#car wipes interior cleaning

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 4

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 7.8k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The drive to his place was nothing short of insufferable. Not only did you practically scream at him to avoid the bodies littering the pavement of what once was a road. And not only did you have to remind him to drive slowly and vigilantly, but also to stay on the lookout for those things. He listened—sort of. 

Chatting your ear off about the most mundane, irrelevant things. You would’ve thought he’s just an insane man who finds normalcy in a now fucked up world. However, the way sweat subtly trickled down from his hairline to his eyebrows before being wiped off, the way his Adam’s apple bobs with what you can only assume is feigned nervousness, and the rhythmic tapping of his finger on the steering wheel told you otherwise. You didn’t voice any of this aloud. Why would you? You barely even know this man. 

His residence isn’t very far from this hospital, probably due to his occupation and the need to be on call and ready for any unforeseen emergencies. It’s a nice place—nicer than yours at least. You keep your saltiness to yourself—a two-story house that blends beautifully with a traditional style Japanese home, but also hints of modernity. 

The exterior is a perfect blend of old and new—dark wooden panels, clean white walls, and a gently sloped roof that gives it an almost temple-like serenity. A stone pathway leads up to the entrance, lined with carefully placed lanterns that would’ve looked beautiful at night—if the world wasn’t falling apart. The front yard is surprisingly well-kept, though some fallen leaves scatter across the stone tiles, a sign that he hasn’t been home for at least a day or two. Gojo parks in the driveway, killing the engine before leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, home sweet home,” he drawls, stretching his arms over his head. “Did you enjoy our little road trip?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, unimpressed. “No.”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Brutal.”

Stepping out of the car, you take in the finer details of his home. The four-panel, glass front doors at the entrance slide rather than swing, framed by sleek black trim that complements the modern glass windows scattered across the façade. A small porch extends from the front, complete with a wooden bench and a wind chime that barely moves in the dead air. It’s the kind of house that exudes both quiet luxury and warmth—something you wouldn’t have expected from someone like him. You assumed big, loud—something that screams ‘I’m rich! Look at me!’. Well, maybe that all went to his personality. 

You follow as Gojo unlocks the door and steps inside, flipping on the lights. “Welcome to Casa de Gojo,” he announces, kicking off his shoes.

The interior is just as polished as the exterior. Wide, open spaces with natural wood flooring and soft lighting. The living room is spacious, with a sunken seating area around a low, dark wood table. A modern sectional, black leather couch sits nearby, facing a flat-screen TV mounted above a fireplace that looks untouched. Built-in bookshelves line the walls, filled with a mix of medical texts, philosophy books, and an absurd number of manga volumes. Your eyes sweep across the space. The decor is minimal but intentional—warm-toned wood, neutral colors, and the occasional pop of blue that likely reflects his personal taste. There’s a quiet elegance to it all, but the subtle mess—an unfinished cup of coffee on the table, a jacket draped over the couch, a pair of house slippers kicked haphazardly near the entrance—suggests that while the house is expensive, Gojo himself isn’t overly meticulous.

He gestures grandly. “Make yourself at home. Just don’t go snooping in my room unless you wanna see something scandalous.”

You give him a flat look. “I doubt there’s anything in there worth seeing.”

Gojo gasps, clutching his chest as if you just stabbed him. “Ouch. Right in my fragile heart.”

You roll your eyes, stepping further inside. The house is nice—far nicer than yours—but right now, all you care about is whether it’s safe. The doors are locked, the windows are shut, and for now, it seems like you have a moment to breathe. But you both know that moment won’t last long. “Sliding front doors don’t seem very stable,” you comment.

“Stable enough, I’m still alive, right? No break-ins or bloody murders happening.”

Or maybe because you’re in a gated community. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “What are you looking for again?”

“Gonna change, maybe shower and cook up a nice dinner.”

You whip your head to him. “No, we need to go to my place too.”

“We can,” he shrugs, walking to the kitchen. You’re right on his tail, annoyance slowly rising. Further inside, the kitchen is pristine—almost too pristine, as if it’s rarely used. Stainless steel appliances line the walls, a stark contrast to the wooden cabinets and open shelves that hold an impressive collection of tea sets and expensive liquor that looks like it’s just there for decoration. Another lone coffee mug sits by the sink, an abandoned stirrer inside, suggesting he hadn’t had the chance to finish it before everything went to hell. “Tomorrow morning.”

“No,” you’re quick to rebuttal, speeding up to stand in front of him, fixing him with a steely gaze. “I did not sign up for that. You said you’d do whatever you’d need to here, then we go to mine and then a gas station for your damn snacks. That was the plan, not you lounging around without a care in the world.”

Gojo tilts his head, lips curling into an easy smile. “I didn’t realize we had an itinerary. And technically? I never said when we’d leave for your place. Just that we would.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides, torn between wanting to smack that smirk off his face and wanting to drag him out the door yourself. “Don’t play semantics with me. You think it’s safe to just wait around here? The longer we stay, the worse things can get out there.”

He exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair. It’s slightly damp, strands clinging to his forehead from sweat. “Look, we just drove through what was essentially hell on earth. You’re on edge, I’m on edge, and neither of us knows what the hell is happening. So, we rest, get our shit together, and then we go. If you want to run off now, be my guest, but you won’t get far without a car, and I’m not giving you mine.”

Your jaw tightens. He has a point, and that pisses you off even more.

Gojo watches you, waiting for your response with that infuriatingly calm expression. It’s not that he doesn’t take the situation seriously—you saw the tension in his grip on the steering wheel earlier, the way his eyes constantly flicked to the mirrors, scanning for threats. But unlike you, he refuses to let the weight of it crush him.

You release a strained breath. “That’s not the point. My place has supplies I need. We don’t have time for you to play house.”

He exhales through his nose. “Relax, sweetheart. The sun will begin to go down in an hour and a half, give or take. And then what? Run around at night with no plan? Not exactly the best survival tactic.” He gestures vaguely toward the dimly lit window. “We stay here, get some rest, leave at sunrise. That way, neither of us end up dead before we even get there.”

You hate that he makes sense. You really, really do. But you also hate staying in an unfamiliar place, in a house that feels too open, too exposed, with a man you barely know. He reads the conflict on your face before you can mask it. “Tell you what,” he continues, crossing his arms. “We barricade the doors, make sure everything’s locked down. I stay far away from you when it’s time to hit the hay, and you do the same. If anything happens, we leave immediately. Deal?”

You exhale sharply through your nostrils, resisting the urge to curse him out. “...Fine,” you grumble. “But don’t get comfortable.”

Gojo grins, clapping his hands together. “Great! Now, dinner. Any dietary restrictions I should know about? Or do you just survive off anger and spite?”

You glare at him. He chuckles.

Yeah, this was going to be a long night.

Indeed it was. Hearing his grating voice sing in the shower was ruining your patience. You were this close to yelling at him to shut the hell up, but you held your tongue. Sitting stiffly on his couch, hands curled in your lap. Your eyes kept flickering to the doors that are now barricaded with a few chairs, a table from his study, and a piece of the sofa. He was in there for about twenty minutes already and you were starting to get restless. In order to keep your head, you stand up, deciding to get a good layout of the place you’ll unfortunately be camping out for the night. It’s good—you’ll know where the exits are in case something does happen. 

The house is deceptively spacious, its traditional-meets-modern design making it feel both airy and structured. The polished wooden floors don’t creak under your weight as you move, a small mercy given the situation. You start with the first floor, sweeping through the open living room, past the neatly arranged bookshelves and minimalist furniture. A framed picture of Gojo with a few other people—colleagues, maybe?—sits on one of the shelves, but you don’t linger on it.

The kitchen, you’ve already seen, is borderline unused. A dining area extends beyond it, the sleek wooden table looking like it’s only been touched when necessary. The house doesn’t feel particularly lived-in. More like a place of convenience rather than a home. Must be the life of a surgeon. You move toward the hallway, finding a guest bathroom, his study, and what seems to be a spare bedroom, but the door is slightly ajar, and from what you can tell, it’s practically empty aside from a neatly made bed and a desk with a shut laptop. No personal touches, no real signs of frequent use. Then, there’s a staircase leading up to the second floor. You hesitate, ears straining. Gojo is still singing, oblivious to your slow exploration of his home. Rolling your eyes, you take the steps carefully, mapping out each one in your head. 

The second floor is quieter, save for the sound of running water from the master bedroom’s en-suite bathroom. You glance down the hall—two more doors. One leads to what you assume is another office room, considering the slightly ajar door reveals stacked paperwork, books, and a white coat slung over the chair. The other…

You push it open slightly, peeking inside. A bedroom, obviously his. Larger than the guest room, but still frustratingly neat. The bed is king-sized, sheets dark and crisp, not a single wrinkle out of place. A dresser sits across from it, and to the side, a walk-in closet, the door left open just enough for you to see neatly arranged clothing—mostly work attire, some casual wear, and a few pairs of shoes lined up at the bottom.

Nothing about this place screams Gojo Satoru, the insufferable, obnoxious man currently singing off-key in the shower. It’s all calculated, controlled, sterile, even.

You don’t know why that unsettles you.

With a final glance around, you step back, deciding you’ve seen enough. Now all that’s left is waiting for Gojo to finish whatever the hell he’s doing so you can finally get some rest. However, just as you’re turning on your heel to walk back downstairs, something—or someone catches your eye. 

A framed picture, all by its lonesome—rested atop his nightstand. 

Your eyes squint and you pad closer. Satoru stands to the right, he looks younger. Wearing a cap and gown with a youthful smile. His arm is wrapped around the shoulders of a girl. You blink. She looks almost exactly like him. From the albino hair to the crystalline orbs, and even to the way both of their eyes crinkle when they smile. She seems younger—shorter. Your fingers hover over the frame, but you don’t touch it. There’s something oddly intimate about the way the photo sits there—deliberate, not thrown together like a forgotten memory. It stands alone, unlike the other, which was grouped with his colleagues.

