#Camera Bike Mount

[larrylimericks]

6Sep23

Though Louis may think cats are shit, While out on a walk with his miss, H passed a feline Who fitly opined Its shrewd thoughts (and ours) with a hiss.

[cyclejunction]

Cycle Junction Bike Camera Handlebar Mount

Capture your rides like never before with the Cycle Junction Bike Camera Handlebar Mount. Designed for stability and ease of use, this durable mount securely attaches to your bike's handlebars, accommodating various camera models. Its adjustable angle allows for optimal shooting positions, ensuring you never miss a moment on your cycling adventures. Lightweight and weather-resistant, this mount is perfect for both casual rides and intense biking excursions. Elevate your cycling experience and document every journey with clarity and style!

[punkshort]

Back to You

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: The stars never aligned for you and Dave growing up. You never thought you'd see him again once he went to college and joined the C.I.A., but one fateful day brings him back into your life - or more specifically, your husband's life.

Warnings: language, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, heavy on the possessive behavior, jealousy, infidelity, a glimmer of dark!dave but in a obsessive, madly in love kind of way, graphic domestic abuse

WC: 10.8K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Pain seared across your eyes, over the bridge of your nose and thrummed steadily against the top of your skull. The door was locked and you heard his car peel out of the driveway, but you laid curled up on the bathroom floor, body trembling in fear, still anticipating the sound of his heavy footsteps to clamber back up the stairs.

How the hell did you let it get to that point? How did you allow this to happen?

You had a bad habit of falling back into old memories whenever Mike hit you. You always wondered where you went wrong and what you could have done differently. Now? It felt like there was no escape. Even if you ran away, where would you go? He could find you anywhere. He told you that, once. And if he were just some run of the mill, blue-collar drunk, you wouldn't have believed him.

It was maybe ten years ago when he accidentally left the door to his office in the basement unlocked. You were doing laundry and saw the door was cracked, so you poked your head inside. He had told you before that it was nothing special, that it was just a quiet place for him to focus on work. He said he locked the door because the equipment on loan from his office was expensive and he couldn't risk anything happening to it. But what you saw was... not the type of equipment a man in finance would need.

Weapons were perched on the walls, sparkling clean and ready for use. You couldn't count how many computer monitors were mounted on the back wall, how many hidden cameras were placed around your home. But what drew your attention the most were the monitors that displayed a view from another house. Or, houses, as you would come to learn later.

His desk had high-tech looking equipment, tactical gear, files on men in a foreign language. Ten different cell phones were stashed away in a drawer along with countless fake passports and a whole duffel bag filled with a mix of foreign currency.

Mike was not the man he claimed to be.

And when he caught you snooping in his office, that was the first night he hurt you. Really hurt you.

You met him when you were a teenager, taken by the fact that he was a couple years older and seemingly wiser. Youth and naivety kept you from seeing who he really was. He was rough and possessive, but you thought you liked it. Before you knew it, he had proposed to you and almost fifteen years later, you were stuck in not only a loveless marriage, but a violent marriage.

And you had no way out. No means of escape.

When you finally stopped shaking, you stood to gather some ice for your face, pressing it tenderly against the bruises when the same inevitable thought crossed your mind:

Dave never would have done this.

Dave York. The boy who grew up next door to you. Who you went to school with all through high school. The boy you had a painful crush on for as long as you could remember, but who only saw you as just a good friend. Someone to hang out with over the summer. Someone to tag along with to the movies when he was bored. Someone to ride bikes with all over the neighborhood. Someone who gave you your first kiss after he convinced you to sneak out in the middle of the night but then made you swear not to tell anyone.

You had convinced yourself the kiss had meant nothing to him. Why would it, if he made you promise not to say anything? It broke your heart, but the idea of losing Dave as a friend hurt more, so you kept your mouth shut and pretended it never happened.

And you were okay with it. For a while. When you were eighteen, you met Mike, and for the first time, you had feelings for someone else other than Dave.

You were so excited to introduce them. Your closest friend meeting your first real boyfriend. But, of course, they clashed the moment they were introduced. Like two animals who sniffed each other out, they knew the other was bad news and from then on, things changed.

Mike asked that you didn't see Dave as much. It felt like being torn in two, but Dave was already applying to colleges out of state anyway, and it didn't take long until he was accepted.

Against Mike's wishes, you went to Dave's going away party. Alone. It was that day when Dave pulled you aside and confessed his feelings for you. Told you he was in love with you and begged you to come with him. Said that you had so much potential that you would just be wasting if you stayed home, with Mike. That he could take care of you.

And foolishly, you turned him down. At the time, you had convinced yourself what you had with Mike was real. He didn't try to hide you the way Dave did. He proudly had you on his arm from day one.

So, you made the biggest mistake of your life. You said no. Accused him of being jealous and ran home to Mike.

When Mike found out where you had been, he grabbed you by the throat and pushed you up against the wall. Spit obscenities in your face and told you never to lie to him again.

The next morning, he apologized. Said he had been drinking, that it would never happen again. You believed him, and he didn't do anything for another year. After that, the aggression slowly built up. It started with the verbal abuse, the accusations, and the lies. Then he grew more physical.

There wasn't one particular day when it all changed, it was a slow progression, but stumbling across his private office was certainly a bad day. The physical abuse was always linked with something big. Something big and terrible that you felt you did wrong. Over the years, that changed, too.

And now, present day, anything could set him off.

That particular evening, you had burnt the chicken for dinner, so he backhanded you across the jaw before grabbing you by the back of the neck and slamming your face into the refrigerator.

No, Dave York certainly would never have treated you that way. Your life could have been completely different had you not turned him down.

Little did you know, you would find out exactly how different soon enough.

You stared blankly at your computer, one eye still swollen but hidden pretty damn well under a thick layer of your best concealer. Thank god it was a slow day. Even if you didn't get much sleep the night before, allowing yourself to rest by pretending to work was enough to make you feel a little better.

The double espresso in your latte didn't hurt, either.

You had managed to become an expert at faking being busy at work. Zoning out was your speciality. So much so that you hardly heard the front doors of the bank swing open and shut, and only faintly heard the quiet tap of dress shoes on the tile making their way towards your general direction.

"Excuse me?"

Your body jumped at his voice, startling you out of your daydream. With your heart hammering in your chest, you narrowed your eyes at your computer, hoping to convey the look of someone deep in the middle of a very serious work issue.

"Sorry. Have a seat, I'll be right with you," you said without looking up. If you gave up your fake task too quickly, it would prove you weren't really working, so you opened up a few random files and pretended to jot down some notes, some random numbers and names, before clearing your throat and finally giving the man across from you your full attention.

Your jaw dropped. Heart plummeted to your stomach. Body rigid with shock.

It was him. It was Dave York. After fifteen years and never laying eyes on him, you could still pick him out of lineup. Those deep, brown eyes. Thick, slightly wavy hair. Chiseled jaw and angular nose. He was unmistakable.

"H-hi," you stammered, feeling your face warm instantly at your weak greeting. He just cocked his head at you, confused. Then you grew even more uncomfortable when it became clear he didn't recognize you.

You pointed meekly to your name tag, his eyes following your finger and watching as his face slowly filled with recognition.

What you had hoped would be a warm welcome turned out to only be a tight lipped smile and nod.

"Oh. Didn't realize it was you."

You waved him off and briefly looked back at your screen, unable to stand the embarrassment.

"How have you been, Dave?" you asked, pulling your focus away from your computer and back onto him. "Are you home visiting your family? Oh... it's your father's birthday next week, right?"

Something shifted behind his eyes. Something softer. Like he was taken aback but trying to hide it. Your suspicion was correct when he stumbled over his next words, the confidence and cool demeanor he strolled in with temporarily gone.

"How - you remember that?"

You nodded. "Of course, I do. How could I forget?"

The day Dave's father passed away, it was raining. Not just raining, but down pouring. Streets were flooding and everyone stayed huddled in their homes, safe and dry.

But not you.

When you heard the news, you had rushed to the abandoned tree house by the train tracks two blocks from your home. It was a safe place for you both. Whenever your parents were fighting, Dave would find you there. And when Dave's father got sick, you would find him there, too. You had scrambled up the wooden ladder, sheets of rain pelting your face, cascading down your shoulders and soaking through your thin raincoat. But when you hurried into the treehouse and found him, huddled and shaking in the corner with tears streaking down his cheeks, you forgot all about your discomfort. You rushed to him, pulled him into your arms and let him cry against your chest for an hour without saying a single word. The only noise was the distant rumble of thunder and the steady sound of harsh raindrops pelting the wooden roof.

You were both sixteen at the time.

Dave blinked and cleared his throat, shaking off the sudden warmth that filled his chest.

"No. I'm here on business."

He pulled out his badge from his suit coat and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"C.I.A?" you said, "Wow. I mean, I thought I had heard something-"

"Need you to look up a couple accounts for me."

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to hide your dejection by looking across the lobby floor, but his icy tone and steely demeanor stung. You couldn't blame him, really, given how things ended the last time you saw each other, but you had held out hope that he had forgiven you at some point in the past fifteen years.

Seemed as though you were wrong.

"Y-yeah, sure. That - I can do that," you said, straightening up in your chair, determined to keep things purely professional, same as him. "What are the names and socials?"

He didn't even pull out a file or notepad, he had them memorized so he could keep his eyes locked on your face, studying you, watching for any glimmer of recognition or surprise when he told you the names.

"James Victor Turner."

You typed away on your keyboard, completely unphased by the name, much to his relief. He rattled off the social security number and waited a moment until you found the right person.

"Do you want me to email the account detail or something? That's usually what the feds have us do," you asked, turning back to him. He let your words hang in the air for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of deceit. Finally, he nodded and slid his card across your desk.

"Email's on there."

Your gaze jumped from his face to the card, noting immediately his cell number was listed, as well, and suddenly the thought of having his cell phone number filled you with a deep sort of comfort you couldn't explain.

He gave you three other names, and every time he waited for a shift in your brow, a flinch in your cheek, or for your breath to quicken in alarm, but every time you remained completely indifferent and calm. He had learned how to read body and facial tells in the academy. He was very fucking good at it.

These names meant nothing to you.

Thank fuck.

"Is that all?" you asked when you emailed the last file. You thought you hid your hopefulness from your voice, that maybe he would say no, let's get a drink, let's catch up. But instead, he nodded and muttered his thanks. Then leaned to the side to slide his wallet back into his pants.

"You taking care of yourself?" he asked casually as he went to stand. "Husband treating you right?"

Now that got a reaction. Your brows tilted slightly, your gaze shifted away and you swallowed nervously. It was then he felt his blood run cold in his veins.

He was very fucking good at reading body language.

"Yeah," was all you said, then pretended to read something in your email. Dave stalled, heart beginning to thunder in his chest when he noticed. How did he miss it before?

"What happened to your eye?"

Your lips briefly pressed into a thin line before you forced a fake smile.

"I was cleaning over the weekend and something fell from the top shelf of my bathroom. Some luck, huh?"

Your tone was practiced. Disarming. He saw right through it.

"What fell?"

"Huh?" you asked.

"What fell from the shelf?" he repeated, watching as you tried to hide the panic behind your eyes. You were used to people not questioning your rehearsed excuses.

"Um, it - I think it was toothpaste."

"Toothpaste caused a shiner like that?" he pushed. He had places to be. He had to report back in less than ten minutes with his findings. But he couldn't seem to give a shit.

"It was still in the box. The corner caught me just right," you replied smoothly, pleased with your quick thinking. Dave slowly nodded, deciding to drop it and not make your day even worse.

Besides, he knew all he needed to know, anyway.

His hands fidgeted at his sides. His gaze slid around the lobby while he tried to think of something else to say. You watched him curiously.

"My number's on the card-"

"I know," you replied, cutting him off. He met your eye and you gave him a small smile. He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded tightly.

"Don't be afraid to use it."

And before you could react, he was halfway across the lobby. When he disappeared through the doors, you looked back down at his business card. Your finger traced the blue numbers indented into the card stock, the small rectangle somehow acting like a talisman. Settling your nerves, calming you.

Dave York came back to you.

An entire week went by and your thoughts rarely drifted from Dave. Every time the doors opened at work, your head snapped up, hoping to see him again. When you laid in bed at night, your husband sometimes there, sometimes not, you would lay awake staring at the ceiling, thinking of him. Wondering what he was doing, where he was staying.

If he was thinking of you, too.

Friday was your anniversary. Mike had promised to be on his best behavior after feeding you apologies for his bad mood lately. It was always the same, you knew he wasn't actually sorry for what he said and did, but you smiled and forgave him all the same.

He had gotten a reservation at a French restaurant, and even though he knew French cuisine wasn't your favorite, you still tried to appreciate the gesture. You had gotten dressed up to celebrate. You wore a mauve dress with a slit up the leg and thin straps that rested delicately over your shoulders. The bruises from the weekend before had faded. Your hair actually cooperated. You were feeling rather good about yourself.

Until it became clear Mike had picked the restaurant for another reason.

His gaze shifted all over the room whenever he thought you weren't looking. He was waiting for someone, you thought. His fingers tapped mindlessly on the cloth covered table while you sipped your wine and picked at your food, doing your best to finish what he ordered for you, too scared to rock the boat.

"How long's it gonna take for you to eat?" he snapped quietly, so as not to cause a scene. You looked up in surprise, poised to answer, when you froze. Over his right shoulder at the bar sat Dave York, nursing a short glass of amber liquid. And his eyes were pinned directly on you.

Mike must not have liked how you took an extra moment to answer because his arm shot out to grab your wrist, fingertips going white from the pressure he was applying. You hissed, attention refocused on him and his hand, as you tried to squirm out of his grip. In the corner of your eye, you saw Dave stand, but he didn't make a move towards your table.

"I did something nice for you and you can't be bothered to pay me any attention? On our anniversary?" he seethed. You wanted to tell him his attention had been elsewhere the entire night, that you weren't stupid and you knew something else was going on, but you bit your tongue. As usual.

"I-I'm sorry," you stammered, giving your arm one quick yank backwards, pulling away from his grasp. "I'm just not that hungry. My stomach hurts."

