[ID: Screenshot of a Youtube video titled Raccoon Birthday Party. The video is filmed with an old camera in low, grainy quality, and shows a raccoon in a powder blue party hat and a matching shirt sitting at a table. It has a paw on the flower-printed tablecloth. There appears to be a brown food in front of the raccoo, like a cake. On the right corner of the video, the video is dated, “PM: 6:04, MAY 25 1997.” END ID ]
Don't Call Me Baby | Benny/Courier | Fallout New Vegas
Word Count: 1,358
(Ao3 link is here!)
TW: Gambling, Blackjack, Drinking, Benny being Benny
This is my first One Shot so please be kind! I hope you enjoy! :D
What number of months had gone by since Benny and the Courier had liberated New Vegas and successfully gotten rid of The Man— Mr. House. In that time a lot had changed. Not only with New Vegas and his new digs in the Lucky 38, but also with the Courier. He didn’t know what was under that mask, but everyday the temptation to take it off grew more and more.
He’d been sitting on top of the Lucky 38 and talking to Yes Man about his plans for the future. The Courier had been gone doing whatever Courier does for a number of weeks and Benny was growing restless waiting for them.
It was because of that he decided to visit his old stomping grounds and play a few rounds of Blackjack.
Benny took a sip of his slightly irradiated Sunset Sarsaparilla—he liked the way the radiation brought out the tangy undertones. It was around the time when patrons left the Tops and headed for Gomorrah. The overhead lights blinked as a desert storm blew through the Strip. Benny tossed over a handful of chips to the dealer right before the Courier strolled in with a chunk of caps and handed over their weapons to the front desk.
“Thanks, baby” Swank greeted them.
A chairman–what was his name? Billy? Barbra?- swiftly disappeared behind a door carrying the Couriers weapons and returned with empty hands.
Benny could hear the Couriers voice changer echoing in the entrance, its record scratch helping cover what little remained of their natural voice.
That record scratch was the last thing he needed to fold and head towards the one person he’d come to lean on, and hell, trust. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Benny sang as he made his way towards where the Courier was standing.
“Hey, Benny,” Swank and the Courier responded in unison.
Their body was cloaked in the NCR uniform that he had tried to bribe off of them every time they drank. Well, really it was him doing all the drinking. And every time he failed Benny went over to Gamorrah and bought himself a girl of the night. He never understood what was so amazing about monogamy, anyways. I mean, what's the big deal with having multiple gals? It’s the bee’s knees! But damn, the more and more he failed to strip that stupid NCR get-up off, the more he noticed no one can beat the Couriers appeal.
This game of cat and mouse was too appetizing to be quenched by any dame at Gomorrah, not anymore. Not since they showed up and helped him turn Vegas into the shining light he always knew it was meant to be. But would he ever admit this to them? Not in a million years, baby.
Swank turned away to deal with another patron and Benny was left alone with the forever cloaked figure he shot in the head a year prior.
“Come to spend all those caps at the Tops?” Benny said, resting his elbow on the nearby check-in counter.
“Where else would I spend them?” The Courier smiled. Well, Benny couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there.
“Why don’t you take that helmet off and I’ll buy you a drink.” Benny tried.
A rusty laugh emanated from the mask and the Courier took Benny by the arm, “Not in a million years, baby.”
He could feel the absolutely ridiculous smile forming on his face, but he didn’t care to hide it. They’d been gone so long and god damn did it feel good to have them by his side again.
The Courier led Benny to the blackjack table he had abandoned and dropped him off next to his half drunken Sunset Sarsaparilla, “I’m gon’ go get some chips, want anything?” The Courier asked.
“Oh please, they’re on the house,” Benny waved them off, “And another one of these, will’ya doll?” He took his Sunset Sarsaparilla and lazily swirled it in the air.
The Courier walked off in what Benny would only assume was a mildly amused manner. Once they were up the stairs and Benny was sure out of ear-shot he leaned over to the dealer and whispered, “Make sure they win, you dig?”
The dealer had a confused look on his face as he shuffled a fresh deck of cards, “You want me to rig the game against you?” He asked.
“Yeah,” Benny drawled, “That.”
“Whatever you want, boss,” The dealer chuckled.
Benny counted his chips over and over again until the Courier finally came back with his drink and two pockets full of premium Tops poker chips.
Benny's eyes grew as he counted over them, and he could physically feel the dent they made in his pocket. “You went all out, baby!” He laughed, though rather strained, trying to play off his tension.
“You said you were paying,” The Courier shrugged.
“If I knew you were going to bring out the big boys I would have set a limit.” He mumbled almost to himself.
Benny relaxed a bit more when the Courier sat down next to him and the dealer started to deal the cards in twos.
“So, how have you been these last few weeks, hun? I know how lonesome you get without me” They asked.
Benny could only assume they were winking under that mask. And if they only knew how right they were. It had been miserable. “Oh please, the world seems dull without you in it, dollface.”
The Courier tittered, “You’re too much.”
The dealer covered his mouth and coughed, “I don’t mean to interrupt, whatever this is, but are you going to play or not?”
“I’ll pay ‘ya double for overtime.” Benny appealed to the, somewhat cocky, dealer.
The dealer paused for a minute before smiling, “Talk as long as you want,”
“Thanks puddin’” The Courier cooed.
Benny felt a pang of envy but pushed that emotion down to the tips of his shoes. No need to go getting jealous on them now.