A sister? You assume as much. The resemblance is uncanny. But there’s something about the way she’s smiling—so full of light, unburdened. It’s different from Gojo’s usual smirks, the ones laced with amusement, arrogance, or mischief. This is pure. Unfiltered happiness. There’s a warmth in the way Gojo’s arm is wrapped around her, in the way they’re both looking at the camera, like they’re sharing some private joke just between the two of them. The background of the picture is a blur of other graduates and family members, but your focus remains on them. It’s… unexpected. You’ve known him for less than a day, and yet the thought of him having a family, of having someone important to him, is strange. You never considered the possibility.

You can’t help but begin to wonder where this girl is now. Is he worried about her safety? What about the rest of his family?

You glance around the nightstand, noticing that this is the only framed photo in his bedroom. No others litter the dresser, no scattered images of friends, no sign of parents or anyone else. Just this one. Your stomach twists slightly. You don’t know why.

A sudden shift in the air—maybe the water shutting off—snaps you out of your daze. You blink, as if breaking out of some spell, and quickly step away from the picture. You shouldn’t be snooping. You shouldn’t care.

You can hear him shuffling around in there and you’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you’re in his room. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself, gaining your bearings and quickly turning around to leave. But just as you do so, your toe collides right into the damned protruding, sharp corner of his wall. "Ah, damn it!" you curse under your breath, clutching your foot. The sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you hop a little, trying to regain balance. But that only makes it worse as you stumble back and bump into the dresser. A few items clatter to the floor, and you freeze, suddenly feeling the weight of your situation. Of course, this would happen.

A brief silence follows and you feel like slapping yourself. 

The silence stretches on, each second feeling like an eternity. You wince, still holding your foot, and glance around the room in a slight panic. The last thing you want is for him to hear you making a fool of yourself, but it's too late now. You can hear him shuffling closer, the sound of his steps growing louder with each passing moment. Panic bubbles in your chest, and you quickly drop to your knees, trying to pick up the fallen items off the floor before he gets there. But with the way your foot throbs, it’s a slow, clumsy process. You curse under your breath again, wishing you could just disappear. Just as you're about to give up and admit defeat, the door creaks open behind you.

"Uhhh…everything okay in here?" His voice is light, like he's expecting something completely mundane.

You freeze for a moment, embarrassment creeping up your spine. "Yeah, just—" You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "Just tripped. Foot’s fine. Nothing to worry about." You can hear your own voice crack as you say it.

Satoru steps into the room, pausing when he sees you crouched by the dresser, items scattered around you. His expression shifts for a brief moment, eyes narrowing slightly before he lets out a quiet sigh. "Careful there, you're gonna hurt yourself."

You glare back at him from your position on the floor, biting back a sharp retort and the urge to linger your eyes on certain areas that are concealed by a mere towel wrapped around his waist—broad, glistening, sexy chest on display. “You really need to renovate around here. It’s a hazard.”

He raises a brow, leaning against the doorframe, arms casually crossed. “Maybe you should stop snooping around my stuff and focus on not hurting yourself.”

His tone only irritates you further. “I wasn’t snooping,” you mutter, standing up slowly, trying not to favor your injured foot. “I was just—looking around.”

Satoru nods, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Well, looking around doesn’t usually lead to this,” he gestures to the scattered items, his voice now tinged with exasperation. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll survive. But next time, watch your step. Don’t want you getting all hurt before we even get out of here.”

You shoot him a glare, but decide it’s best to let it go. For now. The last thing you want is for him to think you’re making a bigger deal of this than it is. “Are you done now? I’d like to wash up too, if you don’t mind.”

He hums lightly, pushing off from the doorframe. "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, I’m almost done here anyway." His eyes flicker down to your foot a hint of concern crossing his features. It’s brief—barely noticeable—but you catch it, and for a moment, you almost feel like you might not be completely annoying him.

Almost.

"Take it easy on that foot," he adds casually, shrugging his shoulders. "Wouldn't want to carry you to the hospital, would I?"

You snort, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "I’ll be fine. Not everyone needs a knight in shining armor." The words escape before you can stop them, and you feel a slight tinge of regret immediately after.

Gojo walks over to his dresser, passing you in the process. It takes everything in you not to sniff at the air like a dog at the scent of his…really good soap. "You sure about that? Because I'm really good at playing hero."

“Just…give me a towel, please? And some clothes, if you have it.”

“Towel, yes. Downstairs, a door next to the guest bathroom. However, clothes? I’m afraid I can only interest you in things left from my previous rendezvouses.” 

You can’t help but scoff. “...you want me to wear clothes left behind by your hook-ups?” 

The muscles in his back flex, arms lifting over his head as he puts on a basic, black tee. 

He chuckles at your incredulity, the sound of fabric stretching as he pulls the shirt over his head, perfectly at ease. “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he teases, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “Some of them have pretty good taste. You might get lucky.”

