#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

[raekensluver]

MIDNIGHT RIDES - BIKER!LUIGI MANGIONE x FEM!READER

DESCRIPTION: going on a night ride with luigi is one of your favorite pastimes.

CONTAINS: dangerous acts on a motorcycle, oral (fem receiving), luigi cumming in his pants.

w.c: 2.8k

the neon lights of the city flickered in the puddles from the recent rain shower, casting an eerie glow across the asphalt. the air had the scent of wet concrete and exhaust fumes. you sat snugly behind luigi on his sleek motorcycle, feeling the gentle purr of the engine vibrate through your body. the warmth of his back radiated against your chest as you tightened your arms around his waist, your gloved hands resting just above his hips. the red light loomed over the intersection, a silent guard dictating the flow of traffic.

you couldn't help but let your curiosity wander. your fingertips traced the contours of his muscular thighs beneath his jeans. luigi stiffened slightly, but a soft chuckle rumbled from his chest. "what's going on back there?" he asked without looking back, his voice a low murmur over the engine's hum. you giggled in response, your breath warm against the fabric of his shirt. "just enjoying the ride," you said with a playful smile. the light turned green and he revved the engine, but you didn't pull away. instead, you slid your hands upward, under the hem of his shirt, and onto the firmness of his abs.

luigi's grip tightened on the handlebars, the bike wobbling slightly as you continued your exploration. you felt his stomach muscles tense as your hands roamed higher, reaching the base of his ribs. his breathing grew shallower, a subtle sign of his growing discomfort. "hey," he said, half-laughing, half-serious. "keep that up and we're gonna end up on the sidewalk." the light had turned red again, and the world around you had stilled once more. you leaned in closer, your helmet's visor kissing the back of his neck. "i don't know," you murmured. "i like the view from here."

his cheeks flushed a little beneath the cool evening air, the only indication of his rising temperature. "you're really not making it easy for me to focus, you know," he said, his voice strained. the engine's vibrations grew more pronounced as his heart rate increased. you grinned, feeling a thrill at the effect you had on him. "good," you said, your voice a low purr. "i want all your attention."

you felt his abs tighten as you slid your hands around to his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath the fabric of his jacket. the light changed again, but luigi didn't move. "are we just going to sit here?" you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice. "i thought we had somewhere to be?"

his shoulders relaxed slightly and he sighed. "right, sorry," he said, before turning the throttle and peeling out of the intersection. you gripped his thighs tightly as the bike surged forward, the wind rushing past your ears like a symphony of freedom. the city lights streaked by in a blur of color, reflecting in the puddles like a disco ball had shattered on the street. luigi leaned into the turns, his body moving in sync with the bike, your heart racing to keep up with the rhythm of the engine.

the feeling of his thighs beneath your palms was exhilarating, the power of the motorcycle seemingly transferring to your fingertips. as you gripped tighter, luigi's muscles flexed, responding to the pressure. it was like holding onto a living, breathing creature, one that thrummed with life and strength. each shift in gears sent a jolt of excitement through your body, making you feel more alive than ever before.

you slid your hands up to his biceps, giving them a gentle squeeze. luigi's shoulders hunched slightly, and you felt his tension spike. "you're gonna make me lose control," he warned, but his voice was tinged with amusement. "i trust you," you whispered, nuzzling his neck. your breath was hot, a stark contrast to the cool air rushing past. he chuckled again, the sound low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

the city streets grew quieter as you ventured further into the night. the buildings grew taller, their lights casting long shadows that danced with the bike's headlight. the air grew crisper, hinting at the approaching winter. the chill didn't bother you, though, not with luigi's warmth surrounding you. you leaned in closer, pressing your chest against his back, your hands now resting on the tops of his arms. the bike's vibrations grew more intense as he picked up speed, the thrumming a delicious reminder of the power beneath you.

finally, luigi pulled over to the side of the road, the engine sputtering to a halt. the silence was deafening after the constant roar of the motor. you slipped off the bike, your legs wobbly from the adrenaline rush. "what's up?" you asked, a smile playing on your lips as you both pulled off your helmets, letting your hair cascade down your back. he turned to face you, his eyes dark with something unspoken. "i need a break," he said, his voice gruff.

you took a step closer, placing your hand on his arm. "are you okay?" you asked, genuine concern lacing your voice. he took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "yeah," he murmured. "but you're driving me crazy." a soft laugh escaped your lips, and you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "sorry," you whispered, not really meaning it.

luigi stepped closer, closing the space between you. his eyes searched yours for a moment, before he leaned down and captured your mouth in a fiery kiss. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his body. your hands found their way into his hair, the strands damp from the misty night. the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you standing under the flickering streetlight.

his kiss grew more demanding, and you felt your body respond in kind. your heart pounded in your chest, the throb of the engine still resonating in your bones. the coolness of the metal bike frame pressed into your side, a stark contrast to the heat emanating from luigi's embrace. the scent of engine oil mingled with the sweet aroma of his cologne, creating a heady mix that made you dizzy with desire.

finally, he pulled back, his breath coming in short gasps. "behave," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "and i'll give you what you want." his eyes searched yours, a promise and a challenge all rolled into one. you bit your bottom lip, nodding slowly. "okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

without another word, luigi grabbed your helmet from the handlebars and placed it back over your head, the cool plastic a stark contrast to your flushed cheeks. his hands lingered for a moment, adjusting the strap, his fingers brushing against your skin. you felt a sudden thrill at his assertiveness, a side of him you don't see much of. "let's go," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. you climbed back onto the bike, your legs straddling the seat, and wrapped your arms around his waist once more.

the ride back to your townhouse was a blur of neon lights and the occasional streetlamp. luigi's focus was intense, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. every so often, you'd feel his abs tighten against your grip, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that still crackled between you. your hands remained on his thighs, but you didn't push any further, content to simply feel the warmth of his skin through his jeans.

as the bike pulled into the driveway, you felt a sense of anticipation building in the pit of your stomach. luigi killed the engine and swung his leg over the side, helping you off the bike. the moment your feet hit the ground, he turned to face you, his eyes dark and smoldering. without a word, he took your hand and led you up the stairs, the sound of your boots echoing through the quiet night.

once inside, he reached up and unbuckled your helmet, lifting it off with surprising gentleness. you felt a sense of vulnerability without the barrier between you, but also a thrill at the intimacy of the gesture. luigi's eyes never left yours as he placed the helmet on the coat rack by the door. his own helmet followed, the clunk of it hitting the wooden floor echoing through the hallway.

his hand found yours, and he led you to the living room, the warm glow of the lamp casting shadows across the floorboards. the couch beckoned, a cozy sanctuary in the chilly night. without breaking eye contact, luigi sat down, pulling you onto his lap. the heat of his body was like a warm embrace, and you melted into it, feeling your own desire flame brighter with every beat of your heart.

his hands moved to the zipper of your jacket, tugging it down slowly, revealing the soft fabric of your shirt beneath. his fingertips traced the line of your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. the air in the room felt thick with unspoken words and unexplored feelings. you leaned in, capturing his mouth in another kiss, this one slower, deeper. your tongues danced together, a silent conversation that spoke of passion and yearning.

