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THE BEAUTY

The manspreading

The HAND placement

The rings

The SULTRY looks

✨I have several wishes but one that I will speak is that I wish we had a pic of Elvis like this in white pants 🫠🫦✨

The Venture Bros

Bro...I am binge watching The Venture Bros on HBO and man am I obsessed lol. Sadly no one really writes fics for them, but there is suppose to be a movie coming out this years so hopefully that sets the hype off lol. That's all, I just had to share XD

Rick Master List

Intergalactic Asshole (5/5)

Rick stoops to new lows to get what he wants.… Rick Sanchez x YOU! 18+

Memory Lane (2/2)

You lose your memories and Rick comes up with an... ingenious way to try and get them back…. Rick Sanchez x YOU! 18+

The Butterfly Effect (4/5)

Your much needed alone time is gatecrashed by a post-adventure needy Rick…. Rick Sanchez x YOU! 18+

Grick’s Anatomy (2/?)

You're a nurse covering a shift and unfortunately for you, Rick is your last patient…. Rick Sanchez x YOU! 18+

A Gambling Man (3/3)

You and Rick make a bet…. Rick Sanchez x YOU! 18+

If You Let Me (one shot)

Birdperson finds Rick after a three day bender…. Rick Sanchez x BirdPerson! 18+

Down Where It’s Wetter (1/?)

Against Rick’s instruction you take a dip in the ocean. Chaos ensues…. Rick Sanchez x Mr Nimbus x YOU! 18+

Integrity (one shot)

A sad story about Rick and his bird…. Rick Sanchez x BirdPerson! 18+

Dimension Hoppers (one shot)

You wake up in the night needing a glass of water and stumble upon Ricks new side hustle…. Rick Sanchez x YOU! 18+

Fanart

Rick Prime Comic

Loneliest Man in the Universe

Yesterdays

Bad Santachez

If I Were You Part 5 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Love is the only rational act. Call him crazy or unhinged all you want, that sounds just about right to Elvis. 

A/N: Well… it’s been a minute. Sorry y’all I’ve been having to deal with a move recently which set me back alot in terms of finding free time to write but I’d rather it be late and good than early and rushed. This chapter is going to be from Elvis POV so if it feels like there is a bit of a heel turn from reader know that that is why. We’ll also be getting insight as to how reader has been feeling these last few months and how she handles what happened in this chapter in the next.

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and heavily delusional behavior as well as references to previous blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. Dubious consent in some areas. Inappropriate relationship with a Therapist (Though she is no longer one at the moment). Depictions of a therapy session. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), Daddy Kink, Praise kink, a bit of somnophilia (she does not stay asleep), vaginal fingering, and a tiny bit of anal play. Also mentions of Elvis’ mommy issues, though he’ll never call them that and reader’s daddy issues because parallels. Period typical misogyny depicted and reflected by POV character’s attitude towards women in the orkplace. Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, emotional manipulation, heavy use of coercion, grabbing that leads to bruising and deception. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Word count: 14K

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

Masterlist

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Bizarre Love Triangle || Steve Harrington x reader x Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie Munson has finally graduated from Hawkins High. To celebrate, you plan a camping trip for the ages and invite Steve Harrington, your mutual friend that you're totally crushing on. Doesn't help that you also like Eddie, and that Eddie also likes you, and Steve is into you both. Oh, and you all have to share one cramped tent.

Couple: Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Category: Smut

Content Warning: graphic smut, oral (m & f receiving), hand jobs, fingering, unprotected sex, graphic dirty talk, spit kink

Word Count: 9.1k

CONTAINS NO SPOILERS FOR S4 VOL 2

Eddie Munson was sulking as he drove, looking back at you and Harrington giggling and throwing pieces of the road food you’d grabbed at 7-11 forty miles back at each other. 

“This is dumb,” Eddie sighed, glancing at the two of you in his rearview mirror. “We should just go back to Hawkins. Why the fuck are we crossing state lines to camp out and get stoned out of our minds when we can do that back home?”

You frowned, crawling forward to lean over his seat, so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you. “C’mon, Eddie,” you said, your chin resting on his shoulder. “You’re officially free of Hawkins High. This is the senior trip to celebrate your liberation.”

He snorted, shaking his head. But he couldn’t ignore the intoxicating scent of your perfume (probably something he stole you from the department store back when Starcourt was still open). It was lucky that you slunk back to Harrington, because he audibly swallowed as he thought of how delicious you smelled and how easy it would be to lean over and nuzzle into your throat.

Eddie Munson, whether he would admit it or not, had it bad for his best friend. 

“Next hour, I’m picking the music,” Steve called around a mouthful of cracker jacks. “I’ve made a good mix for this. Perfect road trip music.” Eddie tried to hide his disappointed expression. God, he was glad that he had befriended Harrington, but his music taste made his ears bleed.

“Trip’s barely over two,” Eddie mumbled, but it went ignored as you dug into your bag with Steve. 

“You brought everything?” You asked softly, glancing at him with a sly grin. 

“I told you,” Steve insisted. “I made sure to pack everything on your list.” He met Eddie’s gaze in the rearview, and the older boy was suddenly sheepish that he’d been caught staring. “Can you believe this one made me pack bear spray?”

“This one knows that bear sightings in the national park are rare but possible,” you said pointedly. “And if you keep pestering me, I’ll use it to repel you.”

Steve lurched back, clutching his chest like he was wounded. Eddie watched as he propped up on his elbows, grinning up at you while you shook your head with mild amusement. It was hard for him not to feel left out. 

Because pre-Harrington, your dynamic was great. Maybe you were a bit too top-40 for his tastes, but he would put up with Pat Benatar if it meant he could see you dancing and singing along with a huge smile on your face. You liked painting his nails— usually black, because you loved to match his clothes, but on occasion, he’d let you make it more like you. A nice red or a sparkly top coat. Lucas, Mike, and Dustin always gave him shit about it, but he didn’t care. 

Simply put— you were his favorite person, even though he might not say it in so many words. He liked the way you were when it was just the two of you against the world. Nights reading Tolkien, Stephen King, and Bradbury on his bed, your fingers twirling his hair absentmindedly. He’d learn the chords to your favorite songs so you could sing along into a hairbrush while he watched in awe. Hell, you’d even joined Hellfire for a campaign or two when you had the time. 

And then there was Harrington. Dustin, the traitor that he was, thought he was doing his friend a favor by introducing the two of you. Little matchmaker hadn’t considered that maybe his other friend was too nervous to tell his best friend he was in love. So there Eddie was— stuck between the middle of two oblivious idiots, pining after the best friend who was into someone else. And maybe sometimes (or a lot of the time) he couldn’t figure out who he wanted to be more, Steve or you.

It was like something out of a shitty coming-of-age movie and he wanted no part of it. 

The rest of the car ride wasn’t exactly torture, but Eddie wasn’t looking forward to the ride home. The arrival at the campground was welcomed, and he was grateful to escape the car and the stupid tension between you and Steve. 

You hopped out of the back of the van and enveloped Eddie in a hug, squeezing him tightly. “Happy graduation, Eds,” you said, muffled against his clothes. “This is gonna be the best trip ever.”

———

You were sweating fucking buckets. Steve was slathering himself in sunscreen and bug spray, already pouting at the red bumps on his arms and legs where mosquitos had stopped for lunch. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Eddie— his foot propped on a log as he retied his boots, leather jacket removed and slung over a shoulder. His long hair was tacky, sticking to his forehead. 

With a shake of your head, you averted your attention to setting up the first tent to be unpacked— the boys’ tent. The instructions weren’t exactly helpful, and neither Steve nor Eddie was a boy scout. You weren’t much for camping— but you figured it would be the easiest thing to get Eddie to agree to. Unfortunately, none of you knew shit about what it entailed. 

“Hey, does anyone know how to tie a decent knot?” You asked, furrowing your brows at the instructions. “I’ve gotta figure out how to tie these strings to the stakes in the ground.”

You glanced at Steve first and he shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said, throwing his hands up defensively. “My dad bought this for all those father-son camping trips we never went on. Safe to say I don’t know how to set it up.”

Next was Eddie, who shook his head simply. “I’m decent with knots, but not any that are useful outside of my bedroom.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes, tossing a random stick in his direction. But… you would be lying if you said that heat didn’t bloom in your cheeks and belly at his words. 

Steve sidled up beside you, taking the string into his hands. “I’ll try my best, but if this thing collapses don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

With much effort and more than a few total collapses, you and Steve managed to get the tent to stand up on its own. It was your pride and joy, and you looked down at it with hands on your hips and the confidence of a new parent. 

“Alright, I’m not doing the second one,” you said definitively. “It should be in the back of the van. It’s yellow, a bit smaller than this one.”

Eddie nodded, trudging towards the back of his van. You watched him throw open the doors and rifle around in the bags there. Groceries, spare clothes, drug paraphernalia. His brows furrowed, and he gave a worried backward glance. He tossed the air mattresses onto the ground— deflated and sad looking— but kept digging around in your gear. 

“It’s uh…” He hesitated. “Harrington, come help me look through this,” Steve jogged over, putting a hand on the older boy’s shoulder as he surveyed the back of the van. You watched as both of their shoulders deflated at the same time and braced yourself as they turned around. “There’s no second tent in here.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “No way,” you replied. “No, because I told you both that the yellow tent was leaning up against the air mattresses and not to forget it while I packed the food.”

Steve stepped forwards, looking guilty. “It’s my fault. I was the one who packed the van so I should’ve noticed.”

And then Eddie stepped forward. “No, it’s my fault. I double-checked and I still didn’t realize it wasn’t there.’

A groan escaped your lips as you stormed forward to grab the air mattresses, taking them into your arms. “You aren’t ‘no I’m Spartacus’-ing your way out of this one.” You tossed the deflated mattresses into the tent and huffed. “And I hope you both remembered the air pump, or you’ll be blowing those up with your mouths.”

You sat on the tailgate of the van, watching Steve and Eddie taking turns blowing up the mattresses. They were more than willing to throw accusations around about who really forgot the air pump (but you honestly had your money on Steve). Eventually, they tossed the blown-up mattresses into the tent and sat back, the last rays of sunlight casting a golden glow over them both. 

“You’re pouting, Princess,” Eddie accused, sitting down beside you.

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted. “I’ll just… sleep in your musty van tonight.” You looked at him sidelong and he laughed. 

You both went quiet, watching Steve as he tried to build a fire in the designated fire pit. His jeans were tight on his ass, and you were unabashedly staring. It was fine, whatever. You stared at people’s asses all the time. Like Eddie, for example. 

“It’s nice here,” Eddie piped up after a while, pulling you in with an arm around your shoulder. You sighed contentedly, feeling the denim of his vest soft against your cheek. He smelled like cigarettes and whatever cheap deodorant he wore. You bought him some expensive cologne for his birthday a few months back, and you could smell the remnants of it on the denim. He’d long since run out from overusing it to mask the smell of pot and cigarette smoke at school. 

You nodded, peering up at him. “I told you it would be,” you replied. “I was thinking tomorrow we could hike some of the trails. Get some fresh air, see some views.”

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he replied, his voice unusually soft. He glanced away and you felt your cheeks burn hot without knowing why. “Uh, maybe I should go help Steve with the fire.” You nodded and shifted away from him, placing your hands awkwardly in your lap as he hopped down and approached the other boy. 

Looking at the two of them made you feel like your life was turned upside down. One moment, you were head over heels for Steve, and the next you were mooning over Eddie. But you’d known Eddie most of your life— if something was going to happen, it already would have, right? You sighed, grabbing your bag and retrieving your camera from inside. A nice Polaroid that Nancy and The Wheelers had gotten you for your birthday. 

You approached the fire pit and paused, squinting into the tiny viewfinder before snapping a picture. Steve whirled around as the picture popped out of the top. 

“C’mon, you’re acting like my mom on prom night,” he groaned. 

You made a face. “My mom took prom pictures of you,” you accused.

“Fine, you’re acting like your mom on prom night,” he replied. You held up the camera again and Steve reluctantly smiled, giving you just enough time to get a picture. 

Eddie eyed you warily as you circled the firepit, which was just beginning to smoke as he rubbed a stick against another piece of firewood. He didn’t even have time to flip off the camera before you took the picture, much to your amusement. You sat atop a bench made by someone long before your trip out of a log and watched him carefully, the camera forgotten in your lap. 

It was a few more minutes before the fire took, sparking against the dry firewood and catching easily. Eddie cupped his hand around it and blew softly until the flame grew. You didn’t miss the tiny fist pump when he had well and truly made a campfire, and you could see how proud of himself he was. 

“Aw, baby’s first fire,” Steve said with a dopey grin. Eddie scoffed, wiping his hands on his jeans as he stood. 

“I used to light shit on fire all the time growing up,” Eddie said. “This is just more rustic.” He stretched, his shirt riding up on his waist so you could see the pale expanse of his stomach and the light dusting of hair below his belly button. You swallowed. Hard.  

“Alright, what’s next?” Steve asked, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know how this camping thing works.”

“Now…” Eddie said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a joint with a flourish and you rolled your eyes playfully at his dramatic behavior. “We toke up.”

———

Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew the difference between a crush and a friend. It was the kind of stuff you learned in third grade when you start chasing girls for fun at recess and get kissed behind the slide. 

For example, he knew that his feelings for you were beyond platonic. He remembered prom, the gold taffeta and black velvet dress was stiff against his hands as he slow danced with you. Thanks, you had said, for not letting me go alone. You’re a good friend, Steve. If things were different, he would’ve kissed you while that Madonna song played, because damn it,  he was crazy for you. 

But sometimes, things got confusing. Things that shouldn’t be confusing but were. Because his heart would race when Eddie’s fingers brushed his, passing him the joint. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t the drugs and it wasn’t the beer he’d been drinking. It was just him. 

A stupid, dopey smile would play at his lips when Eddie would tell a wildly dramatized story about some boring day-to-day event that had happened. He could manage to twist bumping into Jason Carver at the gas station into a riveting epic battle between good and evil. And sometimes Eddie stood close to him and Steve felt his heart pound and his head felt dizzy and all he could do was stare at the other boy’s lips while he talked. 

You were roasting a marshmallow over the fire, letting it get golden, then blackened, before you finally pulled it out and extinguished it with a quick puff of air. You held the skewered marshmallow in his direction, pushing it towards his lips. He took a bite, feeling it singe his tongue for a moment. You laughed and reached forward, brushing your thumb along his bottom lip, eyes-half lidded as you swept away remnants of marshmallow. 

“Here, just lick it off,” you said with a grin. He swallowed, meeting Eddie’s gaze briefly, his cheeks burning hot before you pushed your thumb between his lips and he cleaned off the sticky remnants. You tasted sweet from the marshmallow and smoky from holding onto the joint. You moved your thumb back and wiped your hand off on your shorts. Biting the rest of the marshmallow casually before skewering another. 

Steve licked his lips, and he could almost imagine the taste of your skin there. Eddie was already working on rolling another joint, his work careful and deliberate. Heat bloomed in his chest as the older boy’s tongue darted out, licking the rolling paper to seal it. 

He made himself look away suddenly, occupying himself with the cassette player he had brought. It was your mix inside, a combination of songs you listened to with him and songs you listened to with Eddie. It made a discordant setlist that could go from Metallica to Billy Joel so quickly it would make his head spin. In the middle of a Quiet Riot song that he thought he had heard on the radio once or twice, Steve popped out the cassette and immediately regretted it. Both yours and Eddie’s gaze turned on him, and he stumbled through a shitty response. 

“I wanted to show you guys a mix I made.” He immediately cursed himself internally. He really didn’t want to show Eddie Munson of all people his mix, especially because he knew that he would tear it to absolute shreds with no remorse. He had done so in the past. 

There was no going back, so Steve popped in the cassette and handed you the aptly titled “Steddie Mix <3” so you could tuck it away safely. As soon as he pressed play, he regretted his attempt at branching out his music taste. Because he liked New Order, he really did, but the song choice felt too on the nose. 

Eddie’s face scrunched up in mild discontent. “New age shit, Harrington?” He asked. Steve’s face burned. “What’s this one called?”

Steve swallowed. “Uh, ‘Bizarre Love Triangle.’” Eddie raised his brows, almost in recognition, but said nothing else. He just lit his new joint, took a pull, then reached across you to pass it over to Steve. 

He was grateful as he took a hit, only coughing slightly as he held it in his lungs. He was suddenly aware of the fact that Eddie’s lips were just in the same place that his were, and if he thought about it harder, it was like a kiss that had been deconstructed. He took another pull and passed the joint to you. He wondered if you were thinking about the same things he was. 

Maybe he should just tell you how he felt, maybe he should use his lowered inhibitions to confess everything, even if it made things worse. But that was a bad idea, and even he knew that. It was best to just bite his tongue and smoke with the two of you, listen to his mix, and eat a goddamn s'more. He didn’t need to ruin the nice trip because he was confused. It would work itself out eventually. 

He hoped. 

“So, Eddie,” you said as you passed him the joint, now decorated with a smudge of your lipstick. “What’s next for you now that you’re a high school graduate?”

Eddie sighed, stretching out his legs, his leather boots dangerously close to the campfire. “Dunno,” he shrugged. “Move somewhere nicer than the shithole that is Hawkins. Form a new band, meet a nice girl or guy or something.” Steve tried to conceal his shock so he didn’t look like an asshole or a bigot. “What about you, Harrington? You’re one year out from the hellhole that is Hawkins High… Big plans?”

Steve swallowed. “Uh.” His face was burning hot, surely pink up to the tips of his ears. “I don’t exactly have opportunities jumping out at me, you know?” The admission made shame well in his stomach. “I want to move out soon, maybe find a community college that doesn’t care about my shitty high school GPA. Meet a nice girl… or guy.” He took a swig of his beer, almost forgotten beside him, and relished having something to shut him up. 

You held up your own bottle, the brown glass gleaming in the firelight. “To big plans,” you said. Steve tapped his bottle against yours, and Eddie held up his joint. 

The campfire was dying, but you all stayed there, getting that delicious mixture of tipsy and high until all that was left were embers. 

———

The tent was pretty big— one of those giant canvas monstrosities that you could stand up in— but you were still all crammed inside like sardines, tossing and turning to get comfortable. Steve’s arm slung across your waist, but he was warm and you were sweaty so you shrugged his touch off. 

“This sucks,” you groaned, turning onto your back to stare up at the peak of the tent. “It’s hot and cramped and I’m going to kill both of you for leaving my tent back home.” You sat up suddenly, your lowered inhibitions getting in the way of your better judgment. You tore off the pajama top you slept in, leaving you only in a pair of silky shorts and a bra. You laid back, a frown still painting your lips at the sticky feel of your skin. 

It was fucking hot. And it didn’t help that Steve was like a furnace. Neither of the boys seemed too bothered by the sweltering heat in the tent. Eddie was pretty much already asleep in his plaid pajama pants, ripped at the knee and torn around the ankles. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm tucked under his head like a pillow, a thin blanket slung around his waist. 

And Steve was fine, although he looked concerned that you were uncomfortable. He slept in a thin white tank top and sweatpants, which made him look more handsome than he needed to be. “I’ll sleep in the car if you want,” he said, his voice just below a whisper. “I just need to ask Eddie for the keys.”

You shook your head. “No, he’s already asleep, I think,” you replied. “I’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.” He nodded, offering a tired smile before turning onto his side, his legs curled slightly into himself. A deep sigh escaped you as you closed your eyes. 

For the next hour, Eddie slept fitfully, tossing and turning back and forth until you were partly convinced he was just as awake as you felt. Steve, on the other hand, seemed to be peacefully sleeping— scooting closer to you unconsciously as he slept, until he was tucked into your side and his leg was nestled between yours. And then Eddie turned onto his side, pressed firmly against you until he hooked his leg over yours and pulled you close like a koala. 

God, they were needy when they were asleep. Eddie’s breath was soft against your throat, and you could feel from the cadence of it that he was asleep. You shifted between them and Eddie hummed softly, a sweet sound you hadn’t known could escape him. You were long since sober, but the feeling of his breath on you and Steve’s fingers on your bare skin made you feel euphoric. 

Between the two of them, it was easy to forget the heat. You were far more focused on how they were touching you, the feel of their hair tickling your skin and each sleepy shift in their movements. Still, sweat beaded along your back, tacky where baby pieces of hair curled at the base of your neck. 

Eddie made a sleepy hum as he shifted closer, practically nuzzling against you. It made sudden sense why he slept with a body pillow in his bed, aside from the obvious reasons. He was a touchy person while awake, always nudging or wrapping himself around whoever he was talking to. And he was just the same when he was sleeping. 

He mumbled something groggily as you wriggled slightly, trying to get comfortable. His hand wrapped around your waist, just above Steve’s, tugging you into him. 

Oh shit. You froze as you felt something prodding against your ass. This is why you wanted your own tent. 

“Eddie,” you whispered softly. “Are you awake?” He didn’t respond, and you knew he had to be asleep, or else he’d be panicking and apologizing and making a weird big deal about his random nighttime boner. 

Steve blinked slowly beside you, his brows furrowed to see you in the dark. “What’s goin’ on?” He slurred sleepily. His thumb rubbed lazy circles on your skin.

Your face burned. “It’s nothing,” you lied. His knee shifted between your legs as he moved, and your heart hammered. You were all so fucking close to each other. “Eddie’s just holding me a little tight.”

Steve lifted the dead weight of Eddie’s arm slowly, so as not to disturb him and nodded your way. “C’mere, I’ll scoot so you have more room.” You wriggled as you attempted to free yourself from Eddie’s leg pinning you down. Eddie moaned softly, rutting against you. 

A shiver ran through you at the soft sounds escaping his lips, the way his breath felt against your throat. You were liking this way more than you should have been, especially with him asleep. 

“Eddie, c’mon, wake up,” you said, a little louder now that Steve was awake. 

“Mmmph.” He buried his face in your hair. 

The air mattress moved with another shift of Eddie’s hips, and he gasped again at the feeling, perhaps a bit more awake than he was before. 

Steve swallowed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see the way Eddie was practically grinding himself against you in his sleep. “Is he…?” He trailed off. “We should wake him up.”

“Yeah,” you said on an exhale. “Yeah, we should.”

You reached back and shook Eddie’s shoulder, hoping to rattle him awake. He groaned and rolled off of you, a frown painting his lips as he squinted into the dark. 

“Can’t see shit,” Eddie muttered, quickly reaching up to flick on the lantern. The sudden light made you groan with annoyance, shielding your eyes until they could adjust. 

 Great. Now you were all completely awake again. “Why’s your fuckin’ top off?” Eddie asked groggily after glancing over at you. You tugged your blanket up quickly, heat blooming in your cheeks as his eyes narrowed. “Were you and Harrington fucking?”

“What?!” Steve nearly yelped. 

“No!” You insisted. 

Eddie laughed, rolling onto his side, his head propped up on his hand. “Good, ‘cause I would’ve felt left out.” You swallowed, blinking up at him as his words sank in. Steve was uncharacteristically quiet, and you were so conscious of his hand on your stomach, still there even though you were well past being able to blame closeness on being asleep. 

Eddie furrowed his brows at both of you. “That was a joke. What’s up with you two?”

Well, I’m sandwiched between two guys who I want to sleep with and one of them was dry humping me in my sleep. That’s what's up with me. “It’s just hot in here.”

Eddie sighed in conceit, throwing the blanket off of himself. Even in the dark, you could see the tent that had formed in his flannel pajamas. Your heart thrummed and your head swam with thoughts you shouldn’t have had about a best friend. 

“Where are you going?” You asked, sitting up. 

Eddie furrowed his brows. “Full disclosure?” You nodded. “I’m going to take care of my situation.”

Your eyes went wide. “You can’t go out there right now!” 

Steve sat up then, glancing between the two of you. “Why not?”

“Bears!”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. “Oh my god. A bear isn’t going to come kill me while I jack off.”

You slapped his arm. “I’m serious, Eddie! You heard the park ranger on the way in. It’s bear season. You’re not going.”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you suggest, hm? Pray the boner away?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks and you shook your head. “No, I mean, just take care of it here.”

Eddie looked like he’d just been struck dumb. His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. “You’re totally serious right now?”

You plucked at a stray thread on your blanket, suddenly far more interested in the poorly made quilt than meeting Eddie’s gaze. “I mean… yeah it’s safer than going out there.” You peered up at him. “I’m trying to look out for you.”

The tiniest of smiles turned up his lips, and you felt your heart begin to race as he inched impossibly closer to you. He smelled like a campfire and you wanted to just breathe him in. Your lashes fluttered as he looked at you. 

“You sure that’s all you’re trying to do?”

You stammered. “What?” Your voice came out high and pitchy, and you cursed your stupid vocal cords for betraying you.

“Back me up, Steve,” Eddie said, drawing the younger boy’s attention back to the two of you. It seemed that he was trying his best to be occupied by the flat canvas of the tent wall. 

“Hm?” Steve scratched at the back of his neck, his cheeks were impossibly red. 

“Doesn’t it seem like she’s trying to get me to jerk off in front of you two?” Eddie raised a brow as Steve swallowed hard. “Oh… you’re into that, aren’t you pretty boy?”

Steve stammered, but it was impossible to hide it. The thin blanket across his lap couldn’t hide his obvious hard-on, no matter how he shifted and squirmed to hide it. 

Eddie was eating the attention up. You and Steve, squirming and embarrassed as he called you both out on your lewd thoughts. It was like Christmas and his birthday rolled into one. 

He laid back on the stupid blow-up mattress, one arm thrown behind his head. You bit down on your tongue to keep a gasp from escaping your lips at the sight of his tattooed bicep. Eddie Munson was so fucking handsome it made your teeth ache. 

You could hear Steve’s breath catch as Eddie closed his eyes, letting his hand slip beneath the band of his pants. “Mmm…” A gratified moan escaped his lips as he took his length into his hand, concealed by his pajamas. “Fuck me.”

His head fell back against his pillow, the expanse of his neck looking oh so inviting. Want stirred within you, throbbing at your core. Of all the ways you had seen him before, nothing could have prepared you for this. 

A whimper escaped Steve beside you, and your heart stuttered at the noise.  He couldn’t help himself, that much was obvious. He rubbed along the outline of his cock in his sweatpants, rutting into his grip. 

“This is so stupid,” you said suddenly. Eddie’s movements didn’t falter, didn’t cease as he looked at you expectantly. “Why should we all get off by ourselves when we can just… use each other?” You swore internally. “I mean… what’s a bit of fucking around between friends?”

Steve groaned. “Jesus fuck.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you couldn’t help but relish how pretty he was. “You can use me, I don’t—“ His lips met your shoulder, peppering kisses on the sweat-sticky skin. “I don’t fucking care. I want it.”

Eddie cried out, watching as Steve fucked into his hand and placed wet, open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could reach. He dipped down, mouthing at your tits over your bra with desperate hunger. His moans vibrated against your skin as you replaced his hand with your own, stroking him through his sweats. 

“God, what did I say about feeling left out,” Eddie muttered, sitting up so he could join the two of you. His mouth met yours instantly— an eager meeting of tongues and teeth. You gasped at the feeling of his tongue against yours, the domineering way that he claimed your mouth as his own. 

Steve was bucking into your hand, keening against your skin. You’d never known him to be so needy— the king Steve who you had crushed on when you sat in the bleachers at basketball games and swim meets. The cocky bravado that you noticed when he paraded around the natatorium in nothing but the horrible Hawkins-green speedos. 

But he was desperate, and you had never known you could love that so much. He kissed your skin with reverence, pulling down the cups of your bra to suck on your tits. He groaned against supple skin, nuzzling into them. 

“Why don’t you—“ Eddie’s words were cut off by you leaning up and capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. He pulled back and held your chin in place with his thumb. “Why don’t you take Harrington’s cock out, hm? Make pretty boy feel good for us.” He glanced over to Steve, whose pupils were blown wide. “How does that sound, Steve? You want us to make you feel good?”

“Mhmm,” Steve moaned against you. “Whatever— shit— whatever you want.”

Eddie grinned like the cat who got the cream, brushing his thumb over your lip briefly. “You hear that?” He asked, ever-so-dramatic. “Stevie here says he wants whatever we want.” You gave a shuddering breath as you blinked up at Eddie. “Do you want something, sweetheart?”

“To touch him,” you said in what was barely a whisper, your voice failing you. “Wanna make him cum for us.”

Eddie pet your hair affectionately, but there was something more in his gaze. “How benevolent of you.” His hand moved from your chin, traveling down the side of your throat and abdomen until it found the elastic of your shorts. “What if I gave that sweet pussy of yours some attention while you so graciously focus on Harrington? You want that? You want your best friend to eat your pussy until you’re begging for mercy?”

You nodded wordlessly, too wired to form a complete sentence. He slid his hand beneath your waistband, holding your gaze as he breached the elastic of your panties just as easily. His fingers stopped just short of your clit, resting firmly on your mound. 

“Are you gonna be wet when I touch you down there, sweetheart? Does touching Harrington’s cock while kissing me get you all hot and bothered?” He asked, grinning when your cheeks flared with heat. “Aw… don’t be shy. Tell me the truth.”

You nodded just as he let his middle finger brush your clit, a gasp ripping past your lips. He smiled wickedly, dipping his fingers further until he found a pool of slick at your center. 

