#Bike Shifting Rates

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐛𝐟!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐩𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞!𝐠𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— rich boyfriend rafe and his whole heartedly pogue girlfriend

rating: sfw — cw: none

— boyfriend!rafe who… actually gets annoyed when you spend your money instead of his: “look, baby, i know you can but why when i’m literally throwing my card at you?” he questioned. “i’m not taking it, rafe,” you rebutted. “yeah? okay, don’t,” he mumbled, casually dropping a banded stack of cash onto your lap.

— boyfriend!rafe who… absolutely judged a book by it’s cover when you first met, knowing you were from a side of town he didn’t favor, but your beauty was something he couldn’t ignore. though, his outlook barely shifted; technically, not all pogues were trash, but he considered you to be the one and only exception.

— boyfriend!rafe who… is used to getting what he wants, so he was highly taken aback when you declined his first offer to go out. it was new and completely foreign, but it only made him want you even more — he’s always had a desire to obtain the ‘unobtainable’

— boyfriend!rafe who… caught so much shit from topper and kelce when they found out about his relationship with a pogue; so much so that rafe almost fought them over it, telling them to ‘get the fuck over it’ and to never speak on you again.

— boyfriend!rafe who… on occasion would reluctantly let your pogue friends go out on his yacht with the two of you for the day, which ultimately would end with him dropping them off an hour (or four) early. he wants them miles away from his pristine boat but loves how happy you look when you were all together.

— boyfriend!rafe who… hears you mention liking something once and makes sure it’s in your hands before the following day ends. they were always simple things like a cute t-shirt or sunglasses, which, to him, were so cheap and mundane that he found it rather adorable when you’d cherish them like literal gold.

— boyfriend!rafe who… isn’t too fond of where you live — your house being small, somewhat falling apart, and overall something far below rafe’s standards. he wishes you’d take him up on his offer to simply get you an apartment on his side of town: “okay, but it’d be so much better for you… and you’d be closer to me,” he mumbled, a small smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips.

— boyfriend!rafe who… takes you riding on his dirt bike to go sightseeing across figure eight, often taking the long way home just to feel your arms wrapped around his waist for just a little longer. you once asked if you could drive it, which would have been your first time, to which he immediately said, “fuck no, what — you tryin’ to break your neck? no.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… tried his first ever boxed mac and cheese with you, as random as it was, after you insisted it’s the greatest inexpensive food on earth; him beforehand saying, “what? y/n, that’s fucking powder…” but after he tried a bite of yours, he reluctantly said, “it’s not that bad… i might see the appeal.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… gives you ‘ultimatums’ when buying you clothes (although, you always insist you don’t need them), saying he’ll get you whatever you want as long as you try on some of his picks first. he would have gotten whatever you wanted regardless, he just liked seeing you model for him, which, secretly, you knew.

— boyfriend!rafe who… buys you extremely expensive jewelry and lies about the price, saying it’s a hundred times cheaper than it is to avoid you trying to give it back. he enjoys watching the dainty bracelet on your wrist or gold studs in your ears glint in the sunlight, knowing that you’re clueless on that fact that they’re the nicest money could buy — he needs only the best for his girl.

— boyfriend!rafe who… truly hated physical touch until you showed him it could be gentle — that it could be sweet, and warm, and kind, and didn’t have to leave him bloody or sore. he loves when you run your nails gingerly across his scalp or hold his hand in your lap, twisting absentmindedly at the rings adorning his long fingers; a type of touch (and love) he’d never felt before

— boyfriend!rafe who… craves your validation, no matter how big or small. he just needs to hear that he did something right, something good, something you’re proud of. he wants to hear you tell him he did a great job at making you dinner or picking out a dress for your spontaneous outings — your approval means so much more to him than you’d ever know.

— boyfriend!rafe who… uses his high status to (begrudgingly) help your pogue friends get out of whatever trouble they land themselves into, knowing it means alot to you and takes a weight off your shoulders: “m’doing this for you, alright? not them, you.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… is pretty heavy on pda. he doesn’t care whose watching when he lazily drapes a possessive arm around your shoulders, or when he kisses you messily with full force; whether it be a kook or pogue witnessing his shameless affections, he didn’t care — who’d dare to say something about it?

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[umehaji]

— 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞;

☾ Pairing: Kaji Ren x f!reader

☾ Word Count: 1.1k

☾ A/N: inspired by satoru nii's note on kaji getting his headphones as a gift also i am simply down bad

“How come he never takes that shit off?” Sakura mutters, mostly to himself, pausing on the uneven sidewalk to adjust the weight on his back. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the bustling street, the chatter of vendors and the hum of passing bikes filling the air.

“Hmmm?” The granny—Chiyoko, as she’s always insisting he call her but he can never bring himself to—leans slightly to peer over his shoulder, her sharp eyes following his line of sight. Her gray hair flutters in the gentle breeze, tickling his cheek.

Across the narrow street, past the stalls piled high with fresh produce, ones Sakura knows Umemiya likes to frequent, Kaji and his vice-captains are strolling down the sidewalk in their direction. Kaji's got his hands buried deep in his pockets, mouth set in its usual stern expression, a lollipop dangling lazily from between his lips. His white headphones sit snugly over his ears, their metallic sheen catching the light. They're always spotless, Sakura notes, as if Kaji takes painstaking care of them.

“His headphones!" Sakura grumbles. "He’ll go deaf at this rate.”

“Ah," Chiyoko muses, her voice laced with amusement, "but wouldn’t you also treasure something so precious to you? Young love...so sweet."

Sakura’s brows knit together. “The hell you mean ‘young love’?”

The granny fully ignores him. "I remember back in my day-"

"Hold on, the fuck you mean- sorry, I mean-"

Before Sakura can keep gracing Chiyoko with his colorful vocabulary, something cuts him off.

“Rennn!”

The sound of hurried footsteps and the unmistakable brightness in the voice snaps Sakura’s attention to the source. His head whirls around, and he freezes.

A girl.

You.

You're a pretty thing, pleated uniform skirt hiked up just a tad bit too short for school regulations. It flutters around your thighs, exposing an expanse of skin that has Sakura blushing right down to his toes. He quickly tears his gaze away.

Instead, he watches, stunned, as Kaji slows his pace and reaches up, fingers curling to hook his headphones down to his neck. He stands there, hands dropping to his sides, palms open as if he's expecting something.

And then...the most inexplicable thing happens.

You launch yourself forward, into the notoriously bad-tempered second-year’s arms, your own arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

“Ren! Missed you so much!”

“Huh?” Sakura whips his head around to gawk at Chiyoko to make sure she’s seeing the same thing he is. “Huuuh?”

The granny on his back just beams, eyes crinkling, like this is something she's seen happen a thousand times.

Kaji barely reacts to the impact of you. He plants his feet, arms coming around your waist, steady and sure. If there's one thing Sakura has learned, it’s that the blonde is deceptively strong. From his angle, Sakura can see the faintest hint of color rise to Kaji's cheeks, a subtle shift masked by the tilt of his head.

A soft jangling sound captures Sakura’s attention and he zeros in on the charm dangling from your backpack. It looks vaguely familiar and he squints, trying to place it. Then it hits him- he’s seen it before, a matching charm clipped to Kaji’s rarely-used bag. The trinket is small and undeniably cutesy, in sharp contrast to Kaji's abrasive personality, which is what had drawn Sakura's attention to it in the first place.

“Oi,” Kaji snaps, tightening his hold around your waist, but his voice lacks the usual bite Sakura has come to associate the blonde with. “Be careful.”

You pout, playful and unabashed. “Aw, but I knew you’d catch me.”

“Still.” Kaji eyes you. His fingers brush against the hem of your skirt, tugging it down slightly. “And this—”

You cut him off with a practiced ease, plucking the lollipop from his mouth and popping it into yours.

"Oi!"

“Yeah, yeah,” you say breezily, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s too short, other guys will mess with me, blah blah blah. But I’m not worried, because my big bad boyfriend will take care of any problems, won’t he?”

Kaji's lips twitch as though he wants to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, what looks like the faintest smile slips onto them, though it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“Hi, Kusumi-chan, Enomoto-chan!” you lean back slightly in Kaji's arms, tilting your head so you can see the other boys who have been smirking at each other the entire time. Sensing their silent amusement, Kaji snaps his head around, fixing them with a pointed glare. Their expressions transform immediately into pictures of innocence and they greet you enthusiastically, clearly charmed by you.

“Good t’see ya as always,” Takeshi grins broadly. “Still keepin’ our captain on his toes?”

“Someone has to,” you quip, swirling the lollipop stick between your fingers before slipping it from your lips. Kaji’s gaze flickers downward, tracking the motion, lingering a beat too long on your lips.

You tug at the headphones around Kaji's neck. “Still taking good care of these, huh? Never takes them off, does he, Enomoto-chan?”

“Well,” Takeshi says with a teasing grin, “they’re special. Given by someone even more special.”

“Shut up,” Kaji mutters, ears faintly pink, though he doesn’t refute it. He's still staring down at your lips, though his gaze flickers back up to meet yours when you reach a hand up.

“Aw," you smile sweetly at him, brushing a finger through the bangs covering his forehead, "I'm glad you're still putting them to good use."

"Tch." Kaji's gaze darts away but returns to you almost just as quickly.

Sakura sputters, completely thrown off by the revelation that the reason behind the permanent fixture on Kaji Ren’s head...is you. Dumbfounded, he watches you continue to shower Kaji—the same boy he's seen coldly pummel opponents to a pulp with the harshest of scowls—with affection. But none of that brutality is visible now. Instead, Kaji holds you with an unexpected tenderness, as if you’re something delicate, something precious to him.

You let out a long, almost aggrieved sigh, and Sakura can’t help but wonder if you’re starting to tire of giving without getting anything in return from the blonde.

“Why're you so handsome?” you pout, sliding a finger down the bridge of Kaji's nose until it rests gently over his lips. “It’s just so unfair.”

Sakura chokes on his own spit.

Kaji doesn’t reply to that at all. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to. The tips of his ears are an unmistakeable flaming red now.

And then, as if on instinct, he leans down. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible. But it's enough signal for you apparently, because you close the gap by pressing your lips to his, winding your arms around his neck tighter and relaxing into his hold.

Sakura feels his brain grind to a complete halt.

“As I said,” Chiyoko hums behind him with a knowing smile. Her short legs swing happily against Sakura's sides. “Young love.”

[nadvs]

　　🐚　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 good hurt ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary rafe is rough with you for the first time.

this is a blurb in the home before dark universe, inspired by this ask!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It’s been almost two months since the night in Rafe’s bedroom. The words and touches that you shared then threaded you together in a way that neither of you thought was possible, easing you into a blissful haze.

You’ve spent nearly every long summer day together. The season is nearing its end, the sunsets arriving earlier and the nights growing colder.

Rafe’s hands are on your hips as you sit by the busy country club pool together on a warm afternoon, settled on the same lounger. He’s sitting behind you, his bare chest brushing your back with every inhale he takes, his fingertips ghosting over your skin.

With how attached you and your boyfriend have become, your friend groups have slowly melded together. He’s still the Rafe everyone else knows with them, rough around the edges and not at all friendly, but with you and only you, he’s protective and passionate and warm. He even gets needy sometimes. You don’t see it as a bad thing.

It feels so natural, laughing with your friends, sipping on a drink, Rafe touching you, as if it’s always been like this.

You finish off your drink and stand to place your empty cup on the table. When you bend over, you give Rafe a view of your ass, your bathing suit scantly digging into your flesh.

His groin tightens at the sight. Seeing you like this even for just a second turns him on. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve tangled in each other’s sheets, but you stoke the fire in him even more every day you’re together.

His mind drifts to last night in your bedroom. Your parents have been away again, giving you an opportunity to do whatever you want in an empty house with no risk of being caught.

You were in your bed, your lips wrapped around him, your eyes locked on his as he sat up and watched you. He kept his hands on your head, fingers laced in your hair as you bobbed up and down.

He wanted to tug at your hair, to turn you over, to slap your ass and slam into you so hard that both of you get sore. But he holds back every time he wants to get rough with you. He loves you. He respects you. He can’t hurt you.

Rafe knows he shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. He’s getting hard in public. You settle in front of him again.

He leans forward just a bit, his breath warm on your bare shoulder.

“Don’t get up for a while,” he mumbles loud enough only for you to hear.

You turn your head to meet his eyes, noticing the lust in his gaze.

“Why?” you whisper.

“I’m…” Rafe purses his lips, flustered, and looks down to motion to where he’s throbbing for you.

“You’re what?” you tease.

A small smirk grows on Rafe’s face. He knows you’re messing with him. That you want him to say it.

“I’m hard,” he relents. You smile and bite your lip, eyes fluttering down to see the bulge in his swim shorts. Nobody’s paying attention to either of you, but you shift a little closer to hide him just in case.

You love this, how often you drift into your own personal world beneath the overlapping conversations around you.

“How come?” you ask. Rafe scoffs amusedly, his tongue poking under his cheek.

“You bent over,” he murmurs.

You move even closer to him, already excitedly anticipating him sleeping over tonight.

“You like when I bend over?” you purr.

“Don’t,” he breathes with a half-chuckle, his cock twitching in his shorts. ��Not right now.”

You shrug with a small smile, turning around again, falling into another conversation to give him time to cool down.

You spend another half hour by the pool before you head to your house on the back of his bike. A few weeks ago, he bought you your own helmet after you fussed over how he always lent you his and didn’t have anything protecting him.

As you come up your street, the motorcycle roaring loudly, you press your hands against his chest tighter and drag them down his torso, stopping right above his groin.

Rafe revels in the feeling of your eager hands on him. Your love is like medicine to him, numbing everything that hurts, making a warm, exciting desire float through him. In a matter of seconds, he’s hard again.

Once he parks in front of your house, he waits for you to dismount before he does like always, his skin tingling from where you touched him.

“Been teasing me all damn day,” he mutters once he pulls his helmet off. You smirk at him, handing him your helmet to put away.

“Have I?” you ask with a sweet giggle. Impatient blue eyes glare at you, but he can’t stifle his smile. “Maybe a shower will make you feel better.”

When you reach your bedroom, you toss your bag onto the floor and start to strip away your clothes, eager to get the smell of chlorine off of your skin.

You can feel the atmosphere in the room thickening as Rafe keeps his eyes on you the entire time he undresses. At this point, you’re completely comfortable with each other in every way, knowing each other’s bodies well.

You turn to head to the shower, your bare body on display for him, but he follows close behind, big hands gripping your hips, his length pressing up against your ass.

“I can’t wait,” Rafe murmurs.

You shudder as his hot mouth settles at the side of your neck, kissing you. It’s intoxicating, the way he thirsts for you so deeply and hurriedly, unable to wait the few seconds to make it to the shower.

His fingers start to dig into hips, but then you feel him exhale against you, letting go. He’s been doing this lately. He moves quickly, roughly, then stops himself.

You turn, draping your hands over his shoulders, looking up at him as you stand together naked, anticipating what’ll happen next.

“Why do you do that?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“What?”

“Hold back,” you say with a breathy laugh. “It feels like you want to do something, then you stop.”

Rafe should have known you’d notice. You’ve always been so observant with him. It’s a type of love he’s never felt before.

“I don’t… want to hurt you,” he says gruffly.

You lean forward, leaving a lazy kiss on his lips.

“You can hurt me a little,” you whisper with a smile. “What do you want to do, hmm? Tell me.”

“I…” Rafe’s eyes drift over your face in awe.

“Or do you want to show me?” you say. Your hands cup his, leading them on your hips again. He pulls you closer, his lips parted.

“You sure?” he rasps. He knows you’d do anything for him. He doesn’t want it to be at the expense of your comfort.

“I’m sure,” you say with a nod.

“Tell me to stop if I need to,” he says, then captures your lips in another kiss. His fingers drag up the curves of your body and he cradles your head as he kisses you, his tongue running over yours.

Your kisses grow deeper and Rafe gives into the impulse to tug at the roots of your hair. He pulls back an inch, forehead against yours, gauging your reaction.

“Pull harder,” you whisper.

He huffs with a smirk, aching for you at this point, and he kisses you again, pulling at your roots with enough force to tilt your chin up higher.

You step forward to close what little distance remains, pressing your bare body against his.

“Fuck,” he groans against your mouth. He pauses, breathing heavily to look down at you, still tugging a fistful of your hair.

“Don’t hold back,” you say. Rafe takes you in, the way your lips shine from the moisture of your kisses, the way your eyelids are half-dropped in bliss, the way your body is flush against his erection.

“I want to throw you around,” he says breathlessly. “I want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

His words make your entire body tingle with arousal. You knew he was passionate, that he had a aggressive side, but you never knew this was what he was holding in. It’s thrilling that he wants to dominate you, to ruin you in the best way.

“Do it,” you say, staring straight into his eyes. “As hard as you can. I want it.”

Rafe almost groans just from your words. He pulls at your hair tighter, leading you to your bed, letting go to thrust you onto your bed.

You’re on your back as he leans down to hover over you, smelling like sunblock and Rafe as he nuzzles his face into your neck, nipping at your earlobe.

You stroke his hair as he settles between your legs, his tip nudging against you. You writhe under him, impatient for him.

Your muscles loosen when he lowers his hand and slowly traces up and down your folds. His finger sinks into you slowly to prepare you, making you tremble, your eyes fluttering shut.

He adds another finger, curling into you, shuddering as he feels how hot and wet and tight you are, craving to be buried inside you.

Rafe’s lips land on yours again, both of you breathing heavy. He traps your bottom lip in his teeth, pulling back, earning a moan from you.

His temple is against yours, feeling how wet you are, listening to the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

“As hard as I can?” he echoes your words in a deep murmur.

“Please,” you say.

He takes his hand away from between your legs and reaches to grab your ass, flipping you onto your front with a rough push.

“On your knees,” he orders. You obey, knees sinking into the bed, your cheek against the sheets. He grips the back of your neck with one hand, fingers slick from you, while the other runs over the curve of your ass.

He’s on his knees behind you, swollen and throbbing, unsure if he can really do this, if you can really take it.

But when you wriggle beneath his touch, arching your back in eagerness, he clenches his jaw and brings his palm down with a hard smack. You gasp and laugh in pure elation, your skin stinging.

“You like that?” he rasps, turned on but worried he’s going too far.

“Mhm,” you purr. “Do it again.”

Your words dismiss all the concerns occupying his mind. He spanks you again, revelling in the way your flesh quivers with the contact.

Rafe leans to kiss where he hit you and you smile to yourself. Even when he’s being rough, he’s reminding you he loves you.

He said he couldn’t wait before, but now, if he spares one more second, he might go crazy. He guides his cock into you and you let out a sweet, breathy moan.

He bottoms out with a groan, his hands on your hips again. He takes the incredible sight in, the way your ass is up in the air for him, your hands splayed on your bed.

Rafe pulls back then slams harder this time, making you jolt with the force.

“You want it like that, yeah?” he murmurs.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe. He shoves himself into you again, even harder this time, and you clench around him so tightly that he’s already seeing stars.

He picks up his pace, starting to pound into you harder than he ever has, rocking you back and forth with his hands tight on your hips. The bed starts to squeak as he rolls his hips, thrusting in and out of you.

Rafe looks down, face contorted in pleasure, watching your pussy swallow him. Your honeyed moans tell him you’re loving this just as much as he is.

The pressure you feel from him filling you like this is perfect. He tugs at your hair again with both hands this time, pulling your head back. You swallow hard as your neck curves, your mouth agape, your eyes rolling back.

“You’re taking it so fucking good,” he praises, panting. You clutch onto the bedsheets, feeling them bunch beneath your fingers. “You’re mine.”

He always says that during your slow, gentle moments, but hearing it now, his voice hoarse and his movements rough and his breaths sharp, is on a new, raw level you haven’t been on together.

He possesses you completely. And by the way he’s starting to whimper, you know you own him, too.

Rafe lets go of your hair, leaving you to drop and rest your cheek on the bed again. He leans to grip your breasts and squeezes hard, his weight on your hips, as he fucks you with raging, manic thrusts.

His fingers dig into your flesh. His breaths are hot against your back. Your thighs are starting to ache from perching up like this, but it’s a good hurt.

His skin slaps against yours with every thrust and when he shifts to put his fingers on your clit, drawing tight circles, the coil in your stomach starts to twist slowly, promising an orgasm.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper, breathy. “Yes.”

Rafe bites his lower lip in ecstasy, shifting to grip your hip as he continues to play with you. Fireworks explode inside of you when he pushes you into your climax, tightening around him.

“There you go,” he whispers, talking you through it. “Let me hear how good it feels.”

Your moans spill out of you with no inhibition as you arch your back, trembling through the release you’ve been waiting for.

Both his hands are on your hips, controlling the fervid pace, pulling you against him as he pounds into you. You feel him go even harder and when his hot cum pools into you, his groan is deep, interrupted by a string of strained fuck’s.

He stays inside you for a moment before pulling out, leaving you to collapse to your side, almost breathless.

Rafe drops onto his hands, chest heaving. He looks down at you as you lie on your side, a lazy, fucked out smile on your face.

“Definitely need a bath now,” he mumbles after a moment. You breathe a chuckle and nod, but you don’t have the strength to get up. You close your eyes as his weight shifts off the bed. Seconds later, you hear the faucet in your ensuite running.

When Rafe’s ready for you, he pulls you off the bed with gentle, loving hands, leading you to the hot bath he drew for you.

He sinks into the water, guiding you to sit with your back to his chest. When you settle in the tub together, he kisses the back of your hand.

“You feeling okay?” he says, his deep voice echoing in the bathroom.

“More than okay,” you answer with a happy sigh. Your body is still twitching.

“You did so good,” Rafe praises. He kisses your cheek, hand settling between your legs under the water. “I didn’t go too hard?”

“No,” you breathe. “We should do that more.”

You spread your legs, your cunt sore in the best way, letting him massage you.

“You know how much I love you?” he whispers. “You know how fucking perfect you are?”

You tilt your head back, resting against Rafe’s shoulder, revelling in the feeling of him treasuring you, running his fingers over you again and again.

“My beautiful girl,” he rasps. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you whisper, wrapped up in the heat of the water, in the firmness of his body, in the solace of his love and care.

[centrally-unplanned]

As I have been reading more studies on intersections between adolescent mental health declines & their reduced lack of freedom for independent activity (which is well-documented), it definitely see a sort of lock-in effect there. Pre-"modernity" kids being independent was just a default state that there wasn't even the resources to mitigate, so relative independent was the norm. That lasted up until, in most places, the 1970's - it has a lot of causes but let looks at for example the generally large increase in the idea that one's kids would be *at risk* by being independent. Generally from criminals, but also things like cars or even bike accidents.

Ofc, in practice kids are safer today than than they were before by most metrics - lower crime, access to things like cell phones for emergencies (in the US car-first residential design made things worse, but not that much worse and this trend is across the developed world, even Japan). But once the social norm shifted it didn't really matter what the numbers are - instead its about whose to blame. If your kid gets 'kidnapped' because you let them walk home from school, that is socially perceived as 100% your fault, how on earth could you do that? Meanwhile doubling of the rates of depression just wash out, that isn't you - fairly so even, its multicausal, your specific example isn't the trend, and so on. Once you 'lock in' the idea that letting kids have freedom is inherently reckless, its very hard to buck that because all the price is put on you, the parent, to do so; while the price of control is put on the children, who don't get a say (parents do lose free time, but that is minor in comparison).

[heartlaboratory]

Together with your friend Violet you go for a long bike ride along the artificial canals in the woods near the place where you live. It's a hot, beautiful summer day, perfect for those outdoor activities. She's wearing a sport suit made of a pair of grey leggins with a nice vertical white strip and a navy blu bra. She rides an old blu bike without the gear shift that makes the combination of the effort and the torrid weather even more effective. After a couple of hours of riding you both stop near a clearing and she looks at you with a big smile. Her moral seems high but looking with more attention you notice she's pretty worn: her skin looks reddish and covered with sweat while her legs muscles are visibly tense and her breathing is labored. You know she's wearing a smartwatch with an app she uses for sport that shares the biometric data with friends engaged in the same training session. Having the same app and being part of her friends list, you can't resist the curiosity and look at her vitals detected in live. The screen on your phone says she has an heart rate of around 186 beats per minute, her breathing rate counts around 46 movements per minute and her body temperature is 37.8 °C. Knowing that her struggle is real and seeing her little oveheated pump struggling with the power of your imagination you ask her if everything is ok. "I can clearly feel my heart beating like crazy and I love it -she answers- I love to push my body to its limits, it's incredible to see what it can do and it makes me feel so alive! Come here, feel it too!" He takes one of your hands and places it on her soft chest. The beat is so strong it feels like you're directly touching the organ. Her heart contractions are so forced you know that any interference with its activity could have an enormous impact... what if?

[lotusbxtch]

SoCal to NorCal: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Chapter 1: Malibu

Series Pairing: husband!Joel Miller x f!Reader x boyfriend!Frankie Morales Series Summary: Joel is your rock, and Frankie is your ocean. So what happens when you bring the three of you together? - or - you and Frankie roadtrip up from Southern California to Northern California so he can meet Joel. A polyamory fic. This series exists in the Triple Frontier universe and is a Joel Miller AU/Triple Frontier AU. Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter 2: Highway 101 & Beyond

Chapter Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader x Joel Miller

Chapter Summary: As you road trip north, you and Frankie struggle to voice your growing feelings for each other. Joel suggests something surprising, and the three of you unexpectedly explore new territory together.

Word Count: 8.7k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter Warnings/Tags: polyamory, phone sex, video sex, masturbation (f and m), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (wrap it up pls!), multiple orgasms, creampie, cum kink, cum eating, there’s a lot of cum lol i’m sorry in advance if that’s not your thing, squirting, slight size kink, mentions of food, mentions of Frankie’s young daughter named Isabella, mentions of drug addiction and recovery, gratuitous descriptions of male and female anatomy, she/her pussy pronouns, heavy use of Spanish pet names/nicknames, Frankie the PEK, Joel’s filthy mouth is absolutely its own warning, idiots in love, a splash of angst, soft!Joel but also menace!Joel because we love a man with duality, Reader uses she/her pronouns, Reader is able-bodied, has breasts, and has hair that can be pulled, otherwise no description of Reader's skin color, size, body shape, hair color, eye color, or ethnicity, no use of y/n. Everyone is testing negative for STDs and Reader is on birth control.

a/n: The road trip continues! I’m so excited to dive more into Frankie and Reader’s relationship, and I KNOW you all have been waiting for Joel to get into the mix. Well, buckle up buttercups, because he is about to be THE BIGGEST MENACE lmao. A deeply grateful thank you to my darling @for-a-longlongtime, who encourages me every day, helped me massively flesh out some of the more emotional aspects of the chapter, and who I talk to almost every day, in addition to being my beta reader. Thank you @mountainsandmayhem, @alltheirdamn , and @mermaidgirl30 for screaming with me about these three when I shared excerpts with you. And thank you to everyone for being patient with me while I got this written up between huge life events (both good and bad)! Dividers & banners by the amazing @saradika-graphics, thank you. (Please note that the chapter graphic is NOT meant to be accurate to Reader — vibes only!)

If you enjoy my writing, please leave a comment, feedback or reblog! It would mean the world to me. Thank you!

You’re so happy.

After your short but memorable stay with Santiago, you and Frankie have been on the road, spending the last few days leisurely meandering up Highway 1 towards San Francisco. You take turns driving, playing car DJ, and sightseeing as you travel north. Tanned feet on the dash, chaste kisses to the back of hands while driving, a shifting playlist between your differing musical tastes. Nights spent snuggled up in a rental or hotel room, playing 20 Questions or “Would You Rather”, kisses turning into intertwining of limbs, labored breath and fingers gripping bed sheets, the murmuring of each other’s names like prayers. 

In Ojai, you drank a little too much wine at the tasting room and biked back to the hotel with wobbly legs. Hearst Castle landed on your list for the formerly-captive-now-wild zebras (you) and to gawk at “ridiculously rich people shit” (Frankie). Ocean kayaking amongst the sea otters and sea lions in Morro Bay filled both of you with wonder. Frankie let you lead him into every little boutique shop that called your name, contentedly trailing behind you while you browsed.

Wherever you were, Frankie indulged your sweet tooth by sniffing out the best artisan ice cream shops. One time during a playful debate, you bopped your frozen treat to Frankie’s nose, giggling at his surprised expression and kissing the sticky-sweet remnants off of him before he picked you up over his shoulder. Your shrieks of joy ricocheted off the small town street until he tossed you in the backseat of his Jeep and crawled in after you, demanding a taste of something sweeter. Before you knew it, you were moaning and sighing under Frankie’s ministrations in an abandoned parking lot. The sight of his messy curls between your thighs as he lapped at your core propelled you into a stratosphere of pleasure. 

The next morning, you continued your road trip north and stopped in Santa Cruz to experience the boardwalk since Frankie had never been. Sun-drenched wood slats under your feet, the crisp, briny breeze cooling your exposed skin. You and Frankie meander slowly, eating chocolate dipped soft serve cones and curly fries, hopping onto the slightly rickety carnival rides, including the famous wooden (and creaky) Giant Dipper roller coaster. (“This thing can’t be structurally sound if it’s making all that noise,” Frankie muttered, but you still got him to get on.)

Adrenaline trickling through your veins, giddy with endorphins from the coaster, you and Frankie debate who had the best strategy for the carousel’s metal ring toss game. “You can’t just huck it like a ninja star,” he gripes about your approach, shaking his head with a smile. “You have to finesse and time it, and throw it like a frisbee so it floats in.”

“I swear, I was way closer than you were,” you shoot back. “I’ve had my whole life to perfect my technique. One of my rings hit the clown’s mouth! More than I can say about your attempts.” You stick your tongue out at Frankie, and he rolls his eyes playfully. Neither of you had set off the lights and buzzers that indicated a successful throw. He’s about to point this out when his phone trills.

Pulling it out of his pocket, his eyebrows knit together a bit before answering. “Mamá,” Frankie says into the phone, “Que pasa? Is something wrong?” He had dropped off Isabella with her for the duration of the road trip, his mother always eager to have “girl time” with her only grandchild. 

“No, no, mijo,” she responds, “Estámos bien. Isa is napping. I just wanted to call you and see how your vacation is going. You work so hard, you deserve to have this time to yourself!”

Frankie breaths a small sigh of relief. “Oh, okay, good. Well, I’ve gotta keep it short. We’re out here on the pier.”

“ ‘WE?’ ” you suddenly hear screeching out of the phone, her tone ecstatic. “Who are you with? Oh my goodness, are you with that girl?” 

Frankie winces, holding the phone away from his ear as you chuckle. “Yes, mamá,” Frankie responds, “the woman I told you about. You don’t need to yell.” He looks at you, a blush slowly creeping up his face, a sheepish smile on his lips. He mouths “five minutes” while walking towards the side of the walkway. Nodding your head with a smile, you whisper, “take your time,” and kiss his cheek, settling on a bench nearby but out of earshot of the conversation, allowing Frankie his privacy. 

“Oh, mijo, that’s wonderful!” his mother exclaims. “When do I get to meet her?”

Frankie huffs out a laugh. “Mamá, relax. You will get to meet her in time. We’re not quite there yet.”

“What are you waiting for? Haven’t you been together for a few months now?”

“Yes, but…” Frankie trails off, not quite sure his mother can handle a full explanation of your situation. Honestly, as he thinks about it, he isn’t even 100% sure what to call the two of you anymore. “It’s complicated,” he says simply.

The both of you agreed to enjoy what you had with no expectations. But “no expectations” changed over the days, weeks, months to become a desire to be around each other more days than not. Visits in the dead of night became dates during the day, morphing into waking up in each other’s arms, eating breakfast together over the weekends, bedhead and sleepy eyes and warm smiles. He thinks about the way you make him laugh, head thrown back, with his whole chest. He thinks about your playful debates, the way you tease him when he loses to you in Mario Kart. He thinks about the way you writhe under, on top of, beside him as he draws pleasure from your body again and again, your moans and gasps creating the prettiest song he’s ever heard. Frankie thinks about your soul, your heart, your innate goodness, and then he thinks about how he can’t possibly deserve any more than you already give him, despite him realizing more every day that he can’t imagine his life without you.

Frankie’s mother clears her throat on the other end of the line, and he snaps back to the present moment.

“Francisco,” she says softly. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just tell her how you feel, and see where it takes you. If she's as special as you say she is, you're going to regret not saying anything.”

Frankie looks down at his boots, and then back at you. You smile at him from the bench, your sundress fluttering slightly in the breeze. “Mamá, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“If you want something, Francisco, go for it. I always told you that you need to be more confident in yourself.” Frankie’s mother sighs affectionately. “You have done so much for your career, for Isabella… you have more than made up for your transgressions, mijito. Do this one thing for yourself. Take the risk.”

He thinks back to the beginning of your relationship, when he said he didn’t want anything serious because he was focusing on his career and his daughter. Not only was he in a stable job with room for upward movement, and becoming the father that Isabella deserved, it was because of you that he was able to achieve his goals. You’ve always supported him, encouraged him, and given him reality checks when he needed it. Not once have you asked for more in the relationship, but he never felt like you had to. He was willing to give you that and so much more. He was nearly certain that you felt the same way about having each other as a more permanent part of your lives, but without ever asking the question directly, he couldn’t be certain that it wasn’t just all in his head.

Frankie swallows thickly. “You’re right,” he acquiesces. “I’ll talk to her soon, when the moment is right. I don’t want to lose her.”

His mother coos sweetly at him. “Now that’s the son I know and love! I’ll let you go have fun with your lady. I love you, Frankie.”

“I love you too, Mamá,” Frankie whispers, and then ends the call. 

You’re people watching at the boardwalk as Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. There’s no surprise triggered by his arms around you, just a calm ease and warmth. He presses kisses into your hair and sighs deeply. Tipping your head to the side, you return the kisses up his arm and rub his knuckles with your thumbs.

“How’s your mamá?” you ask. 

“Good,” Frankie responds, “just checking in to make sure I was having fun on my vacation.” A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Sorry you had to hear her scream about you.”

You snicker as you stand up from the bench. “Nah, it wasn’t my ear she yelled into… But I didn’t mind at all. It’s sweet how she checks up on you.”

He grins, lifting his cap briefly to run his fingers through his hair. “She knows how hard I’ve been working to make things right with my job, and with Isabella, and she’s been pushing me to take some time off.” He sighs, looking off into the distance, and you know him well enough to know he’s doubtful of his progress.

“You deserve it, Frankie,” you murmur to him, lacing your fingers with his. You both start strolling along the boardwalk again, Frankie looking deeply in thought. “You’re always so hard on yourself, and at the very least, you deserve some time off.”

Glancing over at him, your breath catches. Frankie’s already staring at you, curls wild in the sea breeze, brown eyes warm and sparkling. Suddenly your chest feels like it’s cracked open, warm and aching. You feel the spark in your heart, and you realize that your feelings may be more than a simple affection. You search Frankie’s eyes and you can see a steady hidden layer under the warmth of his gaze as he lifts your joined hands to his lips, kissing them softly. It makes your heart do somersaults, the deeper unspoken emotions that flickered across his irises. A deep devotion that tugs at your soul.

He deserves the world.

Frankie huffs a laugh, dropping his gaze. “Everyone seems to tell me that. Guess I should stop being so damn stubborn and start believing them.” You continue walking, Frankie swinging your hands between the two of you as you settle into comfortable silence.

This is more than lust and companionship, you think to yourself. The way he looks at you, touches you with such reverence. It goes deeper than respect and fondness. Only Joel had ever given you butterflies and yet here you are, a fluttering in your gut, foreign but familiar. But what does that mean for you and Joel? 

Can your heart love two people at once?

Whoa…. wait, “love”??

You push the thoughts away with a shake of your head, determined to be present in the moment with Frankie. Bumping gently into his shoulder to get his attention, you flash him a smile.

“Wanna see which one of us can win first at the dime toss game?” you ask Frankie, and his eyes crinkle at the corners the way you love so much when he smiles in return, his competitive streak flaring.

“Sweetness, I thought you’d never ask. Prepare to lose.”

After you absolutely demolish Frankie at the dime toss (he swears they rigged the bowls he was aiming for), you and Frankie hit the road towards the cute cottage you’d booked for the night. Among the draws was its proximity to good food while being simultaneously off the beaten path. You were dying to try the seafood restaurant nearby, which was recommended to Frankie by one of his coworkers.