luigi's hands grew more confident, slipping beneath the material of your shirt to caress your bare skin. the touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure through your body. with a sudden decisiveness, he pulled the shirt over your head, breaking the kiss just long enough to discard it onto the floor. his eyes roamed over your torso, drinking in the sight of your curves, your skin flushed from the cold and excitement.

his hands moved to the laces of your boots, deftly untying them and tugging them off one by one. the feel of his warm, calloused hands against your ankles was heavenly, sending a thrill up your legs. you shivered slightly, and he looked up with a question in his eyes. "are you cold?" he murmured, his voice thick with want. "no," you replied, your voice a whisper. "i just want you."

his gaze held yours for a moment longer before dropping to your waist, where his hands began to work on the button of your jeans. the denim felt tight, constricting, as if the fabric itself was eager to be removed. with a pop, the button was freed, and luigi slid the zipper down with torturous slowness. the anticipation was palpable, a silent crescendo building between the two of you.

once your jeans were undone, luigi's hands slid inside, cupping your hips, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin of your stomach. your breath hitched as he began to peel the fabric down, exposing your legs to the cool air. his eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race even faster. you could see the desire in his eyes, the hunger that matched your own.

his hands moved to your back, unclasping your bra with a practiced ease that spoke of familiarity. it slipped off your shoulders, and you shrugged it away, feeling the weight of it fall away. your breasts pressed against his chest, the fabric of his shirt a thin barrier to the warmth of his skin. his thumbs grazed your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. you gasped, arching into his touch.

his hands moved to the waistband of your underwear, hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling it down with your jeans. your legs were bare now, the soft skin of your thighs exposed to the cool air. luigi's eyes never left yours as he removed the last of your clothing, his gaze a mix of desire and something else, something deeper that made you quiver.

he slid you off his lap, standing in front of you as you stepped out of your jeans and underwear. your legs felt wobbly, but you didn't need to stand for long. with a gentle tug, he guided you back onto the couch, this time with your legs spread wide open for him. the fabric of the couch was rough against the back of your thighs, but it was a delicious contrast to the softness of the cushions beneath you.

luigi knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours. his hands rested on your thighs, the warmth of his palms sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. slowly, so achingly slowly, he leaned forward, his breath hot against your skin. you felt his nose nuzzle the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh before his lips followed, placing a soft, lingering kiss just above your knee. your body quivered in response, your heart racing with anticipation.

his kisses grew bolder, moving upward, each one sending a shiver through your core. the anticipation was almost too much to bear as he approached your center. when his mouth finally found your clit, it was like a bolt of lightning had struck you. the sensation was intense, the gentle pressure of his lips against the sensitive bud sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. you moaned, your hips bucking upward involuntarily.

his nose rested against your clit as he explored you with his tongue, delving into your folds with a hunger that left you breathless. the warmth of his breath was a stark contrast to the coolness of the room, sending goosebumps racing across your skin. your fingernails dug into the couch cushions as he lapped at you, the rhythm of his movements matching the pounding of your pulse. your eyes rolled back in your head, lost in the symphony of sensation.

his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he worked his magic. you felt your body begin to tighten, the tension coiling like a spring deep within you. your breathing grew ragged, your chest heaving with every gasp. "luigi," you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips. he responded by increasing his pace, his tongue flicking against your clit with an expert touch that had you seeing stars.

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smoldering intensity in their depths. you could see his own desire mirrored in the dark orbs, his own need growing with every passing moment. and then, as if unable to resist any longer, luigi's body tensed, and he ground his hips against the couch cushions. you watched, mesmerized, as he gave in to the pleasure you were giving him, his own need evident in the way he moved.

his teeth gritted as he fought for control, his eyes never leaving yours. the fabric of his pants grew tight against his erection, the outline clear and unmistakable. the friction from the couch cushions must have been driving him wild, because you could see his body strain with each movement, his thighs flexing as he sought release. the sight of him like this, so raw and unbridled, only served to stoke your own passion.

you reached down, your hand sliding over his shoulder to the back of his head, urging him closer, your legs shaking. "yes," you panted, the word barely audible. "just like that." luigi's eyes darkened, and he took the hint, his mouth working more fervently against your clit, his tongue swirling in a pattern that had you teetering on the edge. your toes curled, the tension in your body reaching a crescendo that threatened to shatter you.

suddenly, it was too much, and you were falling, the world around you dissolving into a sea of white-hot pleasure. your nails dug into his shoulders, your hips bucking against his mouth as you cried out his name. the orgasm washed over you in waves, leaving you boneless and trembling. luigi didn't stop, though, continuing to kiss and nip at your sensitive flesh, drawing out every last bit of ecstasy until you were a puddle of satisfaction.

as the spasms of pleasure began to subside, you felt a shift in his posture. his breathing grew more ragged, and his grip on your thighs tightened. then, it happened. a muffled groan vibrated against your skin as luigi's body tensed, his hips jerking. you watched with a mix of fascination and desire as he came in his pants, the fabric straining against his erection. the sight of him losing control was more intoxicating than any alcohol could ever be.

his eyes snapped shut, and he remained there for a moment, his forehead resting against your thighs. his chest heaved with each ragged breath, the sound a testament to his restraint. finally, he sat back on his heels, his eyes opening to meet yours. "i'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with passion and regret. "i couldn't… i just needed…"

you reached out, placing a hand on his cheek. "it's okay," you assured him, your voice soft. "i liked watching you." a hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours. the air between you was charged with something unspoken, a silent understanding.

[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).

[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! 💌

Tag list: @mountainsandmayhem @alltheirdamn @sin-djarin @nerdieforpedro @almostfoxglove

@mermaidgirl30 @perotovar @penvisions @guiltyasdave @legendary-pink-dot

@arcanefox207 @qveerthe0ry @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @jessthebaker @toshatoshalopez 

@almostempty @cuppajoel @pastawench @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @kungfucapslock

@flyingthroughheaven @theoraekenslover @indiegirlunited @pedrospurplerain

@campingwiththecharmings @magneticecstasy @ozarkthedog @tonysopranosrobe 

@whocaresstillthelouvre @aurorawritestoescape @joelstummy @pedropeach @oliveksmoked

Please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list!

[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.

[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.

