to watch as he knelt, shifting all of the items and placing them before her. This time he was more careful with the flowers which he held out in the space between them.

For a moment, Mako simply stared. But then she clapped her hands together and said, “Oh yeah! Maybe you should practice what you want to say.” Mako ruffled her fingers through her hair and posed dramatically. “I’m ready. Steal my heart, if you can.”

Gamagoori swallowed. She had truly taken on a daunting form, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. “Mankanshoku!” he said loudly, his face steely determination. “I like you! Please accept my invitation to go on a date! The time and place is of your choosing!”

Finally he had said it. Gamagoori watched Mako’s face, waiting for her response. She appeared to be contemplating his words carefully. That was fine with him. He would rather her be completely certain than feel forced into something she didn’t want. The choice was now hers.

After a long pause, Mako broke her pose and clapped eagerly. “That was great, senpai.” She placed a hand on the back of her head, smiling bashfully. “I was so caught up in the moment I almost forgot it was for someone else. You probably should say the name of the girl when you practice. Ahh…she’s going to love it…” She was smiling dreamily with a far off look in her eyes.

Gamagoori revealed a small smile and said, “I did say her name.”

Mako’s mouth opened into an ‘o’ shape and she stared at him for many long moments. He remained where he was, waiting for her to come to her own conclusion. The moment broke with Mako jumping and exclaiming loudly, “What?! M-m-me?!”

“Yes. You.” He blushed deeply from where he knelt before her. “Forgive me, for taking so long.”

It was then that Mako was reduced to a babbling mess, gesturing and speaking too quickly for anyone to truly understand. Gamagoori finally felt calm; the release of his feelings had freed him from his fear. Gently he took hold of her hand and set the bouquet before her. She grasped it, settling down as she looked at the vibrant flowers.

“You are right. I want everything.”

She blushed, burying her face into the flowers. It appeared that now she was the one who could not speak. By then, the others were coming towards them. Most specifically, Ryuuko was. It seemed the diversion tactics had finally worn out.

“What the hell is going on?” Ryuuko asked, staring at Gamagoori kneeling and the pile of gifts in front of him. Mako turned, waddled on wobbly legs, and planted her red face into Ryuuko’s chest. “Wha…what’s wrong, Mako?!”

The response was muffled, but not enough to mask the meaning. “I’ve got a…d-date with Gamagoori-senpai!”

His heart soared.

rereading this i actually really love the concept and even 8 1/2 years later the characterization totally holds up! i'm also immediately rewatching kill la kill 🙈 14yo me deserves a nobel prize

#pom.chat #kill la kill #ira gamagoori #mako mankanshoku #sfw

[voids-voyager]

As a fan of horror who is also an absolute wuss when it comes to actually consuming horror, I am so fucking stoked Horikoshi implemented a fuck load of horror imagery and theming with Dabi and his whole story. The Frankenstein resemblance has been mentioned everywhere already so I won't touch on that but be sure I love that too.

With just his looks there's so much. The burnt purple skin. The staples covering him and looking to be holding him together, made even better and gruesome with Horikoshi's detailed artwork. His black clothing and ripped jacket that also has staples on them(gotta follow that theme). The bright blue eyes that you just know would appear to glow in his eyes sockets when framed by the purple scarring under them, like permanent eyebags. That his whole lower jaw is scarred and stapled so you can almost see Dabi unhinging his jaw in your mind. In Japan there's a supernatural creature called Onibi, spirits born from the corpses of humans and animals who take the form of blue fire. Are often also resentful spirits. Blue fire in general seems to be associate with the supernatural and the dead there(anyone who knows more feel free to correct me or add onto that tho).

But even beyond his design, his whole backstory and character is jam-packed with horror imagery. The Todoroki's being the most traditionally japanese in the whole series adds even more(seriously Japan has such amasing horror stories, whether it's movies or games or books, if you're interested pls try and check some stuff out).

Died as a young child, and kids in horror movies are both infamous and a staple, especially when they're wearing white. Touya died wearing his white track suit. His new costume is based on japanese burial clothing. Touya burned to death alone on a mountain, a cremation of his own making. No corpse was ever found except part of his jaw. The horror stories writes itself with just that, like you cannot tell me there's not an urban legend based on Touya's death on that mountain in-universe. Is the ghost of a child said to forever wander the mountain, searching for his lost jaw, or waiting for someone to finally join him in his solitude?

But then he didn't actually die. He was brought to a facility that was actually a front for human experimentation and also works as a supply of spare children in case the plans of the man behind all this don't work out with the child he has already taken. Touya wakes up to find out his body is unfamiliar to him. Three years has passed him by. His body was so far gone parts from other people had to be supplied. Normal in the case of skin grafts, but what else needed to be switched out? And either way Touya was operated on without his knowledge and then watched over and taken care of by people he does not know. And when he wakes up no one refers to him by name and he's told he can't go home.

But he does. And finds a shrine dedicated to him, his existence forgotten and left behind, and the rage and grief this spikes in him is enough for a new entity to be born. Something dark and twisted but stronger than Touya. Someone who can take revenge for the life that was lost in such a cruel way. No one else will, so Touya, Dabi, has to do it himself.

Always the ghost of the Todoroki family, there for others to simper by his shrine and use his memory in any way they please to fit them.

In reality he's been a vengeful spirit for years, finally taking his control and agency back. The sacrifice come back to life to take revenge on those who wronged him. The ghost that escaped the house.

#bnha #dabi #horikoshi really went ahead and decided “I'm going to create a character with so many horror vibes and theming” #and created one of the most unique character designs ever #i just love his design so much and having all of *waves upwards* that #makes it even better i just love dabi so much

[delicris]

ohhh, bolts and nuts! a very curious title, i'm intrigued 👀

BOLTS AND NUTS MY BABY

wolfstar, explicit, CZECH REMUS

this one is a modern au that takes place in my home country czechia!! it's a v bittersweet story of many first and last times. a lot of czech culture and references to it, i took the title itself from a czech song called šrouby a matice. the whole thing is written retrospectively (and from remus' pov), which is a choice i made to show that the story has already been told and there is nothing u can do to change it... right?

some of the tags include: gasps AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, slice of life, trans sirius black and comfort (a huge motif, i love writing about different types of comfort and the additional feelings it brings)

THE PINTEREST BOARD HAS ALMOST 600 PINS AND I AM SO PROUD OF IT

aaand a lil snippet for u. featuring remus's gay panic and sirius acting out a train:

“Oh, um… I’m sorry? I don’t speak a word of Czech and I do realize that’s like one of the rudest fucking things ever — I can’t even say ‘thank you’, how did I think I was going to do this? Anyways, point is… You speak any English?”

Now it’s Remus’s turn to stare because one, it’s too early for this, as we’ve established a billion and one times before, and two, how the fuck did he watch this guy and didn’t catch the English swearing… And before he can even properly blink his shock away, the stranger is talking yet again.

“Fuck, okay… I,” he starts, fumbling a little and pointing at himself, “ticket, um… fuck. Train, uh… shoo shoo,” he tries to vocalize and act out a train. And Remus just fucking loses it, laughing so earnestly, surprising both the man in front of him and himself as he brings the attention of the entire three other people who are standing at the station with them towards the two of them. He doesn’t mind it a single bit and chokes out: “I know English, but now I wish I kept that going for a little longer.” Which might be a rude thing to say to someone you’ve met literally seconds ago, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much as he tries to catch his breath and regain at least some leftover dignity. And, to his delight, this whole thing actually makes the guy in front of him laugh. Oh, he’s so fucking beautiful.

Now he can make out the finer details of… everything. His earrings are stacked on both of his ears, a mix of silver and gold which is present in every piece of jewellery he’s wearing. Under the leather jacket is hiding a flowy white shirt with way too many buttons opened, making room for the chest tattoos — all in all, Remus is fucked. But he can’t let himself get embarrassed, so as soon as the man starts talking, he stops staring like a kid in a candy store.

“Now that you’re done laughing at my piss poor attempts at acting out a train,” he starts, tone playful and a smile spreading across his cheeks, “I’d really appreciate if you’d help me out with this fucking thing. Need to buy a ticket to Budapest and this fucker isn’t doing its job.”

#fic: bolts and nuts (a connection for eternity) #ugh i love them sm #my fav wolfstar i've ever rotated around in my head fr #could talk about them for hourssss #these bitches r so tragic RAAAAAAAAH

[cadavercowboy]

Restless Heart

Pairing: Steve Kemp x Reader

Summary: Part of loving somebody means accepting their flaws. And loving yourself means coming to terms with your own, no matter how fucked up they may be.

Word Count: 16.6k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Violence & injury. Cannibalism. Forced cannibalism. Kidnapping & imprisonment. Oral sex. Fingering. Unprotected sex. Slapping. Blood kink. Spit kink. Cum play. Dub-con/non-con elements (seriously, please heed this warning). Stockholm syndrome. I kind of redeemed Steve, and that’s probably a crime in and of itself.

A/N: Call me toxic, but I loved this character and wanted to give him a happy ending lmao. This baby is long as hell, but I hope you’ll still strap in for the ride and enjoy the journey into exactly how fucked up I am. :) This role may truly have broken me and I put my whole entire heart, soul, and pussy into this piece...so any feedback is greatly appreciated and certainly welcomed. <3

Your chin sits cradled in your palm as you watch the remnants of your third martini sloshing around the glass you swirl in the opposite hand. Another night, another piss-poor date…story of your life. This one hadn’t even made it past the appetizers before you were excusing yourself to the bathroom and making your escape. Well, you should have expected that outcome when he showed up wearing a fedora and greeted you with a haughty “m’lady”. Damn those dating apps and their frighteningly inaccurate algorithms. 

It’s a Friday night and here you sit, alone and jaded at the most painfully boring bar in the city; just you, the grouchy businessmen, and the mysterious rich assholes tucked in the shadowy corners with their day-old newspapers. Maybe you can tempt one of them into taking you home…seduce them, fall in love, inherit their fortunes. If only. After the week you’ve had, you certainly deserve it.

Monday had been a nightmare when you misplaced the keys to your apartment and spent all fucking day waiting for the superintendent to get back to you with a new set. Tuesday saw you without a means of transportation when some piece of shit decided to steal your car. Wednesday? You left your phone on the bus you’d been forced to take on account of the grand theft auto. Thursday you were held up in the parking garage of the mall — where you just bought yourself a new phone — and had both your wallet and your will to live taken from you. 

Now with a new phone but no wallet, you sit and lick the wounds of your bruised ego, hoping one of these old farts will take pity on your situation and buy you a nice steak or something. Maybe you just need to get laid. Either way, as you glance around the vacant and dim restaurant, you don’t have any hope of that coming to fruition.