You purse your lips, trying not to let his cockiness get under your skin. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, clearly unbothered by your rejection. “Your loss.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment, eyes flickering down to your foot before snapping back up. "Alright, alright. Don’t worry, I’ll hook you up with something more... appropriate."

He starts rummaging through the drawers of his dresser, pulling out a pair of dark sweatpants and a plain hoodie, and tossing them to you. “These should fit. No promises on style, but they’re clean. Unless, of course, you want to try the hook-up clothes after all,” he adds with a smirk, tossing the clothes onto the bed.

You hesitate for a moment. There’s something almost absurd about the whole situation. Here you are, stuck in a post-apocalyptic mess, and you’re being offered clothes from his past lovers. “Keep your exes’ clothes, I’ll take these,” you mutter, gripping them closer with a small huff, still trying to shake off the awkwardness.

Satoru grins and pats you on the shoulder. “Suit yourself. But hey, if you ever change your mind, just let me know. I’m a man of... many connections.”

You can feel your eye twitch at his insistent teasing, but you bite back your frustration. The last thing you need is to lose your temper again. You just want to shower, change, and get some rest, not get wrapped up in his ridiculous antics. Turning on your heel, you head out of the room, back downstairs toward the bathroom, muttering under your breath. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

His laughter rings out behind you as you descend the steps, making your way into his guest bathroom and closing the door with a soft click. You exhale, finally feeling a sense of relief that you're alone, if only for a moment.

That night, dinner is nothing short of an awkward, silent meet-up between two strangers. You sit on the opposite end of the table, Satoru facing you from his end. He talks here and there, but he’s much more invested in chowing down the stir-fry. You’re grateful for that. And when you two do to sleep, you ignore his dramatic farewell about sleeping well and not letting the bedbugs bite. Barcading yourself in the guest bedroom, in fear of not just him probably coming in during the middle of the night because you still haven’t gaged if he’s a weirdo perv, or just…unlikeable. But also for the fact that there’s still chaos reaping the world just outside the confines of his home. 

You get hardly any sleep.

As soon as the sun is shining, you change out of the clothes he gave you and back into the ones from yesterday. Satoru wakes up about thirty minutes later, coming downstairs with a long-sleeve on, paired with dark wash jeans that if you look closely enough, hug his ass quite well. He’s wearing his thin-rimmed glasses once more, but this time with a simple black baseball cap, the symbol of the Yomiuri Giants taunting you. There’s a backpack slung over his shoulder as he grabs his keys.

 “What’s in there?” you ask him, ignoring the way the ‘G’ symbol twists at your stomach.

"Essentials," he replies nonchalantly, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. "Food, first aid, a few weapons—y'know, the usual end-of-the-world starter pack."

You arch a brow. "Weapons?"

He smirks, tossing his keys in the air and catching them with an effortless flick of his wrist. "A knife and a gun. Nothing too crazy."

Your eyes widen. “You…have a gun? How do you even have a license, it’s strict as hell.”

Satoru laughs, clearly reveling in your disbelief. "Who said anything about a license?" He winks, tucking the keys into his pocket before slinging the backpack over both shoulders.

You stare at him, unimpressed. "Great. So not only are you annoying, but you're also illegally armed."

He sighs playfully, shaking his head as he heads toward the front door. "Relax, sweetheart. It's not like I’m running around committing crimes. Just a little... precaution. You never know when you'll need protection these days."

You cross your arms, not entirely convinced. "You do realize that if you get caught with that, it won’t just be the zombies we have to worry about, right?"

Satoru waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. The world's gone to hell. The last thing on the government's mind is some guy with an unregistered gun." He gives you a look, one that almost feels too knowing. "Besides, it's not my first time handling one."

Something about the casual way he says it makes you uneasy. Part of you wants to question why a health care worker has illegal possession of a firearm, but you have bigger fish to fry. "Right," you mumble, shifting your weight onto your good foot. "You ready to go, or do you need another five minutes to admire yourself in the mirror?"

Satoru tilts his head. “Oh, you’re implying I take too long to get ready? This,” he swipes his hand up and down his body vaguely. “Effortless.” 

You roll your eyes, already regretting asking. "Let’s just go."

He grins one last time and motions for you to follow him out the door. "After you, my dear reluctant partner-in-crime."

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you step outside, squinting against the morning light. The world beyond the safety of his house is eerily quiet, too still. A constant reminder that whatever life used to be, it’s long gone now. Satoru locks up behind you. You follow him to the BMW parked out front, getting into the passenger’s side. Once he’s seated behind the wheel, he does a quick look around of the interior, then outside, before he’s reversing. One hand placed to your headrest, his left palm guiding the car back and to the left. “Where do you live?” 

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not you should even tell him. Does it really matter? Your apartment, your belongings—hell, even your bed—none of it means much in a world that’s already fallen apart. Still, old habits die hard, and there’s a part of you that clings to the remnants of what once was. You glance at him, noting the way his sharp profile remains focused on the road as he expertly maneuvers the car onto the empty streets. There’s something oddly reassuring about the way he drives, confident but not reckless. “The high-rise apartments in Shibuya,” you finally answer, shifting slightly in your seat. “Near the station.”

Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Damn, you really like to live dangerously, huh?”

You furrow your brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Shibuya must’ve been hit hard, it’s a big metropolitan area, those places are always first to go. If you think we’re just gonna waltz in there and grab your stuff, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Your stomach sinks. You already knew it was bad—hell, you saw the state of things with your own eyes before finding temporary shelter—but hearing him say it out loud makes it feel more… final. “I have to at least try,” you say, voice quieter now. “There are things I need.”

Satoru hums in thought before making a sudden turn onto a different road. “Alright,” he says, as if he’s already made up his mind. “We’ll check it out. But the second things get dicey, we’re out. No hero shit.”

You roll your eyes but nod. “Fine.”

For a brief moment, neither of you speak, the low hum of the car’s engine filling the silence. Your eyes are glued on the window, watching the decimated pieces of what used to be normality wizz past the car. Buildings stand in eerie stillness, some with shattered windows, others marked with the dark streaks of smoke and fire. Cars sit abandoned on the road, doors left wide open as if their owners had fled in a hurry. The further you drive, the more the devastation sinks in—the world you knew is truly gone. You wonder how many people survived the night, how many people didn’t. 

Satoru drums his fingers on the steering wheel, gaze flickering between the road and the rearview mirror. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t miss the way his jaw tenses when he spots something in the distance.

“What is it?” you ask, already tensing up in your seat, looking back over your shoulder.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead making a sharp right into a side street, one that looks a little less exposed. “Nothing,” he finally says, though you don’t believe him for a second. “Just being cautious.”

You press your lips into a thin line, but let it go. If something was truly wrong, he’d say it… right?

Minutes pass, stretching into what feels like hours as the car winds through the remnants of civilization. You glance at him again, watching as he adjusts his cap, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He looks far too composed for someone driving through the apocalypse. “You’ve done this before,” you muse, turning back to the window. It’s not a question.

Satoru chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “What, drive?”

You shoot him a look. “You know what I mean.”

There’s a pause, long enough that you almost think he won’t answer. But then—

“I’ve been in bad situations before, of course.” His voice is lighter than it should be, as if he’s trying to downplay something much heavier. “This? It’s just another shitty day in a long list of shitty days.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach twist. You don’t push for more, but you file it away, another mystery to add to the growing list of questions surrounding him. The car slows as you near Shibuya, the once-bustling city now nothing more than a graveyard of collapsed buildings and burned-out cars. Your fingers tighten into your palm.

Satoru exhales sharply, shifting the car into park. “Alright,” he says, stretching an arm over the back of your seat as he turns to face you. “Tell me exactly what we’re looking for.”

You look over. “I just need some stuff. Change, some clothes, weapons, I guess. Whatever will help me.”

He nods, eyes flickering to the windshield. Your apartment building still stands tall amongst the chaos. He juts his chin in the direction of them. “This it?”

“Yep.” 

“What floor?”

“The highest one.”

“Damn,” he shakes his head, lifting his cap to push his hair back before setting it back down. 

“What?” you grunt. 

“You live on the top floor of one of the most expensive places to live. Impressive, what do you do?”

“Not up for discussion right now,” your fingers reach to open the door, but his hand on your other arm stops you. Slowly, you look back over at him and his features have settled into a serious expression. 

“Listen,” he leans closer. “Game plan: stay quiet and close, we move quick. Like I said, if things turn awry, we’re out. At least I am.”

Your brows furrow, eyes narrowing at his emphasis on the word ‘I’. “Not exactly reassuring.”

Satoru merely smirks, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just being honest. No use making empty promises in a world like this.”

You study him for a moment, searching for any sign of deceit, but all you find is that same self-assured confidence that’s been there since you met him. He’s not lying—if things go south, he will leave. Whether or not he’ll leave you behind is another question entirely. With a slow exhale, you nod. “Fine. Got it.”

He releases your arm, and you step out of the car quietly, the weight of the city’s silence settling over you like a thick fog. The air is stagnant, carrying the faint scent of smoke and decay. Shibuya had always been loud, a place of endless movement and life, but now… now, it feels hollow, like the ghost of something that once thrived. Satoru joins you, shutting his door with a quiet click before adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Let’s move,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as if speaking too loudly might awaken something lurking in the ruins.

You weave through the wreckage together, careful to step over broken glass and twisted metal. The further you go, the more the damage becomes apparent—collapsed storefronts, overturned cars, belongings strewn across the pavement like remnants of a life abruptly abandoned. Some buildings are burned out husks, their insides blackened and exposed. Others remain eerily intact, but you know better than to assume they’re empty. Your apartment building looms ahead, standing tall amongst the destruction, its pristine facade marred only by a few shattered windows and scorch marks near the base. A miracle, considering the state of the rest of the city.