He cleared his throat and signaled for the dealer to hit. If everything went to plan, Benny would get the worst of the worst. He knew his dealers were dirty. Jesus, who didn’t? It was The Wasteland after all, it’s to be expected.
Mainly the Tops paid them off, but Benny wasn’t afraid to use them when the time was called for.
“Hit,” The Courier sighed, almost bored.
Benny almost snorted. “You're tired already, baby? I didn’t know you wore out this easily.”
That seemed to wake them up. “You just wait Benny bear. You just wait.” they chuckled.
Benny bear ? What in the goddamn– He didn’t know if he was turned on or really off put by the new nickname Courier had just sprung on him.
By the time he finally collected his thoughts they’d already won the hand.
“You alright over there, Ben-man?” The Courier teased.
He gave them what he could only hope was his normal composed and hopefully not creepy, flirtatious glance, “With you by my side, how couldn’t I be?”
Courier laughed and signaled for another hand to be dealt. Benny reached over and took the final swig of his Sunset Sarsaparilla. He threw the bottle next to him and suddenly wished he had asked for whisky.
By the end of the night, Benny was left with jackshit. While the Courier’s chips towered over him like a debt he’d never be able to repay.
One debt came to mind, but he wasn’t ready to focus on that. Instead, he waited for the Courier to cash in their chips before taking their arm and heading into the night, leading them towards the Lucky 38.
The sandstorm had died down, but lights were put out and the Casinos' usually blaring music was dimmed by burnt out speakers. Somehow, the Lucky 38 was untouched.
“Thanks for the fun night, doll.” Benny murmured, propping the elevator doors open with his hand.
The Courier went in first, pressing the Presidential Suite’s floor button. “Again tomorrow?”they asked.
“If you don’t run off in the middle of the night? Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good.” Benny smiled.
Before Battle Prep | Moon Knight/Reader | Marvel Rivals
Word Count: 1,858
(ao3 link is here!)
As stated in the A/N on Ao3 this was my first non-satirical smut piece so it's not the best by my personal standards :/
Either way I hope you can find some enjoyment from it!
You sit in a Wakanda hotel lobby, impatiently drumming your fingers over the opal desk. Five others surround you in similar states of restlessness. Some Demigods, others just regular people with guns. You lull your head back against your chair, staring at the wood panel ceiling. Of all the times you visited Wakanda in your timeline, you never expected them to travel to the stars.
Eventually you get tired of sitting and stand up, stretching your arms above your head with a small groan. From the corner of your eye you can see Spector look towards you, his mask lingering in your direction before darting towards the ground. He mumbles something to himself, or maybe the God in his mind.
You’d run into the Moonknight in your timeline a few times, even convinced him to dick you down in an alley once. This one didn’t look like yours. His shoulders were broader, stance a little more relaxed. But the way he looked at you…tells you he’s still weak, all the same. You glance around, no one's getting ready to rush out the door just yet, maybe you’ll have time.
You approach Spector, ignoring the raised eyebrows from the others in the room. His mask stays turned to the ground, but his shoulders tense when you get close. “Spector?” You whisper, voice just loud enough for him to hear.
He grunts in response, fingers flexing around the plating of his armor. You smile to yourself and peel his hand from his arm. He freezes, but doesn’t pull away. “You recognize me, don’t you?”
Marc nods stiffly, mask glued on your hand. “A version of you.”
You hum, turning his hand over, fingers teasing the edge of his glove. He jerks his hand back, mask flinching up to meet your face. “What are you doing?”
“Oh come on,” you whisper, reaching for the sides of his mask. He doesn’t try to move your hands, but he doesn’t lean into it either. “Admit it. You miss me—miss us.” You brush your thumbs over the sides of his white mask, just under the black eye slits. “It’s been forever.”
You swear you can hear him swallow. His fingers twitch in his hands, eyes locked onto yours behind the thick plastic between you. You make your eyes wider, pleading them with his. Marc gives in and nods once, leaning into your palms. You can’t help the grin that makes its way over your lips.
You slip your hands down his throat and biceps, before landing in his shaking palms. You don’t remember your Spector being so nervous. That didn’t stop you though, far from it. You give his hands a light squeeze before tugging him out of the hotel lobby and into an off-shoot hallway. His footsteps are heavy behind yours, surprising considering his occupation, but something about you has him thrown off kilter.
You pull him into a small alcove and reach for the latches of his mask. They unclasp easily enough, the mechanics being close to your Spectors, if not slightly more complicated. It falls into your hands and you're met with Marc’s flushed face, lips parted in small pants. His crooked nose and sharp cheekbones are exactly like you remember and you swallow hard. You can’t help, but stare. You’ve missed him a lot, not that you’d ever admit it out loud.
Quickly, you let the mask fall to the ground, closing the distance between the both of you. Your mouth melts into his, gaining a small moan from Marc. You return the needy noise, nipping at his bottom lip and pulling it into your mouth. He groans deeply, arms circling your waist. His large hands come to rest on the small of your back, digging into your flesh.
You can’t help but shudder, your hands instinctually weaving into his loose curls. Marc breaks apart, eyes locked onto your wet lips as he tugs on your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, dark brows knitting as he fumbles to get it off. You nod limply and step back enough to unfasten the small pieces of armor covering your torso and pull the shirt over your head.
Spector pulls you back against him as soon as the shirt leaves your hands, lips crashing onto yours. Your knees go weak against his and you moan in surprise. His tongue plunges past the seam of your lips, tangling itself with yours. You inhale sharply, feeling the cold of his armor against your skin. Your nipples harden painfully and you whine, tugging on his hair. “Marc, please.” You moan in between kisses.
