#oofa doofa

STEVEN

So it all starts when you decided to go out for dinner.

This time, Steven’s fronting. It’s his turn to take you out on a nice date. To see you in a beautiful dress, sipping white wine and getting full on pasta.

Ya know, the typical romantic shit that the moon boys are one thousand percent suckers for.

But then this…completely random man comes up to the table.

And really, he shouldn’t be shocked that this guy approached you out of nowhere. Because you look beautiful. Painfully gorgeous. A Monét painting come to life.

It’s just unfortunate that this incredibly flirty stranger who knows no boundaries is your ex.

He’s a lot more calm and collected than Steven. A lot cooler in his demeanour as he makes you laugh.

But the thing about Steven is, he absolutely hates jealousy—hates being jealous. Though he hasn’t had much experience, as far as he can tell, it’s a gross emotion. A disgusting feeling that he knows is unrealistic because you love him.

You’re incredibly adamant about how much you love him (because who tf wouldn’t be with them).

Unfortunately, it’s hard to not feel this way whenever your ex shoots a glare in Steven’s direction.

But you’re not stupid. You easily pick up on the way you he disregards your boyfriend, and without hardly any effort, you bid a forceful goodbye to your ex and return your attention to Steven.

And Steven? Ugh that boy LIVES to be in your attention. And the fact that you chose him; picked him over the guy in the dark blue suit that keeps undressing you with his eyes, is marvellous.

A little too good to be true, in Steven’s eyes, but still marvellous.

However that doesn’t stop him from still being apprehensive. Doesn’t stop him from withholding all that jealousy from earlier. It’s unhealthy and he doesn’t deal with it—knows he should—but doesn’t know how to.

And it sucks because this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. It was supposed to end with the two of you relaxing in a warm bath together, eating chocolate and listening to French music as you had slow passionate sex.

But there’s no way that’s happening, much to both of your dismays.

So for the rest of the evening, the two of you drop it.

Until, you run into your ex the next day.

MARC

This time, when your ex waves to you from a fruit stand on the street corner, Marc is with you.

And, though Marc is far more aggressive, far more assertive than Steven, he suffers from the same green-eyed monster almost immediately.

He saw him last night, in the reflection of the glass window behind your table, and even then, without ever talking to the guy, he hated him.

Was aggravated beyond anything.

Except, Marc doesn’t really let you know that. Luckily, he’s not that much of a talker to begin with, so you don’t see his silence as a bad thing at first.

He’s able to keep his feelings hidden for the most part.

But then

OH BUT THEN

The man has the audacity to touch you. To caress your elbow as you politely try to disengage his advances.

Your uncomfortable. So very uncomfortable, that Marc nearly beats the guy to a bloody pulp without a second thought.

But instead, the rational part of him that doesn’t want to cause you further stress, controls his thoughts. And his fists.

“I think you’ve over-stepped a boundary there, buddy.”

The guy, with a smug, thin grin on his face looks directly at Marc. “Have I?”

At that point, Marc can see, out of the corner of his peripheral, your eyes widen. Your grip on his hand tightens and your breathing picks up as you nervously look to him.

You’re pleading to him.

Please, don’t do this.

But in his anger, in that quick, white hot flash of emotion, Marc blacks out.

JAKE

And if you weren’t scared before, you sure as hell were now.

Because you recognize the change in pressure as he clenches his jaw and the darkening of his eyes.

You know it’s Jake fronting now. And that becomes a whole other problem because…

You can talk Marc down with almost no problem. You don’t even need to convince Steven to choose the route of non-violence. He already follows that river like a loose pebble caught in the stream.

But Jake?

Jake is a whole other untameable beast.

So you’re desperately pulling him away before he can even consider his next plan of attack.

Luckily, he lets you guide him. Though he keeps looking back behind him with a dangerous scowl on his face, silently hoping that this fucker follows so that way he has an excuse.

It isn’t until you get Jake through the door of your shared apartment that you finally allow yourself to breathe.

You dodged a bullet there, and you’re ready to just drop it and move on, but Jake is not.

Before you can even your shoes off, he has you pinned against the wall. One hand holds your wrists together above your head, and the other tilts your chin up to his.

“Goddammit, Jake. You need better fucking self-control, you know that?”

He smiles at you. A devilish grin as he lifts his clothed knee up into your cunt. You gasp at the hard contact. “Oh, you see, corazón, I have a lot of self-control.” He wraps his mouth around the edge of your ear, before tugging on it with his teeth. “If I didn’t, I would’ve fucked you right there in front of that pendejo.”

Another jolt of his leg muscle and you whimper. He laughs, because your body always betrays you. Never lets you be a brat without telling him that you want him inside you.

He then smells the lingering perfume on the junction of your shoulder and neck from last night, and inhales deeply.

You smell so fucking good.

“On second thought, maybe I should’ve taken you right there, hmm? Maybe he would’ve finally gotten the fucking hint that you’re taken.”

Then, it’s his turn to drag you. To guide you to the kitchen counter where he flattens your upper-body.

And you follow suit without a word. Because you know exactly what’s going to happen, and you’re already so excited. Already so wet between your thighs that you can’t do much but hold on to the other end of the counter and lift your ass up in preparation.

Marc and Steven don’t like getting jealous. But Jake doesn’t mind one bit.

Though he’s still respectful of your disdain for having a jealous boyfriend (because, he like the other two, trust you completely), it’s moments like these where he’s unbuttoning his jeans and pulling your hips back to meet his that he truly thrives in the feeling.

The need to protect. To defend. To mark whats fucking his.

And so he fucks you. Hard. It’s an unrelenting pace against the hard marble as the sound of his balls slap against you. The obscene rapid noises meet the occasional smack he places on your ass.

He doesn’t rely on build-up; doesn’t have the time to.

Instead, his hips snaps into you from behind until your panting and crying and writhing. Desperate to cum, desperate to clench around him as he fucks his arousal into you.

“Fuck, cariño. So tight for me. Bet he never fucked you like this. Never made you cum on his cock the way you cum on mine.”

He pulls three orgasms out of you—all from the same position with the rapid driving of his hips. He’s unable to relinquish power or have you on top of him until he’s sure that you’re his. That he’s leaking from every part of you. Joint sweat rolling off your back, and cum spilling out of your pussy.

The both of you are still fully clothed as he cums inside you; heaving and mumbling incoherent things in Spanish, until he’s spent, and stills inside your walls.

He fucks you so roughly, that by the end of the night you have a bruise from the edge of the counter along your pelvis and the hickies he left along your shoulders.

Though, he promises you, as he picks you up like a rag doll and walks into your bedroom, that he’s nowhere near done with you yet. And that by tomorrow morning, you’ll have long forgotten fuck-face’s name.