Satoru sighs lowly, tilting his head back to take it all in. “Damn. Guess even the apocalypse couldn’t knock this place down.”

You don’t respond, already stepping toward the entrance. The glass doors are cracked but still intact, and with a bit of force, you manage to push them open. Inside, the lobby is a mess—furniture overturned, decorative plants wilting, papers scattered across the marble floor. The scent of mildew lingers, mixed with something more acrid, something you don’t want to think too hard about.

Satoru steps in beside you, adjusting his glasses as he takes in the scene. “Cozy.”

You roll your eyes and make a beeline for the elevator, only to be met with an unlit panel and unresponsive buttons. Of course. Power’s out. “Stairs it is,” you mutter, turning toward the emergency exit.

Satoru groans dramatically behind you. “Top floor, huh? You couldn’t have lived on, like, the third floor? Maybe even the tenth? Something reasonable?”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “Feel free to stay down here if you’d rather not make the trip.”

He gives you a shake his head as he follows you to the stairwell. “And leave you to get eaten by whatever’s lurking up there? What kind of man would that make me?”

You scoff, pushing the door open. “A smart one.”

The stairwell is dimly lit by the weak morning light filtering through a few narrow windows. The air is thick, stale, carrying a heaviness that sets your nerves on edge. You grip the railing tightly as you begin your ascent, ears straining for any sound beyond the echo of your own footsteps. Satoru trails behind, his presence an oddly steadying force despite his usual antics. He’s quiet now, focused, movements careful but purposeful. It’s a reminder that beneath all his smug remarks and easygoing attitude, there’s someone who knows how to survive. Floor after floor, the silence persists, save for the occasional distant creak of settling debris. Your legs burn by the time you reach the highest level, breath slightly uneven. Satoru, of course, doesn’t look winded in the slightest.

“Not bad,” he muses, peering down the empty hallway. “You kept up.”

If you could, you’d give him another death glare. Insetad, stepping past him out the door and down the familiar hall, toward your apartment door. It’s a sharp right and a few hundred feet away. The number staring back at you, familiar yet foreign—like something out of a past life. With a steadying breath, you reach for the doorknob—only to find it slightly ajar.

Your stomach drops.

Satoru notices immediately, his posture shifting, hand moving to the knife at his belt. His voice is lower now, serious. “That how you left it?”

You shake your head, pulse quickening.

Someone’s been here. Maybe still is.

And you have no idea what you’re about to walk into.

Satoru steadily positions himself in front of you, carefully opening your door and being the first to step inside. You follow, holding your breath like you’re waiting for someone to pop out—human or not. As you both slowly enter, you’re looking around. However much your dismay, things look exactly how you left them yesterday morning. That feels almost more alarming than finding your place askew. Satoru’s eyes dart around the room, scanning for any signs of movement or disturbance. His posture remains poised, like a predator stalking its prey. He’s already in full survival mode, but there’s an odd tension about him. The room is eerily quiet, and as your gaze sweeps over the familiar space, the silence grows louder.

You take a step forward, heart racing as you absorb every detail. Your apartment, for all its remnants of normalcy, feels strangely hollow now. The sunlight filtering through the blinds feels too bright, too exposed, and every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounds amplified. The once-comforting space is now just another shell of what it used to be.

Satoru motions for you to stay back as he moves deeper into the living room. His steps are slow, measured, and almost soundless despite the creaking wood beneath him. He pauses for a moment by the kitchen area, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the state of your belongings. Everything seems untouched—your furniture, your personal items—everything as it was, but the feeling in the air is different. "Nothing's been disturbed," Satoru mutters, his voice low and almost to himself. He turns to face you, the serious look in his eyes replaced with something unreadable. "You sure you didn’t leave the door like that?"

You shake your head quickly, a chill running down your spine. "I locked it when I left, I always do." The words feel flimsy, even to you. They don't sound like they carry much weight anymore.

His eyes flicker to the hallway, then to the bedroom door, which stands slightly ajar, though just enough to seem unnatural. His hand moves to the small gun at his side, fingers brushing the handle as he starts toward it with slow, deliberate steps. “Stay close, hurry and get your stuff.” he mutters.

With a quick nod, you make your way to your bedroom with him right behind you. A small look around and you deem it okay to breathe normally for a bit. “Don’t touch anything.” 

Satoru doesn’t say anything in response, but you can feel his eyes on you as you rummage through your closet. His presence is imposing, as if he's waiting for something to go wrong, and it only adds to the heaviness in the air. The subtle rustle of clothing is the only sound that fills the room as you work quickly, pulling down one of the black backpacks you use for hiking trips. It’s sturdy, and practical—just what you need right now. You swing the bag over your shoulder, quickly scanning your closet for what you need. A few changes of clothes, nothing too fancy—just some comfortable jeans, shirts, a few pairs of underwear and socks, and a spare jacket you can throw on if things get worse. You shove them into the backpack, careful to make sure you don’t take too much, just the essentials.