Spector groans loudly, pushing you back against one of the hotel walls. You gasp as he breaks away, lips pitifully chasing after him. You pull yourself together when you notice what he’s doing. He unzips his pants, pulling out his already leaking cock. You swallow hard, eyes locked onto his throbbing length. He strokes himself, chocolate eyes boring into yours. “You remember what we did in that alley?”
You remember well, but you have a feeling this Spector had a different experience with you. You catch onto what he wants quickly enough and nod, dropping to your knees. You look up at him expectantly, lips parted softly. Marc bites back a moan, squeezing his pulsing cock. He brushes the weeping tip against your lips, coating it in his precum. You whimper and kitten lick him, eyes locked onto his.
He groans again and juts his hips forward, forcing his dick into your mouth. You suck on instinct, tongue swirling around the hot underside. Marc whines, thrusting his cock further into your mouth. His leaking tip hits the back of your throat and you gag, forcing yourself to relax and breathe through your nose. His head lull back, gutteral grunts tearing through his chest as he fucks your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears pricking them as you grab onto his hips. Not to stop his brutal assault on your throat, but to balance yourself against it.
“Fuck, baby…” Marc all but whimpers, his eyes squeezing shut. “I’m—I’m gonna—” is all the warning you get before his cock swells in your lips. Warm ropes of cum shoot down your throat, forcing you to swallow. You do so greedily, moaning at his sweet taste. He keeps his softening cock in your mouth, panting down at you. You swirl your tongue around his tip teasingly, a small smirk forming around his length. Spector huffs and pulls his limp dick from your lips. “You...”
You lick your lips before wiping them. “Good as you remember, Spector?”
He chuckles, a smile twitching on his face. “Yeah,” his eyes flicker between your face and bare breasts. You can see his cock stiffening again already.
“Greedy,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of your knees. “I like it.”
Marc's eyes snap back to yours and he swallows hard. “What are you doing?”
“Fuck me,” you tell him, unbuckling your belt and letting your pants fall to your ankles. His face flushes a deep red, as his eyes lock onto your covered cunt. He clears his throat, shifting on his feet.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“My Spector didn’t care about protection.” You whisper, slowly pulling your panties down to your thighs. You hope the comment sparks a flame of jealousy. He was always so easy to rile up.
Spector’s face darkens and he steps forwards, grabbing your hips. “You think I can’t fuck you raw?”
You try to fight the grin forming over your cheeks and shrug. He huffs and roughly spins you around, pressing your ass against his hard cock. He pushes your front forwards and against the wall, making your hips jut out against him. You bite back a moan, hands fisting against the wall as he prods his already dripping cock in between your ass cheeks. “Marc please—agh!” You gasp as he thrusts into you, filling you completely. The sting from the sudden intrusion is welcome as he starts rocking his hips against you.
You moan his name, meeting his rolls with your own. He groans out your name in return, reaching around your front and pinching your hard peak. You whine, arching your breast into his palm. “Marc, I—” he pulls all the way out before snapping his hips forwards, making you cry out. He keeps that brutal pace. Obsence slapping fills the hotel hall as he fucks you from behind.
The pain starts to subside as you feel your wetness drip down your thighs, coating his length. You hear Spector mumble something incoherent before bending down and peppering small, desperate kisses along your shoulderblades. You shudder, feeling yourself clenching around his cock. He whines and ruts faster, angling your hips to hit that spot deep inside you. You cry out, knees giving way as he fucks you harder. He keeps you up right, his hands squeezing your hips firm enough to leave bruises.
“Marc I can’t—too much—” you choke out, feeling a familiar heat pool in your gut. Tears prick your eyes again as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and index fingers, twisting it in time with his thrusts. “Come on….come on…” He grunts, palming at your hip with his free hand, still keeping you upright. “M-marc!” You moan his name loud enough that it rings off the walls. You’re sure the rest of the team can hear you now, but you couldn’t care less.
He feels you clamp around him, your cries filling his ears, and he’s done for. He lets out a throaty moan louder than your own as his cock throbs harder, shooting cords of cum into your cunt. The warmth spurs your orgasm on, your cries turning to soft whimpers. He pants against your neck and wraps his arm around your front, pulling your back flush against his chest.
“Fucking…” he plants soft kisses along your neck, his other hand massaging your breast.
You hum, letting your eyes flutter closed. Marc’s now limp cock slips out of you and he whines at the loss. You shudder, a small breath leaving you. You can feel your combined orgasms leak down your legs, sticky against your flushed skin. You try to pull away and he tightens his arms around you, shaking his head against your neck. “Not leaving…not yet.”
“We have a war to fight in, Spector.” You mumble, taking one of your hands from the wall and placing it over his on your stomach in an attempt to comfort him. He just shakes his head again, arms almost crushing in their grip. “Marc…”
“What if I don’t see you again?” He whispers, fingertips digging into your flesh. “What if my version of you doesn’t exist anymore?”
You sigh and lace your hand with his, squeezing it gently. “You’ll find me. You always do.”
That seems to be enough to comfort him and he nods, letting his arms fall away. You both quickly right yourself, putting your armor back into place. You give his face one last, longing look before helping him latching his mask back on, covering the one comfort you’ve learned to crave.
A Bloody Moon Come With Its Fair Share of Nightmares | Vampire Moon Knight/Reader | Moon Knight (TV Series)
Word Count: 5,537
(ao3 link here!)