"Which is it? Not hungry or your stomach hurts?"

You rubbed your wrist under the table and looked into his eyes. You saw the anger bubbling up, just under the surface, and you knew then and there how the rest of the evening was going to go.

"Both," you shot back with a clipped tone.

His eyes widened and he leaned forward, no doubt about to unleash every horrid threat he could think of under his breath when he spotted something or someone behind you. Whoever he was waiting for all evening finally showed up.

Mike stood from the table and buttoned his suit coat.

"I'll be right back. Just saw an old golfing buddy." Then he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, flexing the digits harshly into your skin, making you wince. "I suggest you finish your food. We're leaving when I get back."

Then he was gone.

Your chest heaved and you took a shaky sip from your glass, looking to calm your nerves. Your eyes darted back towards the bar, but Dave was no where to be seen. Your heart sank. Just as you were resigning yourself to another evening of being on the receiving end of Mike's anger, you felt a gentle brush against your arm.

"Bathroom," Dave muttered as he walked past, heading towards the back of the restaurant.

You didn't even think. You tossed your napkin onto the table, standing up so fast you nearly knocked over your chair to hurry after him. The restrooms were down a short hallway and around a corner. Soft, classical music drifted from the speakers above you, the only other sound besides the click of your heels against the hardwood floors. When you turned the corner, Dave's arm immediately shot out to wrap around your waist, pulling you quickly out of view of the dining room.

He had swiveled you around so your back was against the wall, just past the two doors leading into the restrooms. If anyone exited the bathrooms, they would see Dave's body caging you in, clear as day.

The thought made your pulse thrum steadily in your throat.

"You need to promise me something."

Dave's voice was urgent. Like he was pressed for time.

"Huh?" you asked dreamily, lost for a moment in the warmth rolling from his body and the cloud of his cologne, engulfing you.

He opened his mouth to speak, then annoyance flickered across his face. He yanked out a nearly invisible earpiece, letting it dangle over his collar, and your eyes widened.

"A-are you... working?"

"Promise me," Dave said, grabbing you by the arms and ignoring your question, "that tomorrow night, you won't be home. You need to go out in public. Preferably with friends or family."

"What? Why?" you asked fearfully. You were snapping out of the spell he had managed to put you under. Lust was being replaced with alarm. The hairs on the back of your neck were rising.

"And use a credit card once or twice," he continued, staring deep into your eyes. "Can you do that? Hm?"

Slowly, you found yourself nodding. You had a million questions but you didn't bother to ask - he wasn't going to answer them anyway.

"Good," he breathed, looking visibly relieved. His shoulders relaxed and he let his hands drop from your upper arms to your wrists. His eyes flickered down to where Mike had grabbed you, light blue circles already developing before your very eyes. Dave's jaw twitched. "Good girl," he murmured, dragging his thumb over one of the marks. Your breath stuttered and your knees went weak, the energy between you dissolving back into something else. Something hungrier.

When his eyes met yours again, you could tell he felt it, too.

You were certain you moved at the same time. You pushed off the wall and titled your chin up just as he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around your waist. Your lips met for the first time in almost twenty years and just like that, you felt transported back in time. Anybody could have come down that hall and seen you, including your husband, but in that brief moment, you were safe inside your treehouse again. You were in the arms of the man who had been there since the beginning. Who knew you better than your own husband.

"He won't come home tonight," Dave whispered once he tore himself away. But he didn't go far. His hand had risen to cup your cheek and his forehead pressed gently against yours as he spoke. "Keep yourself safe. Go home, lock the doors, don't leave until tomorrow."

"Okay," you replied shakily, hands coming to lay flat against his chest. You could feel his heart pounding just underneath.

"Tell me what you're going to do tomorrow," he demanded firmly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I'm going to go out with my friends. Somewhere public. And I'll use my credit card."

"Good," he breathed before kissing the tip of your nose. "When it's safe, I'll come get you."

"How?" you asked, gazing up into his dark brown eyes. They looked just as you remembered them. No longer were they cold and distant. Now, they were soft and warm and kind.

"I'll find you."

It was all he managed to say before you had to spring apart, the echo of footsteps tapping down the hall interrupting your moment. He turned away and pulled out his phone, pressing it against his ear as if he were taking a call. You ran your thumb under your lip, hoping to fix any smudges, and forced your feet to move past the other restaurant patron rounding the corner, back into the dining room. Away from Dave.

Even though there was definitely danger swirling somewhere around you, you knew you were safe, because Dave would be watching.

You didn't have many friends. Mike purposely made that difficult for you. But you did manage to have two friends from work who you occasionally went to dinner with or saw a movie together. So that was what you did. The three of you got dinner, where you used your credit card to pay, and then walked around the mall. One of your friends had a wedding coming up, so she dragged you from store to store as she hunted for the perfect dress. At one point towards the end of the night, you bought a tea with your card, claiming you felt a sore throat coming on.

Obsessively, you checked your phone. For what, you weren't exactly sure. Maybe a call from Mike, or something from Dave. You didn't give him your number but you had a feeling he had ways of finding that out for himself. But all evening, your phone remained silent. No texts. No calls. No news alerts. Nothing.

You dragged the night out as long as you could, but eventually your friends wanted to go home.

In the dark parking lot, you waved goodbye before turning in the direction of your parked car. It was almost eleven. That had to be enough time, right? Whatever it was Dave was trying to protect you from had to be over by then.

You fumbled for your keys in the dark, pulling them out of your purse nervously as you approached your car. You were all alone in that corner of the lot, but of course one sleek, black car had chosen to park right next to you.

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you approached, but right when you were a couple feet away from your bumper, the door to the black car swung open, startling you.

"It's me," a familiar, deep voice said. Then Dave stepped out of the car dressed in all black and your shoulders sagged.

"Oh, my god," you breathed, dragging in a ragged breath before leaning against your car. "You scared me."

Then you noticed a strange man unfurl himself from the passenger seat and you stiffened.

"It's alright," Dave assured you, glancing back at the other man for a moment. "This is Kovac. He's gonna drive your car to the hotel."

You furrowed your brow and clutched your keys to your chest.

"Why? Why can't I drive?"

Dave sighed as Kovac casually leaned against the trunk of your car and lit a cigarette.

"Because... I would prefer you drive with me. Just being extra cautious."

You considered it for a moment, looking around the empty parking lot as you shifted your weight from foot to foot until finally you relented and handed over your keys.

"I'll take good care of her," Kovac promised you, stubbing out his cigarette before unlocking your door and sliding into the driver's seat.

Dave rounded the front of his car and opened the passenger door for you. When you passed him, the scent of sweat and gunpowder flooded your senses. You slipped silently into the seat and he gently shut the door.

The hotel Dave took you to was not far away from the mall. You watched in the sideview mirror as Kovac tailed you both in your SUV.

"Don't you have any questions?" Dave finally asked, breaking the silence. You turned to look at him, his breathtaking side profile illuminated by the streetlights.

"I have probably a thousand."

"So... are you going to ask?"

You shook your head. "No. You wouldn't tell me, anyway."

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement as he safely pulled into the hotel parking lot.

Kovac picked the spot directly next to Dave's car, turning off your SUV and joining the two of you in front of Dave's bumper.

"All set," he said, dropping the keys into Dave's palm.

Dave nodded and gave a subtle tilt of his chin towards another car parked a few spaces down. The headlights turned on and Kovac slipped into the front seat without another word or glance in your direction.

You looked up at the unassuming hotel as Dave led you into the lobby. It was middle of the road, average at best, affordable but not trashy. For some reason, you imagined Dave picking somewhere much swankier.

Dave immediately ushered you past the front desk and towards the rowdy sports bar just off the main entrance. He found a small, open spot against the bar and held out his hand.

"Give me the credit card you used earlier."

Without even questioning it, you handed it over. He bought your favorite drink and two shots of tequila, then handed it back to you. You smirked and pocketed it before taking the glass from him.

"How did you know my favorite drink?"

He shrugged and tossed back one of the shots. "Part of the job."

You took a sip from your glass, trying to hide your smile to no avail.

"I have to admit," you said, glancing around the crowded room. "This isn't the type of hotel I would have expected you to pick."

"No, it's not. But it's the type of hotel you would pick," he countered, fingers wrapping around the second shot of tequila. Your brows knit together in confusion while you watched him toss back the second shot. "C'mon. You don't have to finish that. Let's get you a room."

Your face fell, hoping he would have invited you to stay with him, but you quickly recovered. It had been so long since you had seen each other, and you were married, for fuckssake.

Not that it stopped him from kissing you in the restaurant the night before, but still.

Dave signaled for your card again when the receptionist was booking your room and you quickly handed it over. You rolled your head back and forth, working out the kinks in your neck while you waited. When she slid a piece of paper across the counter for you to sign, you did so as fast as possible. Dave's eyes lingered on your married name when the paper passed in front of him and he pursed his lips.

"Here's your key. Floor seven. Take a left when you get off the elevators and your room is around the bend," the receptionist said cheerily. You nodded your thanks and tucked away your card and receipt while you followed Dave to the elevators.

When you stepped into the car, Dave pressed the button for floor nine. You reached forward to press seven and he stopped you.

"The room's just part of the paper trail."

It took you a moment, but you caught up. Using your credit card at dinner, being with witnesses in a public setting, using your card at the bar and then again at the front desk. He was creating a rock solid alibi for whatever happened that night.

"Oh," you said softly, allowing your hand to drop back against your side.

Then, for the first time, Dave looked uncomfortable.

"Unless, of course, you want -"

"No," you said, cutting him off. "No, I want to be with you."

His eyes lit up but his mouth remained in a straight line.

"Okay, then."

You grinned and leaned next to him against the wall of the elevator, watching the little red numbers on the screen tick up, up, up, until it read nine.

"After you," Dave said, holding open the doors and ushering you out. You gave him a shy smile and stepped forward, then waited for him to lead the way. The entire walk down the hall felt like a fever dream. Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears with each muffled step against the worn out carpet. It was quiet, but when you passed by the other rooms, you could hear televisions playing or people laughing, completely oblivious to whatever it is you were about to do.

Dave tapped his plastic keycard against the sensor, the little light flashing from red to green with a loud click. When you entered his room, it was exactly like you had expected. Suits and shirts hanging carefully in the small, open closet by the bathroom. Suitcase laid out on the floor with his belongings neatly packed inside, not a single item out of place.

He flicked on another light and the lamps next to his king sized bed came to life, casting the deep green comforter and patterned rug in a warm glow.

That moment could have been awkward if you had given yourself a chance to take everything in, but your body moved faster than your mind. You swirled around and looped your arms around Dave's neck, pulling him down to your level, eager to feel the softness of his lips against your own again. And when his mouth crashed hungrily against yours, all of your questions and insecurities drifted away.

It should have felt wrong, being in the arms of a man that wasn't your husband, but not one shred of guilt entered your body. How could it, when his hands on your waist and his tongue slipping past your lips felt so good?

"Tell me you want me," Dave rasped in between feverish kisses. You took a step backwards towards the bed and he eagerly chased after you.

"You know I do," you whispered, head in a fog. His lips had dragged down to your chin, nipping there gently so as to give you a chance to speak. But words were hard to come by whenever you were in his orbit.

His fingers gripped your waist a little harder when he pulled away to look into your eyes.

"I need to hear it."

You slowly blinked up at him, both your chests rising and falling faster than a moment ago.

"I want you."

Dave swallowed and a muscle in his jaw jumped.

"More than him?"

Your knees went weak when you heard the possessive tone in his voice.

"Yes," you told him. He was already pushing you onto the bed, his mouth inches away from colliding with yours when you added, "I've always wanted you more than him."

He groaned into your mouth, a deep rumble you could feel in your own chest when you were trapped between the weight of him and the old mattress. You could taste the tequila on his tongue as he licked into your mouth with an urgency you didn't expect from a man who appeared so put together, and the thought of being the one to unravel him, to make him a little messier, thrilled you.

You whined impatiently when Dave pulled away from the kiss and shuffled back onto his knees.

"Need to see you," he mumbled, shaky fingers already working on the button of your jeans. You eagerly lifted your hips so he could strip them off with a grunt, then tossed your arms above your head when he pushed up the hem of your shirt.

His hands kept working, plucking at your underwear and bra, but he couldn't hold himself back from kissing you any longer, his tongue invading your mouth once again. The feel of his kiss grew more and more familiar with each passing second. You felt your bra come loose around your shoulders and middle, so you subtly shimmied underneath him, freeing yourself of the offensive fabric and letting it fall to the floor. His palm was on you in an instant, feeling the weight of your breast in his hand and rolling your nipple between his fingers before his eyes even had a chance to open and drink you in.

"You know how long I've been thinking about this?" he asked when your head tipped back towards the headboard, lungs filling with fresh air. His lips slowly dragged down the column of your throat, tongue flicking out occasionally to taste your skin. "Twenty years," he said, not waiting for you to answer. Your back arched and your fingers raised to get tangled in his hair. Nobody had ever spoken to you or touched you the way he did. It was intoxicating to be an object of his worship and desire. A small voice in the back of your mind wondered how you would be able to go back to your miserable life after that night, how you would be able to go on after experiencing Dave's lavish adoration like he didn't tilt your world on it's axis.

"You ever think about me?" he asked. His voice sounded a little sheepish, like he was trying to hide it, but you picked up on it. You lifted your hips when he slid your underwear down your legs with one hand and you said, "Yes. All the time. Especially-"

You cut yourself off with a bite to your lower lip. Dave's hands, which were in the process of caressing every soft curve of your now bare body, froze. His eyes met yours once again, searching them before he asked, "What?"

You shook your head and tried to pull him in for another kiss, but he resisted. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and his brows furrowed. He didn't like the idea of you holding something back. Not now. Not when he finally had you, after so long. He wanted all of you, the good and the bad.

"Tell me," he urged. He needed to know.

You sighed and averted your gaze. "Especially... on really bad days. Those days I stay up at night, waiting for the pain to go away, and I think about you. How you would never lay a finger on me like that."

His jaw tensed. Anger boiled hot through his veins at the thought of you cowering in your bed or bathroom, in pain and crying and thinking about him.