Instead, you pull out your phone and tap one of the many notifications from Tinder. You must really hate yourself if you’re seriously sitting here considering entertaining yet another disappointing man. Knowing full well you’re at risk of seeing at least one unsolicited dick pic, you open a message thread from one of your many matches and begin to type out a short message.

Before you can click send, someone sidles up to the bar and tosses their keys onto it with a clatter, their exhausted voice requesting a Manhattan. Sparing a glance in the stranger’s direction, you nearly choke on the plastic drink stirrer you’ve been absently chewing on. This guy is fucking hot. And he’s at least 20 years younger than any other man in here which has your interest piqued immediately.

The tall man sheds his jacket and drapes it carefully over the back of the barstool he climbs into. He rolls up the sleeves of his expensive-looking burgundy sweater and anxiously runs his hands through the soft tresses of his hair. You know you’re staring, but you just don’t care. He’s beautiful. When the bartender places a highball glass before the man, you watch him take the first sip, enraptured by the way his smooth lips part and his throat ripples with each gulp he takes. He finishes the drink in one go and you wonder if perhaps this stranger has had a week just as awful as yours. You don’t have a chance to ask.

“Do I have something on my face or is there another reason you’re over there staring at me like I'm a piece of meat?” he wonders, eyes turned forward and not even looking at you.

His unexpected words make you hesitate for a second, though the alcohol coursing through your veins has you loosened up just enough to be a little bolder than usual.

“Sorry, I was just seeing how long it would take for you to buy me a drink,” you purr flirtatiously. “The rest of these guys have been really disappointing.”

That earns you a slight chuckle and the man finally looks your way. His eyes are the bluest you’ve ever seen and you find yourself lost in them for the briefest moment. Lines form in the smooth skin of his clean-shaven face as he laughs and his nose crinkles adorably. It’s probably just your libido talking, but you have to admit that he’s one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. A little older and maybe even too shy for your usual tastes, but you’ll try anything once.

“How about you tell me your name first?” he counters playfully, albeit somewhat nervously. “And then maybe we’ll see about that drink.”

“Uh oh, a man who plays games? That’s a big red flag.”

“No, no…no games,” he assures you. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Even more dangerous,” you flirt with a poorly-executed wink.

You offer him your name and he introduces himself as Steve, taking your hand in his much larger one to give it a strong and unexpectedly confident shake. The tips of his fingers burn with electricity as he drags them away from your flesh, his skin soft and smooth. Your eyes are locked and you can already feel yourself falling.

The drinks flow and eventually Steve does politely offer to pay for yours, though you’re smart enough to stop before you’ve had too many. At some point, you move from the bar to a cozy U-shaped booth, the leather seat cradling your clumsy body as you stumble into it. Steve is still nursing the last Manhattan he ordered and you’ve officially lost count of how many he’s had by now. 

Your senses are dulled, but in the boozy haze in your brain, they all feel heightened somehow. Ears ringing with the soft jazzy tune playing from the speakers, your skin buzzing with the soft sensation of your clothes shifting and dragging, your eyes a bit fuzzy, but pointedly honed in on Steve’s gorgeous features and the slight flush that blooms along his sharp cheekbones.

He fishes one of the scarlet cherries from the pool of tepid alcohol in his glass and holds it up by its stem to inspect it. The sight of him squinting suspiciously at the itty bitty piece of fruit sends you into a fit of giggles and he’s soon to join you. Scooting a bit further away, you pop your mouth open and implore Steve to throw the cherry your way so you can catch it. He seems to think it’s not a wise choice given how drunk you are, but the excitement shining in your glassy eyes is irresistible. Besides, he knows the Heimlich maneuver.

With a wet slap, the cherry lands perfectly in the center of your tongue and upon your gasp of elated surprise, you nearly swallow the thing whole. You choke briefly and Steve's face is awash with worry so you hold your hand up to let him know you’re fine. The cherry bursts with a mixture of sweet juices and bitter alcohol when you bite into it, chewing the fleshy skin and holding the skinny stem between your teeth. 

As your jaw moves side to side and your expression becomes deeply concentrated, Steve realizes what you’re doing, though he has no reason to believe you’ll be successful. Your eyebrows lift, a silent warning for him to be prepared. Sticking your tongue out, you pluck the stem from between your lips; perfectly tied in a little knot.

“Holy shit, she’s done it,” he drawls in amazement.

“My best kept secret,” you declare with a flourishing bow. “And my best party trick.”

“Well, I’m certainly impressed.”

“So…tell me your secret,” you prompt, leaning your elbows heavily on the tabletop. “You’ve gotta have something interesting after all these years of…life.”

Steve scoffs in disbelief, his body angling closer to yours. “Are you calling me old?”

“Nope, no…not at all,” you slur slightly, poking good-naturedly at his surprisingly muscular bicep. “I’m just sayin’ that you’re…more experienced. So what are you hiding, Steve?”

Something dark flashes in his crystalline eyes, though he’s quick to mask it with a tense chuckle. You don’t know precisely what it is, but the passing shadow has your skin prickling. Had you been just a little less drunk, perhaps you’d have heard the warning bells your whole body is setting off.

“Jeez, I don’t know,” he whispers, dragging a hand along his chin as he stalls to give himself time to think of a response. “I’m really good with my hands.”

Steve’s admittance is met with your stunned silence. Which is then followed by a raucous burst of laughter that has the few people lingering in the bar turning their heads your way.

“God, that was awful wasn’t it?” Steve groans, the blush in his cheeks growing even more prominent.

“It was…it was pretty bad,” you agree.

“It wasn’t just a come-on,” he’s quick to defend. “I’m uh, I’m actually a reconstructive surgeon. Which I guess isn’t really a good secret.”

“What? No way! Really?” you shift closer, your arm inches away from Steve’s as he captures your full attention with his confession. “So you do like boob jobs and butt lifts and stuff?”

“Something like that.”

His earlier bashfulness has returned and there’s something endearing about it. You pry a bit more, asking Steve question after question, first about his job and then about his family and any other boring information you might need to know about a complete stranger. When you begin to tell him about yourself and your lack of family and limited choice of friends, his eyes are alight; not with the usual pity you expect, but with a sense of understanding. A connection.

“Okay, so your turn,” Steve states, attempting to lighten the heaviness that has fallen. “Tell me something you don’t want me to know about you.”

“If I tell you, does that not defeat the whole…” you trail off when you see Steve’s admonishing expression. 

“C’mon, you said you didn’t like games. Gotta get it all out on the table,” he demands, waving both hands theatrically over the dark wood surface before him.

“Okay, fine. Hmm, let’s see.”

You tap the tips of your fingers against your pursed lips, making a show of your extended moment of contemplation. Steve watches on, dipping his slender fingers into his glass to grab the second cherry that swims in it; he wraps his lips around the fruit, popping it off the stem and chewing it thoughtfully.

“I don’t want you to know…that I hate this,” you whisper, gesturing vaguely between the pair of you. 

“Oh,” he responds, shocked. “Oh, I…I’m sorry, I guess.”

“No, no…I don’t mean you. You seem cool.  I just mean dating. I hate all the awkward first conversations and pretending to get to know someone when you know they just wanna get in your pants.”

Steve nods in agreement as he downs the last of his drink and slams the glass back onto the ring of condensation that stains the napkin on the table. You go on to regale him with the many horror stories of your latest dates, and before long you’re bumping shoulders as you laugh in tandem at your own suffering. Steve calms himself with a sigh, staring at you, long and hard.

“W-what?” you murmur shyly.

“Nothing, it’s just…you have a really pretty smile.”

His compliment warms you even more than the alcohol, though it’s the liquor you blame for what you do next. Heaving forward, you wrap a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and smash your mouth to his in an uncoordinated kiss. He makes a sound of surprise that prompts you to pull away. The sight of his parted lips draws your attention, quivering and slick from your kiss; begging for another. You’re eager to deliver.

Steve groans once more, though this time it is an indication of pleasure. His wide hands find their place against the small of your back and along your hip, pulling you in close until you’re nearly in his lap. He separates from your exploring mouth and takes a moment to nuzzle the tip of his sharp nose along your jawline before you capture his mouth once more and nip sharply at the plush, swollen flesh; the growl you receive only solidifies your decision to take this complete stranger home with you. You know you’ve got him, but more importantly, Steve knows he’s got you. And he won’t ever let you go now.

One less drink and maybe you wouldn’t be crashing through your front door, lip-locked with someone you met only hours ago. He pushes you roughly against the small table in the hall, knocking your keys from your hand and threading his fingers through your hair to hold your head in place. You moan wantonly, his mouth sealing around your lower lip as he sucks harshly.

When your fingers dig impatiently under his jacket and push it off his shoulders, he’s quick to obey your silent command. He sheds the garment with shocking finesse before doing the same with yours. Steve fits himself between your thighs and when you lift your hips to press against the growing hardness in his slacks, he pulls back.

“What’s wrong?” you pant.

“No, it’s just…” he sighs and your heart drops. “Maybe it’s too much…too fast.

You can hardly believe your ears. You’ve been ready to pounce on Steve since you left the restaurant — just barely kept your clothes on during the taxi ride back home — and now he’s changing his mind? Not wanting to come off as a pushy asshole, you slip past Steve with a deep breath and rub your hands agitatedly over the sides of your face. 

Without anything else to do, you begin anxiously gathering a blanket from the floor and empty takeout containers from the cluttered coffee table. You toss the blanket on the couch and dispose of the trash before whirling around to look at Steve. He stands at the edge of your tiny living room, hands on his hips and his lips pressed into a firm line. Looking down, you spot the subtle edge of his erection through the thin black material of his pants and you notice his expression is pained.

“Can I get you anything?” you extend awkwardly. “Something to drink? Something to eat?”

Steve lets out a shaky breath as he lowers himself into your favorite high back chair. He can’t even look at you and you’re beginning to accept that this night is no longer going to end the way you want. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re quickly learning is his most telling nervous habit.

“Just you.”

The fire blazing in his light eyes when they finally meet yours nearly knocks you on your ass. You trip over your feet and past the coffee table, climbing into Steve’s lap and immediately connecting your lips to his. His arms curl around you, wrapping you in his warmth and trapping you against his broad chest. Forgetting any reservations you may have had, you lower your weight against his thighs and grind your covered core against his straining erection.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hair and gently tilting your head backwards. 

Smiling to yourself, you do it again, more slowly this time. You swear you feel him twitch beneath you. Steve tilts your head further, exposing the length of your throat so he can latch his lips onto the thin, sensitive skin. He sucks lightly, dragging his teeth along the edge of the light bruise he leaves in his wake. A shiver runs through your body and a breathy moan escapes your parted lips. 