Eddie clicked his tongue disapprovingly as you tried to grind yourself against his fingers. “Don’t forget about pretty boy over here,” he chided. “Can’t just be you having all the fun, can it? I thought your whole idea was for us to use each other?”

His voice was teasing and pretty. You were pretty sure that in that moment he could read an encyclopedia cover to cover and you would be a dripping mess by page three. 

Steve’s breath caught as your fingers caught on the elastic of his sweats, tugging down just enough to free his cock. Sheepishness made his cheeks flush, and he swallowed hard as you took in the sight of him, tongue darting out to lick your lips. 

“It’s okay, right?” He asked hesitantly. 

“It’s fucking perfect, Steve,” you replied as you took him into your hand, eliciting a gratified moan from his pretty lips. He buried his face in your neck as you stroked his length, relishing in each desperate noise you pulled from him.

You were so distracted by the pretty noises he was making that you hadn’t even noticed Eddie getting comfortable between your legs until his rings stung cold on your burning hot thighs.

He peeled your shorts down your legs, his lips following the path that his fingers brushed down your legs. A pretty smile spread across his lips at the sight of white cotton covering your modesty. He made a face that looked nearly pained with desire, hunger dripping from every feature. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re killing me.” You grinned as he peppered kisses along the plush of your thighs, leaving your skin glistening in each spot his mouth claimed. 

“Keep going, baby,” Eddie instructed. “You stop, I stop.” Oh, you realized suddenly. You’d stopped touching Steve. 

It was hard to focus on giving Steve an adequate handjob with Eddie’s face between your thighs. He placed wet, open-mouthed kisses on your pussy through the pristine white cotton, groaning at the smell of your desire. Steve, however, didn’t seem to mind. He turned your face with the gentlest of touches to your jaw and captured your mouth with his. 

There was a lot to love about kissing Steve. He was gentle, no matter how desperate he felt. His lips brushed against yours reverently, soft and supple against your own. You had always thought that he had a pretty mouth— pretty everything— and you supposed he got his reputation for a reason. But somehow, that reputation led you to believe that he would be completely different like this— rough where he was soft, domineering where he was pliable. Each moan into your mouth was like a reward, and you found yourself lost in the way he sounded when his moans were swallowed up by you. 

Eddie didn’t bother with taking your panties off— not yet. He simply tugged them to the side and buried his face in your cunt. You gasped into Steve’s mouth, grabbing onto his shoulders for purchase as Eddie feasted on you. Your thighs trembled as his tongue explored you, dipping into your entrance before teasing at your clit. He moaned low and throaty as he wrapped his lips around your clit, suckling until you had to pull back from kissing Steve to cry out in earnest. 

Eddie watched you from between your thighs, his big, pretty eyes darkened with desire. He looked every bit the fallen angel that Hawkins believed him to be, and you couldn’t get enough. You moved your free hand to his hair, just as soft as you’d expected it to be as you tangled your fingers in it. When he moaned against your pussy it felt like heaven.

“Does it feel good?” Steve asked, his words buzzing against your jaw as he traced it with warm kisses. Your face burned with desire and sheepishness at the question. “‘S Eddie’s mouth making you this desperate?” His breath was shallow as you stroked him, and you could sense that he was doing all he could to maintain some semblance of control. 

“And you.” It took everything within you to meet his gaze while Eddie was quite literally tongue-fucking you. Steve cried out as your thumb teased the head of his cock, bucking into your fist. He swore, moving your hand from around him, a sheepish blush painting his cheeks. 

“Nearly made me bust in your hand like a fucking teenager,” he muttered, but the adoring expression in his gaze told you he didn’t mind that much. “Sound too pretty with Munson between your thighs. Driving me crazy.” Every few words, Steve left needy kisses along your throat, his big hands groping at your tits, making you arch into him. Each noise that he and Eddie pulled from within you made his cock twitch in his lap, still aching and needy. 

Eddie was fucking relentless— thick fingers probing inside of you, stretching you out while his tongue laved at your clit. You could feel the mess that you and he had made of your thighs, of the blanket beneath you. Everything was sticky and wet, and Jesus Christ, you could hear how hungrily he feasted on you and how wet you were as his fingers plunged in and out. 

And beneath all of it, you could feel him mumbling against you— broken sentences that would have made you blush in the daylight. Taste just like heaven. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Sucking my fingers right in.

You could practically taste how close you were— metallic on the back of your tongue. Eddie groaned as your grip on his hair tightened and your ground your cunt against his fingers and mouth. 

“That’s it,” Steve hummed against your skin. “Let go for us. Show us how pretty you look when you cum.” And with Steve fucking Harrington talking like that in your ear, did you really have any choice? 

In all of your life up until that point, you’d never experienced a feeling quite like it. Eddie’s mouth on you, the way he stretched you with his fingers, Steve’s mouth on your tits. Your thighs clamped around Eddie’s head as he worked you through your orgasm, muscles tensing until you came down with a broken moan. He placed a few featherlight kisses to your clit, making your legs tremble.

When he sat back, his face glistened with your desire. His lips were swollen and puffy from use, even prettier when he grinned up at you and Steve. “Fuckin’ ambrosia.” He slotted himself between the two of you, that smug look on his face not even budging. His gaze moved to Steve, and you watched the younger boy swallow hard at the attention. “C’mere, Harrington. Have a taste.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as Eddie tilted his head up with a firm hand beneath his chin, tugging his mouth open slowly. With a gentle nod, Steve opened his mouth, peering up at Eddie expectantly. You watched through your lashes as Eddie spit onto Steve’s tongue, thick with your essence. He wiped at Steve’s bottom lip as he closed his mouth and swallowed. 

There was a moment of complete stillness between the three of you, like you were each waiting to make the next move. You glanced between the two men, watching them look at each other, trying to read their limits in each other’s faces. 

You could see the moment Steve broke— the hungry, desperate fuck it that played in his mind as he practically lunged forward to capture Eddie’s lips with his. His hands tangled in Eddie’s long, unruly hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Eddie moaned into Steve’s mouth, and you shivered as you watched their tongues brush each other as they leaned back in for more. 

“Fuck, Harrington,” Eddie gasped as he pulled back. You watched his eyes rake over Steve’s body, the awkward combination of no pants and the tank top that had ridden up his stomach. “We’ve gotta get you undressed.”

Ever-so-eager, Steve tugged off his shirt before you or Eddie could move to do it for him, messing up his hair in the process. You grinned, leaning in to run your fingers through it, and he leaned into your touch. 

“You taste good,” Steve said, meeting your gaze with a tiny smirk. You rolled your eyes and pecked his lips. 

“She feels good too,” Eddie said, running his warm hands up and down your thighs. You shivered, squeezing your thighs together as a wave of desire rushed through you. “I bet you want to feel her, dontcha? Get your dick wet? Don’t worry, I got her nice and ready for you.” As if to demonstrate, he eased your legs apart and tugged your panties down. When you were bare for them, he swiped a finger through your folds, revealing it to be glistening with your wetness. Your heart thrummed as he popped that finger in his mouth, cleaning it with his tongue. 

Steve’s eyes went wide and he swallowed. “You haven’t done anything yet,” Steve said, glancing down at the hard-on confined within Eddie’s pajama pants. 

Eddie waved him off. “I’m being generous, pretty boy. Trust me, I’ll enjoy watching you fuck her as much as you’ll enjoy doing it.”

You shook your head, fingers slipping beneath the elastic waist of his flannel pajamas. “Mmm… nope,” you said, peering up at him. “What if I blow you while Steve’s fucking me instead? Then you can trade and I can clean him up.”

Eddie raised a brow as he looked at you. “You been thinking about this a lot?” You nodded, teeth digging into your bottom lip to contain your sheepish smile. “Yeah? You want both of us, hm? So greedy for cock you can’t pick?” A whimper escaped you as you nodded. He smiled and glanced over your shoulder at Steve. “Alright, Harrington, let’s give the lady what she wants.”

Eddie was quick to lay back on the mattress, nodding for you to slot yourself between his legs. Of course he had left his clothes on, wanting you to undress him. You settled on all fours, back arched as you pulled off Eddie’s pants. You licked your lips, blinking up at Eddie with newfound hunger. 

“Aw, are you speechless sweetheart?” He asked, petting your face with a smug grin. You rolled your eyes, but Eddie still looked rather proud of himself. And holy shit when did he get a tattoo on his thigh? 

Steve leaned over you, kissing between your shoulder blades. “You ready for me?” He asked. You shivered as he brushed your into his fist, keeping it out of your face. 

“Yes, Steve, please,” you gasped, wiggling your hips impatiently. Eddie grinned, meeting Steve’s gaze over your head. 

“We’ve gotta get her attitude in check, don’t we?” Eddie asked. He took his cock into his hand and stroked himself as you watched, waiting and eager to get him into your mouth. “Don’t worry, we’ll get her all straightened out.”

Steve’s cock teased your entrance, but he paused reaching around until his hand was in front of your mouth. “Spit for me?” He asked. You could feel heat rise in your cheeks, but you obliged him, spitting into his hand. “You too, Munson.”

“I like this side of you, Harrington. You’re so bossy,” Eddie said, leaning forward to spit into Steve’s hand. You turned, looking over your shoulder as Steve used his spit-slick hand to stroke his cock, gathering precum from the tip as he worked his hand. 

You grasped onto Eddie’s thighs as Steve’s cock pressed against your entrance, stretching you with each inch that pushed inside. You cried out when he was fully sheathed within you, clenching around him as he stilled, letting you acclimate to his size. A whimper escaped your lips and Eddie laughed condescendingly, petting your hair. 

“Aw, Stevie, I think she wants you to move.” 

He was so smug, and so attractive, and you loved Eddie so much that it was infuriating. Here he was, smiling and acting casual as if you weren’t actively dripping around Steve Harrington’s cock while your mouth was inches away from his own. Fuck smugness. You looked at him through your lashes as you let your tongue trace him from base to tip, eliciting a shaky moan. You smirked, feeling rather proud of yourself, and took him into your mouth completely. 

He swore, grabbing a fistful of your hair as you took him deeper, spit slicking your hand where you grasped his length. Steve couldn’t have held out any longer if he wanted to— not with the sounds you and Eddie were making, the way your walls were fucking squeezing him. He gave an experimental thrust and you cried out, your voice muffled filthily by the mouthful of Eddie’s cock.

“Fuck, feels so good,” Steve cried out, dropping your hair to grasp onto your hips so he could pull you back onto him with every thrust. Every noise you made was strangled like it was being ripped from your lungs. You weren’t alone in being ridiculously loud, which was reassuring. Steve couldn’t seem to keep himself quiet at all— wasn’t even bothering with volume control. He sounded so pretty that you wished you could record it and play it over and over. 

Eddie was a step down from Steve, but certainly wasn’t quiet. Where Steve was all breathy moans and swears, Eddie was low, guttural moans that made you shiver. His head was tossed back against the floral pillowcase you had brought, the veins on his neck prominent with each pretty noise he made. 

“That’s it,” Steve praised as you slipped a hand beneath yourself to rub at your clit. “Keep touching yourself like that.” He cried out, fucking into you deeper and harder. “Fuck, you feel so good. Squeezing me so tight. Fucking perfect.”

You were drooling around Eddie’s cock, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth and spilling down your hand. It was messy and desperate but Eddie was fucking loving it. Each whimper around him, each time you gagged or had tears well up in your eyes as you looked up at him— it was fucking heaven. 

You moved your mouth from him, lips swollen and puffy as you caught your breath between whimpers. Eddie wiped your mouth with his thumb tenderly, the tiniest of adoring smiles on his lips, not that anyone would believe you if you said it. You continued jerking him off in time with Steve’s thrusts, which only drove him crazier. 

“Aww, pretty girl’s getting close,” Eddie cooed, though the bravado present earlier wasn’t as striking when he was so utterly fucked. “Gonna cum again for us?”

You whimpered, nodding desperately. You mouthed at the head of his cock, your tongue laving it sloppily as Steve fucked you. Your fingers stumbled to keep their rhythm on your clit as you got closer and closer, thighs trembling with the effort not to buckle.

A guttural, desperate moan escaped you as you came, trembling with the intensity of your second climax of the night. You shivered as you came down, whimpering as Steve fucked into your sensitive cunt. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Steve gasped, urgency in his tone. “Tell me where you want it.”

You were slow with the euphoria weighing down your veins. Before you could respond, Eddie piped up. “C’mere, Harrington.” Steve’s eyes went wide, but he pulled out, stroking along his soaked length as he settled next to Eddie. You watched through heavy lids as Eddie replaced Steve’s hand with his own, jerking him off tentatively as he looked up at him. “This okay?”

“M-more,” Steve nearly pleaded. Eddie raised a brow, his lips quirking up in a grin. 

“You mind if I take care of Steve, Sweetheart?” Eddie asked. You shook your head, a sated smile painting your lips as you watched Eddie sit up on his knees, peering up at Steve through his lashes. “Go ahead, pretty boy. I’m all yours.”

You knew that Steve wouldn’t last long. He held onto Eddie’s hair like a lifeline as the metalhead took him into his mouth, tasting your desire on his length. Eddie moaned at the taste, at the feel of Steve’s cock heavy on his tongue. 

“Shit,” Steve cried out, his voice wavering. “Oh fuck. ‘M gonna cum.” His warning didn’t deter Eddie one bit, which was admirable. You watched with a sympathetic sort of satisfaction at the sight of Steve cumming onto Eddie’s tongue. Head thrown back, stomach twitching as he drained himself completely into the older boy’s tongue. 

Eddie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You up for more, Sweetheart?” He glanced at Steve, who had already laid down on the mattress in an attempt to catch his breath. “I think Stevie boy’s out of commission.”

You laughed, almost feeling like joining him. “For the Edward Wayne Munson? The resident freak of Hawkins, Indiana?” You asked, crawling into his lap. Your faces were so close that your noses brushed. “Always, baby.”

He inched forward, pecking your lips gently. “Didn’t exactly plan on fucking anyone on this sweet little camping trip,” he admitted. “No rubbers. You want me to pull out?”

“Nah,” you replied, grinding your hips against him. “It’ll be like your graduation present.”

“Fuck me,” He groaned, shaking his head. “If your graduation presents are this nice, maybe I’ll go to college.” You rolled your eyes, reaching between you to grasp at his cock. He shuddered, chest heaving as you lined him up with your entrance and sank down onto him. 

Both of you went still, just breathing together as you adjusted to his size. Steve had him beat in terms of girth, and that stretch felt fucking perfect, but Eddie was so fucking deep that you could practically feel him in your stomach. 

“Good?” He asked softly. You nodded wordlessly, leaning forward to kiss him again. 

You rode him in earnest, despite your muscles aching from the night’s exertions. Your own pleasure was the last thing on your mind, still thrumming from your last climax. All you wanted was to be the reason Eddie Munson was falling apart beneath you. His hair clung to the edges of his face, tacky with sweat. You had almost forgotten that the heat was a problem with everything going on. 

You glanced past Eddie to see Steve propped up on his elbows, watching you both intently. His undivided attention only made desire burn hotter within you. You rolled your hips against Eddie, arching your back to draw attention to your tits. He groaned at the sight, almost like he’d been reminded they were there. He took one of your tits into his mouth, sucking on it fervently as he groped your other breast. 

“Feel so good inside of me, Eds,” you practically purred. He groaned against your tits and you grinned. “Want you to cum in me. Fill me up, don’t waste a drop.”

“Fucking vixen,” he mumbled between groans of pleasure, peppering soft kisses along the supple skin of your chest. 

You reached up, tugging his hair so he fucking whimpered. “C’mon, baby,” you urged, riding him harder and faster despite the burning in your thighs. “Cum for me. Please, Eddie.”

He tried to hold out longer, but the sight of you practically begging for it, of your tits bouncing as you rode his cock was too much for him to handle. He held your hips in place as he came, twitching within you until you slipped off him. 

Pearly white dripped from your cunt, sticking to your thighs as you rolled off of him, claiming your place between him and Steve. You could feel your desire cooling between your thighs, the mess of spit from kisses and sweat cooling on your skin. You’d all need a long trip to the showers tomorrow. 

Steve was the first to move closer to you— nuzzling into your neck, wrapping his arm around your waist. You reached for Eddie, tugging him right against your other side. “I love you guys,” you sighed contentedly. “Now let’s get some sleep.”

———

In the morning, you had to practically pry yourself from Steve and Eddie’s arms. You stretched, goosebumps erupting over your bare skin. You should’ve dressed before bed,  but the three of you had fallen deeply asleep practically the moment you cuddled together on the shitty mattress. 

Each article of your clothing was tossed around the tent— Steve’s tank top hid your shorts, but your panties were nowhere to be found. If you had to guess… Munson. You dressed as best as you could, though, and recovered your boys with the blankets, eager to grab a drink from the cooler outside. 

You opened the tent flap and stepped outside, freezing with shock. 

“Eddie! Steve!” You called with concern. “Come look at this!” They rushed out of bed, wrapping their respective blankets around their waists to preserve a modicum of modesty before joining you. 

“Oh… shit,” Eddie said. You could hear the amusement in his tone, so thick that you didn't even have to look to see he was trying not to laugh. 

The campsite was utterly wrecked— your ice chest emptied, Steve’s bag of clothes emptied out and strewn around. Everything that hadn’t been packed back into the van had been tossed around like a tornado had blown through. 

“I told you,” you said finally. “It’s bear season.”

Steve shook his head, a tiny grin on his lips. “More of an excuse to go back to Hawkins and repeat what we did last night on a real bed, right?”

Eddie grinned, glancing between you and Steve. “You know what? That’s not a bad idea, Harrington. We pack that van now, we can be back in Hawkins screwing each other’s brains out by lunchtime.”

You sighed, crossing your arms as you looked over the wrecked campsite. “You know… we probably should. Because of the bears, and everything.”

Yeah, you thought. Thank god for bears.

Johnny and General Abbot - Sweet Tooth Season 2

I like this character a normal amount

Ma Miles - Ch. 18

3.5k words

Content warning: Mention of drowning, mention of getting shot with arrows

Pouty kitty!! A little bit of a smaller chapter today, but that's because another one drops tomorrow again. We're moving forward in this story and it's going to be a very rough ride for a little bit before ruffled feathers gets smoothed out again lol

(If you want to be tagged with the updated chapters, please leave your @ myusername in the comments!)

Previous chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 19 - Coming soon

Standing on the receiving end, watching as you leave with their son, is unlike any pain Miles has ever felt before in his relatively short and long life. Screw getting shot by Mrs. Sully’s arrows dipped in neurotoxins, screw Sully and the chokehold he had on him as he slowly but surely drowned him. Compared to this anxious fear that was crawling up inside of him, that had been like a walk in the friggin sunny park. For a moment, how he had ended up in this exact situation strikes him with blinding clarity. He had never meant for any of this to happen, never meant for Sully’s son to get caught in the middle of their war, yet, a child had almost died and it had partly been his fault. 

The bile that followed the realization didn’t sit well with him. A part of him growls angrily inside of his mind, demanding that he ‘pussy up and put a pad on it’. Yet, that part of him lay crushed to dust in the jungle somewhere far, far away from here. He was not that man, that’s what he had claimed the entire time, but when push came to shove, when Sully had been within his grasp, Colonel Miles S. Quaritch was exactly who he had become. By some kind of miracle, he had managed to stop the tulkun hunt just in time before Scoresby sent the explosive-tipped harpoon into the animal. The shadow of your soul-crushed expression brokenly staring up at him with horror had entered his mind, making his entire body clench up, as if panic-stricken. He remembered mumbling something as he pushed the harpoon upwards to the skies, as far away from the animal as he could get it, before demanding that they stop the hunt altogether. From there, Sully would get the message and still be able to save the animal. 

Sighing deeply, he realized that he had screwed up royally. He should have never taken Spider from your arms, should have never burned the villages, or ordered Lyle to shoot that chief’s animal. He should have listened to you, should have taken your lessons to heart instead of just playing happy house while closing his ears to Ardmore’s nagging. The woman, although outranking him, had no tactical sense whatsoever. Miles was not stupid. Upon waking, he had gathered all the intel he could on the General, pulled some strings, and called in even older favors. What he had found was unsettling, even to what remained of Quaritch’s personality inside of him. Ardmore was ruthless but sloppy, her work was efficient when successful, but disastrous when failed. 

It wasn’t as much the failed missions that worried him though. Ardmore had given him a promise inside of her office, one he no longer had any doubt that she would hesitate to fulfill once she got a hold of you. How he was supposed to keep you safe was beyond him. With the way his body ached, he wouldn’t be able to defend either one of you anytime soon. The chances of the village protecting them were slim at best. They were primitive people after all. Once Ardmore set her mind on something, he feared it would rival that of Quaritch himself. The chance of the two of them coming with him was even slimmer. He had no claim to Spider, even though you had accepted him as Spider’s father. The memory of your voice brokenly ringing through the hut pulls him out of his mind for long enough to assess the situation before him. 

‘You do not deserve them,’ 

The claim cut deeply, although knowing you, it was probably not meant to. The despair and heartache you had displayed took him by complete surprise. With every emotion pouring off of you, you let yourself be vulnerable without appearing weak. In fact, he had never seen a more powerful display of strength in his life. You had spoken the truth, even though it had obviously hurt you on a personal level. 

The little mama was right, of course, though even admitting as much to himself didn’t come easily. Spider had gone with her willingly, and why wouldn’t he? She had been there for him his entire life compared to him. Sure, he had been dead for most of his kid’s life, but what did he do once he actually found his son back in that jungle? Kidnapping. Coercion. Manipulation. And hey, what do you know; kidnapping again. 

Shaking his head, Miles clenched his jaw so tightly the force behind it threatened to break the bone. The pain brought a newfound clarity with it, clarity that he had needed so many times in the past few months. Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he squares his shoulders. Even though he never intended to hurt the children, using them as pawns in a game of war, just to get to the Sullys, had been beneath him. Looking up from his own pity party, he notices how Mrs. Sully doesn’t fare much better than he does. He recognizes the shame and frustration, her anger at him lingering just behind her eyes, as if smoldering embers waiting to ignite. But for the moment, he couldn’t care less what Mrs. Sully felt. Not when there were more important things to focus on.

The way you had just walked out on them, on him, threatened to make him spiral into a panic he didn't even want to acknowledge. Being ashamed didn’t fit into his life, didn’t clash well with his personality, in all honesty. Yet, when you had told them - told him - that they were unworthy of calling themselves parents, that they didn't deserve their children, he had only felt shame at the way he already knew it to be true. You were going to leave him for real if something didn't change soon, were going to turn your back on him and walk out of his miserable life like everyone else had. If he was being honest with himself, which apparently was the theme of today’s schedule, he didn’t understand why you hadn’t already left. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected it to happen. Everyone left him, that was just the story of his life. And maybe you would be better off if you did. But then again, if you hadn’t found a partner in all the years since adopting Spider, what was to say you would now? 

Closing his eyes and sighing deeply, he already knows what he has to do. Although it pains him to the very core of his soul, Miles steps up to Mrs. Sully, noting how her eyes darken with wariness as she scowls up at him, the grip on her knife tightening instinctively as he comes to a stop before her. The tension in the small hut is thick enough to slice with a knife, Sully and the big chief ready to pounce if he even breathed wrong. 

“She is right,” He starts slowly, his Na’vi not as good as he wished it to be, but by the shocked silence in the hut, he must’ve said it correctly enough. “I should not use the children on you,”

The sentence is chopped and slow, and he’s certain that he worded it all wrong when the hut remains silent, the Sullys’ expressions that of bewildered owls gawking at him with open ears. Growling his frustration at his own laziness, Miles slowly raises his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. 

“I shouldn’t have used the children against you,” He repeats, in English this time, “I apologize.”

“I understood what you said, demon, I am not slow like you,” Neytiri hisses back way too fast before continuing in English, “I will not forgive. But we do agree, for once. Y/n was right and I apologize for putting Spider in danger,”

It’s not perfect, it’s not perfect in the slightest, but it’s a start he thinks as he looks at his former Corporal. Sully’s shocked expression is not lost on him, and somehow, it makes him feel angrier than he already was. Turning around, Miles steps over to his cot, before sitting down. His body is tired and his head is pounding uncomfortably. With narrowed eyes, he watches as Mrs. Sully leaves the hut, but as she does, the big chief walks up to him. 

“It takes a strong man to admit when he is at fault,” He says before turning back to Sully. The two whisper something in Na’vi before the big chief leaves them both.

Miles doesn’t know how much time passes in silence, the sound of the sea below the hut soothing in a way he hadn’t expected it to be. Still, his anger and frustration over Sully only rise inside of him. The time he had wasted, the lives that had been lost, the cost it had demanded of him - all without a second thought. Although they were his decisions, he couldn’t help but fall victim to Quaritch’s old ways of thinking. 

“You were my brother,” He starts, his low and voice raspy - filled with anger and old betrayal that didn't belong in this new life of his, “And you betrayed that,” 

“It wasn’t personal, Quaritch,” Jake replies, and in truth, he sounds so honest. It only works to infuriate him even more though. 

“I gave you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Corporal. I went out of my way to give you what you needed to succeed. When Parker wanted to pull the plug, I fought for you. I showed you loyalty and you took that and spat it right back in my face - you turned your back on me,” Miles growls, ears pinned tightly to his skull as his tail thrashes loudly behind him, easily giving his emotions away which Sully clearly read. 

“What we were doing was wrong, can you still not see that?” Jake shoots back, his own anger showing, though his body language remained calm, non-confrontational. Anger though, anger Miles could work very well with. 

“You betrayed me, Jake,” He fuels on, the rasp in his growl lethal even to his own ears. 

“You betrayed yourself, Colonel,” Jake spits his title with disgust and for a split second, it hits home. Miles is unable to respond, unable to help his ears from twitching or his tail from freezing up behind him.  

“What we came here to do was wrong. Still, the Na’vi opened their homes, their hearts -” Jake points in the direction you and Spider had just left moments ago and the message hits dead center, “ - and welcomed us, made us a part of them, out of the goodness of their hearts. You know, the Na’vi has no word for shit like lies or sins. It’s not in their nature. But you know what? It is in ours, Quaritch,” 

What Jake says has Miles stopping in his response, mouth opened in a sneer to spit back, but nothing comes. Instead, his thoughts fly around inside his skull, evading him each time he reaches for any of them. He’s left gaping like a fish until he audibly snaps his mouth shut.

“We’ve done despicable things in our lives, Colonel, but this? This is a chance to make amends, to be born anew. Don’t waste it. Don’t repeat history…” And with that, Jake turns his back and leaves. 

Miles sits in silence until night has long since fallen, mind racing as the conversation with Sully runs through his mind. In more than one way, he knew that his former Corporal was right. This was a chance to start anew, to live a life away from war. But did he even know how to do that? He was born into war, lived and breathed war for the entirety of his human life, only to be reborn into war, of a different kind, once more. 

He had done things in his previous life that he knew he could never walk away from. And when his time eventually came, when he was military no more, he had roamed mindlessly before the Head of Chief position for the RDA was offered to him on Pandora. The private sector was sketchy at best, but it was home, a place where people like him could continue to live with the rules and mindset they had been used to from a lifetime of service. The time in between, though, that had been the worst. With no purpose in life, Quaritch had nothing - had no one. Heck, he didn’t even know himself apart from the Marine he had always been. That wasn’t to say he’d never let his mind wander, wondering what a life without the ever-pressing threat of active war and death would be like. To come home to a woman’s warm embrace, hell, maybe even a couple of kids too. Every time his mind went there, however, he would violently throw the thought from his mind. That life was not for him, had never been in the cards he was dealt.  

Now, though, now things were different. He already had the kid, had his eyes set on a woman… He had somehow been given this unattainable dream, but could he really keep it? Could he be the husband and father he had secretly dreamt of being all his life? And what then of Ardmore’s threats? If she found them already married, she would not hesitate to use Y/n against him, or him against her. But to what gain? There was nothing you could give Ardmore that any other native woman could not provide… unless it was to get full control of him. The thought has him freezing as a chill runs down his spine. The bond went both ways. If Ardmore got Y/n, he would be helpless to deny Ardmore anything she demanded of him, if only just to keep you safe. 

Miles doesn't have time to analyze his new discoveries, either one of them, when Spider walks into the hut, returning first, with a basket of food in his arms. He watches as the kid puts the basket down on the other side of the small hut, rummaging inside of it until he pulls out a ripe spartan fruit in his small hands. Miles watches as Spider cuts into it, dicing the juicy fruit into small cubes that probably were human-sized. It makes his own stomach growl loudly. 

“How are you doing?” Spider looks up from the bowl he’s putting the diced fruit into, his face curious behind his exopack. 

“Honestly, kid? I don’t know. These are new waters for me,” Miles couldn’t help but reply honestly. This was his son before him, the kid who saved him from a watery grave, even though he had just betrayed him and his mother. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Spider chuckles, a grin spreading across his lips before removing his mask to eat the first cube of spartan fruit, humming loudly as the taste no doubt explodes across his tongue. “Heard you apologized to Neytiri,” 

“Words spread fast I see,” Miles sighs, as his stomach growls angrily again while watching his son eat, “It was the right thing to do,” 

Spider looks at him with an expression Miles can’t place before he nods his head and leans back. Rummaging in the basket, he lifts another spartan fruit from it. Indicating that he was to throw the fruit, he waits for Miles to be ready to catch it before sending it over. 