"Look at me," he said through clenched teeth. You took a deep breath and did what he asked, gazing up at him with watery eyes, trying your best to put on a brave face. "That will never happen again, do you understand? He will never hurt you again. It's over."

You gave him a weak smile and shook your head.

"He won't let me leave. I've tried, believe me, but-"

"You're not listening to me, sweetheart," Dave said, pinching your chin and holding your gaze, trying to do his best to convey his message without implicating you. "You're safe. It's over."

You opened your mouth to argue back and then you paused. You scanned his face and he watched you try to mentally connect the dots. What did that mean? Was Mike arrested?

"Do you understand?" he whispered softly. Slowly, you nodded, and his mouth pulled into a smile. "Good. Now-" Dave unzipped his coat and tossed it on top of your abandoned pile of clothes. He rolled on top of you, caging you in for one quick, heated kiss that took your breath away. When he pulled back, he had a playful look in his eye. It made you smile, your anguish quickly sweeping back into the furthest recesses of your mind. "Let me give you a better reason to think about me."

When he began to move down the bed so he could settle his broad shoulders between your legs, a bolt of anxiety shot through you. You leaned up on your elbows, eyes all wide and nervous, watching as he got comfortable. His hands wrapped firmly but tenderly around your thighs, grip strong so he could fight your instinct to clamp your legs shut.

"W-what are you doing?"

Dave looked up at you with surprise. His eyes flickered between your face and your glistening center, then back again.

"Do you not want me to?"

Your heart was racing so fast, you felt like you were floating. Having a man go down on you was certainly not something you were used to, but if you gave yourself any time at all to think, you would have realized Dave was the type of man willing to give you everything and anything you could ever want or need, including something selfless like that. Something just to make you feel good.

"I-I don't know. It's been a while..." you trailed off, cheeks warming with embarrassment. "It's not exactly something Mi-"

"Stop."

Your mouth snapped shut, wilting under the steely look in his eye.

"Don't say his name," Dave said gently, realizing he might have been a bit too harsh at first. You nodded, understanding, but remained silent. He took a steadying breath and started over. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do. But if being shy is the reason you don't want this, I won't accept that."

He looked up at you from between your legs, gaze heated as he tilted his chin slightly to brush his lips over the inside of your thigh. He maintained eye contact, watching you shudder from the sensation of his five o'clock shadow scraping your sensitive skin.

"What's it gonna be, baby?" he asked before doing the same to your other thigh. You gasped quietly and then swallowed before letting your legs fall open. Dave smirked.

"I want it."

Your voice was soft and meek. He wanted you to feel in control. He wanted you to know just how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger.

"Louder."

You dropped your chin to your chest, lips parted with anticipation as you watched his mouth hover over your mound. You could feel the heat from his exhale fan over you, making your cunt pulse around nothing.

"I want it," you said, voice firm, just as he asked. "I want you to make me feel good, Dave."

One corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Yes, ma'am."

Your eyes instantly rolled to the back of your head when he dragged his tongue through your folds for the first time. Fingers thread through Dave's dark hair as he licked at you again. Over and over and over until your head fell back and you collapsed into the plush pillow.

"Oh - fuck, Dave, that's -" you cut yourself off with a moan, head lolling to the side and eyes sliding shut. It felt too good. He was too good. His warm, strong tongue licked into you messily, flooding your body with rolling waves of pleasure you had never experienced before. Your muscles were limp, pliant and soft under his hands and mouth, allowing him to take and take as much as he wanted.

And he did.

You were helpless against him, helpless against the way he feasted between your legs, entirely at his mercy. Shaky fingers grappled for leverage in his hair but it was half-hearted, at best. Dave had reduced you to a whimpering puddle with every greedy lap of his tongue, and he loved it. He loved how soft you were for him, loved hearing sweet little moans filter past your lips. It was every one of his twenty years worth of wildest fantasies come true, and he couldn't be stopped.

When he pressed your thighs into your chest, tilting your hips to give him even better access to your cunt, you gasped his name. The sound made his cock throb painfully, still trapped behind too many layers of clothes. He rut his hips pathetically against the mattress, seeking just a sliver of relief as he continued to lick and kiss and bite at your folds. The roof could have been ripped off the building and he wouldn't have stopped. He was determined to memorize and map out every inch of you, draw out every possible sound and swallow every drop of your arousal. He wanted to smell you on him for days. He wanted his jaw to ache. Every time he closed his eyes, he wanted to see you writhing around in ecstasy underneath him.

He felt insane. Never in his life had he felt so wild and careless, but decades of being denied the only thing he ever truly wanted made him a madman.

"Dave," you moaned, back arching and collapsing repeatedly off the mattress. He peered up at you, tongue still swirling steadily over your clit, lips still suckling and teeth grazing your delicate skin in the same delicious pattern, not sacrificing an ounce of your pleasure when he dragged his focus to your scrunched up face.

Your eyes, wild and dark, found his. His name fell from your lips like a song as you watched his mouth eat at you with skilled precision. The sight of him like that between your legs, all wrecked and crazed and hungry, was the final push you needed.

Your orgasm forced you upright, sitting with your legs bent and spread. You could see Dave so much clearer that way, watching every purse of his lips and flick of his tongue as he guided you through it. One of your hands raked through his hair, holding him against you so you could grind against his mouth while the other supported your weight somewhere behind you.

With one last drawn out moan, your head tipped back and your eyes slipped shut. Your mouth hung open, pulling in deep gulps of air. A shudder ran through your body and your arm began to shake. Dave was still dutifully cleaning up the mess between your legs, but his licks were softer, gentler, as he worked.

"Oh, my god," you breathed, collapsing back into the bed. Your heart was racing in your chest, skin coated in a thin layer of sweat and your mind was blissfully blank. It wasn't until Dave withdrew himself from between your legs that you opened your eyes. The loss of his body heat made you shiver, and suddenly you felt painfully exposed. You weakly pulled at the bedspread, looking to cover yourself up, when he stopped you.

"Don't."

Your hand instantly released the comforter and you rolled your head to look at him. He had been removing his shirt when you were busy trying to cover yourself up. Your breath quickened and you forgot all about your earlier shyness when you drank in his bare upper half for the first time. Your mouth went dry and jaw went slack at the sight of his muscular, wide shoulders and chest, leading down to a soft but toned stomach. Dave smirked, flinging his belt off before working on the zipper of his pants.

You were out of your element. On one hand you could count how many times Mike made you come in the past fifteen years. You were bone tired and legs still shaky from the way Dave had torn you apart just minutes earlier, unsure if you had it in you to go again. But when he dropped his pants and boxers, revealing his thick, rock hard erection, you felt a second wave of energy hit.

"Shit," you whispered, scrambling to your knees on the bed. Dave's dark eyes skated up and down your naked body, cock twitching when he saw the wetness between your legs glisten as you shifted down the bed on your knees, towards him.

Your soft palms dragged down the sharp planes of his chest, your eyes wide and reverent, studying every inch of his skin. He held his breath, tight muscles twitching under your delicate touch. He flexed his hands at his sides, eyes boring into you, giving you all the time you needed to take him in.

"You've grown up, Dave York."

He chuckled, releasing a nervous breath. It was growing increasingly difficult not to touch you.

"A lot's changed since the treehouse," he murmured. Your eyes flickered up to his, hands still drifting slowly down his stomach.

"You remember."

He brought one hand up to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your fingers stalling right above where he wanted you the most. Your fingertips grazed the coarse hairs there and he thought he might die if you didn't touch him soon.

"Of course I remember."

You closed what little distance remained, capturing his lower lip between your own. You could taste your release on his mouth, surprising yourself when you weren't repulsed by the flavor. You had a feeling it had something to do with the man it was connected to. The idea of Dave smelling like you awakened some primal urge deep inside, like you craved to mark him somehow.

You slid your hand down the rest of the way, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. He pulled in a sharp breath against your lips, then groaned when your wrist slowly started to work him, up and down.

Dave cursed under his breath when your thumb swept across his slit, collecting the sticky bead of wetness pooling there. He kissed you deeper, tongue swirling frantically inside your mouth, his hips jolting forward, chasing your touch.

"I want you," he murmured, voice a little strained. He gripped the side of your face so tightly, like he was afraid to let you go. You bloomed with pride when you heard his breath stutter and you grinned before dropping your mouth to taste the skin covering his pulse point. It fluttered wildly under your tongue, the rhythm giving away his true feelings in that moment. He more than wanted you. He needed you.

"You have me," you said, lips trailing down his throat. "I'm all yours."

Desperate hands grabbed at your hip and the back of your head, laying you down flat under him with your lips still latched to his neck and your fist still pumping his cock. Once he settled between your legs, it was as if you moved as one: your hand paused, lining him up at your entrance, and a moment later he grabbed that same wrist, pinning it above your head at the exact same time he buried himself inside you with one deep thrust.

"Oh!" you cried out, the sudden stretch stealing your breath. Your head dropped back, abandoning the mark you left on his throat. It was hard to think, hard to speak, hard to do anything except focus on the way he opened you up, carving a spot for himself inside of you.

"It's okay, I got you," he gasped. It was the first time you realized he was just as much of a wreck as you. His mouth hung open, face buried in the crook of your shoulder, struggling to catch his breath. He still held your arm firmly above your head, pressing your wrist into the plush comforter. After a minute, once you both managed to clear your heads, his grip loosened. But instead of letting you go, he slid his palm up to press into yours, fingers lacing together lovingly when you tilted your chin and slotted your lips together once again.

The weight of him on top of you was stifling, the wide stretch of your hips to accommodate his broad torso already pulling your muscles, but it felt so good. With your free hand, you carded your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss by slipping your tongue past his lips. There was nowhere else you'd rather be than pinned under Dave York's hulking frame, cocooned and protected by his strong body. You wanted him to possess you in every way imaginable, tangle and weave himself through every fiber of your being.

When he started to move, he was so much gentler than you imagined him to be. He took his time, feeding you his cock inch by inch, slowly dragging his hips back just to push back inside at the same excruciating pace. Your fingers squeezed around his with each thrust, tongues still tangled together, sharing soft sighs and gasps each time he moved.

"Good?" he whispered, breaking away and pressing your foreheads together. Your skin was growing dewy, sweat forming where your bodies touched.

"Yeah," you whispered back. His eyelids fluttered when you rocked your hips up to meet his. "You won't break me, you know," you teased. He grinned but still maintained the same pace, making you gasp when he shifted and brushed against a sensitive spot no one had ever reached before.

"I know. Just - don't want to rush it. Been thinking about this for too damn long." He nibbled playfully at your chin before finally releasing the hand above your head. He cupped the back of your thigh, lifting your leg so it hooked over his lower back, burying himself even further inside your tight cunt. You moaned his name, brows knitting together and face flushing with arousal and maybe a little bit of embarrassment when you whined in his ear, "So deep. You're so fucking deep."

There were times in the past twenty years where Dave thought he might be deranged. The way he could never let you go, never get you out of his mind, bordered on obsessive. Time didn't dampen it, like he thought it would. Distance, either. Not a single day passed where you didn't cross his mind and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. When your husband's name crossed his desk, his next target, with your name next to it posed as a question, he didn't sleep for three days. Panic seized his entire body, morning and night. If you were guilty, if you were privy to anything your husband did - or, god forbid - assisted him with any of his dealings, he knew he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger. Yet he still came back home, because he couldn't pass up the opportunity to see you again. The relief he felt when he confirmed you were clueless, that you were pushed into the darkness by your husband's cruel hand, was unmatched. It might have been the only good deed that bastard ever did for you.

And then the obsession grew ten-fold. Because he knew finally, when his work was done, he would get to have you.

Mania took hold of his mind. The question did he ever fuck you like this? Did he ever make you feel this good? This loved? sat on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know. He wanted to hear you say he was the best you'd ever had. But he didn't, because that fucking asshole's name had no place in that room. He didn't want to invite him into the sacred place where Dave was buried deep inside you, showing you all the ways he loved you without saying the words.

"You like it like this, baby?" he asked instead. "You like it nice and slow?"

"Yes," you whimpered. Your fingers tugged harshly at his hair when he brushed against that spot again and it made him groan. "Fuck - whatever you're doing, keep doing it," you said, mouthing at his cheek. Your lips burned from the sharp hairs that were already beginning to grow back across his jaw. He rolled his hips again, pulling another broken moan from the back of your throat, slowly fanning the flames of the warmth blooming in your belly. He could feel you pulsing around his cock, pulling him in as your orgasm began to steadily build. He cupped one of your breasts, clamping his mouth around your nipple, allowing his teeth to gently graze the sensitive skin, all in an effort to heighten your pleasure. Based on the way your back arched and you cried out his name, it sounded like he was pretty damn successful.

"You feel so good," he panted, breath coming quick and short. He could feel himself slipping. "So good. So beautiful - fuck," he said with a groan. Your fingers found his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

It was so hot. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck. You could feel drops of sweat sliding down the sides of your head. Dave was fucking everywhere. His entire body caged you in, his mouth alternated licking and sucking at your breasts, cock buried further than any man ever had. His hand held your ass, pulling you tight against him, helping you rock your hips in rhythm with his.

And then you felt it. Something deep inside, a pressure that climbed up the base of your spine that had you going rigid and you gasped.

"Oh, my god, Dave - I'm... I'm gonna-"

"Give it to me," he growled, mouth abandoning your sore breasts so he could see you. He wanted to watch. He needed to see the look on your face when you came again. He fantasized about what you'd look like coming on his cock for so long and he was finally going to witness it.

"Right there," you whined, then tipped your head back with a loud moan. He ground his hips against your clit, a grunt rumbling from the back of his throat when your soft cunt clenched down around him.

His dark eyes fixed on yours, feeling his own orgasm creeping up when you screamed out his name and fell apart. He locked his jaw, fighting it, determined to wait until your release swept through you. Your nails dug into his skin, legs pulling tight around his waist. You cried out until your voice cracked and his cock swelled inside you at the sound.