TW: Blood, Biting, Stalking, Blood Drinking
Smut isn't my specialty but I decided to give it a shot for better or worse :') P.S. A reminder he's a vampire in this and to read the TW!
You weren’t sure why you felt you were being followed. It had been happening more recently as of late. Your hairs standing on the back of your neck, a cold rush washing down your spine. But there wasn’t any reason for you to feel that way…at least you didn’t think there was. You had always tried to go home when the sun was still up, stick to busier streets and crowded coffee shops. Not because you were paranoid, it was just how you were raised.
Then the nightmares began. A man outside your windows, sharp teeth smiling at you through the refracted pains.
You sprinting down an alley, blood gushing from your throat, trailing down your breasts as you tried your best to stop it.
Others were more intimate in a way you couldn’t describe. Or maybe you were just afraid to admit you understood them better than most.
They became more frequent as the week droned on, each night you woke in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open to search the darkness, half-expecting the man who haunted your dreams to be standing there. Watching. Unbeknownst to you, he was. You just didn’t know where to look.
Marc was glad you never cared to glance towards your window. He didn’t mean to give you those nightmares, didn’t mean for you to peek inside his mind, but he couldn’t help but want you near. And when he felt you subconsciously tugging on his thoughts as you slept…he was powerless against it. He couldn’t help himself as he watched you live through the fantasies he replayed in his mind when he walked behind you on your way home from work. Or as he watched from the corner of your favorite coffee shop, ordering your usual and browsing the menu as you waited. Even though he’s sure you had it memorized.
Now here you lay, sitting up in bed, chest huffing as you tried to catch your breath after the peer into Marc’s mind you had gotten. He knows he should leave. You’re awake now, you could see him. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your sweat soaked cleavage visible through the tight tanktop you had worn to bed clinging to you like a vice—even if it killed him.
“Get moving, Pendejo. She’s going to see us.” Jake murmured from the headspace.
“She won’t. She never looks out the window.” Marc shook his head, moving further into the shadows, but still close enough to your window to look inside.
“Dios mío, it’s not worth it! At least let me take over. She won’t see us then.”
Marc ignored him and cocked his head to get a better look in your room from their new hiding spot. You were currently getting out of bed and shuffling into the bathroom, gripping about needing to change your sheets again. A devilish grin curled at his mouth and he pushed your window up, slipping inside and shutting the glass with uncanny speed. Marc’s learned your room well enough from the outside to know where you keep your clothes. He also knows you’ll grab the first items on top without thinking.
“You shouldn’t be doin’ this, Marc. Ain’t right.” Steven chimes in, anxiety evident in his tone.
Marc once again ignores the other altar and shifts around your clothes so a deep crimson camisole sits on top of your shirts, and a lacy pair of panties lay next to them. He’s seen you in them before, but never together. The thought alone as an erection bulging against his pants zipper. Without thinking he plucks the panties and shoves them on his nose, inhaling deeply. His hips jut forward, fucking the air as your scent fills his nostrils. Marc suppresses a groan, the only thought in his mind how sweet your blood must taste. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a drop.
“Marc! This is wrong!” Steven whines again. He can feel him trying to leave the headspace. No doubt to leave you a sorry note and dart out the window. The fucking goody two-shoes.
“Shut up, Steven!” Marc hisses through clenched teeth. His canines sharpen, pinching the soft flesh of his lip.
The flick of a light switch and footsteps emanate from outside. Well, fuck. Marc was out your window before you stepped foot outside your bathroom.
“…hello?” You call out from the hallway, eyebrows pinched together as you poke your head into your bedroom. Nothing. You step into the room and sigh, running a hand over your face. You were losing it weren’t you? “Stupid…stupid.” You grumble, reaching into your dresser and blindly snatching the first pair of clothes your hand finds. Do you remember leaving your dresser open? Doesn’t matter. You slip on the camisole and underwear before throwing yourself back into bed and passing out.
Marc watches you, tongue darting out to run along his fangs. He would’ve stayed longer, but Steven’s incisive knatting finally got to him and he darted off to go feed elsewhere. There was bound to be some scum no one would miss lurking around at this time of night.
Later, when Jake’s hunched over a would have been robber, lips and jaw dripping with his blood, he comes to a decision. “Marc, are you listening? I have an idea.”
Marc groaned from the headspace. Jake could practically see him rubbing his temples. “What is it? And it better not concern the girl. We had a deal.”
“I think she would like us, Hermano. Steven agrees.”
“Steven? You’ve been talking to Jake behind my back? You guys promised you’d stop that!”
“I—I think she would like us!” Steven parrots. “She likes books, right? We’ve seen her go to the library a few times! And her coffee order’s similar to yours, Marc! Plus it would get that buggy feelin’ outta my head. Don’t like stalkin’ her, Marc.”
“Stop saying my name. I get it.” He grumbles.
Jake grins against the robber's throat before dropping the body and standing up. “So it’s agreed, sí? We’ll introduce ourselves.”
“At the coffee shop!” Steven chirps.
“Fine,” Marc snaps. “But we’re taking this slow. No matter how…how good she…”
“We know, pendejo.” Jake sighs, scaling the alley wall to sit on the rooftop. “She smells good. Blood would taste delicious. Etcétera, etcétera. We live in the same head, estúpido.”
Marc scoffs, but otherwise stays quiet as Jake takes the three of them home. Steven chatters happily about what coffee they should order and how best they can introduce themselves. It takes Marc a few days to come to terms with his alter’s schemes, but ultimately relents. The thought of being so close to you, too overwhelming to turn down.