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

[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’.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 13: One Of Us

prev | masterlist | next

🗲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!!💜💜

<prev | masterlist | next>

taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @written-in-flowers @taegularities @dvalities

@parapiop7 @taiwan0618 @11thenightwemet11 @junniesoleilkth @doctorquack

@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife

@kokoandkookie @veemegatron @kookxin @seokout @jkayy

@peaaachpit @stxrrielle @welcometomyworld13 @ssexsellls @ramicherie

@jk5t4r @purplebeebs @nanjeonlangakook @wifflepuff1344 @ot7stansthings

@thesmeraldogirl

[lunitawrites]

Both Sides of the Moon - part one

pairing: biker!joel miller x fem!reader rating: explicit word count: 2.8k summary: After a troubled childhood you move back to your hometown. You are trying to avoid facing the dark past of your family, but you realize it will be harder than you thought when a mysterious stranger appears in town trying to take revenge. TWs: no-outbreak AU, age gap (reader mid-twenties, Joel is late forties), loss of parents, reference to sex work, reference to foster homes, guns, knife, alcohol consumption, cigarettes, Joel being violent towards reader, petnames, reader has hair long enough that it can be grabbed, otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n a/n: hey! so this is my first attempt at writing, I really hope some of you out there will like it. I am eternally grateful to @papipascalispunk who reviewed and edited my work. Thanks a million to @toxicanonymity and @hier--soir for their suggestions! Shoutout to the other Joel Millers on bikes: a minute from home by @agentmarcuspike, jailbird by @toxicanonymity and little mouse by @katiexpunk & @josephquinnswhore masterlist

You are fidgeting with your nametag in front of the mirror, trying to apply it to your uniform, but you must have bent the needle when you removed it last time because it won't stay up now.

“Don’t worry about it darlin’,” you hear Arlene shout from the kitchen, “It's a small town, everyone knows you by now.”

“I suppose they do,” you mumble and drop the pin to the dresser. She's always been nice to you, almost mothering you, since you started working together in the diner. You take one last look in the mirror, smoothing out your uniform and walking through the kitchen to start your 7 PM shift.

It's a slow start. The townsfolk don't start coming until the sun paints the sky purple and orange, until the dust strats to settle and the cicadas’ song fills up the night. Your shift begins at the bar; whiskey, beer, salted peanuts, a smile or two for better tips. The bar fills up with a subtle buzz, stench of alcohol and anticipation.

Later on in the evening, Sam asks you to wait tables instead. You usually prefer staying behind the bar, but it's Friday night, the dining area will get busy soon. Arlene will need the extra pair of hands taking the orders anyway, so you pick up your notepad and pen and head out to the floor. 

You are always cautious out here, you have to be. The men are not violent, but they always try to take what they think they deserve. A brush of a knuckle on your thighs, eyes lingering on the swell of your breasts, an inappropriate comment disguised as a compliment, fingertips on the curve of your hips as they pass by. Sam, your boss, always makes sure that it’s not more, keeping an eye on you at all times from behind the bar. Sam is one of the few people who knows about your past, who knows that there were times when you were giving a lot more than a smile for some crinkled up bills, who knows that just a few months ago, your uniform was nothing more than a pair of thigh highs and your underwear.

—

You were six when your dad died, and you moved away with your mom right after. You stayed with her for another few months until they diagnosed her. She passed away before the next Christmas. By January, you were in your first foster home. After you got out from your last foster home with nothing more than a few pairs of clothes and the fifty dollar bill that you stole from your foster dad's wallet, you really didn’t see another option for survival. 

It started at a gentlemen's club called Red Rose, just outside of Austin, all neon lights and kitsch, velvet and satin from a decade before. They gave you a room in the motel next to it, but only if you worked the after hours shift, so you agreed. You didn't know what after hours meant at the time, but you would have agreed to almost anything if it meant that you would spend the night in a bed and not somewhere outside.

The after hours, you learned quickly, meant selling your body to anyone who took interest in it during the opening hours of the club. So while you did spend your night in a bed, it was with a truck driver named Dylan, who paid you hundred dollars for an hour of you being a good girl, as he described. Forty of those dollars covered the motel bill and twenty went to the club manager for organizing the deal.

You spent six years working at Red Rose, eventually saving up enough money so you didn't have to stay at the motel. You rented a flat with black mold and sticky linoleum floors, sharing it with three of the other girls from the club. You were driving an old Chevy that one of the girls passed onto you after she moved up north. Six years of Dylans and Bobs and Johns and Joses and Miguels. Six years of sweat and spit and bruises and slaps and come, until you couldn't anymore. 

You moved back to your hometown, although it was never really your home, and while you knew little about the circumstances of your father’s death, you were still afraid to come back, terrified to face the past. But as it turned out, you never had to, as if there was some silent agreement amongst the town that they never spoke of your family. No one gossipped, or if they did, they did so silently that it never reached your ears. They welcomed you into town as if you were a stranger. 

You moved into your old family home at the edge of town. White paint chipped from wooden boards, almost two decades of dust and sorrow covering every inch. You slowly made it your own home, settling into the master bedroom that was once your parents’, but leaving every other room untouched. You have not dared to open the door of your old bedroom yet. 

You still drove the old Chevy when you started working at Sam’s six nights a week, the only diner in town, serving the majority of the people who lived there.

—

It's Friday, which means a good crowd and better tips. Friday means an extra drink for everyone to celebrate yet another week survived in this dusty town in south Texas, just above the border. So you move among the tables with a smile so wide that your face starts to hurt.

It's almost eleven now and most of the tables are occupied; workers for their well-deserved after work drink, youngsters pregaming before driving up to Austin for a night out, some couples leaning over their drinks to be closer to one another, families finishing up their meals, greasy hands stopping you to order another basket of fries. The buzz is loud now, the air in the diner thick and heavy with alcohol and laughter. A usual Friday at Sam’s, until it isn’t.

The door squeaks open, heavy footsteps on the floor, broad shoulders in the doorframe. You really shouldn't be able to hear it over the sound of Friday in the diner, but you do. You lock eyes with deep amber, a pair of sad eyes, searching for a place to sit. Strong arms hidden under a black leather jacket, dark wash jeans, disheveled brown curls, almost halo-like, lit by the street lights behind him. The diner seems to catch up with you, surprised faces turning to the direction of the door, sentences left unfinished, whispers let out, cheeks turned red in surprise, Adam’s apples bobbing up and down. Is it? It can’t be. The sounds of Friday fun turn into whispers, and whispers turn to silence. Fear creeps up in your spine, something primal, something unexplainable.

He walks up to an empty table, heavy boots on sticky floor are the only sound now. The squeal of a chair, denim rubbing against the fake leather of the booth, fingers tapping on the tabletop, an impatient sigh. You move your feet from where they were rooted to the ground just a minute ago. Sweaty hands flipping paper on the notepad. You clear your throat before closing up the space between you and his table.

“What can I get you?”, your voice comes out raspy, almost scared. He looks up at you, a faint smile on his face, eyes not quite meeting yours. Instead, he looks at your lips, gaze burning on your skin, you press your lips together, as if you could hide them entirely. Your eyes flick over to the bar, searching for another pair of brown eyes, searching for comfort. But comfort is not what you find, Sam looks back at you with a wild gaze, almost panic in his eyes.

“Whiskey, neat,” the stranger says, now looking at his hands on the table.

“Coming right up!”, you answer with fake cheerfulness in your voice. Legs heavy as you move, “A whiskey, neat,” you say when you reach the bar, waiting for Sam to prepare the drink. You understand that the questions are not for now, the questions are for later. The people slowly turn their attention back to the drinks in front of them, conversations starting again. But still, the air stays as if it was frozen the minute the stranger came in, Friday never has been so quiet at Sam’s diner..