“Tell me where your room is before I take you right here,” Steve demands darkly.

One less drink and maybe you’d have kept your wits about you and kept your clothes on. You wouldn’t have walked straight into the clutches of a man who’d soon have you questioning all your morals and everything you’ve ever known about dating and feelings. You wouldn’t have been so drunk on lust that you’re leading a complete stranger into the safe sanctuary of your bedroom. He wouldn’t be tugging your shirt over your head as he sheds his own and you reach for one another’s pants to get rid of those, too.

You’re out of your jeans and dropping your bra before Steve manages to stumble and struggle his way out of a single pant leg. Your corresponding chuckles mingle when he finally frees himself and tumbles against you, playfully pushing you onto the bed beneath him. The smile that splits your face is so wide that your cheeks burn and you find it mirrored on the handsome face before you. Steve’s movements are a bizarre conglomerate of a man confident in his prowess though powerless against the nerves brought about by a beautiful, unfamiliar woman. 

“Is this okay?” he wonders, kind eyes meeting yours as he toys with the lacy edge of your panties. 

“More than okay,” you reassure him, pulling him into a long kiss.

Steve’s fingers move languidly, barely touching the damp gusset of your underwear, but earning a sharp gasp just the same. He repeats the motion, this time adding a bit more pressure and the material dampens further with your arousal. His hand dives gently beneath your underwear then, his long dexterous fingers prodding pointedly at your sensitive bud as his mouth drops to suck delicately at your nipple. 

Though his tenderness may possibly hint at inexperience, you’re quickly learning that’s not the case. The complete opposite, in fact. Steve teases you, his fingers swirling with not nearly enough speed to bring you over the edge, but enough to send you into a frenzy. You writhe and whimper under his ministrations, only further turned on by his smug expression as he watches you come apart for him.

“Does that feel good?” he taunts.

“Fuck, yes,” you grit through clenched teeth as he pays particular attention to your clit.

“Good girl,” he purrs, nearly setting off your orgasm.

When he twists his hand to ease a finger along your slit and into your pussy, his thumb presses firmly against the bud and your back bends upwards off the mattress. Sensing how close you are, Steve opts not to deny you what you want any longer. His nose drags along your cheek, his lips kissing you along the way.

“Go ahead,” he allows.

Given his permission, you let go and cum with a relieved cry, soaking his fingers as your own dig into his muscle-bound arm. Steve talks you through your orgasm, soft and encouraging words that have you floating along in sheer ecstasy. He allows you to bask in the warmth of your release, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into your thigh as he releases himself from the confines of his boxers.

Your eyes drop to his cock and widen at the size of it as it swings between his legs. He chuckles almost bashfully, leaning forward to capture your mouth in an unhurried kiss. Swiveling your hips towards him, you moan into Steve’s mouth and use your body to beg him for more. His lips part on a low laugh and he separates your mouths with a wet smack.

“You ready?” he inquires, taking his cock in his hand and swirling the heated, glistening tip through your sodden folds.

“Take me.”

Your breathless words are all the consent he needs and he pushes his weight forward, the bulbous head of his dick breaching your entrance with delicious friction. He allows you to adjust to his length as he feeds you every inch little by little. You’re not exactly inexperienced, but you can certainly say you’ve ever been with someone quite so caring or mindful of your pleasure. Steve doesn’t just take the way most men do; he wants you to enjoy yourself, he gets off on seeing you in the throes of orgasmic bliss.

Your heart clenches at the tender gaze Steve levels on you and your core clenches in kind when he delivers a pointed thrust. Any unexpected feelings that begin creeping in are long forgotten when he raises your hips, angling your body to better accept his languorous strokes. He keeps his speed slow and consistent, ratcheting your pleasure up, up, up…until you’re at the precipice. The moment he knows you’re close, he braces himself and cants his hips in a crazed fashion. You ripple and constrict around him with a keening cry, the delight of your orgasm washing over you in waves.

Steve watches your enraptured face as he makes you cum; taking in every nuance, every little mewling sound. He’s close now too, pistoning into your pliant body and burying himself as deeply as he can until the very last second. Very nearly not pulling out in time, Steve fists his slick cock; stroking once, twice, three times before his cum sprays across your lower stomach in a messy array of thick white fluid.

One less drink and maybe you wouldn’t have had the best sex of your life or fallen asleep in the comforting arms of the loveliest stranger you’ve ever met. You’ll have to remember to tip the bartender extra next time.

The sun’s warm rays fall over your face blindingly, but that’s not what rouses you from your restful slumber. It’s the warm, stubbly kisses being peppered along your bare shoulder and the heat seeping into your skin from the man fitted snugly against your back. As you awaken, so does the heated flesh pressed against your backside. You can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt quite so peaceful.

“Morning,” you murmur, your mouth barely moving out of fear of morning breath.

“Hi there,” Steve responds, chuckling against your warm flesh.

“Whatcha doin’ back there?” you say as you stretch languidly.

“Thinking about how perfect you are,” Steve admits.

Your heart clenches and skips at his words. He speaks them so seriously that you’re not sure whether he’s kidding. All you’re sure of is the way your heartbeat kicks up a notch and butterflies take flight in your growling stomach.

“I think you’re still drunk,” you deflect.

“You have such beautiful skin,” Steve praises, ignoring your comment; his hands running fervently over your hips and down your thighs before sneaking between them. “So soft…tender.”

His comment strikes you as a bit odd, though he’s quick to distract you by dipping his fingers between your legs and sweeping them through the slick he finds already awaiting him. You hum heatedly, allowing him to explore your moist flesh as he wishes, reveling in his masterful touch. It takes him no time at all to make you cum — first with his fingers and then again and again with his mouth — and you’re eager to recompense, though he assures you it isn’t necessary.

It’s a routine you grow accustomed to over the next few weeks: inviting Steve over on as many nights as he has free and waking up in the pleasant warmth of his embrace. Until one morning you wake to a cold and empty bed. For a moment you worry that your blissful bubble is about to burst and you’re going to be ghosted by the first person you’ve actually liked in months. And you really, really like him — maybe more — so you don’t want that to happen. The savory scent of bacon that soon surrounds you assuages that worry. 

Donning the cozy cashmere sweater Steve had shed the night before, you climb out of bed and pad barefoot to the kitchen. There you find a glorious sight — one which has your heart racing and warming all over again — Steve clad only in his expensively branded black boxers, holding a spatula and bent over a pan of sizzling bacon. Knowing you hadn’t had much in the way of ingredients, you wonder how early he’d gotten up to go out and get food to make for you.

“Hey, you,” he greets sweetly, plating up a stack of fluffy pancakes.

“Good morning, chef,” you respond, standing on your toes to give him a chaste kiss.

“So here’s another secret about me,” he begins with a smile. “I’m actually a really good cook.”

“I never would have guessed.”

He smiles at your joking tone, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t usually cook for people. My tastes are a bit…unconventional.”

“Yeah, I mean…pancakes. That’s risky.”

Steve kisses the tip of your nose and pushes you towards the small table in the kitchen. Before long, he joins you, carrying a plate of pancakes and one stacked full of bacon. It all feels very domestic: the guy you’re hooking up with making you breakfast and kissing you so sweetly. You can’t deny just how much you like it. Thanking Steve for the thoughtful gesture, you direct him to the utensil drawer as he endeavors to find some forks. Digging into the greasy pile of meat while you wait, you nibble on a bite of bacon and hum contentedly at the flavor of it. It’s sweet and syrupy and tastes unlike any bacon you’ve had before. It’s absolutely delicious.  

“What is this?” you wonder, feeding the rest of the slice into your mouth. “What kind of bacon?”

“Candy bacon.”

“You mean candied?” you correct. “It’s really good, I’ve never had it before!”

Not wanting to be rude and speak with his mouth full, Steve remains quiet and merely chuckles dryly. In the back of his mind, he pictures a once-familiar woman. The young, short blonde girl who worked at the hospital’s pharmacy. She’d caught his attention immediately and though he wanted so badly to get close to her, he knew better than to shit where he eats…just like his father always taught him. But when she left her job and moved outside the city, he could no longer resist. She was the perfect target, the sweet and innocent Candy Marshall. He wonders whether her family is still looking for her.

Steve really liked Candy, so much in fact that he almost felt bad when he finally had to get rid of her. It’s always harder to work with the women he knows, but he rather likes it; he finds that he enjoys the personal aspect of it. He’s looking forward to introducing you to that part of him soon, too; the initial reveal is always his favorite part.

“I was thinking about going away,” Steve declares as he clears the dirty dishes from the table and brings them to you at the sink. “Would you be interested?”

“In going? With you?” you wonder, soapy water dripping from your hands.

“Yeah, I mean…it’s just something to think about,” he says, wavering slightly. “Fuck it, y’know. Why not, right?”

“Yeah, fuck it,” you laugh. “I’d love to come with you.”

Steve gathers you into his arms, hardly believing that you’ve agreed to come along. It’s almost too easy, but he kind of loves that about you. No games. He sweeps you off your feet, laying wet kisses all over your face and promising you’re going to have the best time…an unforgettable trip, for sure.

The driveway Steve turns down is long and winding. Trees line the paved path and block your view of anything surrounding the property. Before long, a massive structure slips into your line of sight and you’re amazed by the architecture of the house he stops in front of. It looks like something straight out of a magazine; a home that boasts wealth and taste.

“Here we are,” Steve announces, climbing out of the car to grab your bags.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you check the time as you follow Steve to the door and wait for him to unlock it. You notice that you don’t have service though you don’t pay it too much attention. He swings the door open to reveal an artistically decorated space, the walls are hung with abstract paintings and the furniture is eclectic and cultured. You exclaim in awe and Steve shrugs modestly as you compliment his choice of decor. 

He moves to the kitchen, leaving you to explore as he prepares a drink for you. In his absence, you check your phone once more, wanting to let your closest friend and neighbor know that you’ve arrived safely. Instead, you find that you still have no service and are thus unable to do so. Steve comes in then, carrying two glasses of amber liquid and a smile that could — and does — melt your heart.

“Hey, I can’t get any service. Do you have wifi here?”

Steve hums contemplatively as he sets the glasses down on an end table. “Must be out again. The service is pretty spotty up here, but if you walk around sometimes you can catch a few bars,” he responds dismissively. “C’mere, you gotta try this drink.”

Pocketing your cell, you join him on an impressively comfortable couch and accept the glass he hands to you. The chilled liquid seeps through the thin cup and condensation forms against your warm palm as you sip the drink within. It’s bitter and spicy and fruity and you nod your approval as Steve watches you test the flavors on your tongue.