Per usual for the northern California coast, the fog began to roll in from the beach, casting ghostly tendrils across the road. Fog was one of the things you missed most about home while in SoCal, where it was a rarity. You roll up the windows and flip on your seat heater with a content sigh, then drape your body over the center console to grab your oversized cardigan from the back. The move makes your short dress hike further up your thighs as you reach for the soft knit. Frankie glances in the rearview mirror, spotting a flash of the curve of your ass where it peeks out of your panties. The sight has him already hardening in his pants. A quiet groan rises from his throat involuntarily, and you smirk, knowing exactly what he’s reacting to. 

“God, hermosa, that fucking dress,” Frankie grits. “I’ve been half hard all day seeing you in it.” You say nothing, but look over at him, your smirk growing bigger as you recline the seat a bit more and stretch your body just so, making the light blue eyelet lace material ride higher up your thighs, which you spread lasciviously. 

“Oh?” you tease. “What are you going to do about it?” You see Frankie’s eyes flash with desire for a moment, but he works hard to keep his cool.

His hand inches up your inner thigh while he drives, teasing swirls with his fingertips across your soft skin. You pant quietly, your breasts heaving gently against the low, curved neckline, and bite back a whimper as more arousal pools in your cotton underwear. “Take off your panties,” Frankie gently commands.

Dragging the material down your hips and legs, you let your thighs part for him, inviting his touch. Frankie keeps his eyes on the road, calmly navigating towards a quiet backroad. His focused demeanor is a lie though; his increasingly rapid breathing is a dead giveaway. When his fingers brush against your drenched folds, he groans and grips the wheel tighter with his driving hand.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grits out. “You’re so fucking wet for me already.” His nimble fingers explore you, spreading the slick around, swiping a soft circle around the pearl of your clit. He plays with you, and you start to writhe. A smirk blooms on his face as he clocks your movement. Frankie loves teasing you like this, drawing things out until you buckle under the pressure of your mounting desires. But the throbbing of his cock and your soft mewling sounds are making him desperate. 

Frankie pulls the car over to a small lot connected to an overlook, its parking spaces empty since the vista point is shrouded in fog. Trees block the view of your parking spot to traffic on the road. He throws the car in park, ripping his seatbelt off, and pulls your face to his for a passionate kiss. Swallowing your moans with his lips, Frankie tangles his tongue with yours while his fingers grip the base of your skull. 

“You’re killing me with this slutty little sundress,” he pants, sliding his hand down to cup your naked sex. 

You let out a strangled cry. “Frankie, I need you.”

Frankie shushes you gently. “Get in the back, nenita. I’ve got you.” You comply, scrambling over the center console and pushing your back up against the door, legs spreading wide and fingers tracing your glistening folds. He feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get his mouth on you in the next twenty seconds. He gets out of the front seat, yanking open the driver’s side back door and shutting it behind him after he slides in towards you.

“Gonna suck on that sweet little clit of yours ‘til you scream,” Frankie growls as he crawls towards your body, pushing your knees further towards your torso so you’re opened up lewdly for him. He slides his middle and ring fingers into his mouth to wet them, slipping them out and immediately burying them to the second knuckle in your soft cunt. A high-pitched whine is ripped from your throat.

“Frankie!” you whine, eyebrows furrowing together as you lock eyes with him. The mocha richness of his eyes has given way to pits of nearly black desire, and he keeps them on you while he presses his tongue flat to your swollen clit. Your eyes roll back and you nearly scream in pleasure. 

“That’s it, baby, I’m gonna make you come so hard,” he murmurs into your drenched folds, and then buries his face into you. You weave your fingers into his fluffy curls, opening your eyes to watch him at work.

Frankie’s eyes slip closed as he rhythmically pumps his thick fingers in and out of your pussy, curving them slightly up to hit that magical spot you can never quite reach the same way as he does. He sucks your hardened clit into his mouth, nestling it between the cleft of his lower lip and an almost imperceptible divot in the center of his tongue. That sweet, talented tongue swirls in precise tiny circles with the perfect pressure, while continuing to suckle exactly how you like it. Joel may go down on you like nobody’s business, but Frankie has cunnilingus nearly down to a science. At this point, he knows the exact series of moves to bring you to orgasm, and how long it takes really just depends on how long he feels like eating pussy that day. Sometimes, he’ll lay with his face between your legs for hours.

And right now? Frankie seems to want to break his own record for how fast he can get you to come.

Within seconds, you feel your orgasm gathering in your muscles. The tight shimmer of pleasure reverberates across your skin, in your bones, through every cell in your body, suspended in time, just waiting for a release. Frankie feels you tightening on his fingers, and you swear you feel him smirk against your slick folds. He keeps going, never faltering his movements, as the feeling inside you builds.

“Frankie,” you whine again, your body starting to shake. It shouldn't be physically possible for him to get you there so fast, and yet you feel that bowstring drawing impossibly tense in your body. “Frankie, I’m gonna… I’m so….” you keen, high-pitched, your chest heaving fast. Frankie moans against your folds, pressing just a bit harder with his fingers, crooking them just right, and sucks your clit hard.

You’re lucky that the area is truly secluded, because the scream tearing out of your throat as you shatter in ecstasy is loud. Your thighs lock around Frankie’s head as he moans deeply into your pussy, drawing out your orgasm expertly. Slick weeps from your cunt, soaking his lips and chin, and he slurps down every drop. He slows and gentles his ministrations on your core until he feels your thighs relax. Pulling back, he gives your folds one last kiss before he moves up your body to hover over your face, admiring the flush lighting up your features. Frankie kisses you gently, and you cup his face with both hands.

“Sweetest cunt I’ve ever tasted,” Frankie slurs, pussydrunk on you.

“God, you’re incredible,” you murmur against his lips, kissing him deeper, the taste of your own essence making you clench involuntarily. You can feel the thick, hard line of him against your thigh. Moaning, you press yourself into him. “Let me ride you, Francisco.” 

Frankie lets out a groan as he pulls you up. You rest your knees on the backseat, littering kisses over his face as he unbuttons and shoves his jeans and boxers down. His cock smacks his belly, precum smearing on his skin. Leaning over, you lick it off, his salty taste invading your senses. Frankie groans again when you suck him into your mouth. You gently lick his foreskin and pull it down to reveal his ruddy head, the tip leaking. Slurping and suckling, you sneak a hand between your thighs to rub your clit, the action not going unnoticed by Frankie. It seems to snap him out of his trance.

“I need to be inside you so badly,” he grits out, pulling you onto his lap. The skirt of your sundress flares over the both of you. Reaching down, he brushes his tip against your folds, making you both whine. Swirling it through your combined slick and spit, Frankie presses his head into you slowly. You take over, grabbing his hand to place it over your hip, and grind down on him, letting his length slip further and further into you. Your breath hitches as he spreads your walls, always a stretch no matter how many times you’ve taken him.

Frankie drops his head back against the headrest, his hands gripping you tightly. “You’re always so fucking tight for me, querida,” he pants, his eyes glazing over with lust. His words prompt another wave of slick to leak out of you, aiding your descent down his shaft as you swirl your cunt around him. Both of you moan, and soon enough you’re fully seated on him. You lean down, kissing him passionately, and he responds in kind, slipping his tongue into your mouth to massage against yours. Your hips begin to roll and Frankie breaks the kiss, a deep rumble of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s like hot velvet,” he grits out, grabbing your hips to buck up into you. He trails kisses down your jaw and leaves little love bites as he goes. The car is filled with the slap of flesh, the squelch of your cunt as you fuck yourself on his cock, your shared gasps and panted breaths. Frankie slips the straps of your dress down, pulling down the cups with it, your breasts spilling out of their confines. He ducks his head down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. You whimper.

“God, Francisco,” you whine, riding him harder, spurred on by the way he laves his tongue over your pebbled nipple, gently catching and pulling it between his teeth. He switches to your other breast, his other hand anchored to your hip to guide your motions. His cock kisses that spot deep in you that only Frankie and Joel have ever found, and the feeling rips another moan from you. 

“That’s it, fucking ride my cock,” Frankie pants. You lean forward, changing the angle a bit until your clit catches on his belly, which triggers your pussy to clench in pleasure. 

“Oh god, you feel so fucking good in me,” you moan, grinding down harder onto him, massaging your walls with his thick shaft and your clit with the friction of his course hairs. “You fill me up so well.”

“Softest, wettest pussy I’ve ever fucked, I swear,” Frankie slurs, losing himself in the feeling of you wrapped around his length. “You feel like silk on me, nenita.”

Your clit swells with the stimulation of every roll of your hips, making your cunt clench around Frankie. He lets out a whine. Your brows furrow in concentration as you seat his length in you as far as it will go, and he nearly chokes when he feels his tip kiss your cervix.

“You’re so deep in me,” you moan, working yourself on his shaft. “Tell me how good this pussy feels.” You’re desperate to hear him lose it.

“You feel amazing,” he whines, his dick hardening and swelling even more as he approaches his high. It feels like he’s lighting up every nerve ending inside of you. At this point, Frankie’s lap is dripping with your arousal, slick squelching and slapping sounds as thick in the air as the smell of sex. Both of you are covered in a sheen of sweat. You can tell he’s getting closer, so you start fucking him harder, driving his cock deeply into you, to the point where you feel like you’re beginning to meld together, a writhing, wet, hot mess of pleasure.

“Yeah?” you ask rhetorically, riding him harder and harder. “Are you going to come for me, Francisco?” You continue to use his full name, knowing how much it turns him on when you say it. “I want you to fuck me so full of your cum; I wanna be dripping for days. I want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Oh fuck, nenita,” Frankie whines as he loses himself in your heat. “I’m gonna fuck you so full. Gonna give you all of my cum. Gonna put it right where it belongs, deep in this cunt.” You roll your hips harder, your tits bouncing with the effort, and Frankie fucking whimpers. Your pussy tightens at the sound. It always turns you on so much when he loses control.

“Do it, Francisco. Fill me up,” you pant, your own orgasm barrelling towards you. Frankie’s thighs begin to quiver under you, and you know he’s almost there, too. You grip the base of his skull with one hand while the other steadies yourself on his shoulder, and then you lean down, nipping his earlobe. He whimpers again, completely fucked out.

“Come for me, now,” you beg in a whisper.

Frankie shouts as his grip on you turns to steel, and at the first hot spurt of his cum inside of you, your orgasm rips through you. Your cunt clenches, prolonging his pleasure, as your release soaks Frankie’s lap and his cum paints your insides. You both cry out at the feeling, foreheads pressed together. Frankie leans in and latches his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss.

As you both come down from your highs, you lean into Frankie, and he rubs his hands along your back soothingly. The softest kisses pepper your face, your sweat cooling down your skin while you both heave breaths, trying to recover. You weave your fingers into Frankie’s damp curls and scratch his scalp.

“Couldn’t wait ‘til we got to the rental, huh?” you quip.

Frankie huffs a laugh and hums in pleasure at your ministrations on his scalp. “Not when you tempt me with those dresses, baby. You know what flashing me a peek under your skirt does to me.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you tease, nipping his ear.

He jerks away at the ticklish sensation, then gently bites your shoulder in retribution. “Such a tease, hermosa,” he tuts. You both begin to untangle your sweat-slick limbs, and you slip yourself off of Frankie’s cock, groaning quietly in contentment as you stem the flow of his spend from your pussy with your fingers, shuffling around, seeking your panties. Finding them in the front seat, you slip them on, pressing the fabric into your cunt to keep yourself full of Frankie. Both of you get back into the front seats.

You fix your hair as you settle back in but pause, looking up to see your boyfriend staring at you, an achingly soft expression painting his whole face. Amber eyes, golden flecked irises, striking deep to your soul.

Breath catching in your throat, vulnerability rolling through your nerves. That flutter in your heart once again.

Before you can process anything, Frankie shakes his head slightly, as if emerging from a daze. “Well I’ve certainly worked up an appetite,” he quips, squeezing your knee gently. “Let’s get some of that clam chowder.” You nod, breathing deeply and shoot him a crooked little smile. He intertwines his fingers with yours, and then puts the Jeep into gear.

A couple hours later, you arrive at the rental, Frankie bringing both of your bags in. You close the door behind the two of you, kicking off your shoes, and survey the place. A small kitchenette to the left, cute velour loveseat to the right, and through adorable French doors, the king size bed, dressed in the fluffiest looking bedding. A dresser and full-length gilded mirror complete the decor in the bedroom, everything fitting perfectly into a cottagecore dream aesthetic. The last of the natural lighting filters through the windows.

Frankie drops a quick kiss to your forehead. “I need to scrub off the road,” he says in passing while stripping off his clothes. “Why don’t you relax a bit before we decide what we’re doing for the rest of the night?”

You snort out a laugh. “Frankie, it’s not like we’re on the Oregon Trail in a covered wagon. We’ve been driving in an air-conditioned car, Mr. Drama Queen.” He laughs and tosses his hat at you, disappearing into the en suite bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Settling into the plush bed, you set Frankie’s hat on the dresser and grab your phone to catch up on messages missed during the drive, when suddenly your phone starts buzzing. Joel’s name flashes onto the screen, and you hit the green button to accept the video call.

“Hey, baby,” you coo, grinning widely as Joel’s handsome tan face appears on your screen. His umber & silver hair is damp and slicked back, likely fresh out of the shower just like Frankie will be in a few minutes. The headboard of the bed you share with Joel sits behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?”

Joel chuckles. “What, can’t a man call his pretty wife just to see her face and tell her that he loves her?”

You giggle. “I suppose that’s a good enough reason.” His eyes soften, and then flick down the screen.

“I see you’re wearing that sundress I like so much,” Joel muses. 

You smile, extending the arm holding your phone so he can see more of your body. “Oh, this little number?” You shift onto your knees, spreading them wide and running your other hand teasingly slow from your collarbone, down the slope of your breast, across your waist, and then down your thigh, retracing your path slightly to lift the hem of the skirt. “Frankie hadn’t seen it before, and he likes it just as much as you do.” Your cheeks flush at the memory of Frankie taking you in the car, and Joel hums lowly when you break eye contact with him.

“Did you and Frankie get up to some fun earlier, baby?” You pause, unsure of where this is going, and then nod your head.

“Words, sweetheart,” Joel reminds you.

“Yes, Joel,” you whisper breathlessly. 

He nods approvingly, a small smirk gracing his plush lips. “I could tell, you got that faraway look in your eyes like you do when you’re thinking about me fucking you.” Joel shifts his seat on the bed, and you recognize the movement as a sign that he’s getting turned on. This is a new development, you think to yourself. He’s rarely asked about sex with Frankie before. 

“Did Frankie treat your pussy right? Did he fill you up?” You nod again, your core beginning to pulse as you affirm with your words, and Joel groans.

“Let me see it.”

You choke on your breath. “What?”

This was not something Joel had ever asked before.

“You heard me, darlin’,” Joel asserts, his eyes darkening. “Let me see that pretty pussy full of Frankie’s cum.”

A full-body shiver ripples through you. “Yes, Joel,” you murmur obediently, sliding off the bed to retrieve the phone stand you use often when you’re away from Joel. You set it up on the dresser near the bed, the front-facing camera angled advantageously for him while allowing you to see him as well. Coming back into frame, you slowly unzip your dress, letting it fall to the floor. You slide your damp panties down, the heady scent of Frankie’s cum wafting up from your heated core. Joel leans back and lets out a low groan. 

You climb back onto the bed once naked, noticing Joel’s espresso brown eyes have deepened to the color of a moonless night, his pupils dilated in desire. Putting your back to the camera, you get onto your hands and knees, canting your hips forward and ass back. You rest your forearms on the bed, looking back at the camera, and snake one hand between your legs to spread your pussy open with your fingers. Joel moans unabashedly at the view, your glazed pussy glinting in the light, Frankie’s milky spend coating it and gathering at your opening. He watches as your cunt clenches at the sound.

“Fuuuuuck, darlin’, that little pussy always looks so fuckin’ good when it’s covered in cum, don’t it?” Joel asks rhetorically, running one hand down his chin through his greying scruff. You whimper in response, the movement of your contracting walls pushing a thin stream of Frankie’s cum out from deep in you, dripping onto the bed sheets. This feels so debauched, filthy, and you are incredibly turned on by Joel’s response to the sight of another man’s cum decorating your most intimate parts. 

“God, if I was there I would be rubbin’ that cream all over your swollen little clit,” Joel drawls. “Can see her peekin’ out at me. Can you flip over? Wanna see you touch her for me.” You oblige, gathering the pillows to prop yourself up, and lean back against them as you butterfly your thighs open for your husband. Holding his gaze, you slowly trace your outer lips with your fingers, feeling the slide of Frankie’s spend lubricate your movements. You swirl your fingertips through the mess of slick and cum at your entrance, then glide them up to the pearl of your clit, throbbing in anticipation. At the first touch, your breath catches on the edge of a jagged little moan. 

“So sensitive already?” Joel teases, and you see him shift in his seat at the same time that the rustle of his pants tells you he’s pulling them down. The thought of him needing to touch himself at the sight of your messy cunt makes a pang of need course through your core. 

“Let me see it, baby,” you whisper hoarsely towards the phone, desperate to see the physical proof of his desire for you, for the sight of Frankie’s desire for you. The frame jostles a bit as Joel sets his phone up on the phone stand you have in your bedroom for times like these. It’s not the first time you have had video sex while apart and it certainly won’t be the last. 

And as Joel walks backwards toward the bed again and into frame, you barely stifle a gasp.

His cock is an absolute marvel, still is after a decade of being together. Thick, long, and uncut, the sight of him always makes your mouth water and your pussy slick. Joel sits on the edge of the bed, stroking his length languidly, the gleaming cockhead a flushed pink, disappearing and reappearing from under his foreskin. His gray, worn sweatpants are pulled just under his ass. Heavy, sizable balls drape over the waistband. You’ll never get tired of the sight.

“See somethin’ y’like, angel?”’Joel teases, his Texas twang always thicker when he’s aroused. His thick thighs are spread wide as he sits on the bed.

“Yes… everything,” you breathe, starting to rub your pussy again. 

“Nuh-uh,” Joel tuts, and your fingers immediately stop. “I didn’t tell you that you could touch yourself. Let’s wait until Frankie can join us to have fun.” Your body flushes with more arousal; Joel’s never asked to include Frankie before. But then again, you’d never asked if he wanted to.

As if on cue, the bathroom door squeaks open and Frankie appears, freshly showered, dark curls dripping a bit onto his broad, golden shoulders. A white towel is wrapped around his narrow waist, and he takes a moment to assess what he’s walked into.

“Babygirl, are you getting started without me?” Frankie purrs as he strides towards you, then pauses when he realizes your phone is on the stand and positioned right at your dripping cunt.

“Hey, Frankie,” Joel’s voice floats warmly into the room. “I figured you’d want to watch our girl play with herself, so I made her wait.”

Our girl.

You shiver in arousal — and something else — at the moniker. Your eyes flick to Frankie, a smirk beginning to grace his lips but a bit of hesitation in his eyes. This was all new to him, too.

Frankie moves towards the armchair situated in the corner of the room, behind where you had your phone set up. He was already adjusting himself, clearly aroused, which you took as a good sign.

“Frankie, are you okay with this?” you inquire, trying to gauge his consent to what was unfolding. “If not, I can —“

“Yes,” Frankie grits out hoarsely. “I want to watch you with Joel.” His tone sets off another wave of pleasure through your nerves.

Joel chuckles, his voice smooth and deep as whiskey. “Well, darlin’, give us a show. Go on ‘n pet that pretty lil’ pussy for us.” Planting your heels on the bed, you use your fingers to spread yourself open as another trickle of Frankie’s previous release leaks its way out of you. Both men groan at the sight. Scooping it up, you glide your way up to your throbbing clit, starting to circle it just the way you like. A moan leaves your parted lips; you tilt your head back while you work yourself. Your other hand moves to pinch and thumb a nipple, drawing it into a tight bud.

“Mmm, good girl,” Joel praises you. His hand starts pumping his cock once again at the same time Frankie palms himself through the fluffy towel. Frankie’s eyes flick from you to the phone, still trying to feel out the dynamics of the three of you. But both men can’t keep their eyes away from your soft pussy and swollen clit, glazed in your arousal and Frankie’s cum. Holding both of them in rapture while seeking your own pleasure is a heady power trip that wraps its silken claws into your brain. 

You feel like a goddess.

“Joel,” you moan, writhing in pleasure on the bed, but not quite where you want to be. “I need more.”

“Tell me what you want, darlin’,” Joel croons through the phone, the soft fapping sound of him working his cock audible. 

“I want… more,” you whine, mind so hazy with pleasure that you can’t even articulate your desires. “Please.”

“Hmmm,” Joel responds, slowing down to consider his options. You look up in impatience just as a wicked smirk crosses his face.

That look always means trouble. 

“Y’told me how good Frankie is at goin’ down on you,” Joel continues, “so why don’t you let him show me?” You hear Frankie’s breath choke in his throat in surprise as a whimper escapes your lips at Joel’s words. Frankie’s eyes dart from yours to the phone and back. 

“Frankie?” you hear Joel say while your eyes remain on your boyfriend. “Would you be okay with that? Would you show me how hard you make our girl come with that tongue’a yours?” You let out a little moan at Joel’s filthy words, and Frankie groans involuntarily at the sight of another dribble of his cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, baby, you’re still drippin’?” Joel coos at you. “Frankie must’a stuffed you so full’a his cum. Do you like eating yourself outta her sweet cunt, Frankie?”

In a flash, Frankie enters the frame as he spreads your legs further apart and wedges his shoulders between them, leaving enough space for Joel to watch the action behind him. “I fucking love it,” Frankie growls in response, immediately running his tongue in a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit, tasting himself and you as he swallows every drop of cum and slick you released. You throw your head back, keening.

“Damn,” you hear Joel choke out, his hand moving faster on his cock at the sight of Frankie diving headfirst into your cunt. Eager to prove his skills, Frankie works you up rapidly to your orgasm, your moans pitching higher and higher within a minute. He swirls his tongue over your clit, then slides two of his fingers inside to the last knuckle, aided by your copious slick and the remnants of his cum. Your back arches off the bed from the sensation as you cry out his name.

“Oh fuck, angel,” Joel grits out, his breath coming faster. “He eatin’ you good?”

“Yessss, Joel,” you whimper, your hand holding Frankie’s head firmly to your center. “I’m gonna fucking cum!”

Frankie moans encouragingly, reverberating across your cunt, and the tether inside your core snaps. You stutter out a groan, punctuated each time your pussy spasms with your release on Frankie’s fingers. The man between your thighs laps it all up, moaning in delight. He pulls back, kissing the inside of each thigh, and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Good fucking girl,” Joel purrs at you as you catch your breath. You hear a slightly pained groan, and look at the screen to see Joel gripping the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm. Hmm, that’s odd, you think. Joel usually comes when he’s decided he’s done making me come.

The realization hits you a split second before Joel’s deep, commanding voice spits out, “Again, Morales.”

Ohhhh, fuck.

You whip your head around when you hear Frankie suck in a breath as he stares at the phone, his chest heaving. Looking down, you see his cock achingly hard under his towel, his neck flushed with arousal. Frankie turns to you, his onyx eyes shimmering ferally. You know following orders gets him going, but you’re surprised that Joel clocked that about him instinctively.

In a split second, Frankie’s spread both of your legs again, pinning you open obscenely wide by your thighs. His tongue immediately begins to fuck into your pussy, the strong muscle prodding and curling just right. Your head slams into the soft mattress, a squeal leaving your lips at the sudden pleasure. With every thrust of his tongue, you feel Frankie grinding desperately into the bed, trying to stem the intense arousal building below his waist.

“Talk to me, darlin’,” Joel’s voice floats in your ear, pulling you out of the cloud of intense pleasure momentarily. “Tell me how good Frankie feels.”

“He’s so good,” you moan, alternating playing with your nipples and curling your fingers in the bedding. “His tongue feels so good in my pussy.”

“Is he as good as me?” Joel asks, his voice dropping an octave. There’s not a hint of jealousy, just charged curiosity.

“Yes, baby,” you coo, gasping as Frankie moves his tongue back to your clit and slides his fingers back into you, reaching that spot deep in you that makes your eyes roll back. “So good. Just… different.”

Joel lets out a quiet growl, his voice dripping with sex. “Good. Your pussy deserves the best.”

“Frankie,” Joel commands. Frankie lifts his head from your center, moving his thumb to replace his tongue on your clit, making your back arch again. “Have you made her squirt before?”

“Yeah,” Frankie breathes, looking back at you. “She’s so beautiful when she does it.”

“Good,” Joel rumbles. “Make her squirt for us.”

Frankie nods once, then pulls his fingers out slightly until he hits the spongy spot near the entrance of your pussy. He starts swirling the tips of his fingers against it, pressing his other hand down gently but firmly on your lower belly above your pubic bone, and then lowers his head to suck your clit back into his mouth. You keen, your body folding in on itself from the intense pleasure. Frankie moans into you, but you hear a growl rip from Joel’s throat.

“Don’t you dare hide that beautiful body,” Joel demands. “Lay back and spread your legs for us.”

You comply, barely able to shift yourself open again before Frankie starts intensifying his ministrations. You hear Joel’s slick fist jerking his cock again while he coos at you and praises you, telling you how good you’re being for him and Frankie, how pretty and strong you are.

“You can take it, angel,” Joel moans with the squelching of his cock in his hand acting as an obscene background track for your pleasure. “You’re close, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, Joel,” you whimper, your cunt making equally debauched sounds with every thrust of Frankie’s fingers. “I’m so close. Feels so fucking good.”

Frankie presses harder on your belly and sucks your clit more fervently, and your cries pitch higher. “Oh god, Frankie, you’re gonna make me come,” you whine, toes curling and thighs beginning to shake. A desperate moan from Frankie’s mouth is muffled by your cunt, making you cry out again.

“Let go for us, darlin’,” Joel grits out, his hand a blur on the screen as he approaches his orgasm as well. 

Frankie peels himself away from your drenched folds just long enough to command, “Come for us, now,” and then latches back onto your clit, sucking hard, and that’s the moment you break, nearly screaming. Frankie works you through the first wave of your orgasm with his mouth, then pulls back, slipping his fingers out of you as your release gushes out, spraying your belly, thighs, and Frankie’s torso. With every pump and slide out of your pussy, Frankie brings forth another spray of release, drenching your body and his. 

You’re barely aware of Joel’s groans of pleasure in the throes of your own, but when you come back down moments later, you can hear the edge of desperation in his sounds. You look over to the phone to see him with his teeth bared, the head of his cock an angry red, his fist slick with precum and spit. More pearly liquid slowly oozes from the slit at the top.

Joel is barely keeping it together.

“Joel, honey,” you moan, “I wanna see you come.”

Joel growls. “Francisco,” he grits out. Frankie, who’s looking at you in amazement and pride, snaps his head to the phone at the sound of his full name. You see his cock twitch under the towel.

“Get our girl messy, Francisco.”

A whimper worms its way out of your throat as Frankie whines. Unashamed and blind with arousal, he whips the towel off his waist and his cock bobs, hard and thick. You hear Joel’s breath hitch. I’ll tuck that reaction away for later, you think. 

Frankie kneels between the damp sheets under your thighs, spitting into his hand and fisting his cock hard and fast. His muscles flex with the intensity of feeling, breathing rapid. His grunts get louder and longer as he swiftly approaches his peak. You hear a long, low moan from the phone, Joel nearly delirious with how worked up he is over the scene playing out.

“Where?” Frankie moans, desperately trying to follow orders before he blows his load. Precum drips onto the sheets.

“Her tits,” Joel pants, “and her pussy. Paint her like a fucking picture, Frankie.”

“Oh fffuuuu—“ Frankie grits out just before he explodes, his release shooting out onto your nipples, the curves of your breasts, and then he’s aiming lower, coating your mound and pussy lips with his seed.

You’re dripping with yourself and Frankie, an absolutely debauched sight.

Suddenly you hear a shout from the phone, and turn just in time to see Joel shoot his load all over his chest, belly, and even some on his neck with how hard he’s coming. Every spurt paired with a moan; one of the prettiest sights you’ve ever seen in your life. 

For a moment all you hear is the shared heavy breathing of yourself, your boyfriend, and your husband, and then Frankie is kissing your forehead, your lips, and then working his way down your body. When he goes to lick off his cum from your tits to clean you up, you groan in protest.

“Too sensitive, baby,” you plead, and Frankie acquiesces, cooing at you. 

“You did so well for us, nenita,” he soothes, stroking your face and planting kisses across your eyelids. “You’re so beautiful. Let me rinse off and get you cleaned up, okay?” With your mind pleasantly fuzzy from what just transpired, you simply nod, and Frankie goes into the bathroom for supplies. You let your head roll to the side, and smile tiredly at Joel, who’s watching you with pride and love while he towels off his release from his body and hands.

“I would have licked up all that cum off you to save you from having to add another towel to the laundry,” you giggle, feeling your own juices and Frankie’s cum cooling on your torso. You run your fingers through the slick release Frankie left on your pussy, teasing your clit with the silky fluid. Your body shudders a bit with overstimulation, and Joel shakes his head.

“You just like makin’ a mess and then cleanin’ it up, you dirty girl,” he chuckles, watching you enjoy the tactile sensations.

“Stop pretending that you don’t like me like that, Joel,” you fire back with a smirk. “What is it you said exactly? Oh, right. ‘Get our girl messy, Francisco.’” You imitate Joel’s baritone, making him bark out a laugh. 

“Fine, I do love seeing you drippin’, darlin’,” Joel admits. “Whether it’s my cum or Frankie’s.” You bite your lip and giggle, basking in the glow of this new era of your relationship with Joel. You didn’t expect he’d be so enthusiastic to see you with Frankie.

The door pops open, Frankie emerging with a warm, damp washcloth for you. Although you reach for it, he tuts and gently pushes your hand away, insisting on wiping you down himself. He gently strokes the cloth across your skin, softly smiling and pressing kisses to your face and body as he does. Joel’s heart warms at the sight before him, seeing how well Frankie takes care of you.

Tossing the cloth back into the bathroom, Frankie gets up from the bed. “I’m going to get some water for us. Do you want cold water to help you cool down, or your usual water cocktail?” Frankie asks, always remembering your quirky penchant for filling your insulated water bottle first with hot water until halfway, and the rest with cold. 

“Water cocktail, please,” you giggle, snuggling further into the bedding.

Frankie grins, then lightly kisses your forehead, grabbing your water bottle off the bedside table in the process. He walks out, and you sigh contentedly.

“Wow, Frankie automatically includes Water Cocktail on his drink menu now, huh?” Joel chuckles.

You nod happily, grinning ear to ear. Laying your head on the pillow, you respond, “Yeah, he caught on fast. I think it was after the third week of seeing each other that he started asking if I wanted it instead of bringing me a glass of cold water. I didn’t even tell him explicitly, he just noticed me doing it.” You pause, brain pleasantly fuzzy in your post-orgasmic state. 

“I… I really like him, Joel,” you whisper, slowly fading as sleep creeps to you. You blink your eyes gently at Joel, who looks at you with the softest smile on his face, like you are the linchpin of his universe. 

“I know, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, his heart flipping in response. “I know.”

When Frankie re-enters the room with a glass of water and your water bottle, he notices how quiet it is. You lay burrowed under the covers, gently snoring, but he notices your phone is the only one on the video call anymore. His nerves zap a bit in concern, but then he replays the recent events back in his head. Joel seemed totally tolerant - nay, enthusiastic, to include Frankie into sex earlier. He doubts Joel left because he was upset; you probably fell asleep and he needed to go. Nonetheless, Frankie pics up your phone and exits the call, tapping around until he finds your message app.

Hey, that was really fun, he types out to Joel, a tiny flutter of nerves alight in his stomach. Excited to meet you tomorrow. Have a good rest of your night. – Frankie 

Staring at the words for a moment, he hits send before he can back out or second guess himself. Frankie then climbs into bed, wrapping himself around you before sleep claims him wholly.

a/n part 2: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for your patience! I had so much fun writing it and I’m proud to be able to share it with you. For those of you not familiar with Southern/Central CA, you can view photo references here: the Santa Cruz carousel, Hearst Castle, info on Ojai, and kayaking in Morro Bay.

Have thoughts/thots, feelings, SCREAMS, asks? My inbox is open! 💌

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[rock-n-roll-queen]

Axl was bored. The rockstar life sure was something every man dreamed of but at some point it could annoy the hell out of him and he needed something else. It was a spontaneous decision and he just packed a bag and left his home one night with no definite destination. He hadn‘t much with him and decided to stay away from places he‘d run the risk of being recognized, leaving him to travel from one cheap and ran down motel to the next, staying off the grid as much as possible. Problem was, after a few days he ran out of cash and now had to rely on his card. But what if the card didn‘t work anymore?

Authors Note:

Req. I had gotten weeks ago. This one has been written in multiple sessions and through multiple moods. As always like, reblog, comment and share! It’s much appreciated. Also I’m happy for constructive feedback. 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

Pairing : Axl Rose x Reader

Summary : A chance encounter, you meet a famous rockstar late at night at the gas station without knowing who he really is.

Rating : Mature, Adult Content

Warnings : explicit sexual content, , oral sex (male and female receiving), bondage, sub/dom, penetration, biting, mentions of various kinks

Words : 14.707

It was 1 a.m., and the quiet hum of the gas station lights buzzed above you as you filled up your bike. You’d been riding around for a while, the open road keeping you company, until the low fuel light blinked—time for a pit stop. After topping off the tank, you set the pump back in place and headed inside to pay.

The small store smelled faintly of cheap coffee and engine grease. You stood at the counter, idly tapping your fingers against it while waiting for the cashier to notice you. The place was nearly empty, just the quiet drone of a late-night shift.

Then, the door swung open with a sharp jingle. A man stormed inside, his heavy footsteps cutting through the stillness. Without a glance in your direction, he marched straight to the counter, a credit card pinched between his fingers.

“YOU!!” he barked, jabbing a finger at the startled cashier, obviously in a sour mood.

The young clerk’s eyes widened, his hands freezing mid-motion. He was clearly taken off guard and half panicked.

“H-hey, p-please calm down—” The boy stammered, clearly trying to defuse the situation.

“CALM DOWN?!” the man roared, his voice cutting through the soft hum of the overhead lights and the muffled music from the speakers. “YOU CANCELLED MY CARD! I WENT TO THE ATM, AND IT DISPENSED NOTHING!”

His fury filled the small space, thick and oppressive. The poor cashier, who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, was visibly shaking. His wide-eyed panic made it clear—he had no idea how to handle this.

The man took another step closer to the counter, his presence suffocating. You felt the urge to step in, to say something, but hesitated. He was livid, practically vibrating with rage, and the last thing you wanted was to become his next target.

“Sir, please calm down—” the boy tried again, his voice thin and unsteady.

But the strawberry-blond man wasn’t listening. His sheer intensity was enough to make you glad you weren’t the one behind the counter right now.

Then, without warning, BANG—he slammed his hands down. The sharp sound made both you and the cashier flinch.

“I WILL NOT!”

Another slam, harder this time. The whole counter rattled. Then he leaned in, face mere inches from the terrified boy, who instinctively leaned back—but the man only pressed forward.

“You get me my money,” he seethed, voice low and venomous, “or, God help me, I will beat your ass into oblivion.”

“Hey, man, calm down, okay?” The words left your mouth before you could think twice. The whole situation was making you uncomfortable—the way this guy towered over the cashier, spitting threats like they were nothing. Someone had to step in.

That got his attention. His head turned, eyes locking onto you. He took a quick scan, sizing you up.

“Who the hell are you?” he scoffed. “Stay out of this, sweetheart.”

You frowned. That nickname caught you off guard, and you didn’t appreciate being belittled. It was clear he didn’t take you seriously, and that alone irritated you.

“Just calm down. No need to be aggressive here.”

His expression shifted, but instead of snapping at you like you expected, he smirked. His eyes stayed on yours, a challenge lingering between you. You held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“You got a mouth on you, huh?”

Ignoring his comment, you continued, keeping your voice even.

“Listen, calm down and be respectful, okay? What’s the problem, anyway?”

He leaned slightly to the side, watching you like he was trying to read something between the lines.

“This damn bastard cancelled my card, and I need the cash for my motel. Now I’m stuck here because of him!” His voice was tight with frustration, fists clenching at his sides. Even as he tried to keep himself in check, the agitation rolled off him in waves.

You raised an eyebrow. “He cancelled your card?” You couldn’t hide the skepticism in your voice. How would a gas station cashier even do that?