You urge him to turn around, changing out of the filthy clothes from yesterday and into a nice, clean set. A simple t-shirt, one you used regularly for the gym or practices, a thin, but offering enough jacket. Finally, your running shoes and comfortable yoga pants. If you’re truly in the apocalypse now, you’d be damned if you’re caught dead wearing something that doesn’t hug your ass right. You walk back into the main room and into the en-suite bathroom, rummaging around for products you know you’ll need. Feminine care products, a hair brush, a couple hair ties, some wet wipes, a new travel-sized toothbrush with paste, along with travel-sized shampoo and conditioner. You’ve never been more grateful to be an avid traveler than you are now.

“Hey,” he calls out, causing you to turn your head over your shoulder. His back is turned to you, but when he faces you, your eyes practically bulge out of your skull. “Is this yours?”

You quickly stomp over and snatch the pink vibrator out of his hand. “What did I say?! No snooping!” 

“What?” he shrugs nonchalantly, watching you hide your stash back into the not-so-secret drawer anymore. 

“I said to not touch anything, you pervert!” Your hand makes connection with his arm, giving it a good few whacks. 

Satoru raises an eyebrow, unfazed by your outburst, and shifts his weight back slightly, clearly amused. His expression is almost too casual, but there’s a glimmer of mischief behind those sharp eyes. “Hey, I didn’t know you were into toys.” His smirk deepens as he watches you practically shove everything back into the drawer with the kind of force that could make even the most nonchalant person flinch.

You glare at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and cross your arms tightly across your chest. “I told you not to touch anything. Is that really so hard to understand?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but the irritation bubbling up in your chest refuses to be contained. It’s the last thing you want to deal with right now—Satoru playing the role of the curious, annoying asshole.

“Look, no need to get all defensive.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, the teasing smile never leaving his face. “I was just checking if you were fully prepared for the end of the world, that’s all.” His gaze flickers to the bathroom counter where you’ve left a few items, eyes darting over the travel-sized toiletries. He walks over, brushing past you with a little too much proximity for comfort. “You’ve got everything packed up, but don’t forget about the essentials.”

Your eyes narrow, watching as he picks up the small bottle of hand sanitizer you’d almost missed. His fingers are carelessly grazing over the edge of the bottle, clearly ignoring the growing discomfort in the air.

“Essentials?” you ask, crossing your arms even tighter. " If you’re implying I need to carry more weapons—"

"No," he cuts you off, his voice smooth and disarmingly calm. "I mean things like this." His hand flips the sanitizer bottle between his fingers, inspecting it before setting it into his pocket. "Hygiene is important, even if we’re fighting to survive." You blink, momentarily thrown off guard by his sudden seriousness. His eyes meet yours, no longer teasing, but steady. “You’ll need to keep your wits about you,” he says, “and hygiene matters. You’ll want to be able to think clearly. So don’t let anything slide.”

You don’t say anything at first. You’re not sure if it’s because of his bluntness or the strange sincerity in his voice, but for a split second, the world outside his apartment—the wreckage, the violence—feels distant. Almost like a dream. You don’t have much time to contemplate it, though, before Satoru turns to face you with that same playful glint in his eyes. “Alright, I think we’re all set then. But I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to have… this kind of ‘emergency kit’.” He gestures vaguely.

Your face burns again. “That’s none of your business and I won’t ever forget or forgive you for being a perverted snoop,” you snap. He’s already back to being a nuisance, and you can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, tapping his finger against the counter. “So, what’s next? You wanna grab your weapons, or are we heading out with just your stylish gear?”

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll keep the weapons to myself for now,” you mutter, feeling the weight of your bag on your shoulder and the growing tension of needing to leave. There’s no room to play around. No time to be embarrassed. “Let’s just get moving before things get any worse.”

“After you, princess,” Satoru teases, stepping aside and giving you space to pass.

Finding your way back into the kitchen, you grab the only weapon that could be found in your home, unlike others—a simple kitchen knife. You keep it’s guard on as you lodge it into the thigh pocket of your pants, where cellphones would usually go. 

“You know,” his annoying voice perks up again. You groan and are ready to hurdle a ‘shut the hell up’ at him when you realize what he’s staring at. A team picture of you and all the girls hung up on your wall near the TV. For a moment, you feel yourself stiffen, fingers clenching by your sides. The face of Yui and Sayo feels like a cold smack to the face. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere, explains how you can afford to live here.” He turns back to you, eyebrows raised. There’s a silence few seconds, like he’s waiting for you to speak or confirm everything.

You don’t.

And he sighs dramatically. “Right, you’re probably humble.” The sarcasm doesn’t stream past you. “I’ve heard a loooot about you, I guess yesterday I just didn’t really have the time to connect the dots. My junior, Ino, he’s—” he cuts himself off, blinking like he has a sudden epiphany. It confuses you, but you allow him to reign in on whatever the fuck is going through his mind right now. A shaky exhale leaves his lips, an attempt at what must be a chuckle, lifting his cap off his head and repeating the same antsy actions you’ve already picked up on. “Anywho, you’re…yeah. Seems fitting.”