“Good, right?” he asks.

“Very,” you agree. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“I can think of one thing,” he purrs, replacing your glass on the table as he reaches out for you.

You allow Steve to pull you into his lap and you look down at him with adoration written all over your face. His hands journey from your shoulder blades, down your back, and over your hips where they eventually come to rest on your ass. Using his grip on your backside, he pushes his crotch upwards into yours.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” you wonder breathlessly.

“I’m not good at keeping my hands off of you,” he murmurs, the whiskey on his own breath mixing with yours as he kisses you heatedly. “Just wanna eat you up.”

It’s at that exact moment your stomach decides to growl loudly, effectively ruining the moment. The drive up had been long and you’re starving, but there are much more pressing matters at hand. Steve chuckles beneath you, peering up at you with an expectant face and a crooked smirk. He ignores the way your hips swivel against his and inhales deeply as he observes you.

“I guess I should feed you, huh?” he comments.

You lean in, pressing your forehead to the silky material of his button-up shirt and whine.

“I’m not that kind of hungry, though,” you whisper against his shoulder which shakes with laughter beneath you.

“We have all weekend for that,” he assures you, tapping your ass lightly as he begins to shift you to your feet. “Up.”

You obey, although you do so begrudgingly. Steve captures your lips in a toe-curling kiss and takes your hand, leading you into an immaculate kitchen. Setting you up on a high stool at the counter, he fiddles with the dials on the stove and flits about the kitchen; bouncing from the fridge to the cabinets as he whips up a meal for you. The room fills with the savory scent of garlic, onions, and browning meat and Steve hums along to the soft rock playing from the phonograph in the next room. By the time he’s plating up the food, you're sure your stomach is beginning to eat itself.

“Here you are, my dear,” Steve announces, draping a hand towel over his shoulder as he sets the dish before you and offers you a fork.

“Smells delish,” you praise, smiling gratefully up at him.

Steve grabs his own fork, bracing his elbows on the countertop as he waits for you to have the first bite. The plate is filled with a small pile of handmade pasta, complete with two over-sized meatballs. It’s a simple meal, but at this point you’d be willing to eat almost anything. Opting to try his pasta first, you stab the tines of your utensil into several pieces before sliding them off the fork with your teeth; the taste and texture are better than anything you’ve had before, though you only have store-bought to compare it to. Next, you slice a chunk off the sauce-coated meatball and lift it to your lips. 

You don’t notice the way Steve’s eyes track your every movement as you raise the bite of meat to your mouth; his pulse pounding in his ears and his heart racing. Your tongue peeks out, sweeping a remnant drop of sauce from your lips as you chew thoughtfully. The meatball is juicy and perfectly seasoned, something unfamiliar but decadent about its flavor.

“Okay,” you begin, pausing to swallow the mouthful of food. “This is the best meatball I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

“That right there is a $30,000 meatball,” Steve declares, spearing pasta into his own mouth.

It’s obvious in the way you giggle at his admission that you think he’s joking. If only you knew.

“I bet it is,” you chuckle, playing along.

The remainder of the meal is shared in comfortable silence, aside from your pleasured hums as you enjoy Steve’s delicious cooking. When you’re finished he insists that — as his guest — you’re not allowed to help him with the dishes, so he instead prepares a mixed drink for you and sends you away to go explore his home.

He finds you in the ambiently lit sitting room, slowly circling the perimeter and appreciating the extravagant art that adorns each wall. You don’t know he’s entered the room and it allows him to observe you in a natural and completely vulnerable light. As you make your way to the massive canvas that hides his darkest secret, he notices the way you begin to sway slightly. That’s good. 

You lean in towards the odd installation you stand before, taking note of the three dimensional aspects among the thick strokes of oil paint. Upon closer inspection, they appear to be very thin bits of leather, all in varying shades and tones. Bending a bit to get a better look, you lift a hand to touch a section of sleek, white…rocks? No, they almost look like…

“Sweetheart?” Steve barks, prompting you to jump.

Ice cubes rattle loudly in your glass and you nearly spill your drink on the soft carpet. You whirl around to find Steve, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Somehow he’s snuck up on you while you were taking in the decor and you chuckle as you try to slow your racing heart.

“Are those…” you slur, shocked by how dry your mouth feels all of a sudden.

Steve knows what you’re going to ask, though he knows it won’t be necessary for him to confirm. You wobble uneasily, the glass in your hand dangerously close to slipping from your weak fingers. Perfect timing. He utters your name, but you’re too zoned out to respond right away.

“Look at me,” he demands. “Come here.”

You barely manage a single step before your knees buckle and the glass tumbles from your grasp with a dull thud. Steve moves quickly, traversing the room and making it to you moments before your fall face-first onto the floor.

The heaviness in your body makes it almost impossible to move. Your head is throbbing and swimming and it hurts to open your eyes. An inexplicable metallic taste fills your mouth as you move carefully, easing onto your back. Taking in your surroundings, you have no idea where the hell you are. A distorted voice calls out to you, though it seems incredibly far away.

It takes a moment for you to recognize the dulcet tone, but then it registers. Steve. You’re with Steve. You’re at his house. You shift further, sinking into the soft mattress beneath you as you turn and spot him in the opposite corner of the room. Why is he sitting all the way over there?

“How did you sleep?” he prompts blandly.

“Good, I guess,” you croak sheepishly, vaguely aware of a rattling sound as you sit up. “I’m sorry, I don’t even remember—”

As you lift your hand to rub it over your face, your words are halted along with your arm. You hadn’t even noticed it on account of how heavy your limbs felt: the leather cuff around your wrist. Or the one encircling the other arm as well.

And the length of chain padlocked between them.

You stretch your arms away from your body, as if trying to escape your own imprisoned limbs. The thick chain runs along the mattress and behind your seated form where it is attached to a steel loop embedded in the wall. It’s all too much to process at once with your foggy brain so you merely stare dumbly for a long, long moment. You can’t quite determine why you’re dressed in what appear to be tan hospital scrubs or why you’re sitting on a mattress on the floor, either.

“What…what is this?” you whimper, turning back to Steve.

Your question is met only with a sympathetic half-smile. There’s something so eerie and dismissive about it. How can he be so blasé about the fact that you’re chained to a fucking wall?

“Is this…is this a joke?” you wonder, your tone indicating how badly you want it to be that simple. “Steve, please. Tell me this is a joke.”

“I drugged you,” he admits airily, as indifferently as if he’s commenting on the weather.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

The abject horror in your words has him sighing pitifully as he stands from the chair he sits upon and begins to approach. You scurry as far as you can within your confines and push your back up against the wall behind you. He continues to close in on you, stopping just out of reach to crouch before you.

“I’m not. I mean…I kind of am, but you’re not going to feel it. Y’know…’cause I’m a doctor, so I’ve got the strong stuff.”

The creepy smile and the way he waves his hands so casually at his own joke makes your skin crawl. Nothing is making any sense to you and you’re utterly terrified. Your eyes well with tears and your entire body vibrates with dread.

“I…I don’t understand,” you barely manage to whisper.

“I’m going to sell your meat.”

Everything stops then. Your breathing. Your heart. Time.

There’s no possible way you heard that correctly. There’s no way he meant what you think he means when he dropped that bomb like it was no big deal, gesturing vaguely towards your body as he said it. There is no fucking way. 

“Please…don’t do this,” you plead, the tears flowing freely now as you begin to sob. “Please don’t kill me.”

Steve’s face twists piteously at the feeble sounds you emit and he shifts to his knees, drawing nearer to you. His fingers ghost over your ankle and if you had room to run, you’d have pulled away from the way his touch burns your skin.

“Hey, shhh,” he soothes. “I’m not going to kill you. Well, not just yet. People pay me a lot of money for this. I promise I’ll try to keep you alive as long as I possibly can.”

The idea that keeping you alive longer is somehow going to soften the blow of being fucking murdered sends you into a fit, your chest constricts so painfully that you can no longer draw breath. Your lungs feel as though they’re collapsing and the sounds that escape your strangled throat as you begin to hyperventilate are disturbing to say the least. Steve murmurs your name several times, though you cannot make it out over the sounds of your woeful cries; not until he forcefully screams the moniker and you’re forced to quiet the sounds you make.

You still pant and whimper, sniffling as mucus drips unimpeded from your nose. Steve inches closer, crawling over to you and gathering you into his muscular arms to hold your head against his chest. Your cries pick up again and with an arm braced across your chest, he holds your shoulder in one hand and your face in the other. The palm of his hand muffles your cries as he imprisons you against him.

“You’re alright, honey,” he assures you menacingly. “It’s fine. You’re going to be okay.”

You’re too discombobulated to fight him as he rubs his fingers along your scalp and coos quietly into your hair. You never expected to be aware of how you’re going to die and you had certainly not expected to know that it’s coming.

“There you go. No games, right?” he whispers. “That’s what you wanted. Stop being so dramatic.”

His words cause a fresh wave of tears and you hiccup softly as you soak his designer shirt with your sorrow. The gentle pressure of his hands is anything but comforting and when he kisses the top of your head in what you suppose is meant to be a placating gesture before tossing you away from him and standing up, it cracks your chest wide open with defeat.

The next time you see Steve, he’s dressed in wrinkled teal scrubs and wearing an expression of sheer exhaustion. You have no idea how long you’ve been here, only able to tell time by the routine sound of feminine screams you witness every so often. From what you can tell, Steve ventures down to the basement once a day to work on his…patients, which means you’ve been here for at least a week.

There’s something slightly less lonely about knowing you aren’t the only one down here, but that notion is also heartbreaking. You don’t know if the screams you hear belong to the same few women or if he’s cycling through new victims each day. Either way, you live in constant fear; wondering when it will be your turn.

The metallic sound of the lock unlatching is succeeded by the rattle of the slatted door sliding open. The fact that Steve hadn’t beckoned you over to attach your banded wrists to the short chain hanging from a hook near the door like he always does before entering is just further evidence of how tired he is. It’s careless and that’s very unlike the meticulous man. 

He enters looking haggard and his feet drag as he shuffles over with a tray of food in one hand and a disposable cup of what you presume is coffee in the other. Steve lays the tray beside the mattress you’re curled up on, giving you an expectant look. You’ve yet to eat almost anything he’s offered you thus far and you don’t intend to give in now. He bends at the waist, snatching a few green grapes from one of the bowls before he settles on the floor near the opposite wall, placing the cup beside him. His legs are sprawled far apart and he slumps slightly as he chews on the juicy ovular fruit.

“I want you to join me for dinner tomorrow night,” he implores, his voice raspier than usual.

“I want you to go fuck yourself,” you hiss.