The man glanced back at the boy before jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Dunno what exactly he did, but my card doesn’t work anymore, and it’s HIS FAULT!”

You exhaled slowly. This guy clearly had some issues—losing it over a declined card in the middle of the night.

“So you’re just assuming he did something? Sometimes ATMs glitch, you know. Have you tried again?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step toward you. Instinctively, you shifted back to keep the distance.

“You think I’m stupid? Of course I did. My card gets denied every time.”

“Then how about trying one more time?” you suggested with a shrug. “Buy something small, see if it’s the card or just the ATM acting up.”

To your surprise, he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned sharply back to the cashier, slamming his card onto the counter.

“Gimme a pack of cigarettes.”

The poor kid scrambled to grab a pack from the shelf, hands fumbling as he scanned it. The register beeped.

“Card declined.”

The man rolled his eyes and shot the cashier a glare. “Fucking idiot,” he muttered, reaching to grab the pack anyway.

“S-sorry, sir, you have to pay first,” the cashier stammered, smiling nervously.

The man exhaled sharply, turning back toward the counter, and you could tell he was ready to start another argument. Before he could, you reached forward, holding out your own card.

The cashier hesitated, then quickly scanned it. Transaction approved.

A tense silence followed as both men stared at you.

You stepped forward, snatched up the pack, and met the man’s gaze. Without a word, you turned on your heel and walked out the door.

The door jingled again as you stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You barely had time to glance up at the sky before hearing the chime a second time—he was following you. Not your intention, but it seemed your look had given him the impression that he should.

“Your card’s probably just blocked,” you said as he came to stand beside you. “You’ll have to get it sorted at your bank tomorrow. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Yeah? And what am I supposed to do until then?” He huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Can’t pay for my motel. And why’d you pay for my cigarettes?” His gaze flickered to the pack still in your hand, his craving for nicotine evident in his tense posture.

You smirked, sliding a cigarette between your lips. “Who says I bought them for you?” you teased, looking up at him through your lashes. “And yeah, depending on your bank, you can get it fixed pretty fast.”

For a moment, he just stared, dumbfounded. Something flickered in his eyes—confusion, curiosity, maybe a mix of both. Then, without a word, he stepped closer, pulling out a lighter and flicking it open. You leaned in slightly, letting him light your cigarette before inhaling deeply and nodding.

“Thanks.”

As you looked around for a moment you barely glanced at the “NO SMOKING” sign plastered on the gas station wall before smirking to yourself. Strictly speaking, lighting up here wasn’t exactly allowed—not with all the fuel around—but neither of you seemed to care and who was gonna stop you anyway? The terrified clerk surely wasn‘t going to start arguing with the two of you again. You turned on your heel, heading back to your bike.

He watched you for a second before sighing, pulling out a near-empty pack from his jacket and lighting one himself. By the time he exhaled his first drag, he seemed a lot calmer.

“Nice bike you got there,” he commented, approaching as you settled onto the seat. He circled it slowly, inspecting it from every angle.

“Thanks. It’s my baby. My sweet little devil.” You grinned proudly, flicking some ash off your cigarette. “You ride too?”

“Mhm. Sometimes.” He took another drag before adding, “Ain’t nothin’ better than the open road at night. That adrenaline rush is unreal.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “Agreed.” Then, after a beat, you glanced at him. “So, what’s the plan now?”

He shrugged, exhaling smoke into the night air. His eyes lingered on you, watching as you brought the cigarette to your lips again, the soft stretch of your neck catching his attention.

“Dunno yet. Gotta figure out where I’m sleeping.”

“Where were you supposed to stay?”

“Some cheap motel around the corner. Ain’t much, but I’m not picky. Except now, I’m screwed without cash or a working card.”

You didn’t need to know about him since you apparently were oblivious to who he was and why he’d pick a cheap motel over a high-end hotel—to stay off the radar.

He paused, then smirked, an idea forming in his head. You caught the shift in his expression and knew exactly what was coming. Raising a brow, you waited for him to say it.

“You don’t happen to know a place a poor guy like me could crash for the night, do ya?” His hands slid into his pockets, and he cleared his throat, playing up the innocent act.

“For free, you mean?”

“Free would be ideal, given my financial crisis.” He smirked slightly.

You snorted. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s highly unlikely.”

“Ah, damn. Guess this poor bastard’s sleeping on the street tonight, huh?” He joked, though there was a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

You exhaled smoke, watching it swirl in the air before glancing at him. “I can take you to the city. Maybe you’ll have better luck there.”

Not exactly the offer he was hoping for, but you weren’t about to let some random guy crash at your place. Still, you weren’t heartless enough to leave him stranded, either.

He pretended to think it over, then nodded. “Yeah, alright. I’ll take that offer. Better than the sidewalk.” Then, with a smirk, he added, “Not as good as the bed of a pretty lady, but, y’know, beggars can’t be choosers.”

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Heh… just jokin’.”

You flicked away the cigarette butt, crushing it under your boot. “Enough talk. Hop on and hold tight—I don’t go slow.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a smirk, he swung a leg over the bike, gripping onto you as he settled in behind you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured near your ear, “I can handle it.”

You sped onto the main road leading back to the city, the roar of your engine cutting through the silence of the night. His grip tightened around your waist, fingers flexing slightly as if realizing just how well they fit there.

“You weren’t kidding about not going slow, huh?”

Instead of answering, you smirked and twisted the throttle, accelerating even more. The sudden burst of speed made him gasp in surprise, and you could feel the shift in his hold—both bracing and intrigued. He hadn’t expected someone like you to ride with this much recklessness. It was a refreshing change. His hands slid lower, securing his grip.

“You’re not scared at all, are you?” he yelled over the wind, watching as you weaved effortlessly through the empty road, taking sharp turns without hesitation.

“Want me to slow down?” you called back with a chuckle.

“Hell no! I’m enjoying this. Keep going!”

You grinned and maintained your speed, the city lights growing closer in the distance. After a while, he spoke up again.

“Gotta say… you ride a hell of a lot more like a man than a woman.”

You chuckled, taking it as a compliment. You’d never been one for the stereotypical “shy and cute” act some girls put on. That wasn’t you, never had been. You weren’t about to bend to those expectations now.

“Yeah, I’ve always been a bit like a guy.”

He let out a low laugh, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder as he watched the road ahead.

“I like that about you. You’re not one of those weak, fragile little girls. There’s some fire behind that pretty face, I reckon.”

The buildings around you grew taller as you reached the edge of the city, neon signs flickering against the dark sky.

“Yeah, I’m not really into that whole damsel-in-distress thing. I can’t stand people who fake it.”

“I get that. I hate fake people too. Fuck ‘em,” he agreed, his grip shifting slightly. “That’s why I like you. You’re different.”

“You don’t even know me,” you shot back.

“I know enough,” he countered smoothly. “You stuck up for that kid at the gas station when you didn’t have to. You smoke and ride like you’ve got no fear of death knocking at your door. You let a complete stranger sit this close to you on your bike. And you drive like you own the damn road.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more amused. “I’m getting a pretty good idea of who you are, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, you were about to beat that poor boy’s ass. I had to do something. He nearly pissed himself.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was fucking pissed,” he admitted. “I’ll admit—I got a short fuse.”

You didn’t respond, just shook your head slightly. He smirked at that.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you never lose it.” He was fishing, trying to get you to open up, to give him something real. Something he could work with. It bugged him how guarded you were, how you only gave away what you wanted. At the same time, he liked it. You were a puzzle, something different from the usual women who threw themselves at him. There was no way you knew who he was—if you did, you wouldn’t be acting this way. He wanted to keep it that way.

“Depends,” you admitted, keeping your eyes on the road. “Takes a lot to piss me off. But I won’t lie—I’ve got a crazy side too.”

His interest piqued immediately. “Oh, now I wanna see that. What does it take to bring that side out?”

You just shrugged, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. He groaned in frustration behind you.

“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice laced with amusement. “I know there’s a little troublemaker in there somewhere. I bet you and I could get into all kinds of fun together.”

You smirked, arching a brow. “You think I’m the troublemaking type?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” He squeezed your waist just slightly, his smirk evident in his tone. “I’d bet on it.”

“Sweetheart, you ride this bike like you stole it. Not afraid to push the speed, not afraid to take risks—you got balls, girl. And I’ve only known you for twenty minutes.” He smirked, his grip firm on your waist. “I can definitely see you as a troublemaker.”

You sighed, unable to argue. He wasn’t exactly wrong.

“I’m actually a responsible woman, you know,” you countered, though your tone was playful. “Just with a tendency for flippancy now and then. Life’s too short to be boring.”

“So, you’re a responsible bad girl then, yeah?” His grin deepened, and his thumb absentmindedly began tracing slow circles over your stomach.

You noticed the touch immediately, the casual possessiveness of it, but you gave him no reaction—no satisfaction of acknowledging it.

“You could say that, probably.”

He hummed, still idly stroking the soft fabric of your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath. Without even realizing it, his hand moved slightly higher.

“A girl with a heart of gold but still causing trouble—that’s cute. I like that.”

“I keep it harmless, though. I’m not one to intentionally hurt anyone. I try to avoid fights, and so far, it’s always worked.” You shrugged, keeping your voice light.

“Heh… admirable,” he admitted. “I’m the opposite, to be honest. I have a hard time keeping calm. I let my temper get the best of me more often than I’d like to admit.” His voice held a hint of self-awareness. “Especially when I’m pissed. I’m a fight-first, think-later kind of guy, you know?”

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” you replied dryly. “Honestly, I hesitated before stepping in at the gas station. I wasn’t sure how you’d react—I was expecting you to snap at me, one hundred percent.”

To your surprise, he let out a genuine laugh.

“Maybe I would have jumped on that kid if you hadn’t stopped me.” He paused, as if considering something, then sighed. “I dunno… I guess you calm me down.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. It sounded way too soft, too revealing.

“I mean—” he quickly backpedaled, “I just didn’t feel any anger when I looked at you.”

You raised a brow. “I reckon it’s because I’m a woman? Guys don’t usually see me as much of a threat, so there’s less aggression when I step in.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but… I dunno. There’s just something about you. You got that calming effect. Hard to describe.”

The city lights surrounded you now, bright against the night. Up ahead, an ATM glowed at the corner.

“Hey, there’s an ATM. Wanna try one last time?” you asked.

He followed your gaze, exhaling through his nose before nodding. He wasn’t exactly hopeful, but it was worth a shot. You slowed to a stop, and he reluctantly let go of you, swinging off the bike.

He approached the machine, slipped his card in, and followed the steps. Pin entered. Processing… He waited for the inevitable decline.

Instead, the screen flashed „Approved“.

The slot clicked, dispensing a neat stack of bills. He blinked in confusion, then quickly grabbed the cash and shoved it into his jacket pocket before turning back to you with a grin.

“Well, would you look at that. You’re my lucky charm, sweetheart.” He swung a leg over the bike again, settling in behind you.

“Perfect. Want me to take you back to your motel, then?”

He hesitated. He didn’t want to go back—not really. The thought of another empty night alone in that cheap motel wasn’t appealing. But what else was there to do?

He exhaled and rested his chin on your shoulder again, the warmth of your body against his oddly comforting.

“Yeah… back to the motel.”

You revved the engine and sped off toward the outskirts of town. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the rhythm of the ride and the rush of the wind filling the air. The stars above were a scattered blanket of light, growing brighter the further you drove into the dark, less light-polluted stretch of road. It was one of those rare moments where the world felt suspended in time, the night air cool against your skin as you shared this fleeting, quiet connection.

When you finally pulled up in front of the motel, the sound of the engine cut out with a low hum. You glanced over at him, the stillness of the moment hanging between you. He didn’t get off immediately, his hands lingering on your waist as if trying to delay the inevitable. The night didn’t seem quite ready to end for him, and you could see it in his posture—he wasn’t ready to let go yet. He could feel the weight of the quiet settling in, a sharp contrast to the usual loneliness he was used to.

His mind was a storm, torn between the urge to ask you and the fear of what you might say, each thought crashing against the other, making it harder to decide whether to ask you or not. He finally had to make a decision.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice came out softer than he wanted, a hint of uncertainty creeping in, stripping away his usual confidence. He cringed internally, his mind racing.

“Yeah, sure. What is it?” You asked, shifting slightly, your feet touching the ground as you turned your head, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He hesitated for a beat, then spoke, his words slow and measured, like he was testing them before they even left his mouth. “Would you… uh, would you mind staying with me for a bit longer? Just… hanging out, you know?” The words felt strange on his tongue, and he hated how vulnerable they made him sound. Axl Rose—frontman of one of the world’s greatest bands—and here he was, feeling like a damn schoolboy. He cursed himself for his nerves. Women didn’t turn him down, so why was this so different?

You glanced at the clock. Almost 3 a.m. “Don’t you wanna sleep? It’s pretty late.”

“Nah, I’m not tired,” he said, the words rushed. “I’m used to not sleeping much.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. His face was inches from yours, and you realized, for the first time, he hadn’t let go of your waist. His hands were still firmly on you. Silence stretched between you, the night air thick and unspoken tension hanging in the balance.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out your pack of cigarettes. Slipping one between your lips, you offered him one, which he took with a quiet nod. You lit it, leaning back against him, your head tipping back as you stared into the sky, the stars above gleaming brightly in the quiet of the night.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from your face, his eyes fixated on the cigarette between your lips, hypnotized by the way the smoke curled into the night air. The way you inhaled, the steady rhythm of the movement, it was almost mesmerizing.

You exhaled, sending the smoke up into the cool air, and his focus didn’t waver. He watched, entranced, before his voice broke the silence.

“You’re even hotter like this,” he blurted, without hesitation or embarrassment. There was no shyness in his words—he meant it, completely and unabashedly, and he wanted you to know that.

You turned your eyes from the stars to his face, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

“You think I’m hot?” The question was playful, confident, as if compliments were something you heard often, but rarely felt sincere.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving you. The way your back leaned into his chest, how your body felt pressed against him—it was comfortable, intimate in a way that surprised him.

“Yeah, I do. And it’s not just the cigarette. Although,” he smirked, “I’m definitely digging seeing you smoke.”

You took another drag, the glowing ember lighting up your face in soft, fiery hues. The night air felt charged, every inhale and exhale building an unspoken connection between you.

“Yeah, I agree,” you said casually, “smoking’s sexy as hell.”

He barely nodded, his focus completely on you. Something about watching you in this moment—smoking, so effortlessly beautiful—made it hard for him to look away. The way the smoke swirled up into the air was almost hypnotic.

“Yeah… I never really realized how hot smoking could make a woman look. But, honestly? No one looks as enticing as you right now. I think I might be developing a new fetish just from watching you.”

Your ears perked up, the hint of interest sharp in your voice.

“A new one? What are your others then?” you asked, a teasing tone lacing your words.

He smirked, clearly enjoying the direction of the conversation. “You really want to know?”

“Sure, skip the boring small talk and tell me something fun—something personal.” Your voice softened, just enough to hint at excitement.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve got a few, probably too many to list.”

“What’s your biggest one, then?” You nudged, trying to get him to open up.

He hesitated, his eyes trailing over your neck, before he finally muttered, “That would be biting, I suppose.”

“Biting?” you repeated, the thrill clear in your voice. “Yeah, I like that too. But not too hard, though. I’m not into drawing blood or anything.”

He chuckled softly, both surprised and amused by your frankness. The idea of marking you, leaving his mark, sent a thrill through him.

“Yeah, not many women like it. Most of them freak out when I bite them,” he said, shaking his head as if reliving the frustration.

“It always depends on how hard you bite,” you mused, “A little stinging pain can be nice, as long as it’s not too much. For me, anyway.”

His eyes lit up with the challenge. You weren’t as innocent as you looked, and that made him want to test the waters, to see how far he could push it. “Yeah, not everyone can handle it the way I do. I like it a little harder than most.”

He couldn’t help but imagine it—your neck exposed to him, your body pressed close. The idea of testing your limits was too tempting to ignore.

“So, what about you?” he asked, a grin tugging at his lips. “Any kinky sides to that angelic face of yours?”

There was a brief silence as you considered the question, taking another drag from your cigarette before answering.

“I’m into sub-dom play,” you said, almost casually.

His eyes widened, taken aback by how open and direct you were about your preferences. His pulse quickened, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. It took him a moment to regain his composure.

“You have a sub-dom preference?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, intrigued. “Which one are you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Well... I love both roles, but I can’t help but get weak when I’m dominated. But only when the guy knows what he’s doing.”

Your words stirred something in him, excitement building in his chest. The idea of having control, of leading you in a way that made you lose yourself—it was a powerful thought. But what intrigued him even more was the way you liked to let go, the way you craved someone who knew what they were doing.

“I like to get pampered in bed,” you continued, voice lowering, almost a whisper. “I like letting loose and just… letting him take control. He doesn’t need me to tell him everything. I want him to make me feel good, to know what I need without me saying it.”

His mind raced, a mix of admiration and desire surging through him. You were different—open, unashamed—and it only made him want you more. He’d been with a lot of women, but there was something about you, about how you talked, how you played with your desires, that made him want to give in to every urge.

“You like a guy who takes charge in bed?” he asked, his voice low and full of heat.

You shrugged, casual but with a glint in your eye. “Sometimes, yeah. But every now and then, I want to have my way too. I just love to tease and play too much to not take the lead sometimes.”

He liked that. The mix of control and surrender, the idea of playing, of teasing. It was like you were speaking his language.

You were special, he thought. No one else had ever made him feel this way—not with just words, but with how you looked at him, how you spoke about your desires. It ignited something in him, a hunger he hadn’t realized was there. He was ready to give in, to play by your rules—but only if you were willing to go as far as he was.

“What else?” Your voice cut through the silence of the night, pulling him back to reality for a moment. You were still leaned against him, both of you quietly smoking your cigarettes. Without realizing it, his hand on your stomach had begun drawing slow, soft circles over your shirt again.

“Well, marking what’s mine,” he said with a shrug. “I like everyone to see what belongs to me.”

“Ah, goes well with your biting,” you noted with a knowing look. “Anything more you’d like to share?”

He hesitated, unsure if he should continue. His list of kinks was long, but something held him back. The fear of scaring you off, of revealing something too intense too soon, lingered in the back of his mind. But before he could speak again, you spoke up.

“What about being bitten? Are you into that too, or do you just want to bite?”

“Not really. I don’t usually let anyone do that,” he said, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “But I think I’d let you.”

“Oh wow,” you responded, raising an eyebrow, “What an honor, huh?” You chuckled, a playful gleam in your eye. He smiled back, his own grin widening as he nodded.“ I’ll take that as a compliment. Do you have more?”

“Definitely.” He exhaled the smoke from his lungs, the night air filling his senses. “Bondage, blindfolds, tying people up, making them helpless and dependent on me. That’s my thing.” He said it bluntly, unable to suppress his curiosity about how you’d take it. He knew many women weren’t into such things—most of the world was pretty vanilla—but he was eager to see where you stood.

“FUCK NO!” You exclaimed, pulling away from his chest, your body shifting away as his hand slid off your stomach, the loss of contact leaving him cold and slightly disappointed.

“Hey, don’t judge me!” he said, trying to defend himself. His usual confidence returned, but there was a slight nervousness beneath it, the worry of pushing you too far.

“No, no, that’s not it… I’m not judging,” you said quickly, your voice softening. “It’s just… actually, I’m kinda into that too, I guess.”

“You guess?” He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised.

“I’ve never tried it, but I really want to,” you admitted, your voice low, but full of curiosity. “It sounds hot, and I think I could be into it.”

His mind raced. Every word you spoke made the scenario in his head feel more real. He had never met someone who seemed to align so closely with his desires. Not only did you seem to meet so many of his sexual kinks, but you were genuinely captivating—your beauty, your personality—it all fit together in a way that he hadn’t expected. You weren’t just a beautiful woman to have fun with. You were someone he could connect with, someone who was intelligent, fun, and willing to explore with him.

“I could tie you up pretty good, y’know?” His voice dropped an octave as his eyes locked with yours, searching for a sign of your true feelings.

You bit your lip, a sudden wave of excitement running through you. Were you really having this conversation in a shabby parking lot, sitting on your bike? For a moment, you hid behind the cigarette, taking a long drag before responding.

After exhaling the smoke, you finally said, “It requires trust and respect, you know.” Your eyes fell to the cigarette in your hand, the words feeling like an invitation in the air between you.

He leaned forward again, his chest pressing lightly against your back. “I respect that,” he murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes were locked on your neck, and before you could react, his lips found your skin.

He kissed you softly at first, then deeper, his lips trailing down to your shoulder where he tugged gently at the collar of your shirt to expose more of your skin. You tilted your neck instinctively, offering him more access. He didn’t hesitate, moving his lips down the soft curve of your neck, occasionally biting, testing the waters. Each nibble grew more intense, the pressure building as you didn’t pull away. Instead, you welcomed it.

The sensation sent a wave of shivers down your spine, a mix of pleasure and slight pain, but it was intoxicating. His lips moved over your skin with purpose, and each time he bit down, the feeling deepened and you felt electric waves running from his lips on your skin, making you wet. Your body responded automatically, leaning into him as his hand traveled down your side toward your thigh, caressing you gently. The soft bite on your shoulder left a mark, and the sensation of his lips, his teeth, and the pressure of his body against yours, made your mind go hazy.

Your legs spread further apart, leaning into his touch. It felt as if your body was on autopilot, craving more. His fingers moved lower, tracing the inside of your thigh, inching closer to the warmth beneath your clothing. Your breath hitched, the tension between you growing thick with anticipation.

His fingers wandered closer to the inside of your thigh, his touch gentle yet possessive. He was still leaving bite marks all over your neck.

“I think… we should head inside now, no?” you mumbled softly, not wanting to cause a scene outside the motel, straddling your bike like this.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying teasing you out here, but you were right. People might still see, and he didn’t want to give them anything to gossip about.

“Yeah, we should. We’ll have more privacy in my room anyway…”

“Yes.” You flicked your cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the tip of your boot before getting off the bike to lock it.

He followed, stepping toward you with an easy confidence, his hand slipping around your wrist, tugging you closer again. The warmth of his fingers sent a shiver up your spine.

„Wait here for a moment.“ He whispered in your ear, his hand not letting go of your wrist until both of your arms stretched.

Axl made a quick stop at the motel reception. The place was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. He pulled out a few bills from his jacket, sliding them across the counter.

“Make it two more.“ He grumbled, extending his time in this cheap motel for two more nights.

The receptionist barely looked up as they took the bills with a bored expression. Axl didn‘t mind that behavior, he was just glad they didn‘t ask any questions. He headed back outside, where you waited by your bike, the orange glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across your face. Without hesitation, he walked up to you, fingers brushing against your wrist.

Without a word, he led you to his motel room door, unlocking it and pushing it open, standing aside to let you in first.

As soon as you stepped inside, he followed, shutting the door behind him and locking it. A small sigh escaped him, relief washing over his features now that you were alone.

He took a step closer, hands finding your hips as he looked down at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

You gazed up at him, waiting—curious.

For a moment, he said nothing, just admiring you. The dim motel lighting cast soft shadows over your skin, highlighting the marks he’d left along your neck and collarbone. He thought you had never looked sexier.

Then, his voice dropped lower. “Turn around for me.”

You held his gaze for a beat before slowly turning on the spot, anticipation humming beneath your skin.

A quiet hum of approval rumbled in his throat as he gently took hold of your arms, bringing them behind you, his grip firm but not forceful. He held your wrists in one hand, using the other to explore—trailing down your sides, fingertips grazing the hem of your shirt before giving it a light tug.

You inhaled deeply, letting yourself sink into the sensation.

Slowly, he began lifting your shirt, exposing inch after inch of warm skin. He took his time, as if savoring every new detail revealed to him, before finally pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor. His gaze lingered on you, drinking in the sight of your bare shoulders, the soft curve of your back, the marks he’d already claimed you with.

Still gripping your wrists, he traced a finger along the strap of your bra, following it down to where it fastened at your back. He toyed with the clasp, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he worked it open with an unhurried patience.

With a small hum of satisfaction, he finally unhooked it, his movements deliberate as he slipped the straps down your arms, releasing your wrists to pull it free and let it fall to the floor.

He took another moment just to look at you. Admiring. Possessing.

A slow hand ran up your arm, tracing to your shoulder. You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of him through the corner of your eye. His expression was dark—hungry.

The moment stretched, thick with anticipation, before he finally leaned in, lips brushing against your shoulder. He started slow, pressing soft kisses along your skin, but they quickly turned more insistent, his mouth trailing up the side of your neck, tongue flicking over the marks he’d already left.

A soft hum escaped you at the sensation.

His hands settled on your hips again, grounding you, keeping you steady as he continued his slow exploration, mouth alternating between kisses and bites. Testing. Teasing.

You leaned back against his chest, giving him better access, surrendering to the way he was claiming you.

“You never told me your name…” you murmured.

He chuckled against your skin, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through you. For a moment, he didn’t answer, choosing instead to press a lingering kiss to your neck before finally whispering,

“It’s Axl.”

“Hmm…” Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

He rewarded you with another kiss, this time just below your ear, before resuming his slow, deliberate path down your neck, shoulders, spine. His hands were moving again, tracing over your waist, your stomach, lower—until his fingers found the waistband of your pants.

You let your head rest on his shoulder, exposing more of your neck to him in silent invitation.

He hummed in approval and undid the button of your shorts, fingers slowly dragging the zipper down. The sound of it in the quiet room sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

He let them fall, hands steadying you as he guided the fabric over your hips, down your thighs, until they pooled around your ankles. He took another moment to simply look at you, drinking in every inch of bare skin now revealed to him.

Then, pressing himself against your back again, he resumed his slow assault on your neck, lips and teeth trailing over your shoulder blades. His hold on you tightened just enough to make you feel it.

You let your eyes flutter shut, giving yourself over to the sensation. He was patient. Unhurried. Exactly what you’d been craving.

When he bit down again, just above your collarbone, a sharp gasp escaped you.

He groaned at the sound, clearly loving the way you reacted to him. His lips soothed the sting of each bite, only to move and sink his teeth into another untouched patch of skin.

Every time he did it, you gasped or moaned softly, the sharp pleasure making your pulse quicken.

His hands found your waist again, pulling you closer against him, keeping you flush against his body as his lips ghosted up the side of your neck.

Then, in a breathless murmur against your ear, he finally spoke.

“Are you enjoying this, baby?”

His voice was a low, possessive growl in your ear, his grip firm as he held you close. His lips dragged over your neck, his teeth grazing the skin before pressing another hot, lingering kiss. He wasn’t asking for reassurance—he already knew you were enjoying it. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You smirked, arching your back against him slightly. “Mmm… I don’t know… maybe you should try a little harder?”

Axl stilled for half a second before a dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. You were playing with fire, and he fucking loved it.

“That so?” His hand suddenly tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to remind you who’s in charge then.”

Your smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a sharp inhale. His fingers traced down your thigh, teasing but firm, before sliding back up with a possessive squeeze.

“I’m listening,” you hummed, feigning innocence, though the heat in your voice gave you away.

He smirked against your skin. “Oh, you will be, baby. Every single word.”

You only heard some shuffling behind you, his hands leaving their touch on your body. Without another warning, he grabbed your wrists and expertly secured them behind your back with his belt. The leather bit into your skin—not painfully, but just enough to remind you who was in control. He tested the restraint with a sharp tug, satisfied with the way you gasped.

“There we go. Nice and tied up for me.”

You let out a small, teasing whimper. “Mmm, you should’ve said you wanted me helpless sooner…”

Axl huffed out a low laugh before shoving you forward onto the bed. Your body bounced slightly on the mattress, and you barely had time to adjust before he was on top of you, his presence overwhelming as he caged you in.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Helpless? Oh, sweetheart… you’re not helpless. If anything, you’re about to be ruined.”

A sharp thrill shot down your spine at his words, heat pooling low in your belly. You couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at your lips. “Big talk… hope you can back it up.”

The second the words left your mouth, he grabbed your hips and yanked you back against him, his hard, unmistakable arousal pressing against you. You leaned forward, hands tied to your back while your ass stuck up in the air, on full display for him.

You gasped, your cheek pressing harder into the sheets.

“Still doubting me?” His voice was pure sin, dripping with amusement and dominance.

You swallowed, shifting your hips back against him just to be a little shit. “Mmm, I don’t know… I guess we’ll see—”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, cutting you off.

Your moan was instant, your body betraying you as you arched into his touch.

“That’s what I thought,” Axl murmured, running his palm over the sting he left behind.

You bit your lip, fighting back another moan. “Mmm, do that again.”

His smirk was audible. “Oh, baby. You have no idea what you’ve just asked for.”

With one swift motion, he pushed your panties to the side, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. He let out a low groan at how drenched you already were.

“Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “You love this, don’t you?”

You hummed, rocking your hips slightly into his touch. “I mean… maybe just a little.”

Axl chuckled darkly, leaning down to murmur against your ear.

“Guess I’ll just have to make you admit it properly, then.”

And with that, he pressed a finger inside you, swallowing your gasp with a satisfied smirk.

“Hmm!! Y-yesss!” you groaned, eyes squeezed shut, back arching against the mattress.

Axl didn’t waste time. He shoved another digit inside you, curling them just right. Your mouth fell open with a loud moan, only for him to yank his hand back and push those same fingers into your mouth without warning. His fingers pressed against your tongue, coated in your arousal, and your eyes shot open in shock. The musky, sweet taste of yourself spread across your tongue as he smirked above you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Sucking on my fingers like a good little slut. And to think…” He dragged his lips over your ear, his breath hot. “I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

A needy moan escaped your throat, muffled by his fingers. Your hips instinctively pushed back against him, desperate for more.

He chuckled, clearly entertained by your reaction. “You’re such a needy little thing,” he mused, keeping his fingers in your mouth as his free hand slid over your body, tracing your curves, teasing you like you weren’t already dripping for him. When his fingers finally reached your throat, he pressed just enough to make you gasp.

“You want more, baby?”

You nodded without hesitation, your lips still wrapped around his fingers as you sucked on them slowly, deliberately.

That earned you a low, dangerous laugh. “Oh, you love testing me, don’t you?”

Before you could react, his fingers were gone from your mouth. Then—smack.

The sting on your ass came fast and hard, a sharp crack breaking the stillness of the room. You yelped, a gasp mixed with a moan, pleasure colliding with pain in a way that made your walls squeeze together involuntarily.

“Fuck,” you whined, the burn still tingling deliciously on your skin.

Axl grinned. “What was that? You clenching around nothing like a desperate little thing, hm?” His hands ran over your ass, soothing, only to slap again, harder this time.

You moaned unabashedly, lifting your hips in silent invitation.

He took his time admiring you, his hands kneading your ass possessively. “You got such a nice ass, you know that?” He smirked, trailing his fingers lazily down the swell of your curves. “Could do all sorts of things to you like this…”

The words hung in the air, his touch featherlight now, teasing. Then, without warning, he pushed you forward, pressing your cheek against the mattress further, one strong hand gripping the back of your head, holding you in place.

The power shift sent a thrill down your spine. You were completely at his mercy—helpless, tied up, face buried in the sheets while he loomed behind you. You whimpered when you felt him grind against you, his hard length pressing into your soaked panties.

His grip on your hip tightened as he rutted against you slowly, letting you feel how much he wanted you. “You feel that, baby?” he murmured darkly. “This is what you do to me.”

You bit your lip, tilting your head to the side just enough to meet his gaze. “Mmm, maybe you should do something about it.”

He let out a quiet, dangerous chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You really don’t know when to shut that pretty mouth, do you?”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hair and yanked you up, forcing you to kneel against his chest.

“Hmm, fuck yes, I do!” you gasped, your body already responding to the shift in control.

Axl smirked, pushing his hips against you again, making sure you felt every inch of him through his pants. “That’s what I thought.” One of his hands trailed down, slipping effortlessly into your panties again. His fingers found your clit with ease, dipping lower and smearing your slickness across the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your body melted against him instantly. “Ohhh… fuck—”

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, holding you by the hair, his fingers rubbing slow, agonizing circles over your clit. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, your head falling back against his shoulder.

His grip on your hair tightened slightly. “Use your words.”

“Feels so good,” you moaned, pressing your thighs together, trying to chase the pleasure.

He let out a pleased hum. “That’s my girl.”

Your breathing grew heavier, your moans louder, and he could feel your body trembling against his. He knew exactly how close you were. He could feel it.

And then—he stopped.

Before you could react, he shoved you forward, pressing your face back into the mattress, your tied hands straining behind you.

“Wh—” you choked out, frustration hitting you like a wave.

Axl smirked at the whimper you let out, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear. “Awww, what’s wrong, baby?” he taunted. “Something not to your liking?”

You groaned in frustration, trying to move, but he had you completely trapped.

He laughed, dragging his hand lazily over your ass. “Speak to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You huffed, pressing your forehead against the mattress, stubborn.

Another sharp slap. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I—I was close…”

Axl hummed, his fingers sliding between your legs again, barely grazing your dripping entrance.

“That close, huh?” His head hovered over your ass, his stubble tickling your sensitive, irritated skin.

“Yes,” you groaned, pressing back against his hand, desperate.

He chuckled darkly. “And what do we say when we want something, hmm?”

You clenched your jaw. You knew what he wanted. But you were too damn stubborn. So you stayed silent.

Another slap, this time to your thigh. You whimpered.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” His fingers resumed their lazy, teasing circles over your clit.

Your body shuddered. You were so fucking close again, and he was still toying with you. You hated it. You loved it.

“No… just—just let me finish, damn it.”

He smirked, satisfied. “Hmm… you wanna cum?”

Your pride screamed at you to stay quiet, but the aching between your legs was unbearable. “Yes,” you finally admitted. “Please…”

He raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound convincing.”

You groaned, writhing against him. “Please… please, oh god, I need it so bad… I can’t take it anymore… I’m begging you… please…”

Axl’s smirk widened. “That’s my good girl.”

He shifted, his face between your thighs from behind. Without another word, he dragged his tongue over your clit, sucking the swollen bud into his mouth as two fingers pushed into you. His pace was merciless, his tongue flicking and circling with expert precision. Your thighs trembled violently as heat coiled deep inside you, tightening—tightening—

You screamed into the mattress, your orgasm ripping through you like a violent storm. Your entire body shook as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Axl didn’t stop, his mouth lapping up everything you gave him, his tongue slow and teasing as he drew out every last aftershock.

You barely had time to recover before he te mattress dipped again and then you heard the door click open.

Your dazed, fucked-out brain struggled to process it.

And then—click.

The door shut.

You lifted your head sluggishly, eyes widening in realization. He was gone. Axl had left you there—still tied up, still bent over the bed, completely exposed, completely helpless. Your breath hitched, a mix of frustration and arousal swirling in your gut.

That bastard.

When you finally caught your breath, the high of your orgasm fading, you became aware of the dull ache in your shoulders and arms. They throbbed from being bent back and bound for so long. You had no idea how much time had passed—it felt like hours—when you heard the door open again. You couldn’t see him from your position, leaving you to wait, heart pounding, anticipation curling in your stomach.

Footsteps. Then warmth as he moved beside the bed, his presence overwhelming even before he spoke. A soft kiss landed on your cheek, unexpected after how he had just used you. Then, without a word, he untied your wrists. The moment the restraint was gone, you sighed, rubbing your sore skin, stretching your stiff arms.

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. He didn’t move away. Instead, he stood there, watching.

Your breath hitched when you realized his gaze was lingering, traveling slowly over your body—your flushed skin, the way you still knelt there in nothing but your panties, the lace bunched around your thighs. He was taking his time, eyes dark, contemplative, hungry.

You shivered.

The shift in energy was dizzying. A moment ago, he had been so rough, so relentless. Now, the way he was looking at you—like you were something precious, something delicate—made your chest tighten. No man had ever looked at you like that before. It sent a different kind of heat through you, made you feel both vulnerable and powerful all at once.

Still rubbing your wrists, you barely had time to register his next words before his deep, commanding voice cut through the silence.

“Come here.” He patted his lap.

A fresh wave of need rolled through you. That voice. It did something to you.

You obeyed instantly, crawling into his lap, your body fitting against him as if it belonged there.

His fingers trailed along your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You’re okay?”

You closed your eyes at the gentle touch, leaning into it, the contrast between his tenderness and the control he wielded over you making you dizzy. “Yeah… my wrists are a little sore, but I’m okay.”