“There you go”, you say as you place the glass in front of him, voice heavy with the accent you thought you never had.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, not looking up at you this time.

Time feels slow, dragging on every minute, every second of the night. You cannot take being inside anymore. You feel like you are going to suffocate.

“I am going on my break,” you say quickly and don’t wait for anyone to acknowledge, just disappear through the kitchen. 

The muggy evening air hugs your skin as you open the back door of the diner. Being outside is just as suffocating as being inside, but at least it's quieter. You take a cigarette out from the crumpled package in your apron, place it between your lips but don't light it just yet. You should quit. You exhale sharply and put the cigarette back. Istead, you lean your head back to the wall, looking up at the moon. She's in her full glory tonight, casting pale light to the dark forest in front of you.

You are not sure what happened inside. This man who you are sure you have never seen in your life just woke up something deep inside you. You feel like you are drawn to him by a strange force, a force that is so foreign to you. There was a certain kind of sadness in his eyes that you only see when you look into the reflection of your own eyes. Grief. Lost. Denial. Something that balances between madness and sanity. 

You hear the front door open with a squeaking sound. Footsteps, drunk laughter and heavy drawls take over the silence of your break. You are about to go inside when you hear an intoxicated voice call out:

“Where do you think you’re goin´?” the drunk man shouts. “You think you can just walk in here and have a drink like the rest of us? Like you fuckin’ belong here.” he spits. The rest of the men stop talking. Now he is the only voice. “Let me tell you. You don´t. You should not come around anymore. You are not welcome here and you should know that.”

“So what happens if I do  come around?” the stranger's voice is laced with coldness. You slowly start walking to the front. You need to see him again. You need to understand what's happening. You feel yourself shaking, despite the warm humidity of the night. 'You should just stay out of it,' the voice in your head says, but you keep walking.

You peek around the corner of the diner. There he is with six men from the town. They all seem fairly drunk. They seem like they are looking for trouble.

“Well, if you are so fuckin´ sure you gonna come around,” he drawls “we might as well just give you a taste of what we are plannin´ to do with you. Right, boys?” he laughs and the men laugh with him, like a pack of coyotes. They all sound way too drunk to do any real harm, but there are six of them against him.

“Try me” the stranger grits through his teeth. He doesn't seem to be afraid, he seems like he would not care if he lives or dies. He seems like someone who gave up a long time ago.

“That ’s enough!” You shout and start walking up to the crowd. ”Go home or I will call Sam out and we will see who won’t be allowed to come around here anymore”. The loudest one flashes you a drunk grin and says: “That is just fuckin’ hilarious. You wanna protect him?” he asks.

“I am not protecting anyone, it’s my job to keep this place running. So I am doing just exactly that.” you say putting your hands on your waist. “Now, gentlemen, I would appreciate, if you all went home and cared about your wives and kids just as much as you care about your liquor. I reckon you had enough fun for tonight. Go! All of you!” you order them.

You are surprised to see that they do. It might be the mention of their wives and the reminder of how they would react if they saw them coming home drunk and all beaten up. The loudest one turns back for a second and addresses you. “You don’t know what you are doing.”

“I guess not.” you whisper and turn your head to the stranger.

“You didn't need to, darlin’. I can defend myself,” he says, drawl thick as the night above you. 

“Mhm, you seem like the type who can,” you say with a half smile. He laughs at that, but there is no humor in it. It should not be possible for a laugh to sound that sad.

“You new around here?”, he takes a step forward, cornering you to the wall. His eyes are searching for the name tag on your uniform. As he cannot find anything his eyes flick back to your face again. His gaze lights something up in you, deep inside your stomach. Frozen flames licking your insides. You are terrified of it, you are terrified of him.

“You can say that, moved back recently. And you? It seems like everyone knows you around here.” you say, heart pounding in your throat. 

“Wasn't hard to sense that, was it?”, you can feel his breath on your skin. Whiskey, burning on your cheeks.

“No,” you say, casting down your eyes. Somehow his proximity makes you restless. His presence makes the blood rush faster in your body. Your reaction is almost instinctual, you want to rip his flash and sink your teeth into him. To be closer or to get away. You are not sure.

He must sense it, a sly smile across his lips. He lifts his hand, hovers his knuckles over your cheeks tentatively. You are red burning fire. He brushes his knuckles over your left cheek, your chin, the curve of your neck. He rests his palm on your shoulder at last.

“You are shaking,” he murmurs. He takes his hand away. It's almost like you couldn't breathe while he touched you. Lungs filling up with air again. You lock eyes with him. “So what's your..,” he starts but cannot finish, Arlene opens the back door and calls your name. 

“Everything okay here?”, she asks.

His eyes darken. Amber turns black. “It's you,” he says, “I should have fuckin’ known.” One hand grabbing your hair, the other turning you around. Rough denim scratching the back of your thighs as he pushes you up to the wall. Head knocking on wood, you feel dizzy. You hear Arlene’s muffled scream, the door opening again. Cold steel pressed into your throat, you taste your death. “I couldn't have planned this better, could I?”, he whispers into your ear.

“Who the fuck are you? What do you want from me?”, you spit, fear blinding you as you try to grab a hold of him behind you.

“You don't know who I am? That's good. That´s just fuckin’ good”, he laughs, blood freezing in your veins from the sound of it.

You hear footsteps, Arlene’s breathy cry in the background. Boots then. Heavier than she could be. 

“Joel Miller,” Sam says with venom in his voice, “Leave her the fuck alone!”

His gun is pointing to Joel’s temple. Sam takes a step closer, “Get out of here. Right fuckin’ now.” Joel slowly releases the handful of hair he still has in his fist. As he does, a bitter smile spreads on his face.

“Another time then,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. He steps back, walks slowly to the parking lot where he swings his leg over a 1990 Harley-Davidson, the exact same model that is in your father's garage. 

You look at Sam, eyes blurred with tears and confusion.You are certain of one thing, and one thing only. Joel Miller wants to kill you.

—

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. Please let me know if you'd like to be on the tag list for the next parts!

[sunjaesol]

soljae | final timeline, angst, comfort, canon divergence | prompt: transformation

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Ryu Sunjae was pretty sure he lost his mind.

He confessed his feelings to the scriptwriter of a movie he refused to participate in, he felt irrational amounts of anger towards a police officer, got nauseous each time a taxi drove by in narrow streets, and—most importantly—he felt like he stepped out of his own body multiple times a day.

It was akin his soul drifting above his body, watching his walk and talk, but feeling totally removed from it all. Instead, his soul yearned for something different. Something beyond his reach—beyond the scope of this universe.

Which was insane. Hence the losing of his mind.

It had to be exhaustion, Sunjae reasoned. He walked the streets of the bustling financial district, hands stuffed in his long, black coat. He hoped that walking here would ease his mind. Among the skyscrapers that loomed impossibly high, a person came to rational thought.

Sunjae sighed as a headache grew right behind his eyes. He pinched his nose. That also happened now: headaches, bordering on migraines, which he never suffered from in the past.