Your release coated his hips and the thick patch of hair that continued to rub against your clit. He looked down, jaw going slack at the wetness that smeared across you both, then moaned your name when your cunt squeezed him again. His head snapped up in surprise to find another orgasm rolling through you.

"Oh, shit," he chuckled, mesmerized. You writhed weakly underneath him, chest heaving with your eyes closed and mouth hung open in a silent moan, too tired and spent to find your voice. You were so soft and warm and fucking soaked, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He scooped you off the bed and into his lap, pressing you against his chest, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name into your skin. His body stilled, breathing a deep sigh of relief when his cock throbbed, spilling thick ropes of his seed deep within your walls.

Dave held you close, each of you panting desperately for air. A shiver ran down his spine and another burst of spend flooded your used cunt. He felt dizzy and out of control, the force of his orgasm taking him by surprise. But he should have known it would have been that good with you.

Your lips brushed lazily against his collarbone, a whisper of his name in-between kisses and he closed his eyes. A wave of peace washed over him: he had everything he could ever want. At last, he could rest.

"We should clean up," he murmured into your hair. You made a whine of protest and he smiled. "You made a mess, sweetheart. We'll be quick, I promise."

If you were embarrassed, you didn't show it. You tilted your chin up, head resting against his shoulder and tired eyes finding his.

"My biggest regret in life was not going with you that night."

Dave wrapped his arms around you tighter, emotion swelling in his chest. I love you, I never stopped loving you.

"I should've fought harder for you. Should've made you mine that night we kissed."

You gave him a sad smile and traced his bottom lip with your fingertip. "Guess we made up for it today, huh?"

"Oh, I plan on making it up to you for a long time," he said, hissing when he flexed his hips and slid out of your warm clutch.

He led you to the shower, let you lean against the wall while he gently cleaned you up. He shampooed your hair with the little bottle that was left next to the sink, thick fingers carefully scrubbing your scalp. You moaned and tipped your head back against his chest, closing your eyes while the warm water cascaded down over both your shoulders.

When his hand fell to clean between your legs, he pressed one finger inside. You tensed and made a little sound, wiggling in his arms as he shushed you. He kissed the shell of your ear and whispered, keep all that in there for me, okay?

"I'm on birth control," you said, wincing when he withdrew his finger.

"So?" was all he said. Then you understood. He wanted to claim you, the same way you wanted to mark him. It made your face flood with warmth.

That night, Dave took care of you. He got you fed and he made sure you weren't in any pain or discomfort. He fluffed your pillows, dried your hair with a towel, and rubbed your sore hips after he slipped into bed beside you.

When you drifted off to sleep, with Dave's strong, protective arm draped over your middle, you dreamt of a boy with dark brown eyes who promised to take you away from all your pain, to save you and care for you until your last breath.

Sunlight beamed through a crack in the shades, landing right over your eyes and stirring you out of the deepest sleep you ever had. It was no wonder, because when you opened your eyes and took in your surroundings, you found yourself still tangled up with Dave. His arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck. Your leg wedged between his own. The thought of having to move whatsoever was cruel, but you had to use the bathroom. Somehow, you slowly managed to extract yourself from Dave's hold with not so much as a change in his breathing pattern.

After you used the bathroom, you hurried back to bed, snatching your phone from the table along the way. You slotted yourself beside him and instinctually, his arms reached over to envelope you once again. It was pure bliss.

You tapped your phone to check the time and your face fell.

38 missed calls. Countless text messages from family members.

Your heart lurched into your throat and with shaky hands, you opened the notifications. There were several voicemails but you chose to call your mother in law first, as she was the one who was responsible for half of the calls.

"Oh Jesus Christ, finally!" you heard her sob when she picked up the phone. You swallowed and sat up in bed, Dave's arms dropping to your waist.

"H-hey, what's going on? Is everything-"

"Didn't you hear my voicemails?" she shrieked. You winced and heard some other voices in the background telling her to calm down.

"No, I just woke up and saw - just tell me what's going on," you said, voice shaking. Dave began to stir next to you.

"He's dead!" she cried, then began to wail nonsense while your vision narrowed and your ears began to ring.

"Hey, honey, it's Ricky," your father in law's voice said from the other end.

"Who's d-dead? W-what is she talking about?"

Dave propped himself up on his elbow, blinking away the sleep from his eyes so he could watch you.

"Mikey's dead, honey. I'm - I'm so sorry," you heard him sniffle and continue to tell you something about a car accident but you couldn't retain any of the details. Dave sat up in bed next to you and pressed a kiss against your shoulder, but you continued to stare blankly at the wall.

"Where are you? Are you home?" he finally asked, shaking you out of your stupor.

"Tell them where you are," Dave's voice whispered so only you could hear. You looked over at him now, panic etched across your face only to find his remained perfectly calm.

"I-I'm at the Hyatt," you stammered. Dave nodded his approval and gave your shoulder another kiss.

"The - what? Why?"

"Tell them you had too much to drink with your friends and you didn't feel safe driving."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and took a deep breath.

"I was out with friends and I had one too many at the hotel bar," you began, licking your lips nervously, "I got a room, I didn't want to drive."

"Good girl."

You listened to your father in law drone on for another five minutes about the police stopping by later and how you really should be there, and you nodded numbly, unable to say much else.

When you hung up, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins and your heart thumping loudly in your chest, you slowly turned to Dave.

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for the inevitable question. But as he stared into your eyes, he watched the fear melt into acceptance, and then calmness blended into what he was ultimately waiting for, what you deserved to feel after years of abuse - relief.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his own heart rate spiking. He saved you. He did what he had to do and saved you, but he still worried you harbored some old feelings for Mike. He braced for revulsion. A look of horror.

"I'm thinking... I want pancakes for breakfast," you said with a small smile.

Dave thought he might collapse from relief. He took your hand and brought it up to his mouth, brushing his lips over your knuckles and making your smile widen.

"Pancakes it is."

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[back2bluesidex]

We Need Practice - JJK (18+) - Preview

A Sequel to Novice.

Pairing: Pornstar!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: Fluff, smut

Wordcount: 2.1k+ (the full fic)

Summary: Jungkook wants you to ride him and you are too bad at that.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, messy cock riding, cumming all over body, they are down bad for each other, more fluff than I intended to have, confessions. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

Read here

Another positive point about Jeon Jungkook is that he is punctual. You might even call him a green flag because your phone dings with a “I am here” text right on 2:27 am. 

The scene that unfolds in front of you once you come out of your apartment, almost leaves your jaw hanging mid air. 

Jungkook has arrived with a bike, dressed in complete black. If you drooled a little at the sight then you would never admit that. 

Once he sees you awkwardly walking towards him, he takes off his helmet and welcomes you with one of his infamous bunny smiles. 

Your heart does a little flip inside your chest. 

His big doe eyes shine amid the darkness as if those are made of some priceless stone. At this moment it’s really tough to believe that he is a pornstar, who fucks people on camera to earn a living. 

“Hey. you look beautiful.” he greets you with a compliment when you come close to him. 

“You look even more handsome today.” you return his compliment genuinely. And at that, the tip of his ears turn red. 

“Ah thanks.” he replies shyly as he hands you a helmet. And gestures to you to mount his fancy bike. 

You take the helmet, slip that on your head and hold him by his shoulders to climb on his bike. 

Once you have settled, he revves the engine. 

“Hold me tightly” he says briefly before setting the bike in motion. You wrap your arms around his waist and hold him just as he asked you to. 

The deserted road, the trees whooshing by, the buildings that look peaceful, everything feels so beautiful. 

Maybe it’s because of the hour or maybe it’s because you are with someone you like. 

The bike comes to a halt at a crossing and you slide up the windshield of your helmet, “where are we going?” 

He looks at you through the mirror, slides his own windshield up and gives you another sickening smile, but doesn’t say anything.

The full fic is already posted on my Patreon page as well. So, if you are a member, you can read it there already.

[amoreva]

ROMEO AND FAIR JULIET

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pairing: biker!luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: luke loves his bike, a present from his father. it allows him to get out of camp fast as well as take him on late night rides. luke loves his bike, but he loves you a lot more.

warnings: ooc luke, rushed ending, no specific parent for reader, chris shows up!

a/n: the creative juices are not flowing right now, i’ll try to revise it. and I’ll hopefully revise the ending later 😭

requested: yes!! (don’t have og request)

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

“Look who showed up.” Your friend grinned widely. Her head sticking out the window of your dorm room. You get off your bed and joined her.

A couple floors down was Luke in gray sweatpants, black compression shirt and a black jacket. His mischievous smile brightened when you popped your head out the window.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He called out. Your boyfriend snuck onto your college campus. You knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Late night rides on his motorcycle.

The motorcycle was a gift for Hermes, an apology. It could take Luke anywhere he wanted. He just had to go 88 mph, like the DeLorean from Back to the Future.

“Stay there, Romeo!” Your essay could be done later. It’s been a bit since you hung out with Luke. He just got back from a quest recently. Thankfully—he didn’t fail this time, nor get any scars.

“Please cover me.” You begged your friend, tugging on your jacket and sliding some pajama pants over your shorts.

Before she could answer, you’re out the door and racing down the stairs. You completely disregard the need to be sneaky and secretive.

“My fair, Juliet.” Luke smiled as you ram into him. A tight embrace. He quickly broke the hug he and looked around, excited to be reunited.

The Romeo and Juliet nicknames started since you started to go to college. He would always show up and stand under your balcony at night. It was quite cute really.

Luke grabbed your hand as you both ran out of your college campus, fleeing away in the cover of night. His trusty steed parked a little away from your dorm building.

“Up and at it.” He held your hips as your mounted the motorcycle like a horse. Your ears turned red (luckily hidden by your hair).

“Where are we going?” You asked, flipping the visor up and down on his extra helmet.

“Just you wait, my sun.” Luke smirked and put on his helmet, prompting you to do the same.

(You swear he’s been learning all about Romeo and Juliet from the Apollo Campers. He firmly denies it, but you know he has since you started college.)

Soon enough the stars were moving besides you as the vehicle raced down the streets of New York. Luke sped through red light and speed limit cameras without a care for human lives. “Supposedly,” the Mist was covering you two.

“Where are we going?!” You shouted and held onto his waist tighter. Your arms pressing against his abs.

Luke reached behind you and held your thigh. The motorcycle reached to 88 mph. Suddenly, a white flash surrounded the tow of you, transported you to an entirely different scene.

You and Luke parked on top of a mountain. A campsite to be specific. There was a table on top of a blanket. Flowers and your favorite snack by candles.

“You did keep complaining about your school work so…” Luke trailed off and removed his helmet. “I also know you miss camp since you started college—surprise!”

“Luke…” You mumbled and looked back at the camp counselor. “You didn’t have too. I would’ve been fine with just a ride out in the city.”

“Oh, but I wanted too.” Luke wrapped his arms around your hips. You tilted your head up at him. “Can’t have you burning out before you come back to camp.”

You kiss his lips appreciatively, tangling your hands in his curls. Luke paused but kissed you back. He spun you so you were pressed up against his motorcycle (he loved doing this). “Thank you…” You breathed out.

“Anytime—anything for you.” Luke trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, whispering it into your skin.

“You really are a Romeo.” You giggled.

“Then you at my Juliet.” Luke smiled into your neck

When summer break started and exams were finished, Luke was the first one to see you. Well—pick you up. You just moved out of your college dorm room and now packing up to stay at Camp Half-Blood. It was a quick hi and goodbye to your parent before you’re rushing down to meet your knight in orange armor.

“My fair, Juliet.” He greeted with a playfully bow.

“Romeo.” You curtsies with your imaginary dress. You were giddy, finally being able to leave college life to escape to Camp Half-Blood.

Soon enough you were running up Half Blood-Hill, greeted by your cabin mates and friends you haven’t seen for so long.

“Oh shit, College is back!” Chris shouted, leaving the new Hermes kid he was with to greet you. The nostalgic smell of Camp hits you and suddenly you yearn to never leave camp again.

“Missed you too, Mercutio.” You embraced Luke’s half-brother.

“Still? With that Romeo and Juliet shit?” Chris rolled his eyes.

“Hey, it’s cute.” Luke defended.

“Yeah cause you’re Romeo!”

“What do you and Clarisse want to be Romeo and Juliet?”

“What—no! She is no damsel in distress.”

“Neither is my girlfriend!”

“Yet you still call her Juliet.”

“Shut up.”

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[raspberryslxt]

UNEXPECTED TURNS - PART 3

OBX X TVD FANFICTION

jj maybank x gilbert!reader x rafe cameron

-

The Outer Banks was full of secrets, and y/n could feel them pressing in on her from every direction. The Pogues had their treasure hunt, Rafe had his demons, and now even Elena seemed to be caught up in something back in Mystic Falls.

Y/n had thought coming to the OBX would be an escape, a chance to leave behind the pain of losing her parents and the suffocating weight of everything she’d been through. But here, the lines between right and wrong, trust and betrayal, were just as blurry—if not more so.

It was just past noon when y/n arrived at the Chateau, her bike skidding to a halt in the sandy driveway. She could hear the sound of raised voices before she even reached the porch, the Pogues clearly in the middle of another heated discussion.

“Are you guys always this dramatic?” she asked, stepping inside and letting the screen door slam behind her.

JJ was the first to look up, his signature grin spreading across his face. “There she is! Our honorary Pogue, here to save the day.”

“Save the day from what, exactly?” y/n asked, raising an eyebrow as she joined them around the table.

John B gestured to a crumpled piece of paper in the center. “We’ve got another lead on the Royal Merchant.”

“And by ‘lead,’ he means another half-baked idea that’s probably gonna get us all arrested,” Pope said, crossing his arms.

“Have a little faith, man,” JJ said, slapping Pope on the back before turning to y/n. “So, what do you say? You in?”

Y/n glanced at the map, then at the eager faces around her. She’d only known the Pogues for a short time, but their passion and loyalty were infectious.

“Of course I’m in,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Atta girl,” JJ said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. His touch lingered just a second too long, enough to send a jolt of electricity down her spine.

John B quickly outlined the plan, detailing how they’d need to sneak onto some private property to investigate a potential clue. Y/n couldn’t help but notice the way JJ kept glancing at her, his teasing remarks softer than usual, as if he was testing the waters.