You’re not sure where it comes from or why, but your blatant attitude is met with a glare from the rumpled man across the room, one which warns you to tread very carefully going forward. However, your fate is already sealed, so what harm will it do to be as difficult as you possibly can be until your time finally comes? With that in mind, you use your bare toes to shove the tray of food away from you; the glass of water tips over and splashes along the floor and the bowl of soup sloshes messily.

Steve doesn’t immediately react to your act of your defiance, instead slurping noisily from his cup as he stares you down. His eyes are colder than you’re used to, but you stand your ground and hold his gaze.

“You need to eat. If you don’t eat, you’re of no use to me.”

The unspoken threat in his words is deafening. It knocks your temerity down a few notches to be reminded that Steve is in complete control here. He groans lowly as he lifts his weary body from the floor, his over-used joints cracking and popping as he makes his way to the door. The window of opportunity presents itself wonderfully and you spring to your feet the moment his back turns towards you. Unfortunately, Steve’s eyes fall on the forgotten chain dangling near the door and he suddenly realizes his mistake; a realization which prepares him for your assault. 

With a harried yelp, you latch your arms around his neck and jump on his back. Steve grunts in surprise as he pitches forward and tosses you over his shoulder. You barely manage to keep your balance, using your grip on his top to pull him off kilter, the thin fabric tearing loudly. Steve has no patience for your behavior and he smashes his forearm forcefully into your chest. The blow sends you reeling and you trip, your body slamming painfully against the edge of the steel toilet in the corner. 

Upon impact, you know immediately that at least two of your ribs are broken. The searing pain takes your breath away and you cry out, your arms wrapping protectively around your torso. Steve smooths his hands over his disheveled hair and gathers the length of chain from the wall. He stomps over to you and lifts you without concern for your fresh injury. You scream in pain when he tries to toss you haphazardly onto the mattress and ends up tumbling down with you.

Though it’s excruciating, you roll onto your back and pummel your small fists into the chest of the man who hovers threateningly over your prone form. You land a few blows against his face for good measure before he gathers your wrists in one hand and clips the chain to your cuffs. He pins your arms above your head so you resort to lifting a knee towards his crotch, although the pain in your side prevents you from putting any real force behind it.

“That’s enough,” Steve barks. “Knock it off!”

You’re sobbing all over again as he yells in your face and jostles your whole body. Your arms go limp and your flailing legs finally settle. Each pant that passes your lips causes your lungs to inflate with great discomfort and you begin to feel nauseous from the ache.

“I hate you! I fucking hate you!” You scream, spittle flying unbidden from your lips.

It goes unnoticed, but a flash of pain bursts in Steve’s eyes as you howl and weep beneath him; even more so when he shifts to wipe a tear from your cheek and you flinch instinctively. This isn't at all how he wanted things to go. Not even close. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you like this and he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he’ll do what he has to. 

When you’ve finally quieted down, Steve lets up on your wrists, removing his grip and placing his palms beside your head to bear his weight. Almost instantly, you’re swinging your fists upwards and catching his nose with a brutal punch. He grunts in pain and the blood flow is immediate. The warm, crimson stream drips from his nose and splatters against your face, gathering in the crevice of your right nostril and along the seam of your sealed lips. Steve’s eyes grow concerningly stormy and you realize this is it. This is how you die. As his fingers slip around the delicate column of your throat, you’re sure of it. You close your eyes and prepare.

What you don’t expect is the jarring collision of his mouth against yours; angry and fervent and hungry. Your eyes pop open as Steve devours your lips, his blood smearing all over his own face and yours as he nips and sucks at your mouth. Too stunned to stop him, your lips are forced open and his tongue delves into the warm recesses of your mouth, swirling and searching. Saliva coats your chin, mixing with and diluting the scarlet sheen that’s spreading across Steve’s face.

By the time your brain catches up, Steve is already pulling away and yanking at the elastic waistband of your oversized pants. He’s got them off your legs and free of your feet before you can even think of protesting. Even worse though, the way he’s so ardently and needily kissing you has your thighs clenching and your nerves tingling. When his hands delve under your shirt and his fingers ghost along your sternum, you object only because you know you should. 

Steve hesitates momentarily, though he swallows any words you try to say with his lips sealed tightly against yours. His touch continues its journey, reaching its target when he gathers the weight of your breasts in his palms and his thumbs drag lazily over your hardened nipples. You’re not sure what the sound you make is indicative of, only that it seems to spur him on. Dropping his hips, he grinds his erection roughly against your panty-covered core and leaves no doubt in your mind about what he’s after.

With the coppery tang still on your tongue and the scent of blood assaulting your nose as it continues to dribble down onto you, you come to your senses and yank your lips away from Steve’s. He’s breathing heavily and bloodied and ravenous. Turning his attention lower, he pushes the material of your shirt out of the way of his exploring mouth as he covers your belly with slow, wet kisses; a sanguine trail left behind as he descends. When he reaches the edge of your panties, his eyes lift to meet yours; lust-blown and tinged with challenge. Just try and stop me, they scream.

You make one final effort to wriggle away, though there’s nowhere for you to go with the chain tethering you to the wall and the pull of the mesmerizing man tethering you to this godforsaken mattress. Still, you wiggle your hips and plant your feet to push your body further up the soft surface under you. To no avail. Steve’s hands are on your waist at once, stilling you and forcing you to heed the warning in his eyes. Eyes that drop between your shifting thighs and darken with lust.

“Oh, honey,” he purrs with condescension as he observes the dark, damp spot staining the gusset of your panties. “I thought you didn’t like playing games. Yet here you are pretending you don’t want me while your little pussy is absolutely dripping.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and pools low in your belly at Steve’s vulgar observation. You move to shut your legs in embarrassment, but he’s grabbing them with firm hands before you have a chance. The way his body slithers further down and his parted lips hover over your center is reminiscent of your first incredible morning together, though the circumstances are much different this time. What isn’t different is the knot that tightens in your belly when he breathes hotly over you. Or the white hot flash of inexplicable desire that washes over you when he leisurely removes your sticky panties. 

Shame burns deep within you, nestled in right beside the need that sizzles through your bloodstream. You can’t exactly reason with the sudden relief you feel at the first touch of Steve’s warm, wet tongue along your sodden folds. He laves your flesh with pointed, sure strokes, wasting no time as he swirls slackly around your swollen bud. You whimper for a multitude of reasons, your eyes clenched shut as if not being able to see what’s happening will somehow transport you away from what he’s doing and the indignity of it all.

Steve moans shamelessly into your slick, slippery pussy, burying his face in your essence and his tongue in the clenching opening of your channel. With expert pressure and rhythm, he sweeps the tip of the muscle relentlessly around your clit, stopping when a shiver wracks your body. Pushing up, he fits his hips between your thighs and braces himself above you.

“You wanna taste how badly you want me?” he taunts confidently.

Gathering the saliva that floods your mouth, you purse your lips and spit the glob directly into Steve’s face. The surprise in his expression is swiftly ousted by something much more sinister and licentious. You don’t even see it coming when Steve sweeps his arm and backhands you across the mouth, hard.

“Bad girl,” he growls.

With teeth bared, he wipes most of your saliva from his still-bloodied face and leans in close. Using the thumb of the same hand, he pries your jaw open with uncomfortable force and spits directly into your gaping, bloody mouth. When you swallow it all obediently — your eyes wide with both reproach and submission — he feels himself grow harder than he’s ever been in his life. His thumb drags along the moist surface of your tongue, soaking his flesh and leaving a wet trail down your chin when he retreats. 

Steve yanks the stretchy waistband of his scrubs low, just enough to release his oozing cock and he pulls you closer to him. You squirm in the grasp of his strong hands; not necessarily because you want him to stop, but because you’re humiliated by how easily you know your body is going to accept him. He halts your movements effortlessly with his next words.

“Behave yourself or I’m going to take your ass,” he warns, his spit-slicked thumb slipping down to press against the ring of muscle and really drive the point home.

Sensing your capitulation, Steve adjusts his position and fits your backside against his thick thighs. He shoves clumsily at his pants once more and takes hold of himself, brushing the painfully swollen head of his throbbing cock against your bundle of nerves. You jolt at the unexpected stimulation, an alarmed squeak quickly morphing into a ragged, debauched moan when his cock slips deeply into your body which yields to his intrusion with no resistance whatsoever.

He gives you no time to adjust to the imposing girth of his length, instead settling into a rough and punishing rhythm. Because that’s exactly what this is: a punishment. For defying him. For bewitching him. For making him question everything he’s ever known. Grunting and growling, he pummels your body with his cock and drags a chorus of unrestrained screams from you. He’d much rather earn your pleasured sounds another way, but you made your choice.

You can hardly catch your breath under the relentless assault on your body and the vigorous movement is wreaking havoc on your throbbing ribs. You’re only able to squeal and pant and take everything he gives you. Unlike the bliss of the first time he fucked you, Steve has no interest in your comfort. This isn’t about you, it’s for him. He’s taking what he wants and reminding you of your situation. But you won’t let him break you. 

With your eyes pressed shut, you block out Steve’s feral expression and the animalistic sounds he makes above you, willing your mind to focus on the man you thought he was. The one who handled your body like a fragile piece of glass, like an object to be worshipped and cared for. The man who respected you as a person and didn’t view you as just a piece of meat for him to fuck. The one who showed you how it felt to love and be loved.

The strained, grating moan that claws its way up Steve’s throat forces you back to your reality, however. It’s thunderous and it rattles you as his fingers thread around your neck once more and he drives his full weight behind his thrusts. Mouth parting with a silent screech, you crumble under his ferocious ministrations; breaking apart upon the painful undertow you feel beneath the crashing waves of pleasure. Your walls constrict with enough pressure that Steve is forced to still, his dick being divinely strangled as your orgasm rips through you.

Unable to hold back, he climaxes right alongside you. His cock twitches so hard you can feel it and he pours his cum into your willing body, filling you with a warm, wet flood that makes your stomach flutter for several reasons. Steve lowers his head to your shoulder — his sweat-dampened hair flopping across your heated flesh — and he whimpers; a sound so weak and pathetic, you hardly believe it came from him. You’re shaking and drained, your malnourished body not capable of remaining conscious. Before Steve has even slipped free of your wrecked pussy, your vision blacks out.

When you come to, it’s to the sound of the door being opened again. Your eyes creak open to reveal Steve entering your room. You hadn’t seen him redress or leave; you’re not sure how long he was gone for or how long you were out. All you know is that you feel horrendous and you’re unusually aware of every aching inch of your body. Without looking down, you can tell that you’re still naked; something that makes you feel uncomfortably vulnerable when Steve kneels on the mattress beside you. Too bad you’re much too wrung out to do anything about it.