It all started because of that damned script landing in his lap. It was cursed.

His hand moved up to rake through his hair. Focus, he told hlmself. Focus on what he knew was real for sure. He knew he was thirty-two, a B-list actor, that his dad owned a restaurant. His mother passed away when he was ten. He swam competitively as a teenager. He has lived in Seoul his whole life.

The facts repeated themselves in his brain, again and again. But when he tried to dig deeper, he was stumped. Like slamming into a glass door, seeing that there was something, but the door was lcoked.

And then there was that damned song replaying in his head like a jingle. A ballad, to be specific, with lyrics he never heard of and a voice he recognised as his own. But Sunjae didn't sing; he hadn't picked up a microphone since his last year of high school.

Another wave of pain spiked behind his eyes and Sunjae groaned. His stride faltered and he lost balance. His hand shot out to lean against the frontage of a building.

What was going on with him?! His head was going to explode at this rate!

His eyes snapped shut to try and force the pain away.

"Ahjussi, are you alright? Do you need help?"

Cracking open one eye, he was met with a small, young girl that couldn't be older than thirteen. Her brows were furrowed in concern, one hand gripping her bookbag and the other a rolled-up, yellow umbrella.

Sunjae froze.

A rolodex of memories flickered by in place of the headache. Flashes of moments he didn't experience nor remembered but felt so intensely that his chest hurt. He doubled over, grabbing his torso, and the startled girl ran off.

Colours blurred and shifted together in a kaleidoscope to create the shapes of people and things. Pink lemonade in a sunlit park, a staggering bike under the moonlight, a ferris wheel, a necklace, a packed stadium with thousands of lightsticks shining at him, a bridge on a cold night, a video rental store, a yellow umbrella.

And her. Continuously, always revolving around and involving her.

Im Sol.

Sol-ah.

Sunjae gasped for air. Without realising, he had dropped on his haunches and was using his hands to steady himself against the pavement. His eyes were burning, his head feeling like his brain was about to escape.

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.

But his heart sang a different story. All these moments... were his own. Though not of him right now, but someplace else, some time else. His body and heart and mind, but different.

And Im Sol, the scriptwriter, was part of all these moments.

Feet pounded the pavement towards him. It was a police officer. The girl must've alerted the man after he doubled over.

He stretched out his arm in protest. "I'm fine, I'm fine!"

The police officer peered down at him, worried. "You shouldn't be sitting here if you're sick, Sir. Go home, yeah?"

Sunjae huffed. "I'm not... I'm not sick. I'm..." His words wavered, halting in his throat, and a tortured sob came out instead. Just like that, hot tears streamed down his face.

More memories intruded that blurred his vision and made the officer indistinguishable. Terrible amounts of grief sliced through his chest with each vignette of himself dying in different universes. He died. Again and again. Always young.

And finally, the rolodex ended on its final card. A tableau of himself as a teenager, frozen in awe, as a young Sol sprints towards him with cherry blossoms cascading from the trees.

"S-Sir...?"

Groaning, Sunjae used the wall to get back on his feet. He wiped his tears with a rough hand, but it was no use: they just kept coming.

"I need to go," he croaked. "I need to..." find Sol. Confront Sol. Explain everything to Sol. Hug Sol. Kiss Sol. Touch Sol. Make sure Sol doesn't die. Love Sol.

Before the officer could get another word out, Sunjae ran off. Where to, he wasn't sure, but at this point he trusted his heart to point him in the right direction.

There were nine million people in Seoul, but all of his paths have always led to Sol.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 25: Christmas Day Traditions & Activities

Tags: Pre-Relationship Steddie, Christmas Morning, Christmas Fluff, Supportive Wayne Munson, Eddie Munson Is A Sweetheart,

wc: 1488 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

It’s not that Steve likes to be alone on Christmas.

He doesn’t think anyone likes to be alone on Christmas — let alone someone who aspires to be a father to six little nuggets one day.

But he has a hard time taking his friends up on their offers to host him for Christmas. Doesn’t want to feel like a burden or impose on anyone’s traditions.

He’s tried in the past — joining the Hendersons in ’84 and Robin basically held him hostage in ’85, refusing to let him wallow alone in his house like some Grinch (her words not his).

No matter how accommodating the Hendersons and Buckleys were or how many times Dustin and Robin assured him that he wasn’t imposing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong. The cold weight in his gut and the nagging voice in his head telling him if his parents didn’t want him why would anyone else?

(He should probably go to therapy to get that checked out.)

It’s fine though, because Steve’s curated his own Christmas traditions now.

He wakes up whenever he wants to — usually still early because his body has never adjusted to the fact that it no longer needs to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to train — and makes himself an omelet or two. Then he moves into the living room and opens the gift Robin always leaves behind for him because she refuses to let him open something on Christmas.

After making his “Merry Christmas” calls and assuring Robin and Dustin that he’s fine and no, he doesn’t want to come over, he heats up the homemade casserole Ms. Henderson makes Dustin deliver by bike on the 23rd and settles down on the couch to watch this year’s Christmas Day basketball games.

It’s not much, but it works for Steve.

At least, it did until this year when Eddie threw a literal wrench in his plans by coaxing him into coming over because his car wouldn’t start and he had to pick Wayne up from a last-minute shift at the factory.

Honestly, Steve should have known it was a trap the minute he mentioned Wayne working a Christmas morning shift. Wayne and him aren’t close by any means, but he knows there’s no way Eddie’s Uncle would work on Christmas day and leave him home alone. He actually has good parenting habits, unlike some people in his life.

Still, the phone call came at six in the morning and Steve was too dizzy with sleep to question his motives until he pulled up at the Munsons to find both cars parked in their usual spots.

He doesn’t even have time to make a quick escape because Eddie’s perched on the worn sofa outside watching him.

“Took you long enough,” Eddie teases, sauntering over to Steve.

“From the looks of it you didn’t even need my help,” Steve sasses back as he gets out of the car. “Isn’t that Wayne’s car?”

Eddie glances in the direction Steve points as if he isn’t aware of the pickup truck. “Huh, guess it is. Must have been a dream I was having or something.”

“Or, something. Right,” Steve snorts, shaking his head.

“Well,” Eddie claps his hands together startling Steve. “Since we don’t actually need your help and you’re already here, you should stay for breakfast.”

“That’s okay, Eddie. I don’t—“

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie tuts. “You’re not bailing on me now, Stevie. Wayne’s in there whipping up his famous Christmas morning breakfast. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried his French toast casserole.”

Arguing with Eddie is worse than arguing with Dustin, so Steve saves his energy and agrees to stay for breakfast. He apologizes profusely to Wayne for the intrusion, earning a gruff “nonsense boy, you’re always welcome here,” several times before Wayne finally swats him with the spatula and insists he shut up or else.

The casserole is as delicious as Eddie made it out to be. Not that Steve was skeptical of Wayne’s ability to cook. He’s been over for chili nights and eaten Wayne’s perfectly cooked and fresh fish after the fishing trip Eddie also tricked Steve into attending.