“Y/n, you good with playing lookout?” John B asked.

“Sure,” she said, though she could feel JJ’s eyes on her again.

“I’ll keep her company,” JJ offered, flashing a grin that made her stomach flip.

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Of course you will.”

-

A few hours later, the Pogues and y/n found themselves crouched behind a row of bushes, the sprawling estate they needed to search looming ahead.

“Remind me why we always have to break the law for these plans?” y/n whispered, glancing nervously at the security cameras mounted along the fence.

“Because breaking the law is way more fun than following it,” JJ whispered back, his breath warm against her ear.

Y/n shot him a look, but she couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face.

The group split up, John B, Pope, and Kiara heading toward the main house while JJ and y/n stayed near the gate.

“So, what’s the story with you and the Camerons?” JJ asked after a few minutes of silence.

Y/n frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” JJ said.

Y/n hesitated, unsure how to explain. “Ward offered to take me in after my parents died. He and my dad were friends.”

“Oh. You never told us your parents passed away, i’m sorry” JJ said.

”I don’t like speaking about my emotions”

„What about Rafe” JJ asked.

“What about him?” y/n asked, though her cheeks flushed at the mention of his name.

JJ smirked, leaning closer. “Don’t play dumb, y/n. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Y/n opened her mouth to protest, but before she could respond, the sound of footsteps made them both freeze.

“Shit,” JJ muttered, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind a tree just as a security guard rounded the corner.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as they crouched together, JJ’s arm brushing against hers. When the guard finally moved on, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“You okay?” JJ asked, his voice unusually soft.

“Yeah,” y/n said, her pulse still racing. “Thanks.”

JJ grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. “Anytime, princess.”

-

That evening, y/n returned to the Cameron estate, her head still spinning from the day’s events. She was just about to head upstairs when Rafe appeared in the hallway, his expression unreadable.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

“Out,” y/n replied, brushing past him.

Rafe grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Out where?”

“Why do you care?” she shot back, pulling her arm free.

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tightening. “You don’t belong with them, y/n. They’re not like us.”

“Us?” y/n repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Rafe, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly fit into your perfect little Kook world.”

Rafe stepped closer, his gaze intense. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean you should be hanging out with Pogues.”

“Why do you even care?” y/n asked, her voice quieter now.

For a moment, Rafe didn’t answer. Then, he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Y/n’s breath caught, her heart pounding as his fingers lingered against her cheek.

“Rafe…” she began, but before she could finish, he pulled away, his expression hardening.

“Just… think about what I said,” he muttered before walking away.

-

The next morning, y/n was sitting on the back porch, sipping her coffee and watching the waves, when Ward joined her.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair beside her.

“Sure,” y/n said, though she felt a pang of unease.

Ward settled into the chair, his gaze thoughtful. “I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with John B and his friends.”

Y/n tensed, unsure where this was going. “Yeah. They’re nice.”

“They’re also trouble,” Ward said, his tone firm. “And I’d hate to see you get caught up in something dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself,” y/n said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Ward nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “I know you can. But you’ve been through a lot, y/n. And I just want to make sure you’re not… losing your way.”

Y/n frowned, unsure how to respond.

-

That night, as y/n lay in bed, her phone buzzed.

“Elena?” she answered, sitting up.

“Y/n,” Elena said, her voice shaky.

“What’s wrong?” y/n asked, her stomach twisting with worry.

“I need you to come back,” Elena said, her words rushed. “Something’s… happened. I can’t explain it over the phone, but I need you here.”

“Elena, what’s going on?” y/n asked, her heart racing.

“Please,” Elena said, her voice breaking. “Just come home.”

Y/n hesitated, torn between the world she was starting to build in the Outer Banks and the life she’d left behind in Mystic Falls.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

“Don’t think too long,” Elena replied before hanging up, leaving y/n alone with her thoughts and the weight of her sister’s words.

-

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Mount St. Helens erupts in 1980. Steve Firth, a friend of the man who took this photo had the following to say: “...That Pinto and dirt bike belonged to a good friend of mine and when he stopped to turn around, he took this picture. He told me that there was lightning bolts shooting out of the smoke but he didn’t have the right filter on his camera to capture them at that moment. The picture could have been even more amazing. It was used on the TV news and used to be on the cover of Mt. St. Helens brochure at the Johnston Observatory / visitor center. He gave me an original 8×10 copy of it. Although it looked like he was a good distance away from the blast, he barely made it out of there alive. Had the blast came more in his direction he would have died in seconds. Sometime later he returned and photographed a burned-out pickup with a horse trailer attached to it. He told me he had talked to them that day and said they never made it out. He is a freelance photographer so he took some amazing pictures of the aftermath as well. Anyhow, I thought I’d let you know a bit more about that fabulous picture."

Read more: The Eruption and the Pinto

[hotmessmaxpress]

Rosquez OnlyFans AU part 7/?

Alexa play "mastermind"

oh also there's a little porn

Valentino Rossi started following you. 

Marc stares at the notification for the fiftieth time since it appeared on his phone. He has no idea what to do with that. His DM is marked ‘seen,’ a fact that makes him want to punch Valentino directly in the mouth. Seen?

Still, following him on Instagram feels like a good start. Marc doesn’t post any onlyfans content on his Instagram because he mostly uses it for motorbike content, but he has occasionally posted a promo. 

He decides he only has one option– if Vale is determined to not talk to him, Marc is going to persuade him.

He’s got to be a slut on Instagram. 

It’s no secret that he works out, and he has occasionally posted pictures of his workouts. He doubles down on that, posting a reel the next day of himself working out, sweaty and shirtless.

“This is ridiculous,” Alex says, as Marc makes him delete a clip of him doing bicycle crunches and reshoot it.

“He followed me for a reason,” Marc insists. “I’m going to remind him what he is missing.”

Alex rolls his eyes. 

That afternoon, Marc and Alex go for a trail ride and Marc makes a point of taking a selfie with him on his story. He makes sure to show the way his skintight riding top clings to his chest. When he checks later, he sees that Vale viewed the story. Success. 

He posts a motorbike video the next day. It feels significant, posting a video of himself on the bike fully clothed but knowing Vale will be watching it. 

It’s a video that he would normally post, pre-Vale. He and Alex have GoPros that they mount to their bikes, and they make clips of themselves riding along the roads of Madrid. This video is a short clip of himself climbing onto the bike and giving the camera a thumbs up, and then various shots of scenery from the front of his bike and a few shots facing him as he rides. 

He’s fully covered, with his riding gear and helmet, but when he posts it it feels sexually charged. 

Vale likes the video only minutes after it’s posted, and it feels like such relief and gratification that Marc can’t help but harden in his shorts. He makes sure his door is closed and pulls his cock out, stroking himself to full hardness for the first time alone since Vale blocked him. He’s obviously still managed to make content, but he hasn’t jerked off for himself in what feels like entirely too long. 

He sets his phone down, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of his hand on his cock. He spits in his palm and grips himself. 

He pictures Vale, and the way he touches himself. He wonders what it would be like if Vale were next to him. They wouldn’t even need to touch; he’d be fine just watching as Vale touches himself. He wants to know what the older man sounds like when he’s jerking off. Does he groan, or grunt, or keen? Does his breathing get ragged? 

Marc wonders what it would like if Vale were fucking him. He pumps his cock hard, picturing Vale railing him from behind. He moans at the idea of Vale fucking into him, stretching him out. He contemplates taking out a toy to fuck himself on, but he doesn’t want to take his hand off his cock. 

Instead he thinks about Vale again. He thinks about getting his mouth on Vale’s cock. He’d let Vale fuck his face, choking him. He’d beg Vale to let him taste his cum. He’d beg Vale to let him worship his cock, and he’d suck it long beyond when his jaw started to hurt. 

His fantasy shifts, and he thinks about Vale sucking his cock. 

That mental image throws him over the edge, and he comes hard, shooting up to his chest with a moan. 

He contemplates sending a picture of his cum-covered abs to Vale, but doesn’t want his Instagram to get suspended. He’s got to play it cool. He doesn’t acknowledge Vale liking his post, and instead makes plans for how he can draw Vale out in other ways. 

He posts a shirtless pool photo, where he’s wet and tan and smiling. In that post he also includes a few photos of the dogs, simply because he loves them and he sort of wants Vale to learn more about his life. He and Vale haven’t really talked much about their personal lives, which in hindsight is explained by Vale not wanting him to know his identity. His Instagram is a new opportunity to show Vale who he is aside from just a pornstar who is foaming at the mouth to suck his dick. 

He posts a story of Shira snoozing on his chest later that afternoon, and he Vale likes the story. His heart pounds so hard at the sight of it that she gets up and moves. 

The following day he posts something that he hopes will force Vale into making a move. It’s him, shirtless, working out in the ugliest shorts he’s ever owned. They’re too tight because he bought them as a teenager, and he’s surprised he even managed to dig them out of storage. They’re short, bright yellow, and have THE DOCTOR printed along the butt in Vale’s signature font. 

He doesn’t acknowledge the shorts at all, simply posts the video as if it’s a regular workout video. 

Vale likes it within seconds, and Marc can feel his heart in his chest. 

Please talk to me, he messages. I just want to know what I did wrong.

Vale reads it and doesn’t respond. Marc’s heart sinks in his chest, and he can feel tears well in his eyes. He just wants Valentino to acknowledge him. 

I’m sorry you were removed from the paddock, is the message that lands in his DM’s in the middle of the night. 

He sees it when he wakes up and his heart jumps into his throat.

Then why did you have us kicked out? I just wanted to see you, he adds. I didn’t know what else to do.

He sees as the message switches to “seen”, and he has to put his phone down and take several deep breaths. 

I didn’t know Uccio was doing that. He thought you were stalking me. 

Marc snorts. He sort of was. Fuck whoever Uccio is, though. And how did he even know who Marc was?

Why did you block me?

He takes several more deep breaths as he waits for Vale to respond. He forces himself to get up and walk downstairs. Alex and the sausage dogs are already up, so he plops himself on the couch and shoves himself into Alex’s personal space.

“Vale is messaging me,” he croaks, and Alex peers over his shoulder.

“What?”

Marc shows him the messages, and manhandles Shira onto his lap so he can kiss and pet her to alleviate his anxiety.

Uccio did. I had to. It’s not good for you to know who I am.

Marc frowns.

Why, because I do OF? That’s not fair. 

“That’s bullshit,” Alex says, over his shoulder. 

“He followed me on OnlyFans,” Marc says unhappily. “He can’t use that as a reason to act like I’m a bad person.”

I sent you pictures of my cock, Marc. What if you shared them? 

Marc stares at the message.

“Oh,” he says, flatly. 

I wouldn’t do that.

I couldn’t know that for sure, Vale says. 

You know that now, Marc shoots back. 

Vale types, then stops, then starts again.

I want to trust you. 

Marc honest-to-god squeals. Alex shoves him, and Shira startles on his lap. 

“He’s in love with me,” Marc announces. 

“No, he’s not,” Alex replies immediately. “He just saw the outline of your dick in those tiny shorts and missed seeing it.”

Marc turns to glare at him. “Fuck off.”

“I’m just saying,” Alex says. “Claiming he’s in love with you may be moving a little fast. I don’t want you to be disappointed again.”

Marc sighs. 

“Just talking to him is good enough.”

Now that the door has been opened, Marc and Vale talk constantly. They talk about bikes, and when Vale asks him how he knows so much, Marc sheepishly tells him about how he was nearly professional before he destroyed his arm. He tells him how it still hurts sometimes but it’s not enough to make him not ride. 

He talks about riding with Alex and how if he can’t ride professionally getting to ride with his brother is the next best thing. 

Vale talks about his own brother, and how proud he is of the boys that he trains at his ranch. He talks about retiring one day, and how he wants to sit back and watch his academy boys win. 

Send me pictures, Marc requests, one day when Vale mentions riding at the ranch. I want to know what it’s like. It sounds like a dream.

He is startled by Vale’s response. 

You should come. 

To Tavullia. Come ride with me.

[star-going-supernova]

May I humbly request clingy Freddy suffering from separation anxiety who is constantly on edge about losing his child 🙏

We are on a roll! Here’s tumblr generated prompt number 33! I put Gregory at twelve years old here. Poor Freddy in this one, lol.

Separation Anxiety

Back and forth, Freddy paced the length of the pizzaplex entrance, always keeping the parking lot outside the doors in sight. It was two minutes after 11 p.m., two minutes after Gregory had said he would arrive for the night. 

His wires felt itchy with mounting worry. He cycled through various cameras, all focused on side or back doors, in case Gregory had entered the building elsewhere. He would have asked his friends if they had seen him, but he did not think they would soothe his nerves, not after he spammed the group chat at eleven that Gregory had not arrived at his designated time. 

Monty had laughed at him—Freddy had been able to hear it from the foyer, loud as Monty had been in his amusement—and Chica had gently reminded him that Gregory had given him an ETA, an estimated time of arrival. Roxy had lost her patience and snapped at him to stop being such a helicopter parent and give them all a break from his incessant, and needless, paranoia. 

Gregory’s a beast of a kid! she had furiously typed, essentially a shout. You seem convinced that everything in the world is out to get him and would succeed! Give the little monster some credit, Fazbear, hell. 

So. He was not sharing his concerns in the group chat. 

He just—it was not paranoia. His fears were perfectly rational; there were many things that Gregory could encounter in his daily life that could cause him harm. And while Gregory liked his foster parents well enough, they clearly were not up to the task of taking care of him. Not when they failed to notice that Gregory snuck out several nights a week to visit the pizzaplex. 

Gregory deserved excellent care, not average care. 

(It did not matter to Freddy that his foster parents’ lapse was the only reason Gregory was able to visit outside the pizzaplex’s hours of operation.) 

He toyed with making the argument (again) that Gregory should stay here, with Freddy. Then Freddy would not have to worry about many of the potential dangers that existed beyond the front doors. Which, he would like to point out, had very effective safety measures. 