He observes you with a discerning gaze, leaning forward to lift the edge of your shirt and examine the purple, blotchy bruise that forms along the ridges of your ribcage. Humming sympathetically, his fingers trail along your side and over your bare hip. You can only whine, unable to move away from his tickling touch. When his hand wanders between your thighs, you shut your eyes again, allowing the haze of fatigue to cloud your mind.

“Are you still sore?” Steve asks, noting your miniscule nod of confirmation. “Good. Let it be a reminder of what happens when you aren’t good for me.”

Steve takes you again, though it isn’t nearly as rough as the first time. His fingers explore delicately beneath your blood-stained shirt, his kisses tender and cautious. Every thrust of his hips is slower, gentler. Even his eyes soften when eventually you look into them, something apologetic swimming in their icy depths.

This time when he finishes, it isn’t inside you — something you’re grateful for. Instead, he pulls out, stroking his cock and cupping the tip to collect the thick spurts of cum in his palm. Before you can react, he’s pressing his hand to your face; smearing the sticky warmth of his release over your mouth and across your chin. Some of it trails down your neck where it collects in the hollow of your throat. Steve pries your mouth open, slipping a cum-slathered finger along your tongue and forcing you to lick his entire hand clean. He takes a moment to admire you — the way one might observe and appreciate a piece of art — and then he’s gone.

A heady cocktail of nerves and adrenaline surges through your veins, setting your limbs to shaking as Steve leads you into the kitchen. It feels like years since you’ve been up here and you realize there’s no real way for you to confirm that it hasn’t been. He disconnects the lock between your wrists and attaches only one to the arm of the stool you sit upon, giving you full use of your other arm. You wipe your damp palms along the leggings he’d given you and shift beneath the t-shirt you can only assume belongs to him.

Following your punishment, Steve’s presence had been sparse. Aside from delivering three meals a day to the room you’ve been relegated to, you didn’t see him and he rarely ever spoke to you. It had been you who had ultimately broken the ice, quietly luring him into conversation and testing the waters to see if he was still upset with you. Not that it matters much how he feels towards you when he’s planning to kill you.

“How did you start?” you murmur hesitantly. “The first time…”

Steve looks your way as he rolls up the sleeves of a soft-looking black sweater and places two plates on the kitchen island. He shoves the dish furthest from him so that you can reach it and stands with his hips propped on the opposite counter, merely watching you. You’ve taken a bite of your food before he finally acknowledges the question.

“It just kind of...happened. I was 18 or 19,” he begins, the tone of his voice careful and closed off; like he doesn’t want to say too much. Not that he can tell you anything worse than what you already know. “I was horrified at first. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I was just a normal kid, y’know? I had a normal life. And then I had to deal with this...thing that I couldn’t share with anybody. And that killed me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth. I liked it…I liked the way it made me feel.”

You listen with morbid interest, your curiosity piqued as you learn just how exactly one becomes a cannibal. Steve describes the whole experience so poetically that you’re entranced by his words and drawn into the mesmerizingly gory picture he so beautifully paints. The way he explains it is almost…religious; he’s passionate and fervid, volunteering the most intimate parts of himself. You’re feeling it again; that closeness you’d once known when he let you tear down the walls of who he is as you laid in his arms morning after morning…that connection. He pokes absently at the plate of food he lifts from the counter, taking small bites here and there and savoring it as he continues.

“All this time I’ve had to hide my way of life. This…this idiosyncrasy about myself. And all I’ve ever wanted is the freedom of having someone know,” he admits, almost sounding pained by his own words. “It’s such a powerful thing…giving yourself over to someone like that. It’s a…it’s a beautiful thing.”

Steve is rounding the counter now, prowling and fluid as he makes his way behind you. Your shoulders heave with uneasy breaths and your airway is constricted by phantom hands of apprehension. The hands that slip over your shoulders are warm, but the touch chills you to the bone. Something about the way his body cages you in makes you feel like a trapped and scared animal, much more than the shackle upon your wrist does. Steve’s breath comes hot and steady as he noses along the shell of your ear.

“You can’t know how liberating it is to share something so private with someone,” he whispers eagerly. “Becoming one with somebody else…bonded forever to them with this secret. That’s surrender. That’s love.”

A shiver runs down your spine at Steve’s breathless declaration. His hands travel down your biceps and along your forearms before reaching your wrists where they stop to surround the leather cuffs already encircling your wrists. The expanse of his broad chest presses insistently against your back and you can feel the heavy, heightened pounding of his heart; all at once he seems significantly more human.

“I want you to be that,” he confesses with emotion, his soft lips just barely caressing your clammy skin. “I want you to surrender to me.”

The vehement words feel almost heartfelt and the impassioned way he expresses them threatens to disintegrate the very foundation of your moral compass. Ignoring how right it feels to be enshrouded beneath his commanding presence and formidable body, you swallow thickly and take a steadying breath.

“What is it like?” you query, your wafer-thin voice belying the disquietude you feel.

The sharp edge of Steve’s chin digs into your shoulder when he rests his head there and contemplates your inquest for a long, tense moment. His fingers massage absently in small circles at the edge of your cuffs.

“If it’s done right…it’s fucking exquisite,” he guarantees, pulling away from you and returning to where he previously stood on the other side of the island, facing you and watching you closely. “It’s like nothing you’ve ever had before. Wouldn’t you say?”

He tips his chin, gesturing to your forgotten supper. Your eyes drift from Steve’s blank face to the plate and then back again. Something deep inside you registers what he’s just said — based on the way your heart stutters and your mouth floods with moisture at the wave of nausea you feel — but it takes your brain just a second longer to catch up. It’s not so much what he’s admitted to doing that bothers you as much as it is the fact he’d done so without telling you. However, the reality that you’re not as bothered by it as you should be is what prompts your reaction.

With the hand not chained up, you cover your mouth, leaning forward you quell the lurching in your stomach. A whimper wrenches free from your lungs and the splitting pain reminds you that your ribs still haven’t fully healed. The desperate sounds that leave you as tears begin to fall are barely muffled by your shaking hand. It takes everything you have not to lean into Steve’s smooth palm when he cups your cheek and angles your face upwards.

“What is it?” he wonders. “What’s wrong?”

You want to scream at him, scratch your throat raw telling him how fucked up he is and how wrong and immoral his choices are. You want to yell until there’s no air left in your deflated lungs; tell him how much you hate him for ruining everything, for making you fall in love with him only to rip the rug right out from under you with his sordid, sinful doings. You want to, but you don’t. Because even after it all, you still love him and the only person here who should be ashamed is you. For how much shame you don’t actually carry. It feels impossible to admit to him let alone to yourself, though it’s not as if you should expect to be judged.

“I feel awful,” you wail tearfully. “I feel awful because I don’t feel awful.”

Steve tsks in saddened understanding, pulling you in close and pressing a reassuring kiss to your forehead. His lips rest there for a moment before he buries his nose in your hair and deeply inhales your scent. You cry even harder, burying your tear-soaked face in the luxurious fabric of his sweater. 

“The acceptance is the hardest part,” he coos. “Accepting what you are.”

When eventually you separate from Steve to meet his penetrating eyes, his gaze is surging with a look you’re growing all too familiar with. The one that says “I know you” and “I see you” and “you’re just like me.”

You wonder at what point the flip switched in your brain that made you believe you could accept someone who eats people, but it’s evident that it has momentarily flipped back. Though as the branches and twigs rip at the skin of your bare ankles and feet, you ponder whether you’re really making the best choice here. It’s disorienting and confusing, being knocked off kilter by your inability to decide what is right and what is wrong and where specifically you draw that line when it involves someone you love. But you don’t have time to think about that right now. Not when the echoing sound of Steve’s enraged yells are drawing so close as you sprint through the woods behind his house.

The way you see it, you have only two choices. Either you wave the white flag and return to Steve, resigning yourself to a life with the man you love and all of his homicidal, cannibalistic shortcomings, or you simply die. Whether it’s fast and painless via the gun he’s toting or slowly beneath the sharp edge of the tools that had taken apart his previous victims piece by piece, you don’t know if it really makes much of a difference. It’s death all the same. 

It all happened so fast…the events that led to you making your escape and running into the darkness of the unknown in the dead of the night. Things had been going fine; at least as fine as they could be, you suppose. Steve had been spending more time with you and less partaking in his…hobby. He’d even let you out every night to join him for fanciful dinners; on occasion he’d even forgotten to chain you up. A look of befuddled wonderment crossed his visage when he finally realized and saw that you’d been aware all along though you made no attempt to flee. As the days passed, a sense of understanding and even a level of trust developed between you. But you’ve shattered that to bits now.

When Steve had left you unchained and free to roam after providing you one too many glasses of wine, you’d wandered into the living room; he followed you there, watching as you swayed freely to the soft music that played. Eventually, he joined you with his hands braced tenderly around your hips as he danced in perfect rhythm with you. The delicate press of his lips against the side of your neck and along your shoulder sparked the fire that rapidly contorted into a blazing inferno. 

You found yourself wrapped around one another and drunk on each other’s touch, all lips and teeth and panting moans. Steve took your hand in his, his mouth inviting you to his bed and his smoldering eyes merely reiterating the request. It’d be the first time being with him since he’d taken from you in order to penalize you and keep you in line; only this time he’s leaving the decision entirely up to you. Standing precariously at the edge of something acutely iniquitous, you were not quite sure if you’re ready to take the leap. And it is precisely that uncertainty that had you shoving Steve off balance and taking a panicked course through the glass-paned door at the back of the house — which you were glad to have found unlocked. 

Sweat soaks into the thin material of the tee you wear, the insubstantial garment offering no protection against the nighttime chill. The rush of heat elicited by your physical exertion and  pumping adrenaline will keep you plenty warm. Steve pursues you from a short distance — one which is swiftly dwindling and inducing a sickening panic that settles deep in the pit of your stomach — and he’s screaming; he’s apologizing, though you don’t know what for. But God, something in you wants to stop and find out. 

Your muscles are disused and your body under-nourished, making it difficult for you to keep up your pace as you weave in and out of the thick underbrush. As your stamina dwindles, so does the dim halo of radiance from the house’s floodlights that make your path through the forest even somewhat visible.

Now running blindly, your heart pounds so hard it hurts. Steve is closing in on you, his voice rough and cracking as he bellows into the night and orders you to stop. In your haste, you lose your footing and twist your ankle painfully. With a wounded shriek, you go down hard and you realize you’re at the edge of a steep hill. Your palms slap wetly into a particularly muddy portion of ground and you slip until you’re sprawled on your stomach, gliding over the dirt on a layer of wet leaves and detritus as you tumble down the incline.