“How angry is your mother?” He asks, digging into the fruit before daring to look into his son’s eyes, a small ‘thanks’ mumbled as he chews loudly.

“Oh, she’s furious. Never seen her this mad before,” Spider grins and Miles coughs as he chokes on the fruit before sighing in defeat while putting the half-eaten fruit down in his overly exposed lap. 

“I’ve never seen her this sad before either,” Spider continues shortly after as if he was waiting to gauge Miles’ response before offering the information. 

“Why’s she sad?” Miles dares as he stuffs the last bits of the spartan fruit into his mouth. 

“You broke her heart and betrayed her trust,” Spider gives so freely, without judgment, and just like that Miles has a new goal in his life. 

Conflicted about what his mind tells him and what he feels, he knows deep down that even Quaritch would have been weak for this Na’vi woman, for their son. She had shown him kindness where he had deserved none, had embraced his unit, taught them well, and made them smile, and what did he do in return? He had turned around and spat in her face, throwing away all of her hard work. Quaritch had always known he was an asshole, but Miles never for a second believed they could sink as low as this. You had taken his son in after Quaritch’s death, giving him warmth and motherly love, letting Spider grow into a confident and strong young adult. Quaritch and Miles owed you everything, even before you had met. 

Now, though, that responsibility fell upon him. Quaritch was no more, no matter how much he tried to come to the surface in Miles’ mind, dictating what he should or should not do, what he should and should not feel. Although his voice in the back of Miles’ mind had been conveniently quiet when it came to you, Quaritch had had his full share of “brilliant” ideas to offer on other stuff. Fifteen years, one and a half decades. That was a lot of time for the world around him to change, a lot of time for Quaritch’s methods to be outdated. This was a new age, demanding a new point of view to defeat an enemy that would no doubt come for them with a personal vendetta much stronger than before. 

Lost deep in his own thoughts, he doesn’t notice how Spider goes to sleep, his small body curled up in his mother’s huge bed, rolled into their blankets like a burrito. Sighing deeply, he gets up to clean the knife and bowl that the kid had used, dipping it into the bowl of clean water. For a moment, he looks longingly at the knife in his hand, entertaining the thought of breaking free, but Miles shuts Quaritch up before that seed can grow. This isn’t giving up, he decides, but rather seizing the second chance he’s gotten to do things right. Looking out over the sea, he sees two ikrans flying in the distance, riderless, and instinctively, he knows that it’s Cupcake and Hawnu. You must have just returned if he caught sight of Hawnu flying away. 

Turning back to his cot, Miles bends down on his aching knees before burrowing down into the material below. The woven mat is nothing much, but the blanket he’s covered in is soft and warm, protecting him from the harsh winds out on these islands. Closing his eyes, he lets his mind wander to more pleasant things, like how Cupcake was safe, how you had brought her with you. If she was out flying with Hawnu, it meant that the wounds on her neck weren’t serious as he had thought. Any other thought disappears as light footsteps approach the hut, however. The guards outside greet you gently as you pass them by before stepping inside the hut.

You look tired. Your eyes puffy and dark as they meet his from across the room. Turning your back to him, you fiddle with the flap that works as a door, fastening its buckles as you prepare for sleep.  One by one, you close the flaps until the only light source is the pit on the floor, not that he actually needs it, his night vision working just fine for once. You don’t say anything as you turn your back to him before getting into bed with Spider, the blankets rustling quietly before the hut grows quiet once more. 

Sighing, he pushes the blankets away from his body and gets up to his knees, groaning like an old man as his body protests the activity. Seizing this second chance starts here, with the woman who had offered him the trust and patience he had only experienced in rare dreams. Walking over to their bed, Miles wraps his fists over his thumbs, an anxious gesture he never quite managed to hide. Getting down to his knees before your bed is easier than getting up. It isn’t lost on him how your shoulders rise to protect your neck or how your ears pin tighter against your head while he gathers his… courage.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry, sweetheart,” Miles’ voice comes out raspier than he thought it would, but his words ring no less true. 

He kneels there for a while longer, the silence stretching on, before getting up with a hiss, his body protesting louder this time. Walking over to his cot again, he lets his body crumble to the soft material. The olive branch had been extended, all he could do now was wait and hope that you would accept it.

Chapter 17 | Masterpost | Chapter 19 - Coming soon

Bro writing on Ao3 is a nightmare lol. Like it deletes my work when I leave the page to dubble check my sources, so I end up having to rewrite whole paragraphs/chapter ;___;.

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Reader : Savior Fill (2)

Remember this prompt? Could u please do reader x joker 2019?

Reader protects Arthur (before he turned into joker) from when his sign was taken and she beat the kids up and he won’t ever forget that moment. But now,Arthur turned into the joker, he returns the favour by saving her from bad guys?

And when he saves her, he walks elegantly towards her 😫✨ and says “I missed you, doll” 🫣🫣🫣😭✨

AN: LOOK, it's a second fill to the same prompt 8D I’ve written it in such a way it can also be seen as a modern-day au.

Title: Savior Fandom: Joker 2019 Pairing: Arthur Fleck (Joker)  x Reader Rating: Mature for safety. Warnings: Violence, (attempted) sexual assault, Crude Language, Clown beating, Sweet Arthur, Sweet Reader, Blood. ~ Savior Fill : I Need You ~

1.

When you turned the corner down the busy shopping street and into the alley, you were surprised to see a group of five teenage boys hunched over something.

Or rather, someone.

Between the dirt from torn open bins and mud from the fallen rain earlier, lay a man. You squinted to see what was happening but quickly caught on. The boys weren’t trying to help the man up. By the movements they made, your first thought was that they might be dancing. But they weren’t. Not if the only music was the sound of shouts and curses from the boys and the soft whimpers from below their feet.

The man in question lay in the ditch, face shielded from you. But you had caught sight of the oddly colorful curls, a wig, and the oversized shoes. A cardboard sign lay several feet away, folded and covered in dirt and mud. He must be one of those hired promoters, you mused. You disliked guerrilla marketing as much as any other, but beating the man up was going way too far.

These boys were bullying the man, kicking down at his shins and using their feet to bruise him, and perhaps even worse. Behind you, the main street was crowded, and people were shuffling on the sidewalks, but hardly anyone seemed to so much as glance at the sight in front of you. This is the busiest shopping street in the city, why does no one stop? you thought in a panic.

“Hey,” you shouted while sweat formed on your head. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. Why does no one stop? You thought again. But once they heard your shout, some bystanders turned around and seemed to notice the youths at the side of the road.

Thank God, you tried to calm your wildly beating heart. Your cry made the boys stop their terror and turn towards you. For a moment, you feared they would attack you next, but once they noticed that other people had stopped to look at them, they quickly turned around and fled into one of the alleyways.

Pussies, you thought angrily, but you decided not to chase after them. Instead, you walked over to the crumpled form of the man who lay in the ditch. His arms shielded his chest and face from the brutal attack. But by the sight of him, it hadn’t worked that much. Fresh bruises covered his cheek and his arms, and when he noticed the attackers had stopped and finally dared to look up at you, you saw his lip had been split and blood was running down his nose and into his mouth. He looked horrible. There was no other way to describe this poor man.

“I am so sorry,” you said while kneeling beside him. You brought a careful hand to the man’s shoulder. Your eyes widened slightly when the man smiled up at you. A true bloodied smile. How? you wondered. How can someone who has been hurt this badly still smile? You watched the trail of blood from his nose all the way to his teeth. And then he seemed to lean into your touch.

“What are you apologizing for, love?” the man asked, voice smooth like silk. There was a certain hoarseness to it, a lowness that was reminiscent of smokers. And indeed, a faint scent of cigarettes reached your nose.

What had you been apologizing for, you wondered. And your frown made way for a more innocent expression. “I should have been here sooner,” you whispered.

The stranger in front of you let out an embittered laugh and you waited quietly for him to calm down. His chest convulsed and he brought a first up to his lips. It almost seemed like he coughed, as if he choked on his own laughter, but you kept your hand on his shoulder through it all, trying to give him a little bit of comfort. It seemed to work, and after a full minute or two of painful laughter, the man quieted down.

Once he fell silent, he looked up at you again. Bright green eyes met yours, and you saw the confusion within them. You gently squeezed, mindful not to squeeze too hard in case he’d been bruised there too before you removed your hand from his shoulder.

Swallowing seemed hard as you watched him, but your mouth felt dry and you wanted to ask him how he was doing. You saw his eyes dart down to your lips before they slid up to your eyes again. He observed you as if he’d never seen anyone like you before.

“Should I bring you to a doctor? Do you want to report this to the police?” you asked, hand on your chest to calm your own racing heart.

The man’s eyes slid to your hand and darkened. Then he shook his head. The blood was still streaming from his nose. But he pushed himself up, his oversized coat fell with the motion like water cascading down a waterfall. He was dressed as a clown all right. A tiny hat on top of his wig and a plastic flower pinned to the breast pocket of his coat. He brushed his thin hands past his pants, unknowingly wiping traces of blood all over the brightly colored fabric.

“No, thank you, love. I’m fine,” the man said, and you couldn’t believe your ears. He was fine? Had he looked at himself yet? You frowned up at him, all the skepticism visible in your expression. Now that he stood, you could tell that the man in front of you was far from well. There was something frail about him, perhaps that was why the boys had decided to go after him? He seemed skinny, a certain sadness visible in his eyes. The makeup hid most of his true features, but you thought he must be older than you by at least a decade. Perhaps you were wrong though. Most of these jobs were done by young students such as yourself.

He was clearly bruised, his sign destroyed and his skin tattered. His blood had ruined his costume. He looked like he had stepped out of a horror show. “You can’t go back to work like this,” you gently said, and finally rose from your knees.

Standing in front of him, you could see the stubbornness in his eyes. But there was something else in there. As if he was lost and uncertain. As if he didn’t know what to do with himself now.

You carefully reached for his hand, not caring if anyone was still watching. “Come on,” you whispered while you waited for his fingers to slide into your own. “Let me get you home.”

For a moment, his green gaze lay upon you, intensely. You saw his jaw twitch and knew he considered your offer, but you feared he would reject it and walk away.

Then his fingers were in yours and you smiled.

2. You learned the clown’s name was Arthur Fleck when you walked him home to his apartment that day. It was thanks to you that his boss was informed of his absence from the job and the reason behind it. You had gone to the nearest apothecary to get the right band-aids and disinfectant to help him clean his wounds – as apparently his entire medicine cabinet was off limits and he wasn’t going to allow you to look in there. You ended up home at such a late time that evening, that your parents were on the verge of calling the police.

You explained to them what had happened. How you had saved a clown from being attacked and how you had helped the poor man home. Despite being proud of you, your parents were also extremely worried that you’d gone home with the stranger without notifying them. You had to admit you’d forgotten. You’d been too focused on helping the man. This Arthur.

When at his house, you had helped him clean his face. And when the makeup had been taken off, you’d finally seen him for the very first time. He looked handsome, you had to admit. Definitely older than you, but appealing despite it all.

He’d kept your mind busy for months to come and became your secret little crush. You’d daydream about seeing him again, of accidentally bumping into him in the subway or watching one of his performances as a clown. But despite returning to the main shopping street in the weeks after meeting him, you didn’t catch a glimpse of him again. He just wasn’t there. The shop owner had no need for him and wouldn’t tell you where he had hired the man. Though you had spoken to Arthur’s boss, you couldn’t remember what the company he was working for was called.

You knew where Arthur lived but, the exact route to get there was a blur. You’d been too caught up in chatting with him to actually pay attention to your surroundings. So you made an attempt to find his apartment, but the streets all looked the same to you, and you got no closer to finding his house.

It’s better this way, you thought wryly. Don’t want to come off like a stalker. Then a nice boy from your class caught your attention and he managed to distract you from your secret crush.

He was attending the same courses as you. An attractive young man, closer to your own age, and with similar interests. You allowed yourself to get closer to him because it helped you forget about the unreachable Arthur Fleck.

You hoped this new boy liked you. He seemed to give hints that he did. But the two of you danced around each other, both too shy to ask the other out. Instead, you formed a friendship that made you feel all warm inside. And you forgot the clown you had helped scrambling from the pavement. You forgot about him and thought this might be the end of it all.

Just that one faithful meeting.

A memory of a crush that would never come to fruition. It would be all you ever have of him.

3.

It was broad daylight when it happened. It was summer and you enjoyed your free time by going into the city. You’d nearly forgotten about Arthur. Not fully – he was still in the back of your mind, but the ache from longing for him had become dull and easier to ignore.

You had promised to get your mom some cash from the bank and stood in line, awaiting your appointment, when a group of men rushed into the building, guns drawn. Your heart nearly stopped and frightened, you obeyed their shouts to hold up your hands and then lie down on the floor.

The cool air circulated by the air-conditioning sent goosebumps down your skin as you lay on the cold tiled floor. You were dressed for summer, after all. Shivering, you saw how the group of men made their way to the counter, ordering the staff to hand them all the money they had. While one kept his gun aimed at the woman behind the counter, the others scattered among the visitors, emptying their pockets and taking anything they deemed expensive enough with them.

One of these men came to stand next to you and pushed his foot against your side, the toes of his shoes poked between your ribs painfully and you winced before you rolled to your side. The man looked down at you properly now and a smirk spread on his lips. “I think I’m gonna need more than just your money, pretty little lady.”

You looked up at him in dread. You didn’t know where it came from, but your reply was a thoughtless stammer. “It wasn’t my turn yet,” you whispered, meaning to say that you had not had the chance to collect your money yet. You were broke. Well nearly. But the man didn’t catch on.

“Aww,” he cooed mockingly, “I think it is your turn,” and he leaned forward to grab your arm in a painfully tight grip. You knew it would bruise but were left with no choice but to follow his movements. He forced you up to your feet.

The man pressed you tight against his chest while he held your arm twisted behind your back. He held a painful grip, too tight for comfort. A clear sign that you were not to get away from him.

“Please,” you begged him. No way you were going to let this man get away with whatever plans he had for you.

It was at that moment, that someone’s voice could be heard echoing throughout the bank. “Hey,” it wasn’t a shout, but it had been forceful enough for the men to shut up. An eerie silence fell in which the men turned their heads to greet the newcomer.

In the doorway stood a man, a red suit on, face painted and hair dyed an unnatural tint. You had heard about this man. The Clown Prince Of Crime. Gotham’s latest and most successful criminal.

He stood hunched, a cigarette between his lips while he held a lighter in his left hand. His right hand was in the pocket of his pants, while his left moved slightly, lazily throwing the lighter up before catching it a few times.

Then he tilted his head to look at the men.

“Boss,” the one nearest to the counter began, but their boss shut them up merely by removing his right hand from his pocket and raising his index finger.

“The Joker,” one of the women behind the counter said, breathlessly. Most of the hostages looked at the newcomer in fear. The Joker had rapidly gained a reputation for being one of the most unpredictable and cruelest criminals Gotham had to offer. It was a given that anyone who was aware of who he was, was fearing for their life at this point. Would he set fire to the bank? Would he take a gun and shoot everyone dead? It wouldn’t be the first time he would do such a thing.

You felt a rapid rise in your heart rate, your chest rising and falling rapidly while you tried to breathe. The man’s fingers were still curled around your arm, digging into your skin. But you hardly felt it now that you came face to face with Gotham’s most dangerous and most wanted man in the whole of history.

Joker’s eyes met yours and it felt like lightning struck you. An ice-cold sword pierced through your spine, keeping you pinned to the spot. Those green eyes, you had seen them before. You remembered them. You thought you would never see them again.

Arthur? But that couldn’t be, could it? He was no criminal.

You stood frozen and hardly registered how the Joker shook his head and tusked. His hair, it was his hair. A different color, but you recognized it anywhere. You had dreamed of running your hands through it so often.

“I think you have something of mine there,” was all Joker needed to say for the man to let go of your arm. The man stumbled backward as if scared all of a sudden. So this Joker, this semblance of Arthur, was truly their leader? And they revered him? They did as they were told by him? This cowering frail man that you had saved from teenage boys was now the most wanted man in the whole of Gotham?

And then another scary thought. Had it been his orders to rob the bank then as well?

But your thoughts came to a sudden stop when you saw Arthur’s hand move. It was him, wasn’t it? It truly was Arthur?

The Clown Prince of Crime. He walked elegantly towards you, taking his time, a cigarette in his hand, still burning. Then he brought it to his lips and took a long drag before he exhaled slowly. Little clouds of white swirled up from his lips to disappear into the summer sky.

“I missed you, doll.” ~_~

AN: I take suggestions for a follow up ;D (perhaps smut?)

Master list

This page is 18+

If you are not 18 or above sorry but this is not the place for you

Burden me Loki

Part one - For the first and last time

Thank you for taking a look at my page , I love feedback and I’m always open to ideas so feel free to message me .

I also have an Eddie Munson page too full of smut and fluff so if you enjoy a bit of Eddie check that out 🖤

Cookies and Crime

Harry Vanderspiegle x Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word count: 1,294

Plot: Reader goes to Harry’s place with cookies to watch Law and Order, fluff ensues.

A/N: I love this show, I started watching it when it first premiered on the SYFY network. I honestly was shocked to only find one Harry Vanderspiegle x Reader on Ao3, but they haven't posted in awhile. I'm glad to be the writer of the second Harry Vanderspiegle x reader fic on the internet, I am honored to bestow the people with what they probably forgot about.

As you drove down the gravel driveway to Harry’s cabin you took a deep breath. This has been the second time this week he's asked you to come over and eat something with him, at least it was Friday. On Tuesday you had dinner at his place and he tried to keep the conversation going but you had to leave before it got too late. He texted you this morning about how he came across this cherry pie at the grocery store and how he couldn't eat it by himself. He had also asked if you could bake some cookies from a recipe you talked about with him on Tuesday.

You grabbed the tupperware from the passenger's seat and got out of the car, the gravel crunching under your work boots. As you walked to Harry’s front door you looked to the lake near his house, you saw that the sun was setting and the sky was an array of colors. The colors were reflecting off the lake and you heard the small waves softly crash along the shore, it was so peaceful here. You knocked on his front door waiting a few seconds before you heard footsteps coming and then the door opened revealing Harry.

Harry was eccentric, you met him at The 59 and became quick friends. He was awkward and a bit odd but that didn't mean you could be friends, a lot of weirdos were in Patience, Colorado. He smiled and stepped aside so you could come in, as you walked in you saw the pie on the counter and you had to say it did look good. You caught Harry eyeing the tupperware of cookies in your hand, “I see you brought the cookies, they look very good.” he said. You smiled and replied with, “Well I made them just for you.” You could have sworn you saw his lips twitch upward at that comment.

“Well I appreciate it.” he said as he went to the counter “would you like some pie with your cookies?” he continued before gesturing to the pie on the counter. “Of course! I would love a slice.” You stood on the other side of the counter as he sliced two pieces of pie and put them on two plates. “I was about to watch this really interesting law and order episode, would you like to watch it while we eat pie and cookies?” he asked and you nodded, “that sounds nice.” you smiled. When he got the pie slices on the plates you looked at them.

“I could take the pie and put it on the coffee table by the couch.” you offered and he smiled awkwardly, “That would be great, thank you y/n.”. With that you walked over to the couch and placed the plates on the table watching Harry move around the kitchen. He put the cookies you baked on a plate and grabbed forks for the pie from the drawer by the sink, he placed the plate of cookies on the table and handed you a fork. Then his eyes went wide like he realized something, “Would you like a glass of milk with your pie and cookies?” he asked. You smiled and nodded, “That sounds like a good idea to me.” he placed his fork with his piece of pie and he got back up moving to the kitchen. You wondered what he was thinking as you sat on the couch waiting for him to come back from the kitchen.

Harry was anxious, he enjoys your company and is scared that you're going to leave if he says or does something wrong. “Damn humans and their weird customs, on my home planet no one cares about social cues.” He thought as he stretched and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet above the sink. He enjoys your baked goods and the warm smile that you give to everybody, in Harry's eyes you could do no wrong. Harry smiled as he took the milk out of the fridge, “She likes milk, that's something we have in common it's another thing to add to conversation the next time she comes over for dinner.”, He thought. Then he turned, grabbed the glasses in one hand and the jug of milk in the other and started walking back towards the couch. “I wonder how she feels about aliens.”, he thought as he passed the glass cabinet and saw his true form in the reflection.

Harry sat back down, poured you a glass of milk and handed it to you, he then poured himself one. He clinked his glass against yours and took a sip, you copied him. He started the episode of Law and Order, the episode was about a man who got shot early in the morning. When you finished your slice of pie you grabbed your glass of milk and drank half of it, out of the corner of your eye you could see Harry watching you.

When the commercial break came on you looked at the table and saw a lot of the cookies were gone, “Are my cookies that good?” you asked, smiling and he nodded. You started to get a bit tired, the warmth of the cabin seeping into your bones. Harry doesn't like when people touch him, he flinches away whenever Darcy puts her hand on his shoulder or he tenses up when someone gives him a hug. When you started to relax into the couch and lean into him he didn't flinch, he looked down to where your head and his bicep collided. He didn't move away or flinch, he just went back to watching the episode. When you closed your eyes you  knew you were out for the night.

When the episode ended Harry looked down at your sleeping figure, “I guess humans can get comfortable and fall asleep anywhere.” he thought . He slowly shifted his body so that he can slowly shift your body to lay on the couch. Once you were laying on your stomach, Harry put a pillow under your head and grabbed the throw blanket that was folded on the other arm of the couch draping it over you. He put the dishes and glasses in the sink leaving the plate of cookies on the counter, he turned all the lights off getting ready to head to bed for the night. Before he shut the door to his room he turned and looked at your sleeping form curled up on the couch. “I could get used to this.” , Harry thought as he closed his bedroom door and got into his bed for the night.

You woke up with a blanket wrapped around you and a soft pillow under your head, you must have fallen asleep on the couch. When you got up and stretched you saw Harry making breakfast in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and eggs in the air. When you walked over to the kitchen table and sat down he walked over with a hot cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. “Good morning Harry, sorry for falling asleep on your couch.” you said as he put the mug and plate down in front of you. “Don't worry about it, we humans need to get our 8 hours in or else our brains don't function.” He says as he grabs his plate of eggs and his mug of coffee sitting across from you.

After an interesting breakfast with the main topic of conversation being about space and what could possibly be out there you left. Giving him a hug which he awkwardly returned you were on your way. Driving back to your house and smiling about the interesting time you had with your odd friend.

Harry Vanderspeigle Dating Hcs

Help this poor confused alien out, he's lonely and awkward. ___________________________________________________________

He is afraid that if you find out he's an alien you will tell everyone. He likes to talk about space and aliens with you. ___________________________________________________________

He despises when the town has fairs and street festivals. This is because neighboring towns like to come to Patience. Will go with you if you ask him because he's a softy. ___________________________________________________________

He adores the feeling of you massaging his scalp, he can lay on the couch with his head in your lap for hours. He calls it his greatest weakness. ___________________________________________________________

Will host Law and Order marathon nights, this includes wearing pajamas and eating Ben and Jerry's ice cream out of the container. ___________________________________________________________

He likes making you laugh, the way your eyes light up and you letting go makes him feel all warm and fuzzy because he did that. ___________________________________________________________

When the weather gets colder Harry will light the fireplace inside and sit by the fire with you. He likes to play soft music when he does this. ___________________________________________________________

He loves to watch you cook, he says it better than the cooking shows on tv. ___________________________________________________________

Speaking of cooking, if you make any homemade soups or pasta with some sort of home cooked sauce this guy will eat many servings. “It's so good y/n, can I have more?”  ___________________________________________________________

He hates when you have bad days when someone was unkind to you, will wrap you up in a blanket and give you some ice cream to comfort you. ___________________________________________________________

When summer rolls around you come over to swim in the lake by his cabin and cool off, while he gets to enjoy the sight of you in a bathing suit; cheeky alien. ___________________________________________________________

He loves cuddling with you everywhere, whether it's on the couch, in his bed, sitting on his lap at the kitchen table or holding you from behind while you do something at the kitchen counter. ___________________________________________________________

He likes when you show him different movies, every Friday is a new movie night as he calls it. He will buy snacks and you get to choose a movie he has never seen. ___________________________________________________________

Harry likes going out in the evening to the diner and sharing a slice of pie with you. ___________________________________________________________

He buys the detergent you have so that he can smell you on his clothes, when you notice he says it was on sale. “It was 4.50 at the store isn't that a steal?” ___________________________________________________________

Likes to make sure you're well fed if you're invited over for dinner. “Would you like another piece of steak? How about some more mashed potatoes I made them extra special just for you” ___________________________________________________________

Will buy too many girl scout cookies from the local girl scout troop. “They persuaded me into buying ten boxes, they were smart. Can you help me eat these? I can't eat all of them on my own.”  ___________________________________________________________

Will go to the store to get pads and period supplies for you, will convert a drawer in his bathroom to store pads, advil and other women's things.  Will also drop things off at your apartment if it starts, no matter what time. He once came over at three AM with a bag of pads, Advil, some chocolate and a pint of ice cream. ___________________________________________________________

In conclusion this alien is head over heels and will move mountains just to see you smile.

Ok I know this is like a really big request but I’m so down to wait for it… could you do a nsfw alphabet for Artie/joker? 👉🏼👈🏼

AN: My, oh my.... I had to look things up because I am horrid at smutty terms, despite all the crap I write (: WARNINGS: DNR if you're a minor or at work: this is a not safe for work request fill that contains sexual terms and content.

I used part of the template from https://the-coldest-goodbye.tumblr.com/nsfw-template and combined it, making something with the use of http://www.sex-lexis.com/Sex-Dictionary The Arthur Fleck / Joker NSFW ALPHABET

A = Affection (strong fondness; warm liking; feelings of fond attachment , devotion or love towards another human)

Arthur has such strong feelings, they are the strongest anyone could ever have felt. His emotions usually take a swing to their extreme sides, and the same goes for his feelings of love and lust. Once he has set eyes on you, that’s it. You’re occupying his mind day and night. When he’s on his mother’s bed or on his own couch, he will gently caresses himself while thinking of you. These feelings cannot easily be swayed. Once you’re in his head, you’re not getting out love. That’s it.

As the Joker, these feelings will remain the same. You’re it for him, completely. He will lust for, or love no other because he’s convinced that all he needs to be complete is you. Finding someone else as devoted as him will be hard. Whether this a healthy affection, however, that is entirely something else.

B = Belly-bumping (self-explanatory: bumping bellies)

When he’s having sexual intercourse with you, this is what he loves. Despite his lithe frame, which makes it harder to actually press his belly against yours, he tries his best to touch each and every inch of you, covering you like a human blanket. This is especially a kink for Arthur. Joker focuses less on this aspect, as he’s more inventive during sex and likes to try out new exciting positions.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, sperm)

He loves to see you covered in it, as long as it’s his. Especially the Joker, he has a thing for it. It shows his mark on you and he loves spurting his cum all over your face just to watch it drip down your lips and cheeks. Arthur is less likely to do this, more eager to come inside of you, because he has been without this for so long. And he feels like coming outside of you is a waste, his sperm too precious not to be kept safely stored inside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Arthur secretly pulls himself off using your underwear. Missing your panties? Might want to check if they’re not somewhere hidden beneath his pillow or mattress. As the Joker, he has grown more confident and doesn’t feel the need to hide these little oddities anymore. If he likes to pull off using your underwear he will do so while making sure you’re watching him.

As the Joker, he develops a new dirty secret, however, born from his violent side, and that is that he loves to see you covered in blood, whether his or yours. He doesn’t tell you this, but you notice by the way he becomes more eager and the way his hips snap faster against yours whenever he comes home from a task, blood drenched. Blood riles him up, makes him more eager. Though he doesn’t want to deliberately hurt you. But think of the implication, for those of you who have periods, how things will be during your time of the month.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Arthur has little to no experience, only did a bit of fooling around. Most of his knowledge came from magazines, and he isn’t a particularly skilled reader, so it’s been from images mostly. He has to discover this with you, have a journey to discover what you both like and enjoy together.

When he becomes the Jokeris when he finally dares to try new stuff. He sees a lot of shit then as well, going around town murdering people and beating the shit out of them. He is introduced to new places, dirty clubs, paces where other criminals gather to collect intel. He sees new things here, hears new things from allies. And then, when he goes home, he tries ‘em all out on you. And you love it.

F = French kissing (open-mouth kissing with passionate tongue-to-tongue contact)

They both love this. Open-mouthed kisses with lots of tongue used for both, baby! Suck back, twist and turn and battle for domination.

G = Gymnophallation (rarely heard, contrived neologism for sexual-intercourse without a condom)

Because using a condom would be wise, but he’s Arthur. At first he doesn’t even give it a thought. When he does, he doesn’t care anymore. He likes the thought of going in raw, of spurting his seed deep within your core. And he likes it, because you let him.

For the Joker, well, he probably uses a condom at one point, probably when you asked him or for whatever reason it would have been wiser. But he tears it off during the deed, rips it open, or whatever, making sure you feel his bare-skin deep inside of you before the end. Yep, he just rolls that way. And he knows he can, it’s only you he is stretching out like this, so it’s fine, right?