Distracted with creating a list of reasons for why Gregory should never leave Freddy’s side again, he did not notice Gregory riding up to the entrance on his bike. Nor did he notice Gregory climb off, tilt his head in amusement at the sight of Freddy pacing, then chuckle to himself before walking his bike through both sets of doors. 

“Miss me?” he teased, breaking Freddy out of his thoughts. 

Freddy snapped his head up, his worry instantly vanishing at the mere sight of the boy. As soon as Gregory had leaned his bike against the wall, Freddy was there to pull him into an inescapable hug. 

Gregory laughed against him, reaching up to hug him back. “Sorry I’m a little late. I guess the pacing is why Roxy texted me?” 

Sheepish, Freddy asked, “Ah, what did she say?” 

“Only that you’re reaching all new levels of worrywart and it’s driving her crazy.” 

“I… suppose that is not inaccurate.” 

Gregory leaned back to look up at him. “What’s got you so worried?”

Everything. Anything could take Gregory from him: Other humans. Car accidents. Potentially undiscovered deadly allergies. Dangerous animals. Illness. Injury. The list went on and on and on and on—

“I think you have a pretty skewed idea of what life for us humans is like,” Gregory said. “I swear I’m not dodging danger every second of every day.” 

It only takes once, Freddy carefully did not say. Gregory, as an orphan, would know that all too well. 

Though he did not respond, something in his expression or body language or even in the silence itself made Gregory frown. 

“I’m sorry my health and safety’s got you so freaked out,” he said earnestly, and he lifted his arms in an offer. One Freddy gladly took, scooping the boy up and holding him even closer. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Stay. Stay forever. Never make me let you go again. 

��Did you say Roxy texted you?” he asked instead, and it was only because he had impeccable control over his voice box that he did not sound strained. 

“Hey, yeah! She found me through my foster mom’s Facebook, I didn’t even think—let me give you my phone number, and then we can text and stuff. On nights I can’t make it, we could do a video call? Would that help?” 

“That—yes. I think it would.” Freddy saved the string of numbers to his memory and then sent a message to Roxy asking how to get his systems set up for texting outside of the pizzaplex’s internal communications system. She sent him a few laughing emojis, then mercifully passed along a mod file. 

“While you get that set up,” Gregory said knowingly, “how about we head down to your guys’ lounge? I owe Monty a beating in Mario Kart.” 

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 21

word count: 966

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

May 17, 1989

Dear Will,

Today started out pretty rough, since one of my tires on my bike popped when I was halfway to your house. And given how quickly Hawkins has become a fucking sauna over the past few weeks (thanks, rural midwest), it was not a blast to push my bike the rest of the way on foot. Again, I could have taken my car to begin with, but I think in some way shape or form, we crave that element of our childhoods, riding bikes through the neighborhood like old times. Plus, Lucas and I are the only ones who have cars right now, so majority rules. Anyway, I still wound up at your house about half an hour early, and we spent that time trying to figure out how to patch up and refill my tire. No dice, unfortunately. But our hands brushed a few times, so it wasn’t too inconvenient.

Jonathan ended up coming into the garage at one point to grab a few tools (he’s been helping Hop out with some home projects, like a new shelving unit for your living room and a deck out back— but you already know that, why am I going on about this?) and suggested I just share your bike with you. You laughed so loudly that I thought I was gonna puke. I forced my anxiety back down and reminded Jon of how tall I am (last time I went to the doctor they said I was 6’3”– no, I’m not kidding), and he insisted that I, “just try and sit on the handlebars, or something.” I thought the idea was insane, but you seemed to be pretty entertained by it, so I shook my head with slight embarrassment before I motioned for you to mount the bike.

You swung your leg over the bar and rested your feet on either side, a huge grin on your face. “Do your worst, Wheeler,” you told me. I was so tempted to dramatically fling myself over the handlebars like a ragdoll, but then again, I didn’t feel like throwing out my back at the ripe age of eighteen. I turned so my back faced you, reached behind me to grip the handlebars, and hoisted myself up as best as I could, while you reached a hand out to hold my side and keep me steady. I must’ve looked like a fucking praying mantis or some shit, with my knees almost hitting my chin because of how I was balancing my toes on the front fender, but I didn’t care, because your reaction was fucking priceless. You were hysterically laughing, and I couldn’t help but begin to laugh as well.

Before I knew what was happening, Jonathan had disappeared and come back within record speed, and a bright flash hit my eyes as he clicked the button on his camera. I glanced back at you, and thankfully, you didn’t look fazed at all. In fact, you said to Jonathan, “please tell me I’ll get a copy of that,” while catching your breath from laughing so hard.

After that whole debacle, we actually tried riding the bike with me in front, but you couldn’t really see on account of the top of your head barely reaching my shoulders. So we eventually gave up on trying and just walked to Dustin’s to meet the rest of the Party, since his house isn’t too far away from yours, and Jon was still busy with his project and couldn’t drive us. Which I was totally fine with, because… duh, time alone with you is time well spent. We played D&D, and I kind of got a little too invested in your campaign. I think I just love seeing you so happy. I don’t think I could ever get tired of watching you in your element.

Once the session ended, Lucas gave us a ride home (I love how I just referred to your house as my home, I might’ve gotten a little emotional just now while writing it). We walked into your living room and saw Jonathan sitting on the couch with a bunch of photos spread out across the surface of the coffee table. Apparently, he’d gone and processed all of his films at Melvald’s while we were at Dustin’s; there were two copies of the photo he’d taken earlier.

He gave me one before asking if I wanted to stay for dinner. As much as I would’ve loved to, I actually did need to take care of Holly tonight, since our parents are in Ohio right now at some conference for my dad’s job. You offered to drive me back to my house, and I tried not to look too excited as I said yes.

Once we arrived in my driveway, I leaned over the center console and hugged you, telling you I had a great time with you today. You hugged me back (you hadn’t for the first few seconds and I nearly had a panic attack) and said you had a great time with me too. I went inside, holding the freshly printed photo of us in my hand.

So… I might have framed it. I know, it’s weird and frankly kind of stalker-y, but… deal with it. You’ll never actually know about this anyway. Not unless I leave the frame sitting in plain sight when you come into my room, or if I recklessly forget to hide these letters detailing where exactly my copy of the photo went, as well as the countless times I’ve talked about wanting to kiss you. For now, I’m keeping it under my pillow. 

Okay, I’m gonna stop writing now in order to stop myself from sounding like even more of a creep than I already am.

Love,

Mike

-

previous letter | next letter

homepage

[britt-kageryuu]

The stream is taking place in what appears to be an huge empty aircraft hangar. Donnie, who is the one streaming, has dodged any questions on how he got access to such an area. Donnie was dressed in mechanics coveralls that were purple and had multiple custom patches, along with some steel toed boots. His tail lazily swaying behind him at he works.

The audience is watching Donnie working on a modified motorcycle of some kind. Donnie had explained that this has been a side personal project for a good chunk of the last year or so. Which makes many watching curious as to what caused this project to take so long if it's just a modified motorcycle.

And since Donnie goes into long moments of focusing on their work while talking out loud, or asking his drone-robot children to grab him something.

One of the big surprises was that Shelldon was now using a bipedal robot body instead of his drone form, which many of the chat was adoring or calling cool and awesome. The other was just that Shelldons body is a good 1ft/30cm taller than River, who was, in between grabbing things, looking around and wanting to run and explore the hanger.

Donnie stops what they were working on to grab his drink, and double check his work. "This is actually prototype version 14.5 dash 5 codename Current Racer. And while I have most of the systems finished, part of the engine keeps giving out or over powering everything which leads to a sudden crash or the mechanical parts just melting. Annoyed Chuff." Donnie walks around the motorcycle while sipping on his drink.

It's at this moment that the audience is able to see that the engine area on the bike was nothing like any normal motorcycle engine, gas powered or electric powered.

It was hard to even describe because none of the audience, even those who work on vehicles, can figure what kind of engine Donnie is working on. Then there were some bringing up the 'engine melts the mechanics' comment that Donnie made, and seriously wonder what the heck was going on with this project.

"Well, everything looks good. Now to just test if the who system will work this time." Donnie says while walking offscreen to grab some safety gear, and a helmet.

Once they come back into frame with the motorcycle gear and helmet, his tail appears to be shoved into one of his pant legs for safety. Shelldon and River are moving all the equipment and tools out of the way, double checking that nothing small might not get sent flying.

Donnie, once he also checks things over once more and does his own check for potential debris, mounts the bike, and starts the engine.

The engine doesn't so much as make a loud noise as much as start to glow while giving off a loud hum. Donnie then flips a switch, and the tires shift, turning sideways and the bike starts to hover a bit off the ground.

Then Donnie shifts his weight and the bike speeds off quick. The drone-robots quickly move the camera to show the modified hover-cycle is zooming around the hanger. Donnie making tight turns and flips near the ceiling before speeding along the wall.

This is when the chat is filled with audience members comparing it to one of the bikes from Mario Cart, and wondering if Donnie plans to make this a public released thing.

After a good number of laps Donnie returns to where they began, and lands to bike before turning it off. They then launch into doing system scans to check if everything did work, or if something small may have gone wrong internally.

The audience is still shouting questions, and a bit upset that the notification system was turned off because Donnie didn't want to get distracted while working. Which was pointed out as ironic since he decided to stream himself working.

No questions were answered, and the audience could only watch as Donnie careful took something apart to check for something that popped up during his post test checks.

---------------

Masterpost

The idea of Donatello wanting to recreate the vehicles from Mario Cart has been stuck in my head. And this was what my mind quickly started drafting instead of letting me focus on reading.

[elementoftheeye]

All the way back from 2007. my wife asked me the other day... my birthday... is there anything you have not done or anything that you would change in the past... THAT is a bit of a loaded question. The quick answer was, I really don't know. Of course what comes out of my mouth and what goes through my brain and heart are generally different. If it weren't that way I would be locked up on some island somewhere... or most likely not of this earth anymore. I will stick with this question in the realm of photography: I have no regrets about how I started in photography... I was young, had taken some art classes as a child and seemed to have an eye of it. In my teenage years, I remember everyone making fun of my dad for cutting off tops of heads with his snapshots of family. Probably around age 15 I found my dads camera. A 35mm Petri35 rangefinder. I never saw him use it but I grabbed it and loaded some color film. No idea what I was doing and teaching myself along the way... Badly I might add... I created a bit of friendship and respect with the camera. I loved aligning the images in the view finder, the smell of the back of the camera, and the heft of the camera... the light click of the shutter. Those memories are vivid to me. I took pictures of my friends and their cars, trees and flowers... then the next stage of life was the Army. I have a Pentax K1000 and a zoom lens. More photos of friends and maneuvers in the field. Travel photos, I was stationed in Oklahoma, California, Germany & Pennsylvania. Binders of 35mm negatives and color slides... to be destroyed by me through my ex wife... That is a regret ( I should have taken those binders and all of my gear. ) Jump ahead to a new life, a new 35mm Pentax ZX30. It was a good camera but felt like plastic, lightweight and cheap... Digital was in full swing by then and I got a Canon 20D... and my first trip out west to shoot with professional models... probably my next regret can 10-15 years later when I stopped shooting with models. I became a little bitter that I was not able to afford the fees. I was shooting with friends and we were splitting the fees, but I still wasn't happy. I felt self conscious when working closely with even friends... I soon just stopped making up bullshit excuses... and now I pull up old photos like this and relive my happiness if only for a few minutes. I tried to get back to shooting models maybe 5 years ago, and my experience was less than good. The model was rude, rude in front of another photographer and model. I just walked away... never got back on the proverbial bike again. That's a lot to unpack... one of the things I did as a photographer was print images for my models... this is Savannah Costello, I had sent her 5 large mounted prints from our shoot. She messaged me when she got her 1st house and thanked me because she had our photos to hang on her walls... Maybe another regret in this digital world is how many photos live on an old hard drive or only in digital realms...

[juniperhoot]

吾湖音乐局 Wohoo Music Bureau episode 3 has landed and I am once again screaming at the cuteness of this delightfully low stakes Super Vocal 声入人心 bro fest.

This week, we get to see the 兄弟们 doing calisthenics (thanks to Hong Zhiguang) and vocal warmups, serenade the hamster to keep the power on at the house, then hop on their bikes and head out for an adventure. Wohoo! There are small cameras mounted on their handlebars, so we get some very silly footage of these weirdos riding their bikes.

Special treat: Ayanga singing 《天堂》 while Ma Jia attempts a Mongolian dance. Emphasis on attempts. 😂 Perhaps it could best be described as a suggestion of dance. They and their brothers proceed to sing to a little village over the public address system. It is… exceedingly cute. I literally grinned and squealed through every song.

After they’ve finished their little show for the village, they head off to do some fishing and swimming. They all seem to be absolutely terrible at fishing. Nobody seems to know how to set the hook when they get a bite. (And they make so much noise, spontaneously singing and clowning around, I think they scared most of the fish away.) Mostly, this expedition was an opportunity to feed some raw lamb to the local fish, and for Ju Hongchuan to catch a little nap by the water.

The three juniors (Fang Shujian, Liang Pengjie, and Zhang Chao) go off to swim and act like fools, dragging each other into the water and generally being extremely silly. I’ll bet Huang Zihongfan is sad to have missed out on this quality time with his brothers!

I must take a moment to recognize Ayanga’s secret skill: skipping rocks! He got several hops in with one rock! Who knew?!

One of the guys has to leave without his brothers near the end of the episode, and sweet Liang Pengjie cries as he watches his 兄弟 walk away. Awww! Cutie!

All of their little activities are really excuses for them to hang out together and make music. That seems to be the main point of this series, and if you enjoyed the camaraderie on Super Vocal, you are truly in for a treat with this series.

Looks like next week, we’re getting more of the brothers back, including Li Qi! Can’t wait to see him!

[sl-newsie]

Query: Q x 00 Agent- Ch. 10: Cold Hands, Warm Heart

I’m ready in 10 minutes. That’s how it works when all your belongings fit into a single storage room. I make sure I’ve got my pendant and matching bracelet, as well as extra ammunition. After leaving Cricket with a large supply of food and packing a heavy set of winter clothes I meet Q outside the lab. He’s waiting next to my motorcycle and is wearing a gray striped sweater, which is very different from his usual suits. He almost looks like a tourist.