With a full belly and Eddie’s demand met, he’s planning on heading out when he spots the mountain of dishes in the small sink. His parents may not have raised him to be kind and thoughtful, but it's the man he’s become so he hikes up the sleeves on his maroon sweater and gets to work cleaning the dishes even though both Wayne and Eddie shout at him that there’s “no chores on Christmas.” When they both offer to help, Steve throws “no chores on Christmas” back in their faces and shoos them out of the kitchen with a smile and lots of gruff laughter. 

He’s almost finished with the washing when the snow starts to fall. Not cute little snowflakes like in the movies. Oh no. Big ass sheets of snow dropping faster and faster as the seconds tick by.

Christ.

“Snowin’ mighty bad out there,” Wayne whistles, coming inside from the smoke break he insisted on taking outside. Kicking off his boots, he walks over to Steve and claps a hand on his shoulder. “‘Fraid you ain’t going anywhere.”

“I mean, it’s not that bad,” Steve says, throwing the dish towel over his other shoulder as he peers out the window. Who is he kidding? There’s no way the beemer is going to make it three feet in this weather let alone the two and a half miles to his house.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Steve!” Eddie shouts, from his spot on the couch. “If I let you leave in this weather and something happens, Henderson and Buckley will literally have my head on a stake. You’re staying and that’s final.”

He turns, expecting to find Wayne ready to object to Eddie’s theatrics but what he finds instead is the gruff man nodding his head in agreement.

“Guess m’staying then.”

Steve’s no stranger to surprises, but he’s downright perplexed when Wayne announces that it’s time to watch the Knicks game and Eddie doesn’t balk or go on some long-winded rant about how sports and Christmas don’t go together. Instead, he watches as Eddie nods and curls up on the sofa while Wayne settles in on the recliner.

“Hold on,” Steve says, waving his hands in the air to get their attention. “You, Eddie Munson, are going to watch basketball without complaining?”

“S’our Christmas tradition,” Wayne says.

“Unfortunately,” Eddie mumbles which earns him a pillow to the face curtesy of Wayne. “Hey!”

Wayne chuckles, shaking his head before shifting his attention back to Steve. “First Christmas I had Eddie, the boy was so upset after openin’ his gifts ‘cause he didn’t have nothin’ for me. Told him not to worry, just wanted him to watch the game with me. S’been a tradition ever since.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something when Eddie chimes in cutting him off.

“If you’re going to call me a hypocrite, save it.” “I wasn’t going to,” Steve says, holding his hands up in surrender. Crossing the room, he takes a seat on the sofa with Eddie, leaving the middle cushion open. “Actually, I was going to say watching the game is my Christmas tradition too.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Maybe it could be our tradition now. Wayne, me, you. I mean, I might not know what the hell is going on, but Wayne knows lots of fun stats he loves to share.” “Watch yourself, boy,” Wayne scolds with no bite. “S’you who never shuts up during the game. Always narrating made-up things while they play.”

“You know you love it!” Eddie defends, flipping Wayne off. After he turns his attention back to Steve, “M’sure watching with us will be better than watching alone, right?”

It’s presumptuous is what it is.

The thought of Steve coming over to the Munsons year after year to watch the basketball game. Cheer on teams and criticize plays with Wayne, listen to Eddie’s improv commentary. As if they want him crashing their traditions forever.

But something about the offer warms the usual Christmas day ache in his gut.

The truth is Steve doesn’t feel like a burden when he’s here with Wayne and Steve. He doesn’t feel like an awkward third wheel or like he’s a fly on the wall, listening to inside jokes and not understanding them.

He feels like an equal.

Like he belongs.

And what a wonderful feeling that is.

Maybe he won’t always spend Christmas with Wayne and Eddie and whatever NBA teams are playing, but today he will.

And he’s not going to deny himself this tradition next year or the year after that or any year Eddie and Wayne are eager to host him.

“Yeah, Eds,” Steve says pulling himself from his reprieve. “This is much better than watching the game alone.”

[fafnir19]

I did'nt know if you still took requests but I grew up kind of nerdy. I had a dad that was like that, always into computers and books. As I am now almost 40, I would like to know what my life would have been like had my dad been a bodybuilder or just more athletic.

As you step into the sleek, futuristic VR lab, a tingling excitement fills you. The dimly lit room is filled with humming servers and flashing monitors. Dr. Smith, the head of R&D, greets you with a warm smile. "Welcome. Are you ready to test our latest creation?" You nod eagerly, fumbling with the VR-remote as Dr. Smith explains, "This prototype VR system can simulate alternate timelines based on your past decisions. It's a glimpse into what could have been if you made different choices." As you step into the sleek, futuristic VR chamber, the air hums with anticipation. The prototype VR system gleams with promise, surrounded by a tangle of wires and blinking lights. Your heart races with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

"Are you ready to begin the simulation?" a voice crackles through the speakers. You nod, swallowing hard, your father's IT prowess echoing in your mind. "What would you change if you could?" the voice whispers in your ear. "Hmm, I wonder how this will turn out," you mumble to yourself, take a deep breath and declare, "I want to change my father from being an IT-nerd to a fitness coach." As the words leave your lips, the room shimmers and shifts before your eyes. The room you find yourself in is eerily familiar yet strangely different. The walls are plastered with posters of modern-day superheroes instead of the old-school bands you used to love. Your gaze falls upon the sleek gaming setup in the corner, a stark contrast to the clunky computer your younger self once had. Your reflection in the mirror reveals a scrawny teenager staring back at you, a stark contrast to your 40-year-old self. The VR system's effects seem so real, yet you're aware it's still the current year.

As you sat in your room, immersed in the virtual reality experience, the door creaked open, and in stepped your father. His appearance had transformed into that of a fitness coach, looking determined and energetic.

He began, "Son, I've found the perfect sport for you." "Sigh... Dad, can we talk about this? I've tried so many sports already, and they're just not my thing," you countered, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. Your father, now fixated on his newfound passion for fitness, insisted, "But you haven't tried cycling yet! It's the perfect blend of exercise and fun. You'll love it, I promise." Frustration turned to exasperation as you realized he wasn't going to back down. "Dad, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'm just not as sporty as you. Can't we find something else to do this summer?" His brow furrowed, and with a determined gleam in his eye, he declared, "No arguments this time, son. You're going to that cyclist's camp for the summer, and that's final." You let out a defeated groan, knowing it was futile to fight against his newfound fitness obsession. Reluctantly, you mumbled, "Fine, I'll go to the cyclist's camp. But I'm not promising I'll enjoy it." Your father nodded, satisfied with your acceptance, and left the room, leaving you to contemplate the summer ahead filled with cycling adventures.

Some weeks later you find yourself among picturesque mountains in the hated cycling camp. You pedaled hard on the race bike, feeling the strain in your muscles as you tried to keep up with the rest of the cyclists in the camp, but to no avail.

You were feeling the strain in your muscles and the sweat running down your back, as the coach approached you. "Hey, I've got something for you," he said, handing you a pair of sleek glasses.