H = Hemerotism (daydreaming fantasies involving sex and/or nudity)

Arthur is one for this, always daydreaming about how he could have you, or how you’re looking underneath those nice clothes you’re wearing. Doesn’t matter where he is or if you’re with him or not. On the bus, sitting next to him, he can have a similar fantasy as when he would be there on his own. You’re in his mind, always, and he likes to think of all the things he could do to you.

As the Joker, these fantasies have not left him. They only occur less often, because he is way too occupied with ‘saving’ the town, fighting what he thinks to be evil. Plus, he’s already taking his full fill each and every day of you, whenever he has the possibility. He has less time to daydream, mainly because he gets to enact these daydreams on a regular basis. And isn’t that nice for him?

I = Illicit romance (an illicit sexual relationship such as an affair)

He doesn’t have them. Unless it is with you. If for whatever reason, he isn’t allowed to be in a  relationship with you when you first meet him, he doesn’t let it stop him. Are you in a relationship already, dating, married? He doesn’t care.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Arthur jacks off to the thought of you often. Sometimes with your underwear clutched in his hands. Sometimes in the shower. But the favorite spot for him would be to have a lie down on his mother’s bed and sneak his hands underneath his pants, fondling himself so roughly that it almost hurts. All the while thinking of how it would feel to be inside of you.

K = Karezza (or: carezza, a form of prolonged sexual-intercourse with penetration but no ejaculation, and little or no coital movements)

He practices this. When he has need to just be close to you, to be intimate, because he missed you. He just wants to be inside, to feel you around him, and cuddle you close. He has these needs as Arthur, but they don’t fade. When he’s had a particularly rough day, prepare to be sheathing Joker’s cock for an indefinable amount of time just to make him feel better and chase the traumatic thoughts away.

L = Lace (the silky kind of fabric)

He covers you in it. As Arthur, he has fantasized about you in lace negligées. As the Joker, he finally has the means to bestow them upon you as presents, so he makes use of it. The lace flows around you like water, showing your curves and features in just the right ways. It is driving his men mad with desire for you, and he prefers it that way, smirking because he knows that while others are wishing they could have you – he is the only one to truly touch you.

M = Multiple orgasms (climaxing more than once)

Seriously, the stamina of this man. Even as Arthur he manages to get off a few times in a row. But just for good measure, he tries to see how many times he can have you orgasm too.

You know you’re in for a row of orgasms when Joker walks up to you with that haughty smile and that mischievous glint in his eyes. He won’t be done with you soon.

N = Naked (as it says on the tin)

He’s not scared to show off his body. He was at first, as Arthur, when he felt insecure and tried to hide his chest from you. But when he noticed that you still wanted him all the same, he became more and more confident, walking around naked whenever it was just the two of you and he did not have the time to put any clothes on. After all, you’d seen it all before.

The Joker seems to care even less. Though there are more strangers around now that he has his henchmen, and he tries not to appear undressed in front of them. Not that he would mind it – in fact, some of his followers, a chick named Harley, saw him in a state of undress once and totally dug him from that moment on – not like he cared.

So long as no one else sees you naked. See-through clothing that you’re wearing is fine though, because he probably gave it to you to show you off and tease not only himself but all others around him with it. But really, really naked? Na-ah. That is for his eyes only. Don’t even think about it.

If someone were to catch a glimpse of you by accident, he would not live to tell the tale. Joker makes sure of it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As Arthur, he loves giving you oral pleasure, using his mouth and lips on you. As the Joker, he occasionally still does this, but he makes you return the favor much more frequently. Your lips around his shaft, yes please. As the Joker, he grabs you and guides your lips up and down his shaft, showing how he likes it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? Etc.)

A combination of both, always depending on his mood. Arthur can really have his mind set on taking it slow, drawing it out, but then suddenly the feelings become too much and he just needs to chase his release. You never truly know what it’ll be when he starts to have you. It could be hard and fast, or a sweet love-making. He has it all.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

A bit superfluous if you ask me, but yeah, he can do quickies. When you’re somewhere and he can’t control the urge any longer, he just pushes you a little out of sight and tugs at your clothes. He unzips his fly, making sure only your nether regions are uncovered, so he can have a quick dip in. Or push you onto your legs so you can suck him off underneath a table when no one is watching.

R = Ravishing (extremely beautiful and attractive)

Because that is what he thinks of you and that is how he describes you. His ravishing beauty. Whom he loves to ravish.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Arthur never really has had any toys, but if you’d made it know you would like to try some, he would be sure to buy them for you. Although he’d probably ask you a billion questions in advance to make sure he’s getting the right thing, and then be embarrassed at the counter when paying for it. He would mask that embarrassment by loudly declaring that his love-life was going fine and they probably knew nothing of how to get a good shag. But hey, that is the Joker part of him already shining through.

Joker would be pretty much the same, perhaps using equipment to try out new things he has heard about. But other than that, he thinks his body is a toy enough for you and has plenty of uses. Yet, if you asked him for something, he’d be sure to get it for you – and to have it tested out in his presence, possibly with his help.

U = Unchaste (not chaste, lacking moral discipline; especially sexually unrestrained)

He is a little of this, because he used to start out rather unexperienced and pure. His mind wasn’t though. And by all that has been described above, you can hardly call Arthur or the Joker a chaste man.

V = Voyeurism (the practice of gaining sexual pleasure from watching others when they are naked or engaged in sexual activity)

He takes delight in this. He used to as Arthur, when he flipped through the dirty magazines and imagined how it would be to see his neighbour in a state of undress. Then along came you. And he might have just spied a little on you to see how you looked like between those layers of clothes. As the Joker, he visits paltry clubs where his henchmen go to get their fill. He never accepts a whore’s offer though, although he does enjoy watching others at it. But the deed itself, that is restricted only to you. And when he comes home, he’ll show you just exactly what he’s been seeing.

W = Wanton (sexually open and unrestrained)

If there was any doubt left about this, I’ll take it away now. He is a very wanton man, openly displaying his lust for you. He doesn’t care if people see his gaze linger on you, the smouldering look in his eyes as he silently undresses you within his mind – in public. He will touch you when others are around, and with no shame. You are his. His hand on your arm is there to show it. If it dips lower, to come to rest between your legs, that’s also to show how much he years for you. He makes no effort to hide this.

X = XXX: (1. A prefix and symbol referring to pictures, magazines, or movies graphicly depicting sex.

2. Affectionate symbols for kisses at the end of a letter or Valentine.)

Arthur has a lot of them. Despite the state of his low income, he has quite a few dirty magazines lying about. Where did you think all that pocket money had gone to? But now that he has you, he stopped buying them. After all, they never top the real thing, and he has so many delicious dark fantasies that aren’t featured in them, but that he can act out with you. He doesn’t need them anymore.

As to kisses written as an X, he does that. A lot. Because his spelling is rather poor and he has difficulty reading, filling in an x wherever is easier than writing ‘kiss’. And whatever message he leaves for you, a kiss has to be included.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man has been starved for all of his life. And it’s all coming out now.  He needs to have his fill, but he is darn near insatiable. Good luck with that.

Z = Zelophilia: (Sexual arousal from jealousy). 

This one is true for both Arthur and his Joker persona. I mean, even in a sense it could be applied to Carnival, because it’s just part of his entire being. If he sees you flirting with someone else, he’ll make sure to remind you who you belong to not long after. Seeing others come near you spikes jealousy in his heart, and makes his dick go hard. That overwhelming need to claim you, to show who you belong to. Yep, you better be careful because you got one horny bastard over here who is not about to let any social interaction between you and another, that could spike jealousy in him, pass.

AN: Hope you enjoyed. This is something I have never really done before and it was quite the experience. So many news words I’ve looked up. Don’t hesitate to send me requests, I am here for it.

Norman Osborn X Female Reader

I Forgot My Umbrella - Part 41

Word Count: 2535

Summary: The Gala is going well. But trouble is on the horizon as Harry begins flirting with you.

Warnings: Age gap. PG/PG-13.

A/N: We're leading up to quite a doozy. Also, there's a reference with Otto being dressed up the way he is for the Gala. Anyone seen the movie Strange Magic?

Tagging: @druigswh0ree @digital-demise @maskmare931 @b1ueoff1ine @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @wtfhasmy-lifecometo @ghnaim24

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——

You couldn’t be more proud of how the Gala was turning out. Everyone showed up in beautiful fantasy garb with ornate masks. The staff were dressed in medieval outfits and served foods that were made to look otherworldly. You overheard numerous people complementing the decorations that adorned the large room. 

All in all, you considered it a success. 

Sadly, you barely got to interact with Norman for the first hour. He was stuck by the door greeting people as they came in. This of course, did not stop you from staring at him the entire time. He looked amazing in his outfit and you were thankful you left out the wig, as that would’ve looked ridiculous. 

Tracy arrived wearing a dress that appeared to be made of starlight. She disappeared into the crowd after a quick greeting and a hug. You’d periodically catch a glimpse of her chatting up some young man. With an eye roll, you made your way to the buffet table to grab some punch. Just as you turned, a young man wearing a black mask appeared. He didn’t seem to be dressed as anything in particular but his outfit reminded you of Zoro. 

“Good evening, milady,” the young man greeted with some hesitance. 

You immediately recognized his voice and giggled. 

“Hey, Harry. Nice outfit.”

His shoulders sagged and he pulled off the mask. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Your voice, silly. How’d you recognize me?”

“I just looked for the prettiest girl in the room.”

Harry gave you a confident smile and you felt your stomach twist into knots. 

Was he… Was he flirting with you?

You didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t want to see things that weren’t there, but how else were you supposed to take that?

You decided to deflect it. 

“That’s very sweet of you,” you finally said with a half smile, “Are Peter and MJ here yet?”

“Not yet. Knowing Peter, he probably forgot all about it.”

“Possibly.”

An awkward silence settled between you and you immediately started searching the crowd for Norman. You spotted him on the other side of the room talking with a group of people. They were all so well dressed and beautiful- Especially the dark haired woman who was standing a bit too close to Norman’s side. You watched in horror as she laughed and touched his arm. Norman did not react, and instead kept his eyes upon the man in front of him. 

His face would not betray his true emotions- but yours did. 

“You okay?” Harry asked as he followed your line of sight, “What are you looking at?”

You quickly looked away. 

“Nothing! Sorry.”

But Harry wouldn’t let it go. He saw his father from here and arched an eyebrow. 

“He's working the crowd, as usual.”

You couldn’t help it. You had to look again. 

You instantly regretted it. 

The woman now had her hand glued to his arm, holding his attention as she said something. Norman was giving her a pleasant smile as he nodded along with her words. 

“They look friendly,” Harry muttered. 

“That’s his fake smile,” you said with an eye roll. 

Harry looked at you with a quizzical look. 

“How can you tell?”

You downed a gulp of punch and shrugged. 

“He’s looking at her forehead, not in her eyes. And it’s the same smile he uses when talking to investors. You know the one that means ‘I wish you’d shut-up’. If it was a real smile, he’d show his teeth more and actually look her in the eyes.”

“You’ve gotten surprisingly good at reading him,” Harry praised, “I’ve known him my whole life and I’ve never noticed he’s got different smiles for different people.”

“Honestly everyone does. But yeah… I’ve gotten pretty good at telling his facial expressions… Speaking of which, I better go save him. He looks about ready to snap.”

In truth, it was you who was ready to snap. 

You finished your drink and left Harry without a word. Stalking across the room, you tried to think of what you were going to say. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to say anything. 

As you drew closer, Norman’s eyes instantly found yours. His real smile lit up his face and he stepped away from the woman as if she was nothing more than trash on the sidewalk. He set his hand on the small of your back as he introduced you to the group he was speaking to. 

“This is my assistant, Y/N. Without her, tonight would’ve been a disaster. Y/N, these are some representatives of the charities we are donating to tonight.”

You shook several hands, smiling pleasantly. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I hope you’re enjoying the Gala.”

“Oh we certainly are,” the woman said, “You’ve certainly outdone yourself.”

“Thank you.”

You looked up at Norman, finally thinking of a reason to pull him out of this situation. 

“I’m terribly sorry to break the conversation up, but your son has arrived, Sir.”

Norman bobbed his head. 

“I should go see him. Enjoy the rest of the night.”

Norman walked away with you, keeping his hand firmly on your back as the two of you headed back towards Harry. 

“Thanks for the rescue,” Norman whispered. 

“I did it more for me than for you.”

Norman chuckled and moved his hand to lightly tug a lock of your hair. 

“You have nothing to worry about, my dear. You know I only have eyes for you.”

“Oh I know. It’s not you. That lady needs to learn how to keep her hands to herself. Touching people like that…”

You arrived at Harry’s side and Norman immediately wrapped him in a hug. 

“I’m glad you made it,” Norman said happily. 

“It’s better than last year’s,” Harry smirked, “Y/N really did a great job.”

“You guys better be careful with all this praise,” you laughed, “My ego won’t be able to fit in the building if you keep this up.”

Harry laughed before turning to his father. 

“So, where’s your mystery lady at? Is she here?”

Your eyes snapped to Norman’s face. You watched his ears turn pink as he tried not to look at you. 

“Yes… She’s here.”

Harry glanced around and you took that time to raise an eyebrow at Norman. He looked like he was drowning. Was he really about to tell Harry about your relationship right now? In front of all these people?!

“Well? Where is she?”

“She’s-”

Before Norman could answer, Rosie and Otto suddenly appeared at your side. You couldn’t be more grateful for the interruption. 

“Y/N! My dear, you look amazing!” Otto praised, “Rosie tried to describe the dress to me but it doesn’t compare to actually seeing it.”

You giggled as you accepted a hug from the large man. He looked a bit silly in his fake green armor and crown, but he also looked adorable. Rosie looked equally as cute in her matching green dress that shimmered in the light. 

“You both look so cute!” You cheered, “I love these outfits!”

“We look ridiculous,” Otto groused. 

“Indeed you do,” Norman agreed, “Though the green is very slimming.”

“Says the man in a sparkly blue crop-top jacket. And those pants are a crime against humanity.”

Norman rolled his eyes as Otto smirked. The two began bantering back and forth. You were grateful for this, as it derailed the previous conversation. Norman ended up wandering off with Otto and Rosie to go greet some of their old colleagues who had just entered. Harry watched them go and sighed. 

“Do you know who she is?”

“Who what?” You questioned. 

“The woman my dad is dating.”

Put on the spot, you had no idea what to say. Norman had neglected to tell you that he had told Harry he was dating someone. But clearly he hadn’t told Harry exactly who he was dating. This put you in a bad spot. You wouldn’t lie. It wasn’t your nature. 

“Yeah… I know who it is.”

Harry turned to you, eyebrows raised. 

“Have you met her?”

You instantly regretted everything about this conversation. You desperately needed out of it and your savior came in the form of Tracy. The two of you made eye contact and she instantly understood what you needed. She bounded up to the punch table and you beamed at her. 

“Tracy! Come here, I’d like you to meet Doctor Osborn’s son, Harry. Harry, this is my roommate, Tracy!”

Tracy looked Harry up and down and grinned. The two of them shook hands and Tracy was as bold as ever. 

“You’re better looking than your father.”

You rolled your eyes and Harry gave a nervous chuckle. 

“Thanks. Though I’m told I look like him.”

“You got all his best features,” Tracy declared, “So, you go to college, right? Where ya go?”

Harry started talking casually with her and you made a break for it. Escaping to a spot further down the table, you breathed a sigh of relief. You were just about to get yourself a plate of food, when an older man stepped up next to you and handed you an empty plate. 

“Here you are, miss.”

You smiled as you accepted it. 

“Thank you.”

The man was dressed as a typical nobleman with an owl mask that covered the top part of his face. He had a pleasant smile and calm demeanor as he spoke. 

“Might I just say, you look ravishing.”

“Why thank you,” you said sheepishly. 

“Tell me, beautiful maiden, do you have a name?”

“Sorry,” you said plainly, “I’m not in the mood to get picked up tonight. I’m already spoken for.”

“A woman as beautiful as you should not be left alone. Your date is a fool.”

“My date doesn’t have to hover around me like a fly all night,” you snarked. 

“Still, it’s his loss.”

The man reached out and started to curl a lock of your hair. 

“I just asked for a name. That’s not a hard wish to grant.”

You rolled your eyes and set your plate down. 

But before you could speak, Norman appeared. 

——

Norman grabbed the man’s hand and yanked it away from you. He wanted to snap his arm off, and he had a feeling he probably could with the Goblin’s help. But Norman resisted. Instead, he settled for a glare. 

“I believe she said she was spoken for. Take a hint. Or I’ll have you thrown out for indecent behavior.”

The man glanced between you and Norman a few times before disappearing into the crowd. Norman instantly placed his hand upon your arm and searched your face. 

“Are you alright?”

“I had it handled,” You chuckled, “But thanks for coming to my rescue.”

“You save me, I save you. That’s how this works.”

Norman slowly let his fingers trace along the length of your arm as he stepped closer to you. You closed your eyes for a moment before biting your lip and meeting his gaze. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, but he knew it would not go well. It was already a risk for him to be this close. 

“Save me a dance,” he whispered, “In an hour, meet me in the hallway.”

He briefly held your hand before heading off to mingle with some investors. He kept his eye on you the rest of the night, making sure no other man tried something. He spotted you talking with Harry a lot and he felt a spike of jealousy. He could stand next to you, smile at you, talk with you- all without fear of repercussions. 

But Norman did his best to push the twisting feelings away. He really shouldn’t be so jealous over his own son. Instead, he should be happy that the two of you seemed to be getting along well. Hopefully that would make telling Harry about your relationship a bit easier. 

——

You couldn’t lose Harry no matter how hard you tried. He just kept finding you. And as the hour dragged on, it became more and more obvious. 

He was flirting with you.

Peter and MJ finally arrived and you tried so hard to ditch Harry off on them. If this kept up, you wouldn’t be able to slip away to meet Norman. 

It wasn’t like you were leading him on. You were just being nice like you were with everyone. You didn’t flirt back and even shied away when he would reach out and touch your arm. You were tempted to call him out on it, but you feared that he would deny it. 

You knew you should’ve said something about having a boyfriend sooner, but you were afraid he’d ask who it was or why he wasn’t with you. This whole situation was leading up into a disaster. You hadn’t expected Harry to develop a crush on you like this. 

Though, it proved that apparently Harry had the same taste in women as his father. 

“Y/N?”

Harry’s questioning tone made your stomach drop. He looked anxious, like he was gearing up to ask you something. And judging by his repeated glances towards the dance floor, he wanted to dance with you. 

“Yeah Harry?”

“Would you wanna dance?”

There it was. 

Your mind twisted with anxieties as you tried to think of a way to turn him down. But he was suddenly grabbing your hand and leading you to the floor. 

“Harry I-”

“Can I say something first?”

Harry set a hand upon your waist and you sucked in a sharp breath. The two of you slowly spun as Harry held you. You were unable to make eye contact as you frantically tried to think of a way to escape this situation. There were no good options.

“I like you,” Harry said plainly, “And I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh…”

“Is that all you can say?”

You took a step back from Harry. The two of you now stood awkwardly on the edge of the dance floor. Harry’s brown eyes made you feel guilty as he stared at you. But you knew you had to hold your ground. 

“Harry… I’m already in a relationship with someone.”

“You… you are?”

You slowly nodded as Harry ran a hand through his hair. His eyes settled on the floor. As he took several deep breaths, you could tell he was trying not to get angry. 

“When you said you didn’t have a date tonight, I thought…”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea…”

“A bit too late for that,” Harry snapped. 

You scowled and Harry’s shoulders sagged. His eyes went skyward as he shook his head. You took this time to scan the crowd. Norman was slowly working his way towards the hallway. His eyes briefly met yours and he smiled. 

It was time. 

“Harry I-”

“Forget it,” Harry groused, “Just… forget it. If you don’t like me, that’s fine. But you don’t have to lie about being with someone just to turn me down.”

“I’m not lying! I really am-”

Harry stormed off, leaving you standing there with your stomach in knots. This was bad. 

You had to tell Norman.

Tobey!Peter's First Time Headcanons (+18)

Pairing: Tobey!Peter x Reader

Warnings: fluff, a bit of humor, virgin Peter, inexperienced Peter x Experienced Reader

MINORS DNI

(gif by @chasingstardustandmoonbeams)

"Come on", you said, amused by his bashfulness, "don't be shy!"

Peter reached his arms to your back, your bra clips on his nimble fingers. He fumbled to take them off, face turning pink and blue eyes even more droopy from embarassment. His hands were trembling and sweating so much that he was so afraid for you to figure it out, until...

You ask if Peter is a virgin. He fumbles with the answer. Then you assure him.

"Don't worry," you said affectionately, hands were now on his shoulders, "I won't laugh at you. Trust me."

Trust me.

Did anyone said that to him ever?

You pressed your lips to his, giving him sweet and fervent pecks.

Your parents went away for three days, so that meant you had the whole house ready for you. That is, until you had a better idea...

While you made out, you began to notice how Peter blushed more easily and how sensitive he was with your touch.

Peter finally unhooked your bra, letting loose your breasts as if they were a pair of low-hanging fruits on a tree. His first instinct was to touch them, with either his hands or his mouth.

Hands it is.

You gasped upon feeling them. They were huge, yet delicate and soft. For some reason it felt like he was afraid of hurting you...

He watched intentely as you reacted, breath hitching every time his palm grazed against your perky nipples. You then softly laid down on the bed, pushing Peter along with your arms wrapped around his back.

"You can kiss me too," you whispered, with a tinge of desire lacing your voice. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

Peter then from your lips he went to your neck. From the noises you were making to your head tipping back to the pillow he guessed that you must've been liking that so much.

Your wanton noises only made the strain on his boxers get tighter and tighter. You then reached for his t-shirt, pulling it off with ease until it got stuck on Peter's head. Giggling you helped him.

For all of the time you talked to him, you had to admit that you didn't expect someone like Peter to have a body like that. Muscular enough but not too much, stomach ripped...

Sure, he came well before you did (and sometimes nearly crushed you with his weight), but it surely didn't bothered you at all. You loved seeing him all flustered and that you made him feel good. That's all that mattered.

Ma Miles - Ch. 17

9.5k words

Chapter warning: Oh gosh, where do I even start... Wound cleaning and dressing, "sponge bath", grief, panic attack, Mo'at should be a warning in and of herself lol, what did I even write??? I am not responsible for anything that happens in chapter 17 alright! Oh, boner alert... Come to think of it - I guess Quaritch's horrible flirting should be a warning too

So... this got a bit longer and later than I had intended lol I would absolutely love any and all comments you would want to give me, be it a clean "neat" or an unintelligible long ramble!

(If you want to be tagged with the updated chapters, please leave your @ myusername in the comments! )

Previous chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 18 - Coming soon

The sea gently laps against the roots below your kelku, the sound soothing as you sit cross-legged in your nest, staring down at your sleeping son while you run your fingers over your songcord, the new beads bringing deep sorrow to your heart. Pressing your voice through your lips, the sound fills the kelku as you sing, remembering each bead as you go. Spider smiles in his sleep and it makes your heart soar within your chest. Your son was safe once more, removed from the dangers that had surrounded you for far too long. Finishing your songcord, you’re surprised to see Jake Sully standing in the doorway, a conflicted expression on his bruised face. Smiling gently at him, you welcome him to sit by your nest with a nod of your head.

“Are they -” Jake tries, his voice breaking as he tries to reel in the conflict raging within him, “The addition was beautiful, I’m sorry I listened in on it without your permission,”

“Who they were with us meant something to me, Jake Sully,” You hum as you look down at the bead between your fingers that represents the recom unit.

“Just call me Jake, Y/n. We have known each other long enough by now,” Jake offers, his voice gentle as he watches you turn the bead between your fingers once more. “How is he?”

“The demon has not moved,” You growl pathetically as your ears flatten against your skull and your tail trashes angrily behind you.

“Yeah, he had that effect on people,” Jake chuckles softly even though he looks uncomfortable.

“What effect?” You huff out a little harsher than you had intended to.

“The anger and frustration that you’re feeling, I don’t think there’s anyone he’s ever crossed paths with who hasn’t felt the same,” The words are meant to bring you comfort, yet, as the realization sets in, it only brings you immense sadness.

Had the demon really been like this to everyone he ever met? Had he really had no one by his side that he could have been himself with? He must have… He managed to create Spider with a mate, after all. The thought sours your mood even more as your tail thrashes behind you. His unit seemed fond of him too, so he couldn’t have been completely alone.

“Tell me about him,” You hear yourself saying, your desperation to know more, to grab and hold onto anything that would point somewhere in the direction that all of this was just one big misunderstanding, clear in your voice.

“About the Colonel?” Jake does a double take, his eyes widening.

“Yes, tell me about him,” You confirm, turning your hopeful eyes to him, “Please,”

“Um… I don’t know what there is to say. You obviously know the important details,” Jake starts, his eyebrows furrowing with unease.

“That is not the important details. Who was he when he was not this Colonel?” You plead with him, the passion in your voice obviously enough to sway him.

“I didn’t know him for very long, but in the time before our relationship turned sour, he was a decent enough guy. Typical bonehead Marine, stern, direct, but behind all of that, he took care of his own,” Jake starts before taking a deep sigh. You smile at the way you recognize what Jake is describing.

“He would always go that extra mile for his people - for his family. But there was always this thing looming over him, a pressure that always had him moving forward, never quite standing still. If he wasn’t training the troops, giving safety briefings, or being in meetings, he was cooped up in his office doing paperwork until late at night.” The way Jake describes him makes the same sad feeling from before drape over you again. What Jake was describing was not a life…

“When he wasn’t at the base, he was always on the move. You see, Quaritch led from the frontline, always taking the first step to pave the path for his people, to make sure that it was the right line of motion.” Jake huffed before immediately freezing, the fond memory obviously not one he expected to have.

“Quaritch made a lot of horrible decisions as head of security for the RDA, but he always looked for the right path to take, the one that would lead to the smallest amount of casualties on both sides. You see, in basic training, you're taught to make quick decisions under fire. To view everything through the pinhole of surviving the moment.” Jake got a far-off look in his eyes and you got the feeling that there was more to the words than what you were talking about right now.

“When none of your choices are good, you make the best of the bad ones. There's no room for second-guessing. No time for regret.” Jake continues before meeting your eyes head-on, ”That comes later. A luxury for the living, so to say."

“Quaritch was no exception. I could see it in his eyes after a bad mission. It was in the way he snapped at people or avoided the big bosses at all possible costs. He would try his best to hide it, but it was in everything he did for many days after.” The words felt hollow as Jake spoke them. Although you understand them, you can't quite wrap your head around the action behind them.

“Why did he not refuse to do these missions?” You can’t help but ask, immediately noticing how Jake shakes his head as he huffs a humorless chuckle.

“It didn’t - doesn’t - work like that, Y/n.” He quickly corrects himself and you get the dawning feeling that he’s speaking from experience. “Once you got a job that paid well enough, you needed to dig your claws in to keep it. Earth, the planet we were from, has become hostile, our Great Mother brutally murdered by the greed of the few, and the desperation to simply just survive of the many. If you were lucky enough to get a job on Pandora, you made sure to keep it. Besides, he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Everyone is replaceable for the RDA - if Quaritch had refused, another, possibly worse, person would have simply just taken his place and done it anyway,”

What Jake says is disturbing, sending chills down your spine. Did the sky people really treasure life that poorly? Did they really just replace each other if someone refused to do what was obviously wrong? You stare back at Jake with big eyes as the silence stretches on.

“You know, I hadn’t really thought about it that way before,” Jake starts, another conflicted look crossing his face. “Quaritch valued loyalty above all else, didn’t matter who you were or who you had been. When he accepted you into his unit, that was a clean slate for you, a new chance at life for when you rotated back home.”

“His values do not excuse his actions,” Mo’at grounds from behind you, making the both of you turn your heads in her direction, only to see Tonowari standing by her side with his arms crossed.

“Tsahìk,” You greet Mo’at, before looking at Tonowari, “Olo’eyktan, I see you,”

“How is your son?” Tonowari asks, his uncertain eyes looking at Spider’s sleeping form.

“Spider is doing well, Olo’eyktan,” Your little kelku feels crowded with the five of you inside, but it means little when Mo’at huffs and presses past Tonowari.

“Spider is going to be a great hunter, a mighty warrior. You do not need to worry about him,” Your Tsahìk looks so proud as she speaks about your son, her head held high as she walks over to the supplies she left the day before. “Y/n, we have lessons to get to,”

“Yes, Tsahìk,” You mumble as you hurry over to her side, bending your head as you pass Tonowari.

“I guess that is our cue to leave,” Jake chuckles as he gets to his own feet.

“I specifically remember giving you an order to be with your family today, to not let me see you moving around,” Tonowari rumbles as he crosses his massive arms over his equally massive chest while pinning Jake with a harsh stare.

“What can I say, my friend…” Jake grins as he spreads his arms, palms up.

“How Neytiri deals with you is beyond me,” Tonowari chuckles, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head. Wrapping an arm around Jake’s shoulders, the bigger man steers Jake’s smaller body out of the marui pod.

“How has his rest been?” Mo’at asks while laying supplies on a woven mat before her.

“His rest has been sure, Tsahìk,” You reply before sitting down beside her, taking the mortar she has offered you.

“And yours?” Mo’at’s knowing eyes pierce through you as you sigh deeply.

“Troubled,” You eventually respond honestly, knowing that the older woman would know whether you replied or not.