You’d completely forgotten about the mysteriously opened drawer by the time Steven decides to show himself at the coffee shop. You’d ordered your usual and instead of leaving immediately afterwards, you decided to linger, finding a seat by the large, rose-tinted windows and people-watching to pass the time.
Steven stands by the register, fidgeting with his dollar bill as he waits for his coffee. Your scent is stronger than anyone else in the room, making his mouth water. Steven’s not sure how Jake and Marc are able to keep their teeth to themselves around you. “She’s beautiful like this.” He whispers into the headspace. “All peaceful and zoned out.”
“I know, Steven.” Marc murmurs, unable to keep the adoration from his gruff tone.
Jake just grunts in response.
The barista handed Steven his coffee and he took it with a soft smile, handing her the crumpled dollar bill. He approached your table cautiously, silently scolding himself for not thinking of an opener. “People watching, eh?” Steven stuttered out, gesturing out the window with his paper cup.
You look up in surprise, eyebrows shooting towards the ceiling. The British accent threw you off more than anything. A curly hair man stands before you, a lopsided smile tentatively shaking on his lips. Dark brown eyes stare you down with an intensity that makes you squirm in your seat. “I, uh, yeah. Just something to pass the time, you know?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I—I do that too from time to time. Get’s borin’ without no one to talk to.” Steven chuckles awkwardly, clutching his coffee a little too tight.
“Oh great. Now she’s going to think we’re some loner creep.” Marc hisses, his barely contained anger bleeding through to Steven’s face.
“You are the creep, Hermano. You were the one sniffing her underwear.” Jake huffed.
Steven blocked them out, choosing to focus on trying to get you to like them instead. From the way your face had shifted after his comment, he wasn’t sure how that was going.
You hum and take a sip of your coffee, looking the man over. He wasn’t…creeping you out or anything, but something about him did seem off. He was fairly attractive, you had to admit. His dark hair unkept and spilling onto his forehead, cheekbones sharp and his crooked nose having an almost endearing quality to it. Plus, you’d be lying if the perfect way his skin matched the color of his eyes wasn’t mesmerizing. You cleared your throat, realizing you had been staring and took another sip of your coffee, staring at the table. “I guess it does, huh?”
Steven lights up, relieved that you weren’t weirded out enough to shoo him off. “Y-yeah! Got to keep the ol’ nogging occupied somehow, right?”
You couldn’t help but smile. You also couldn’t deny the man was surprisingly cute, considering his height and overall build. “You…got any other tips you wanna share?” You ask, not quite ready to let the conversation go just yet.
“Oh plenty!” He nods enthusiastically and sits across from you without prompting. You raise an eyebrow but the man either doesn’t seem to notice or just doesn’t care as he continues on. “Though warnin’, most of ‘em consist of ancient Egyptian factoids.”
You snort, your smile slowly morphing into a grin. “Well, good thing I love to learn then.”
When the man smiles, the first thing you notice is sharpened canines. You immediately stiffen, breath stopping right in your chest. “Are…you alright?” He asks, reaching across the table for your hand before thinking better of it. “My dronin’ on about Taweret wasn’t that terribly boring, was it?” He chuckles, trying to take you out of whatever shock-stricken trance has got you.
You inhale sharply and blink. Your hands shake around your cup, unable to stop them. “I…yeah, yes. I’m—I’m so sorry, you just reminded me of someone.”
“Oh,” Steven murmurs, eyebrows shooting up. “Not a pleasant someone, I presume?”
“She’s remembering us, Steven.” Jake murmurs.
“I knew this was a bad idea. Get out of there Steven.” Marc interjects, his panic rising.
He ignores them, just as Marc did to him. Take that, Marc! Thinkin’ you can boss me around. Well not anymore! Steven thinks, proud of himself for making his own decision. You pull him from his mind by laughing, the sound music to their ears, even if it’s uncomfortable. “I…you could say that. Yeah.”
Steven nods and gives a reassuring smile. Or what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He’s not really sure how to give one. He’s never seen it. It seems to work though, as your shoulders lose some of their tension. “What’s your name?” You ask, pivoting the conversation to something safer. Necessary even.
“Steven! M’name’s Steven.” He stutters out, suddenly nervous. “And-and yours?”
You give your name, an adoring smile peaking through your discomfort at his stutter. “Well Steven, I—” you swear you hear him whimper when you say his name, but before you can think too much of it, your phone's timer goes off. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I’ve got to go. It was nice to meet you!”
“Go? Why you gotta go?” Steven all but whines, rising from his seat alongside you. The lost look in his eyes makes you want to drop everything and make it go away. Stupid, stupid. You just met this man! You are absolutely not blowing this interview just because he has annoying convincing puppy eyes.
“Job interview.” You answer, trying your best to give him an apologetic smile. You sling your bag over your shoulder and pick up your coffee. “I—”
“—can I see you again?” Steven blurts out, hands shaking so hard around his coffee you’re surprised it hasn’t spilled yet.
“Steven, what are you doing, buddy?” Marc murmurs.
“Let him do this, pendejo.” Jake says.
You raise an eyebrow, slightly worried by how desperate he seems. This is a bad idea. “I…sure.” But when Steven’s face lights up as if you’ve just handed him the sky…fuck, you can’t find it in your heart to care. “Do you want my number or?”
“Y-yeah! I’d love that!” Steven fumbles with his pockets before pulling out a flip phone and pressing a few buttons with shaking fingers before handing it to you.