You put them on, and suddenly the world around you shifts, numbers and data streaming across your vision. Your speed and heart rate, along with the optimal pace and cadence – all displayed in glowing letters.

The information overwhelming you at first. You let out a frustrated scream, "What is this? I can't see anything with all this data in my face!" The coach chuckled, "Just give it a chance. Focus on the line, that's all you need to see." Despite your initial resistance, you forced yourself to concentrate on the slim line that appeared amidst the sea of statistics. It was the perfect course, guiding you through the twists and turns of the cycling track. As you continue riding, the glasses gradually limit your view of the environment until all you can see is the slim line indicating the optimal course. Finally the environment fades away completely, leaving you with only the essential data.

You panic at first, feeling disoriented without being able to see your surroundings and so you couldn't help but protest, "I can't see anything else! How am I supposed to ride like this?" The coach's voice was stern, "Trust the glasses, trust the process. It will help you focus and improve your skills." Reluctantly, you continued to ride, adjusting to the restricted vision. It was frustrating at first, but gradually, you felt your mind quieting down, focusing solely on the slim line in front of you. It was strangely calming, allowing you to block out distractions and concentrate solely on the ride. As days turned into weeks, you found yourself improving dramatically. Your movements were smoother, your reactions quicker. The coach nodded in approval, watching as you navigated the course with precision. Despite the progress, you couldn't deny that you still didn't enjoy sports.

One day, as you pedaled through another successful training session, you felt an unfamiliar sensation stirring within you. Arousal. At first, it was a mere flicker, but soon it blazed through your veins, igniting a fire you never knew existed. Your body reacted without your consent, your member throbbing insistently within the confines of your tight cycling suit, creating a visible bulge that couldn't be ignored. Just as you were lost in this strange mix of pleasure and confusion, the VR system abruptly announced, "Ending VR-Test; leave VR experience or stay to turn VR into reality. VR conversion to reality starts soon." At that very moment, your glasses projected a command to accelerate your speed and cadence on the bike, a directive you found impossible to resist. You obeyed, feeling the rush of the wind against your face as your pleasure heightened with each passing moment. Faster and faster you rode, your body responding eagerly to the physical exertion. Your arousal peaked, your cock growing so hard it felt almost painful. And then, in a climax of both pleasure and exhaustion, you finally succumbed, falling from the bike in a euphoric daze. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, a sense of both satisfaction and confusion washing over you. "Conversion VR to reality completed in 3 ... 2 ... 1," the VR system announces, jolting you back to reality. Panic sets in as you desperately try to end the experience, but it's too late. The VR remote dissolved into thin air, leaving you trapped in your teenage-self in this new, perplexing reality.

As you lay there, grappling with your newfound circumstances, the coach approached with a knowing smile. His gaze fell upon the cum-stained cycling suit, a clear indicator of the glasses' influence on your desires. "The brainwashing glasses have obviously done their task," he remarks, his tone laced with amusement. "Your body's desire is now intertwined with cycling. You'll become a pro cyclist in no time." Still grappling with the bizarre turn of events, you reluctantly nodded in agreement. What choice did you have in this altered reality?

With a gentle yet firm tone, the coach suggested, "You might want to consider shaving your body hair. It could make you faster on the bike, you know." Feeling overwhelmed by the abrupt changes thrust upon you, you hesitantly agreed and made your way to the shower after the grueling training session.

As you attempted to shave yourself, the unfamiliarity of the task led to a few accidental cuts with the razor. Suddenly, a fellow cyclist appeared by your side, offering a helping hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he took over the task of shaving you, his skilled hands gliding smoothly over your skin. The sensation of the razor against your inner thighs and pubic area triggered an unexpected reaction. A rush of arousal surged through you, causing a noticeable reaction in your groin. Embarrassment flushed your cheeks as you struggled to contain your body's instinctual response. The other cyclist, noticing your discomfort, reassured you in a calm voice, "Getting a boner is a completely natural reaction, especially in a situation like this. And besides, you're rather cute." His words were oddly comforting, easing some of the tension that had coiled within you. Before you could fully process his kindness, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Surprised yet strangely intrigued by the unexpected gesture, you couldn't help but entertain the fleeting thought, "Maybe my new life isn't that bad after all." Meanwhile, the coach, who had been observing the scene unfold, couldn't help but smirk at the dynamics taking shape within the team. "The side effect of the glasses, turning the boys bi, certainly creates an interesting new dynamic, wouldn't you say?" he mused, his eyes glinting with amusement at the unfolding changes in the team's dynamics.

Enjoy the ride of your new life, cyclist!

[ghostwnby]

Crashing Tides

Authors note: So remember about 3 or 4 ish months ago I said I was working on a surfer shop worker!Daniel + moody rich 19 year old!Max age gap romance fic? Well, surprise! After a billion years the first part of it is finally here. I'm not 100% happy with it but I decided to finally just say fuck it and bite the bullet with it. I am hoping to write more in the future about this au but in the meantime if you have any suggestions or ideas about this au please feel free to share them with me :) my asks are always open <3 otherwise, I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: language

Word count: 2,029 (2k)

----

The warmth of the Australian sun beats down harshly on Daniel’s skin as he tries his best to dodge and weave through the crowded boardwalk, not wanting to run anyone over with his bike. He wipes the layer of sweat that had gathered on his forehead off on the back of his hand, cringing slightly at the sheer amount of it. 

He silently regrets not taking a shower before leaving the house, but at this rate, with the amount of people blocking his way, he was going to be late.

Damn tourists. 

He can hear his boss, Mark, now: "Look, who finally decided to show up! I’m glad you think this company runs on your schedule.” He rolls his eyes at the mental image of the older Australian man passive-aggressively scolding him. You would think a person who owns a beachside surf shop would be more laid-back, but no. Ever since his wife left him last summer, his boss has been nothing but a crotchety old man. And trust me, Daniel has tried many times to invite him out to bars to be his wingman for the night, but every time he offers, he gets immediately shut down and scolded for even offering. 

Sorry, he was just trying to be a good co-worker and get his boss some stress relief in the form of a one-night stand with a beautiful lady. 

Pulling up to the shop, Daniel rushes off his bike, hastily reaching into his bag to grab his bike lock and securing it to the pole near the side of the building. Once secure, he practically bolts into the front entrance of the shop, accidentally slamming the door open a bit too hard for his liking, causing a few customers and his coworker, Lando, to perk their heads up and look in his direction. 

“I know. I know. But technically, I’m early. I still have a minute until I’m supposed to be here.” Daniel says matter-of-factly, shining a bright smile at the younger man as he walks up to the front counter that his co-worker is lounging lazily against. 

“You're cutting it close, mate.” Lando comments as he glances up at the shark-themed clock on the wall. (What? His boss might be an ass, but at least he’s an ass with good taste.) 

10:59 am

Lando shakes his head. “I don’t know if you want to push your luck too much. Mark is in a pissy mood today.” He explains.

Daniel rolls his eyes. “When is he not?”

Lando glances over his shoulder, making sure the door to the manager’s office is shut before whispering, “I don't know, mate; he seems grouchier than normal. Like something’s really ticked him off.” 