“If you are to heal the demon, you will need to be rested. I do not share my lessons with just anyone, Y/n” Mo’at’s voice leaves no room for argument.

If you were being honest with yourself, you felt gratitude for getting the chance to learn from the Tsahìk herself. With no particular skills of your own, you had been shuffled around to where there was a need for extra hands, your whole life. It wasn’t as if you were untalented, you just hadn’t found the right path for you. But maybe going through tsakarem, for however long it would be taught to you, would be the missing link in your life, finally offering you a chance to be useful to your clan.

For the following week, Mo’at teaches you how to crush ingredients into different textures, teaches you what herbs would help with healing wounds specific to the demon’s injuries, and how to assess his condition throughout the day as he lay unconscious. It’s incredibly hard work, but somehow, you make it work. Spider is gone most of the day anyway, so instead of sitting alone in the kelku to watch over the demon, you welcome the older woman’s guidance.

“You have done well,” Mo’at hums one afternoon after you cleaned and redressed the demon’s wounds.

Whatever Mo’at was feeding him sure kick-started his weight gain. As if you hadn’t been struggling before, the demon grew heavier and heavier with each day that went by, making cleaning his body extremely difficult. The awkward positions you had found yourself in while buckling under his weight would have you blushing for years to come. Mo’at’s voice still rings clear in your ears when she commented that modesty had no room in a Tsahìk’s life. Sighing deeply, you had powered through, but with his growing deadweight, it had taken longer and longer to complete the task.

“Wait, was that an actual compliment I heard?” Jake’s voice calls from the doorway, his grin spreading lazily across his face as he looks at Mo’at.

The older woman huffs fondly, the smallest of smiles pulling on her lips while she tries to ignore her daughter’s mate. Jake chuckles as he walks further inside, his long legs swaying lazily as he comes to a crouch before you.

“Do you need help with him?” He smiles down at you as you struggle to lift the demon into place.

“She must need to learn how to do this alone,” Mo’at hums as she walks around your kelku, her eyes sharp following your every move as you struggle to get the demon back in his makeshift nest.

“I’m fine, Jake,” You smile up at him as you shift your hold on the demon, “Thank you,”

“Alright,” Jake just chuckles as he looks up at Mo’at.

“Can you take Y/n to the cove of ancestors?” Mo’at asks, making both of your heads snap to her position by the seaside opening of the marui pod.

“Y-yeah, sure,” Jake replies, his voice breaking a little. Curiosity is written all over his face, but he knows better than to ask by now, something you do not.

“The cove of ancestors?” You repeat questioningly, watching as Mo’at turns to you, her all-seeing eyes pinning you to the woven mat you’re kneeling on.

“You will know when you arrive, Eywa will show you the way,” The reply doesn’t make sense at all, but when Mo’at motions for you to get up to your feet, you do.

“When you have found what you’re looking for, spend the rest of your day with your son. I will watch over the demon,” You’re not about to be told twice, so as your ears twitch excitedly, you get to your feet, and with one last look back at the den, you leave your kelku behind for the first time since you arrived.

Walking beside Jake, you let your eyes fall on the beautiful marui pods that make the village. They’re decorated in beautifully vibrant colors, with shells, stones, and everything else the sea would willingly offer the Metkayina. The sand is warm and wet when you step down from the woven mats that made the bridges between each marui pod. You can’t help but dig your toes into it, grinning childishly as you chuckle.

“You’ve probably never ridden an ilu before, so we’ll take my skimwing. She will get us there quicker.” Jake grins over at you, so obviously knowing something that you don’t.

“I have seen the ilu outside of our kelku, but I have never ridden one,” You confirm, only making Jake grin wider.

“You will love the skimwing then,” This childishly excited side of Jake is new to you, one you have never seen before while he served your people as the Olo’eyktan. You decide then and there that you like this side of him.

You do not, however, like the skimwing. Clutching onto Jake’s middle, he howls with laughter as the skimwing quickly takes you in and out of the water as she flies. It’s quick, it’s challenging and it’s absolutely nothing like riding an ikran. At that moment as you’re plastered to Toruk Makto, you wish you had called for Hawnu instead. When you eventually come to a stop though, the scenery takes your breath away. The last time you had been here, Hawnu had flown low with the small ship behind him while you desperately clutched onto Neteyam’s body, and the time before…

“It’s beautiful,” You whisper in awe as Jake greets a small family as they swim past you on their ilus.

“Isn’t it?” Jake hums back, leaning back now that the skimwing slows down. “The first time I was here, we held a funeral without a body,”

Your gasp comes involuntarily. Clutching his shoulder, you don’t know what to say to him as you move further into the cove, the floating rocks paving way for the beauty that lay within. Letting your eyes roam the huge cove, you realize that it looks so much different than you remembered. Like Jake, you had held your own funeral without the bodies needed to connect with the Great Mother.

“Come on,” Jake turns back and smiles gently at you before breaking tsaheylu with his skimwing.

“When we get down there, I’ll give you a txampaysye, it will help you breathe underwater. Make tsaheylu with it and it will breathe for you,” Jake explains, a gentle smile on his face.

“I will not need one, Jake. I have already been down there nine times before. I will not struggle with the journey,” Swallowing audibly, Jake’s eyebrows furrow before he reaches out to squeeze your knee.

“Alright, come on then,” Nodding, you slide off of the skimwing, taking deep breaths before you let yourself sink beneath the water's surface.

Following Jake’s lead, you swim down until you reach the glowing spirit tree. It’s just as beautiful as you remembered it to be, but this time, you have the chance to really look at its surroundings. Letting your eyes roam around the gorgeous area, you notice how Jake has already connected to Ranteng Utralti. You wonder who it is he’s visiting, perhaps a friend lost in a battøe that should have never been. Tsu’tey’s name comes to mind as you make your way over to one of its vines. The two had become brothers before the final battle and through the years, you knew that both Jake and Neytiri missed him.

Connecting to Ranteng Utralti, you’re immediately brought back to a place you knew all too well. Grinning, you let yourself walk forward as you approach the childish group of recoms currently splashing water at each other in the pond. Z-Dog and Brown balance on the log bobbing in the water as Lopez, and Prager float in the water below them. They’re all grinning and laughing as they try to be something called a “king of the mountain”.

Turning back, you’re prepared to see the rest of the unit lounging on the bank, but to your surprise, only Seanfike stares back at you, the man sitting cross-legged as his tail slaps happily behind him. Narrowing your eyes, you can’t help the way your ears pin back flat against your skull. Something wasn’t right…

“What’s wrong?” Seanfike immediately asks, noticing your worried face.

“Where are the others?” You ask him, seeing how his own face furrows in confusion.

“What do you mean? They’re right behind you,” Seanfike points to the recom’s playing in the pond behind you.

“No, where is Lyle?” You start, but a grin spreads across Seanfike’s face as he chuckles at something behind you.

“Seanfike, please listen,” You press, desperation clutching your chest, “Where are Mansk, Ja, and Lyle?”

“I dunno, they’re probably around here somewhere. Haven’t really seen them in a while,” He eventually replies, confusion deeply etched into his face. “Why?”

A heavy feeling grows inside of you as you realize that they hadn’t been accepted by the Great Mother. Your attempt at putting their souls to rest failed as their bodies had never been united with Eywa. Your chest hurts as you feel tears pressing from your eyes. There’s a wail building in your chest, but below water, as you were, your mouth only fills with water. Distressed, Seanfike clutches your shoulders as Brown’s head comes to rest on your shoulder. All around you, the recom unit, what was left of them crowded you, wrapping their arms around you to hold you close.

“Breathe,” Brown whispers, his gentle voice stinging like a blade against your skin.

You’re roughly pulled from the vine you’re attached to, Jake’s scared eyes pulling at your body to take you up again, but you pull away from him. Struggling underwater, Jake suddenly freezes as he looks behind you, his eyebrows furrowing at something. Turning, your eyes go wide at what you see. From the glowing golden tendrils of Ranteng Utralti, four songcords flat upward, as if presented as something sacred.

To you, they were…

Kicking your legs, you reach for the rejected songcords as you glide through the water. Clutching them to your chest, you curl in on yourself as sorrow overtakes you. Eywa had accepted them, had held them within her warmth until you came and ruined everything. Distantly, you realize that you’re being pulled to the surface, but it isn’t before you’re hauled onto a rock and your lungs desperately gasp for air that you register it.

Coughing and gasping, you wail mournfully as you’re gathered up into warm arms. A hand smooths your wet hair back from your face as you’re rocked, but all you can think about is the songcords clenched tightly in your hands. Other Metkayina gathers around you with sympathetic looks on their faces as they ask Jake what they can do to help, or if they can get the Olo’eyktan. But Jake just shakes his head as he holds you through your heartache.

By the time eclipse arrives, Jake has managed to get you back to the village, his gentle hand leading you out of the water where Spider and Tonowari stand waiting for you. Your son meets you before you’ve managed to emerge fully, his small hand clutching onto the leather of your tweng. Shifting the songcords to one hand, you offer the free one to Spider, feeling how he immediately takes it in his. Although your heart is heavy, you find comfort in his small, warm hand as he clings to yours.

The communal meal goes by in a blur, your son’s worried eyes following your every move. You know that he wants to ask about the songcords still clutched tightly in your hand, but like you, he waits until you’re ready to talk, giving you the time you need to collect your thoughts. Jake and Tonowari keep sending you worried looks, even Ronal looks your way once, her knowing eyes lingering on you before turning away again. It feels like a relief when Spider eventually finishes his meal and you’re able to excuse yourselves from the clan.

Walking hand in hand, you slowly lead Spider down the woven bridges to your kelku, the flickering lights from inside greeting you as you let your son enter first. Taking a deep breath, you follow through, closing the flap behind you. Mo’at, of course, takes one look at you and immediately knows. You want to be angry at her knowledge, but you find that you’re grateful for her understanding when she nods minutely before getting up to leave you alone.

Moving about your kelku, you watch as Spider washes his feet in the little bowl on the other side, his little nighttime routine before going to sleep. Slowly, he settles down in your nest, the blankets nestled tightly around him as he cuddles up. Walking up to sit beside him, you listen as he lets out a deep, sleepy sigh. Closing your eyes, you part your lips as the first words leave your mouth.

“I couldn’t find their bodies,” You whisper, knowing that your son is listening intently. “So I made these songcords for them, hoping that the Great Mother would show them mercy and accept the offering,”

The silence feels cold inside of your kelku, the soft sound from Spider’s exopack the only noise besides the water below your marui pod. It should have been calming, but as your heart clenches painfully in your chest, you’re unable to find any real comfort in it. Turning your head to look at Spider, you see the shimmering in his beautiful brown eyes. Cupping his face in your free hand, you smile sadly at him before getting up to lie down beside him.

“Here, I will sing their cords for you,” You hum as you pull your son closer to your chest.

Sleep finds you shortly after you have finished recounting their milestones, your son’s face as he turns in your arms, surprisingly happy as he closes his beautiful eyes. Cupping the back of his head, you let your eyes drift to the songcords still clutched in the hand below Spider’s head. Closing your eyes, you don't even notice when you drift off, leaving the stress and heartache of the day behind.

It’s another early morning when you wake up the next day. Your body feels heavy as you roll Spider to the side to step out of your nest, the warm glow of the sun greeting you through the cracks as you approach the flaps. Opening them, you let the fresh, salty air clean away the heaviness of sleep from your kelku. Looking down at the songcords in your hand, you sigh deeply. The Great Mother’s will was not without reason, you had to trust that.

Turning to stare at the demon, you find his songcord in your hand, turning your bead between your fingers as you make up your mind. If he could be here before you, alive and real, then Lyle, Mansk, and Ja had to be alive somewhere too. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath as you settle your resolve. Walking over to your nest, you dig until you reach the bottom of the corner that saw little use. Looking at the songcords in your hands one last time, you hide them at the bottom before arranging the nest back to how it was.

Working through your own morning routine, you gather fresh water into bowls before starting on fresh salves and pastes for the demon’s first change. For once, the demon doesn’t seem quite as heavy when you move him while cleaning his body, making your work that much easier. When Spider wakes, you’ve already finished up, the last lingering feeling of despair leaving you as your son sends a cheeky grin your way. He’s telling you about the plans he has for the day when there’s a knock on your kelku, Jake, Neteyam, and Lo’ak smiling gently at you from the outside.

“Thought some fresh food would be good,” Jake offers as you gesture for them to come inside.

Of course, Spider rushes through his breakfast before the soles of the boys feet are the only thing Jake and you see as they hightail out of your kelku, leaving only the fleeting sound of their snickering as they poke fun at something Neteyam said. The kelku falls into a comfortable silence before Jake eventually breaks it with small talk. You sit, chatting like that until it’s time to change the demon again.

Preparing what you needed, you continue to talk with Jake as you start what was now routine for you. Mixing a freshly smelling surly leaf into the water, you dip a clean cloth into it before starting to clean the demon’s arms. Jake leans back on the wall behind him as you go about cleaning the demon, changing to a new clean cloth when it’s time for his face.

“And then she looked at me as if I had grown a second set of ears,” Jake chuckles, his grin wide as he retells the story about how Neytiri had taught him the way of the people all those years ago.

“And then, what did you do?” With a grin of your own, you chuckle as you wipe the demon’s brow, letting your hand linger as you look over at Jake.

“Am I dreaming, Princess?” The demon rumbles lazily, a sappy smile forming on his lips as he lifts his hand to caress your cheek.

Snapping your head back down to look at him, your grin slips into a frown as you slap his hand away as if it burnt you. Hiss furiously at him, you get up to your feet while you drop the wet cloth in your hand. The demon was asleep just moments ago, his sleeping draft given that morning assured that. Had you managed to mess up the mixture somehow? It must be the only explanation as to why the demon was now awake. You watch as his smiling face morphs into something a little sad as his ears droop, but all you can think about is what you did wrong as your wide, scared eyes lift up to meet Jake’s equally surprised ones.

“Aww… What did I do this time, sweetheart?” The demon’s lazy rumble turns charming as he smirks up at you, a cocky grin on his face.

“Quiet your tongue, demon,” You refuse to use his English as you hiss furiously again, noting how his sad, droopy ears pin back flat against his skull instead.

“Yes, ma’am,” He hums, a fond kind of smile spreading across his lips as he closes his eyes and breaches contently.

“How are you feeling, Quaritch?” Jake asks, his voice is low, gentle even, but the reaction is still instantaneous in the demon.

His eyes pop open with both alarm and fear, and it makes something clench painfully in your chest. The demon tries to jump to his feet to get into a defensive position, the move no doubt second nature to him, but with his muscles weak from disuse and his body still exhausted from trying to heal itself, he wobbles under his weight. Still, the demon fights to get into a defensive position, swaying and stumbling as he takes a protective stand before you, pushing you behind him.

“I’m not here to fight, Quaritch,” Jake states quickly, even though anger steadily becomes evident on his face.

“Like hell, you aren’t,” The demon sneers back, his ears flat against his skull as his tail whips anxiously behind him, smacking you with every back-and-forth motion.

From behind, you can recognize how good he looks in a normal tweng, how the soft leather hugs his narrow hips, or how strong the base of his tail is. But at that moment you find that you’re done with his bullshit and the situation his presence has forced you to be in. Grabbing the base of his kuru, you kick his legs out from under him, wrestling his slightly weaker body into the makeshift nest he’s been resting in.

“You stay and you be silent,” You hiss at him furiously, the English command registering immediately as his ears lower submissively. To your surprise, the demon looks almost ashamed, the fight leaving his much bigger body as he stares up at you with big eyes, his tail twitching anxiously beside your hip.

“Yes, Ma’am,” The demon mumbles, his voice rough with disuse as he looks away, unable to meet your eyes any longer.

“Answer him,” You demand, your voice leaving no room for argument.

There’s a tense silence spreading over your kelku as the demon refuses to do anything - as if a petulant child. He’s not meeting your eyes, not even looking in Jake’s direction. He’s clutching the ribs on his right side and you get the grueling feeling that all your hard work has just been wasted on the demon. Hissing, you step over him on your way to leave when his hand desperately grabs your tail.

“Wait!” He croaks and there’s an urgency in his voice, as if he’s genuinely afraid, that has you turning around to look down at him.

The demon is still laying in his makeshift bed where you put him, only having moved enough to grab your tail. Reluctantly, he slowly lets go of your tail, as if he’s testing if you’ll flee or not. Only when you’ve stood still for what he deems long enough does he roll all the way over to his back again. There’s a battle going on within him, one that looks painful enough that you want to reach out to him, to help soothe his troubles as much as possible, but you don’t. Eventually, his conflicted eyes meet yours, as if looking for strength before they close on a deep, rugged sigh.

“I’m peachy,” The demon bites, eyes opening to stare directly at Jake.

“Skxawng,” You scold with a click of your tongue while crossing your arms over your chest.

“Alright, alright, relax already,” He grumbles, reminding you of Spider the few times you’ve had disagreements. “I’m sore, alright. Ribs hurting like shit,”

The admission seems to pain him as his face darkens with embarrassment. He still scowls at Jake in the corner of your kelku, but your immediate worry is the pain that he’s apparently in. Stepping over the demon, you grab the ingredients for the salve that would help with his pain. Sitting down beside him, you cross your legs as you start to grind the ingredients into the bowl. There’s an uncomfortable silence in the marui pod, until it’s disturbed by Spider running into your kelku, laughter in his beautiful voice as he smiles at you.

“Mom,” Spider grins, his happiness all but blinding you as you look up, just in time to see your son’s smile dropping from his face as he freezes, only for Neteyam to run into him from behind.

“Yo, what’s up, bro?” Neteyam snickers as he sidesteps Spider, only to stop dead in his tracks. “D-dad…”

Jake reaches out for his oldest son, offering support when he recognizes fear in his voice. Neteyam grabs his father’s hand before quickly stepping closer to him, but the demon doesn’t care. His initial reaction was a slight widening of his eyes, but just as quickly as his eyes shifted to Neteyam, they’re back on your son again.

“Spider,” The demon croaks, voice pleading. He doesn’t dare to move, but his ears rotate, open and alert, to your son as he stares.

“Come,” You tell him, looking at the spot beside you while still crushing the ingredients into a smooth salve. “Sit,”

“We will be fine, Jake,” You look up at Toruk Makto, noting how his chest has puffed out, his legs spread wide as he covers his son protectively.

“You sure? It’s no trouble staying, Y/n,” Jake assures you, and even though you know he would like to take his son anywhere but here, you know that if you needed him to stay, he would.

“There are words that need to be said between us,” You sigh, feeling the emotional turmoil that this is taking on you weighing heavily on your shoulders as you come to the conclusion that maybe your son shouldn’t be here for this conversation after all. “Will you take Spider with you?”

Nodding, Jake gently leads Neteyam and Spider through the doors, spearing one last look at the demon before disappearing from view. You have no doubt in his mind that he will be back soon, if only under the disguise of having forgotten something. Sighing, you continue the grind, watching as the paste turns creamy and then, finally, a smooth light green salve.

“Point to where the pain is,” You snap quickly at the demon, breaking the silence that once more had spread across your kelku.

“Slower,” The demon rumbles, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Pain. Point,” You growl, your impatience bleeding over into annoyance when he sighs.

“Here,” He points to his right side, just below his nipple, “And here,”

Nodding your head, you crouch over him, spreading your legs over his hips before sitting down on the meat of his thighs. To feel the demon’s warm skin against the inside of your sensitive thighs brings a lump to your throat, but shortly after, you’re pulled out of your thoughts when the demon growls.

“The hell?” The growl is dangerously deep as he gets up to his elbows, wincing at the pressure it gives his ribs. “The fuck are my clothes, woman?”

The sharpness of his yellow eyes sends butterflies through your stomach, but you refuse to make it excite you. The demon had made his nest, now he needed to lay in it.

“Gone.” You huff down at him, narrowing your eyes.

“What do you mean gone?” He bites back just as quickly, his own eyes narrowing.

“When I found you, you had soiled yourself. Your tweng could not be saved,” He doesn’t understand what you’re saying, his face all twisted as he tries to make sense of it.

“My twe- The hell you saying, woman?” The demon tries to sit up, but you easily push him back down again, noticing how the motion brings him pain.

“Like a baby, you dirty your tweng,” You repeat, this time in English so that he’ll understand.

You don’t have to wait long for him to do so. Almost immediately, his eyes go wide as his face turns dark, his eyebrows narrowing while he clenches his jaw shut. He doesn’t meet your eyes, instead deciding to stare at something else on your face.

“You mean to say that you undressed me while I was out like a light?” His voice is dangerously even when he speaks and had you still feared him, you would have probably backed off of him.

“I do not know this meaning,” You huff back at him, holding your ground.

“You fucking took my clothes off and dressed me in this shit,” The demon raises his voice as he sneers at you from below, his ears slicked back against his skull.

“Would you have preferred to wear soiled armor?” The deadpan comeback makes the demon growl angrily.

“Wha- in English, woman!” The demon huffs, his frustration only growing.

“Should I take you here with a dirty tweng?” The reaction is, once more, immediate. The demon growls furiously, his despair so easy to read as he cups his hands over his tweng.

Huffing at his ridiculous modesty, you lower your body once more, sitting down on the meat of his thighs. Slapping his hands away from his tweng, you watch as he immediately covers it with his hands again. You do not understand what it is he’s doing, so you slap his hands away again, only for the demon to cover his tweng again, his face growing an even darker shade. Grabbing his wrists, you tear them away from the front of his tweng, pinning them to the makeshift nest below him, only for the demon to snap them right back again.

“Stop it,” You hiss at him, your ears folding back in annoyance.

“You stop it!” The demon’s voice is high, almost childish as he looks up at you. He’s still not able to meet your eyes.

“You are like a child,” Grabbing his wrists once more, you tear them away while he fights you. In the end, his weakened state makes him lose the battle. “Do not move, demon.”

Huffing, the demon turns his head to look away from you. It finally gives you the space you need to work. Leaning over him, you spread your hands over the demon’s pectorals, fanning your fingers until your thumbs meet in the middle. You try to feel if his lungs expand equally, but the demon only takes shallow breaths, as if he’s consciously fighting you every step of the way.

“Deep breaths,” You tell him and to your utter surprise, he follows your command without complaining.

Guiding him through the examination Mo’at had taught you, you’re surprised that he doesn’t fight you. He states motionless as you press your fingers down his sternum, checking for tenderness in and around his chest wall. With a finger between each of his ribs, you percuss while listening for hyperresonant sounds. The demon hisses when you reach his right side, but otherwise stays quiet. It’s only when you scoot back to put your ear to his chest that he freezes.

“What are you doing?” He drawls, his head finally moving back to look down at you.

“Be silent and breathe regularly,” You hum back as you press your ear to his warm skin.

His heart beats loudly in his chest, almost too loud, and his breathing is too fast, but you’re still able to listen to his lungs. Moving your head further down to the bottom of his ribcage, you feel his stomach tighten against your cheek as his breath stutters.

“Oh, sweet mother,” You can hear him whisper above you, but then he manages to breathe carefully, somewhat close to what his breathing was while he was asleep.

Moving to the other side, you do the same. Sitting up again, confusion strikes you as you find the demon has screwed his eyes shut, his jaw tightly clenched as his hands have created tight fists by his side. Reaching over to take one of his hands in yours, you open the fist to hold his hand, sliding your smaller hand into his bigger one.

“Tell me, where does it hurt?” You ask him gently, only to receive a snort and a smirk in return.

“Trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want to know,” He mumbles, his drawls so thick that you struggle to understand the words. “I’m just fine, darling,”

Letting go of his hand, you move further up on the met of his thighs to get a better position. After asking him to take deep breaths, you press your fingers over his vital organs, starting under his ribs. With each exhale, you feel for any enlargements, for any tenderness. Moving further down you do the same, watching him closely just in case he wouldn’t say anything about the pain. It’s not until you put your hands on each side of the top of his hip bones that he tenses.

“Do this hurt?” You ask him as you gently make the organ move between your hands.

You only receive a gasp in return as the demon closes his eyes, his lips slightly parted and his breath becomes ragged. There’s something wrong, but he doesn’t want to tell you what it is. Moving over to the other side brings forth the same reaction. You’re about to demand he tells you where the pain is from when your hand brushes against something it should not have. Looking between your wide-spread thighs a huge bulge stares back at you from beneath the demon’s tweng. With wide eyes, your head snaps up to meet the dangerously sharp ones of the demon. His lips have parted more, the tips of his fangs visible from the plumpness of his lips. You can feel your irises dilate as the warm scent of the demon reaches your nose.

“Maybe you did want to know after all, mama,” The demon’s husky voice has dropped several octaves, the deep rumble all but rattling through your ribcage as your own core responds to his scent.

Until his words register in your suddenly foggy mind. Hissing, you jump off of him as if burned. The disappointment is clear as day when the demon flops his head down on his makeshift nest again. Stomping around your kelku, you grab your blade before walking to the door.

“Use the salve in the bowl on your pain, and drink water,” You growl before stepping outside. The fresh, salty air greets you as its warm winds caress your heated skin. It feels great.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jake chuckles softly, making you jump.

“What?” You’re caught so off guard that you don’t know what to say.

“You seem distressed, Y/n,” Jake squeezes your shoulder gently as he bends to look into your eyes.

“Would you not be distressed if you had to live with him after everything he has done?” Your words come out much harsher than you had intended to, but you find that they ring no less true than what you feel.

The demon had taken everything that you had. He had snatched every breath from your lungs, had made you feel, had made you care only to turn his back to you at the first opportunity he got. He had taken everything you taught him and used it against you. Still, when his body lay beaten and broken at death’s door, you had stood by his side. You had cleaned his body and healed his wounds while he rested. You had kept him alive when all he deserved was to be washed out in the sand, a dark moment in Na’vi history. Jake just looks at you with knowing eyes. You can no more help the sigh that leaves you than you can keep your shoulders from sagging under the weight of Jake’s hand.

By the time you get Spider, the demon has been asleep for many hours, but you still make a mental note to up the sleeping draft you mix with his water. Sighing, you watch as Spider curls into your nest, his smaller body tired after yet another day filled with new and exciting adventures. Smiling to yourself, you step over to the demon, pulling the blanket off of him. Sitting down, you start the cleaning routine, removing leaves on the deeper wounds while cleaning old salve from shallower cuts. By the time you had finished, you felt the weight of the day in your tired eyes. Curling up beside Spider, you’re happy to see that his beautiful brown eyes glitter as he stares at you. Smiling, he bumps his masked forehead to yours as he sighs happily. It doesn’t take long before you’re asleep, warm and tired as your son’s heartbeat plays the most beautiful rhythm you have ever heard in your life.

Which is why you’re so confused when you wake up to the rumbled growls of a much darker character. Turning your head, you’re met with the demon’s sharp eyes as he huffs with frustration. He hasn’t moved from his makeshift nest apart from sitting up, the blanket tightly wrapped around him. Groaning, you rub the sleep from your face as you yawn. This would apparently be another day when the demon would be awake. Annoyed, you start to plan a way to slip him more of the sleeping draft. Maybe, if you were lucky, he would drink the entire bowl and choke on -

“Woman, stop ignoring me,” The demon growls, his voice annoying in the silence of the early morning. “Where are my weapons?”

“Where I found you,” You respond lazily as you sit up in your nest to stare at him.

“The hell you mean by that, darling?" He sneers, the anger blazing in his sharp eyes.

“I left everything when I took your armor off,” You sigh, pinching the broad bridge of your nose as you pray to Eywa to give you strength.

“Now why in the ever-loving hell would you do that, sweetheart?” His voice cuts deep like a blade through the soft underbelly of a beast as his eyes narrow.

“You have no need of them,” You start, watching as his chest puffs while his face contorts into one big frown, ready to spit angrily. “But I took your blade with us. It’s in Cupcake’s bag.”

“Cupcake?” At the mention of his ikran, the demon halts, his eyes turning from angry to hopeful in a matter of seconds. “Is she alright?”

The demon’s voice is gentle when he asks, yet, the urgency behind his question shines through. He cares deeply for his ikran. The knowledge warms something deep within you, making your own annoyance bleed away.

“She is safe with Hawnu,” You confirm, offering what you hope is a comforting smile.

The demon takes a deep breath, wincing slightly before he lets out a sigh. In your own stressed state, you have failed to realize that he must have his own set of stress going on in his life. Something must have triggered his sudden change of heart. The man you had come to know, the man behind this… this unrecognizable mask, something drastic would have had to happen for him to leave all reason and just act. In the back of your mind, Jake’s words ring loud and clear. ‘When none of your choices are good, you make the best of the bad ones.’

“Thanks,” The demon mumbles, his voice calm and relieved.

You’re about to ask what happened when Spider yawns beside you. Looking down at your son you smile as his beautiful brown eyes open to greet you. Reaching forward, you brush the hair from his forehead, chuckling lightly as he swats at your hand before brushing the rest of his hair away by himself. Sitting up in your nest, his easy smile drops to one of uncertainty as he notices the demon. Looking up, you notice how the demon furrows his brows before taking a deep breath.

“Good morning, Spider,” He drawls, his voice warm and heavy, like a blanket during thunderstorms.