He smirked, lifting your hands to his lips and pressing soft kisses to each wrist. “Yeah, I’ll admit… the restraints weren’t exactly ideal. I had to improvise.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. “It was… effective,” you teased, a smirk playing on your lips. “You wanted me helpless, and, well… it worked.”

His dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” He leaned in slightly. “Did you like it?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he already knew the answer. “I think you know I did,” you said playfully.

His grin widened. “Good. But you were barely restrained.” His finger traced your jaw again, drifting lower, over the swell of your chest, his touch featherlight. “There’s so much more I could do to you.”

A shiver ran down your spine as his hands ghosted lower, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you. “If you can take it, that is. But you did so well for me just now… I know you could.”

You swallowed hard, heart hammering, his praise making you ache for more. “How much more?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His smirk deepened. “So much more.”

His fingers ghosted lower, his touch barely there, but enough to make you squirm. “Tied up properly this time. Helpless while I use you over and over again.” His hands were on you now, palms warm against your bare skin, thumbs circling your hardened peaks. “You think you can handle that?”

A breath caught in your throat, your body trembling in anticipation. The way he was watching you, the heat in his voice, the promise in his words—it sent liquid fire through your veins.

“I can take it,” you whispered. “I can take anything you give me… I want to be good for you.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Careful with your words, sweetheart. Not everyone can take it.” His fingers tightened slightly, teasing you. “You really want to try?”

You moaned softly at the pressure, your resolve unwavering. “I don’t care,” you breathed. “Please… I want to try.”

He hummed in satisfaction. “Stand up.”

Your pulse quickened at the sudden command, but you obeyed without hesitation, pushing yourself up and standing before him, bare and waiting.

He rose from the bed, his presence towering over you as he walked around, retrieving something—a rope. Your stomach tightened. He must have bought it from the gas station just now when he left you lying here.

The air crackled between you as he moved behind you, binding your wrists first, then your ankles. His fingers were deft, ensuring the knots were firm yet not painful, limiting your movement just enough. The restraint sent a thrill through you.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

You sank down, the rough fibers of the rope biting into your skin as you settled onto the floor. Vulnerable. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.

He took a step back, admiring his work, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Your heart pounded. You met his gaze, and despite the restraints, despite the position he had put you in, you felt safe.

“Yes,” you said softly. “I trust you.”

His smirk widened as he stepped closer, tilting your chin up between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a slow drag of anticipation. “How bad do you want it?”

The way he looked at you—the hunger, the control, the need—made your stomach clench with desire. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, I want it so badly.”

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, pulling it down slightly. “Good girl.”

He reached for the waistband of his pants, undoing the button with one hand. The sound of the zipper made your thighs clench together. Then his pants dropped, and you caught your breath.

He was bigger than you expected.

Your mouth went dry, your eyes widening slightly as he freed himself, stroking his thick length slowly. Teasing you.

“You remember what you said, don’t you?” His voice was a dark promise.

You swallowed, your entire body aching for him. “Yes,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “I’ll take it. Please… let me take it.”

His hand went behind your head, grip tightening in your hair, pulling you closer. The heat of his cock was right there, inches from your lips.

“I won’t hold back,” he warned.

A rush of arousal flooded you. “I don’t want you to hold back,” you murmured. “I can take it.”

He exhaled sharply. “Open up, sweet girl.”

You obeyed instantly, parting your lips, surrendering to him.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he guided himself between your lips, pushing deep, filling your mouth, making your throat stretch around him.

A groan slipped from his lips. “Fuck.”

You barely had time to brace yourself before he pushed deeper, your throat tightening as you tried to take him. You gagged slightly but forced yourself to stay still, to let him have you the way he wanted. You could feel the tip poking into the back of your throat, restricting your airpipe.

He exhaled a slow, shaky breath. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

He pulled back, then thrust forward again, setting a pace, his hand gripping the back of your head. You let him take what he wanted, let yourself be exactly what he needed.

And you loved every second of it.

He started pulling back and thrusting in again, slow at first, but quickly picking up speed, fucking your throat with deep, deliberate strokes.

Your moans vibrated around him, muffled and desperate. Your throat still fought to adjust, each thrust pushing you further into submission. The stretch, the pressure—it was overwhelming, but you craved it. Your gag reflex fought against him, your body’s instincts betraying your devotion, but you refused to pull away. You wanted this. You wanted to take everything he gave you, to be exactly what he wanted.

Heat pooled between your legs as you surrendered, pleasure and obedience intertwining. You let yourself be used, let him claim your mouth, and the helplessness only aroused you more. You moaned again, your body shivering as your arousal dripped down your thighs, the ache between them unbearable. You needed him. You needed more.

His grip tightened in your hair, keeping your head steady as he pushed deeper. A sharp gasp left his lips, his breath ragged as he bottomed out. You felt him throb against your tongue, felt the weight of him fill your mouth completely. Then he stilled.

You tensed, the realization hitting you—he wasn’t moving. He was keeping you there, his cock lodged in your throat, blocking any chance to breathe. Your lungs burned almost instantly, your muscles tensing as you fought the instinct to struggle. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, mixing with his low groans of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he murmured, almost to himself. His fingers tightened their hold, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “You feel so good like this.”

Your vision blurred at the edges, dark spots creeping in, your body trembling as oxygen slipped further away. But the dizzying rush of submission, of knowing he was in complete control, sent another wave of heat between your legs. You felt lightheaded, floating in that hazy space between pleasure and surrender, your mind slipping deeper into submission.

Finally, just as your body threatened to give out, he pulled back. His cock slid from your mouth with a wet gasp, a string of saliva still connecting you. You slumped forward, dragging in ragged, desperate breaths, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your lips tingled, your throat raw, but your entire body pulsed with need. Your makeup was ruined, mascara streaking down your cheeks, but the way he looked at you made you shiver.

He ran a hand over your jaw, tilting your face up, his expression dark and full of hunger.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Such a good girl for me.”

A deep shiver ran down your spine. Your body ached for him, your skin burning with need. You had never felt more owned than in that moment, never craved him more.

You looked up at him, your face a mess, makeup smudged and smeared. But it was all worth it, just to see the satisfied gleam in his eyes.

His hand caressed your cheek, gently wiping away the tear that slipped down.

“Do you want to keep going?”

You leaned into his touch, your breath shaky, and nodded slowly, the tension in the air thickening.

“Yes… please… I want you to keep going. I’m your good girl, I can take it.” You whispered, your voice trembling with need, barely able to contain the desperation that clawed at you.

His grin widened, dark and knowing, as his hand gripped your hair, pulling you slightly closer, his breath hot against your skin. With a slow, deliberate step forward, you couldn’t help but let your gaze fall to his tip—hard, thick, and standing proudly in front of you. Your mouth watered, but still, he didn’t move.

You opened your mouth again, eager, your body trembling with anticipation, but he held himself back. His eyes were locked on yours, watching, as if he was savoring your struggle, the way your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath.

You felt your patience snap. The need, the hunger in your veins was too much. You leaned forward, desperate to close the distance, your lips aching to taste him, but he didn’t give in. His smirk only deepened, knowing exactly how much it was driving you mad, how badly you wanted him. He stood there, teasing, controlling, his dominance wrapping around you tighter than ever.

You kneeled before him, your body bound, restricted in movement, but your head was free.

“Your turn,” he said simply, his voice low, his eyes never leaving you. He was curious to see what you would do next.

You still felt a little dizzy from before, your body humming with the aftermath, but your mind was clear enough to know exactly what was expected of you. Slowly, you leaned forward, your body straining against the ropes, but you managed to close the distance, your mouth hovering just inches from him. Your eyes met his, a silent question in them, a plea.

I would love to pleasure you, if you’d let me. Please.

He watched you, his gaze steady, filled with curiosity and desire. You leaned in, but instead of taking him fully into your mouth, you kissed the tip softly, gently—a tender act that surprised him.

He stayed still, the surprise flickering in his eyes before his lips curved into a slight smirk. The sweetness, the gentleness of your touch was unexpected, yet it sent a wave of pleasure through him. It wasn’t what he had anticipated, but somehow, it felt even better. This side of you, so different from what he imagined, was even more intoxicating than he could have ever guessed.

You kept going, switching up your techniques, your lips tracing along his sides, soft kisses and teasing licks that made him twitch beneath you. You focused on the tip, taking him into your mouth a few times, savoring the taste, deliberately taking your time, letting each movement drive him wild. You could feel his heat against your tongue, the pressure building in your chest as you tried to catch your breath, knowing you’d need it for what was coming next.

He watched you, his gaze dark and hungry, his chest rising and falling as he let you take your time. He could tell you were catching your breath after taking him so deep before, but there was something about the way you teased him, taking small, slow tastes, that sent a spark of desire through him. Normally, he would’ve urged you on, impatient to feel more, but something about you—about the way you moved so intentionally, so seductively—made him want to let you keep control for now. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way you kissed and licked, drawing him closer with every deliberate touch.

But soon, you felt him shift beneath you, the tension in his body growing. His patience was wearing thin, the desire building to a point where he couldn’t wait any longer. You knew exactly what that meant—he wanted you deeper. His unspoken demand sent a thrill through you, and you shifted on the ground, adjusting yourself, preparing for the next step.

You could feel him starting to grow impatient, despite letting you set the pace. His need for more was becoming evident, the desire to be buried deep in your throat again making him tense. His eyes locked on you as he saw you shift on the ground, adjusting your position. He knew exactly what was coming next, and anticipation sparked in him. He was eager, hoping you would do as well as before. He tried to stay focused on you, on what you were doing, letting you control the moment for now.

You opened your mouth, your eyes never leaving his as you held his gaze. Slowly, you pushed your head forward, inch by inch, your lips parting to take him in. You could feel him twitch, his erection disappearing into your warm, soft mouth, and you watched him carefully, savoring the moment.

He felt himself sliding deeper, the heat of your mouth enveloping him. The sensation of being swallowed by you was familiar, but what he didn’t expect was the intensity of your eye contact as you took him in. It was a challenge to his usual control, a vulnerability from you that he hadn’t anticipated, but one that made him feel something deeper, something unexpected. For once, he wasn’t the one in charge. The way you surrendered to him in that moment, so utterly vulnerable, sent a jolt of something electric through him.

He watched you, his gaze locked with yours as he felt the warmth of your soft lips taking him in. His heart started to race, an unexpected rush flooding him. It felt different, even for him, and despite how little time you had known each other, this moment felt incredibly intense.

He was losing himself in the sensations of your mouth—your tongue, your lips, the way you enveloped him. He fought to keep control, but you were making it harder for him. The need to give you more, to feel you take him deeper, grew inside him. He reached out, one hand gripping your hair, pulling you forward gently, while his other hand lifted your chin, guiding you, showing you exactly what he wanted. Though deep down, he already knew you understood.

You responded quickly, bobbing your head back and forth, pushing as deep as you could, slowly working your throat with each movement. With every inch, you pushed further, your throat contracting, and you gagged slightly, your eyes watering as you fought to take him. His thumb brushed softly over your jaw, a quiet gesture of reassurance, encouraging you to keep going, even as he felt the pressure building in him.

You pushed harder, your rhythm quickening, and soon, he was bottoming out, the heat of your mouth driving him wild. His eyes fluttered closed, the sensation overwhelming, before he whispered, his voice rough with pleasure.

“Oh yes… fuck, that’s so good.”

He felt you going deeper, your throat opening to take him fully, and he couldn’t hold back the soft moans escaping his lips. The pleasure was overwhelming, and he reached out to steady himself, his hands gripping your hair, guiding you.

His words, a mixture of praise and encouragement, flowed freely, each one urging you on, making you want to go further. You could feel it—his pleasure, his need—and you were determined to make him feel good, to push yourself for him. It wasn’t easy, but the challenge only heightened the thrill, and his words reassured you, made you feel good about what you were doing. You looked up at him, your eyes full of desire and submission, wanting to please him, to be good for him.

You felt him twitch inside your mouth, a sign you were doing it right, and you increased your pace, bobbing faster, your throat working harder to accommodate him. But the deeper you tried, the stronger your gag reflex became. Still, the thrill of hearing his moans, feeling his pleasure, pushed you on. He was losing control, the build-up of his orgasm coming much too fast.

Suddenly, he pulled you off, his grip on your hair tight, and without a word, he grabbed you under your arms, lifting you effortlessly. You gasped as he threw you onto the bed, your body bouncing against the soft surface.

You were completely caught off guard, eyes wide with surprise as you lay there, vulnerable and exposed. Your arms were tied behind you, leaving you helpless, and the only thing left covering your body were your panties. A mix of fear and excitement surged through you as you looked up at him, unsure of what would come next. The uncertainty made your heart race, and though you felt vulnerable, there was an undeniable thrill in knowing he was in complete control now.

He quickly stepped forward, moving you over the mattress until your head hung over the edge. „Now take it like the dirty little thing you are!“

He positioned himself again and looked down and your eyes widened as he moved her over the bed, understanding what he wanted. You had no choice but to take it, hands tied behind your back, and him being above. You felt like a prey, at his mercy.

You held her head up and opened your mouth. He guided his length into your mouth, pushing so deep into you that you started gagging loudly, almost throwing up this time. He looked down to see the veins in your neck protrude, his big cock straining against your throat.

He could see the struggle in your body as he pushed deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate him. The lack of control, with your hands bound, made it all the more intense—completely at his mercy.

A groan escaped his lips as he gripped your breasts, his hands kneading the soft flesh, savoring the feel of you beneath him.

„Take it bitch!!“ He groaned, holding still before he pulled back out to give you time to breathe.

You gasped, taking a desperate breath, her eyes watering again. He left you with no control at all, and it was both exciting and terrifying. Yet you still wanted this, wanted to give him the best head he’d ever gotten, you simply wanted more.

After a moment, he pulled back before thrusting forward again, his hips pushing into your mouth with increasing rhythm, his moans growing louder with each movement. His hands roamed over your body, pinching and slapping your skin every now and then, sending jolts of sensation through you. As his fingers slid your panties down your legs, they began to tease you gently, toying with you.

You tried your best to take him, determined to please him, to give him everything he wanted. Though you couldn’t moan, your body trembled with every slap, your desire building with each touch. You wanted him, wanted to be the good girl he desired, even as he took so much from you.

He felt his orgasm building again, but he wasn’t ready for it to end. With one final push, he drove into you, then just barely pulled back, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.

You coughed, not expecting him to pull back so suddenly. Gasping for air, your whole body trembled, your head still hanging over the edge of the bed. Your eyes stayed locked on him as he stood there, a soft but dominant look on his face. You still wanted more, but it was his call. You would take whatever he gave you—you would be whatever he wanted you to be.

When he calmed down again, he grinned and closed the distance, adjusting your body on the mattress. He gently placed your head back on the sheets, hovering over you now. His eyes trailed down your body with appreciation, his fingers softly stroking your jawline.

“You’re such a good girl for me… I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” he teased, his tone dripping with sensuality.

You couldn’t help but shiver at his words. Your head was still spinning from before, and every inch of your body felt painfully sensitive. With your hands bound behind your back, you were completely vulnerable, your wide eyes locked onto his. There was nothing you could do except take whatever he decided to give you.

A mix of helplessness and excitement coursed through you—he was in control, and the contrast between his dominance and his soft, teasing touches was driving you insane. You wanted him to touch you more, to take more, but all you could do was wait, aching for whatever he decided to give next.

„But I think I want more..“

Your heart pounded against your ribs, a sharp, dizzying thrill washing over you. His voice was laced with something dark and possessive, a promise of more—more control, more pleasure, more of him. It sent a shiver down your spine, igniting that familiar ache deep inside you.

You stared up at him, your breath unsteady, your body already on edge from everything he had done to you. You knew he wasn’t asking; he was just waiting to see how much further you’d let him take you. And you would. You knew you would.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, you gave him what he wanted—your silent surrender. You nodded, slow and obedient, offering yourself up without hesitation.

His smirk deepened, eyes dark with satisfaction. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“You’ve been such a good little slut for me…” His voice was low, gravelly, edged with dark amusement. “I want to know what that pussy feels like. If it‘s as good as those pretty lips.. Do you want me to do that?”

It wasn’t a real question. He knew the answer. He knew exactly what he was doing—teasing, testing, watching you squirm under his gaze.

Heat flooded your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. He was playing with you, making you admit what you both already knew—you wanted him. Desperately. The ache between your thighs pulsed in time with your racing heartbeat, but your lips refused to form the words.

He smirked, watching you, eyes burning into yours, pinning you in place. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t escape the way he saw right through you—saw the way your body betrayed you, the way your thighs clenched, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

His gaze flickered lower, trailing down to your collarbone. Then, without warning, his lips brushed against your skin. A slow, deliberate kiss—warm and possessive.

You inhaled sharply, your body reacting instantly. His breath was hot against you, his mouth lingering, teasing. Every nerve in your body lit up, the anticipation unbearable.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was good with his mouth—too good. The heat of his lips against your skin, the slow drag of his tongue, the way he nipped at just the right spots—it was enough to cloud your mind, to drown you in sensation. You were so lost in it that you didn’t even notice him positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

Then, without warning, he pushed inside.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so wet for me.”

Your eyes flew open as the stretch burned through you, your body tensing at the sudden fullness. He was big, and he filled you completely—too much, too deep, stealing your breath. A gasp tore from your lips, turning into a moan as your body adjusted, pleasure mixing with the sharp intensity of it.

He didn’t wait. His hips snapped forward, driving deeper, making you jolt beneath him. Each thrust was slow but deliberate, dragging out the sensation, making sure you felt every inch of him. He was savoring it, taking his time, enjoying the way your body clenched around him.

“So fucking tight,” he murmured, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go.*

It was maddening. He was giving you just enough to drive you insane—just enough to make you need more, to make you crave it. Your body trembled beneath him, heat pooling low in your stomach, but the words were stuck in your throat. You couldn’t beg, couldn’t demand, could only writhe under him, helpless to his pace, to his control.

And he knew it.

His kisses never stopped, trailing along your collarbone, his lips warm and insistent. Every now and then, his teeth sank into your skin, sharp and deliberate, making you gasp. The sting sent a shudder through your body, but you didn’t pull away—you wanted more. Even when it hurt.

His hips moved with precision, each thrust calculated, each stroke deeper, more purposeful. And then—

He found it.

Your breath hitched, your body tensing as his tip dragged against that spot inside you, the one that turned every thought in your head to static. He felt it—the way you clenched around him, the way your body stiffened—he knew. A smirk ghosted against your skin as his lips pressed into the curve of your neck, victorious.

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice dark and satisfied.

Your body betrayed you completely, trembling, burning up with need. His kisses, his touch, his rhythm—it was overwhelming. You felt yourself slipping further, sinking into him, into the pleasure, until nothing else existed. Just him. Just this.

Your moans grew louder, your back arching, and he used it—used the pleasure to sink his teeth into you harder, to leave his mark. The sharp sting mixed with the drag of his cock, his pace quickening, each thrust pulling a sound from your lips that you couldn’t control.

He was relentless now, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back inside, making you take every inch. Your thoughts blurred, lost in the heat, in the dizzying pleasure, in the way he owned your body completely.

You wanted to touch him—needed to—but your hands were bound, helpless. It frustrated you. It excited you. The restraint only made the desire stronger, made the pleasure burn hotter. You had no control. Only him.

And fuck, you loved it.

He saw it in your eyes—the desperate, frustrated need to touch him, to do something, anything. But you couldn’t. And he knew it. The way your fingers twitched against the restraints, the way your body strained, helpless under him—it only fed his ego, made him smirk. You were unraveling, and he was the one pulling every thread.

“You want to touch me so badly, don’t you?” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Too bad, sweetheart. You’re mine like this.”

He was still holding back, still drawing it out, even as his cock hit that spot over and over, relentless and precise. Your walls clenched around him, your body betraying just how close you were. He could feel it, the way your thighs trembled, the way your breath hitched, the way your moans turned needy and broken.

And then it hit.

Your body arched, the orgasm ripping through you like fire, every muscle tightening as you fought against the ropes, your wrists pulling instinctively—futilely. A pathetic, desperate whimper slipped from your lips, his name tangled in it, pleading and raw. You needed him. More than anything. More than breath. More than reason. You would have done anything he asked in that moment, let him take anything he wanted.

He groaned at the sight of you falling apart beneath him, utterly consumed, and he let you ride it out, let you tremble and writhe, soaking in every second of your undoing.

As the aftershocks left you breathless, he finally slowed, his thrusts turning languid, teasing, drawing out the pleasure until you were panting, your body boneless against the sheets.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice smooth, satisfied.

You lay there, trembling, barely able to process anything beyond the feel of him still inside you, the weight of his body hovering over yours. You were exhausted, spent, and yet… you didn’t want him to stop. You never wanted him to stop.

His dark eyes raked over her, drinking in the way her body trembled beneath him, every reaction fueling his desire. Without hesitation, he pulled out, his hands gripping her firmly as he flipped her over, pressing her face into the sheets. Her breath hitched as he positioned her just how he wanted—her back arched, ass lifted, completely at his mercy.

You could do nothing but let him manhandle you into the position he wanted, your body and mind still reeling from the orgasm he had just given you so effortlessly. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, the anticipation making your heart race. The silence between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension. You could sense his eyes on you, his presence looming, a quiet dominance in the way he waited. Yet there was something playful in it too, like he was enjoying the control, the way you couldn’t help but react to him.

He slapped your ass again—hard. Pushing his cock into your wet folds again, he set a fast pace, gripping your hips firmly as he pistoned into your wetness relentlessly.

Every thrust was getting you overwhelmed by him again, unable to do anything but moan and gasp as he ravaged your body. After all, you did want him to have his fun and use you as he wanted.

Barely able to think anymore, your body started shaking from the impact of his fast thrusts, it felt like you were losing your mind and before you could even open your mouth, the tight knot in your abdomen began to form again, indicating another orgasm approaching.

You were completely lost in the sensations now, every touch, every movement, sending sparks through your body. The fact that you could hardly see him in the corner of your eyes, couldn’t predict what was coming next, only made everything more intense. You felt yourself spiraling, caught in a tide of desire, unable to control the rising heat within you. There was something thrilling about it—the way he could make you lose yourself completely, your orgasm drawing near. You loved the feeling of surrender, of letting him take the lead and knowing you were right there with him, fully in the moment.

His length slid in and out, each thrust grazing that spot inside you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your eyes rolled back as that sweet pressure built, pushing you over the edge—your third orgasm crashing over you. Your walls clenched tight, and the sound of his groan echoed in your ears.

Then, a sharp sting on your ass, the sting of his hand meeting your skin, heightened everything. The pleasure intensified, sending ripples of heat through your core. His thrusts grew desperate, sloppy, but his grip on your hips only tightened, fingers sinking deep into your flesh, keeping you in place almost painfully.

With one final thrust, he came with a guttural moan, his release filling you completely as he held you in place, muscles trembling under his control.

He slowed, then stopped completely, his body pressing against her ass as he took several deep breaths, savoring the moment. Slowly, he pulled his half-hard cock out of her, his gaze lingering on her body, admiring the work he’d done. His eyes roamed over her form for a beat, as if reveling in the power he held over her.

She collapsed onto the bed, her body trembling from the overstimulation. She could feel his eyes on her—burning, possessive—staring at her from behind. It made her acutely aware of her helplessness, of the fact that she was completely at his mercy. Though exhausted and spent, a strange sense of fulfillment settled deep within her, knowing that she had pleased him.

He stood up, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he walked to the bathroom. When he returned, it was with a warm, wet towel in hand. He gently cleaned her, the heat of the towel contrasting with the cool air of the room. She winced when he passed it over her overstimulated clit, her body trembling in response, and he chuckled deeply at the sound of her soft gasp.

Despite her exhaustion, the warmth of the towel felt soothing—each touch, even the slightest, sent waves of sensitivity coursing through her. She couldn’t even look at him as he cleaned her, her body quivering with every delicate motion. It was as though she was going to melt under his care, both overwhelmed and content in the aftermath.

When he was done, he tossed the towel to the floor, his hands moving to loosen the knots on the rope that had bound her.

The feeling of the ropes loosening against her skin was a relief—her shoulders and arms had started to go numb, and the sensation of freedom was almost intoxicating. She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan, savoring the return of feeling in her limbs.

“Tired?” he asked, his voice low and calm, as he casually lay back on the bed, crossing his ankles. He flicked open his Zippo, lighting the cigarette between his lips, the glow casting a dim light over his features.

She nodded, too exhausted to move, let alone sit up. She stayed where she was, her face half pressed into the sheets, staring at the wall across from her. The soft clink of the Zippo flicking open and the smell of tobacco smoke filled the room. She inhaled deeply, the scent oddly familiar and soothing, grounding her in the moment.

He took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs, his eyes still on her, watching through the haze as she lay there, drained of every last ounce of energy. His gaze was possessive, like he could see right through her, enjoying the way she looked after everything.

“You can stay the night if you want,” he said coolly, his tone flat, betraying no emotion.

She slowly opened her eyes, the words echoing in her mind as she processed them. She wasn’t sure what to say—was there even a right response? What did he expect her to say? But one thing she was certain of: she had no energy left to go home, not even enough to stand. She barely had the strength to nod.

He smoked silently, his eyes roaming over her naked form, his gaze admiring her without shame. She remained there, too exhausted to move, and it wasn’t long before she drifted off to sleep, her body shutting down in a deep, peaceful surrender. She didn’t even have the strength to pull the blanket over herself.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and within moments, she was asleep, her body relaxed and her face softly pressed against the sheets. He watched her, taking in every detail—how utterly spent she was, how vulnerable she looked. He enjoyed it all, every aspect of it, and in the quiet of the room, he knew—he wasn’t done with her yet.

A/N: Also potentially a second part coming I guess...

Tagging: @mokshaofficial @nyxxnoir

[maitanii]

unfortunate encounter. inui seishu. 2k

It wasn’t his day. It wasn’t his week either—or his month (or even his year). Not that Inui was particularly prone to complaining, but he was pretty sure someone had cursed him.

First of all, there was missing money—a lot of money—from the store’s register. And, of course, the discrepancy had happened during his shift. Which meant that the irresponsible idiot who worked the early morning shift had done whatever they wanted with the payments and, worse still, Inui hadn’t even noticed.

Reason number two: the stupid shirt. Chifuyu had convinced everyone to wear matching shirts for Takemichi’s bachelor party. Seishu’s first reaction was to throw the shirt on the ground and stomp on it, but Draken gave him two choices: either wear the shirt, or Draken would put it on him himself.

And now here he was, with relentless raindrops falling on his head, the pink shirt with Takemichi’s face on it completely soaked, his bike parked on the side of the road, a scratched car in front of him, and a girl crying over the steering wheel.

Shit, shit, shit.

He’d love to pin the blame on the girl, but she had done everything right. It was him who, in his hurry, had forgotten to check his brakes and ended up crashing into her car. Once he recovered from the initial impact, he’d tried to apologize, but the girl had already started crying and was unable to form a coherent sentence. Which meant he’d have to be the one to explain everything to the officers.

Taking the cigarette from his lips, he pressed his phone harder against his ear, hoping the police would pick up faster. He was supposed to be at the restaurant in an hour, and he still had ten minutes of highway left to go. Not a chance he’d make it. Stupid day and his stupid luck. He was never going to ignore Naoto’s advice about warding off bad luck ever again.

“Hello. Yes.” He kept providing the officer on the line with the location details. “Twenty minutes? Shit. Yes, officer. Understood.”

Shoving the phone into his pocket, he barely resisted the urge to smash it against the asphalt. His white Converse crushed the remains of his cigarette under the sole. Inui ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back. He hated the rainy season.

As if the sky could sense his rising heart rate, the rain decided to come down harder. Two minutes into wondering whether his life was even worth it, he figured that if he killed himself on the spot, Draken would bring him back to life just to beat him up. So, reluctantly, he made his way over to the car, where the girl he’d crashed into still had her head resting against the steering wheel.

He knocked on the car door twice. On the second knock, the girl lifted her head sluggishly and turned to look at him. If it hadn’t been for the terrible situation they were in, he might’ve laughed at the red mark on her forehead from leaning on the same spot for too long. But he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, nor did he want to deal with her tears. When she rolled the window down slightly, Inui took it as his cue to speak.

“I know you probably don’t feel like talking. And as hard as it is to believe, neither do I. But I can’t fill out the damn accident report if I die of hypothermia out here. Would you be so kind as to let me into the car?”

The girl stared at him for a few seconds, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Hugging her bag tightly to her chest, she unlocked the door and gestured toward the passenger seat. Inui didn’t hesitate to climb in.

The inside of the Volkswagen smelled faintly of a strawberry air freshener on its last legs.

After two minutes of silence, the girl straightened up and opened her mouth to speak at the same time Inui did.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was going too fast, and since this road is usually so empty, I got overconfident. I’m really sorry.”

“You’re bleeding.”

They both turned their heads to look at each other. The girl swallowed hard when she caught her reflection in Inui’s green eyes.

“Oh, blood.” Seishu reached for his left leg and confirmed that there was, indeed, a nasty-looking wound. “Great. Just great.”

“Let me see it.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” When the girl nodded, Inui felt somewhat relieved. Not to be heartless, but as long as she wasn’t physically hurt, it was one less thing to deal with. Turning his head, he glanced at his bike through the window. He’d left his helmet on the ground, and now it was acting as a makeshift bucket, collecting rainwater.

“Let me see your leg,” the girl repeated, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts. “Please.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I’ve had friends hit me harder than this. Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m a nurse.”

“Thanks for sharing. I’m a mechanic.”

For the first time since the accident happened, the tension in the air eased, and a soft laugh escaped the girl’s lips. Inui breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, mechanic, at the very least, can you do me a favor and roll up your pant leg?”

Inui raised an eyebrow keeping the poker face. “Roll up my pant leg? Wow, I admit I have nice legs, but we’re moving pretty fast there. Should I light a candle first?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “What? No! That’s not what I meant!” She frantically waved her hands, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. “There’s mud on the path where we crashed! I don’t want dirt getting into the wound—just roll it up a bit so I can clean it!”

“Ah, got it.” Inui nodded with an exaggeratedly serious expression, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. “No candles, then. Noted.”

Seishu took his time rolling up the fabric, his movements slow and deliberate. He’d understood her perfectly from the start, but he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. Force of habit.

The young woman glanced at the wound out of the corner of her eye. It didn’t look too bad, but it would still need to be cleaned and disinfected. She sighed, feeling her eyes begin to well up with tears again. What a perfect day for her period to show up. Just as she was about to bury her arms on the steering wheel, she heard the guy next to her clear his throat.

“If you’re going to cry again, at least give me a heads-up. I think it’d be more awkward if I watch.”

“You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he replied.

She scoffed but couldn’t stop a faint smile from slipping through. Shaking her head, she looked down at her lap, her hands clasped tightly together. “This is a disaster. I’m supposed to be at work in 10 minutes.”

“One of my best friends is getting married in two days. Today’s his bachelor party,” he said, leaning back against the headrest. “Trust me, I’m very aware of the disaster. But hey, at least I’m not dead, and neither are you. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

The young woman shot him a look, squinting slightly. “Is that your way of comforting people?”

“I thought I mentioned I’m a mechanic, not a therapist,” Inui retorted with a sarcastic smile. “Besides, the last time I tried to comfort someone, I ended up getting punched in the face. Not really my thing.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. “Well, mechanic, maybe you should stick to what you know.”

“Thanks for the advice, nurse,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. Then, leaning forward, he gestured exaggeratedly toward his leg. “So, are you going to take care of this wound, or would you rather keep crying while we debate who’s having the worse day?”

The woman sighed and turned to face him, finally making up her mind. “Fine, but first, I’ll need something to clean it with. And don’t even think about handing me a used tissue or something worse, because I swear I’ll leave you bleeding.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied with a half-smile. “I’ve got an emergency kit on the bike. At least I did something right today.”

“A miracle” She muttered under her breath, watching as Inui reached out for the door handle. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the first-aid kit,” he said, already pushing the door open.

“Wait! You’re just going to—” Her protest was drowned out by the sound of the rain hitting harder as he stepped out into the downpour.

He didn’t bother hurrying; he was already soaked from earlier. His shirt clung awkwardly to his frame as he crouched by the bike, opening one of the side compartments. After rummaging for a moment, he pulled out a small, well-used first-aid kit. He didn’t even bother trying to keep it dry as he trudged back toward the car.

Sliding back into the passenger seat with a squelch, he tossed the kit onto the center console and brushed his damp hair out of his face.

“Here,” he said simply, flicking open the latch and pulling out some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

She frowned at the mess he was making. “Great, now my car smells like wet dog. You couldn’t just let me grab it?”

“It’s my bike,” he replied, handing her the supplies. “I’d rather not add ‘letting a stranger mess with my stuff’ to today’s list of mistakes.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, snatching the wipes from his hand. “Fine. But stay still unless you want this to hurt more than it already does.”

He leaned back against the seat, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll try my best, Nurse.”

She worked quickly, cleaning the wound with firm but precise movements. He hissed when the antiseptic hit, but to his credit, he didn’t pull away. When she finished wrapping the gauze, she leaned back with a satisfied nod.

“There,” she said, tossing the used wipes into the small trash bag hanging from the dashboard. “Try not to mess it up before the police get here.”

“No promises,” he said with a lopsided grin, flexing his leg experimentally.

“Good,” she muttered, leaning back in her seat. “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, glancing out at the rain as it hammered down on the windshield, “we wait.”

The tension in the car had eased slightly, leaving only the rhythmic sound of the rain filling the silence.

“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” she asked.

“Not at all” Inui started to get comfortable in the seat and let his forehead fall against the glass of the window.

The radio crackled to life, filling the car with a soft, cheesy love song. Inui snorted. “Great. Mood music.”

The girl rolled her eyes, adjusting the volume. “Would you rather sit in awkward silence?”

He shrugged. “I was kind of enjoying the dramatic tension, to be honest.”

She let out a small laugh, finally seeming to relax. “You’re impossible.”

Another stretch of silence passed, the rain drumming steadily against the windshield. Then, she shifted slightly in her seat.

“I never got your name,” she said.

He considered ignoring the question—keeping things strictly in the “unfortunate strangers” category. But at this point, what was the harm? He’d already bled in her car. That felt like a first-name basis situation.

“Inui Seishu” he finally said.

She gave a slow nod, lips twitching. “Well, Inui Seishu, I hope you know you owe me a car wash after all this.”

He turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And I hope you know you owe me therapy bills for emotional distress.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Add it to your bad luck tab.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “That tab’s already maxed out, sweetheart.”

She grinned, leaning back into her seat as the song on the radio switched to something equally sappy.

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You and Xavier train. Rafayel teaches you to paint. And you have and appointment with Zayne.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Jealous!Xavier, Possessive Behavior, Mild NS!FW

Chapter 7: Checkup

After a day off, a long bubble bath, and an even longer nap, you felt marginally sane again. You would have never pegged Zayne as someone to be as modern as being in an open–? Poly? He didn’t seem to really know what it was, and how weird was that? Zayne’s parents were so traditional, you’d always assume Zayne would be the same. 

An adjustment, that’s all it was. And you spent your Sunday adjusting. Monday morning rolled around and you had forgotten about training with Xavier completely– until a soft knock came at 5:30am sharp.

You remembered it the moment you heard it, and scrambled out of bed. Calling out a hasty, “One minute!” As you scrounge for something to wear. Luckily for you, your limited wardrobe made it easy and you were dressed and ready in only a little over one minute. 

You weren’t exactly gym-chic, but who cared? Xavier clearly didn’t as he smiled brightly at you when you opened the door, “Ready?”

Your mind conjured a too-vivid fantasy of Xavier and Zayne. The sharp contrast between their light and dark– like watching sweet cream being poured into dark coffee. Your face flushed and you nodded, your voice a hoarse squeak, “ Yup.”

Xavier leads you to the gym and he makes sure the both of you have water before getting started. You weren’t sure what to expect but let him take the lead, letting him play ‘trainer and trainee’ which he seemed to enjoy. 

You started off with dynamic stretching and then some cardio. Xavier went to some stationary bikes and so you went too. Side by side, the two of you worked up a sweat for a while, too focused on keeping your heart rates up to really make conversation. 

Then it was on to strength training, and Xavier was…friendly. His fingers were warm when he adjusted your form on squats, and his eyes lingered whenever you finished a set. 

Xavier was remarkably strong for his physique– all precise lithe muscle without much bulk. Like his sword, a precise honed instrument for one thing only. You tried not to stare, but it was hard when you were supposed to be spotting him. 