Q notices me looking. “What? Is it too dull?”

I shake my head. “It’s exactly how I pictured you in a sweater, Quartermaster. Ready to go?”

He gestures to the bike. “You drive. I’ve deactivated the tracker and C doesn't know its registration so it’s the best way for us to disappear. I’ve already booked tickets under a false identity.”

As I mount the motorcycle I can’t help but admire his planning. “You’re surprisingly skilled at planning a sudden absence, Quartermaster. Have you ever gone on holiday?”

He sits down behind me and chuckles. “Not exactly. My childhood didn’t consist of many events people would classify as a holiday.”

“I see.” What’s your story, Q? I turn the key and the bike roars to life, yet he’s still leaning back. “Q, have you ridden a motorcycle before?”

“Once, in the country. It was a slow ride with lovely scenery-”

“Well this bike isn’t built for slow,” I say as I lift the kickstand. “You better hang on tight.”

With that I rev the engine and speed off at a meager 50 miles per hour. Q is very quick to wrap his arms around me to keep from falling off, though in his haste he grabs a bit too much.

“Passengers usually grab the driver’s waste,” I say nonchalantly.

“Then what am I-? Oh.” Q shakily lowers his hands from my bust. “Sorry. I’m not used to- Jesus!”

We accelerate past a yellow light heading to the Eurotunnel station. I feel Q bury his face in my neck. Now I understand just how little he gets out. It’s no wonder he’s afraid of flying.

“Now I see why you and Bond are such good chums! You drive like a madman!” Q shouts against the traffic. “Did he teach you?”

“Partially. I’m also self-taught,” I explain. 

We weave through traffic and quickly make it to the station, where I hide my bike under a tarp in a nearby alley. Once we’ve received our tickets and boarded the train Q takes out his laptop to check Bond’s status. Meanwhile I take out handkerchiefs to cover up the few security cameras in our private car.

“He’s changed course. He’s heading to the mountains… Looks like a very expensive psychological facility.”

I lean in and get a better look at the map. “Oh no. The only way to the lab is by plane!” I gasp dramatically. “How will you manage?”

“Shut up.”

We ride the rest of the way in silence. Q keeps to his laptop while I go back and forth between staring at the passing scenery and reading Einstein: His Life and Universe by Walter Isaacson.

“I’m surprised you picked that book,” Q comments, not even looking up.

“It was actually you who inspired me to, Quartermaster. After your World War II voicetape I took up a hobby in history.”

He hums. “Glad to know not all of my lecturing is ignored.”

I spot the next station approaching and gather my bag. “We’re here. Do you know what plane we take?”

Q’s getting nervous. He keeps fidgeting with his hands and biting his lip. And I thought my fear of failure was outrageous. He leads me to a charter bus station that leads directly to the airport. I look around to make sure we’re not being followed, wondering if my skills will pay off. This is the first time I’ve ever directly disobeyed orders, and it probably won’t be the last. This was Q’s idea but I’m the most experienced. He’s my responsibility.

The time spent boarding the small plane is almost like escorting a kid to get a shot. The whole time Q’s fidgeting gets worse, and it doesn't help that our seats are near the window. The plane begins gliding down the runway, gaining speed-

All of a sudden Q takes my hand in a death grip, all but squeezing the blood out. His breathing is getting heavier.

“Keep cool, Q,” I whisper soothingly. “Planes have been flying for decades. There’s nothing to be skittish about.”

He faces straight ahead. I can almost see his mind racing from how wide his eyes are. I tug my hand free and use both hands to grab his face. “Get a grip, Q. We’ve survived far worse. You cannot let this get to you, because the fighting hasn’t even started yet.”

My hand finds his again, hoping to give any degree of comfort, and I turn to look outside. It’s a gorgeous location. Majestic white mountain tops along with the crisp clean air provide a very peaceful setting. I only wish we weren’t here on such pressing matters.

The ride only takes half an hour. On the ground I see a small village and a road leading to a tunnel. Maybe we won’t have to relive this plane episode on the way home? After we land and exit the plane (and I wait for Q to start breathing properly), we make our way to a giant glass building. On top of his coat, Q’s also chosen a wool hat that I can’t stop staring at.

“What?”

“Really? The hat? You look like a poster boy for a ski commercial.”

“It keeps my head warm!” 

We continue walking and I start to look for anything suspicious. Where are you Bond…?

My eyes flick to the stairs. “I see him. He’s headed to the bar.”

Q scoffs. “How can you-?”

“Because half the whole building is made of glass.”

The structure reminds me of ice. Cold, boring, and gray. It’s curious how anyone would find psychological comfort here. I’m thankful for Q’s quirky sweater because it drives away all unwanted attention. We probably look like a couple on holiday so the security guards don’t give us a second look. Bond, of course, chooses to go to the bar.

“I’ll wait here,” I say to Q and lean against the back wall. “I’ll keep watch.”

Q nods and goes to approach Bond.

“Vodka martini, shaken not stirred,” Bond orders his usual.

The bartender smiles. “I’m sorry, we don’t serve alcohol.”

God this place is depressing.

“I’m starting to love this place,” Bond mutters dryly.

“He’ll have a prerogative digestive enzyme shake,” Q states plainly as he removes his coat.

The bartender nods. “Certainly.”

Did he just make that up? That sounds made up. Who would drink that?

Bond keeps his cold stare at the counter. “If you’ve come for the car I parked it at the bottom of the Tiber.”

“Not to worry 007, it was only a 3 million pound prototype-”

“Why are you here, Q?” Bond interrupts.

Q huffs. “Oh I just fancied a break, if I’m honest. I’ve been a tad stressed at work recently.” That’s the understatement of the year. “What with C’s people crawling all over and the fact that M wants my balls for Christmas decorations.”

Did he just crack another joke? I swear my witty remarks are starting to rub off on him.

“Get to the point,” Bond grumbles.

I decide to step out now, tutting at his attitude. “Still so stubborn.”

Bond turns around and sees me, then he looks between me and Q. “You followed him?”

I snicker. “Hilarious. No, Bond. I’m here because I’m trying to help unscramble this mess you’re in. I never minded covering for you when we went on missions as long as we trusted each other. Now you apparently don’t trust me at all.” I know Bond won’t care about the invisible knife I just jabbed at him but I’m still mad. “Was your secret business in Rome productive?”

“Indubitably.”

Q decides to continue. “The point, 007, is that Franz Oberhauser is dead and buried. And unless you come back with me right now my career and Moneypenny’s will go the same way. 0011’s as well. Do you understand? All Hell is breaking loose out there and-”

“I saw him.”

Bond saw a dead man?

Q quirks a brow at him. “You saw him? We’ve been through the records, he died in an avalanche with his father 20 years ago.”

“Yes I know that. Then I met him.” Bond shakes his head. “He’s not someone I will ever forget.”

“Ah.” Q nods. “So you have a lead?”

“I have a name. L'Américain.”

He gives a short laugh. “Well that narrows it down. Look, 007, time’s up.” Q looks at bond with both anxious determination. “My whole career is on the line here and you will come back and do this through proper channels or I will report you to M.”

I’m not sure how Q thinks he’s going to get Bond to budge. He knows as well as I do that Bond won’t back down from a lead no matter who’s career is at stake.

“Do one more thing for me. Then you’re out. Find out what you can from this.”

He hands Q a small silver ring. The geek looks like he’s fighting the urge to say no.

“I really really hate you right now,” Q states plainly.

Bond gives him a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, Q.” He looks past him to look at me. “We’ll discuss more later. I’ve only got a few moments until security escorts me out. Where are you staying?”

Um, where are we-?

“The Pesnica, Room 12,” Q says without question.

"Excellent." On que some security guards appear and start ushering Bond away. "Right now I’ve got to go retrieve Dr. Swann before she’s kidnapped."

I frown. “Kidnapped-?” Then I spot a blonde woman being driven away by men in black suits. “Oh. Right. There she goes.” I nudge Q’s shoulder as we head out. “You really are a pushover.”

He groans. “That man is going to be the death of me.”

“You booked a room?”

Q nods proudly. “Always prepared.”

“That you are, Quartermaster. I suppose we should get there immediately and secure a proper research setting.” Q nods and we go on to the front lobby. “How do we get there? Those?”

I point to what looks like an elevator hooked up to a ski lift that’s carrying passengers up the mountain.

Q’s jaw drops. “Oh God. You’ve got to be joking.”

I grab his coat and push him towards the next available lift. “Suck it up, Q. It’s not flying, it’s just sitting hundreds of feet up in the air in a moving elevator.”

“Thanks for putting it in perspective.” Q retrieves his laptop and begins examining the ring. “Are you coming?”

I shake my head, still standing outside. “I’m taking the scenic route via snowmobile, just in case Bond needs help. I’ll meet you up there.” He’s still fidgety about this so I change to a softer tone. “You’ll be fine, Q. Just breathe.”

The doors shut just as one last passenger steps in, and it takes off up the steep slope. Now I’ve got to find a good snowmobile- ah. Bingo. There’s one right outside, and doesn’t look to be in order. After a quick jump the engine starts up and I start driving up the mountain. This place must be popular for tourists because there’s a well-groomed trail leading straight up. It’s much much chillier than London but I’m not complaining. I’d rather have my face frozen than be melting away. Now that I’m halfway up I activate my earpiece.

“How are you coping?” I ask Q.

“This isn’t so bad, actually. It’s steady, and the view really is lovely.” He actually sounds… relaxed. “What’s the news from down there?”

I look over to where Bond disappeared. “3 large vehicles headed to a tunnel. And- Oh God.” I give a heavy sigh.

“What?” Q asks anxiously.

“And Bond’s flying a plane after them,” I grunt. “He’s following them to the village. I’m almost at the lift checkpoint. Meet you there in 3 minutes.”

Jesus, Bond. You go from wrecking trains to wrecking planes. What’s next? Space stations? I see from where I am that there’s approximately a 2-minute window before Bond flys by the resort. I’m going to be cutting it close-

Q speaks up. “I need help.”

Almost there! I huff. “Isn’t that the truth?”

He sounds worried. “I’m stuck on the ski lift.”

Now I’ve made it to the resort parking lot. “I know you don’t like flying, but you’ve really got to get over this whole fear of-”

“I mean I am literally stuck on the fucking ski lift!” Q shouts. “There’s 2 blokes who are about to skin me alive! Maybe put your annoying tongue to rest and do some of that punching you’re always going on about?!”

Oh. I guess he’s not joking. I jump off the snowmobile and weave through the mob of patrons. The good news is that this messy crowd will allow a decent getaway. I get to the ski lift and try to Spot Q. He’s spaced himself between the corner and a bunch of noisy tourists. And he’s right, there’s two men watching his every move-

A loud noise catches everyone’s attention just as the plane flies past. Right on time. Nice going, Bond. Q doesn’t miss his chance and slips off before the two men notice he’s gone. But they quickly regain focus and start running. He keeps looking over his shoulder and doesn’t seem to notice me. I hold out a hand and grab Q’s coat to yank him into a storage closet just as they pass by. Though now we’ve both discovered how cramped the closet is and Q’s practically pushing me into the wall.

“Where were you!” He hisses in the dark. “I believe I said to administer some punching, yes?”

I scowl. “‘There’s more to being an agent than punching,’ Q. Ring a bell?” I feel his angry breathing against my face. “Besides they’re gone now and we didn’t need to punch our way out. What matters now is getting to our room and laying low.”

It takes a few seconds but we both eventually start to calm down. Q must also notice how close we are because he’s trying to find the doorknob.

“Here it is-” I grab it the same time he does, sending a chill through my arm.

“That’s your hand, right?” Q asks a bit awkwardly.

“Yes, Q. That is my hand. Do you want me to open the door?”

“Please do.”

He removes his warm hand from my cold one and I turn the knob, allowing us to squeeze out of the closet. 

“Why is your hand so cold?” Q asks openly.

I give him a pointed look. “You had a nice cozy ski lift to travel in. I was driving a snowmobile. I’m not immune to the elements, you know.”

Q’s eyes widen and he starts tugging at his coat. “Well then if you’re cold I could-”

“No no, that’s not necessary.” I hold up a hand. “I’ve dealt with worse and from the looks of things you need that coat more than me.”

He frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Because your face is so red it looks like a tomato.”

This comment drives Q to look away and busy himself with his messenger bag. “Yeah. Must be the cold wind.”

He walks off towards the ledge where people are gathering. I follow him and we both look down to see what’s left of a plane next to a crumbling cabin.

“Another one of Bond’s perfect landings,” I say. “More property damage. M’s not going to like this.”

“Bond can get away with it, because he’s right.” Has Q gone mad? Bond is right? “Oberhauser is alive. And right now I have to do one of the most scary things I can think of: apologize to Bond.”

Oh. That’s never an easy thing. 

I pat Q’s shoulder. “Prayers be with you, Q. Now let’s get to our room before another catastrophe happens.”

[immolatiism]

from 🔪 DH Nezumi:

Nezumi notices them from the corner of the eye. He hears the purr of a motorbike first, a bit too close to be in its designated lane, and when he glances to the side, he sees a young man—a boy, still—get off and happily go on about his business. The CCTV cameras will catch him, Nezumi knows he won't get away with it, which is why he doesn't do or say anything. Upholding law isn't in his job description. He pays and walks out of the convenience store. And there, just around the corner, like a giant hungry beast, Nezumi sees a tow truck. He looks towards the motorbike, left behind by its owner, and when he sees the owner nearby, purchasing something from a vending machine, he makes a decision. "Excuse me? Is that your motorbike right there?" Nezumi doesn't beat around the bush. He nudges his chin towards the approaching tow truck. "You might want to put it elsewhere, or it's gonna get taken away."

Hiei glances up sharply at the mention of his bike, locating the tall stranger immediately before looking away again, his attention drawn by the sound of the oncoming truck.

" Shit. "

He swears under his breath as he makes for his bike, still parked on the sidewalk just outside the store, but before he takes off he stops to pull a purple permanent marker out of his jacket pocket, and draw the icon of an eye on the bottom corner of the nearest sign.