Your ankle throbs uncomfortably, begging you to stay off of it, though you can’t exactly heed your body’s warning. Even as his voice grows closer and with the beam of the flashlight he holds reflecting off the branches of the trees near you, you’re not ready to admit defeat. Rallying what little strength you have left, you drag yourself along the forest floor. 

Although you can’t see yourself, you know you’re covered in a layer of filth and your pants are soaked through; something drips down the bit of leg that shows through the rip in your pants, but you’re not sure if it’s mud or blood…or both. It’ll be nearly impossible to outrun Steve with your current injury, so you scurry as fast as you can and obscure your body behind the widest tree trunk you can find, under a half-dead bush. Your lungs burn as you suck in cold air and release it with a huff, repeating the action as you fight to catch your breath. 

Steve’s steps approach, prompting you to curl up and make yourself as small as possible. You can hear the sounds of him panting as well and his footfalls slow a bit. He’s moving methodically, picking his way through the foliage and keeping his steps light. The searching beacon of his flashlight passes right over your hiding spot and you squeeze your eyes shut, saying a silent prayer that no part of you is visible to him. Just when you think you’ve successfully evaded him, something catches Steve’s attention.

As his flashlight illuminates a group of massive trees, he spots a swirling cloud of what appears to be fog. He pauses for a moment…waiting, watching. Another cloud. And then a third. Both relief and anger floods his entire being and he moves the light away, just beyond the tree you’re behind so that you believe he hasn’t seen you. A sigh leaves his lips, bringing with it his own whirling mist.

The crunching of leaves and sticks comes louder, the peril of Steve’s approach now a physical weight that threatens to crush you into the damp soil. He’s right on you and you ease a palm over your nose and mouth to hush your hurried breathing. It falls eerily silent and your eyes slip open. Before you can even register that it’s pitch black again — the glow of the flashlight suddenly missing — something is wrenching the back of your shirt and you’re being hauled to your feet. A petrified howl parts your lips without even having to see him. 

As terror overcomes you and Steve yanks you into his chest and encircles your throat with a daunting amount of pressure, you begin to regret your decision to run. Surely, the consequences of rejecting Steve’s advances couldn’t have been worse than whatever punishment you’re about to endure now.

You can smell his sweat and the whiskey-tinged flavor of his labored breaths. The adrenaline heightens your senses; his heavy panting mixes with your own, the symphony of exhalations deafening as it rushes past your ear drums. Your skin tingles beneath his brutal touch, the silky linen of his button-up searing you anywhere it connects with your bare flesh. Fear engulfs you just as strongly as his thick arms do and you wonder whether there’s any chance of escape for you now. If there is, this is your last chance...the final act; you’d better make it count.

Clawing desperately at the hand wrapped around your windpipe, you gasp and suck in a much needed breath. Steve struggles against your relentless scratching, attempting to wrangle your squirming body into submission. The muzzle of the gun he presses between the two lowest ribs on your right side accomplishes that.

“Steve, please,” you choke.

Tears pour unimpeded down your cheeks, the moisture racing off your chin and down your neck where it loosens Steve’s grip around your throat. You’re gasping again, pulling in as much air as you can before he readjusts his hand and cuts you off once more.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, the words escaping you with a strangled gag. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Something about the sincerity and the terror in your sobbing wails hits him like a punch in the gut. This isn’t what he wanted. He’s growing tired of things not going the way he wants. Still, your pleas have the desired effect; you only know this because you can finally breathe again. Steve’s hand still has you trapped against him, but he isn’t trying to squeeze the life out of you anymore.

“I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want you to be angry with me,” you supply, your weak knees beginning to give out. “I was so scared.”

Your admission nearly makes him crack. Maybe he had pushed you too far, not given you time to accept and adjust; with all of this being so new to you, he should have known you’d be overwhelmed. The last thing he wants is for you to be afraid of him. With that, he forces you forward and spins you around to face him. The barrel of the gun is still pointed threateningly at you, though it’s no longer pressed dangerously close to any important internal organs. Your eyes are welling with tears and remorse; what you find in Steve’s isn’t fury like you expected. It’s hurt. It’s betrayal. He trusted you — vulnerably bared every part of himself to you — and still you ran. You left it behind. You left him.

It’s then that you see it: your chance at forgiveness. It’s buried beneath the roiling seas of pain, mistrust, and vengeance in his frosted stare, but it’s there. The blinding luminescence of the flashlight blurs your vision a bit, but you hold Steve’s gaze nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry for breaking your trust,” you whisper. “I promise I’ll be good.”

The surprise is brief, but it is glaring. Steve’s hardened visage softens only for a moment before he furrows his brow and flattens his mouth into a displeased line. You stumble slightly when he pushes you, your ankle screaming in protest as you scream in pain. He takes mercy on you then — albeit with an annoyed sigh — and he tucks his weapon into his waistband to free his hands so that he can scoop you into his arms. Your arm wraps instinctively around his neck as he looks down at you, a fleeting look of shared guilt passed between you.

Steve totes you effortlessly back to his home, making sure to lock the door behind him when he brings you inside. You’re carried swiftly down the hall to where you know his bedroom awaits, though he takes you instead to the luxurious and expansive bathroom. He sets you easily at the edge of a massive soaking tub and turns the taps, his fingers drifting through the flow of water until he’s deemed it the perfect temperature. Standing at his full height, he looms above you, regarding you for a long moment.

“Take off your clothes,” he demands, softly though it leaves absolutely no room for disobedience.

You hesitate only for a second, but it’s enough. His fingers drift along your jaw where they eventually wrap around your chin, lifting your head slightly. A single, quirked eyebrow is all you earn, a silent reminder of your promise to behave. Steve sees the compliance and acceptance settling in your eyes and he drags the pad of his thumb along your lower lip in a tender show of praise.

You’re at least allowed the courtesy of privacy when Steve turns his back, delving beneath the counter for a plush towel and a few expensive looking bottles of necessary toiletries. You strip with haste, leaving your filthy, ruined clothes in a disheveled pile at your feet. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you dip your toes into the hot water to ensure it won’t scald you and quickly lower your body into it before Steve has a chance to turn around. The temperature of the water soothes your injured ankle, dulling the endless throbbing just a bit. 

There’s a tinge of disappointment in his gaze when he finds you obscured beneath the thick layer of sudsy bubbles though he’s swift in hiding it as he approaches with an armful of shampoo, conditioner, and opulent soaps. He crouches beside the tub and you divert your gaze, too nervous to look his way in your exposed state. As you soak, you begin to assess your other injuries. The slight burn along your shin prompts you to glance down where your knee protrudes from the water and Steve does the same. You know now that it had been blood running down your limb, oozing from the small gash on your leg. 

Steve tuts quietly, running a finger along the dried blood that clings to your skin. He murmurs an offer to bandage the wound once you’re cleaned up and reaches for a cloth which he wets and lathers with soap. He hands it to you, watching intently while you drag the cloth over your muddied skin to cleanse the events of the night from your body. The bathwater has turned a hue of tan by the time you’re finished.

“Scoot forward,” Steve prompts as he takes the soiled cloth from your now-pruney fingers.

You think he’s going to assist you by washing your back for you since he’s now unbuttoning and shedding his shirt, but when he drops the cloth and stands to reach for his belt as well, that notion is long-forgotten. The muscles of his chest and torso ripple and bunch as he divests himself of his clothes and places his gun out of your reach on the other edge of the tub. His ice-blue eyes watch you unflinchingly, though you’re too preoccupied devouring the sight of him clad only in a pair of tight gray boxer briefs to notice. When Steve tucks his thumbs into the waistband, you finally manage to tear your eyes away. 

The water sloshes when Steve steps in behind your curled-up form, his legs brushing yours as he settles his body into the cramped space. You’re trapped between his knees and then up against his hard frame when a hand slithers beneath your protective arms and his wet palm pulls you back against him. You grow dizzy with the heat that now comes not only from the warm bath, but from the man pressed tightly to you, too. 

He says nothing to you as he squirts a bit of shampoo into his hand and lathers it methodically against your scalp. You find your head tilting back of its own accord, seeking to shift closer to his touch. He repeats the process with the conditioner, his hands moving expertly as he rinses the last of the soapy dredges from your hair. You’re utterly lost in the delightful sensation when finally he speaks.

“You know I need to punish you,” he states unemotionally.

His words make your blood run cold and your body tenses. Something which Steve takes notice of immediately and tries to assuage by taking your upper arms in a loose grip, rubbing your limbs soothingly.

“Or you can make it up to me.” Steve offers, pressing his lips to the damp skin of your shoulder blade. “Is that what you want?”

You can’t seem to find the words to respond as his hands drift lower and brush lightly along your sensitive sides, so you merely nod. Steve draws in a sharp breath at your yielding answer and you become aware of a distinct hardness growing along your lower back. He begins exploring more boldly now, causing you to suck in a breath when he drags his fingertips along your ribs towards the swell of your breasts, then along your arms to the leather bands still around your wrists. His hands journey back down, over the curve of your hips and across your thighs. The thud of your heart pounds in your ears and you exhale shakily as your eyes slip shut.

He’s teasing and taunting you, ghosting his touch over every inch of you he can reach, though never really applying any pressure or moving where you want him. Your skin is engulfed with flames of hunger when he delicately grips your thighs and parts them beneath the cooling bathwater. His chin fits itself in the crook of your neck and Steve’s heart races right along with yours. It’s taking everything he has to hold back; to allow you to come to him, to mend the crevasse your duplicity had ripped open between the two of you.

A small whimper bubbles past your lips when his hands drag higher and higher, nearing the apex of your spread legs, though still not allowing you any relief. You reposition yourself and lift your hips imperceptibly, a wordless request for him to put you out of your misery. Instead, his thumbs gently massage into the flesh between your thigh and your wanting core. Your head tips back again, falling helplessly to Steve’s shoulder. His lips meander lazily along your jawline, peppering a trail of wet kisses towards your ear where he nibbles softly on the lobe. 

“Are you gonna be good?” he queries, his voice dark and coarse and lecherous.

When his fingers finally — oh God, finally — dip between your soaked folds, you can do nothing more than moan brokenly, signaling your anguished confirmation. Steve pulls his fingers along the swollen flesh with ease, your slickness noticeable even under all the water. He groans against your cheek, his lips parting to allow him to nip sweetly at the edge of your jaw. The hot length of his cock bumps insistently against your back, though he doesn’t seem to be concerned about himself. He’s only focused on you, on making you his.

“Then give me what I want,” he demands despairingly. “Surrender.”