You were relieved in more ways than one when the workout was over, and from routine alone you prepared yourself for combat drills and sparring next. That’s what the Hunter’s usually did. 

Only Xavier seemed to be done, and he saw your look of confusion and answered it with a proud smile, “We can work back up to sparring. How was today? Comfortable? Or too hard?”

“It was fine.” You answer, rolling your shoulders as that familiar ache settled over your body. It’d been too long since you’d pushed yourself, if you’d had to run from that statler yesterday, you’d probably be out of breath before you could get away. 

“You held yourself well before,” Xavier said, looking down at the water bottle in his hands instead of at your face, “I forgot to say it. But you did well.”

“Oh, thanks.” You said, a sparkle of pride blooming. It felt nice to be complimented on your skill in battle. You had assumed you’d made a fool of yourself, which is why Xavier had asked to train. 

“I need to get to patrol,” He explained, reaching out to place his hand on your shoulder. The thin strap of your workout shirt leaves little protection between your skin and his. His hand was larger than it appeared to be, and it expanded over the majority of your shoulder. His thumb drifted up, pressing into the tender pulse on your neck, and your breathing hitched. 

“What are you…” You breathed, but his hands squeezed slightly and your voice evaporated. 

“Checking your heart rate.” He answered your unfinished question. “It’s important to reach your target heart rate…”

You laughed and felt it shift his hand on you, “I know. Zayne reminds me of my heart a lot.”

“When do you see him next?” He asked, letting his hands fall, but sliding it down your arm as he did so.

“Wednesday. “ You replied, hoping he didn’t notice the little shiver that his benign gesture caused. 

Xavier seemed to think and then nodded, “Good. You can rest tomorrow and we’ll work out again Wednesday morning.”

It felt nice to be included and so you smiled and nodded, “Sounds like a plan. Now, off with you. I’ve got to get started on breakfast before Rafayel drags himself downstairs.”

There was a moment. A tiny almost imperceptible movement that Xavier made towards you, like he might try and hug you goodbye. But he stopped, turned, and left– taking his water bottle and towel with him.

After a quick shower, you start on breakfast. You had bought some premade pastries at the store and heated them up in the oven, and made some quick scrambled eggs. Xavier took a little longer than you to get ready; his hunter uniform is a bit more time-consuming than your sweater and pants. 

He sat down like he always did and asked about your day, what you had planned and if you were going to get your firearm soon. You answered with which rooms you were planning on cleaning and that no, you didn’t have plans for that yet. 

Zayne arrived, looking at his watch and always moving in a rush. The poor cardiac surgeon never allowed a proper breakfast, which is exactly why you got the pastries. You grabbed some parchment paper and wrapped two of the pastries up: a vanilla, and a raspberry. 

“Good morning,” Zayne greeted, setting his coat onto the counter while he moved to read messages on his phone. “Thank you, Y/N for breakfast again but I really have to–”

“I know,” You interrupted him, moving into his line of sight and handing him the warm offering, “Here. You can take it with you. Eat in the car, or in your office. Just make sure you eat.”

Zayne stared at the offered parcel like it was a prize, a sparkle in the gold of his eyes as the sweet smell of the pastries met his nose. He was such a sucker for sweets, and you felt mildly proud of yourself for thinking of it. 

“Thank you.” He said, taking the treats and then picking up his coat. He threw it over his arm and moved towards the door. You turned back to the stove, putting your back to him and heard him gently bid Xavier goodbye. The shuffle of movement makes you assume he’d given him another kiss to his temple. 

You wondered if you asked nicely if you could have one too. But that was ridiculous. Childish, even. You laughed at yourself at such a pathetic thought, but in the next moment there were fingertips in between your shoulder blades, pulling your attention away from the simmering eggs. 

You turned your head, and the fingers at your back moved to the back of your head, pulling you in so Zayne could press a quick, intentional kiss at your hairline. “Thank you, again.” He whispered into your hair, and you could only watch dumbfounded as he turned and left. 

When you finally managed to blink, you saw Xavier with his hand resting on his hand, elbow set next to his empty plate and his eyes staring you down with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Sorry,” You say quickly, turning back to the eggs and facing away from him. “I can tell him to stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You heard the barstool screech against the floor as it was scooted back. A sense of dejavu coming over you as you watch Xavier approach you from the corner of your eye.

“Why would you do that?” Xavier’s voice sounded different now. Lower and darker. 

“B-because he’s…because you two….” You cleared your throat and continued to stir the eggs, turning them more into tiny crumbles instead of thick scrambles. 

The heat from the stove became even more intense as the air around you turned icy. Xavier placed a hand next to the stove and crowded into your space, nearly pressing his back into yours. Heat leaching into you and your senses shivering like the gaze of a predator had fallen on your soft prey skin.

“The only thing wrong with what just happened…” Xavier’s voice was a hushed rumble, like thunder in the distance, “Was that I didn’t get my share…”

You swallowed hard, and tried to keep still. His breath had ghosted across the back of your neck, he must be so close. His lips were only one accidental movement away from your skin. It took more effort than you thought it would to not move. To stay completely still and not move back into him– into the awaiting expanse of him that seemed to pull at you like fishhooks in your bones. 

“Did he not..?” You stuttered, hands having stopped in their movement, “Did he not give you one?”

“No, he did.” Xavier’s hiss was at your ear now, “You said it wasn’t part of your contract…but Zayne has gotten two now, and I’ve gotten none.”

His words knocked something loose in your brain and you set the spatula down and turned. He was close. Close enough you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes, and you found a black void there. It was the angriest you’d ever seen him, “What?”

The arm not braced on the countertop went around you, fingertips grazing against the curve of your spine. His eyes never left you, and his head tilted slightly, “Are you playing favorites, Miss Housekeeper?”

“Don’t–” You squeaked, “I have a name.”

The corners of Xavier’s mouth quirked up, “ Y/N , I’ll ask again. Are you playing favorites?”

Your brain, which was only partially functional at this point, came up with a sharp remark, but what left your lips was, “N-no.”

“Then I should get two, right?” Xavier asked hoarsely, “Or, something equivalent.”

You swallowed again, “Something equivalent?”

“I could give you two.” Xavier ran his fingers up and up and up your back, flattening out just beneath your shoulder blades, “Or you could give me one.”

You recalled the last time Xavier asked you about this, but that had been so different. He’d be almost curious then. Inquisitive instead of interrogatory. He had asked about Zayne’s slip up like someone was passing out candy and he’d been forgotten. This time…this time was an offense. A crime to be punished for, and he was determined to get his due. 

“I thought you were with…” Your voice was barely a whisper, and came out like a guilty plea, “I don’t understand.”

“Two?” Xavier continued darkly, “Or one?”

Your mind short circuited, the touch on your back searing into your skin and misfiring in your brain. You’d never been so overcome before, and by such an innocuous thing. He was asking for a goodbye kiss of all things, and you were getting weak in the knees like some medieval virgin that saw too much ankle. 

But something about Xavier burned so intensely. A nuclear reactor– both subdued and dangerous, and the scent of him was like some potent drug. You felt a bit lost when he was too close, a bit dreamy like you weren’t really here. Like this wasn’t really you. 

“Two.” You heard your voice reply, though you were sure your brain hadn’t thought a thing. 

Xavier hummed, pleased, and pulled you in by his hand on your back. Reflexively, you tilted your head down expecting him to kiss the same spot that Zayne had, but he used his other hand to hold your chin. Tilting your head up and pulling a gasp from your lips. 

His lips pressed against your cheek, nearly on your jaw, and your hand snapped onto his upper arm– searching for something stable to hold onto. 

“One.” He whispered, lips moving against your cheek as he only moved far enough away to inhale. 

You tilted your head back as he moved down, prostrating yourself to his teeth and his desires. He could tear your throat out, bite down and thrash like a dog and you’d let him. What a horrible delectable feeling, to be so at the mercy of someone. 

He pressed his lips again, more open this time so that when he pulled away you felt the cool dot of saliva he left behind, “Two.”

A barely audible whimper escaped you, and you weren’t sure whether to faint or to fight anymore. Xavier pulled away, looking smug and victorious, “There, now I’ll be twice as lucky today.”

He let you go slowly, almost making sure you could stand on your own before he stepped away. On his way out he grabbed a warm pastry, stuffing it in his mouth like his victory meal and leaving the house like a conquering hero. 

You were stuck there. Breathless and standing on a knife’s edge. A part of you wanting to sink into the sticky, syrupy feeling of affection– and the other buzzing with anger at being manipulated. What was that? What was the point of that? 

As soon as you feel like you understand things, then they go and do something else! 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, only that the smell of burning eggs is what broke you from your spiraling thoughts. You quickly moved the eggs and sighed exasperatedly at the black char on the bottom of them. 

Stupid Xavier and his angelic eyes and his devil tongue. Stupid Zayne and his savored affection and sweet touch. They would be the death of you, if something else didn’t get you first. You felt like a bone being tossed into a lion’s den, gnawed at and exposed for their enjoyment. 

Were you a bone to starving lions? Or lion yourself? You realized the only reason you were struggling so much was the idea that you would ruin whatever it was that was going on between them. You were many things, but you weren’t a homewrecker. You wouldn’t participate if it meant coming between them, despite Xavier and his…persuasion.

Cleaning keeps your mind and your body busy. You were sore from your workout from Xavier but it worked in keeping you from thinking too much about your interaction that morning. 

You were debating telling Zayne about it, for transparency's sake. But that made your stomach curl in on itself. What would you even say? ‘Hey, your not-boyfriend demanded a goodbye kiss this morning and I trembled like a touch-starved virgin?’

You sighed and shook your head as you put away the cleaning caddy you had been using, “I should just leave.” You whisper to yourself.

“Where are you going?” A voice spoke from behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

Rafayel grinned down at you, hands on his hips and his shirt covered in splotches of paint.

“What?” You questioned as you let your heart recover from the scare.

“You said you were going to leave, where are you going?” Rafayel shifted his weight onto one foot and jutted out his hip.

“No where.” You replied as you shut the door on the supply closet, “I was just thinking.”

The smudge of pale lavender paint on the side of Rafayel’s lips stretched as he frowned, and he looked unconvinced. He clicked his tongue and you saw him move on from that thought.

“Come with me, I need your eyes.” Rafayel reached out and took your hand, his palm was warm but his fingertips cool and you hoped he didn’t mind the slight dampness on yours.

“You need my eyes?” You repeated as he dragged you along towards his studio. 

Cool, ventilated air hit you as you entered his creative domain. A fan in the corner stirring up a sketchbook and fluttering its canvas pages. It made it almost too cool for comfort here, but Rafayel didn’t seem to mind. 

“I started a new series.” Rafayel explained as he pulled you to the low goldenrod couch. With a little maneuvering he sat you down and then walked over to grab a large square canvas that was leaning against a work table. “Tell me what you think.”

Rafayel held up the canvas in front of him, his paint stained fingers careful to remain along the edges. 

“I’m hardly qualified to critique your work,” You protested.

Rafayel’s pout nearly made you cackle, “You do it. Tell me if it’s too waiting-room.”

You sighed and examined the work. It was soft. That was your first thought. Clearly a depiction of flowers floating on the surface of water. Though it was hazy, the edges all softened and slightly blurred. Dreamlike and ethereal but still very real. Like you could reach out and feel the softness of the petals or ripple the surface of the water.

“It’s beautiful.” You say as you sit up a bit straighter. “It’s so soft. How do you make it feel so glowy?”

Rafayel peers around the edge of his painting and then back to you, “Blending mostly. Reflected light, and making sure the color palette is cohesive.”

He sits the painting down and goes back to you, bending down to take your hand that was sitting on your knee. “Here I’ll show you.” 

And again, you’re being pulled. You pass by three more paintings on the floor that match the one he showed you, all flowers on different liquid surfaces. One is multicolored and iridescent and the flowers are surrounded with bubbles like they’re floating in a bath. Another on shifting wine-dark seawater, edged with churning foam.

He brings you to an easel in the corner, a few other unfinished paintings sit on the floor discarded and a large rectangular canvas sits on its ledge. A workstation is sat next to it, a glass palette on top of it and several containers of long paintbrushes alongside it.

“Sit,” He directs as he pulls a stool over and sets you on in. Placed directly in front of the canvas you feel too much like a kid in front of a fragile vase. One wrong move and it’s shattered. 

Rafayel’s hand settles on your back, sliding down to rest at the base of your spine as he plucks a paintbrush out and hands it to you.

“Hold it back here.” He shows you with his own hand, “And let us just barely touch the canvas.” 

You jerk back as he begins to guide your hand to the painting, “I can’t. I’ll ruin it!”

“There is no ruining it.” Rafayel’s voice is a rumble in your ear, “Just changing. Now, let the brush just barely touch the surface and swirl it. Like tickling it.” 

You can’t help but giggle softly and let Rafayel hold his hand over yours as the paintbrush barely kisses the wet paint. The forget-me-nots have barely come into fruition, Rafayel must have been working on them still as he slides his and your hands to feather the edge of a petal, blending it into the crystalline water.

“Good.” Rafayel coos and you feel his voice as much as you hear it. It slides down you like a shot of liquor sending a shiver down your spine and heat in your belly. 

The fingertips on your back feel like they press harder into you, but you’re sure that’s your imagination.

“Now you try.” Rafayel lets go of your hand. You turn your head to look at him but his expression is unreadable.

“Are you sure?” You ask, still worried about somehow ruining his work.

Rafayel grins, “I’ll just have to make sure you sign your name next to mine on this one. Since you did help.” 

You laugh, “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious, cutie. Your hands have touched it, so I can’t take full credit.” Rafayel hummed and watched you hesitantly continue to blend.

He steps onto your other side and he lowers his chin down onto your shoulder. The weight of him makes you freeze and then your head, but that makes your hair shift over him. And your face was far too close to his.

“How are you getting along?” He asks, eyes glued to the canvas and your frozen brush. You feel the rumble of his voice on your back, “With the others?”

“Oh…um…” Words are hard when you're this flustered. A sane part of you argues for your personal space, but another sadder more starved part of you hushes the other. 

You clear your throat before continuing, “It’s going well. Zayne explained a little about your situation.”

His chin shifts, head tilting closer into your neck, “He did?”

You nod and try to focus on the other flower and not the addition of his hands in your waist, “Mhmm. I got to talk more with Sylus the other day, and Xavier has offered to train with me. It’s nice. I feel like we can all be friends, you know?”

Rafayel huffs and his breath tickles your neck, “Friends, huh?”

He shifts, moving to press himself against your back fully. Boldly. A low inquiring rumble vibrates behind you. “I feel like I should warn you about your new friends , then.”

The seriousness in his tone contrasts against the warm lighting and the tenderness in his touch. Like his body and voice weren’t connected at all. Because he holds you like someone cradles something precious– like he’d held his painting not a few minutes before. Keeping his fingers along the edge to preserve the image. 

But his voice is a drawl. The low tone of a bow across a cello, setting a tone of solemn disdain. He sounded disappointed, or maybe irritated? He was hard to define, and harder to know. It felt like each time you saw him he was something new, and you had to learn all over again. 

“How so?” You whisper, his hand gliding up the curve of your waist and trailing down your arm back to your wrist. His long fingers wrap around you, and pull your brush over to the palette. As if you were his paintbrush, he effortlessly swishes the bristles into smears of his mixed paints, picking up form blobs around the corner to create a deeper hue. 

In an act of puppetry, Rafayel draws you back to the painting and begins to paint with your hand. His chest stretched across your shoulder and his breath brushing against your ear. The silence in the room deafened by the soft brush of his exhale. 

“Zayne is clueless.” Rafayel said, his lips quirking upwards, “For someone so smart, he rarely knows what’s going on. Don’t count on him for answers. Come to me instead.”

His face was on the other side of you now, and you turned to argue in defense of your friend. But Rafayel was already looking at you, smirking. He continued, silencing your protest before it began, “Sylus is a glutton. Don’t give him anything you aren’t willing to give up completely. Unless you want him following you around like a lost little puppy, don’t bother with him.”

The spark of irritation you had felt for Zayne is only stoked higher. You didn’t know Sylus well, if at all, but he hardly deserved to be talked down to like that. A sense of defensiveness swelled in your chest, and you were scowling at him, open mouth ready to argue.

“And Xavier’s a liar.” Rafayel continued, no one in the house safe from his critique it seemed, “He wants to train? Yeah, right. He wants to hoard your time. He’s worse than Sylus sometimes, and he’s twice as jealous.”

You scoff, believing now that Rafayel was making stuff up just to confuse you, “Jealous? Of what?”

The hand holding your wrist and glissading across the canvas stopped, and the grip tightened. Rafayel’s alexandrite eyes turned on you like the sight of a bow, and an arrow was knocked. 

His other arm wrapped around your waist, sliding until his hand was firmly gripping your hip and squeezing until it almost hurt. A darkness brewed in his eyes, expanding like cold-front of an ocean storm. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling pinned. Worse than this morning when Xavier had crowded you up against the countertop. That felt like being cornered. This felt like being snared. You were tangled in a net and the more you moved the worse it got. 

“Of anything and everything that takes your attention away from him.” Rafayel’s words brushed against you, his lips so close. 

You were breathing fast, ensnared in the multicolor of his eyes and the heat from him leaching into you.

“He’s bad at sharing.” Rafayel looked slightly amused at the rabbit-like wideness to your eyes, “The worst of us.”

“I didn’t…” Nonsense is all that could escape you. “I don’t want to get between.”

“Oh cutie .” Rafayel’s hand around your wrist slid down, flicking the paintbrush out of your fingers and letting it clatter to the floor. He grabbed your palm and drew it close. You were completely wrapped up in him now. A little guppy tangled up in the paralyzing fingers of an anemone. “ Are you sure about that?”

Your heart stopped, “What?”

Rafayel grinned and suddenly the ear-popping pressure of his presence backed off. The arm around your waist slid back to settle benignly at your spine, and the hand clenched around yours eased. He blinked and the storm in his eyes was replaced with sunny playfulness, “Don’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

You could feel him dismiss this, and frowned, “No, what do you mean? I’m not trying to get in between you guys. I’m not that kind of person.”

“You’re not? That’s a shame.” Rafayel took a step back and you felt you might fall off your stool without him for a moment. He placed his hands on his hips, taunting you, “It’s too bad you’re already there.”

“What’s that mean?” You stand up, “If I’m causing problems I’ll leave. Is Xavier mad at me? Is that why he–”

“He what?” Rafayel’s chin lowered.

You huffed, “Zayne kissed me goodbye this morning. On the forehead, nothing crazy. And Xavier wanted one too. Only he…he wanted a slightly different one.”

Rafayel scoffs, “He tries to act so cool, but he’s so predictable sometimes. I knew he’d break first. Look cutie, stop thinking of us like some four-way engagement that you’ll somehow put a wedge in. Stop tiptoeing and overthinking.”

“I’m just here to clean. “ You raise your hands in a wall in front of you, “I got put on leave at my job and kicked out of my apartment. That’s the only reason why I’m here. I think you’re overthinking this.”

Rafayel crossed his arms, “Oh, yeah? Well, the last two housekeepers lasted less than a week each. Xavier never even saw them, and you can bet Zayne wasn’t giving them little good-bye kisses. Sylus avoided them like the plague and when he did see them  he made sure to put the fear of God into them. Regardless of how you got here, you’re here now. And it’s different.”

You cross your arms, an unconscious movement to seek some comfort. It was overwhelming to imagine that all four of them liked you enough to not only keep you around but to want you here. 

“Well, save your declarations of love until after I clean your studio.” You say, hoping to deflect some of this pressure. “I’ll be sure to move everything.”

Rafayel laughs and steps forward, reaching out like he might place his hand on the side of your face, but changing his mind at the last second. “Just let me know if you change any of them. So you can sign them too.”

__________________

You spend Tuesday in Rafayel’s studio. He spends a remarkable amount of time not painting. Lazing about on the couch, or flipping through sketchbooks. He mumbles to himself and scrolls on his phone, and only precious few moments are spent actually working. 

It confounds you that he can be such a popular and famous artist if this is how his days look. 

You don’t know why you're irritated with him, and when you first enter his studio its with the intention to wreck it. It wouldn’t occur to you later that anger is just the replacement for confusion, and frankly– embarrassment. 

It takes less than an hour for you to change your mind. You meticulously flatten out the crumpled pieces of sketchbook paper and lay them in a stack. Trash is still thrown away, and the floor is swept in piecemeal. You pick up tubes of paint, wipe beneath them, and place them exactly where they were before. Canvases are shifted to sweep behind and then put back.

Your threat of moving everything turns into an apologetic, agonizing amount of effort to not do that. There is love in Rafayel’s work, and it feels too wrong to try and wound him that way. 

So, you clean the studio and it looks the same as when you started sans scattered papers, trash, dust bunnies, etc. It’s all around just a shinier, more pristine chaos. 

Rafayel tries on more than one occasion to get you to help him again. He lures you in with inquiries about color choices. Which paint brush is your favorite? Can you hold this for me? Here, stand there, you can be my model. No, don’t pout at me miss housekeeper. I’m serious!

The tempestuous aura he had yesterday is gone, replaced by a more familiar pestering. It’s easier to deal with, and honestly a bit fun. He pouts so childishly when you deny him. 

It takes you all day to finish the studio and you’re so exhausted you text Zayne you can’t make dinner and then promptly pass out. 

Wednesday morning rolls around and you wake up before your alarm. Your heart is racing and stomach fluttering. You’d promised to train with Xavier again today before your appointment with Zayne. Your last interaction with the blond has left you unsure of what to expect, and you’re equal parts confused and buzzing with anticipation. 

Xavier knocks on your door and smiles at you with that blinding sweetness. You’re dressed and ready this time, and follow him to the gym like nothing has changed. Had it?

He pushes a little harder today. Like he wanted to make sure you feel it. It distracts you enough to all but forget about the last time Xavier was close to you. The possession in his touch and how you knew for almost certain it wasn’t because of his feelings for Zayne. 

You’re panting and tired by the time you’re done, and only when you're nearly ready to tap out does Xavier relent. 

Xavier tells you you're done and you collapse out of your plank onto the padded floor below. You hear his soft chuckle from above and then his gentle fingers nudging your hair to the side. They trail downward to palm at your shoulder and he helps you up. 

“You did well.” He crooned. His crooked fingers lift your chin and place your water bottle to your lips, letting you drink– keeping you there until he’s satisfied you’ve hydrated enough. 

“Thanks.” You pant in between gulps of air. Leveling out, you go to stand but Xavier is there, offering his hand which you take. He hauls you up and keeps his hand in yours like you might be unsteady. It’s not until you look at your clasped hands that he lets go. 

You part ways and the rest of the morning plays out the same as it had before, only Zayne isn’t there. A note and a text both letting you know he had to leave early. His pretty handwriting on a little sticky note which also assures you that he has eaten. 

You make breakfast and Xavier eats his portion. He thanks you, puts his dish in the sink and then comes to your side. His hand sliding across your back to keep you in place. 

Xavier’s laugh is low as you look up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth. He tilts his head, “Does it make you uncomfortable? If it’s not Zayne?”

Your mouth falls open, “No. I mean…maybe. It’s new. That’s all.”

“New.” He repeats the word like he's tasting it. Letting it mull in his mouth as his brows tilt downward. He blinks and focuses back on you, “So then– one, or two?”

Your stomach flips and you keep your clammy hands clenched, “One.”

Xavier’s smile could blind someone someday. It’s a hazard and should be regulated, surely. You nearly stumble and the genuine eagerness that appears in his face. The teasing and amusement melting into something so deeply, and emphatically pure.

He happily lowers his head down for you, closing his eyes like you might bestow him a crown. You can’t help but laugh, for all his boyish charms he’s still ridiculously tall and has to practically kneel so you can kiss his forehead. 

Call it a spark of insanity, or perhaps a lack of self-preservation, you step forward, placing your foot in between his. You pinch his chin in between your thumb and forefinger, maneuvering as you wish as you tilt him up slightly. 

His eyes open and he looks so caught off guard that he might faint. You lean in, and Xavier’s breathing stops. 

When you press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, a ragged vulnerable exhale leaves him. Like you’ve wounded him, but simultaneously blessed him too. A too-raw expression making you wonder if you miscalculated. 

“Only one, right?” You ask, all the bravado leaving you at the sudden flash in his eyes. You can almost see him debate, closing the distance himself as his eyes flick down to your lips before going back up again. 

He closes his eyes and nods, “Right. Only a normal amount of luck then.”

You laugh lightly as Xavier straightens up, “Be careful, yeah?”

Xavier pauses to give you another affirming nod and then leaves. 

When you’re alone in the kitchen, you exhale like you’ve just run a marathon and continue with preparing the other two’s breakfast. You’ve learned by now to just put them in containers for whenever they decide to eat. 

Maybe Rafayel was right, and you need to stop overthinking. It did feel remarkably good to just….enjoy. 

You realize you should have asked Xavier for a ride when you realize you don’t have your own transportation less than thirty minutes later. It pains you to order a taxi– the price alone makes your chest hurt, but it's not like it's your last dime anymore. Which is nice. 

The ride to the hospital is spent with its normal amount of pre-appointment nerves. Zayne is ruthless when it comes to your health, and it doesn’t help that you can’t exactly lie to him and tell him anymore. Not when he knows every meal you eat and the amount of sleep you’re getting. 

You greet the receptionist and wait less than five minutes before Zayne comes out to get you. He’s wearing an emerald button up and charcoal vest under his white coat today, and he looks so very good in green. The lab coat doesn’t hurt either. 

His office doubles as an exam room for his patients, and you go over to the table and sit on the crunchy paper when he directs you to. 

The first part is always the same. Vitals. Heart Rate, O2, Blood pressure. He takes a small blood sample and listens to your heart with a good old-fashioned stethoscope. There was plenty of technology that made stethoscopes unnecessary in many cases, but Zayne always said he liked to do things with his own hands, and listen with his own ears.

“How have you been sleeping?” He asks as he scribbles down a note with the stylus on the tablet next to him. “Any more disruptions?”

You shake your head, “I’m sleeping fine. I hardly wake up at night anymore.”

“That’s good.” Zayne replies coolly, “I’m reluctant to prescribe my heart patients with sleeping medication.”

“How are you sleeping?” You turn back to him, “You’ve been at the hospital a lot lately.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes flicker up to you and he shakes his head, “I go where I’m needed. There’s been more fluctuations lately.”

“Ah, I see.” You reply lamely. “That doesn’t mean you don’t need sleep. Are you still sleeping in your office?”

Zayne’s eyes narrow, “I believe this is your examination. Not mine.”

“I worry. That’s all.” You reply quickly. “So, what’s the prognosis, doctor Zayne? How long do I have?”

“I hate those jokes, you know that.” Zayne condemns with an icy look, “You’re doing well. Your vitals are slightly better than the last appointment, and the preliminary blood work is acceptable.”

You nod as Zayne goes over to his desk and you hop down from the exam table to follow him. He places his tablet down next to his computer and then turns back to you, “I’d like you to eat more iron, and make sure you’re resting when you can.”

“Xavier kissed me.”

It’s not the reply you intended, but it’s what came out. Zayne doesn’t physically react beyond looking up at you sharply. 

“What?”

You pick at your nails and scramble to pick up the pieces of your sudden confession. “It wasn’t too crazy or anything! He wanted a goodbye kiss too! And then he did it twice, and then this morning I kissed him back.”

Zayne was silent. His middle fingertip tapping against the lacquered wood of his desk was the only movement besides his eyes. They searched your face and then closed.

“I didn’t want to keep it from you.” You say quickly, “He said… and Rafayel– I’m sorry.”

Oh god, you fucked it up. You crossed a line. You were a homewrecker! You’d crushed Zayne’s heart by kissing his boyfriend and you’d let Rafaye convince you it was ok! You were definitely fucking his studio up now. No canvas was safe. 

“I see.” His voice in a deadly timbre, and you freeze. He approaches you slowly, a deadly prowl like the languid elegance of a jaguar. “Did he make you uncomfortable?

You lick at your lips, feeling suddenly dry, “No. Not really.”

Zayne nods and reaches out, holding your chin and resting his thumb against your bottom lip. The coolness of his touch makes your knees wobble. Zayne never touches you. Never initiates anything beyond chaste and familial contact. This is…

“Was it here?” Zayne asks, eyes locked on where his thumb pulls down your lower lip ever so slightly. 

You try not to move, afraid if you do he’ll flee. This delicate blossom of intimacy he’s given you too precious to lose. 

“N-no.” You whisper, barely moving your lips. His touch becomes a bit firmer, pressing into both your top and bottom lip and you resist the urge to kiss it properly. You’re suddenly very aware of your tongue too. 

“Where then?” Zayne’s whispering now, reserved still like he’s afraid to know the answer. He lets his head drift away from your chin, the backs of his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“M-my cheek first.” You explain, confessing like a child to their teacher. You felt like you were in trouble, but being honest would keep you out of a worse punishment.  Reaching up, you point to the place on your jaw where Xavier had kissed first. “Then…” You swallow, “Then my neck.”

You point that out too, and Zayne’s eyes follow the movement. 

“And you?” Zayne cups your jaw and swipes his thumb over where Xavier had kissed over two days ago. “Where did you kiss him?”

“On the nose. This morning.” You confess. 

Zayne blinks, the gears in his labyrinthine mind turning. You wouldn’t wager a bet to even guess what he was thinking. Flip flopping between fear and tenuous hope. 

His other hand goes to rest on your upper arm, and draws you in. 

“Zayne,” You whisper, moving along with him as he uses the hand on your jaw to tilt your face up. “Are you…Are you mad at me?”

Zayne replies with a hum, “I’m not sure.”

A stab to your gut, you scramble for more apologies. Willing to fall on your sword to gain his forgiveness again. 

“Don’t misinterpret me,” Zayne says a bit firmer, “You’re free to do as you wish. As is Xavier. I just…find myself…” 

He exhales and it sounds like it shakes, but you chock that up to your delirious imagination. 

“I didn’t want to cross that line with you.” Zayne sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to you. “I wanted to keep things professional, so you weren’t uncomfortable. But…but I find myself thinking of it more and more lately. Dreaming of it.”

You sink into his hold, the fear of his anger evaporating at his ragged words. “Dreaming of what?”

The hand on your jaw moves back down to place the tips of his middle and forefinger at the curve of your cupid’s bow, drawing a line down to the corner. “Can I have this spot? Can I ?”

You're suddenly dizzy, and worry for a moment that the taxi you rode here in is in a ditch and you're living out some pre-death fantasy, high on chemicals just before you die. 

Zayne’s head tilts to the side, taking you in. The moment stretches on for ages as your mind– sticky with his honeyed words– slowly begins to understand. He wants to kiss you. He’s asking to kiss you. 

The moment the realization hits you’re nodding and shifting forward, but Zayne is already there. Sliding his hand across your jaw and into your hair, intertwining his fingers as much as he can without grabbing it. 

His lips are warm as they press against you, pushing and pushing until you’re reeling from the pressure. He shifts and you follow, a slow sweet kiss sliding down into something richer. 

Hungry is the word you think of when you feel his lips ply at yours, opening you up from closed-mouth pecks into something more open and wet. Your first taste of him is so deafening you don’t even realize what it is, your mind three steps behind your body. 

Cool and sweet. Like soft butter mints. 

You wonder what you must taste like to him as he draws his teeth against your bottom lip. It must be good because he groans like he’s been wounded, and dives back in with more fervor and heat than before. 

The backs of your legs knock into his desk, a picture frame clattering over and onto the floor. It goes unheard and unnoticed as Zayne’s hands leave your hair to claw at your leg, pulling you up to sit on the edge of the desk. 

You whine into his mouth. A willingly and eager participant as you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping him close. A hedonistic thrall that entwines you both.

 A man possessed. Completely overcome and rendered down to nothing but physicality. His brain must be off, and you were glad it was. Lucid Zayne would never shift the books next to your hips to the side. Never hook his fingers under your knee to ply them apart so he could fit between them. 

He’d never use the wide expanse of his shoulders to hunch over you, slowly but surely pressing you further and further into the desktop. 

“ So sweet.” He groans under his breath and it slides down your spine like the hit of a drug. Settling in your core and you can’t help the breathy moan you answer him with. 

Your mewl is met with a roll of his hips. And it’s the most mind-numbing friction and simultaneously not enough. You cling to him as he grinds again, caught up in his own mind-numbing sensations. 

“We can’t…” You have just enough sense to whisper, remembering where you are. Zayne growls and drags his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking a mark onto your pulse. 

Zayne doesn’t seem to care. Continuing to move his clothed hips against yours until you’re close to tears. Close to begging him to just shift some clothes to the side. Move whatever he has to to get closer. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Like a death knell on the room, Zayne freezes mid thrust. His hips pressed firmly against yours. You’re holding onto his shoulders for dear life, wrinkling his pristine, white coat and his glasses are halfway down his nose. 

“ Dr. Zayne, your next patient is here. I’ve been messaging.”

“Shit.” You curse at the sound of the kind, but timid nurse on the other side of the door. 

“Give me five minutes.” Zayne answers, voice even– like he’d caught up reading a book and not tearing you apart. 

“Zayne.” You say quietly, unsure of what to do now.

He stands up and takes you with him, sitting up on his desk and moving to correct your shifted clothing. With a stern expression, he preens your hair and wipes at your face. 

“I got carried away.” He sounds guilty and you can’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t mind.” You say, hoping he’ll smile. He does. 

He adjusts his clothing and fixes his glasses, “We shouldn’t do this at the hospital.”

You laugh again and shake your head, holding his hand as he helps you off the desk. You help him pick up the scattered decor and set the photo back up. An old photo of when he’d graduated college, his parents standing next to him. 

“Are you alright? I didn’t–” He clears his throat, “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You firmly shake your head, “No you didn’t hurt me. Just the opposite. Unless you start spouting about this being a mistake. That would hurt.”

Zayne reaches out, petting your hair and placing his forehead to the top of yours, “Never. We got carried away, but this was not a mistake.”

“Good,” You reply. “I should go though, before she comes back.”

“Right.” Zayne looks physically reluctant to step away, but he manages it. “I’ll be home for dinner. I’ll see you then.”

You squeeze his hand, the last part of him to let go and then step away. “I’ll see you then.”

__________________________

You’re giddy the whole ride home. Buzzing with returned affection while simultaneously straining under unreleased tension. Any discomfort forgotten until you get to your room. 

You rush up the stairs, thankful no one else is around to see you flee. Locking the door behind you, you throw yourself down onto your bed, fully intending on sliding your hand down your pants as soon as you can. The remnants of Zayne’s touch enough to make you heart-poundingly desperate. 

Only you feel something under you. And you move to see what it is. 

A black box, wrapped in satiny black wrapping and a pretty crimson bow on top. You check for a tag, but find none. A little confused, you open it. Sliding it open and finding another box within. Only this one is more industrial and familiar. A gun case for a handgun. You flick open the latch and open it, surprised to see a 9mm handgun. Carbon black and trimmed with red. The handle and barrel are carved with a pretty scrolling script and down the lines of it are embedded with shiny red resin. It's tasteful. It's elegant. 

Checking the safety you lift it from its cushiony box and examine it closer. When you lift it however, you hear soft tinkling. And see a charm as been hooked to it– a juvenile addition to a very pretty gun. 

At the end of the chain is the cutesy head of a black cat. Smiling and round. It looked like something you’d win in a claw machine. And surely could not have come with a gun like this. 

You look back into the gun case and see a note, which had been placed underneath the firearm. 

A single folded card.

An extra claw for the kitten.

S

You huff in amusement and examine the gun again. Did Sylus really get you a gun? It’s extravagant and a bit odd, but you like it. It’s been a long time since you’d held a gun, and the weight of it was familiar and a bit exhilarating. 

A thought occurred to you as you placed the gun back into its case. Were you being wooed right now?

<- Previous Next ->

[medusapelagia]

24 I have a date

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt:"Go, see if I care." ) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: Pretended Hate ) @aug-kissed (prompt: Hickeys)  Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: no one Words: 1228

“Come on, Steve! Eddie is a friend! He’s the Dungeon Master of the Hellfire Club! You have to come with us and meet him!” Dustin is begging him, while Steve brushes his hair, getting ready for his date.

“Yeah. I heard you say that the first fifteen times. Eddie’s your super cool friend. Way cooler than me.”