You plug in your number and hand it back, trying not to question why on earth anyone would have a flip phone—that’s not a red flag, right?—before darting off to your job. Steven watches you go, clutching his phone so hard it's a miracle it doesn’t shatter.
Marc breaks him from his trance. “You can leave now. She’s not coming back.”
“Yeah…right.” Steven whispers, exiting the coffee shop.
The next few days consist of Marc feeding off more lowlife scumbags than necessary and Jake approaching your window a few times—just to check on you, he told himself—make sure you’re doing okay since Marc's inability to keep his thoughts to himself caused you more than enough sleepless nights, as they all wait for you to respond to their text. Steven had wanted to send one immediately after getting home, but both Jake and Marc agreed that would come off too strong. Instead, they all came to the agreement to wait until day two. Only then did Steven finally stop chomping at the bit.
He’d texted a simple. “Hello! It’s me, Steven—from the coffee shop—was wondering if you’re free next weekend? We can go to this museum near where we met. They just got a new shipment of sarcophagi!” None of them were sure if you really liked Ancient Egypt, or mummy’s, but it was all Steven knew and was comfortable with. Plus it tied into the short conversation you had. That was the right decision…right? When you reply with a more than enthusiastic message, confirming their date for Saturday night, it seems to calm him down just a tad.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t have just let her decide what we do?” Steven muttered, adjusting his patterned tie he had let Marc do for him, not trusting himself to not mess it up. “I mean, what if she was just being polite and doesn’t actually want to visit the Egyptian side? What if she’s more into Rome? Oh I should’ve asked her before—”
“Steven, relax, okay? She was more than happy to look at the sarcophagi with you.” Marc soothed, his face visible in the three paneled mirror of their bathroom.
“Exactly, Hermano. You agreed that she’d like us. We were right.” Jake added, his usual scowl replaced with an attempt at a comforting smile, though it ended up looking more like a reversed grimace.
You had spent more time than you’re willing to admit dotting over your appearance. You’d chosen a dress that was tight around your waist and hips and started to flow around your thighs. It shows the start of your cleavage, but goes down to your ankles, so you hoped the two would cancel each other out. You hoped it didn't make you seem too desperate. Make-up you kept simple, just your usual look you wear everyday and the same with your hair.
But if you were being honest with yourself? You were hoping the night ended with this man in your bed, even if it was just a one time fling. You couldn’t get his curls out of your mind, or how overwhelming his need to keep you close was. God you really were desperate, weren’t you? Simping over a man you had one, short conversation with never ended well or anyone.
By the time you get there, Steven is standing anxiously by the entrance, scanning the face of every passer-by in hopes to spot you. Though, as Marc kept reminding him, they’d smell you far before they could see you. Steven could tell Marc was drunk off the thought. When you finally appear, Steven gives a big wave and calls out your name, trotting down the museum stairs to see you.
Your lips twitch upwards and you meet him halfway. “Steven! I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
There it was again, that noise when you said his name.
Jake snorted, though his voice was tense in the headspace. “Steven, amigo. Pull yourself together.”
“N-no worries!” Steven chuckled, trying to keep the whine from his voice. God, you smelt amazing tonight. Probably from your nerves if he had to guess. He could practically hear the blood thumping through your veins. “The exhibit just opened. So we shouldn’t miss anythin’. Don’t wanna keep those sarcophagi waitin’!”
“Oh, good.” You sigh, taking Steven's arm. You can feel it shaking as he leads you into the building. Probably just nerves, you think. Poor guys trying so hard.
You were half right. Steven was exceptionally nervous. But he was also fighting back his extending canines that kept pinching the inside of his lip.
“Just focus on breathing, buddy. It’ll make it easier.” Marc coached. He had to train himself to keep his fangs from becoming more prominent when on his…visits with you throughout your day. He’d also had to learn other ways of ridding himself from aching erections every time he caught your scent. Jake on the other hand, was unabashful in all aspects. Choosing to keep to the shadowy parts of rooms and sidewalks on his treks so he could take care of himself as he went.
Steven listened to Marc, taking deep breaths as he led you through the first exhibit. Steven, along with the other alters, had become accustomed to mimicking the motion of breathing during the day to keep their appearance as human up, but rarely did they actually intake air. Now that Steven was, it only worsened the issue. All he could think about was you flooding his senses. He could feel his cock twitching against its zipper and he was forced to stifle a groan.
“Alright, no breathing then.” Marc sighed, his disappointment almost palpable in Stevens mind. “Just…don’t scare her off. Please.”
The museum wasn’t packed, only consisting of a few stragglers and tour guides answering questions to exceptionally curious guests. You hadn’t noticed Steven’s sudden quietness, too engrossed in a wall panel droning on about a long dead Pharaoh. You had to admit…it was actually kind of interesting. You only started to expect something was up with your date when he excused himself to the bathroom, roughly stepping away from you before darting off.
Steven slammed the stall door shut and quickly unzipped his trousers. Bloody hell, he was already leaking into his boxers. He whined as he pulled himself free, his dripping erection bobbing in front of him. He spit on his hand before wrapping it around the base, slick palm sliding along the throbbing length. Steven bit down on his forearm to stop his whimpers from echoing off the plastic stall, his fangs tearing at the shirt's fabric. Before long, he was fucking his hand, hips snapping forward as his cock ached for release. With a final whine, he squeezed his fingers around his fat tip. Hot ropes of cum shoot into the toilet bowl below him. His alters were silent as he zipped himself back up.