It’s so fucked up — you know that — but the part of you that doesn’t want to acquiesce is so much smaller than the part of you that does. His voice is broken and torn; so desperately in need of your concession, so desperately in need of feeling necessary. The way you gasp and melt bonelessly against him is all the reaction he needs. He knows he’s got you then. 

His fingers sweep determinedly over your swollen, neglected clit, wrenching a passionate cry from your lips. Something about the way he holds you tightly in his embrace while he pulls you apart with his deft hands makes you feel safe. Desired. Protected. As sick and twisted as Steve is, you can feel how deeply and truly the man loves you. Worships you, in fact. And that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Steve shifts behind you, better angling his arm so that he can slip his two middle fingers into you with ease. You cry out yet again as his thumb flicks precisely over your clit and sends you hurtling right to the edge. Waves splash around you as your parted legs try to clench shut around his invading fingers, though Steve won’t allow that. He utilizes his free hand to keep you bared to him, his whispered words of both praise and warning prompting you to simply let go.

And you do. God, you do. With a ragged scream and a full-bodied convulsion, you come apart in his arms and he works you through the powerful explosion. His fingers continue pumping slowly in and out of your sucking heat, eliciting a secondary orgasm that grips you just as fiercely as the first. All the while, Steve’s teeth graze faintly across your shoulder, digging almost painfully into the tender flesh at the base of your neck when your body twitches again and squeezes his fingers forcefully. 

When at last you make your way back down from your powerful orgasm, Steve rises gingerly from the tub and offers his hand to help you out as well. You don’t know why you cover yourself so shyly while he stands there, his impressive erection bobbing proudly between you as he swaddles your slippery body in a fluffy towel and wraps another around his own waist. He threads his fingers between yours, beckoning you to follow him into the bedroom, making sure to move slowly on account of your sore ankle. The same apprehension from earlier floods you once again, though this time it’s borne of nerves and not fear.

Standing before you at the foot of the bed, Steve watches you expectantly, trying to gauge your mood from the amalgamation of emotions that swirl in your shifting eyes. With both hands, he holds your face with devastating tenderness, imploring you to focus only on him.

“Kiss me,” he breathes. 

The barely audible syllables break down any part of the walls that may have remained. Everything you’ve known is flipped on its head and you realize now that you’re the one with the power. Steve wants you badly, that’s obvious; but more than that, he wants you to come to him. Preferably of your own volition. So you relent, taking the half-step it requires to close the distance between you and standing on your toes to reach his parted lips. This time, you’re the one to tease him; leaving only a breadth of space between your mouths, torturously drawing the moment out. 

Steve breathes out — shaky and unsteady — when you brace your warm palms on the firm planes of his bare chest. Every second you make him wait, he tiptoes closer and closer to snapping; dangerously close to throwing you down and fucking you vigorously. Just when he thinks he can stand it no longer, you press your lips to his. He sighs into the kiss, hands dropping to draw you ever closer and offer you no means of escape as he kisses you back hungrily.

You come up for air only when it is absolutely necessary, begrudgingly drawing back, a line of sticky saliva dripping down your chin. Steve groans at the sight, his thumb instinctively sweeping the dribble away before pushing insistently between your lips. When your tongue swirls lasciviously around the digit and your pleading eyes peer up at him, he loses all patience; throwing caution to the wind and deciding to regain control of the reins.

“On the bed,” he prompts succinctly, shedding the damp towel from around his waist. 

Though you obey enthusiastically, you can’t help shutting your legs and bracing an arm across your chest as you drop your own towel and climb atop the mattress. Steve glances at you, eyes shining with slight disappointment as he takes himself in hand and fists his cock with sure, slow strokes. Leaning over your prone form, he braces one hand beside your head as the other continues to work over the length of his weeping dick. Eyes sweeping over your poorly covered body, he shakes his head disapprovingly. 

“Where’s my sweet girl? I thought you were going to be good for me,” he beseeches. “Can you be good for me again?”

For some reason — which you don’t dare unpack for the sake of your already-dwindled sanity — you want to. Just for him. You can no longer fight it…you desire for the insidious man prowling over you. Even worse though, you can no longer deny how fucked up you are. Maybe you are perfect for each other.

You don’t have much time to think about it when he slides between your thighs and immediately sets to work landing sloppy kisses along your sternum and down your belly before journeying between your legs where he laves your dripping pussy with the same indolent attention. Your juices mingle with his saliva, creating a slippery, wet mess on your skin that gathers on the sheets beneath you. Steve pulls back, admiring his handiwork and the low light in the room reflects off the sheen of your essence coating his lips and chin. 

His lust-blown eyes scan over you as he raises up and settles on his haunches, but before they reach your strung out face, they drop to your ribs. Even in the poor lightning he can see the shadow of your fading bruise; the sickly yellow-brown splotch marring your perfect skin. His eyes darken with something primal and you wonder what he’s thinking.

It kills him to see that…to know that you’re hurting and it’s because of him. He only wants to protect you, to take care of you, to love you. Ridding his mind of such culpable thoughts, he focuses on making things better…making things right by making you his once and for all. Bending forward, Steve spits loudly, the glob of saliva landing directly on your clit before sliding down to your cunt. You clench around nothing at the sensation, your craving for the man written boldly all over your face.

He shifts above you, fitting his slender hips between your thighs and his eyes meet yours as the bulbous head of his cock — slippery with pre-cum and throbbing — pokes tauntingly at your entrance. It takes one swift, smooth movement and Steve is seated deep inside you, your eyes rolling back and your mouth flying open with a triumphant scream. His fingers twist viciously into the sheets as he fights to hold back, not wanting to hurt you given how intensely he wishes to let loose and give you everything he’s got.

“There she is, there’s my good girl,” he praises, drawing his hips back and dragging his length from your body so that only the tip remains within your rippling walls.

There’s only a moment for you to brace for impact and prepare for the delicious, burning stretch of his incredible girth when he slams home and buries himself to the hilt. You feel as though you’re being torn to bits, but in the most excruciatingly beautiful way. As Steve drives his cock into you over and over, euphoria washes over you. You can feel every bulging vein, every bump and ridge as he pins you to the mattress and pummels you. His rhythm is relentless and unwavering, though it is sheer bliss nonetheless. He pours every bit of anger and frustration and hurt into the way he fucks you; one hand gathering your wrists above your head and the other pressing deliciously against your belly where you can feel him pounding into you.

The sex is so much different than all the other times; nowhere near as tender or affectionate as the first time, and nothing like the brutal couplings you’d experienced recently. But the emotion behind it is heartbreakingly intense and much more powerful. Steve is rough and frenzied, though his attentions are meticulous, attentive, and passionate. Like a man starved, he cannot get enough of you to satisfy the raging beast within him.

You’re surrounded by the wet sounds of your body as it accepts Steve’s feral onslaught as well as the carnal sounds he produces as he fucks you stupid. There’s nothing for you to do but lie there and take it, which is exactly what he wants from you. He wanted your surrender and he’s getting it a thousand times over. 

When the tempo of his grinding cock stutters, you know he’s close. So are you, though you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve already cum around his unforgiving length, clenching and strangling his dick as he races towards his own release. Steve’s hands grip your hips with savage strength that you have no doubt will leave bruises come morning. He’s practically growling now, his teeth bared with exertion as he seeks to ruin and utterly possess you.

“You want me to cum inside you, don’t you?” he grunts.

It’s less of a question and more of a presumption. One which is spot-on and you assure him as much.

“Cum inside me, please,” you barely manage to squeal. “I need it…I need you, Steve. I wanna feel all of you.”

That’s all it takes for him to let go of what little restraint he has been managing to exert and he fucks into you so rapidly and so deeply that your toes curl and your lungs seize up. Your body is wracked with orgasmic shivers and your pussy spasms so hard, you nearly squeeze him right out of the slippery channel he never wants to leave. His movements are wild and untamed, and with a furious howl of pleasure, he releases into the depths of your welcoming core; thick, hot spurts of cum coating your insides and effectively claiming you…at long last.

Almost immediately, Steve collapses on top of you. Each of your bodies shiver and quake with the aftermath of your respective climaxes and your hearts beat madly against one another’s chest. He’s slick with sweat and his skin sticks to yours as he pants into your hair. Your hands move timidly, unsure and trembling as they lift to wrap around his massive form. Fingers skate nimbly over each little bump of his spine while you wait for him to come down from his earth-shattering high. Tears prick your eyes and as much as you want to blame it on the intensity of your release, you know it’s deeper than that. 

Eventually, Steve rolls off of you and fits his body alongside yours. His sticky skin still clings to yours, but you don’t really mind the slightly uncomfortable feeling. Neither of you move or speak for a long, long while; you merely share in the electrically-charged corollary of your coupling. You remain in your own head until Steve finally shifts, his softening cock slipping free from your body as he rises to clean you both up.

When he pulls the blankets down and gestures for you to climb into his bed with him, you do so dubiously. As you settle against the overly-fluffed pillows and sink into the cool sheets, Steve climbs in next to you. Purely out of instinct, you hold your wrists out for him, just like you’d always done so he could attach the detestable chain that would prevent your escape. Considering your actions tonight, you had expected him to tether you so you can’t up and leave him in the middle of the night. He stares at the proffered limbs, dumbfounded.

Steve rolls over and a spark of panic ignites deep in your belly. He wrenches open the bedside drawer before facing you again, a small silver key in his hand. Fitting the key into the lock on one wrist, he unlocks it and repeats the action with the other, releasing the bands from around your chaffed wrists. It isn’t lost on you that this is the first true taste of freedom you’ve had in weeks. It’s also the most telling sign Steve could have given you to signify that he really does trust you. You’ve presented him with the ultimate surrender: giving yourself over to him completely, accepting all of him regardless of what horrors he’s shown you. This is the least of what he can offer you in return.

Your own vulnerability is reflected in his penitent cerulean pools and it splinters you. A vanquished sob bursts forth as you’re overcome with emotion and you collapse against Steve’s chest. He pulls you close right away, cradling you protectively against his body, the warmth of his flesh soothing. His thumb brushes tenderly along the angry, red mark of the bite he’d left behind. The sounds of your defeated cries crush him, though he knows this is the breakthrough you need. One step closer to total acceptance. 

Steve coos sweetly, caressing your back with soft touches and providing the comfort he knows you require. He vows to give you anything and everything from here on out if it means you’ll need him like this. He’ll imbed himself so deeply in your exigencies that you won’t ever be able to stand being away from him. If you leave him now, it will rip his fucking heart out. But he’d just return the favor.

A/N: As always, I have to give a supreme word of thanks to my bestie @hswrites​ for being the most hilarious, iconic, and helpful beta and for encouraging me along the way with this monstrous story. So so so grateful to you boo! <3

Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost

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