“It’s not that! It’s just… we don’t see each other anymore, and if you started to hang out with us maybe…”

“Dustin, kid, look at me. Do I look like the kind of person who can have fun during one of your boring games? And I know Eddie, I attended the same school you attended, did you forget it? And I can tell you that there aren’t two people more different than Eddie and I.”

“Come on! I swear that he’s fun! And he knows a lot of things! And…”

“Things like what? How to sell drugs to high schoolers? Wait! You aren’t taking any of that shit, are you, Dustin?” Steve asks seriously, his arms on Dustin’s shoulder looking at him in the eyes.

“No, I’m not. Fuck, Steve, you sound like my mother! I’m just having fun with my friends!”

Steve lifts an eyebrow, studying him, then he shrugs, “You’re right. You’re too much of a nerd to use those things. But don’t let Eddie or anyone else convince you to smoke with them, ok?”

“But you used to smoke.” Dustin grins, remembering the drugged confession Steve made in a Russian elevator the year before.

“Yeah. Then I got beaten and drugged by Russian soldiers so no, I don’t smoke joints anymore and I don’t want you to smoke either. It’s bad for your brain.” he tells him while ruffling Dustin’s hair, before looking at the time, “Come on. It’s getting late and I have a long shift and a date tonight.”

“Heidi?”

“No.”

“Susan?”

“No.”

“Jennifer?”

“Oh come on! You’re making me look like a fucking monster. I don’t date that much!”

“Oh yeah, because you date them only for one night and then completely forget about every single one of them but you don’t want to spend one night, one night Steve, with me and my friends.”

“I already told you, Dustin, I have a date,” Steve explains tiredly to Dustin who glares at him furiously.

“Well if your dates are more important than me then just go! Go and see if I care!" Dustin yells, bolting out of Steve’s house, and slamming the door loudly behind himself.

“Dustin! Dustin!” Steve calls, opening the door, but the kid is already biking away through the woods to get to the trailer park.”

“Fuck.” he curses under his breath, staring at the boy that disappears behind some trees. 

He wonders if he should follow him but the clock radio tells him that’s already too late and he still has to pick up Robin, so he grabs his dark green vests and gets into his car, driving toward Robin’s house first and then Family Video.

“What’s the long face?” Robin asks as soon as she sits in his car.

“I think I had a fight with Dustin.”

“You think you did or did you actually have a fight?”

“He asked him to join them for one of their game nights and I said no. And he was so pissed he rushed out of my house without even saying goodbye.”

“That’s normal Dustin’s behavior. Don’t think too much about it. I’m sure in a day or two everything will be back to normal.” She replies, smiling, fixing her makeup in the little car mirror.

Steve nods, she’s right, “Maybe I could pick him up before my date, just to talk.”

“That’s a great idea. Who’s the date by the way? I forgot. Jennifer?”

Steve ignores her, “I’m not going to say anything to you. You lost your gossip privileges when you mocked me for taking Heidi to the Championship game!” Steve replies, parking in front of the video store.

It’s a Thursday, so in the afternoon it’s quite calm and they spend almost all their time rewinding the VHS and throwing candies at each other.

Once their shift is finally over, Steve asks Robin if she minds if they make a stop at the trailer park to pick up Dustin and she replies she doesn’t mind if she can keep her shotgun privileges.

The trailer is old and rusty, and Steve’s BMW wheels grind on the gravel loudly.

“The King has come to see his subjects.” Munson grins, smoking a cigarette.

“I’m here to pick up Dustin, is he ready to go?”

“As ready as someone who lost all his friends can be.”

“He what?” Steve asks worriedly.

“Calm down, Harrington, I’m talking about the game,” Eddie replies, smirking, while Dustin leaves the trailer sadder than he was when he first got there.

“You're the devil himself.” Dustin whines, “How could you do that to us.”

“It’s not me, young padawan, it’s just fate.” Eddie winks while Steve manages to fit Dustin’s bike in his trunk somehow and drives him back home.

“Did you have fun?”

“Does it look like I had fun?” Dustin retorts, crossing his arm in front of his chest.

“Today isn’t a great day. Got it. Why don’t we go have smoothies tomorrow afternoon?” Steve proposes but Dustin doesn’t even reply. 

All he says is “Thanks for the ride,” before shutting the door behind him.

“Kids.” Robin replies when Steve drives her home, “Have fun with your mysterious date!” she waves before going home.

Back at Steve’s place, everything seems normal, apart from his room’s window which looks suspiciously ajar, even if Steve knows he left it closed.

He steps quietly to his room, slamming the door open to catch the intruder by surprise, only to find Eddie half-naked on his bed.

“About time, big boy!” he complains, getting closer to him and pushing him against the wall before kissing him hard.

“Fuck you, Eddie! You scared me!”

“Sorry babe, but I know a great way to ask for forgiveness. Why don’t you lose some of those clothes?” Eddie suggests, kissing Steve more sweetly this time.

“Dustin is still pissed at me. For how long do we have to keep up all this pantomime?”

“Are you ready to come out to a group of teenagers who can’t shut the fuck up?”

Steve sighs, Eddie is right as always.

“But when Robin and I move to Chicago you’ll come with us, right?” Steve asks while Eddie leaves hickeys and love bites on his golden skin, humming content.

“Robin knows about it?”

“Not yet. But she’s my platonic soulmate, she would never say no to me.”

Eddie grins, amused, “She’s way tougher than you think, but yeah, if I manage to graduate this year I promise I’ll try to move to Chicago with you. I think Jeff is moving there too. Could find an apartment with him, close to yours, and get in your room by the window. But for the moment my plan is to write ‘I’m sorry’ on your skin with my teeth. Any thoughts?” He asks, latching on Steve’s neck like a vampire and leaving a huge purple hickey.

Steve feels a familiar warmth in his stomach while Eddie unbutton his jeans and opens the fly.

After all, being in a secret relationship isn’t that bad.

[erenthology]

eren spraying his cologne on your coat before you leave for work cus he's possessive like that

whoever sent this, you’re my soulmate. I added a small drabble btw <3 also, rando dave is back

Possessive!Eren who doesn’t laugh when you yell him the “funny” story about how Dave spilled coffee all over himself during the todays meeting..

Possessive!Eren who tries to compete by telling you all the funny jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and acting like a clown for you to laugh

Possessive!Eren who wants to keep all your smiles to himself, who hyper fixates on your hobbies to be able to send you memes and anything you ask for. You should be able to rely on him for anything.

Possessive!Eren who shows up at your work to bring you lunch, but it’s actually to show everyone that you’re taken.

Possessive!Eren who gets mad when you tell him about your co worker who’s broke up with her boyfriend, casually conversing that breakup rates have increased significantly and that couples usually end it within the first 5 years. The very idea makes his eyes flash red for just a second. “Not ours, you can count on that.”

Possessive!Eren who gets worried when you’re late from work. (Mind you it can be anything from an hours to 15 minutes) and starts freaking out. After receiving a text that you’re struck in traffic, he hangs up the call to your office and patently waits for you to arrive home.

Possessive!Eren who’s eyes flash murder when you come home crying after work. He coddles you for the rest of the night and tries to convince you to quit.

Possessive!Eren who has a special folder made for times you’re not at home. He follows the routine of opening your drawer and picking out one of the thin materials you like to call underwear

Possessive!Eren who randomly sends you texts in the middle of the day, “hurry home so I can eat your pussy, I’m hungry”

Possessive!Eren who gets worried when he’s not around you because as long as he’s there, people would know you’re his. He makes sure of it.

Possessive!Eren who always asks you to take time off for a vacation. you sigh, “what would we even do?” He grabs you by your chin, “bike rides, I’ll take you to the beach and feed you, movie nights, I’ll eat you out, fuck you silly, you know, that type of stuff.”

Possessive!Eren is the most demanding man you have ever met. He barks orders like a drill sergeant but never at you, never. His only demand is that you stay close to him so he can keep his eyes on you.

Drabble<3

“Eren, are you listening to me?” No, he wasn’t. You’re wearing an exceptionally pretty outfit today, and he’s overcome with the irrational urge to lock you in the bedroom and keep you for himself only. He swallows and responds, “yh, what’s up?”

You roll your eyes, “I asked if this looks good?” you give him a twirl to showcase your outfit. “I’ve got a meeting with dave first thing and I want to make a good impression. you know how judgeful they can be” you sigh.

At this, his ears perk up, dave? “Who the fuck is dave?” he puts his coffee mug down and shifts his entire attention to you.

Deadpanning, you explain to Eren. “my coworker dave…the one presenting the project we’ve been working on.”

Eren doesn’t pay much attention to what you’re saying. He only remembers one part and makes a beeline for it. “What was that about impressing him?”

“well, obviously I need to make good impressions in the office.”

He’s been staring at you for a while now without saying anything. He looks lost in his thoughts today, you think.

It was hard enough with the outfit itself, he thinks. And now you’re talking about this ugly dave dude? Eren takes his time to calm himself and avoid a fight. “You should wear a jacket with that”, he suggested and goes to get his jacket.

The pieces connect in your mind, “Eren, are you acting jealous again?” you yell for him to hear as he rushes to the hall. He comes back with your fall coat in his hand.

“Hey, I’m not the jealous type.(🙄) But what’s mine is mine.” he says and opens the coat for you to put your arms in. You’re immediately surrounded by the fresh scent of his spicy cologne. His significant smell. The aromatic smell fills your nostrils and overwhelms your senses.

You turn to face him and gets granted with with a wink accompanied by sly smile. “Yh, much better.” he says, more to himself than you. You’ve never felt so protected before you met Eren, even if it isn’t always rational, his primal instincts to keep you to himself makes you feel special.

“Let me know if anyone gives you trouble, alright?” You nod your head, standing somewhat dumbfounded. His heart aches at how adorable you look, increasing his illogical demand to ask you to stay and home and quit your job. He wants to provide for you and keep you all for himself, he’s selfish like that. Instead, he grabs grabs shoulders and begins walking you out the door with an arm around you. He always said you looked extra good around his arm.

“Give me a kiss” he requests, craving your attention like the man-child he is. So you pucker your lips and and give him a chaste kiss. As you pull away, he pulls you back with one hand on your waist and the other cradling through your hair, kissing the hell out of you.

You’re left breathless as he draws back, then goes in for yet another peck before taking your hand and walking you to your car. He’s previously insisted and borderline forced to drive you, but is now comprising, which is rare for Eren.

As you drive to work, surrounded by the smell of your boyfriends cologne, he head back to the kitchen where his phone is and starts stalking the shit out of your companies instagram for the “first”time

He just wants to be aware, nothing wrong with it, he thinks as he then opens a certain album your pictures and videos he’d rather die than let anyone beside the two of you see, it’s his holy shrine.

“Fuck..” he breathes and rubs one out to the sounds of your moans with his face buried in your pillow. He can’t wait for you to get home again.

[sweaters-and-silly]

When The Laces All Caught

Wrote my first full fic in about a decade. Mostly Buck-centric but thinking about Tommy and his home throughout.

Rating: G Words: 2,376

Read on AO3 or below:

Buck crashed as soon as he got home. He’d showered at the station and just stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed. He’d left his jeans, hoodie, and t-shirt in a heap on the floor and fell asleep before he even thought to change his boxers. 

That’s what the morning was for anyway. 

He’d worked 72-on, having switched a shift between two 24s to help out Ravi on B. It had made for a grind of a week but had given him three days off in a row on the back half. He’d survived the shift but fell into the sleep of the dead when he got home. 

It didn’t last. He thinks he might have been out six hours when the scent of fresh smoke roused him. It wasn’t the smoke caught in his hair or the scent of it in sweat, this was fresh and acrid, stinging his nose and eyes. Instinct had him on his feet, pulling on his clothes and dialling 9-1-1. “This is off-duty firefighter Evan Buckley, I’m smelling—” he was interrupted by the blaring fire alarm in his building, “and hearing signs of a fire at 524 Grand Avenue.”

“Buck! Hey,” Josh replied, “you’re our third call from there. We’ve got a fire confirmed, evacuate the building, the 122 is en route.” 

“Thanks Josh, I’m headed out,” he replied. He grabbed his wallet and keys, resisting the urge to start packing the things he valued and instead headed out of the building, leaving his door unlocked. 

Buck was a friendly, curious guy, which meant he knew the names of most of his neighbours and the families who lived on the floor below. Only the sixth and eighth floor were loft style, there were two- and three-bedroom units below him. Four seniors lived in the building, Mr and Mrs Cunningham were away for all of December and January visiting their kids. Mrs. Lawson was spry for her age and lived in one of the lofts. He winced sometimes thinking about the widow tackling those stairs daily but he’d also seen her carry a mountain bike down the stairs so he didn’t dare say a word to her about it. 

He did pound on every door he passed heading to the stairs, making sure people knew to vacate. Once he’d checked his whole floor he went down to five, not just to notify everyone but check on the last senior in the building.

Ms. Klassen was on five and had a bad knee. She could barely handle the stairs in the garbage room and often asked Buck to take a bag down with him when he went. He never minded helping her out, she was sweet and over Christmas had taught him how to make stained glass cookies. She had told him they were her grandson’s favourites and since Buck’s young man wasn’t coming around as much, maybe he should give her Dennis a call. 

Dennis had been mortified that his grandmother was giving his number out. They’d had fun chatting but despite his grandmother’s support, Dennis wasn’t really looking for a serious relationship — “I’m 25, man!” he’d teased. “What were you doing at 25?” and Buck didn’t have a good answer because that year started with a wild night in Peru and ended with him stealing a fire truck for a hookup. 

Buck knocked on all the doors on five, saving Ms. Klassen’s for last.  “It’s Buck!” he called as he banged on the door, hoping it wouldn’t startle her. She answered after several long minutes. Buck had started wondering if he should break it down, just to make sure he could get her out. 

 “I’m coming, I’m coming, I just can’t get Freddy into his carrier!” she was frantic, her glasses were askew, a shawl pulled tight over her shoulders. 

 “OK, I’ll get him, where is he? “ Buck asked, stepping into the room to get a look. He’d been there to make cookies and Freddy had not been a fan of him. He hissed whenever Buck got too close, which was weird because Buck was good with animals. 

 “He’s hiding under the couch, his carrier’s on the coffee table,” she explained, voice shaking. 

 “While I get him, you get a bag and throw in medications you might need tonight for yourself and him,” Buck’s voice was gentle but commanding. The small woman bustled away to follow his instructions. Buck knelt on the ground to find a hissing cat under the couch. He sorely missed the heavy duty gloves on his uniform. He took a breath, reached under and grabbed the angry feline by the scruff, dragging it out and stuffing it into the carrier. The beast clung to his arm digging claws deep into flesh. 

He wrenched his arm free knowing when the adrenaline was gone he was going to regret it. For the moment he just rinsed his arm and wrapped a tea towel around the cuts. 

“Ready to go?” he called out, the cat carrier full of angry cat tucked under his arm. 

“Yes, yes, I’m coming Buck,” she called as she bustled out of the bedroom. “I couldn’t leave my photos of Henry, no one has copies of these,” she explained. It squeezed Buck’s heart to think of those pieces of life that would be lost forever if the fire wasn’t stopped before it got this far. 

“Ok, we have to take the stairs, but I’ll be with you the whole time,” Buck directed her toward the stairs. Mrs. Klassen balked, leaning on her cane. 

“Buck, I don’t know if I can,” she withered a little as she followed him toward the fire door. The smell of smoke was heavier in the stairwell, making Buck’s stomach churn a little. He hated the idea of being trapped with someone in need without his gear. The cat carrier had a shoulder strap, he tossed it around his back making Freddy growl with rage. 

“Then I’ll carry you, we have to go,” Buck’s voice was firm. People were streaming down the stairs still, some carrying far more than he’d thought to grab. 

He’d left Chris’s drawings stuck to his fridge, a set of photobooth pictures of him and Tommy tucked into a book on his shelf, the wooden box of postcards Maddie had saved for him on the coffee table. 

He picked up Mrs. Klassen in a bridal carry, moving quickly and carefully down the stairs with her in his arms. Even not being able to jump the railing and skip the last flight, he had her out of the building in 90 seconds. He set her down in the parking lot, got her settled on a bench with Freddy in his cat carrier, and began to move through the crowd, checking in to make sure no one was hurt and trying to get a rough idea of how many had made it out. 

He looked up and could see the light of flames glowing on the seventh and eighth floor. Whatever started the fire, it had a hold on the building now. 

The 122 screeched into the parking lot, firefighters bustled around, Buck reported to the captain that he’d cleared five and six but didn’t know about the rest of the building. All he could do now was watch, he settled in next to Mrs. Klassen, lending her his phone to call Dennis to come pick her up. 

The air was heated from the flames that had escaped the windows, licking at the quickly darkening sky. He could see his windows from here and watched as they began to glow orange long after the sun set. He felt like the heat was raking over his skin, burning away all the pieces of himself left behind. He knew what had turned to ash, a book Hen had given him for Christmas, half-read on his bedside table, about queer history and LA. The heat would warp the roasting pan Bobby had owned and used before he merged his house with Athena’s, something for Buck to build his cooking collection on. Glass would crack and shatter on his picture frames, the rubber on his mountain bike tires would melt, the frame twisted from the flames. 

He’d lose his clothes, a wardrobe he’d built slowly to be able to showcase the man he’d become from the boy he’d left behind. Souvenirs from three dozen pit stops on backcountry roads and open highways. 

The gaming system he used to keep in touch with Chris. The computer he did his therapy on. The bed he’d bought just four months ago because his old one wasn’t big enough for two grown men. 

He’d lose another couch. It was almost embarrassing the number of couches he’d been through at this point. 

The fire was loud. Mrs. Klassen watched in silence, sometimes her eyes on the building, sometimes her eyes on Buck. Dennis was coming and when he had the chance he needed to call someone and let them know he needed to crash. Maddie, Eddie, Hen, or Bobby, he could have called any of them for a room to sleep but it wasn’t the number he wanted to dial. 

He watched the glass shatter in his apartment as the flames won out. The firefighters pulled out, confident the building was empty, giving up hope on saving this one. 

He’d asked Tommy to move into that loft, asked him why be apart when they could be together, and saw Tommy tell him they’d be better off apart. 

“I’m not your last, I’m your first,” he’d said and it felt like the apartment had caught fire in that moment. A tiny spark that burned when Buck wasn’t looking, that was smothered in baking and family and work and distractions. But it had burned its way through Buck anyway. The flames eating away his life had been there for months, it had just taken until this day, this moment, to manifest. 

He’d tossed that phrase through his mind, replayed that scene in his head a hundred times and wondered at it. Dissected the pieces, ached at the way Tommy had called him Buck, raged at the dismissive attitude he’d had when he talked about what Buck had wanted. 

And for the first time, in the heat of the winter night, waiting for a little old lady’s grandson to pick her up, he remembered what else was said. 

“No matter how bad I wanted to be.”

A truck whipped past on the road and jammed itself into a spot near the firetruck. “Park better, ya mook!” the captain of the 122 yelled after the driver. The noise caught his attention and he looked over to see Tommy flip off the man. 

“Get fucked Deluca!” he called, making Buck blink. 

“Tommy?” Buck stood, looking over at the man. 

“Evan, oh my god,” he jogged over and slammed into Buck bodily, wrapping his arms around his neck. Buck hugged back, feeling his chest tighten and lungs constrict. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked muffled against Tommy’s shoulder, not wanting to pull back yet. Tommy clung to him, not letting go either. 

“I heard the address on the radio when I was leaving work and … I was so worried,” he replied. Buck pulled away, blinking back tears, struggling with the sudden urge to yell or run. He didn’t know what he wanted, feeling so overwhelmed. 

“Why?” was all he could ask. 

“What?”

“Why were you worried? We broke up.”

“Evan,” Tommy’s voice was filled with dismay, “I still care about you.”

“Then why aren’t we together?” 

“I know how this ends—” Tommy began and Buck pulled away sharply, out of his arms a step or two back.

“Do you? Or do you just think you know everything and get cynical and hopeless about the future?” Buck shot back. “Because you said I was unbelievable. You said I was unlike anyone you’d been with before, did you mean that?”

“Yes, of course,” Tommy replied quickly. “But—”

“But nothing. If I’m unlike anyone you’ve been with before you have no idea how this ends. Because you can’t predict what you haven’t seen,” Buck replied. Tommy blinked, his mouth opening and then hanging there as if he lost the words he was trying to say. “And just so you know, what you said about me figuring out relationships and all that jazz? Bi-phobic as fuck. I’m still an adult and I know what I’m looking for.” 

“Uh — I didn’t mean —”

“I need a place to stay,” Buck interrupted Tommy’s floundering. Tommy looked like he was lost again. Buck didn’t mean to keep him off balance but everything he found himself saying needed to be said. “So here’s the deal, I go home with you and we talk this out. We figure our shit out without making assumptions and by actually communicating. Or I call Maddie and crash with her and you lose my number, forever.” 

“Evan, I don’t know—” Tommy began to hedge

“Make a choice, right now, because I’m not watching my life burn down twice,” Buck replied, his chest tight, afraid of Tommy’s answer. He needed to know, needed to feel closure or a future. He owned nothing, every sneaker and book burned to ash. 

“I’m parked over here, come on,” Tommy replied. “We’ll talk.” 

Buck sighed, shaky, he looked at Ms. Klassen, “we have to wait for Dennis.” he said, remembering his responsibility. 

“No dear, there are two dozen first responders here and Dennis is on his way, you go ahead,” she told him. She looked at Tommy sharply, “and you, be good to him. I’ve got three more grandsons I could introduce him to.” The threat cracked a laugh out of Buck’s chest. Tommy nodded at her solemnly and tossed his arm around Buck’s shoulder. 

“C’mon, I better get you home before your neighbour gives you away,” he teased, leading Buck toward his truck. 

“Longshot, but is there any chance I left a clean pair of boxers at your place?” Buck asked, fighting away a yawn. 

“We can make a stop on the way home,” Tommy offered. Buck nodded, getting into the truck and leaning against the window, turning his body to watch Tommy get in. He was on his way home.

[stevie-petey]

episode three: holly, jolly

Jonathan, your Jonathan, would never do this.  He tries to approach you again but you find yourself stumbling back, knocking against Steve’s chest. Hurt flashes in his eyes, you’ve never flinched at Jonathan’s touch, but what he did has changed everything.  Steve places a hand on your shoulder. “See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but that’s the thing about perverts. It’s hard-wired into them. They just can’t help themselves.”  He begins tearing up the pictures, and you can’t believe Jonathan of all people is making you agree with Harrington, yet here you are.

Summary: you and jonathan talk it out and things are better (spoiler alert: they aren't), you somehow end up agreeing with steve harrington ?? then you have a minor breakdown in front of the kids and once again fail to prevent them from experiencing more trauma.

Rating: general, slight cursing.

Warnings: cursing, use of the word “slut”, fem!reader, use of y/n, and description of a dead body. this chapter is pure angst, steve is steve, jonathan is jonathan, and... well. we know how this episode ends.

Words: 6.2k

Before you swing in: hello ! i'm currently in the early stages of chapter 5, and it's a loooong chapter, so i figured i'd treat y'all to this one before taking my time with updating. this chapter was a bit difficult in terms of bug and jonathan, but i promise that they'll have more time later to really figure out why they keep clashing - for better or for worse lol. if their relationship feels stilted: that's why ! after all, season 1 is literally titled: we don't talk about it or have the time. the title has immense meaning for the overall tone of season 1 (and the song for the series shhh). anyways, enjoy <3

-

The next day you bike to school alone, not bothering to see if Jonathan’s car will pick you up as usual. 

The two of you have never fought before, at least not like this. From the moment you met him when you were twelve, there has never been a time where the two of you haven’t been on the same page. You’ve been in sync from the moment you met. 

Now it feels like everything is off between the two of you. It feels as if the tiny planet you live on is now off kilter, angled ever so slightly now, rotating out of sync. The change is almost imperceptible, but it’s there. You can feel it. 

Last night just proved that there’s something wrong with your relationship with Jonathan, but you can’t figure out what.

Jonathan has never yelled at you before, and you’ve never turned your back on him; then again, he’s also never kept anything from you. While he didn’t admit it last night, you know him. He was hiding something from you last night and it frightens you that he seems too ashamed to tell you what it is. 

You trust him, you do, but the guilt you saw in his eyes makes you uneasy. 

As you walk the school hallway towards your locker, you overhear some girls from your English class talking about Steve and Nancy. You normally wouldn’t eavesdrop on such a conversation, but the girls were talking obnoxiously loud and by the tone of their voice, they weren’t being kind about what they were saying. 

“I heard Harrington got little Miss Wheeler to sleep with him.” One of the girls giggles, looking around to make sure no one is listening.  

“What a slut!” Her friend sneers.

You clear your throat loudly, making sure they hear it, and send a glare their way. “Well, aren’t you guys just peachy?” 

The girls lower their eyes and shift uncomfortably, which pleases you. Good. They should feel bad. What does it matter if Nancy slept with Harrington? It’s always the girls who get labeled the slut, never the man who has slept with more girls than classes he’s passed. 

Typical. 

You roll your eyes at them and continue towards your locker, spotting the couple in question up ahead. Your locker is a few down from Nancy’s and usually you’ve been able to avoid their gross lovey-dovey sessions in the mornings since Jonathan is always running late, but since you didn’t ride with him, you’re forced to deal with two hormonal teens who you don’t necessarily like. 

“Hey, Henderson!” 

Steve stops you as you walk past, causing you to look up in confusion. “Yeah?” 

“How’s Byers doing? Ya know, with everything going on?”

You stare at him, trying to figure out what the punchline is supposed to be. Steve may not be a massive dick, but he’s still a dick, and you can’t imagine he’d ever ask about Jonathan given the fact that he can’t even remember Will’s name. 

“He’s… dealing.” You say, uncomfortable with the entire conversation. 

Steve nods, letting out a slight hum. “Well, tell your guy that any friend of Henderson’s is a friend of mine.” He sends a wink Nancy’s way, and it’s then that you figure out what he’s doing. He’s playing the nice guy card, trying to impress her with his “generosity”, and you’ve had enough of idiotic and emotionally constipated men these last 24 hours. 

“Funny, I don’t tell my friends to get fucked, yet here we are: get fucked, Harrington.” Steve’s eyes widen at your words, taken aback, and Nancy goes to say something but you cut her off. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Nancy. Why don’t you ask him why everyone’s staring at you? I’m sure it’ll be a thrilling conversation.”

You shove past the two of them and make your way to class. 

– 

You don’t see Jonathan for your next three classes, which only makes your shitty day worse. Not only have you guys never fought before, but you’ve never done the silent treatment either. As far as you can tell, there’s no reason for him not to be in class today besides your fight the night before. 

When it’s your lunch hour you try to find him, because at this point you just want to put it all behind you and move on to focus on Will. You never got the chance to tell Jonathan about El last night, you hadn’t had the time to before things blew up. 

You wait at your usual corner of the lunchroom for Jonathan, but he never appears. You sigh in defeat and pick at your meal, which honestly looks more like prison food than anything else, trying to figure out what you should do next. 

While you’re thinking, Carol’s obnoxious moans carry through the lunchroom. “Oh, Steve! Steeeve!”

Tommy joins in now, banging the table to get a bigger reaction. You see Steve trying not to smile at their antics, but it’s obvious to everyone how uncomfortable Nancy is. You feel pity for her, she deserves better than Harrington and his immature friends. Then again, you suppose she chose this for herself the second she started dating him. 

King Steve has never hidden who he is. 

You watch as Steve says something to appease her, but something catches Nancy’s eye and she turns to face it. Curious, you turn as well and spot Jonathan staring right back at her. They share a look, one that you can’t decipher, and you feel something twist within your stomach. 

It’s not jealousy, at least, not in that way. Jonathan is your only real friend in Hawkins (the kids don’t count, you recognize how embarrassing that is), and you’ve never had to share him before. Clearly Nancy has taken an interest in him of some sort and Jonathan, being ever the private person, has allowed her to, so you just have to swallow down your pride and accept it. 

Besides, you did always tell Jonathan that the two of you needed more friends. 

Taking a deep breath to will your nerves away, you ditch your lunch and follow after Jonathan. Screw whatever silent treatment is in place, he’s your best friend and you honestly don’t think it’s possible for you to ever be angry at him. It just isn’t in your nature. 

For better or for worse, you could never hate Jonathan Byers. 

You catch Jonathan as he’s leaving the photo developing room. He’s holding some pictures in his hands but quickly hides them away when he sees you. 

“Y/N, hi.” 

You ignore the voice in the back of your head telling you that something’s wrong, that he’s still acting weird with you, but you ignore it because you just want some normalcy in your life. You need your best friend. “Hey,”

“Look, I’m so sorry for what I said last night…” 

You brush him off, “It’s okay, I promise.”

Jonathan huffs at you, exasperated as always whenever you let people get away with things that they shouldn’t. “No, it’s not okay. You’ve been nothing short of amazing and I was the dick who yelled at you for it.” 

The two of you are walking out of the school as you talk, and you let out a weak laugh. “I guess you were pretty awful, huh?”

He doesn’t laugh along with you, instead shaking his head in shame. “You didn’t deserve that, not after all you’ve done for me and my mom. I was lying through my teeth last night, you are family, Y/N.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s genuinely okay-” 

“Bug, I was a dick. End of discussion. I just… sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve your help, you do so much for us. I let it get to me last night, and I’ll never stop apologizing for it.”

You don’t know what to say, caught off guard by the vulnerability. “Just… don’t do that again, alright? If something is bothering you I’d rather you tell me about it than take your frustration out on me.”

“Deal.”

“Anything else on your mind?” 

Jonathan thinks for a moment and you can tell he’s trying to word whatever is on his mind correctly. “While I know you’ve always loved to help, there’s some things that I have to do on my own, okay? Will, my mom… they’re my responsibility, not yours. I mean, not in a bad way-” 

“Hey, I understand. I need to back off a bit, I recognize that now. I’m sorry, bee.” You kick at a rock in the parking lot, “so we’ve got ourselves a deal?” 

The boy gives you a quizzical look and you laugh at him, extending your hand. When he grabs it, you turn the hold into a handshake. “I’ll calm down my fretting antics and you’ll come to me about whatever is on your mind, no matter what; we don’t hide anything from each other.”

The slight smile Jonathan briefly had on his face vanishes. He pales slightly and quickly releases your hand. “Right.” 

You eye him. “Bee, what aren’t you telling me?”

Caught up in conversation, you and Jonathan don’t see Steve and his gang resting against his car until it’s too late. 

“Hey, man.” Steve approaches, effectively ending your conversation with Jonathan. He glances at you. “Henderson, good to see you again.” 

“I highly doubt it.” 

“What’s going on?” Jonathan asks, putting himself between you and Steve. 

“Nicole here was telling us about your work.”  

Confused, you look at Jonathan. “What, did you start another photo series or something?” 

Steve laughs coldly. “You could say that.” 

Jonathan ignores him and pulls you close behind him, ducking his head down to whisper into your ear, “it’s not what it looks like, trust me.” 

“Bee, what-”

“Henderson, want to take a look with us as, you know, connoisseurs of art?” 

You look at Steve now, more confused than ever, but you feel a slight sense of dread. You know that whatever photo he’s about to pull out will be bad. You know it’ll be connected to Jonathan’s behavior last night, to the guilt he’s been carrying, to the way he hid the same pictures from you not even ten minutes ago. 

You look back to Jonathan now, silently pleading with him for more of an explanation, but he averts his eyes. Exhaling deeply, you face Steve. “Show me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonathan says, trying to walk away, but Tommy grabs at his backpack. 

“Hey!” You run up to Tommy and start pulling at the bag, but the guy is twice your size and easily wins, accidentally flinging you to the ground. 

Jonathan runs over to check on you. “Y/N!”

At the same time, Steve berates his friend. “Woah, Tommy, easy man! Henderson isn’t who we’re here for, leave her out of this.” 

Both boys crouch next to you and offer you a hand, but you bat them away. You’re irritated and confused and pissed the fuck off at both of them right now for vastly different reasons. You pick yourself up and brush away some dirt that got on your jeans. “Show me the photos, Jonathan.” 

He looks at you, hurt. “Do you not trust me?” 

“Do you trust me?” Your words hang in the air.

Steve is now right behind you. “Oh man he’s like, totally trembling. He must really have something to hide.” 

Jonathan tries to step closer to you, but Steve is now the one who blocks him. You watch silently as he unzips Jonathan’s bag and pulls out the photos, ignoring the pleading look that your friend sends your way. You trust Jonathan more than anyone else in this world, but something doesn’t feel right. 

The photos are tame at first, though admittedly creepy. They’re all still shots of Steve and his friends from the night before, you recognize the famous pool that the whole school talks about when it comes to Harrington’s parties. 

“Your boyfriend is a creep, Y/N.” Steve says, nudging you with his shoulder as he continues to flick through the pictures. 

“He isn’t my-” 

“I was looking for my brother.”

Jonathan’s words make you freeze. “You went looking for Will without me?” 

Steve says something else, but you don’t catch it. You stare at Jonathan, hurt that he’d search for Will without even telling you first. He’s his brother, you understand that, but what would you do if Jonathan went missing too?

Nancy then appears, causing Jonathan to finally look up to catch your eye, but he quickly looks away. “Here’s the starring lady!”

She laughs nervously. “What?”

Carol explains what was going on, and you’re too upset to speak. There’s too many thoughts going through your mind, but when Carol flashes you a picture of Nancy, naked, it takes everything in you not to throw up. 

Jonathan, your Jonathan, would never do this. 

He tries to approach you again but you find yourself stumbling back, knocking against Steve’s chest. Hurt flashes in his eyes, you’ve never flinched at Jonathan’s touch, but what he did has changed everything. 

Steve places a hand on your shoulder. “See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but that’s the thing about perverts. It’s hard-wired into them. They just can’t help themselves.” 

He begins tearing up the pictures, and you can’t believe Jonathan of all people is making you agree with Harrington, yet here you are. 

Nancy is his girlfriend, and even outside of that, Jonathan had no right taking pictures of her naked without her consent. You agree with Steve’s actions, but then the camera comes into play. He reaches for Jonathan’s camera, causing him to dive forward to stop anything from happening to it, and it’s finally what breaks you from your shock. 

You react as well, shoving past Steve to try and get to the camera first, but it’s no use. He beats you to it, Carol now holding you back as she digs her claws into your skin. Jonathan is being held back by Tommy, and all the two of you can do is watch helplessly as Steve dangles the camera high in the air. 

What Jonathan did was wrong, there’s no denying that, but you know how long it took him to save up for the thing. How many awful shifts he picked up at the theater to pay for it, adamantly refusing any money both you and Joyce offered him to help pay for it. 

This camera was his and his alone. Paid for with his own money, bought for his own enjoyment, his pride and joy. 

“Here you go, man.” Without even hesitating, Steve lets the camera fall to the ground. 

You gasp, watching as the lens shatters and you crouch down to try and piece it back together. Your hands are shaking, you don’t know what to feel right now, but with how badly your hands shake, it’s no use trying to fix the camera; you need something to distract yourself with. 

Jonathan and Nancy join you on the ground, but you’re too overwhelmed to really notice them. The combination of emotions leaves you wondering if you’re about to cry, throw up, or both. It’s only when Nancy begins snatching up the torn pictures that you acknowledge her presence. 

You grab her hand and catch her eye, “I’m so, so sorry.”

She doesn’t respond, only giving you a slightly confused look, and you recognize how stupid it is that you feel the need to apologize for Jonathan’s actions. You aren’t his keeper, and until now you never even considered he’d do something like this, and yet the guilt creeps in. You open your mouth to say something else, but Steve calls her over to join them and she leaves. 

Jonathan is still next to you, remaining silent even after Nancy’s departure. You can feel his eyes on you as you continue to fumble with the broken camera pieces as a gust of wind blows away the remaining photo shreds. 

“Shit!” A shard of glass from the lens cuts your finger, drawing blood. 

“Bug, let me-” Jonathan grabs at your hand to inspect the cut, but you pull away harshly. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“Y/N…” The hurt look on his face is almost enough to make you crack, but the blood drips from your finger and falls onto a picture that somehow didn’t blow away. You look at it, seeing the outline of Nancy’s back in the photo, her beautiful side profile perfectly captured. 

The urge to throw up returns. 

“You’re hurt, let me look at it.” Jonathan pleads, his voice soft, with more empathy than he’s ever shown you these last few days. It’s as if last night never happened. As if you’re some idiot who is always ready and willing to come crawling back to those who discard you whenever they please. 

In a way, you suppose that you are. 