Spider doesn’t reply though, and although you want to tut at him for being rude, you don’t. His father had broken something sacred, something only he could make right again. The only thing you could do was to offer your son the support and safety he needed when he needed it. Getting to your feet, you offer Spider a fruit for breakfast, smiling gently at him when he slices the fruit in two and offers you the first dice of meat. Reaching forward, you cup the back of his messy head before leaning down to place a kiss on the top of his head, letting your lips linger for a moment too long before pulling back. Looking up at you, the conflict on your son’s face makes you smile sadly down at him. You wish more than anything that you could take this hardship away from him, that you could make his life as joyful as he has made yours. When he sighs and looks over to his father though, pride explodes within you at the strength you see in his small form.

But as Spider opens his mouth, no doubt to offer his father food, Neytiri and Jake enter your kelku, the older woman’s smile slipping from her face when sharp eyes meet hers. Before you’re able to react, the demon is up on his feet, staggering unsteadily as he pushes Spider and you behind him as he takes a defensive stand before you. The way he hisses sends a chill down your spine and makes the tip of your tail twitch with unease. When the deep growl leaves the cavity of his chest, an immediate biological reaction course through you, forcing you to reach out for safety while clutching your so to your side. Your heart beats wildly as you hold onto the demon’s tail, your hand gripping so hard that your fingers grow cold. Distantly, you can hear Jake tell you that everything is alright, that you’re safe, but the demon’s furious growls want nothing to do with the Toruk Makto’s words. It’s only then that your frozen body thaws, your fear bleeding out of you as Jake’s words reach your mind. Taking in the situation before you, Neytiri hisses and snarls, her blade drawn and pointing at the demon, while her mate desperately tries to calm the situation behind her.

“Get your batshit crazy wife away from my family, Corporal,” The demon sneers, his tail whipping furiously beneath your hand.

Letting go of the demon’s tail, you slap the back of his head, having understood what he just said, knowing it was not nice words.

“If you come near my son again, I will skin you alive, woman,” You have never heard him sound this venomous before, his fury sending dread through your body.

As Jake hisses in response to the threat to his mate's life, the feeling that something is wrong settles heavily in the pit of your stomach once more. Pushing Spider further behind you, you try to sidestep the demon, but his long arms keep pushing you back as he shifts his defensive stand with each move you make.

“Be nice,” You scold him, holding his arm still as you finally step out from behind him.

“You don’t know, do you?” He huffs a flat chuckle, but there’s no humor in it as his dangerously sharp eyes meet yours.

“What do I not know?” You ask confused, a heavy stone dropping in your stomach as the unease doubles up.

“How she held our son at knifepoint, how she ran her blade across his chest, drawing blood before going in for the killing blow,” The demon’s words are spat so venomously, with such pure hatred, that it leaves no room for questioning.

Yet, you can’t help the gasp from leaving your lips as another, much colder chill runs down your spine. Looking down at the long, crusting wound across your son’s chest, you walk through your belief that he had hurt himself during his escape, like with the other cuts and bruises. But now that you really look at the wound, as you look beyond the healing flesh, you realize that the wound is too clean to have happened by accident.

“Quaritch was holding Kiri at knifepoint too, threatening to kill her if I didn’t surrender. Y/n he took our children just to draw me out. We thought we had just lost Neteyam by Quaritch’s demand,” Jake hurried to say, his voice pleading with you.

But all you can hear is that Neytiri ran her blade across your innocent son’s chest, drawing his blood before going in for the killing blow to end his life. Turning to Neytiri you see how her blade has lowered, her hands slack by her sides as she stares ahead, her expression empty behind her eyes.

“A son for a son, wasn’t that what you said?” The demon sneers and his fury with Neytiri all but drips from the sound.

“Oh, shit,” You can hear Jake whisper, but your ears start ringing as the words sink in and you understand what has been said.

“Is this true, sister?” You turn to Neytiri, praying to the Great Mother that it wasn’t so, that this was just one of the demon’s and Jake's many lies.

“Yes,” Neytiri doesn’t even deny it, but the older woman doesn’t look proud about it either.

A wounded sound leaves your throat as your mind goes blank with pain. Distantly, you feel tears start to roll down your face at the betrayal of your sister’s actions. You’re screaming, but you can’t hear it, unable to stop it as sobs rush through your body. Strong arms wrap around you and before you know it you’re going down, the warm body behind you following you down as your knees hit the woven ground of your kelku. You’re wailing, but all you can hear is Neytiri’s ‘Yes’ ringing through your mind.

The demon tries to comfort you, his big hand holding your head against his chest as you cry. Spider steps closer too, his small arms wrapping around your shoulders as he presses his head to your back. It doesn’t help. Reaching out for your son, you clasp your hand around his, noting how his hand is so small where it’s held by yours, and suddenly, the image of Neytiri holding a blade to your son’s small body flashes before your mind. In the end, rage is the only thing left inside of your empty heart.

“We’re supposed to protect the children,” You whisper morseso to yourself, your voice almost inaudible. But you know they've heard you by the way they all flinch at your words.

“We’re supposed to protect the children,” You say louder as you push away from the demon’s embrace, slapping at his arms and chest to get away when he reaches for you when you turn to face Neytiri again.

“We’re supposed to protect the children!” You scream at her, but she won’t meet your eyes. Stepping away from the demon, you stare at both of them, truly seeing them for the first time in your life before continuing. “And you use them to hurt each other,”

You watch as both of them flinch, their ears pinned back so close to their skulls that had you not known they were there, you would have missed them. Their tails have curled protectively around their legs, their heads lowered in shame, but somehow, they still have the audacity to meet your eyes when you stare at them.

“I saved your son while desperately searching for my own and this is how you repay me,” Your words fall like stones in the silent marui pod.

Behind them, Tonowari stands tall, his warriors no doubt calling him to the marui pod for him to see what the wailing and shouting is about. His eyes are wide as he stands behind the Sullys, ears flat against his mighty hair, while his tail thrashes behind him.

“You are both unworthy to call yourselves parents in the presence of Eywa.” You sneer at them, your fury making your skin grow cold, threatening to make your teeth clatter against each other.

“You do not deserve them,” Your voice is surprisingly calm when you speak, making their ears twitch with the change, as if the defeat in your voice was somehow worse than the rage.

Wrapping your hand around Spider’s arm, you walk out of your kelku without looking back. You needed to find Hawnu, needed to feel the wind through your hair, needed to take your son to a place where you knew he would be safe, where you knew he would be protected. When you had calmed down enough, you had a whole cave full of things you would need to talk to him about, but for right now, you just needed to feel safe, if only for a little while. With your heart broken and bleeding in your chest, you call for Hawnu, your ikran immediately responding with his own screech, Cupcake’s complimentary screech following just behind.

“Do you have space for one more?” Mo’at’s voice asks gently from behind and you’re too tired to argue with the older woman, so instead, you just nod as the tears roll down your face. Maybe she would know why the Great Mother had turned her back on you…

Chapter 16 | Masterpost | Chapter 18 - Coming soon

Could u please do reader x joker 2019?

Reader protects Arthur (before he turned into joker) from when his sign was taken and she beat the kids up and he won’t ever forget that moment. But now,Arthur turned into the joker, he returns the favour by saving her from bad guys?

And when he saves her, he walks elegantly towards her 😫✨ and says “I missed you, doll” 🫣🫣🫣😭✨

Title: Savior Fandom: Joker 2019 Pairing: Arthur Fleck (Joker)  x Reader Rating: Mature for safety. Warnings: Violence, (attempted) sexual assault, Crude Language, Clown beating, Blood, Murder. AN: I wrote two versions of this. A sweeter tale, after which I realized the prompt specifically said that the Reader beats those bad boys up – so I rewrote it. Now I really struggled with how the Joker saved the Reader in this. I’ve written several different scenarios, but none of them felt right. In the end, I decided to base it on personal experience and went along with something that happened to me and frightened me a lot while I was in university. And that was passing this certain school and the young men that tried to sometimes sexually assault you there. It never went as far as in this fic, though, thank the lucky stars. But I had to push the situation a bit more to get a more satisfying end to their lives >D

Be warned, the boys in the second part try to attempt to rape the reader (I won’t go as far as clothes being torn off etc, but they do try to drag her into an alley and scold her).

So if any of this triggers you, please, do not read and hold out for the sweeter fill of this prompt that I will be posting later on &lt;3

~ Savior Fill : I Can Handle Myself ~

The boys ran past you with such haste, it was as if a train passed you. You followed them with your eyes, frowning, and inwardly cursed how rude they had been to nearly trample you on their way past you. But you didn’t have long to think angry thoughts, because a man rushed by, clearly in pursuit. A clown, you thought, eyes now wide. A clown with a green wig cap adorned with curly fake hair and ridiculously big shoes. It must make his steps that much harder. How did he manage to keep up, you wondered.

“Hey, stop them!” the clown shouted. But the boys were shouting back profanities and crossed the road. The clown was nearly hit twice by a car as he followed. One glance around you told you that no one had bothered to run after them. Though some people stood and watched, most seemed to ignore the weird scene. You didn’t hesitate a single moment, though, and ran.

It had been hard to cross the road, but once you were on the other side, you came to a halt and your eyes darted from side to side. Where had they gone to? Then you spotted the clown as his feet slipped from the pavement and he caught himself with his hands. He’d nearly fallen but scrambled up to his feet again before he dashed into one of the alleys. He disappeared out of sight, but you had memorized the spot and made your way over to it as swiftly as you could.

At the entrance of the alleyway, you stood still to observe something you had hoped you would never see. Five teenagers stood huddled around the clown. His bright yellow sign lay scattered upon the floor, broken as if smashed against something. The man was quiet but conscious. You could see how he tried to shield his body from the incoming blows. And your mind went haywire.

You didn’t even register how you moved in on the boys, you suddenly just stood behind them. One high kick was enough to hit the first one on his shoulder. The tall teenager turned around, clearly confused, but you gave him little time to retaliate. Instead, he met your fist eye-first, and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the clown’s shivering frame.

At this point, the others boys had noticed your presence and they stopped their assault on the man. Instead, they turned to you. Eyes all dark and glowering, teeth shown. Like rabid dogs, you thought. But there was no time for thinking now.

You held your arms up in front of your face, hands curled into fists. A little hop to your step as you sprung side to side like you’d seen boxers do on the television.

“How about it, boys?” you whispered. You had wanted to sound cool, but something in your voice broke. It didn’t come out sad though, just a little husky. The boy whom you had dubbed their leader because he was taller and seemed to be the one to take initiative took a step closer to you. His eyes widened at the sight of you.

“Leave the clown alone,” you demanded, then ducked when the anticipated attack struck you right after. The boy’s knee was up to hit your chest, but you had seen it coming and darted out of its way. A fist was launched at your face, but either by sheer luck or good reactional skills, you managed to block it with your arms.

The move seemed to surprise the boy as much as it did you, because he took a second to recover before he tried to hit you again.

The others boys now joined in, the clown forgotten behind them. They inched closer to you with fists raised until a second boy launched himself at you, and all of a sudden, hands and legs were swung in your direction like a flurry.

You didn’t manage to dodge all of the blows, but you made a lucky move when you crouched down to avoid them, then kicked out your leg. Your foot hit an ankle, and one of the boys fell, taking the boy next to him with him by accident. With two down, you sprung up again and hurdled yourself at one of the remaining three. It was one of the smaller ones, an easier target. You tackled him to the floor in a tight hug, then let go of him the moment he lay down. Seated on top of him, you smashed your fist against his cheek, a blow that pushed his head into the dirt and the crumbling asphalt below. Then you moved off of him.

Just in time, it seemed. The two boys who still stood rushed forward to you. In a fit of panic, you reached next to you. The road was littered with garbage that had been torn from the many uncollected garbage bags, and your hand closed around something sharp. What the hell was it?

It didn’t matter. This was your life you were concerned about. With eyes closed, you flung the sharp object away from you, only to hear a gasp come from the boys. Had you hit one of them?

But when you opened your eyes, you saw they were unharmed. But they were gasping at something, eyes raised to the sky. You looked up to see your shot had cut one of the electricity cables that hung above the alley. The cable dangled dangerously above your heads, a crackling sound and sparks erupted from the cut end.

“Come on,” one of the boys then shouted, “Let’s go, let’s go!” The boy still on the ground jumped up to his feet. Blood seeped from a gash on his cheek. He threw you an accusing glare, but made no comment, before he turned away from you and the dangling electricity cable, then ran off.

The other boys followed until you were left alone in the alley. Alone apart from the shivering clown.

You ignored the cable above your head, as you did the shouts of someone in one of the apartments who was cursing that their television had stopped working. Hurriedly, you crawled over to the hunched form of the man, and then slowly bent over him. He kept his hands between his legs. Must have taken a few hard kicks to the balls, you thought. You felt pity for him.

If only you could have chased them off earlier. If only you could have spared him this fate.

“Hey,” you carefully started, your hand on the man’s shoulder. He didn’t shrug your hand away, but he did flinch when you first touched him. But then, as he heard your voice, his eyes opened and he looked up at you. Your heart nearly stopped beating, because the eyes that locked with yours were the brightest green you had ever seen. So pretty. Accentuated by the clown’s makeup and his hair, certainly, but ever so beautiful.

You could have asked him then if he was okay, but that would have been a superfluous question. Of course he wasn’t. He was beaten up, and bruised, his sign shattered. There was nothing you could do to help his bruises, you knew that. But perhaps there was a chance to bring him comfort, to soften those mental wounds he must have received so they wouldn’t scar as badly.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, again. Your hand slid to the man’s white-painted cheek.

He smiled.

2.

You’d nearly forgotten the man you had once saved. The mysterious clown who hadn’t given you his name and hadn’t accepted any offers to help him. It had been as if he was scared of you. The way his shoulders raised when you spoke to him and how he avoided looking into your eyes. You had caught him looking at you though. Whenever you looked away his eyes would be upon you, and there’d be awe within them. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real.

But that was months ago.

When you met him again, you were on your way home. This particular street led you past a community college building, a place where young men often loitered about, hands in their pockets, leering at you when you passed by. You’d gotten used to the whistles and the comments. You thought it was normal until one of your fellow female students pointed out that they never called after her.

Passing this street didn’t always make you feel safe, so when you were particularly tired, you’d go the long way around to the train station. But today, you wanted to take the shortcut. A choice you instantly regretted.

“Oi, pretty girl,” one of the boys wearing a hoodie, hands in his pockets like they usually had, shouted the moment he saw you. He came heading your way, a weird lilt to his step. You instantly knew this wasn’t going to be okay. “Oi, come here,” he said.

Behind him, a friend of his emerged out of the shadows of the building. A crooked smile upon his face and an evil glint in his eyes. “I think you have a little time for us, don’t you?” the boy said.

Two more friends emerged and you quickly scanned the area. Somehow, you were all alone. No other students were behind you, just in front, but they had just rounded the corner and were long gone.

The streets seemed empty as it was already getting late. The setting sun shone over the street tiles, making them shimmer. With hands flexed, you made to turn around, but the first boy managed to corner you.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so,” he said. You wrinkled your nose in disgust when you saw he had grabbed you by the arm. His grip was tight and unpleasant. You started to feel scared for being surrounded by these young men who clearly wanted a thing from you that you were unwilling to give them. “Here, baby, don’t be difficult. Now, you’re gonna be good to me and my friends?”

You flinched, certain of one thing. You were not going to make this easy for them.

With as much strength as you could muster, you pulled your arm back sharply. An attempt to bring your arm back to your belly, but the boy’s hand remained attached. It hadn’t worked.

With gritted teeth, you flung your knee up to aim at either his chest or his balls. You hoped to hit the latter. But once again the boy was too swift. He used your own arm to block the attack, which hurt darn much. You winced and bit back a cry at the pain you felt. Stupid, you thought. You probably had bruised your own arm.

Another attempt from you to twist out his hands, but the second boy gripped your shoulders from behind and forced your body still. You cursed, loudly. “Let go of me,” you said as loudly as you could. “Let go, or I’ll scream.”

This threat instantly triggered a third boy to cover your lips with his palm. “You try and fight back bitch, and we’ll fuck your cunt into a bloody mess.”

With eyes wide of shock, because how dare they scold and denigrate you like this? You noticed how the four of them started to drag you into the narrow alley next to the building. An alley, you knew, would mean the end of it. Because how many people passed this street? And how many of them would think to look in that alley on their way? Your chances to escape would be zero to none.

No, your mind screamed. No, this can’t be how it goes. This can’t happen to me.

You struggled with all your might, even if it were hardly possible to move within their arms. All it earned you was a hard whack against the head, and a kick against your shin. More bruises, you thought, panicking. You had to get out.

Just before they could pull you into the alley, you had the mind to bite the boy whose arm had circled around your shoulders and who covered your mouth in the hand. He cried out. Then suddenly his hands were gone, and he fell face-first next to you. His head inside the alley. His body was limp.

You looked at him confused. Had your bite done that? But then a second boy, this time to your other side, called out. A high-pitched yell of pain. Arms flailing, he fell down to the ground as well, leaving only the two boys behind your back.

Their hands let go of you, and finally you were able to turn around. There they stood, both boys with their backs turned to you. Their attention all upon a new man who had appeared behind them. A man in a red suit, stylish, if not for the many spots upon it. Had he spilled coffee, you wondered at first. But no, it would have been a lot of coffee. The spatters were too many and too far apart. Then what could it be?

The man stood face down, a cigarette held between his lips and fingers, the tip glowing. You could not see his face, but something about his posture seemed familiar. Like a distant memory was awoken upon the sight of him. You’d seen this man before, but where?

His other hand rested inside his pants pocket, lazily, elbow hooked. Nothing about him indicated what had just been done, so you didn’t notice it at first. Not until he blew a small cloud while the cigarette left his lips, and he finally looked up at you all. You saw the paleness of his face. Not natural, but made by makeup. Familiar, you thought again. But it couldn’t be him, could it? The blue triangles near his eyes. The green tangled hair.

This man was dressed as a clown, you realized. A clown you’d seen pictures of before on the television, and on the wanted posters all around the city. A villain recently sought after by Wayne and the authorities.

The Joker.

No wonder you had thought you recognized him. A man known to be ruthless. Cold needles spread all over your spine and you froze up with fear. You knew you had to go, to escape, to run fast and as far as you could before he ended your life like had the lives of so many others. His reasons were often left unknown. Not just Wayne’s men had been murdered, dozens more.

But then your eyes turned to the two boys on the floor and you realized the clown must have a gun. Red had started to spread, leaking from the chests of the boys down onto the street tiles below. Their clothes were stained with the red liquid that was now rapidly spreading.

They’d been shot.

Then the stains on the clown’s suit weren’t made by coffee at all. They were blood as well.

You looked up again in fear, eyes wide. But the Joker’s gaze was not upon you. It was fixed firmly upon the boys in front of you. His hand rested lazily in the pocket of his red pants. Probably where he is hiding the gun, you mused.

“I think you have something of mine there,” was all Joker needed to say for the boys in front of you to start stumbling backward. What was it? You wondered. What did they have? What had you found yourself entangled in? Their screams echoed throughout the alley as they turned on their heels to run. They made it past you, into the narrow street, but only made it in several paces before one by one, they were shot in the back. Cowardly, you thought, but they oh-so deserved it for what they had tried to do to you.

They fell forward, their bodies slumped. You didn’t know if they were instantly dead, or if their life was slowly slipping away from them. You didn’t care to watch. Instead, you turned your head back to the Clown Prince of Crime, a title given to him by the most ruthless and the most influential of all men in Gotham.

The Joker stood where he had been standing. The only change was his now raised arm, a smoking gun aimed at where the boys once had run. Your heart nearly stopped of fear, and you hardly dared to keep your eyes upon him. Surely, he would shoot you next. Whatever this was, whatever this had been, he would probably assume you were part of the group. Had they stolen something from him? Did he want it back enough to kill them for it? Why should he spare you?

With your eyes averted, nearly closed while you trembled in fear, you heard his steps upon the tiled street. His soles slipped upon the glistening tiles, still wet from the rain earlier today, before the sun had started to peek through the clouds.

You heard how he walked towards you, taking his time, a cigarette in his hand, still burning. Then he brought it to his lips and took a long drag before he exhaled slowly. Little clouds of white swirled up from his lips to disappear into the early summer sky while he tilted your head with one finger, forcing you to lock eyes with his own.

They were the purest green you had ever seen. It was within that instant that you recognized him as the clown whose life you had once saved. Eyes that had once been filled with terror and disbelief, but had been ever so green that they had drawn you in. Eyes that had once looked at you as if he could not believe you were real. The gaze in them was the same. That look that told you he had a hard time believing that you existed.

But why?

This man had once been hunched over, frightened for his life, trembling. But now it was you who was in his place. And something in his gaze softened. You saw the recognition in his eyes and thought he must have spotted yours.

His fingers upon your chin tightened. The way he studied you while he moved your face with his hand, tilting it from side to side as he took you in the sight of you, made something in his eyes change. His gaze became more intense, darker.

Then his head dipped forward and his lips were planted against yours. The taste of bitter smoke and something unique to him invaded your senses. It felt pleasant. Unexpected, but heartwarming. A butterfly rose in your chest and wanted to fly, hot flames licked the insides of your belly. And this man had done all that with just one kiss.

And then he withdrew, but his eyes remained focused upon your lips. As if he was hungry for more, a craving you shared with him. He seemed to be catching his breath, his chest moved rapidly up and down, while his fingers finally slid free from your face so he could place his hands on your hips. You placed your hands on his chest and looked up at him, lips parted in a silent sigh, a quiet invitation for him to kiss your lips again. The Clown Prince of Crime happened to be your very own clown.

“I missed you, doll,” he murmured, voice hoarse and low. He had no idea how much you had missed him. "I think you'd be a lot safer in my arms, don't you?" he hummed, and you didn't think to go against him.

The newspapers reported you missing the very next day.

Joaquin Phoenix on the set of JOKER 2

Joker 2019

I just watched the 2019 Joker movie and I absolutely loved it lol. Idk why I waited so long to watch it but I am now obsessed and I can't wait for the 2nd movie 😫

It's Over? ||

Pairing: (any) Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 3,728

Overview: (Loosely based on this) After overhearing your conversation on the phone, Peter begins to worry about the status of your relationship and a miscommunication over text only makes matters worse.

Marvel Masterlist 🖤 Fandom Masterlist 🖤 Requests

Peter Parker's such a terrible boyfriend.

...Okay, so maybe you've never said that to his face, but he's convinced it's true and he's also certain you agree. He's been a massive idiot lately which is a realization that makes him sick with worry and rotten with guilt.

Peter feels no hesitation with his feelings towards you and has always put effort into proving it: he gets you hand picked flowers collected during his patrols, writes loving messages for you with webs outside your window, and even texts you pictures of sunsets from the best views in New York, wishing you could be there in person with him because he absolutely treasures you, counting himself lucky every single day solely because of the fact that he can call himself your boyfriend.

Unfortunately, he fears that the title might change here soon because no matter how boundless his love is for you, he's done a real shitty job of showing it - at least in the ways that really count the most.

Originally, Peter didn't notice the flaws to your relationship and even when he did, he foolishly brushed them off. Once your smile began to fade little by little each time he returned home wounded, he reminded you that you don't need to stay up waiting for him every night and can go to sleep earlier if you're just going to be tired and annoyed with him when he gets home. He didn't mean to word it so harshly. He was worn out himself and didn't take the time to consider that you wait all night because you're worried about him.

Your complaints about him returning from work without getting any groceries would simply be met with new promises to do so after patrol. If there was no food in the fridge for dinner, then he suggested ordering take out. As a man who could easily survive months on Top Ramen alone, he didn't think you'd mind Chinese food two days in a row.

Even when you'd beg him to stay home for a date night because you haven't had one in weeks, he'd push you away, insisting he needs to protect New York without once stopping to wonder how his priorities might translate in your mind: 'I need to protect a city of strangers as I do every single night, so no, I can't spare a few hours for my girlfriend'.

Throughout every sigh to part your lips, Peter turned a blind eye to it all. Sure, the two of you argue, but all couples do, right? He still loves you and you love him, it's just...a little rough dating a superhero is all, however you'll both get through it together, he was so sure - and that's the key word: Peter 'was' sure, but after your fight today and the self-reflection he's done since, he's not too confident anymore.

It seemed so minuscule this morning. He was eating a bowl of cereal when he heard you huff from the other room. Upon investigating, he found you holding a red and blue shirt in hand, frustration written all over your face. It was your favorite shirt and it definitely wasn't supposed to be that color. Of course, the reason for its unplanned dye job wasn't difficult to guess.

Peter apologized while explaining he was really tired the night before and must've thrown his suit into the wash without checking the other items first; an "honest mistake" he called it with a shrug. Once again, you huffed, throwing the shirt back into the hamper in clear defeat which only made him press further about your suddenly foul mood. From there, the situation only escalated into raised voices ending in you slamming the door directly in his face when he tried to follow you into the bedroom.

Looking back on it now, Peter realizes his apology came off as halfhearted as he merely continued to stuff another spoonful of cereal in his mouth in between sentences and he probably should've stayed at that locked door to give you a proper apology, yet regrettable that's not how it played out. Instead, he purposely sighed as loudly as he could, asking why you "act so bitchy anymore" before stomping off...Not the greatest way to resolve an argument.

Unfortunately, Peter can't say that was the first fight he's merely walked away from with you. You would think Spiderman would know better, but alas, he's an idiot. In his own immature mind, he didn't see anything wrong or unhealthy with this strategy of simply dropping 'unfavorable conversations', after all, it seemed he had a fifty-fifty chance of you either getting angrier or never bringing the topic up again, the latter of which has been occurring more frequently lately. It wasn't until this morning that he realized just because you don't bring it up again, doesn't mean it isn't still hurting you.

When Peter went back up to the bedroom door, prepared to tell you he'd be leaving for work soon, he heart shattered upon hearing your silent sobs from inside. You were crying because of him. Your tears have always been his weakness, but it was in that moment that he learned there's something else that can deal even more damage to his sorrow and that's the broken words you sniffled to presumably MJ on the phone:

"I-I just can't do this anymore! It doesn't matter what I do! I've tried to not be clingy. I've tried to give him space and let him do his thing, but he never comes back to me! I don't even remember the last time we've gone on a date. It's always New York this, Daily Bugle that. Hell, he volunteered to work a few extra hours the other day yet can't be bothered to stay home just to eat dinner at the table with me! It's like I'm last to everything else in his life even when I put him first in mine!"

The thought of your relationship ending turns Peter's nerves to mush. How could he be so stupid? So ignorant? Such an asshole when he has the perfect girlfriend who has kept putting up with his bullshit for all this time? You don't ask for much in return; you never have. You ask him to help with small chores in your shared apartment. You request that he texts you regularly throughout the night not because you need attention, but because you need to know he's safe. You want date nights every once in a blue moon because he's your boyfriend, goddammit! What's the point of saying you're dating if he feels more like a lazy roommate than an equal lover?

You're slipping right through his fingers and he has no one to blame except himself. He knows that now and he's been spending the entire day thinking about it along with some way to apologize properly.

Part of him wishes he would've just pulled himself together and done something right then, bursting into the room with the promise that he can change - that he will change. Hell, he'd burn his suit in front of you if it means you'll give him another chance - if you'll believe for a second that the relationship is worth saving...But alas, he couldn't bring himself to interrupted your call, feeling it would only betray your trust if you knew he had been listening to a private conversation.

Instead, Peter sat like a statue on the couch, waiting not so patiently for you to leave the room on your own accord. When you did, he leaped up only for you to walk directly past him while sternly reminding him you have work. Of course you had work and, no matter how far he followed you through the apartment, begging you to listen to him for even just a minute, you wouldn't so much as glance his way...The karma he deserves.

While you may not have given him any time to explain himself this morning, hope is not completely lost. Shortly after your departure, Peter came to the realization that his nerves will last all day if he doesn't do something about your earlier argument, thus he decided to text you:

Your final text hadn't come until ten minutes after his, but at least he has a chance to plead his case which he doesn't plan on letting go to waste. He's practiced his apology about a hundred times each hour, engraving the thought-out speech in the deepest corners of his mind despite none of it sounding quite right. Of course none of it sounds right! You sounded so convinced on your phone call - like your mind is already made up on ending the relationship. What if you can't be swayed? What if you don't love him anymore? It did take you ten minutes to text those words back. Maybe you weren't even wanting to say them to spare you both the extra pain at noon.

It may seem hopeless, as Peter worries, however he refuses to give up. Too tense at home, he took to swinging around New York while sometimes reciting his speech aloud. He's tried his best to predict any possible response you may have so that a counter argument can be prepared. He wants to show you that he means this - that he's confident in his ability to fix your crumbling relationship. He's even picked up a nice bouquet of flowers at the corner store, ignoring the weird looks the florists gave as Spiderman dropped from the sky just to nervously request the best flowers to avoid a break up.

Needless to say, Peter's heart nearly jumps out of his chest when his phone alarm finally rings at noon. By this time, he's already sitting on the rooftop of your workplace, waiting nervously for your call while reviewing everything he's prepared in the meantime.

Bad boyfriend or not, Peter still knows you. He knows you find the break room too crowded, so you prefer to grab your lunch and take it back to your desk to eat. That's when you'll likely call him. The plan is then for him to pour his heart out into his speech before hanging upside down outside your office window with the flowers. Sappy, yes, but it's the best a desperate wreck like Peter Parker can think of!