You were sure you had been stood up by the time Steven reappeared by your side. You tried not to sound too hurt or relieved when he walked up to you. “Hey…is everything alright?”
“Huh? Oh yeah! Yeah, sorry. There was just a line.” Steven laughed stiffly, shifting on his feet. You both knew that was just a shitty excuse, but you decided not to press him on it, fearing that might scare him off. Since when did you care if you scared him off??
“Well, um, do you wanna keep looking at dead people or…?” You ask, gesturing towards the new exhibit this whole night was supposed to be based around.
That got an actual, albeit slightly clumsy, laugh out of him. You noticed the way he looked at you now, full of a fire that made you squeeze your thighs together. Has he always looked at you like that? You didn’t have long to think about it as he extended his elbow for you to take.
The rest of the date went by in a blur. Colorful sarcophagi and heated glances were all you remember when Steven led you out of the museum. Which, in foresight, is not a combination of memories you thought you’d ever have.
“Can I walk you to your car?” Steven asks, knowing full well you don’t have one. He’s been an unwilling witness to enough of Marc and Jake's extracurricular activities to know you either walk or take the bus.
“I walked, actually.” You tell him, glancing around the darkened streets. You were already planning on taking him home with you…why does asking him to walk you there feel so unnerving? “Do you mind if you come with me? I don’t like walking alone at night.”
Steven pretends to act surprised when you mention walking here and nods tightening his arm around yours. “Of course! Can’t have a pretty lady like you bein’ picked on by some no gooders.”
You blush besides yourself, a small smile twitching at your lips. The walk home is fairly uneventful, consisting of Steven explaining in impressive detail the Egyptian Gods Hierarchy. You listen to every bit you can, nodding along to keep that dopey grin on his face as long as you can. By the time you reach your small renthouse…you didn’t tell him where you live, did you? A cold dread fills your spine before you push the thought back. No. No, that's ridiculous. This is a sweet man you met at a Cafe a week ago. He did not stalk you on your way home, you’re sure of you. You must have just forgotten you gave him directions on the walk here.
“Thank you, Steven.” You tell him, turning to face the man. “Tonight was really fun.”
“Now’s your chance, Hermano.” Jake whispered.
“N-no problem, love!” Steven stutters, his grip on your arm becoming crushing.
You felt your cheeks heat up at the pet name, a wide smile tugging at your lips. He looked beautiful like this, you couldn’t deny it. Unruly curls falling in his eyes, your porchlight casting shadows over his angled cheeks and slightly hooked nose. Your lips parted involuntarily.
“Steven, if you don’t kiss her, I will.” Marc all but growled. He’d been holding back all night, frothing at the mouth to finally front and get a taste of you.
He panicked.
Steven’s lips slapped against yours, messy and all teeth. You flinched, eyes snapping out of their daze, before you returned it tentatively. He groans against your mouth, suddenly more fierce. More demanding. You let yourself melt into it before breaking away long enough to unlock your front door. Marc’s hands rove over your curves as he waits, erection pressed against your ass, unable to stop what Steven started. You bite back a whimper and push the door open. Fuck, he felt big. You were already wet from the thought of it. Stumbling into your home, Marc dips his head down to your neck, nipping and sucking at your pulse point. He silently curses himself as his canines graze your skin. You gasp, knees going weak.
Next thing you know, your dress was forgotten on the floor as who you thought was Steven tugged his dress shirt over his head. You bite your lip as his torso comes into view. He was…surprisingly built for someone so timid. Or who you thought was timid. You were beginning to rethink that assumption. Marc crawled between your legs, nose buried against the soaked fabric hiding your cunt. “Fuck, baby.” He groaned, breathing deeply. You whined, bucking your hips against his face. The change in accent wasn’t lost on you, but you figured it had something to do with his desire. He presses the tip of his nose over your clothed clit and you choke out a moan. Your hands grab onto his hair, tugging at the soft curls to bring him closer.
You felt him moan in return against the swollen nub, drawing a mewl from your lips. Before Marc could think, your panties were between his teeth, having been ripped clean off. You gasp at the sudden cold air, back arching off your bed. He spit them out on the floor unceremoniously. Marc drew a fat line up your slit, eyes locked onto your face as you writhed under him. You buck your hips against his face again and he hums, draping a large arm over your stomach, keeping you pinned against the bed. A whimper escapes you as he leaves your aching cunt, instead kissing down your thigh.
“Wanted you for so long, honey,” he mumbles against your soft flesh, wet lips leaving gentle marks along the inside of your thigh.
“You have?” You breathe, fingers roving over his scalp, fighting every urge to pull him back to where you need him most.
Marc practically purrs, pushing further into your hands. Your lips tug into a smitten smile and you scratch his head. “You like that, huh?” He nips at your thigh in answer, earning a small squeak from you.
“You like that, sweetheart?” He all but taunts, smiling against your flushed skin.
You nod silently, swallowing hard. Fuck you liked it more than you’re willing to admit. Marc senses it, the smell of your arousal growing stronger. He can feel his restraint fraying further by the second. “This’ll pinch a little, okay, honey?” Marc murmurs, voice taunt as a drawn bow. You nod rapidly once more, your breathing growing heavy. “Okay…you’ll be okay,” he whispers more to himself than you before drawing a fat stripe across your inner thigh.
“Steven.” You whine, squirming under his arm. You feel him tense, tongue retracting back into his mouth. “…did I say something wrong?” You breathe, regret pooling in your stomach. “That’s your name, right?”
Marc nods stiffly before gruffing out. “Yeah, it is…but call me sweetheart or something, I don’t know. Just…no names.”