You hate it. 

Jonathan tries to grab your hand again but you stand up before he can. “I said don’t touch me.” 

He tries to grab you once more but again you pull away. Your brain is a mess right now trying to comprehend everything that happened within the last fifteen minutes. You look down at the broken camera pieces still laying on the ground, its glass reflecting in the late afternoon light. 

Those photos of Nancy… 

God, you’re an idiot. 

“Nancy is the reason you were such an asshole to me last night, isn’t she?”

“Y/N, those photos-”

“You knew that the second I looked at you I’d know you’d done something terrible.”

Jonathan is silent beside you, but you don’t need to hear whatever excuse he’ll give you to know that you’re right. Instead of telling you what he did last night, he kicked you out of his home in a guilt-crazed daze, saying horrible things to you that he can never take back. 

Instead of being honest with you, he had been a goddamn coward who hurt you in the cruelest way possible. 

Jonathan runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, you know I’ve never been able to lie to you-”

“So naturally you resorted to screaming at me and saying we aren’t family-”

“I regret what I said, but how was I supposed to tell you about the photos if I don’t even know why I took them in the first place?” 

You start pacing around the parking lot, too overwhelmed to stay put. Jonathan’s words only confuse and upset you more. In the midst of your frantic pacing the cut on your finger begins to bleed more, which causes you to wince and catch Jonathan’s attention.

“Bug, you’re in pain,” his voice is gentle now, the worried crease between his brows now prominent in a way that you’ve always found cute. “I’m not just going to stand around while you’re hurt. Let me help.” 

Unfortunately for Jonathan, his words only piss you off more. 

“You’re not just going to stand around while I’m hurt? That’s fucking rich coming from you, Jonathan.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This entire week I’ve been hurting! I mean,” you let out a laugh laced with tears threatening to spill out. “I lost Will too, did you ever consider that? And I understand he’s your brother and I would lose my mind if anything ever happened to Dustin, but I’ve done nothing but love and support you through this shit show and you haven’t even asked how I’m holding up. I mean, what kind of best friend does that?”

Shame washes over Jonathan. “I didn’t think-” 

“I’ve been exhausting myself trying to help and not once have I considered it a burden because I’m doing this for Will, for you. I’m doing what any decent person is supposed to do, and I’m not asking for praise or-or for a reward but holy fuck, Jonathan! I mean, I understand now that maybe I was bit too much but,”

You’re yelling at him now, all the frustration you’ve been swallowing down these last few days now spills out. “At least treat me like a human being! I mean, the stunt you pulled last night was such bullshit and I was ready to excuse your actions because you’re my best friend and you’re hurting, but then you hide those damn photos from me? Scream at me like I’m some pathetic fucking child because you’re too ashamed of your own actions? We don’t lie to each other.”

Jonathan steps towards you and it isn’t until he’s cradling your head in his hands to wipe away your tears do you realize you’re crying. He’s so tender, gently wiping the tears as they fall, and you feel weak against him, closing your eyes as you soak up the affection. 

“Bug…” His voice cracks, not knowing what else to say. 

You open your eyes now. “You went looking for Will without me… did you even think about what your mom would do if you disappeared too? What I would do if you disappeared?”

“I…”

“And Nancy…” you pull away so that he’s no longer touching you. “That was a line I never thought you would cross. And to lie to me about it, I just… why?”

Jonathan shakes his head, a few tears of his own now beginning to fall. “I don’t know.” 

There’s nothing else you can say; you’ve drained all your energy. A headache is beginning to form and with the parking lot clearing out, indicating the end of the school day, you know you need to leave for work soon. 

Normally when you look at Jonathan, you feel a sense of security, but now all you feel is dread. His shoulders are hunched, the bags under his eyes darker than ever, and at this moment you’re not sure you know who he is anymore. It terrifies the shit out of you. 

“I should go,” you wipe your nose with your sleeve, side stepping Jonathan as you start walking towards the bike stand. 

“You’re leaving?” There’s fear in his voice, and you can hear the undertones of are you leaving me, too?

“I have to work tonight, so I need to-” 

“Let me drive you then, it’s cold and-and we can talk more about this-”

He follows you to your bike and you feel such pity for him. You know he’s right about needing to talk more, but all you want right now is to crawl into bed and pretend that this whole week has been a dream. A horrible, awful dream. 

You offer Jonathan your hand, the cut on your finger no longer bleeding, and intertwine your fingers with his. “I want to be alone right now, okay? Please, just give me some time.” 

He wants to argue with you, you can see it in his eyes, but just like you know him better than anyone else, he knows you just as well. He knows there’s no use trying to change your mind when you get like this; when the feelings become too much and solitude is your only solution. It's happened before in the past, but never with him. 

All he can do is wait for you to come back when you're ready. 

“Okay, I can do that.” 

You squeeze his hand, like you always do, before you let go and bike away. 

He watches as you leave. 

– 

Tonight’s shift is another slow one, which you’re grateful for. 

It was just last week that Jonathan had been driving you, Will, and Dustin to school. You’d been singing some song on the radio and the November air had a slight nostalgia of August warmth. Will and Dustin complained about your singing as you wailed on, Jonathan eventually joining in so that the two younger boys could only cover their ears with their hands and groan in annoyance. 

Now Will is gone, taking the August warmth with him and leaving behind only November cold that leaves your bones feeling raw. 

The laughter is gone, and now you’re afraid that your best friend is gone as well. 

You come home to an empty house, a note on the kitchen counter informing you that your mother is at her knitting club and that Dustin is off with his friends. 

Wonderful. Your brother has once again gone off on some adventure without informing you first. What a lovely addition to your already horrible day. 

You call the Wheeler’s first, hoping that maybe you don’t have to bike around the entire town to find the little shit, but like always: you’re mistaken. 

“I’m sorry, but the boys went out biking right after school.” 

“Oh, lovely then. Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler, have a good night.” 

“You too, dear!”

As soon as you hang up, you allow yourself a moment to just scream. The headache that formed during your fight with Jonathan hasn’t left, you’re tired, you have so much homework that you’re too afraid to even look at, and you still have no idea who El is or what she really knows about Will. 

And now you have to bike all around Hawkins to find said girl, because there’s no way the morons have listened to your orders to stay put with her. 

You check Lucas’ house first, but Erica tells you that they aren’t there and requests that you inform Lucas that her lying fee has been raised to $5. 

“That’s a bit steep, don’t you think?”

“Do you wanna pay?”

“Good point, have a good night then Erica.”

You then search around the middle school, but there’s no sign of them anywhere. After another thirty minutes of nothing, you finally give in to your hunch and bike to the Byers. You’re not sure if Jonathan will be home, but your idiot brother may need you, so you just have to suck it up and check. 

Ultimately you’re glad you do, because as you ride up the driveway you see the boys circling around El. 

“Why did you bring us here?” 

“I have a better question Mike, why did you bring us here?” None of the kids had noticed your arrival, so they all jump at your voice. 

Dustin’s face goes pale. “Y/N! What-what are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you little assholes for an hour now,” you park your bike and step closer to the kids. “Why do you never listen to me when I tell you guys to keep me updated, huh? Do I have a giant sign on my head that says ‘hey, ignore me and treat me like utter shit!’, is that it?” 

No one responds, too stunned by your words. You never cuss at them, and apart from last night, they don’t think they’ve ever seen you so angry before. 

“I’m just so sick and tired of people treating me like I’m some throwaway toy, just casting me aside and forgetting about me until it’s convenient. I have feelings too, isn’t that a wild concept? I mean, who knew Y/N Henderson had any real emotions behind her pathetic need to help everyone around her!” 

Dustin can hear the hurt in your voice and knows that this isn’t just about them sneaking off. You’re upset about something else, someone hurt you and he needs to know who, so he softly asks, “Y/N, what happened?” 

You spin around to face him. “Nothing! That’s what happened! None of you told me anything, everyone has just decided to keep me out of the loop because god forbid I deserve any honesty after years of being there for you guys-”

“Okay, this is definitely about Jonathan then.” Lucas mumbles, which Mike nods in agreement to. 

“This is not about Jonathan-” The sound of sirens cuts you off. 

Everyone freezes, and your heart stops. This is Hawkins, where nothing ever happens; cops don’t just go flying down the street late at night. 

You know, even before you can fully comprehend how, that it’s Will. You can feel it; the sirens are for him, the precious boy you’ve come to love like your own brother. 

Then, to confirm your fears, an ambulance follows behind the line of cop cars, and you feel your entire world shatter.  

“Will…” Mike exhales, and the second the name leaves his lips everyone scrambles for their bikes to follow the cars. 

You know you shouldn’t, you know this won’t end well, but it’s Will. Maybe he’s alive, maybe he simply got lost in the woods and has been wandering around the last three days or so. There’s so many other possibilities, an endless array of explanations, and yet…

Your legs feel heavy as you pedal after the kids. You know that, no matter what you guys end up finding, that nothing will ever be the same again. As you follow, the route you take begins to look familiar, back when you and Jonathan would spend your summers exploring the forest and its surroundings. 

The quarry. 

Suddenly you can’t breathe. “I… I can’t-” 

“Y/N, we have to see if it’s Will!” Dustin calls behind him, too eager to realize exactly where you guys are going. 

If you could just warn them, maybe speed up to block their paths, you could convince them to turn around, but it’s too late. The five of you arrive at the quarry’s edge and toss your bikes behind the fire truck. You see the firemen in the water, sloshing around for something, and you realize what they’re doing a second too late.

Immediately you begin to pull the kids away, not wanting them to see what you desperately hope you’re wrong about, but you’re too late. “Guys, get away from the truck, we shouldn’t be here-”

You’re always too fucking late. 

“Please, we need to leave,” your voice shakes as you try to shield the kids from the sight of Will’s body being pulled from the water.

Mike pulls away from you. “No, it’s not Will. It can’t be.” 

“Mike…” 

The firemen lift the raft up higher and the light lands on Will’s lifeless body, and you feel a piece of you die. He’s always been the smallest of the boys, but as the men lift his dead body out of the water, he’s never looked so small. Will is gone; he’s taken all the light with him. 

Dustin reaches for your hand and is the first to start crying. You pull him into your chest as he sobs. Lucas looks over at you, a silent acceptance in his eyes. “It’s Will. It’s really Will.” 

You grab the boy and pull him into you as well, the two of them now crying as you hold them. All you can do right is hold your boys, staring off into space as you feel them shake with grief against you. This isn’t real. 

From the corner of your eye you see El approaching Mike, and you’re too numb to warn her against it. “Mike…” 

“‘Mike’? ‘Mike,’ what?” He slaps her hand away, which causes you to become alert. He’s hurting, you know Mike loved Will more than anyone else, but he’ll only hurt himself more if he pushes everyone away. 

“Mike, I know you’re upset-” 

He faces you, a betrayed look in his eyes. “Upset? She was supposed to help us find him alive. She said he was alive!” he turns to El now, “why did you lie to us? What’s wrong with you?”

As he yells at the girl you hear his own tears beginning to form, and as you hold his friends, you lean closer to Mike and use your other hand to console him, but he begins to run away. 

Dustin and Lucas watch helplessly as their friend leaves, you all call after him but are ignored. They beg him to stay, too scared to be separated once more now that Will is gone, but Mike doesn’t listen. He grabs his bike, leaving you and the boys alone with El. 

She looks at you, tears in her eyes and a pleading look on her face. She’s looking to you for reassurance, to console her and tell her that everything will be okay with Mike, that he’ll forgive her, but you can’t. 

You also feel betrayed by the girl. You don’t think she was lying, in a sense, but then how can she explain Will’s dead body 50 feet away? El promised you and the boys that Will was alive, but he’s not. 

Tears start to fall down her face. “Y/N?”

You’re sure that when you look back on this moment later, you will have wished that you had done something braver, something more kind to the terrified girl, but you don’t. Instead of wrapping her into your arms alongside Lucas and Dustin, you give El a curt shake of your head, dismissing her. 

It hurts to watch her leave, and you’re ashamed of yourself, but then Dustin lets out another sob while Lucas tightens his hold around you, and you know that you’ve made the right choice for now. You don’t know El or her intentions, but her actions have hurt the people you love the most, and right now you have to put them first. 

You let the boys cry, barely registering anything else. 

– 

Later, much later, after getting Lucas home and tucking Dustin into bed, you finally allow yourself to grieve. You lay in your bed, staring at the framed drawing on your desk that Will had made you for your birthday this year. It was a sweet gift, having drawn you as a princess in one of their DnD campaigns with your sword and shield. Jonathan stands next to you in the picture, holding his own sword and wearing a crown, while Will and the boys are next to him, dressed in their own armor. 

In the picture the six of you are facing a dragon, but there’s a smile on all of your faces as you fight the creature together. You, Jonathan, and your boys; together, there’s nothing that you guys cannot defeat.

It’s your favorite drawing of Will’s. 

And now it’s your last drawing from him. 

The tears come slowly at first, then all at once. You find yourself hunched over, letting out anguished sobs as you mourn for the boy, for Jonathan and Joyce, for your brother and his friends. You mourn for the Byers losing a child, a brother. You mourn for your brother’s now tainted childhood. He’s too young, they all are too young to be experiencing such a loss. 

Will was too young. 

You cry until there’s nothing left within you, and yet the sobs still wrack against your body long after the tears have dried up. It’s a pain like no else. 

Then, as you’re finally beginning to calm down, you hear a knock at your window. 

You get up and fling your curtain open to find Jonathan on the other side. 

Neither of you say anything as you open the window and let him in. Once he’s inside the two of you face each other, unmoving and silent for what feels like years. There’s still a tension there from earlier, though this afternoon feels like decades ago. Jonathan stares at you, a guarded and unsure look on his face, as though he’s afraid that if he breaks in front of you that you’ll push him away. 

Instead, you surprise him by throwing yourself against his chest and into his arms. 

You’re not sure who begins to cry first, but it doesn’t matter. His cries only make you cry harder, having never seen your best friend this heartbroken before, and it’s all so fucking unfair. He doesn’t deserve this, no one does, but especially not Jonathan. He loved his brother so much, with such an intensity that rivaled your own love for Dustin. 

Jonathan pulls away a bit so that he can look at you; tears stream down his face. “He’s gone, bug.” 

“Bee,” you don’t know what more to say. What can you even say? While it feels like your heart has been ripped from your chest along with your bones, you know it only feels worse for Jonathan. No words could ever soothe that ache. 

“He’s gone,”

You grab at his jacket and gently guide him so that you sit on your bed. “Jonathan, look at me.” It takes some coaxing, but eventually he listens. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

Your voice cracks at the end, your own grief getting in the way, but it’s all you can say right now. You’re not sure how else to phrase it, how else to tell him that even if everything and everyone else is gone, you’re still here. You’ll never, ever leave him, especially not when he needs you the most now. 

Despite the vague words, Jonathan nods, always able to understand you, and he rests his head against your shoulder as the two of you cry. Faintly you can hear Dustin’s cries through the wall, but you leave him alone. You know he needs to process this alone, just like you needed to, just like Jonathan had before coming here. 

Tomorrow you’ll comfort your brother, you’ll bake the cookies that Joyce loves, and tonight will pass. A day must always end. This day will end, and tomorrow will come. Then, you’ll face this together with everyone you love. 

For now, your best friend needs you, so you let him cry into your shoulder and you run your nails against his scalp and whisper soothing words. Fuck whatever is going on between the two of you. 

Will is dead. The best of you, the purest of you, is dead.

-

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[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 5

Day Four | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Six

Pairing: Jax Teller x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked.

Warnings: Table sex/desk sex; enemies to enemies who fuck; vaginal sex; unsafe sex

 “What are you doing in here?” 

The question made you jump, and you whirled away from the bookshelf, dropping your phone in the process. You thought you’d be able to get some peace and quiet when you’d found the office, away from the party that had taken over the rest of the clubhouse.

You figured that if no one found you out, you’d be able to hang out there for the rest of the night. You’d hardly been there five minutes, and now this? Jax leaned in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets as he waited patiently for your answer.

“Jesus Christ,” You hissed, irritation welling up at the sight of Jax’s smiling face. You crouched down, picking your phone back up and setting it on the bookshelf.

“Not in a party mood?” 

You shook your head, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s fine, I guess. I was just getting some space, that’s all.” 

“You mind some company?” Jax asked. Your brows rose as he stepped deeper into the room, shutting the door behind himself. 

“I figured you had all the company you needed out there,” You nodded back toward the door. 

“Saw you leavin’.” 

“So you followed?” 

“Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Real knight in shining armor. All you need now is the white horse.” 

“I’ve got the bike. Probably got some paint in the garage.” 

“Please,” You rolled your eyes, turning away from him. “You wanna be really helpful, tell me if there’s any booze in here. Or do I have to go back out there for that.”

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for,” Jax drifted deeper into the room, rounding the desk. “If you want a beer, you’re gonna have to go back out there, but if you don't mind something a little…Stronger…” He gazed at you from under the sweep of his lashes as he leaned down, opening a drawer out of sight. “I’ve got you covered.” 

You watched as he straightened, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a tumbler in the other. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than braving the crowd outside. You sighed before you nodded, muttering, “It’ll do.” 

You scooched back to sit on the desk, swinging your feet as Jax uncapped the bottle and poured a healthy amount for you. He held it out, then yanked it back before you could take hold of it. 

“What do you say?”

Your mood darkened as you held your hand out, warning: “Now.” 

“That’s not the magic word.” 

“Right fuckin’ now.” 

“You managed to get further away from the correct answer.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching out and snatching up the discarded bottle before taking a swig. His lips curled with a smile as you lowered the bottle, holding it with both hands. 

“Don’t worry, honey," He chuckled. "You’ll learn.” 

“You don’t have anything to teach me that I don’t already know.” 

“We’ll see about that.” 

--  

You had been happy to spend the night alone, but spending the time with Jax was…Surprisingly pleasant. You’d been certain that he would grow bored with you, but you found him inching steadily closer to you. He’d started at the other end of the desk, and just shifted bit by bit—as he topped off the glass, as he offered you a smoke, as he turned to shift something around on the desk. It wasn’t long before the two of you were pressed thigh-to-thigh. 

The first brush of his lip against your shoulder made you go still—but he’d been in the middle of turning, shifting something around behind yo. You were certain that it was a mistake. 

The second brush made you certain that the first hadn’t been a mistake. The third moved closer to your neck. The fourth was up against the hinge of your jaw as he slid his hand over your thigh, drawing up the fabric of your dress as his fingers skated across your bare inner thigh. Your eyes closed at the feeling, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. 

“Jax,” You warned softly. “I’m not some crow eater that’s just gonna get on her knees and beg.”

His chuckle was low against your ear. “You’ve made that very clear.” 

“So what do you think you’re doing?” 

“Changing your mind.” 

--  

“You know the magic word.” 

You weren’t sure you knew much of anything at that moment. You did know that he had your panties around your ankle, and the skirt of your dress shoved up around your hips; the straps of your dress were sagging against your arms; the neckline has been drawn down to reveal your breasts to him. His shirt had been discarded long ago, showing off his muscled, tattooed chest to you. 

For as much ire as it raised in you, you had to admit—every single damn thing you’d ever heard a crow eater say about Jax’s prowess was completely true. The man was a god in bed…Or at least, on the desk. He’d drawn you to the edge of your orgasm with his fingers and tongue, and you’d been so, so close that you’d nearly begged—but seeing Jax straighten up and undo his pants had made you wet your lips, shifting closer to him. 

You were still just on the edge, you’d been certain you wouldn’t last long once Jax eased into you…But he hadn’t. 

He was trailing the head of his cock against your plumped, slick pussy lips, watching you with a smug grin. He leaned in, rolling his hips slowly against yours as he brushed a tantalizing kiss to your lips. 

“Jackson Nathaniel Teller, I swear to god,” You gritted out, tipping your hips into his touch. You whined as he drew away again, letting your head loll back. “Fuck, you’re such an asshole.” 

“I may be an asshole, darlin’, but I have something you want.” 

Jax pressed tight against you again, his cock slotting against your cunt as he braced his hands against the desk, nipping your earlobe. 

“One little word,” He murmured, emphasizing each with a slow saw of his hips. 

You clenched your jaw, tipping your head to the side to catch his eye. That warm, smug smile was still on his face; you wanted to slap it off. But what did you want more? The satisfaction of slapping him, or to quell the aching need between your thighs? You sighed heavily through your nose, grudgingly mumbling what he wanted to hear. 

“What was that?” He goaded, turning his ear toward your lips. “I didn’t catch it.”

“...Please.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Please, Jax, please fuck me!” You whined, squeezing his hips with your knees. You thought he’d ask you to repeat it again, but he slipped his hand between your legs, guiding his cock into you. You groaned, bracing your hands besides Jax’s as he filled you. 

“Fuck, yes,” You breathed, eyes sliding shut. Jax turned his head, nipping your neck and sucking over the spot. You cursed under your breath, raising a hand to twine in his hair. 

“Don’t give me a hickey, you little shit.” 

He laughed, swiping his tongue over the stinging skin. 

“Why not?” He curled his arm around your waist, dragging you closer to the edge of the desk, drawing you further down on his cock. “Afraid everyone out there will know what we’ve been up to in here?” He tipped his chin up, making you shiver as he brushed his beard over the blooming hickey. “They’re gonna know anyway when I make you scream my name.” 

Before you could argue, he drew his cock back, then snapped his hips forward. You gasped at the sudden change in pace, tightening your grip on his hair. He pounded into you forcefully, the strength of the movement making the glass and bottle rattle on the desk. You turned your head, using your hold in Jax's hair to guide him away from your neck. You caught his lips with yours, slipping your tongue into his panting mouth. He swirled his tongue against yours, fingers pressing harshly against your skin as you indulged in one another. He leaned back just a touch as he broke your kiss, forehead resting against yours. 

“I can feel you,” He groaned, “Are you close?” 

“Mhm,” You nodded hurriedly.

“You wanna cum?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Jax, please, please,” You whimpered. Jax grinned, sucking his fingers between his lips before he reached down, swiping at your sensitive clit. The sudden slickness made you yelp, your hips bounding to chase the sensations. You bit your lip, quieting your moans as you came, tightening and throbbing around his cock. You laid back on the desk as the sensation calmed. Jax continued to gently roll his hips, his gaze sweeping desirously over your prone form. He leaned over you, smile widening as you trailed your hand down his chest. 

“Are you close?” You murmured. You felt so good—pliant, and calmed, even with the discomfort of the desk beneath you. 

“Nope.” 

Your brows rose, and you propped yourself up on your elbows, shivering as Jax’s hips continued to roll into you. 

“What?” 

“I told you,” He leaned over you, lips brushing yours. “Those people out there? They’re gonna hear you scream my name.” 

Jax straightened again, drawing one of your thighs up around his hip. 

“Better get comfortable, darlin’.”

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[talesofmoony]

The Space Between Us (Or Lack Thereof)

summary: Remus gets jealous, Sirius is a brat, they argue, and then they fuck. Sirius turns out to be a very good boy.

rating: E (18+)

cw: explicit sexual content

a/n: this is honestly just complete and utter filth, lmao.

you can also find it on ao3 posted here.

requests are currently open, so please feel free to send me any you may have, or just check in and say hello!

Remus and Sirius had arrived back at their flat later than anticipated, the latter man huffing impatiently as Remus attempted to unlock the door with shaky hands, breathing deep and heavy. The air was thick as Sirius breathed heavily on the back of Remus’ neck, one hand curling its way around his boyfriend’s waist in a tentative attempt to ease the tension from his body. If Remus noticed, he made no motion of acknowledgement, focused only on the stubborn lock.

Once Remus managed to unlock it, both of them walked through, Sirius’ boots knocking the back of the aforementioned man’s heel due to the lack of space in the cramped apartment hallway. As the tension grew, the distance between the two increasing by the minute, Sirius thought back to their night and what possibly could have incited Remus’ reaction.

They’d just arrived home from an evening out with James, Regulus, Mary, Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene. Work had been hectic for the group, and they had decided meeting up for drinks and dinner on Saturday evening would be a good way to catch up. To Sirius’ knowledge, nothing had happened between Remus and any of their friends, nor had any conflict arisen itself between the two lovers.

Remus was fine at the beginning of the night, if not a little flirty. His hand had been softly grazing Sirius’ thigh under the table, rubbing soft circles on the inside seam of Sirius’ tight black jeans with his thumb.

Sometime after they ordered drinks, Remus’ demeanor had shifted, taking on a more stoic facial expression as he avoided speaking to Sirius the bulk of the night. At some point, his hand migrated off of Sirius’ thigh, and each advance Sirius made at contact ended in Remus brushing him off.

Regardless of Remus’ cool demeanor, Sirius maintained his usual charisma, entertaining the table with wild stories and even cracking a few jokes with the waiter, whose playful banter Sirius had gleefully returned without a thought.

As they said their goodbyes outside the bar, Remus made himself scarce, not actively avoiding contact with Sirius, while also not actively reciprocating Sirius’ attempts at affection. As Sirius observed Remus with a fixed stare, he could see the tension etched into his muscles that cascaded down his back, outlined by the slightly too-snug button-down he wore. His eyes drifted further down his lover's back, catching sight of Remus’ clenched hands, more specifically their taught nature that accentuated the veins and scars that ran from the beginning of his wrist to the ends of his long and slender fingers.

As James had hugged Sirius, he had pulled him close and whispered quickly into his ear, “Everything alright? Remus seems…tense.” James followed his comment with a squeeze to Sirius’ shoulder, his eyes finding Sirius’ immediately.

Sirius had responded with a shrug and an eye roll. “Not sure, mate. He’s been in a prissy mood since we ordered the drinks earlier,” he muttered. He brushed off the concern from James, thanking him for his concern but assuring him all was fine.

After saying their goodbyes to the rest of their friends, and assuring James once more that everything was fine, the group parted ways and Sirius and Remus made in the direction of their shared flat.

Sirius placed the keys to his bike in the catch all on the entry table, removed his shoes, and turned to speak to Remus, only to be met by the sight of his boyfriend stalking off towards their bedroom, already feet away. Great, Sirius thought, it's going to be one of those nights.

He sauntered over to the couch and pulled out blankets and a pillow, prepared for Remus to sequester him to the couch for the night. Though he was unaware of what was going on, he respected the fact that his boyfriend may be in need of some personal space for the night.

After prepping the couch, Sirius clambered up the hallway towards their shared bedroom, and pushed open the door lightly, peering inside to look for Remus.

Glancing around the room granted him no sight of his boyfriend, leading him to think he must have already snuck off for a shower. His suspicions were confirmed by the light that seeped underneath the bathroom door, the sound of water running against glass present faintly in the background.

Sirius stalked over to their shared dresser and pulled out one of Remus’ sweaters and a pair of boxers. As he rounded the corner of the bed and walked towards the door, he heard the shower water cut off followed moments later by the soft click of the bathroom door opening. He froze on the spot, glancing up towards the door, where he was met by the sight of his shirtless boyfriend, water beads rolling gently down his chest to where the towel sat loosely wrapped along his waist.

His gaze lingered on the seam of the towel momentarily, and then slowly crawled up Remus’ chest until their eyes met, Remus’ stare swimming with an array of emotion. Sirius recognized some of the feelings present in Remus’ gaze; anger, conflict, and something frustratingly akin to sadness.

Sirius glanced away quickly once he gauged the emotions, only to quickly glance back over in his direction at the sound of sudden movement, the carpet swishing gently as Remus slowly approached him, stopping a few feet away. Their eyes met once more, Sirius watching as the muscles in Remus’ jaw clenched and unclenched in frustration. The taller man observed Sirius’ face with intent, no doubt attempting to formulate some absurd reason for why he was being so passive aggressive.

Remus still couldn’t seem to find the words he was looking for as he looked fixedly at Sirius, so the shorter man decided to take the lead. “Are you finished sulking, Remus? Are you actually going to talk to me about why you’ve been so cold this evening?” Sirius hissed, popping out his right hip and crossing his arms, hoping his stance showcased the increasing anger he felt coursing through his body.

The sentence was met with an immediate eye roll from Remus, the primary emotion in his gaze shifting from conflicted to angry as he finally spoke. “Really? You were practically preening at the fucking waiter while he was flirting with you. You lapped up every word he spoke like it was your fucking due.” he huffed out, eyes flicking down to Sirius’ pink lips, slightly swollen from where he had been biting at them nervously.

Remus’ eyebrows scrunched together, warm amber eyes immediately darkening with hunger as he took in Sirius’ slightly disheveled state, already half undressed in preparation for sleep. He wanted to take Sirius under him and ravage him, making sure everyone knew Sirius was his and no one else’s.

Sirius’ jaw tightened in frustration, tongue brushing the back of his front teeth as he chuckled incredulously. “Are you kidding? That’s why you’ve been acting like a complete and utter prat all night?” he spat, chest heaving with each deep breath he took into his lungs, eyes widening briefly and then slimming down into a fierce glare, fixed directly on Remus.

Within a few moments after he fixed his eyes on Remus, he recognized the look present in his demeanor; want, more specifically, a want to possess Sirius . All of the anger and vitriol seeped out of Sirius’ stature, replaced by a similar feeling of want and more importantly, need . The need to be possessed, to give in to every one of Remus’ wants and demands, to be a good , pliant under the weight and strength of his lover’s body.

The feeling burrowed itself deep into his bones, a mix of cold rush flowing through his veins and heat rising on his pale, pink-tinged cheeks. He knew that look, a gaze Remus fixed upon him in moments when he needed to showcase the dominance that came so naturally to him, when Remus needed to take him and make him his in every sense of the word.

“Are you jealous, Moony?” Sirius chuckled, his blush giving way to a darker red, spreading down the side of his neck where Remus’ eyes had drifted. He watched as Remus clenched his fists at his sides, clearly trying to hold back some deep-seated, carnal reaction to the accusation Sirius had launched at him.

Gods, this man was going to be the death of him, in more ways than one if Sirius’ got what he planned tonight.

“There’s no need to b-“ Sirius began to speak, but his words were cut off by a sudden rush of motion as Remus gripped his hips harshly, pushing him against the dresser, the corner digging deep into Sirius’ upper thigh. Remus’ grip and the harsh press of the dresser would probably leave bruise marks on his pale skin, but at the moment, he couldn’t be bothered to care. This is exactly what he wanted, what he needed, so deeply and maddeningly.

Remus rarely lost his control with Sirius, especially in such a manner that his anger was showcased not only in his words and body language, but also through his physical actions. Remus was typically quite the gentle lover, always fearful of being too aggressive with Sirius, worrying that the primal wolfish instincts would crawl to the surface and cause irreparable damage.

If anything, Sirius wanted Remus to be a little rough with him from time to time. He’d be lying if he said that on more than one occasion, he hadn’t instigated a small argument to try and get underneath Remus’ skin enough to initiate such a reaction as the one Remus was clearly having now. Nothing serious, mind you, only the occasional snarky comment that took their level-headed and constant bickering just a little too far.

Sirius had more dreams than he would like to admit that involved Remus pinning him down on their bed, or bending him over the brown mahogany desk in his office, and absolutely ruining him, taking him apart until he was little more than a whimpering, teary-eyed mess.

Remus kept one hand firmly planted on Sirius’ side, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of his hip, almost as if his intention was to leave a mark so that Sirius would have the constant reminder for the next few days. His other hand gripped the root of Sirius’ hair and gave it a sharp tug, causing his head to fly back, exposing his neck, pulse fluttering rapidly underneath his pale, blushed skin.

Sirius’ eyes rolled deeply into the back of his skull, hands flying up from where they were planted on the dresser to rest on Remus’ shoulder blades, grasping and scratching at the tan, scarred skin for some semblance of solid ground and weight. He took in a sharp breath, the sudden spark of pain mixed with an intense wave of pleasure, a cold shiver running down his spine and straight to his cock as he let out a pathetic whimper. If he bucked his hips at just the right angle, he could feel Remus’ bulge rutting against his own, proof that what he was feeling in the moment was anything other than singular.

“I think you’re better off keeping that pretty little mouth shut, love, at least until you see what I have planned for you. At that point, you can scream as loud as you want, so the entire block knows you’re mine, ” Remus grunted out.

He nipped at the soft skin in the crevice of Sirius’ neck just below his ear, a sweet spot that never failed to an earth-shattering moan from the man beneath him. “I think you need someone to teach you how to behave. How to be a good boy , don’t you, Sirius?” Remus laughed bitterly, biting down in a quick motion on the skin he had been softly nipping at just moments before.

Sirius let out a strangled whine, “Please, Moony. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll do anything, just please, please, please , touch me.” Sirius quickened the thrusts of his hips, only to be met with the sharp motion of Remus pinning him against the dresser, ceasing any movement, and therefore ridding Sirius of the slight bit of pleasure he has been gaining from his cock brushing against Remus’.

Remus lifted his hand from Sirius’ hip, thigh slotting in its place to pin down Sirius as he dragged his hand up to his neck. His fingers gripped the other man’s jaw as he let out a gruff chuckle, pinning Sirius down with a gaze that was downright dangerous. He was going to take Sirius apart, bit by bit, piece by piece, until he had him begging for release, and then he might grant him that luxury. Remus was going to make Sirius work for it.

“Be careful what you wish for, love,” Remus murmured into the crook of Sirius’ neck, voice rough and gritty as he continued his thought, “Tonight, you'll learn exactly who you belong to.”

With that sentence, Remus renewed his grip on Sirius’ hair, eliciting a groan from the other man as he pushed him down onto his knees. In one swift motion, he pulled at the towel wrapped around his waist, quickly discarding it by the foot of the bed. His cock was already hard, precum beading at the tip at the sight of Sirius on his knees, completely pliant and ready to do anything to prove himself to Remus.

Remus canted his hips forward, pressing the tip of his cock against Sirius’ lips in a suggestion for the other man to open his mouth. “Want to prove yourself to me baby? Wanna be my good boy?” Remus breathed out, restraining himself from fully pushing his cock past Sirius’ already swollen lips. Sirius nodded violently, mouthing at Remus’ tip, grey eyes glassy and darkened, pupils blown as they gazed up at him through long dark lashes.

Remus let the hand not holding Sirius by the hair fall, resting on the sharp curve of his jawline, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth and pushing in slightly in a motivating gesture. “Open up, baby,” Remus purred, “I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth.”

Sirius’ mouth fell open in an obedient gesture, tongue pushing out to lick Remus’ cock from the base to the tip. This motion prompted a guttural moan to fall past Remus’ lips, breath deepening as he glanced down at his boyfriend, malleable as ever under his dominating grip. With one decisive motion, Remus pushed his cock past the entrance of Sirius’ mouth and into the wet heat, providing little time for Sirius to adjust to his length.

Remus let out another moan, one that went straight to Sirius’ own dripping cock, precum falling on the hardwood floor between his knees. Sirius took everything Remus provided, bobbing his head up and down, aided by Remus’ steel grip on his hair.

On his knees, Sirius worked carefully and with expertise, cheeks hollowed out as his tongue ran along the vein that presented itself when Remus was especially hard. He had always known how to read Remus’ reactions to find what worked best, taking in each sharp intake of breath or the way his hand tangled itself in the roots of Sirius’ hair and tugged. Remus’ cock grazed the back of his throat with each thrust, but Sirius took it well, savoring the taste of the other man on his tongue.

As he worked, he glanced back up towards the other man, locking his gaze onto Remus’, taking in how his mouth fell open with quiet whimpers, lips a deep pink from where his teeth had sunk into the supple skin.

They maintained eye contact as Sirius continued, a silent message passing between the two of them; I see you, I know you, I love you, I’m yours. A direct confirmation to both of them of the complete and utter dedication they each held for the other, a silent whisper of the vulnerability they both expressed in moments like these. Remus’ hand tightened in his hair before pulling him off completely, eliciting a whine from Sirius.

“While your mouth is divine, I’d rather fuck you into the bed and remind you who you belong to. You can take me, right love?” Remus said slyly, smirking at the look of absolute submission present on the other man’s face.

Remus took a moment to admire the truly fucked out state Sirius was in, mouth open, a line of spit and with precum still connecting his swollen, red lips to Remus’ cock. His cheeks were flushed a dark pink, chest rising and falling rapidly as he attempted to catch his breath, eyes completely glazed over with a mix of exhaustion and need.

He looked every bit the picture of debauched perfection. Remus took a moment to himself, reveling in the fact that Sirius, his Sirius, was laid out bare in front of him, ready to take anything he decided to give him. Sirius was ruined, desperate, but still panting a silent cry for more .