His focus is glued to his phone screen while waiting, only shattered by the sound of sirens nearby. Lifting his head, Peter's heart drops at the sight of several cop cars racing down the street to a location he's learned all too well throughout his time as Spiderman: the damn bank. Of course, someone has to rob the bank now! Crime has been quiet all day, but the one time Peter needs it to be so, it decides to be blaring loud instead!

He curses under his breath when standing only for his ringer to be the new sound in his ears. You're calling now! You're calling and there's a bank robbery a few blocks down! Why does the universe hate Peter like this?

"Hello -"

"- Hey, (Y/n)...Sweetheart - Listen, I'm, um," he bites his lip, watching a few more cop cars zoom by in the company of a firetruck," I am so sorry, but I'm gonna have to call you back, okay? There's a robbery at the bank and I -...I promise I'm going to call you back before your break is over. I promise."

You don't respond too quickly much to Peter's concern - as if you already know to start weighing the worth of his promises. When you finally sigh, you sound just as tired as this morning, "...Sure, alright. Just...be safe, Peter, okay?"

"I know, I will be! I promise I'm going to call you right back so just hold tight!" Swinging into the air, Peter holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder, soon removing it with his hand but pausing to say before hanging up: "Have a good lunch, I love you!"

"...I love you, too..." Another delayed response, one Peter barely hears before pressing the little red button on the bottom of his screen.

He's dealt with lots of bank robberies before. He can make this quick. Swing in, keep the sass to a minimum, web up the badies, save the hostages, and return your call with plenty of time remaining for your break. It'll definitely work out that way, no sweat!

It didn't work out that way...No, of course it didn't, this is the life of Peter Parker; a man the universe just seems to hate most of the time. Forty two minutes; that's how long it took to deal with the whole fiasco at the bank. The robbers were armed with homemade weapons each packing a punch which are already annoying to deal with on their own, but sided with the worry of hostages and his already stressful day, the fight wasn't as easy as Spiderman had planned.

Nevertheless, no matter what the universe decides to throw his way, he has gotten good at recovering. Yet again, the bad guys were defeated and left webbed up for the police, however Spiderman had no time to deliver a clever pun before his exit. Instead, he disappears the second the threat is gone, his phone already in hand as he prepares to face another:

"Shit, shit, shit!" Peter curses, pacing across the rooftop he lands on while frantically texting you back:

Swinging a bit further, Peter begins his way towards your work with his phone balanced against his ear. He mumbles desperate pleas under his breath as he listens to the seemingly endless ringing before, to his relief, your voice finally picks up on the other side:

"Yeah?"

"Oh thank god! I didn't mean it's over as in 'I'm over with you and our relationship', but over as in 'I got the robbers'. I'd never break up with you especially over text, I swear - Listen, I really need to talk to you, but in person. Are you still at work?"

"Whatever it is, can't you just tell me now? I have that meeting in like ten minutes."

"No, I need to tell you in person. I need - I have to make sure that we're okay...I want us to be okay..." He's nearly in tears which is obvious to you by the sound of his voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"I really don't want you to break up with me. I know I've been a terrible boyfriend lately and I know I've made you feel like shit so I probably deserve to be dumped, but I swear I never meant to and I want to fix everything - I will fix everything, I swear! You're the most important person in my life - okay, maybe second to May because she's my aunt, but compared to everyone else! I love you more than Spiderman or the Daily Bugle or - or even those super good sandwiches at the corner deli!"

"Peter -"

"- My point is I can do so much better! I'll start doing all the chores, I'll take more days off from the Daily Bugle and I'll even stop being Spiderman if it means you'll be happy with me, I promise! Just please give me one more chance -!"

"- Peter, hold on!" He instantly shuts his mouth under the strictness in your voice. You hesitate on the other end before a sigh can be heard, "...How quickly can you be here?"

"Give me two minutes tops!"

"...Alright. Meet me on the rooftop - and don't be late. My manager's already an asshole as it is, so I can't be late to this meeting."

The sound of Peter landing on the roof causes you to turn around, yet you have no time to say anything before he's running towards you with his mask already crinkled in his hand as well as a few measly roses with broken stems in the other, "(Y/n), I’m sorry. I promise I’m sorry.”

“Peter, your face…” Perhaps it’s just instincts and routine at this point, but the first thing you notice is the nasty bruise already forming under his eye, not that he’s the slightest bit concerned about that, in fact he doesn’t even acknowledge your comment.

“Please give me another chance. I’ll fix everything!” When Peter officially reaches your side, he moves to hug you - desperately wanting to do so, however he stops himself with his hands on your arms, having no more confidence to push his luck. You could shove him away at any moment, after all, “Like I said, I’ll do the chores, I’ll go on as many dates as you want, and I’ll stop being Spiderman even -”

“- You wouldn’t stop being Spiderman. You’d never stop being Spiderman,” contrary to his expectations, rather than being angry, you run a hand through his hair, your voice a soft whisper, “You love being Spiderman too much, Peter.”

He bites his lip and bows his head in shame. You’re right. He doesn’t want to stop being Spiderman, but…

“...But I love you more…”

“...Peter,” your heart swoons. Brushing his bangs away from his face, you tilt your head to get a good look at him, “I know you love me and I love you, too. That’s why I could never ask you to give up something as important to you as Spiderman.”

“I thought…” He trails off.

“You thought what?”

He glances at you quickly before directing his eyes away, “...I thought you were mad at me because of Spiderman? Because I spend too much time working - that’s why you want to break up with me, right?”

You blink in surprise, “Huh? Why would you think I want to break up with you?”

“I accidentally overheard you talking on the phone,” now it’s your turn to look away in shame, “You said you couldn’t do this anymore…That you were pretty much fed up with me which you have every right to be. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend lately -”

“- You’re not a terrible boyfriend -”

“- I am, though!” Peter cries, “It’s like you said! I leave you second to everything else - I don’t mean to, but I made you feel like you’re not as important to me when you really are. You’ve always been important to me, yet I’ve been ignoring your feelings and I pushed you to the ledge -”

“- Peter Parker,” you move your hands to his cheeks, moving him gently to look at you as you speak quietly yet sternly, “...You’re right. You haven’t been the most ‘attentive’ lately and yes, it really hurts to be tossed aside compared to everything else. I know deep down that you don’t mean it and I know you love me. I love you too - sooo much which is why I really don’t want to break up…It’s just…Something needs to change.

“That call you heard - I was only ranting if anything because honestly, I haven’t felt like I’ve had anyone to talk to lately,” you squeeze your eyes shut, blinking back the tears, “I’ve been so worn out with it all. Work’s been crazy lately with my manager constantly up my ass for reports and then when I go home wanting nothing more than to spend time with the one person who makes all that stress go away, you aren’t there. I’ve…I can’t keep that up.

“...What’s important right now is that we both realize that. I don’t want you to give up being Spiderman, but you could take a night off once in a while, right? There’s like a zillion superheroes in this city, after all. Make the Avengers handle it or - I don’t know, that devil dude. Take a break not just for my sake, but yours, too” you let your hands fall down to Peter’s, holding onto them with a sigh, “...You’re not the only one who needs to change, though. This is partly my fault, too -”

“- It isn’t your fault. Why would it be your fault?” Peter interrupts with concern, yet you shake your head.

“I should’ve communicated to you that I was upset. I should’ve made sure you actually understood how I was feeling instead of just assuming or expecting it. Clearly, you care about us as much as I do and you want to make fixes now that you’re aware of the problems. If I just would’ve said something sooner, it wouldn’t have had to get to this point. It isn’t fair for either of us to suffer without the other’s knowledge nor is it healthy. We shouldn’t have to get pushed to the ledge or worry about a break up before ever once sitting down to actually talk about our concerns like grown ups…That’s what we’re supposed to be now, right?”

“I think so, although it’s not that easy, is it?” Peter mumbles then throws his head back dramatically with a groan, “Ah, May and Ben made it look sooo easy!’

You chuckle, resting your forehead against him, “I’m sure they had moments like this…We just have to learn, is all.”

For what feels like the first time today, Peter smiles and breathes his relief, “How about this: I’ll promise to start spending more time with you and doing more chores around the apartment if you promise to start telling me when you’re upset. Even if it’s something that seems totally stupid, okay? I won’t walk away anymore. I’ll sit and listen and if I don’t, you have my permission to call May on me.”

“It’s a promise,” you press your smile against his for what you intend to be a quick peck, however his arms finally wrap around your waist, pulling you closer into a longer kiss he’s been dying for all day.

“I love you,” he whispers once pulling away.

“I love you, too,” and there’s no hesitation or delay to your response this time.

FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 2

in which the moon knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Marc Spector x afab!psychologist!reader

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, squirting, creampie, bondage, intense edging, reader is very mean, facesitting/riding, 69ing, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: time for everyone's favorite babygirl. again, i really hope i did marc's character justice. also, don't tell me marc wouldn't look pretty crying for you. i kinda went feral on this one. <3 DISCLAIMER: although i'm incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don't hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

← previous part

CASE STUDY: MARC SPECTOR

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Host / Apparently Normal Part

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Fearful

CHARACTERISTICS: cocksure, standoffish, pensive, calculating; resilient to a fault; views himself as irredeemable in the face of his past, unworthy of forgiveness or compassion; must be in control of every situation in order to feel secure.

SPLIT FROM HOST: N/A

TRAUMA RESPONSE: tendency to run when facing emotionally distressing situations

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: dominant, assertive, deliberate, practiced, indulgent; derives majority of satisfaction from his ability to draw pleasure from his partner; cognitive blockages that are reminiscent of self-sabotage (undeserving of release or pleasure).

"You're early, Doc."

Marc teased—he was leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk on his face, successfully blocking your entrance into his flat. You felt your face heat up beneath his devious gaze.

"I know."

Your words were softer than you'd intended them to be, more hesitant—Marc's eyes narrowed at your wavery response.

He wordlessly stepped to the side, allowing you to finally slip past him and into the threshold of the apartment. You paused in the entrance as the door clicked shut behind Marc. He narrowly avoided colliding into your form as he turned, his arms jutting out to brace himself against you to prevent either of you from stumbling. His hands gripped your biceps, his chest pressed against your back. Your body tensed under his touch, and he let out a low chuckle, slipping past you and further into the space.

"Jesus, you're touchy today. Everything okay?"

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied you. The movement was so easy, so casual and relaxed, as if this was just like any other time you’d hung out at his place—as if you weren’t there just to get into his pants. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you glanced down at your worn sneakers. It felt...different, this time. With Steven, you knew there would be a learning curve for both of you. You knew that, to some extent, you would be the one calling the shots, making Steven feel safe and comfortable. But now...you were intimidated. And ashamed to admit it.

You must've been quiet a beat too long, because the next second, Marc was in front of you, standing toe-to-toe. When you didn't meet his eyes, his left hand came to nudge your chin upward, forcing your gaze upon him. You gulped, but his dark eyes were softened with concern.

"Hey. You gotta talk to me, Y/N. What's on your mind?"

You blew out a breath.

"No, it's nothing, I'm just—"

"—nervous?"

Marc finished for you, and you squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to prevent yourself from seeing the satisfied look on his perfect face.

"Yes, Marc, laugh it up. I'm nervous."

"Hey, I didn't even—"

"Yeah, but you were gonna."

You snapped with a glare, but you felt guilt punch through your gut when a look of hurt crested Marc's features. You sighed.

"Shit, Marc, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"I am, too, you know."

You blinked once, then twice.

"You're...what?"

He rolled his eyes, huffing out a bitter, humorless laugh, as if he thought you were toying with him. When he saw the genuine confusion on your face, he threw his head back with a groan.

"You're really gonna make me say it, huh?"

Your eyes narrowed, but when you finally realized what he meant, you felt a small smile creep onto your face.

"Wait—you're nervous?"

Marc shrugged sheepishly, and you could see a bit of color rise to his cheeks—was he blushing?

"You're telling me—Marc Spector is nervous?"

"Yeah, and who's laughing it up, now?"

He quirked a brow, giving you an accusatory look, and you giggled at him, the tension melting away from your body easily.

"I'm not laughing at you, Marc, I'm just—why would you be nervous? Especially around me?"

He shook his head at you incredulously, taking a few steps closer. You felt your back press up against the door behind you, successfully trapping you in Marc's vicinity.

"S'that so hard to believe? A pretty girl like you, coming over to study how I am in bed—even if it's just for science?"

Marc wiggled his brows theatrically, and you laughed again, shaking your head. Still, there was blood pumping loud in your ears as he spoke, and you could feel electricity crackle in the air between you, charged with energy.

"Yeah, for science. But—you have pretty girls over all the time to see how you are in bed."

"Yeah, but s'never been you, has it?"

The words were barely audible, muttered lowly beneath his breath, but you felt your jaw slacken at his quiet confession. Your eyes flitted up to his, and there was that cheeky, self-satisfied grin on his face again—fuck, he was too handsome, you just wanted to—

"Can I just fucking kiss you, already?"

He was close, now, his warm exhales mingling with your own. His brown eyes glittered onyx as he drank you in, lips parted just slightly, the tip of his nose barely brushing your own. You felt faint, the proximity dizzying as temptation sank its teeth into your flesh. With the faintest nod of your head, Marc took the plunge.

You'd never had a kiss quite like this one before. Of course, Steven's was great, but it was exactly what you'd expected—a desperate clash of teeth and tongue, the two of you battling your insecurities to fall into a steady rhythm. But this—this was fucking special. Marc's hand slipped behind your head to thread through your hair, his other arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against him. You were frankly surprised at the tenderness with which his lips found yours, starting with a barely-there brush of his mouth. It was sweet, and raw, intimate, and you felt his lashes flutter against your cheek when he pulled away too soon.

You were breathless, your face following his as he drew back, desperate to maintain the contact. He chuckled at this, but remained close, eyes finding yours again.

"Still nervous?"

He asked, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes seemed darker as he smirked down at you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Your eyes flitted down to his mouth, your breath catching in your lungs at the sight. Something resembling a squeak involuntarily escaped your throat.

"Marc. Please."

You whined, big doe-eyes glimmering, and Marc scrunched his face up as though he was in pain, eyes squeezed shut tight as he groaned. He rested his forehead against yours.

"Shit. You really gonna make it that easy for me, baby?"

He practically hissed, and a breathy laugh blew past your lips. Marc captured your mouth with his again, harder this time, the hand that was in your hair reached up to brace himself against the door above your head, successfully caging you in. You hummed against him as his tongue passed through the seam of your lips, sinking into you further. Your desperate hands reached up and clawed at his chest, gripping the navy blue fabric of his cotton t-shirt in your fingers as you held him close. He pressed himself into you, and you could feel the hardness of his bulge flush against your lower abdomen. A moan escaped you at the feeling of his arousal, your body instinctually thrusting into his hold. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

"Yeah? You feel what you do to me, huh, baby?"

He teased against your lips, and you tossed your head back, thudding against the door behind you. You looked down your nose at him, through your lashes, panting slightly, your hands still twisted in the material of his shirt.

"Fuck, Marc, want you so bad, just—"

Your words died on your breath when his arms abruptly slid beneath your butt and hoisted you upwards, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. One of his large hands stayed firmly squeezing the flesh of your ass, the other roamed the length of your back as he pressed his lips against yours again, turning to walk you further into the apartment.

"Jesus, this is gonna be fun."

He mumbled at your eagerness and responsiveness, your hands threading through his brown curls as he brought you towards the bed, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You gasped when he threw you back onto the mattress abruptly, your body bouncing once at the contact, causing you to giggle. But then Marc was stalking over your body, hovering above your body with a predatory look in his eyes. He licked his lips as you blinked up at him.

"Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl. Gonna absolutely ruin you."

You impatiently pulled his face back to yours, and he didn't resist, kissing you back with equal fervor and desire as your own, but the moment you lifted your hips to seek friction from his body, he pulled away, tutting at you condescendingly.

"Ah, ah, ah. Relax, baby. Don't torture yourself."

He smirked, fingers dancing across the skin of your stomach beneath the hem of your shirt. You reacted immediately, lifting your arms above your head to allow him to pull it from your body.

"Look at you—so obedient."

His patronizing tone normally would've pissed you off, but there was something about the look in Marc's eyes—completely enraptured with you, ready to give you the world—that made you want to do whatever he said. He reached behind your body to undo your bra, fingers nimbly unhooking the clasps as he yanked it off of you, his face immediately sinking into your cleavage. He groaned, lips frantically attaching themselves to the flesh between your breasts, wandering across the expanse of the newly-exposed skin and wherever they could reach.

"Oh, baby. Such pretty tits."

He growled, teeth playfully sinking into the skin at the top of your right breast, earning a yelp from your mouth as he quickly soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue, smirking up at you. The heat of his mouth was enough to briefly distract you from his wandering hands, but then he was yanking your pants down your legs in one fell swoop, leaving you bare save for the plain pink cotton panties you'd worn today—they weren't particularly sexy, as you had been trying to prevent your apparel from serving as a confounding variable, but Marc still looked like he wanted to devour you.

His rough hands ran up the plush skin of your thighs, over your hips before squeezing at your tits, making your back arch up and off the bed. A dark chuckle sounded from above you.

"So eager, baby."

He hummed, pressing a kiss to your mouth, and you felt his hands travel down your body again, teasingly fondling at the waistband of your underwear as you sighed. You let your own hands travel beneath his shirt, running your hands along the warmth of his toned abdomen, coaxing him out of the material. You were happily surprised when he honored your silent request, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. His expression flickered for a moment as you admired him, his eyes briefly shining with a certain warmth that you couldn't identify. He pressed his lips to yours, a soft, sweet kiss, but when he pulled away, the wicked gleam in his eye had returned.

"Gonna make you feel good, baby. You want me to touch you?"

Your nod was frantic, your head pressed back into the pillows as you forced your body to stay still beneath him, even as you desperately wanted to rut up against his jean-clad thighs.

"Yeah, you do, huh? Bein' such a good girl for me, baby—you gonna keep behavin' yourself? Gonna let me take care a'you?"

You whined, desperation starting to pulse through your limbs, making you want to squirm.

"Yes, Marc, yes, just—please—"

He shushed you, his lips pressing hotly beneath your jaw before continuing down the column of your neck, down your sternum, across your breasts, and finally stopping above your navel. He hummed into your skin, the vibrations causing a chill to pass over your spine, goosebumps rising in their wake. He lifted his hands to spread your legs further apart, granting him the space to lay between them so he was face-to-face with your clothed core.

"Fuck, baby—soakin' for me already."

You could feel his hot breath against the cool, damp material of your panties, and you jolted when his fingers lightly pressed against the wet spot, the pads of his digits just barely swiping over your folds. Your toes curled and legs tensed, trying hard to withstand Marc's slow, relentless teasing. He seemed to be enjoying it, a dark chuckle escaping his mouth at your reaction.

"Tell me what you want, baby."

He requested lowly, hands pressed against your inner thighs to hold them apart in front of him. You tried to make your voice steady.

"Marc, please, just—"

His fingers harshly curled into the flesh of your thighs, creating divots in the soft skin as you flinched. He gave you a warning glare.

"You never struck me as the bratty type. C'mon, baby—tell me what you want."

"You, Marc, fuck—want you so bad. Always wanted you."

You flinched at your own confession, but Marc responded with a throaty growl.

"Oh, yeah? Thought this was just for research, hm?"

You felt his nose brush against the crotch of your panties, and you whimpered, your hips lifting of their own accord. Marc's hands gripped your waist tightly and slammed your ass back into the mattress, pressing you down firmly.

"That's enough."

He warned, suddenly strict, and you swallowed, trying hard to resist the urge to sink your hands in his hair and force him towards where you needed him most.

"Fuckin' greedy little thing. I'll give you whatever you want, pretty girl—just wanna hear you say it."

You bit your lip defiantly, feigning confusion at his request, and he growled again, teeth sinking into the flesh of your hip right above the waistband of your panties. You jumped at the sensation, letting out a sharp cry, and you felt the vibration of his chuckle through your skin.

"Go on, Y/N. Tell me the truth. Tell me how bad you want me."

Your resolve shattered.

"Want you so bad, Marc. Wanted you since the day I met you. Wanted you to bend me over the desk in my office, wanted—wanted to get on my knees for you right there on the bus. Got off to the thought of you fucking me so many times, Marc, shit, please, would you just—"

He practically ripped the panties from your body as his mouth finally surged forward to steal a taste of your sopping cunt. You yelped in surprise when his tongue swiped through your folds, and Marc wasted no time in sinking two fingers into your throbbing entrance, already beginning a relentless pace within you.

"Oooh, FUCK, Marc—"

You exclaimed, hips thrusting upward at the sudden stimulation, and Marc's strong arm reached up to press down on your stomach, forcing your movements to halt.

"Sit fuckin' still—want you to cum all over my fingers, baby."

He muttered against your clit, lips wrapping around the bud to suck harshly. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching already, the pleasure mounting and mounting with each sudden thrust of Marc's thick fingers, each move deliberate and practiced. You were mewling beneath him, back arched harshly as he continued his pace, dark eyes watching as your face contorted into a look of pleasure.

"That's it, baby, can feel you squeezin' my fingers, fuck—you gonna cum for me?"

Your climax peaked easily and you let out a long sigh as you let the waves of pleasure overcome your senses, only acutely aware of Marc's gentle praises being muttered against your throbbing cunt as your became pliant beneath him.

Your muscles began to loosen after your sudden and intense orgasm, but the sensation didn't last for long—Marc wasn't stopping. His tongue had replaced his fingers, thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, his nose nudging at your clit in a move he must've learned from Steven, the cheeky bastard...

"Fuck, Marc, shit, I can't—"

You couldn't stop yourself from squirming, but he held you down securely, not allowing you to pull away from the intense stimulation he was still offering.

"Color."

The sound was muffled, mixed in with the sinful slurping noises he was making, and your cloudy mind took a few moments to process his request, but as his fingers pressed harder into the divot of your hipbone, you threw your head back to respond. Stoplight.

"Green, Marc, but—God, fuck, s'too much, I can't—"

"You can, and you will."

Your eyes met his from his position buried in your mound, and the sight of his hungry eyes and the tone of his demand were enough to send you rapidly toppling over the edge yet again. The high-pitched wail that you let out was shameful, but Marc didn't pause, watching you closely as you came apart on his tongue yet again.

As you came back down to Earth, he finally offered you a moment of reprieve, coming up for air to press a bruising kiss to your lips. The tangy taste of your arousal on his lips made your face flush hot.

"Taste so sweet for me, baby. Gonna give me another?"

You hummed, mind still foggy with bliss, but then his fingers were ghosting over your swollen clit, swiping carefully in circular motions on your tender flesh. Your head lifted to press into his shoulder, and he chuckled wickedly, increasing his pressure as you writhed beneath him.

"That's it, baby, doin' so well."

He praised, hot lips pressed to your ear, and you could feel heat pool in your lower belly, red and hot and seething. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, hard enough that you could taste the metallic tinge of blood on your tongue as Marc sped up his pace. Your fingers wrapped around his arm, trying to pull him away, but his muscles flexed beneath your hold, and the overstimulation quickly made way for yet another stuttering orgasm, your cunt clenching around nothing as your teeth sank into the flesh of Marc's shoulder, body twitching uncontrollably. You heard him hiss from the bite to his skin, but it quickly evolved into a groan as he turned his head to the side, littering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses as sweat dappled your face.

"There we go. Good girl, baby. Good girl."

He cooed, finally pulling his hand away from your core. He lifted his slick-coated fingers and pressed them to your lips, and you absent-mindedly obeyed, sucking his digits into your mouth and lapping up the residual arousal from his knuckles. He hummed in approval, your face utterly fucked-out and eyes hazy. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose before sitting upright above you, his hands making quick work of his belt buckle as he pushed his jeans and boxers down simultaneously.

"Think you're ready for my cock, pretty girl?"

Your legs were still quaking with aftershocks, your thighs sticky with wetness from your prior orgasms and Marc's saliva. Still, even with exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, the sight of Marc's cock standing at full height, ruddy and weeping, was enough to inspire a nod of your head.

"Want you—fuck, Marc, want you inside me, please."

"Sound so pretty when you beg for me, baby."

Marc crept forward on his knees, stroking his cock with practiced precision as he slid between your split legs. You felt the head of his member slide experimentally through your folds, nudging at your clit. You bristled, the heat of his hardened length jostling your shot nerves. You nearly cried at the contact, hips pressing into the mattress and away from the pressure, but then the tip notched at your entrance and you wanted nothing more for him to sink into you. Before he pressed further, though, he slipped fingers beneath your chin, turning your head to look at him. Your lip was quivering with want.

"Color?"

He rumbled, brown eyes gentle, and your ass lifted upwards, trying to force his cock further into your awaiting channel, but Marc pulled away completely, drawing a long whine of protest from your chest.

"Easy, baby. Say the word, and I'll fuck you just how you want. But I need to hear it."

You swallowed, fingers sinking into his curls, and your voice was hoarse when you spoke.

"Green, Marc. Fuck me, please."

Your swollen folds made way for his thick length as it sank into you quickly, bottoming out in one swift thrust as Marc groaned throatily.

"Oh, fuck."

He growled, eyes squeezed shut tight at the sensation of your tight walls fluttering around him. His balls pressed firmly up against your ass, and Marc reached down to grip one of your ankles, hoisting your leg high above your head so the back of your thigh was to your chest. He offered a slow roll of his hips, his cock nestling tightly into you as he snapped them forward.

"Oh, fuck, yes, baby—so fuckin' tight."

His pace started to build, and soon he reached for your other leg to hold it above your head, effectively folding you in half. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper within you, the head of his cock prodding at something devastating. You were moaning shamelessly, now, incapable of forming coherent words at this point as Marc continued to pound into you, his teeth bared as his hips pistonned forward.

"Always wanted to fuck you like this, baby. Knew you'd make the prettiest noises for me, knew you'd let me do whatever I wanted to you. You gonna gimme another one, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?"

A sob ripped through you at his words, your hips thrusting upwards to meet his strokes. He had one hand wrapped around each ankle, braced over your head as he railed you into the mattress, the bedframe creaking under the strain. You felt your stomach coiling yet again, but your body was resisting, so overstrung and sensitive that your muscles felt like they were on fire. Still, Marc's pace was relentless, and you couldn't stave off the overwhelming need for release as you started to fall apart.

The groan that Marc offered was animalistic as your pussy clenched down on him, hard, throbbing rhythmically as you surrendered yourself to the onslaught of shockwaves that pulsed through your core. You felt faint, weightless, the crux of heat in your center exploding.

"Oh, fuck me, baby, oh my God, did you just—"

His words dissolved into a growl as he pounded into you harder, and it was only as you slowly regained your bearing that you could feel the slickness coating your thighs and Marc's abdomen—you'd squirted all over his cock.

"Jesus, not gonna last much longer, baby, so fuckin' good."

His head was bowed, curls falling into his eyes as he rammed into you, balls slapping against your asscheeks with each thrust. Punched-out moans passed through your lips surreptitiously as you tried to maintain your focus, although your consciousness was slipping away.

Marc's left hand released your leg and you felt his fingers swirl over your clit again.

"Gonna cum for you, baby, but you gotta gimme one more, first."

You sobbed, body lurching off the bed as if you were possessed, your knee curling over his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck, Marc, I can't, s'too much, please, just want you to—"

"Not gonna cum until you do."

He spoke through gritted teeth, a hardened determination glinting within his crazed eyes. You drank him in—sweat dripping from his curls, nostrils flared, lips pulled up in a snarl, veins in his neck straining beneath the skin with his effort. His pace abruptly switched, his rapid thrusting replaced with a few slow, deep, and fucking bone-rattling plunges within you, the sound of his skin roughly slapping yours filling your ears. The change in tempo was too much, you were spiraling, and with a guttural cry of his name, you felt a blissful numbness erupt from within. Marc threw his head back as you clenched around him once more.

"Oh, fuck, baby, yes, yes, so fuckin’ good, God—"

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled out of you hurriedly, hand reaching down to jerk his cock rapidly as he finally allowed himself to reach his release.

"Fuck, gonna cum all over you, baby, yeah, you ready? You want my cum?"

You nodded, whining greedily, your legs settling down on either side of him as you raised your hips towards him so you could feel his knuckles brush over your pubic bone with each rapid stroke of his cock. The desperation in your eyes is what hurled him over the edge.

"Fuckin' take it, baby, I'm cummin' for you, oh, fuck—"

His spend spilled all across your mound, spraying upwards over your stomach and some droplets even landing themselves atop your tits as he continued to jack himself off above you, deep grunts passing through his parted lips with each spurt of cum that he coaxed out. He was panting heavily, watching his white seed ooze across your skin and down his knuckles as he finally slowed the pace of his hand, squeezing one final drop of pearly liquid from the tip as he groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours to catch his breath. You hummed, unable to open your tired eyes, but the intimacy of the action was welcomed as his lips just barely brushed over your own, a silent 'thank you' in the aftermath of an intense moment of passion.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel simultaneously weightless but so heavy at the same time, your limbs sinking into the damp sheets beneath you as you attempted to catch your breath. Marc nestled his face into the crook of your neck—an action vaguely reminiscent of Steven’s habit of nuzzling into you—and you felt him take a slow, deep inhale against your clammy skin, his warm breath fanning out along your collarbone.