“Oh.” Your eyebrows raise. Maybe that's his thing? Maybe he likes to forget who he is for a while. You understand that. “Alright, baby.” You see him relax back against his leg and start placing languid kisses across the sensitive flesh. You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut.
Before Marc can convince himself that this is wrong, that you should know he isn’t Steven. That the man you currently think he is, is gnawing in his mind to let him take over. He sinks his canines into the soft flesh of your thigh. You cry out in surprise, instinctually trying to pull away, but he uses his free arm to keep your leg trapped against his face. You stare at him as…oh god, is he drinking you?
Marc moans at your taste, retracting his fangs to suck hungrily at the small wounds. Blood flows freely on his tongue, the sweet, coppery flavor making his erection press needily into your mattress. You whimper at the sight, your cunt throbbing around nothing. You’re not sure why it’s turning you on, if anything you should be fighting this, but you can’t help as you press your leg further against his mouth, offering yourself to him freely. Marc's fingers curl into your flesh, sucking harder at the pin pricks on your thigh.
“Easy, pendejo. You don’t want to bleed her dry.” Jake chimes in.
He pulls back from your thigh, blood dripping down his chin to look up at you. You’re panting, staring down at him with hooded eyes. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t lightheaded, but fuck if you didn’t care. He looked drunk on your blood, on the taste of you. “Goddamn, sweetheart.” Marc hoarsed, a tentative smile tugging on his crimson-stained lips. He dips his head down to lick the wound, closing it, before crawling over you. You meet him halfway, tasting your own blood on his tongue. You hum, savoring the feel of him devouring you.
Marc’s completely gone, too blood drunk on you to fully grasp what he’s doing, not that he’d complain if he did. One of his hands finds your dripping cunt and runs a finger along your slit. You whine, arching into his hand. He swallows the sound, brushing his middle finger over your clit with each stroke. It doesn’t take long for him to have you writhing and begging for more. “Baby, please—ngh—need you—” You mewl, voice barely audible over the sound of Marc panting in your ear.
“Fuck, you’re close aren’t you?” He rasped, plugging a single thick finger inside you. You choke out a sob, hips grinding against his hand. Once he adds a second, curling them to hit the sweet spot inside you, you’re done for. You come hard, a wordless cry escaping you. Marc grins against your neck, stopping his soft kisses. “There you go.”
You whimper as he retracts his fingers, bringing them to his lips. Marc groans at your taste, swirling his fingers to collect everything he can. “Baby,” you whine at the loss, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
“You want me, sweetheart?” Marc gravel’s, already undoing his belt. You nodded mutely, spreading your thighs wider for him. But he just shakes his head, tossing his belt to the floor and unzipping his pants. “Gonna need your words, honey.”
“Please,” is all you could huff, eyes locked onto his bulging cock as it sprung free from its confines. You squirm as you watch him coat his hand in precum, sliding it along his length with a satisfied growl. “Please…”
He’s over you in seconds, moving in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to process the sudden shift before he’s burying himself inside you. A collective cry fills through your bedroom, your arms clinging to his broad shoulders as he sets an unforgiving pace. Marc’s hips snap against your own, lips finding your neck to pepper soft kisses along the skin. You moan and whimper with each thrust, nails clawing at his back which only seems to spur him on.
Your head falls against your pillow, jaw slack with drool trailing down your cheek. You couldn’t care less. “This’ll sting, sweetheart.” Is all you hear before a searing pain courses through your throat. Marc silences you with a sloppy kiss, sliding his hand between the two of you to find your swollen clit. The pain is quickly forgotten as pleasure wracks through you. He returns his lips to your neck, lapping at your blood hungrily as his fingers work to tightly circle your oversensitive bundle of nerves.
“St—baby I-I’m so…” you cut yourself off as Marc sucks harder at your neck. You presume in punishment for almost saying his name. You whimper, unable to warn him as you clamp around his already pulsing length. His hips stutter against yours, a guttural moan vibrating through your throat as you soak his aching cock. You can already feel your slick dripping down onto both of your thighs. With two more jackhammer thrusts, Marc’s body convulses over yours, hot threads of cum coating your insides. You mewl at the sensation, going completely limp under him.
He continues his thrusts, but at a more forgiving pace, helping you both ride out your highs. His hand falls away from your clit, instead choosing to knead your thigh and ass. You arch into the touch and Marc’s mouth releases your skin with a soft pop. Closing the wound, he falls onto his side, letting himself slip out of you with a hiss and pulling you against him. Both of your releases mix together on your sheets, creating a sticky mess you both choose to lie in. You tuck your head under his chin, arms snaking around his own neck to play with the nape of his hair, remembering how much he liked it before.
Marc gives a low groan, hands sliding around your waist to grab your ass. “Sleep, sweetheart. Steven’ll be here when you wake up.”
Has he referenced himself in the third person before? You’re too thoroughly fucked to care, simply closing your eyes and letting sleep take you.
You vaguely hear that familiar British accent return in a soft “so beautiful” at some point in the night before falling asleep once more.
You know you've fucked up when you go to a doctor and the thing you have wrong with you has been named after an occupation that isn't a thing anymore. Like imagine a doctor looking at you and going "yeah you've got ox-drawn ploughman's disease. We don't even test for that anymore. Yeah the reason you've never heard of it is because the last known case was in 1927 and happened to some guy who was like 98 years old and didn't believe in modern medicine of the time. What the fuck have you been up to."
“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it