As Remus’ hand grazed over Sirius’ wet, puffy lips, he let out a deep sigh of adoration. His fingers glided along Sirius’ chin, gripping it softly to pull Sirius’ head forward slightly. “On the bed.” Remus commanded, tugging slightly on Sirius’ chin again to get him moving.

The tone Remus carried was one of authority, but was also laced with a tenderness that grounded Sirius, providing him a layer of security only Remus' voice could provide. Sirius obeyed immediately, getting up off the hardwood floor with shaking legs, stumbling slightly on his way over to the bed. He sat on the edge, chest still heavy with heavy breaths as he obediently awaited Remus’ next direction.

Remus moved slowly towards the bed, watching every movement Sirius made as though he was a wolf stalking its prey. As he walked over, he took in how Sirius’ muscles shook with the anticipation of what Remus was going to do to him, how he was going to take Sirius apart and then put him back together in the same breath. He took in Sirius’ messy hair, where his fingers had been tangled only moments before as Remus fucked his throat raw.

Remus stepped onto the mattress and pushed Sirius back onto the bed, the springs creaking under their weight. He stopped a few inches from Sirius’ face, breath ghosting over the other man’s face as his hands gently caressed his trembling thighs. Remus could hear the shakiness present in Sirius’ shallow breaths, waiting in anticipation to see Remus’ next move.

His gaze flickered from Sirius’ own, down to his swollen mouth, and then back up again. As he leaned closer, he whispered quietly into Sirius’ ear. “You’re going to take everything I give you, aren’t you, love?” his words pressing a gentle challenge.

“Mmhm,” Sirius whined, barely able to get a word out “I’ll be so good, Moony. I’ll take it all, whatever you give me.” he answered, his soft grey eyes meeting Remus’ warm amber ones as they exchanged a look of pure admiration. Electricity ran through Sirius’ veins, ready and malleable under Remus’ touch, ready to take, take, and take.

Remus’ gaze darkened, predatory need and hunger creeping in, as he took in the state of absolute need of the man in front of him. He could sense it, the desperation seeping out of Sirius as he waited for Remus. There was a gentle beauty in his vulnerability, the complete surrender Sirius allowed himself to feel around Remus, trusting and able to hand himself over.

His fingers danced over Sirius’ pale skin softly, watching as goosebumps popped up across his limbs, inching up onto his stomach. His palms moved carefully over the rigid, hard lines of Sirius’ muscles, paying close attention to the way they shifted and tensed under his caress.

“Spread your legs,” Remus ordered, his tone switching again to one more heavily saturated in authority, aiding Sirius by pushing on the soft skin between his thighs, prompting them to move outward. As his hands moved, he gently shifted along the tip of Sirius’ hard, reddened cock, leaking with an obscene amount of precum at his pure desperation to be touched. Sirius reacted immediately, hips canting up in an attempt to apply pressure where he needed it most.

“Look at you,” Remus muttered. “You’re mine, do you understand?”

Remus watched, checking for any signs of hesitation in Sirius’ gaze, above all else wanting to make sure Sirius was ready. However, it was clear in the soft, quick pants that released from between his lips, his hips bucking instinctively upwards towards Remus’ hovering grasp, that Sirius wanted nothing more than to be taken.

“Please, Remus. I need it. I want you, I need you. ” Sirius keened out, throwing his head back in a low whine as his chest fluttered with each breath; in and out .

Remus’ expression twisted into something darker as he moved in to hover right under Sirius’ ear, whispering, “I’m going to make sure you’re prepared and ready for me. I’ll make you beg. My pretty baby.” With one gentle motion, a mere flick of his fingers, he cast a wandless lubrication charm, prompting a sharp gasp of shock from Sirius.

Remus worked gently to prep Sirius, gently working him open. He slid in one finger, though with the help of Sirius being so desperate combined with the lubrication charm, it was quickly followed by another. Each motion was followed by quiet moans and whimpers from the man beneath him, Sirius pressing his face into the pillow beside him, grasping at the white linen sheets with reckless abandon. With each thrust of his fingers, he curled them upward, locating the sensitive bundle of nerves he knew all too well drove Sirius wild.

His point was proven with one sure thrust as Sirius moaned loudly, “Fuck, Remus. Oh my god, fuck . Please, Moony. Please fuck me. I need you.”

“That's it, love. Beg for it. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you, to fill you up. Tell me you’ll be my good boy” Remus groaned, adding another finger as he continued thrusting. His thumb pressed gently on Sirius perineum, making the other man gasp in pleasure.

“Please, Remus. Please,” Sirius all but cried out, “I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you, I promise. I’m your good boy, please .”

“There we are. See, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Remus questioned, an underlying tone of humor present in his voice. He watched as Sirius stomach muscles contracted with the increasing levels of pressure he encountered, watching his thighs tremble with want. While Remus wished to draw this out longer, he was unsure how much longer he could stave off the carnal desire to fuck Sirius senseless.

Remus propped himself up on his knees, centering his cock right over Sirius’ hole, taking one glance at the man below him as he slowly slid his tip inside.

Sirius was still tight, With each thrust he inched deeper and deeper, until he had completely bottomed out, a motion that drew out gasps of pleasure from both men. Remus’ fingers dug into the divots of Sirius’ hip, using his grip to thrust harder into the man below him, the sound of their hips slapping together echoing in the room.

This moment, Sirius below him, taking him so well, this was true devotion, a complete surrender of control on Sirius’ part, one that left Remus breathless as he watched his cock thrusting into Sirius at a sharp pace. Remus drank in the sight of Sirius, one hand drifting up to grip his chin and direct their gazes to meet.

“Look at me, Sirius. Don’t look away,” he murmured softly, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. You’re taking me so well, my good boy. ”

Sirius let out a cry at the praise, bucking his hips up to meet Remus’ harsh thrusts, convulsing as each sensation completely took over his body. His back arched off the bed, legs thrashing about in utter pleasure as Remus brought up a fist and grasped his hard, leaking cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip and spreading Sirius’ precum. He pumped viciously in time with each thrust, hitting that spot deep inside Sirius that made him see stars .

“Fuck, baby. You’re incredible,” Remus praised breathlessly as he quickened his pace, chasing the eventual crashing high both he and Sirius so desperately needed. “You’re doing such a good job, letting me take control,” he continued, breaths quickening with each thrust. “I’ve never seen you like this, so perfect for me.”

As the moment drew closer, Remus’ thrusts became less-focused and drilled, inching towards a sloppier pace as he buried his face into Sirius' neck and inhaled his sweet scent.

“You’re close, aren’t you, love?” Remus murmured, dipping out his tongue to taste a drop of sweat running down Sirius’ collarbone. His pace on Sirius’ cock quickened as it twitched in his hand, Sirius inching closer to a full-bodied release as his mouth fell open in a silent cry. “I can feel it. I want you to let go. Make a mess all over yourself, baby. My pretty boy,” Remus whispered, just a few moments away from falling over the edge himself.

Remus’ words were laced with honey and desperation, so sweet and wanting that Sirius almost melted upon hearing them, the breath he held completely knocked out of his chest. The raw energy Remus put into each thrust was enough to push Sirius over the edge when paired with the praise Remus showered over him, his hole tightening around Remus’ cock as he let out loud, desperate cries.

Remus followed as soon as Sirius tightened around him, hammering into Sirius with one final push, legs shaking as he hit his climax. Sirius’ body shook violently, his back arching completely off of the bed as his lower abdomen tensed, nails clawing desperately at Remus’ back, leaving dark red marks in their wake. Hot strips of cum spilled over his stomach and over Remus’ fingers as they both fell into each other.

After a moment, Remus pulled out carefully, eliciting a whimper from Sirius, still sensitive from the full-body climax he’d just experienced. Remus peppered kisses down Sirius’ torso and up to his face, carding his hands gently through the other man’s hair as he whispered sweet nothings into his ear. Once he had wiped both of them down with the towel that had been discarded on the floor earlier, he curled up behind Sirius, inching his arms around his waist in a loving embrace.

“You did so well, my love,” Remus spoke softly, fingers carding gently through Sirius’ thick black curls, “I love you, Sirius. I’m all yours, never forget that.”

Sirius pressed back into Remus’ touch, moving his head back and forth in tandem with Remus’ fingers softly massaging his scalp. He turned around slowly, curling into Remus’ warm chest as he wrapped one arm over Remus’ stomach, the other falling between their bodies. Their legs fell together, Sirius’ shorter ones tucked in between Remus’ longer ones as they held each other.

As the minutes passed, the only sound audible in the room was the rumble of the wind outside mixed with the soft noise of their breathing in tandem. Remus wrapped his arms tighter around Sirius’ midriff, pulling him closer in a loving gesture.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget,” Sirius spoke sweetly, “You’re mine, always have been, Moony. Always.”

Remus' heart swelled at the admission, pure adoration for the man below him finding its way into his heart, a type of safety and security falling over him that only ever showed itself in the presence of the person you love the most.

Remus kissed the top of Sirius’ head, gently caressing his cheek as he breathed out, “And you, Pads, will always be mine.”

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 13: One Of Us

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: Jungkook doesn’t seem to be angry for the reasons you expected.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 5.7k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, swearing, injuries, blood, more guilt and self-doubt, past parental death

a/n: something about jungkook skidding a 180 to stop his bike and just running into the storm.... yeah🥵

A faint knock disturbed Jungkook.

Half-standing from where he had been sat rigid on his bed, he found himself facing Jimin. The other man peeped sheepishly around the door, head dipped apologetically.

Although Jungkook didn’t want to scare his hyung, it was impossible to shake the tension from his frame. The venomous exchange with you still ran hot through his veins. He did feel somewhat responsible for dispelling the group with his foul mood when he had returned upstairs. Maybe they had gathered up and saw fit to invite him again?

It was probably what he needed, even if he didn’t feel particularly sociable right now – so long as you weren’t there. He could do without a reminder…

“Have you seen Y/N?”

Eyes snapping back to Jimin, Jungkook’s brows twitched irritably.

“No,” he shot, incredulous.

At Jimin’s slight wince, Jungkook did feel a bit guilty and swallowed away some of his attitude.

“Okay, I didn’t think so…”

Still, Jimin hovered there biting his lip instead of leaving. He took a breath and eyed Jungkook carefully again.

“But you guys… spoke, right?” Jungkook’s brow raised. That was a generous way to put it. Jimin pressed on, “where did she go after?”

Jungkook straightened up fully.

“I don’t know…” he blinked, confused, frown rapidly clearing to be replaced with apprehension. “Why?”

Jimin’s hand curled tighter around the door. He dropped his eyes before speaking.

“We just… can’t find her right now.”

Jungkook’s face screwed up, uncomprehending.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?”

“Yah, Jimin-ah,” a call stole both men’s attention.

Stepping further into Jungkook’s room, Jimin made way for Yoongi to stride in. The older man stopped, looking to Jungkook.

“Do you know where she is?”

“No!”

Yoongi breathed out steadily, then turned to Jimin. Dipping his chin, his next tone was quieter, making Jungkook strain to catch it.

“The training rooms are clear. Jin’s lab, too.”

Huffing quietly, Jimin shifted on restless feet. Suddenly looking up, he decided to keep questioning Jungkook.

“What did you guys even talk about? What did you say to her?”

Jungkook’s head was spinning. Had you seriously gone missing? Would you have left? He thought his heart dropped enough at the notion that he could have driven you out with his words-

Until the next thought crossed his mind with terrifying clarity.

Oh. Oh.

“Shit.”

All eyes snapped to Jungkook, who stared ahead without seeing. For a moment, they held their breath with him.

Then he blinked rapidly, shutting his gaping mouth.

“She’s gone after him.”

It was Jimin and Yoongi’s turn to gape.

“What?” Jimin shook his head, blinking.

“She’s really not here?” Jungkook reiterated.

Yoongi shook his head.

Jungkook’s only response was a decisive step forwards, walking between the others, who backed out of his way, startled.

“She’s gone after Monsoon?” Jimin echoed as he passed, his voice a hollow whisper.

Equally horrified, Yoongi stared at Jungkook.

“Is she mental?”

Jungkook cocked his head but didn’t stop, only looking over his shoulder in the doorway.

“You hadn’t noticed?”

Carving a beeline through the space, Jungkook drew the eyes of the rest of the group that stood nervously around the space. Even Namjoon was there. Hobi was still looking around, as if he might find you under one of the sofa cushions if he just looked hard enough.

Scurrying after him, Jimin offered an explanation after Jungkook stayed stubbornly quiet.

“He says she’s run off to… to Monsoon.”

Namjoon’s head snapped around to Jungkook.

“She told you that?”

“You think she would tell any of us if that was her plan?” Jungkook retorted, without looking around. He was bending down to observe something below the counter.

“What-? she wouldn’t,” Jin insisted.

“Then why are there keys missing?” Jungkook straightened up.

Namjoon cursed.

“She’s walking to her death,” he then muttered, marching to the door, “we need to find her. Now.”

And so it was all action for the second time that day.

Jungkook was close behind his leader, already swinging a set of keys from his fingers. Tugging a hand roughly through his hair, his feet flew down the steps to the garage.

“And where are we meant to look?” Jin asked, rushing to catch up.

Pausing in the entrance, Namjoon locked eyes with Jungkook.

“Wherever we might find Monsoon.”

Jungkook gave a single nod.

“Alright. Hope, Jimin, with me,” Namjoon jabbed his thumb towards a car and they were off.

Jin peeled away with V and Yoongi while Jungkook forced his legs not to break into a sprint. He hot-footed it to his bike, threw a leg over and was away before any of the others.

Whizzing into the night, rain whipped about his face. Speeding through the buffeting wind forced his mind outwards, on squinting through the storm and not on you. Wherever you had got to. He prayed he wasn't right – but picturing the way you had never quit when he fought you, how you had recklessly trained even at the risk of losing control of your powers… he couldn’t see another explanation for your disappearance.

He couldn’t explain the certainty he felt about it. Didn’t want to.

So he urged his bike faster, the engine roaring below him the only comfort as it ate up the road between you.

The radio crackled through the storm, the others coordinating their destinations. Needless to say, you would be somewhere along the docks, but that didn’t narrow it down much. Jin was heading north, the others central.

Jungkook never responded, his original intentions unchanged.

At the first opportunity, he turned towards the river. He ditched his bike right at the end of the docks, where the concrete became earth banks again. Hardly caring to park it, he only left it upright by sheer luck as he took off running the moment the engine cut.

The storm was thicker here, rain slicing his vision. Blundering on, frustration knotted tighter within him at each stretch of empty paving. Dark shapes loomed, but each was just a piece of machinery, or another container dotted about between the floodlighting.

His heart jolted dangerously at a sound from the radio.

“We’re definitely on the right track,” Namjoon spoke, “the car’s here.”

Somehow that didn’t make Jungkook feel any better. An abandoned car, an abandoned dockyard… where were you?

One more look back, just in case, before he rounded the next large container, impatient eyes roving the desolate scene. It was as he stepped into the light on the other side that a rogue wave was thrown against the bank some way ahead. The slap of water and fountain of spray drew his eyes. Flecks caught the floodlight and rained back to earth in a shower of gold, before the wave was beaten back by the same wind that coaxed it up.

A gust pushed damp hair into Jungkook’s eyes. He brushed it back, eyes fixed on the same spot.

Where the river retreated, something remained.

Heart plummeting like a stone, his vision tunnelled, only seeing the path to you.

His feet moved before his thoughts. Racing towards the body slumped on the ground. No, no, no…

Then, movement. Slowly, you brought your elbows up, palms pushing you from the ground. One hand stayed there, steadying, as you clumsily got your legs below you.

Standing with trepidation, you hardly had time to look around before Jungkook was on you.

He ran to you without slowing, grabbed you, his rough hands finding your arms, wide eyes scanning you intensely. One hand held you steady, but the other shifted instantly to your face.

“Have you lost your mind?!”

Breathless, you simply stared at the man in front of you. No answer found its way to your lips even when his eyes flicked up to meet yours. They burned, but not in a way you were used to. Fear and disbelief blazed brightest in his gaze.

The fingertips at your jaw shook. His thumb hovered on your cheekbone, where blood wept from the cut, diluted in spots by the rain.

His gaze swooped back down to eye it, thumb finally making careful contact with your cold skin. Next, he found the gash above your eye. His jaw tightened, but his severe grip eased to a something gentler at your shoulder.

After the last hellish moments, it felt all too good to be held within his hands.

Meeting your eyes again, he suddenly blinked. Pulled back minutely, as if startled.

As mild mortification took over his features, his touch lightened on your arm, but didn’t disappear. His hand lifted from your face, and for a moment he stared in horror at the bloodied digits.

Then he dropped it, looking sharply back up at you.

Before he could make his last ditch effort to save face and step back completely, he felt you sag into his hand. With the shock of your most blatant injuries wearing off, he tuned into the way you shivered, out of breath, and cradled one arm closer to you.

“What the hell were you thinking-? What did he do to you?”

Jungkook’s heated tone wore off halfway through the questions.

Giving in, he stepped closer, raising a hesitant arm on your other side. Still breathing a little too fast, you latched onto it without a thought, grasping his elbow to lean on, panting.

Even through your exhaustion, cold shame permeated you. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I couldn’t get it back,” you admitted.

Jungkook frowned down at you incredulously, even though you didn’t see.

“And you’re insane for trying,” he muttered, already twisting to scan the area you found yourselves in.

Releasing the hand on your shoulder but keeping the arm which bore your weight, he steered you both towards the nearest shipping container.

“We’re going home, alright?”

It hardly sounded like a question.

More wobbly on your feet than you were ready to admit, you followed without protest despite your confusion. Jungkook should be throwing you to the curb! This was your second failure of the day. Your whiplash only increased when you stopped in the relative shelter of a container and Jungkook shook one arm from his jacket.

The river had chilled you, but it wasn’t only the temperature difference that burned when his hand touched yours. He eased your fingers from him for a moment, just long enough to slip off his other sleeve.

It was only then that he hesitated, glancing at the jacket in his hand, and then at you, a little shaken.

He didn’t look you in the eyes as he slung it around you at last. But his pretence at concentrating on fixing it around your shoulders was disrupted at a hiss from you.

You bit your lip, but it was too late. Jungkook pulled back, eyes zeroing in on the slash through your sodden top, hanging away from the bloody cut beneath. Then to the wrist you hurriedly shielded with your other hand.

“Hey,” he murmured, “let me see.”

Before you could convince yourself to object, tentative fingertips were gingerly sliding up your waterlogged sleeve to reveal the deep bruising there, patterned by the sole of Monsoon's boot.

Pure worry filled Jungkook's eyes and he gulped. It was too much for you to look at.

“Thank you,” you murmured, tugging at the heavenly warm jacket and ignoring the sting.

Jungkook nodded absently.

“We’ll wait here… Do you need to sit down?”

Neither of you were meeting the other’s eyes. You chewed your cheek. As much as you wished you could stand strong and prove to Jungkook that you had any respectability left, your legs were not on the same page.

You sank to the ground, grip on Jungkook slipping away. Your frozen hands retreated to the warmth inside his jacket instead.

Only letting his eyes linger on you for a moment, Jungkook forced his gaze to the churning river as he finally remembered his radio. It was hopeless really; he only got as far as lifting the device to his mouth before his eyes were back on you. You were too static, hunched into yourself. The only movement was the creeping of droplets from your hair down his jacket.

This was not what you were. Quiet and surrender were not things that went together with the girl he knew.

Had he done this?

“Hey, hyungs–” so lost in thought, he surprised himself when he spoke “–I found her.”

The response was instant.

“Thank fu-”

“Hey, you really got her?”

“Where are you guys?”

Quickly sending over the location, Jungkook eyed you again. You hadn’t reacted to anything going on around you.

“Hey, I think she needs to go back in the car,” he added quietly.

He pocketed his radio. Then instantly regretted it. Now he was at a loss for what to do with his hands, and he hesitated between staying standing or sitting beside you. Opting for the latter, he purposely tore his eyes from you to lessen the effect.

Stiffening as he lowered himself to your side, you glanced over at him. The floodlighting looked gold on his cheeks, his skin glowing with the sheen of rain coating his face. It only made you feel duller in comparison.

Unable to resist the insistent feeling of your eyes on him, Jungkook finally glanced back.

You sucked in a breath, shoulders raising. Your gaze was all too nervous, watching him warily. And though you were clearly soaked to the bone, he wasn’t sure all the water on your face was from the river and not your own eyes.

The strength of your remorse removed all words you could have used to express it.

I’m so sorry… You sounded pathetic even in your head. Was there anything you could say to Jungkook to make what you had done better?

The warmth of him beside you was already more than you deserved.

Jungkook’s hands were sandwiched between his knees, carefully leaving a space between the two of you. But the longer he looked, his limbs acted almost by themselves. He pinched his lip between his teeth, but didn’t falter. Pulling one hand free, he crossed the no-man’s land. Towards the blood he couldn’t bear to see there, where it cascaded into your eye, one drop outlining your jaw.

The back of his fingers drew closer. When they met your cheek, running steadily upwards to wipe the bleeding, you could have cried. Holding your breath, you gave in and closed your eyes. It shouldn’t feel so… intimate, but the drag of his hand was too visceral to ignore.

Light behind your eyelids made you snap them open again. And then squint.

Blaring headlights swung around, illuminating your momentary hiding spot.

Jungkook’s warmth retreated, leaving you with only the heat of your own blood spilling over your face.

Straightening up, you heard an engine cut out and doors slam. You were still struggling up from the floor when the guys reached you.

“Are you okay?” Hope was the first to ask.

Then Jimin’s hand was on your shoulder. Namjoon emerged behind them.

“Glad we found you,” he said.

Blinking uselessly at each of them gathering around you, your throat was totally uncooperative. You parted your lips, but gave up just as Jin completed your group. Looking you up and down, he tried to ease the tension with a chuckle.

“Wow, you look like you came from the river!” he joked, until his face fell a second later. “…wait- did you-?”

All you could do was stare, too distracted to answer him. What were they all doing here? After what you had done, they came after you?

You should have hated it. You were sorely ashamed, bowing your head under the weight of their concern. But somewhere deep down, you weren’t surprised. Back there in the river, you had dared to hope they would come for you, like they always did. Like you would for them.

But you felt incredibly small for having to count on them nonetheless.

Unconsciously, your feet took you a step back, closer to Jungkook. Shrinking away from the overwhelming tide of emotions you weren’t prepared to face yet.

“I think we all just want to get home,” Jimin smiled softly.

Namjoon nodded, the first to turn away, lessening the glare of the spotlight you felt on you in the centre.

“Yoongi’s going to take the other car,” he said.

Good – you had completely forgotten you had driven here at all. Everything was a blur between your consecutive fights with Jungkook and Monsoon.

Just as you were beginning to debate which one had stung more, a soft hand in yours tugged you from your mind again. Looking up, you found V quietly pulling you along towards a car. He didn’t meet your eyes. Your throat felt tight again at such a simple act guiding you when you needed it.

Blindly following your friend, you glanced back once more. Jungkook’s eyes were already on you, unreadable.

“See you back home.”

Then he dipped his head, slipping past you into the storm.

Your tired body had clearly clocked out on the drive home, finally able to sink into yourself in the silence of the car. You had to admit you felt a bit bad for Jin, who loved to talk. Being stuck in a car with you while you were practically too ashamed to speak, and V who was always quiet, must have made it a long journey.

He got a few words out of you. Honestly, you felt obliged to answer his questions. You owed him – owed them all – some honesty.

If you had to say anything unprompted, though, you were sure all you would muster up was repeated apologies. You felt the heat of them frenetic beneath your skin. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

When you arrived, pulling in just after the other cars, only Jungkook still to follow on his bike, you realised just how drained you were. Each step felt like a balancing act as you climbed the stairs, like your legs weren’t quite attached to you.

“So you remembered Monsoon’s base just from seeing the maps way back?” Jin carried on the conversation you hardly registered having, “no wonder Kuyang had you as his secretary. Too bad, we’ve got you now!”

Those words cracked through your distracted haze. As he left you with a pat on the back, you stared after him.

Had he not seen what had happened all day? A treacherous glimmer of hope sparked in you, as if they could still want you on the team. He must be pretending.

“Any dinner requests?” Yoongi asked from the table.

“Uh, um, I don’t mind,” you spoke quietly, “anything is good… thanks.”

Stopping in front of a chair, you never sat. The lot of them filled up the house like always, thankfully not all staring at you, but the appreciation you normally felt for the buzz of people only made you feel far away right now.

Eyes darting to your feet, you noticed the water clinging to your shoes, miniature pools left in your footsteps. Everyone was damp from the rain, but you were a different story. Your clothes clung uncomfortably, and you were suddenly aware of the constricting fabric now it pressed against your skin like this.

“I’ll just… go clean up,” you muttered, finally taking the chance to flee from the people you had wronged. The people who shouldn’t have cared enough to come pick you up from a death wish of an escapade in the middle of a storm.

Falling against the bathroom door at last, you put up with the soggy clothing for a moment longer, needing a pause. Head resting back against the wood, you breathed. Closed your eyes, felt your hands shaking.

Then you pushed away. A spurt of energy had you ridding yourself of your clothes in a hurry, tugging free of the fabric weighted down with cursed water.

Hurling them into the bathtub, you grabbed a towel next and sunk into it. The soft fabric felt like a dream, from somewhere warm where you hadn’t made such a terrible mistake.

When you pulled away, it was bloodstained.

Shoulders drooping, you continued to dry yourself without looking at it. Nor did you want to look at yourself in the mirror. Somehow, you would have to attempt a fix for the wounds you had just acquired, which pulled and stung as you twisted to dry your back. Gritting your teeth, you kept at it. You didn’t really know what you should do, and were mainly counting on your powers to heal them up fast, but you weren’t about to trouble any of the others for help. They had done enough.

You turned next to a stack of dry clothes.

It was as a sweater dropped over your eyes that someone knocked.

The sound wasn’t soft. Only hesitating for a moment, you gave in and found the person on the other side just as decisive as his knock.

Jungkook stood with his arms folded. Expectant.

Your poked your head out, looked at him warily.

He had enough of your waiting and tugged his arms free, pulling the door open and marching inside.

The breath caught in your chest as you backed up, bracing yourself. He would be right to chew you out right now. He had been right earlier too, you saw that now-

“We could have lost you!”

Your eyes were fixed on him. Couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink.

You thought you had been prepared, but the fierceness of his tone took even you off-guard. Not to mention the words it was paired with. You hadn’t expected that. But as they sunk in, they brought your heart down with them.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” your voice was quiet, but perfectly clear in the confined space.

His eyes only hardened.

“Don’t talk like that.”

While his eyes pierced you, his tone was less abrasive. If you hadn’t known better, it would almost have sounded like begging.

It even succeeded in making you shut up for a short time. But you forced your jaw to cooperate, breathed in.

“But… but I-” sighing roughly, you dropped your gaze to the side. Glared at yourself in the mirror. “I fucked up. I ruined it, I let Monsoon get what he-”

An abrupt step forwards cut you off. Startled, you looked up to find Jungkook snatching the first aid box from the side and stalking towards you.

“Sit down,” he instructed.

Struck dumb for the second time, you did.

He followed. He knelt down right in front of you, and started unpacking stuff from the medical kit as if this was completely normal. Or perhaps to avoid having to face that it wasn’t.

“I would say you should’ve known he would do a number on you-” Jungkook began, to which you sighed.

“I’m lucky I even made it out alive, I know, I know-”

“Hardly,” Jungkook scoffed, turning back to you with a small cloth in hand, “if it was luck, yours would have run out by now.”

You blinked. And then tried hard to avoid blinking, because he leaned forward to press the wipe above your eye.

You swallowed against the sting. Swallowed harder when his other hand lightly steadied your temple on the opposite side.

“You really think I’m good luck, after today?”

A self-depreciating downward tilt dragged at your lips.

Jungkook, on the other hand, chuckled. It was brief, but it was there, a joyful quirk of his mouth.

“No.”

Your heart shouldn’t have sunk at his agreement.

His eyes flicked to yours, then away again as he focussed on his task. But he surprised you, and spoke again.

“I thought you were good luck before today.”

Though your mouth opened, you found all words had been robbed from you. Now, with your staring, he refused to catch your gaze again.

Resigned to not understanding him at all, you shut your mouth and sat in the silence for another minute. He changed cloths, chucking a now-red one away and moving on to swipe at the stickier blood that lingered on your cheek and jaw.

Somehow, in the peaceful bathroom, with his light touches on your skin, you could finally look over the recent whirlwind of events with clarity. Unfortunately, your embarrassment only burned brighter when you examined it through such a magnifying lens.

Looking hesitantly up at Jungkook as he worked, you cleared your throat.

“How did you find me?”

He spent a second longer, one more long swipe over your cheekbone, before sitting back.

“Because that’s what I would have done. If I wanted to make things right.”

“But I didn’t manage to.”

Jungkook just shrugged.

“That depends. What were you trying to prove?”

“I-I- nothing! I don’t know” – you fell forwards, elbows on knees – “I wanted to get the gun back... that’s what we lost. What you were mad about, before.”

Jungkook didn’t move away, even when you slumped closer. His face looked a little pinched.

“Sure,” he spoke, voice only loud enough to travel the short distance to you, and no further. “But it was also… I was afraid. Because I had started- no, I trusted you. I didn’t want you to throw it back in my face now that I care-”

The end of his sentence snapped into silence like bone china, but the silence after the break was deafening. Reeling from what was thrown. The echoes rang in your skull.

He removed his gaze, staring somewhere to the side.

When you finally recovered your voice your words were simple, quiet.

“I’m sorry.”

Another moment passed. You couldn’t even hear your own breathing. Only saw his chest rise as he inhaled.

Then he levelled you with a gaze. His eyes sharpened as you observed each other.

“What for?”

You swallowed, shoulders sagging, but forced yourself not to look away.

“I’ve broken it. Our trust.”

“You showed me how badly you didn’t want it to break,” he pointed out.

Slowly, your mouth opened, something leaping perilously in your chest. Denying it, you frowned.

“Does that make a difference? I still didn’t fix anything…”

Letting out a breath through his nose, Jungkook dropped his cloth into the first aid bag and folded his arms loosely.

“If you still need to prove it to me, you can tell me why, then. Why you fight.”

His head raised as he cocked his chin up. Face blank, save for the challenging glint of his eye.

Shocked, you straightened up without thinking. Drew your arms back to your sides. This may have been the first time he had given you the chance to explain yourself. The first time he had offered himself to listen.

It took you a moment to gather yourself. Or rather, to wait until you were sure he wasn’t joking. What you had to say was already there, waiting on your tongue.

“I was just a spare… I was in the way, and that was all he needed to dispose of me. And other people… aren’t so lucky. I was given another chance, somehow. I needed to do something with it. I wasn’t part of Bolt’s plot, but that shouldn’t mean I’m not allowed to have my own.”

“You’re right.”

You could only stare, a curious frown shifting your face imperceptibly when Jungkook responded so promptly.

“Other people aren’t so lucky,” he carried on, slower now. His eyes shone under the bathroom lights. “My dad–” his voice unexpectedly gave out on him. His eyes darted down, only for a second, tongue briefly wetting his lips “–my dad was a guard. We didn’t have much money, he didn’t have much choice. So he worked for the first guy who would pay him a steady salary. Then Bolt-”

Horror had well and truly sunk into your bones before Jungkook even had to stop for the second time, choking on the word. Your body felt far away again. All you could see was Jungkook’s face as he staunchly forced his lips into an even line.

“He left the boss alive,” something bitter edged Jungkook’s voice. “He’s in prison. Bolt got his trophy. He has the kind of power that means people will overlook the cost.

“I was thirteen.”

You were stunned. You could only stare at him, lips parted stupidly as what he just told you sunk in. All this time, he had looked at you the way he did because… because you were exactly what he and his dad never got. Not only did you survive Bolt, you then basically became him.

You weren’t Bolt, not by a long shot. Jungkook had made sure of that, all while trying to prove to himself that you were.

But even trying to imagine what he must have thought of you was making your head spin. It would have been easier on him to hate you.

You could hardly breathe, but words were tumbling from your mouth anyway.

“I’m so sorry. Fuck, Jungkook…”

Jungkook was looking at you again. His eyes glistened, yes, but on the surface he held it together, the depth of his sadness flowing beneath.

Bending your head under the weight of understanding, your eyes rested on your hands. Lifting them, you turned them over. The same lightning that ran through your palms had torn his life apart long before Bolt ever turned his sights to you.

You had lived. Why you?

“I’m sorry he never got the chance I did.” Your sentences landed far apart, sparing. What could you say? “It should have been him.”

“I’m glad you got them.”

Time slowed down as Jungkook’s words made impact. You nearly choked on them.

You stared back at him, not breathing. The gaze he returned was level, totally serious. Had you heard him right?

“You’re good, Y/N-”

He dipped his head at last, but didn’t break the eye contact for long. He eyed you as if waiting for you to laugh in his face. Like he couldn’t believe he was saying this, either.

“And you do the right thing. So when you screwed up… I know you never meant for that to happen. You know what went wrong, and you won’t do it again. I know that. So I shouldn’t have-”

Huffing, he looked roughly to one side, jamming a hand into his hair. Glowered into the counter as he kept speaking.

“But it hurt more because it was you. I want you to be with… us. The-the boys all love you a lot, okay? You’re one of us now.”

Jungkook was distracted from his determination to avoid looking at you by a sniffle. You had already pushed the back of your hand against your mouth.

Though you tried for a glare, the awe in it did weaken the effect. You shook your head.

“I hate you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The look that flashed over his face was almost comically hurt.

“I-I thought I was done,” you rambled, “all I want is to be part of this team, I thought I had blown it- and now you’ve made me cry!”

Swiping at the couple of escaped tears with one hand, you jabbed the other one accusingly towards Jungkook. But you only meant a fraction of the venom, and he knew it. His lips tightened the way they did when he tried to suppress a smile.

When he held his hands up as if in surrender, you lowered yours. A watery sigh escaped you.

“You say this now, after you made me think I had to prove it to you all over again-”

Deflating, his stance softened. Dropping his hands, one of them hovered before landing on the closed toilet lid an inch from your knee.

“I never meant that. About you needing to suffer… I know you already have.” He chewed his lip for a moment before something sparked behind his eyes. “But hey, you ran off and did exactly that! I thought your whole point was that you didn’t want to-!”

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help the grin breaking out. Shifting, your leg dislodged Jungkook’s hand. His fingertips stilled where they now found themselves grazing your leg.

“We’re both idiots,” you concluded.

“Hey, don’t tell the others!”

With a breathy laugh, you gratefully felt some weight dissolve from your shoulders. Even after the laughter wore off, you felt yourself smiling faintly at your lap and took the chance to blink back your tears.

One was knocked free, shooting down your cheek-

Only to be intercepted by a finger.

Jungkook froze, hand still on your face, and gulped. A second too late to look natural, he glanced down with a gesturing nod.

“That’ll hurt like a bitch in that cut.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

The pad of his thumb dragged away the salty water while you tried very hard not to look too hard at anything. Or to close your eyes. Would that be worse?

Then he moved backwards again, reaching for something new. The wound on your cheek was a cleaner cut, easier to deal with. As he wiped it a few times with a fresh gauze, his hand finally placed itself steadily over your knee.

A new kind of silence settled as he pressed two strips over each gash.

“You, um…” he withdrew his hand, “you should rest. And eat. Yeah. Eat, and rest.”

You nodded.

“Yeah, I should.”

Looking over to the door, you dragged your lip between your teeth. In fairness, Jungkook had been your biggest concern. But you had still royally fucked up today. Twice. You had the rest of your group to make it up to.

Maybe braving it sooner would be easiest. As much as you didn’t have the energy for it, they could recharge you. You all gave back to each other in the end.

Sensing your reservation, Jungkook stood.

“Hey,” he called your attention back to him, “they were just worried.”

“I guess they’ll be a piece of cake now, after you,” you couldn’t help smiling, “you’re the most obstinate one, after all.”

As you finished speaking, you followed him to stand, shooting a smirk into his affronted face. It looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to be offended or amused – until all that was erased as you crossed closer to him on your way to the door.

Your expression, too, faded. Your steps fell too sluggishly, but his gravity slowed them without your meaning to. It left you locked in his eyes for too long.

With your breath trapped in your throat, you had no idea how you managed it. Your voice sounded without premeditation, low but clear with your sincerity.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

And then you turned, leaving him trying to recover his own racing heart behind you.

Thank you for reading!!💜💜

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