You tried to stay awake when you felt his body peel itself from atop yours, but he returned moments later with a cool damp cloth to wipe away the evidence of both of your orgasms. You whined when the cold came in contact with the swollen, sensitive folds of your cunt before he moved up to wipe away his own release—Marc easily shushed you, pressing soft kisses against the skin after he wiped each spot clean. When he was finished, he haphazardly tossed the towel aside, crawling up towards you yet again.

Marc liked to be smothered. If you could take any one thing away from this moment, that’s what you saw—he laid down beside you, flat on his back, before rolling you over on top of him, your face pressed up against his pecs as your body settled between his legs. You hummed at the new position, his arms curling protectively around you, fingers of his right hand playing with your knotted hair. Your ear was pressed up against his chest and you listened to the steady rhythmic thumping of his heart, and you easily could’ve fallen asleep in an instant. Still, you wanted to enjoy the tenderness of the moment for a bit longer.

“You okay?”

Marc finally asked, and the vibrations from his throat reverberated down through his ribcage for you to feel. You breathed in long and deep, the feeling of his soft, warm skin comforting and familiar.

“‘M great.”

You whispered, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. There was a small adoring smile on his abused lips, his brown eyes sweeping over your face in a way that only Marc could do—calculating, observant, as if he was looking straight through you. Sometimes, his unusual skill for reading people made you uneasy, but now, you felt completely relaxed beneath his scrutinizing gaze. It would be hard not to, when his eyes glowed as if you’d hung the stars in the sky just for him.

“…was that okay?”

Marc rephrased, and it was only then that you caught on to the insecurity he so desperately tried to mask. The crease between his brows betrayed him, making his concern for you evident. You smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Marc, it was great. You were great. You are great.”

Maybe it was the post–orgasmic bliss that had you feeling sappy, the endorphins boosting you higher into your serenity. The look on Marc’s face was heart–wrenching—the gratitude that shone in his beaming smile, the glow of his face as it lit up with pride, the—dare I say—love, in his eyes, as he gazed upon you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, and the hand that was resting against your back reached down to pull the duvet up and over the both of you, cocooning you in its warmth. You let yourself settle further into Marc’s welcoming embrace, eyes fluttering shut as you let your exhaustion take you. You quickly spoke before you found yourself dozing off.

“So…what’s your typical post–sex ritual look like after this, hm?”

You questioned, lifting your chin slightly to see his face. His eyes blinked open to look at you, and he frowned, pursing his lips.

“Believe it or not…with most of my, uh, hookups, I—uh, I have the tendency to leave in the middle of the night so I’m not there when the girl wakes up—gotta leave ‘em wanting more, y’know?”

You laughed breathily at that, but hoping to hide his crestfallen his admission made you feel.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to sneak out after you fall asleep—”

His arms tightened their grip around you, and there was a sort of pleading look in his big brown eyes as he shook his head.

“No, you don’t have to do that, really, I just thought you should—”

“It’s really okay, Marc, I don’t mind.”

You assured with a shy smile, but he shook his head more firmly this time.

“No. You aren’t just a hookup, and you aren’t just some girl.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes searching within his to try to gauge his thoughts. He seemed genuine, insistent. Your heart practically melted in your chest.

“But, I don’t—”

“Please, just stay?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, and certainly hadn’t meant to plead—this was more vulnerability than he’d ever displayed to you before, something you’d ached to see for as long as you’d known him. For him to open up to you, to trust you, to finally let you in.

You mustered up whatever strength you had left to lift yourself up and press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. You gazed down at him through tired eyes, face aglow from his apparent affections.

You didn’t give him a verbal response—you didn’t need to. Instead, you settled back in against him, curling your head into his shoulder, pressing your face against the warm skin at the side of his neck. Sleep came easy for both of you—Marc felt lighter having finally let his impermeable facade yield to you, even if just for a second.

Tomorrow, you intended to convince him to drop his guard completely.

POINTS OF CONTENTION: - relinquishing control - embracing uncertainty - asking for help

TREATMENT: - practice submission - express vulnerability - communicate needs

You briefly got déjà vu as Marc opened the door to his apartment for you, a familiar cheeky smirk adorning his handsome features. This time, however, your expression matched his own as you stood on your tiptoes to plant a peck on his lips, pushing past him and into the flat as if you owned the place. He was startled at your forwardness, and he would be lying if he said your surge of confidence didn't make him slightly uneasy—what had gotten into you?

"Back for more?"

He managed to quip, quirking a brow at you as he shut the door behind him. You approached Gus' fish tank and tapped the glass a few times to get his attention, leaning over to watch him swim around aimlessly for a few seconds—it gave Marc a perfect view of your ass through your yoga pants as you bent down, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared unabashedly.

"I can see your reflection in the glass, you asshole."

You jabbed, a teasing smile lighting up your face as you met his eyes in the mirrored tank, but he didn't stop his shameless ogling—instead, he watched you with darkened eyes, a wicked grin on his lips.

"At least I don't have to hide the fact that I stare at your ass every time I see you, anymore."

Your brows lifted at his confession, and you carefully straightened up, turning to face him at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hands found your hips as you studied him with an amused expression. You stood across from him in challenge.

"So you admit that you've checked me out? Even before this little experiment?"

Marc fought hard to keep the smirk off of his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, sizing you up carefully to gauge your seriousness. You were clearly teasing him, but he offered a subject change nonetheless in an effort to avoid the fact that he just admitted he'd been eye-fucking you since the day you'd met.

Instead, his eyes flickered down to the small black paper bag that you had set by your feet, his brow raising in question.

"I see you brought props with you, this time?"

He closed the gap between you with two large strides, bending down to snatch the shopping bag from your feet before you could protest. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he peered inside, but his eyes widened when he realized what you'd brought.

"Jesus, Y/N. You dirty, dirty girl."

His fingers reached in to pull out a pair of black silky restraints—it didn't go unnoticed by Marc that the receipt was in the bag and the fabric still had a tag fastened to it. You must've bought it just for this occasion.

The expression on his face was practically carnal as he smirked at you, but something about the look in your eyes made him hesitate. You looked up at him shyly, reaching forward to finger at the fabric before settling your hand into his open palm atop the silk.

"They're not for me."

Four words, and Marc was stunned into silence. His face fell, eyes wide as they studied you, expression bemused and slightly fearful. You swore you could actually see his face drain of color.

"We don't have to, Marc, I promise—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just spring this on you out of blue, I'm sure it's not something you'd normally—well, I mean, not that I know what you're into and everything, but I just thought it might be—"

"Slow down, baby, it's okay. I just—took me by surprise, s'all. Wasn't—wasn't expecting it."

You looked up at him thoughtfully, now hyperaware of the trepidation in his features. He avoided your eyes.

"Come on."

You grabbed his wrist softly and guided him over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and gesturing him to follow suit. He sat down beside you and carefully turned to lay out the two black restraints on the mattress behind him. Then, he turned back to you, eyes gentle. You reached over to pull his hands into your lap.

"Marc."

You started softly, and his eyes flitted to you nervously, an uneasy lopsided smile on his face.

"Listen to me. We really, really don't have to do this if you're not comfortable. I know it's—it requires a lot of trust, and—well, I don't know."

You fell silent, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. Marc was giving you that familiar calculating stare, taking you in and analyzing every breath you took. You grew impatient with his lack of response.

"Aren't you gonna say anything?"

There was an apprehensive edge to your tone, your eyes round and full of worry, afraid to offend him or make him uncomfortable. You could see the gears turning in his head as he pondered.

"And this... of anything in the world you could possibly want to do with me, to me... this is the one thing you'd choose?"

You carefully nodded your head, squeezing his hands in your own.

"I think—I think this could be good for you. If—if you're up for it, of course. No pressure."

He hummed at your reply, before he turned to you with a small smile.

"Okay. Let's do it."

You blinked once, then twice, surprised at his easy response.

"Wha—really? Are you sure?"

"I trust you."

Maybe those words were just that—words. But you couldn't help feel your eyes grow glassy as the gravity of his admission weighed on you, your heart soaring in your chest as you smiled widely at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. The glow radiating from your face made Marc's shoulders roll back with pride—he would do anything just to see you smile at him like that.

Apparently, that really did mean anything.

You leaned over and kissed him deeply, hand sliding to cup his face as he pulled you against him, sliding you atop his lap easily as he sucked at your bottom lip.

You settled down onto his thighs, your core easing over his hardening bulge as you pressed your front into him, your pebbling nipples brushing against his chest as you kissed him feverishly. His hands held a bruising grip on your hips as you grinded against him, feeling his hold tighten with every brush of your clothed core over his growing erection.

He hummed when you pushed on his shoulders, coaxing him to lay back against the mattress as you pulled his shirt over his head easily. You guided him towards the headboard as you continued to kiss him, settling him carefully onto the pillows in the center of the bed. You drew your head back quickly, your breath catching in your throat as you drank him in—his dark umber curls a stark contrast to the white downy pillows beneath his head, his brown eyes darkening as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, spit-soaked lips parted. You'd never seen a prettier sight—and you knew how to make it even more enticing.

Your fingers traced up his chest and danced across his shoulders. You kissed him to distract from you sneaky movements as you reached behind yourself to retrieve the pair of restraints that had been discarded earlier. You let your nails skate across his nipples, causing him to hiss, before you gently pried his hands off of your hips. You grabbed each wrist carefully, intently watching his reaction as you guided them over the top of his head and towards the headboard.

You grinded down against his cock once more in an effort to relax his body—he groaned quietly, and you reached for one of the restraints, pulling his left arm straight out to the side and carefully winding the fabric around the bedpost before reaching to fasten it around his wrist. You watched his jaw ripple as you carefully looped the silk over his skin, tightening it just slightly to prevent his hand from slipping out. You tugged at the fabric lightly, testing its resistance, before you leaned back down to peck his lips.

"That okay?"

You asked carefully, nose brushing against his, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tugging against the binding before offering you a soft nod. You smiled at him graciously before repeating the action on his right arm, successfully rendering him incapacitated beneath you, his arms spread wide on either side of his body. You allowed yourself to draw back once more, the sight of him splayed out atop the mattress, completely at your mercy, caused a wave of arousal to rush straight between your legs. He must've felt the clenching of your thighs from where they caged his hips in because he let out a breathy laugh.

"You like this, don't you?"

His voice was low and hoarse, and you kissed him again, nodding against his lips.

"Yeah, Marc, I do. So pretty for me."

You felt the warm huff of air that he let out at your praise, and you knew he secretly loved your verbal affirmation, even if he'd never admit it to you. You offered him one last kiss before slowly dragging your face back—his head followed your backwards movement, chasing the feel of your mouth against his, but he jostled at the feeling of his movement being restricted. His eyes opened suddenly at the sensation, as if he was surprised to find the restraints actually lived up to their name. You couldn't help the tiny grin on your lips as he accustomed himself to his limited range of movement—you could feel the tightness in his muscles, his biceps flexing and tensing as he mindlessly fought to gain control back.

"Easy—you're okay, I'm right here."

You soothed, running your hands up his torso as his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. There was sweat beading at his hairline, his jaw grinding rhythmically as he finally opened his eyes to look up at you, forcing himself to inhale a steady breath in an effort to calm himself down. Your fingers rubbed at the tension in his shoulders and you felt him soften under your touch, becoming pliant beneath you as he allowed himself to settle back into the mattress, finally coming to terms with his current situation. You rewarded him with a kiss, leaning yourself forward so your front was pressed to his.

"Before we start, I need you to promise me something."

His eyes followed you when you sat back upright, and he nodded for you to continue. You breathed.

"Marc. You have to swear to me that you will use the safe word if you need to."

He rolled his eyes in response, but you squeezed your thighs together in response, putting an uncomfortable pressure against his hips. He glared at you, but you gave him a stern look.

"I'm serious, Marc. I don't want you to think—to not use it just because you want to make me happy, or because you wanna seem like a big tough guy. You do make me happy, and I know you're tough, regardless of whether or not you choose to tell me to stop. Okay?"

He could hear the sincerity in your tone, the genuine concern lacing your words. He swallowed. He wasn't goin to lie and say it wouldn't be hard for him to safeword—he didn't like admitting defeat, showing weakness or cracking under the pressure. But this wasn't some mission or fistfight with an adversary, he reminded himself—this was you. He was safe, and he trusted you, and he was supposed to enjoy this. Finally, he nodded at you, and you mumbled out a thank you before pulling yourself off of him completely.

He watched you like a hawk, eyes trained on you intently, analyzing your every move in anticipation. You carefully reached for his waistband, and he obliged, lifting his hips from the bed to allow you to undress him. You pulled his briefs down in the same motion, discarding Marc's final two articles of clothing and leaving him bare before you.

His cock was at full mast, resting atop his navel as he drew in slow, deliberate breaths, trying not to feel bashful beneath your scrutinizing gaze. You were still trying to fathom the fact that you had this Adonis of a man splayed out in front of you, completely surrendering himself to you.

He really had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

"Color?"

You asked, kneeling back on your heels from your position beside him, one hand resting on his abs, just above where the head of his cock was patiently waiting. He breathed out a chuckle.

"You haven't even done anything yet."

You raised a brow, and at your obstinance, he offered a roll of his eyes.

"Green."

"Good."

You smiled, fingers sliding down from his stomach to ghost over the tender skin of his shaft, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. You were careful to take note of just how his body reacted to each ministration—the way his breath hitched when you finally wrapped your hand around the base, the barely-audible grunt when your thumb swiped the bead of precum from his slit.

You removed your hand briefly just to spit into your palm before you were back on him, beginning a slow and gentle pace of stroking him. He hummed at the motion, his heels digging into the mattress as he threw his head back into the pillows, fingers wrapped around each restraint tightly to give himself something to grip. Your other hand reached over to fondle his balls, and his hips jerked just slightly at the added stimulation.

"S'that feel good, baby?"

You purred, your hand gradually picking up speed as your jerked him. He groaned lowly, nodding at your question.

"Shit, yeah."

You smirked, carefully shifting so you were kneeling in between his legs, lowering yourself down to lay on your stomach. He watched you carefully, bracing himself as you leant forward and suckled one of his heavy balls into your mouth, your other hand continuing its steady pace.

You hummed around his sack and he grunted, abdominal muscles flexing as you popped it out of your mouth and traded it for his other bulb, tongue swirling around the flesh and listening to his small moans of pleasure.

He was trying to stay quiet, you noticed. You didn't press him on the issue—you knew he wouldn't be quiet for much longer.

You pushed yourself up and licked a long stripe from base to tip, tongue flicking over his frenulum which caused his hips to quake. You offered a few kitten licks to his slit, tasting the salty precum as you continued to stroke him steadily.

"Fuck, baby—just like that."

He whispered, eyes squeezed shut at the sensations. He was holding himself back—you wanted him to fall apart.

You carefully drew the head of his cock into your lips, bobbing your head up and down over just the tip, matching your pace to that of your hand. He growled, and your eyes flitted up to watch his biceps strain as he tugged on his bindings, desperately wanting to bury his fingers in your hair. You sank your head lower, taking him deeper, lewd choking noises escaping your lips as you swallowed him down. His hips were weakly thrusting upward, now, his feet planted into the mattress to seek leverage in a sorry effort to fuck into the heat of your mouth. You didn't stop him—you let him cling to the sliver of control he was desperately seeking, removing your hand to sink your head down completely, allowing him to thrust his cock into the back of your throat with his shallow movements.

"Oh, fuck, baby, fuck."

He moaned, and you could see the muscles of his stomach clenching as you reached to fondle his balls again. You were breathing in carefully through your noise as he continued to abuse your throat, his length sliding in and out of your mouth sloppily. One sharp thrust caused you to gag and he let out a deep groan from somewhere in his ribcage—you could feel his balls tightening up, thighs flexing.

"Yes, baby, gonna cum in that pretty little mouth, yes—"

You sat up abruptly with a gasp, pulling your body from his completely as his limbs involuntarily jerked beneath you, his back arching at the sudden loss of contact. He yelped, and you could see veins bulging in his arms as he harshly pulled against the restraints.

"Jesus fuck!"

He cried out, hips falling back down into the mattress, defeated. You sat silently, watching as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked the bleariness from his eyes to fix his stare on you—there was a somewhat sadistic shine in your gaze as you met his eyes challengingly. When you didn't back down, you were surprised when he let out a bark of a laugh.

"So this is your game, sweetheart? You gonna edge me? Really?"

He was trying to intimidate you—you could see right through him. He was mocking you, hoping to berate you into submission, into backing down. It wouldn't work.

When you didn't respond, he shook his head lightly, feigning composure as he lazily closed his eyes.

"Go on—have your fun."

He offered, a small smile on his lips. You felt anger briefly flare up inside you, but you quelled it down with logic—you were in control, right now. You had all the power.

It didn't matter how disciplined Marc's psyche was—his body betrayed him. It told the truth. Your hand reached back up towards his shaft, and his cock jumped beneath your touch, thighs tensing just slightly. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from giggling with satisfaction—Marc's face was set into a look of quiet concentration, lips pulled into a straight line.

You started again, the same way you had before, with you spit-soaked hand slowly escalating until your lips joined in. His noises were subdued—they came from deep within his chest, escaped through barely parted lips only when he was powerless to stop them. He writhed beneath you, responsive to your touch, and when the telltale signs of his approaching orgasm began revealing themselves again, you ceased your movement.

"FUCK!"

He yelled, back arching off the bed as he attempted to curl into a sitting position, but he was snapped back into complacency by the fabric bound to his wrists. There were veins bulging in his neck as he seethed, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline. You blinked up at him innocently as he glared at you, eyes dark and filled with disdain.

"So fuckin' pleased with yourself, huh, baby? This what you wanted? To rile me up? God, if I wasn't tied up right now, I'd—"

"You'd what?"

He blinked at your interruption, your voice showcasing your defiance.

"What're you gonna do, Marc? Nothing. You're not gonna do anything. You're gonna sit back, and fucking take it, and there's nothing you can do about it."

His jaw clenched down tightly, his face practically trembling with rage. His nostrils flared as he stared at you, trying to win the silent battle between you, in complete denial of the fact that you were completely in control. He wasn't backing down, unwilling to admit that he was powerless, so you reached forward and scratched your nails down the length of his shaft. He shouted in protest, hips jolting backwards to retreat from the sensation, and he growled lowly in his throat before settling himself back into the mattress—his eyes were still on you, but his lips were sealed shut.

"That's what I thought."

You antagonized, leaning down to take his cock back into your mouth. It was taking increasing smaller increments of time to get him to the edge, and you continued—once, then twice more. On the third round, he'd nearly lost it, but you squeezed around the base of his cock tightly to force the orgasm to dissipate as it peaked.

"You fucking bitch."

He snapped, and the words seemed to surprise him just as much as they surprised you. A heat of the moment utterance, offered in a moment of desperation—but he didn't take it back. Maybe you should feel hurt—instead, you felt pride swell inside you as you stared down at him wickedly.

"Such mean words from a guy who can't even see me through his tears."

It was true—there were tears streaming down either side of his face, eyes red and puffy as he fought viciously against your torture. He shook his head at you, overwhelmed with anger, but he couldn't hold back the sob that practically pulled itself from his lungs when you gave a single lick up his shaft.

"Oh, fuck you, fuck—"

"You can cum whenever you want, Marc. I'm not stopping you."

You tone was even and steady, expression blank as you studied him. His brows furrowed, his eyes suspicious as his breathing slowed again. You smiled coyly at him, innocently, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips—he didn't kiss you back. He just watched you as you carefully resumed your position between his legs.

"You just have to beg for it."

Marc's venomous laugh was replaced with a long whine as you took his cock in your hands once more, stroking him a few times before simply holding him there. He sneered at you.

"I don't beg."

"Then you don't cum."

You shrugged easily, releasing his throbbing member from your grasp and allowing it to drop back down against his stomach. You could see every muscle in his body fighting for release—his heels digging into the mattress, his arms continuously straining against their restraints. You tutted at him condescendingly, your eyes mocking sympathy as you stood from the bed. He studied you carefully as you began to remove your clothes until your were completely naked. You rejoined him on the bed, loving the way his eyes turned ravenous as he admired your body.

"If you wanna torture yourself, Marc, that's your choice."

You purred, crawling up until you were straddling him. You watched the way his breath hitched when you were hovering over his cock, and you felt it jump beneath your cunt—but instead of dropping down, you crept further upwards until you were straddling his ribcage. He looked at you, confused.

"So what are you gonna do?"

His voice was gravelly and hoarse, raw from the moans you had been pulling from him. You leaned down and shoved your tongue into his mouth—he whimpered at the intimacy, but you pulled away soon after.

"I'm gonna ride your face, and you're gonna be a good boy and make me cum on your tongue."

The whine that he let out was carnal—you'd never heard anything like it in your life, and Marc might've been embarrassed if it weren't for the painful arousal that was burning a hole through the bottom of his stomach. He tilted his head back as you began to position yourself over him, lips already parting in anticipation of tasting you, but you paused, your eyes turning gentle. Your hand reached down to stroke through his damp hair, and he pressed his head into your touch.

"Color?"

You whispered, and you watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat at he swallowed. He breathed in once, then twice, before meeting your eyes again.

"Green."

You settled your knees on either side of his head, your folds already soaking from your time toying with Marc—you shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on your awaiting cunt, and with trembling thighs, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself onto his mouth.

You lurched forward at his eagerness, his tongue immediately breaching your entrance and slurping up the arousal that was flooding your pussy. You yelped in surprise, arms reaching forward to grip the headboard as you tried to keep most of your weight off of him, allowing your face to just barely skate over his features.

He mumbled something into your core, and you lifted yourself from him in concern, worried that you'd hurt him.

"What?"

You asked for clarification, brows furrowed, but when you met his eyes from between your legs, they were dark and gleaming savagely.

"I said, sit the fuck down."

He growled again, and you could feel the headboard bend as he strained against the fabric on his wrists, obviously wanting to grab your waist and pull you down onto his mouth with full force. You let out a breathy laugh before you eased your way back onto him, allowing yourself to relax more against his face. The thick muscle of his tongue immediately began fucking into you and it wasn't long before you were grinding against his face, his nose rubbing up against your bundle of nerves and his mouth savoring your juices. Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, and Marc watched you from his position between your legs as you came apart on his tongue, quiet cries of his name leaving your lips as your rode out your high on his mouth.

Marc greedily lapped up all you had to offer, and he almost whined in disapproval when you began picking yourself up off of him—but then you were turning around, and he got a perfect view of your perfect ass as you slowly settled your cunt back down to his mouth and—

Fuck. He nearly cried into your pussy when he felt your lips attach themselves to his cock, and he jostled against you, hips jolting upwards of their own volition. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, trying to fight the orgasm that he was already teetering on the edge of. You hand came up and squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, helping stave off his climax.

"I didn't tell you to stop."

You hissed, and Marc gulped before diving straight back into you cunt, his lips wrapping around your puffy clit as he suckled it into his mouth and flicked over it with his tongue. You moaned, you fingers beginning to stroke his cock again. When you turned your attention back to his length, his mouth immediately stopped its movement. You sank against him, rolling your eyes in theatrical annoyance.

"Jesus, you really can't multitask, can you?"

"Y/N."

He spoke your name lowly and with a warning edge, and you craned your neck to look at him—his head was peaking out from behind your asscheek, eyes desperately searching yours. You could see he was struggling to maintain his composure, but he kept his voice level and steady.

"I'm gonna cum if you don't stop."

He voice cracked at the very end of his statement, but you appreciated his open communication with you. You swiftly removed your hand from where it was wrapped around him and he let out a long sigh, steeling himself before attaching himself to your clit once more.

Your second orgasm came easily, creeping up and washing over you without warning as Marc continued to lavish your clit with his tongue, the obscene noises he was making only adding to your arousal. He slowed his movements as you came down from your high, lapping at your juices as you slowly pulled you cunt away from his mouth. You pulled yourself off of him completely, kneeling at his side and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss against his lips. His face was coated in your slick and his eyes were alight with a sort of lovesickness, as if he'd completely forgotten the torture you'd been putting him through simply because he got to watch you fall apart on his tongue. You pressed your forehead against his for a moment before you swung your leg over his hip, finally settling yourself where he needed you most.

Anticipation flickered in his dark brown eyes, his body tensing beneath you as you reached between your legs to stroke his cock, using your dripping arousal as lube to give him a few tentative strokes. He hissed, his hips jumping at the touch, but he immediately froze when you pressed the head into your entrance. He held his breath.

"I'm gonna ride you now, okay?"

You asked, although it was less of a question and more of a statement. He nodded vigorously, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side as he braced himself for the feeling of your hot channel swallowing him whole.

"Marc."

You probed softly, and he winked one eye open, looking up at you where you were paused, right in the moment before sheer bliss. You eyed him warily.

"Color?"

He smiled softly up at you, more relaxed than he'd been this whole interaction—finally, finally relinquishing his control and allowing you to take the reins.

"Green."

The chorus of moans that filled the room was intoxicating as you slowly eased yourself down onto his rock-hard length, the stretch offering a sting that was just painful enough to be pleasurable. Marc's head was thrown back into the pillows as he began to mutter incomprehensibly.

"Oh, God, oh, fuck yes, so fucking good, fuck—"

You braced yourself by planting your arms against his sturdy chest, raising up your hips until just the tip remained before slamming yourself back down, burying him to the hilt within you. A wrecked sob sounded from his mouth.

"Oh, fuck, God, I can't—"

You settled into a steady pace, angling your hips backwards just slightly so his cock rutted up against that place deep inside you that sent you reeling. You keened, grinding back and forth against him as he moaned wantonly, knuckles turning white as he pulled on the restraints with every ounce of his strength. You orgasm was rapidly approaching, and with each careful plunge of his cock into you, you felt the coil tightening.

"Fuck, Marc, gonna cum on your cock, baby."

You whimpered, throwing your head back as your walls clenched down around him. You must've blacked out for a moment, your vision going bright white as pleasure speared through you—when you regained your bearings and sensation over your limbs, your ears were blessed with a sound you weren't sure you'd get to hear.

Marc was falling apart.

"Please, oh, God, Y/N, baby, please let me cum for you, I can't—can't hold it anymore, please, please, please, baby, please let me cum, pleasepleasepleaseplease—"

There were sobs ripping themselves from his lips as tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, the muscles of his abdomen clenched so tightly you thought he might sprain something. The fluttering of your tight walls against him was unbearable, truly torturous—he couldn't do it anymore.

His eyes blinked open to watch you as your hands crept up the length of his strained arms, fingers deftly untying the knots that held him hostage to the bed. His arms fell limp at his sides when released from their hold, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, glassy with tears.

You pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Been so good for me, baby. Go ahead and take what you want, Marc, it's yours. Cum for me."

Something snapped inside of him. A vein throbbed in his forehead as his hands flew to your hips, planting you firmly against him as he began to thrust up into you at a rapid pace, his hips slamming against your thighs loudly and roughly. You yelped in surprise at his sudden burst of energy, and he was staring intently at the place where his cock was splitting you open, hips relentlessly pistonning upwards into you as he slammed your body down against him to meet each thrust.

You didn't expect to cum again, but the harsh drag of his cock inside of you as his hands grounded you firmly sent you hurling across the edge, your cunt clamping down on his aching length as you pulled him across the threshold with you.

"Oh fuck, yes, yes, gonna fill you up, baby, cumming so hard, fuuuck—"

Each harsh pump upwards was punctuated with a grunt as he spilled inside of you, his cock pumping you full of his white hot seed as he continued pounding into you relentlessly. Even as you came down from the climax that had blindsided you, and even after he'd completely emptied himself inside of your slick walls, he continued rutting up into you, his face contorted in a look of pain and determination as he gritted his teeth.

"Woah, Marc, hey, hey, slow down—"

You urged, reached to wrap your fingers around his wrists from where they were still firmly attached to your waist, the wet sounds of his cock still pumping in and out of you filling the room. His eyes finally looked up to you, the haziness clearing as your worried face settled on him.

"It's okay, Marc, you're okay."

You assured, and he finally let your full weight rest down onto him, his body slowly rolling to a halt as the aftershocks of his intense pleasure pulsed through his limbs, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He was breathing heavily, his heart beating against his ribcage harshly, but his eyes watched you as you smiled down at him, reaching forward to cup his jaw in one hand as the other ran through his sweaty hair.

"There we go. There you are. There's my handsome boy."

All at once, he collapsed into a fit of sobs again, sitting up to pull you against his chest impossibly tight as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt your heart break as you coddled him, one hand stroking the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing patterns into the bare skin of his back. Years and years of internalized vulnerability spilled out of him in your embrace, and you held him there until his stuttering cries turned into shaky exhales, his face buried in the crook of his neck. He fell back into the pillows, pulling you down on top of him and keeping you snugly pulled against his body.

His cock was still nestled deep inside of you, and you could feel Marc's cum leaking out and creating a stickiness between your thighs and atop his hips. When you shifted to move, he tightened his hold, his breath wavering just slightly.

"Please, don't. Just—stay with me. Like this. For just awhile longer. Please."

He whispered against your temple, begging for this brief moment of reprieve, of absolution, of solace. You sank into his chest, breathing in his heady scent and allowing yourself to indulge in the intimacy of this moment, too—a moment of comfort, of safety, of resolve.

Marc had one final thought before sleep overtook him.

Is this what being okay feels like?

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