Daniel raises an eyebrow at the younger man. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the door of the manager’s office slams open, revealing his boss on the other side.

“Speak of the devil.” Lando whispers as both of the men straighten back up as their boss steps out of his office. 

"Daniel, I'm so glad you finally decided to join us for your shift that you were scheduled for.” Mark greets, scowling at him.

“Good morning to you too, Mark.” Daniel says, not bothering to hide the sarcasm that coats his words. The older man scoffs at him, rolling his eyes in a way Daniel can only describe as Oscar-worthy with how dramatic it was. 

“Whatever. It’s not like I have been waiting for you all morning to get your lazy ass here.” Mark hisses, motioning his hand to the shark clock on the wall. 11:00 am. Daniel has to repress the urge to roll his eyes. He’s been there for less than 2 minutes, and he’s already having to deal with Mark’s bullshit. That has to be a new record. 

"Sorry, I wasn’t here earlier. Emily decided to have a breakdown this morning about having to stay with my parents for the day.” Daniel explains half-heartedly, knowing no matter what explanation or excuse he gives the older man, he’s not going to be pleased either way.

“Well, maybe you should invest in some parenting classes then since you aren’t doing a great job at controlling your kid.” Mark sneers, “You know what? Never mind, I don’t care at this point.” 

Daniel can feel his frustration growing by the second. Honestly can’t he just back off? He’s here, isn’t he? It’s not like he’s one of the only workers there, besides Lando, who does his job. If it wasn’t for the fact that the pay was nice, Daniel would have been out of there the second Mark started acting this way last summer. Plus he’s been working at the surf shop for almost 5 years now and what has he gotten for it? Nothing except for the temporary title of shift lead whenever Mark isn’t there. 

As if he can sense the tension in the air between the two older men, Lando decides to speak up. 

“Oh uh..by the way, Mark, this dude called earlier. I think he said his name was Jos? He said his son would be here around 11:30.” 

Lando and Daniel both watch as Mark inhales deeply as if Lando’s words were the most aggravating thing he has ever heard. 

“That brings me to my next point. A friend of my old man asked me to hire his son for the summer while they are vacationing here.” Mark explains. Daniel and Lando share a confused look. Mark continues, “The reason why? I have no clue. Something about how he wants his son to learn what the real world is like even though his pocket money is more than what we all make in a year combined.” 

Daniel raises an eyebrow at him, “And you just agreed? Just like that? Who’s going to train him?”

Mark smirks devilishly, “Well that’s where you come in Daniel.” 

“What do you mean ‘that’s where I come in’?”

“Well, you are always complaining that you’ve been here the longest and still haven’t gotten any type of raise or promotion. Well here you go, I’m promoting you to training associate. You are in charge of training the kid and also keeping an eye on him and making sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.” 

Daniel can’t help but feel the heat of anger from earlier rise beneath his skin. “So you expect me to not only train this kid I’ve never even met but also babysit the little brat as well? What the hell do you think I am? A damn babysitter?!” He snaps, crossing his arms and scowling at the older man. 

“I’m nineteen. I don’t need a babysitter.”

All three of the men snap their heads back towards the front door, only to see, who Daniel presumes is the kid Mark was mentioning, standing in the entryway. Daniel blinks as he tries to take in the teen’s appearance. He doesn’t look like any nineteen-year-old Daniel has ever seen. Sure, he has semi-smooth skin, with a blemish here and there, and an overall youthful glow about him but for some reason, something’s off about him. Maybe it’s the way his shoulders are a bit broader than his own or how his jaw is a bit too sharp for Daniel’s liking. Either way, he doesn’t like it.

“Max! I didn’t expect you to be here so soon! Is it 11:30 already?” 

Daniel glances at the clock on the wall. 11:09 am.

The teen trudges over to the front counter where the others are standing and crosses his arms. “My dad said I should show up early just in case you guys were busy or something. But, by the looks of it, you aren’t and are instead talking bad about me behind my back.” Max explains, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. 

Daniel looks over at the teen, studying his face more intently now that he is standing next to him instead of a few feet away at the door. His brow is furrowed. His pale skin is tinted with a shade of pink from the harsh Australian sun. There is a collection of freckles that are scattered across his jawline and up to the middle of his cheek, with a single one lying on his upper lip. He notices now that the teen is just a bit taller than him. Not by much but enough to make Daniel even more wary than he was before. 

Mark shakes his head, “Please forgive my employee, Daniel, here Max. He has had a bit of a rough morning so his mood isn’t the best right now.” 

‘The only reason why I have had a rough morning is because of you jackass.’ Daniel thinks to himself as he shoots a glare at his boss. 

Max rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”

Daniel and Lando exchange glances once again, as if to telepathically ask each other if this is what they are really going to have to deal with for the next two and half months. 

The sound of Mark clearing his throat makes the two of them look up towards their boss. 

“Anyway, as I was saying. My employee, Daniel here, will be in charge of training you and just overall making sure you're settling in here nicely.” Mark explains, clearly trying to skip over the part where Daniel called Max a brat that he has to babysit. 

Daniel shifts his eyes over to the teen next to him. Max doesn’t look impressed. He still has his arms crossed and his lips have formed a tight line of annoyance. Honestly, Daniel can’t blame him. If he was in his shoes, aka if he was a rich kid who probably hasn’t worked a day in his life and his parents suddenly made him get a job at a dingy old surf shop while they were on a  summer vacation, he would be pissed too. 

There is a beat of awkward silence that fills the air between the four. 

“I’m guessing this is the part where I introduce myself?” Lando chuckles awkwardly, drawing the other’s attention to himself. Max stares at him silently, as if he is waiting for the other to say something else that will ultimately aggravate him even more. 

“I’m Lando. I started working here about a year and a half ago. I go to the university just up the street. I usually work in the mornings because I have night classes.” He explains. Max doesn’t say anything, instead, he sighs, uninterested. 

Lando scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh..When I’m not working or in class you can usually find me in my dorm playing video games.” The mention of video games makes the teen’s ears perk up with interest.

“You play video games?” Max asks in a slightly less annoyed voice than before.

“Yeah! I play all sorts of games like GTA, God of War, and F123. I actually stream my gameplay on Twitch with my friends from time to time. You should join sometime. I bet it would be really fun.” 

Daniel doesn’t know if it’s the heat getting to him or what but he swears he sees the faintest hint of a smile on Max’s face when Lando mentions him joining him in a gaming session. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

Seemingly pleased with the exchange, Mark claps his hands together like a coach trying to round up his team for a debriefing after a game. “Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, Max, how would you like to follow Daniel around for today to get a feel of the environment and how things work around here?” 

Daniel can feel the teen’s eyes on him before he even turns his head. His stare is as cold as ice and Daniel worries that if the teen doesn’t look away, he might burn a hole through his head. 

The universe must have been on his side because just as Daniel thought he would never look away, Max shifts his eyes toward Mark. The stare he gives Mark is just as cold. 

“Whatever.” 

“Perfect. Now let’s get started.”