He hasn't been here for long, which means someone in this area has not only been paying enough attention to what's going on, but has no problem picking up the phone just to ruin someone else's day. And anyone who's willing to call a tow truck for a motorcycle parked on the sidewalk, likely wouldn't hesitate to call the cops either.

He would know better, next time, and try to avoid the area.

But assholes calling tow trucks aren't the only ones paying attention, and Hiei suddenly remembers the tall stranger. He turns again to study the man as he mounts his bike, and wonders why the guy even bothered to mention it. He doesn't really strike Hiei as the concerned citizen type, with that stoic expression, but there is something unnervingly quiet about the man that makes him pause.

" Hey... thanks. "

The acknowledgement feels necessary, somehow. But with that over with, Hiei turns his attention back to the street, revving the engine on his motorcycle before cutting dangerously across traffic, heading past the tow truck in the opposite direction.

[stop-pressing-e]

Home Sweet Haven - Part 1

/Finally decided to post this story I've written nearly a year ago and made edits to update some parts recently. This story will be split into three parts.

Enjoy reading!/

Mentions of: Breaking and entering being the main plot, suggestive aftermath

First week

Dullahan was a woman of many secrets and she doesn’t reveal them so easily to anyone. Not even to the man that was once a thorn on her side to becoming an acquaintance. He would soon be a partner in crime when fate would bring them together for missions into something a bit more when it involved motel rooms and diner dates. Regardless of anyone’s relationship with the hitman, no one knows anything about her, from her hobbies to what her favourite colour is. All they have is her personality they could describe about her and what she is to them. 

However, Jack Krauser knew some things people would love to use against her and especially for the fact that he had seen her face during their interactions in their second year. He was given her actual name since Dullahan can be such a mouthful and he rather uses pet names on her as she does with him using ‘Jackie’. Bit by bit he would learn more information about her with his own investigations until he got what he needed.

Her home address.

From afar in his rental, he watched Dullahan, or better known as Trish Odile, leaving her complex for her civilian job as a waitress at a local restaurant and bar via a motorcycle. A Benelli bike. It was a nice model she had there but it was not for him. He focused on what floor she was on from the glass window displaying the elevator, and how to exactly get upstairs as he soon learnt that she uses a keycard and a passcode to enter the building. The only option was the fire escape located inside the compound. It was an easy jump over the fence and he easily avoided the cameras while he managed to pick the lock of the grilled door to enter inside the fire escape and made his way up the top floor Dullahan is located itself.

The glass door was easily unlocked with his knife wedged between the locks and he was inside. Dullahan’s place was an industrial loft with its high ceiling, the tall glass windows, to the open second floor that is basically the whole bedroom itself led up by a spiral staircase. The kitchen was underneath the bedroom floor and the space was big enough to have the kitchen island across the stoves act as a dining table too, allowing more space for the living room. A large couch faced a large screen television mounted on the wall, a nice small rectangular table decorated with only a potted plant that looked to be orchids, to his best guess, and a red plush wingback chair on the left side of the couch and facing towards the glass doors, probably to enjoy the view of the outside at a distance.

Three bookcases lined against each other by a door that led him to a storage room and upon pressing the second switch thinking it was the lights, the wall at the end pulled away revealing a hidden room behind it. He found her weapons hung on the wall along with her equipment, and the sight of a mannequin wearing the infamous blue jacket, the right arm holding the pants, what was left of the left arm was replaced by the familiar black metallic sheen of her robotic arm, and the head wearing the helmet. A training dummy is located across the storage room and it went through quite a lot from the looks of it and from the amount of stitches she must have sewn to repair it looked to be done by a really sharp knife.

Krauser inspected the rest of the area near the glass door he came from and the kitchen and he saw that it was a little art studio. One easel was tucked away and the other one was standing with a canvas left unfinished of a still life of a vase of slowly dying flowers, a few books stacked on top of each other with the spine facing the person, and a half empty amber glass bottle. Against the wall were drawers and tables containing art supplies of paints of various mediums, colour pencils, palettes, palette knives, brushes, sketchbooks, and more he doesn’t have time to inspect. There were also canvases full of paintings leaning against the wall which were still lifes, landscapes, and some were portraits of people he wasn’t familiar with, possibly strangers she had encountered in her passing.

The lower floor was done and he made his way upstairs to the bedroom area. He was greeted with a king size bed, all for one person yet he found it perfect should he need to rest, a bedside table on the right side of the bed with a table lamp and a book on top of it. Upon closer inspection, he caught sight of a knife holster strapped to the front leg of the table and a gun holster strapped at the back, possibly for an easy grab for her to strike an attack if anyone broke into her home such as what he’s doing currently. He smirked from seeing it. Despite being safe in her own home, she was still well prepared. Smart girl, he thought as he moved away to briefly inspect her wardrobe, her vanity table and the full length mirror right against the wall before he moved on for the bathroom. 

It has both a bathtub and a shower with a glass door large enough for him to enter and the tub was big enough for him to sit in it, but he won’t be using it anytime soon. It’ll leave too much evidence. Krauser briefly inspected himself in the bathroom mirror, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, his pale skin, and the stubble that was slowly growing out. He hasn’t gotten a chance to rest properly let alone have a proper meal in quite a while. He doesn’t exactly have a home for himself since he sold his apartment and his safe house was in another country he hardly goes to anymore. If he’s lucky since learning of Dullahan’s home, he hopes she doesn’t mind him crashing her place whenever she’s not around for the time being.

Her office table was the last to be inspected after leaving the bathroom. “Of course you have a password.” He grumbled to himself upon opening her laptop before closing it and searched through her drawers where he discovered a single sheet of paper containing coordinates that looked important to be written down by her. He copied them down on a fresh sheet of paper he found in another drawer and tucked it away in his pocket. Another accidental discovery he stumbled upon was another hidden compartment underneath the coordinates he had copied from containing a file detailing her next mission. A smirk crept on his lips. It seems she’ll be leaving tomorrow and she’ll be away for at least five days by most. 

Perfect.

There was nothing left to investigate in her home other than taking a few things from her fridge and a bottle of water and it was time to leave. He found what was important and he’ll use it to his advantage when she’s away. 

He left it for day one so he won’t accidentally break in while she’s packing her gear to leave for her mission. It was only on day two he repeated how he snuck in with ease and let out a long heavy sigh of relief as soon he entered the empty loft. He dropped his large duffel bag containing his clothes and all of his necessities on the floor, a couple of plastic bags containing the food he purchased for himself to cook with her kitchenware on the kitchen island, and made his way to the couch to rest. It was plush but he didn't care. He got a place to rest and regain his strength. It’ll be his own little secret and he’ll make sure she never knows that someone like him was using her place to crash for the time being. 

Once he was well rested after a few good hours, he went straight upstairs to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Krauser instantly melted by the hot water running down his body, soothing away the tense muscles and aches he had on him, and washing away the smell and grime off him. The smell of her body wash and her shampoo was a bit too strong for him and too scented for his type. Thank god he brought his own products. It did however make him curious how it smelled like on her. None of the scents he smelled on her during their ‘close interactions’ were nowhere close to what she has in her bathroom. It’s a shame he admitted since he can be quite a curious man needing the answers straight away.

The shower was done and Krauser proceeded to shave his five o’clock off with his knife. It was quite sharp that he didn't need to use a razor at all. His knife can get the job done easily without a hassle. 

Sleep was what he wanted again but he was craving to get a proper meal in his stomach after being on the road for quite some time, living off on rations and granola bars until he found a mom and pop diner or a bar that made a decent good meal. The place Trish works at was made as a mental note to visit and eat there again. Only when she’s not there or maybe when he chooses to surprise her by his presence as usual. As of now, cooking his food was his main priority. 

Three months

Krauser doesn’t often sneak into her loft and when he does, he always made sure nothing of his was left behind, the place was deep cleaned free of his prints, he thrown out his own trash into a garbage bag rather than the trash can and dispose of it at the dumpster the next block over, wiped his fingerprints away on anything he touched and used, and anything in her name was not out of place or excessively used to indicate his usage on her stuff. 

Yet somehow Dullahan knew someone had been sneaking into her home. She told him that when they ended their mission in Krauser’s motel room. He saw that distant look on her face illuminated by the large neon sign outside his window, the way her eyebrows furrowed together, her cigarette hanging from her two fingertips, and that annoying knee bouncing she does when she’s agitated on the worn out pleather chair. 

“Why the hell are you telling me this?” He let out a grunt while he rubbed his sore neck from all the hair grabbing she did to make him look up at her face while she was riding him. He was actually glad she told him now that he’ll collect more information to be prepared for next time or lay low at one of her safe houses from the coordinates he wrote down. She has quite a lot in a number of countries and he wasn’t complaining, only the lack of specific necessities but it was simply a pet peeve. 

Dullahan took a drag of her cigarette, thinking on what to say, and blew out two smoke rings. Impressive. She gave him her answer after putting it out. “I know you’re quite an expert in traps and alarms so I’m asking as a favour for some of your devices.” It easily caught his full attention with a raised scarred eyebrow and long exhale releasing a stream of smoke. He leaned against the headboard, crossing his muscular arms against his chest and soon let out a deep chuckle.

“What’s in it for me?”

“It depends on what you want from me in return.” She was starting to dress herself all while keeping her pain subdue at her hips area. Damn him for grabbing them so hard his thumbs left bruises on them but damn does he fucked her so good. She swore could still feel his lingering touches on her skin and those sharp canines when he was marking her on her right shoulder. He always made her melt like a puddle with brute force and she always enjoyed it without admitting it to his face. “If you need me to collect any information for you? Fine. Return the same favour with my own devices? Sure. Name your price.”

Krauser let her words simmer in his head, a smirk almost gracing on his lips Dullahan quickly figured out what he could be thinking. “I need to know if you’re allowing me. If you say no then the offer is off the table. Got it?” “That sounds tempting, dollface.” He let out another chuckle as he leaned onto his knees propped up, cocking his head slightly in her direction as she finished dressing herself but not in that blue jacket and her helmet. Both of them were packed away in her bag and they were replaced with a black leather jacket and biker’s helmet. “I’ll think about it.”

“You have until tomorrow evening to tell me or else you’ll get nothing from me.” She straightened back her shoulders, almost wincing when the fresh bite mark brushed against the fabric of her jacket, forced to exhale softly through her teeth and catching his smirk grew a bit wider revealing part of those sharp canines. As she half frowned from the sight of that damn smirk, it sent a shiver down her spine. No matter what, it always got her. “Goodnight, Major.” She made her way for the exit, her helmet tucked under her right arm and her bag slung over her left shoulder. As soon the sound of his door was closed shut, he let out a heavy sigh to himself, leaning back against the headboard again, tapping the ashes out while smoothing his hair back. 

It had put him in a bit of a dilemma if he chose to allow it to happen and yet it was his own device he created. Surely he will bypass it and note down where she would place them the next time he sneaks back into her loft. However, that is the problem. Two problems whether he accepts or rejects it. Accepting it, she’ll probably rework his traps and that’ll put him in a predicament. Rejecting it, she’ll find either someone else or make her own alarm system. That woman continues to be unpredictable and he was still impressed by it while there’s that lingering annoyance at the back of his head. 

He set up their meeting at the diner across the motel. By the time Dullahan arrived Krauser was already finishing his second plate and requested his third refill of coffee. She ordered herself a strawberry milkshake and curly fries. He had to witness her dipping the said fries into her milkshake and eating them like it was a normal combination. 

The hitman saw his irked expression and she gave him one of her teasing smiles towards him. “It’s good if you try it, Jackie.” “I’ll pass.” He grunted and then brought a small black briefcase onto the table and slid it across her. “Here. I did some quick modifications to it and whoever your intruder is will get a little something without needing to lift those pesky nimble fingers of yours.” Krauser casually leaned back against the booth while Dullahan inspected the traps and alarms with great curiosity. He picked up the remote from the case. “Once you install them, it’ll automatically connect to this once you press this button.” He tapped the green button with his middle finger. “Keep it on you at times, there’s no replacement so good luck getting back inside if you lose it.”

“This is quite kind of you to lend me your traps, Krauser.” Dullahan told him once she put the stuff back inside the briefcase and closed it, bringing it onto her side. “I’ll return it back to you when I have my own alarm system set up.” The milkshake was pushed away so her elbows can rest on the table. “Now for the favour.” She was immediately silent by the raise of his gloved hand.

“Save it. I don’t have anything to ask from you,” he told her, taking note of her expression by his rejection. The way her eyebrows knitted together and her lips pulled into a fine thin line if he was pulling her leg, literally. “Not yet that is. I’ll hold onto the offer until the time comes.” His promise wasn’t enough to satisfy her questions that were currently swimming in her head as she continued to stare straight at him. He casually shrugged his shoulders. “Take it or else I take it back.”

Her hand automatically went over the briefcase. “I’ll take it still.” She stuffed her hand into her pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill onto the table, paying for both her order and Krauser’s while tipping their server handsomely at the same time. “Thank you really, Jack.” It was very rare to hear his first name being spoken and the majority addressed him as either Krauser or Major, nothing more and nothing less. But not her. She calls him with only one particular nickname to either tease the man or annoy him for specific reasons as he does to her in return. At times she will address him correctly and very rarely she calls him Jack unless she was serious or sincere about it.

And she was sincere by what he has done for her.

His hand made a sweeping motion for her to leave. “Just go, Trish.” Simply by saying her actual name in return was his small sign of respect towards her. “And be careful with it.” “I will.” She assured him as she collected her stuff. “Thank you again. Goodbye for now.” 

The mercenary grunted his goodbye right as she left the diner and waiting to see her drive off, he patted the side pockets of his cargo pants to make sure he had given her the right remote which is actually a copy of the original that is in his possession right now. She will have her loft protected when she’s at work but when she’s away, he will still use her place and he can easily deactivate the alarm system from outside the door with the push of the button. He also installed a tracking ware in the devices so he can know where she would set them up. There’s three devices and he’s certain two of them will be installed by both doors and it’s only the third one he will need to check where she’ll place it when he’s there eventually for next time.