Instantly, your lips downturn into a scowl, jaw clenching so hard you can hear your teeth creak. “He told me he wasn’t mar—”

“Not that,” he smoothly cuts you off, waving his hand and walking leisurely to the front door. 

You bite back the impulse to snap at him, fingers twitching towards the handle of your knife. He’s baiting you, prodding at your past, and you refuse to let him get any satisfaction. But the urge to respond is there, burning beneath the surface, tangled with the memory of friends' faces, the weight of the team, and everything you’ve lost so quickly. The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, hanging between you both. You could ask him what he’s really getting at, could demand answers, but the room feels smaller with every passing second. You just want to get out of here. You just want to leave this place, put the past behind you for once.

Satoru notices your discomfort, his expression shifting just enough for you to see it. A flicker of understanding, or maybe just amusement, passes across his face. Then, he turns back toward the door, breaking the tension with the simple act of opening it. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice softening just a little. “We’re wasting daylight. Got a lot to do, right?”

You don’t respond, but you’re aware of the tiny crack in his facade, the hint of something unspoken between you both. It’s not sympathy, it’s not pity—it’s something else. Something too complex to put into words. Instead, you focus on the door, taking a deep breath, pushing the overwhelming emotions aside. You can’t afford to be distracted now. Not by him. Not by your past. The world outside is still waiting, and you don’t have time for whatever games he’s playing. You don’t have time for anything except survival. With one final look back at your home, your solitude, you life, everything you hold close and dear to your heart, you follow him outside and back into the stillness of the hallway. 

Without a word, you two make your way back to the stairs. It feels slightly more awkward now, maybe even tense. You’re used to people recognizing your face and name, but now that  he has, you feel a sick, twisted bundle of emotions rise in your gut. And the all point back to the main eruptor: infuriation. He doesn’t look it, but he’s not doubt judging you in his head, they always do now. He’s probably regretting the fact that he saved you yesterday, because you’re probably the last person who deserves it. 

That fucking asshole.

You linger behind him, burning holes into the back of his head. You take another step. And another, then another, and another. You two are just about to make it back to the stairwell when—

“Y/N?”

a/n: jk, out today instead of Wednesday :p

(if i forgot to tag you, pls let me know) taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4 @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

@ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast @beabamboo @dickktektive

@sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @beabamboo @lovely-maryj @n1vi

@ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5 @ritsatoru @sadmonke

@zoeyflower @topmeyelena @sourairi @jlandersen01 @vamppirez

@ac27dj @aquariusscollection @itzkawaiix

[transformers-spike]

Thoughts about car cleaning

So y'know how people will put on bikinis and wash cars to raise money and such

KO making his human roleplay sexy carwash, they have to wax and polish him too.

Also wiping down his interior and vacuuming out almost microscopic dirt. Adding little air fresheners but not ones that hang from his mirror cause I think they'd annoy him. Revs his engine when they get to the sensitive parts (his undercarriage, steering wheel and gear shifter).

You agreed to this just to get more of that silky voice - and you're actively enjoying yourself. He's not terribly critical, and he's actually very vocal about his praises regarding... your technique (and body) Oh he'll pay you back alright, he'll make sure to take great care of you in return for your service

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 1 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with thier tail between thier legs?

A/N: Mini Series, I guess. Intersex reader, looking for a new life. Smut, Angst, all the fun things. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7K

Come Get Your Fix, Just Whisper It

The sun beat its way through the cracked windshield of the rental truck as you sighed deeply. Your tanned, inked shoulders pushed back against the scratchy fabric of the seat below, the dull crackle of a shitty radio echoing through the cab as the monotonous click of the blinker indicated your intention. The exit sign for 'Foxwood' blurred into view, its faded letters promising escape from the mind-numbing highway.

You hated moving, you really did. But there was something about Foxwood that called to you, something that felt like home, even though you had never set foot in the place before. The GPS instructed you to turn left onto a narrow, paved road, flanked by tall, ancient oaks that stretched out their branches like welcoming arms.

This purchase was made sight unseen, knowing you had to find something quickly before you began your new job. You had done the whole apartment thing and couldn't do it again. So the moment this house popped up for sale, your agent called, and you bought it blindly, knowing you needed it. You had high hopes for the place, something that would hopefully bring a smile to your face, something that could make you feel alive again.

As you followed the winding road, you caught glimpses of quaint, well-kept houses with flowers blooming in their front gardens. The occasional rustle of leaves whispered secrets as you drove deeper into the town. The quiet was eerie but also comforting, like a gentle hush that promised peace and privacy. You knew you weren't far, your friend was up ahead leaning against his car, waiting for your arrival. As you approached the home, you took in your surroundings more carefully. A few neighbors watched as your brakes squealed, signaling that you had come to a stop in the driveway of your new home.

Some children were walking down the street, backpacks in tote, indicating that school had let out a little bit ago. They were laughing and giggling, as they one by one peeled off of thier group and made thier respective way home. The sound of their laughter was like a breath of fresh air, and it made you feel a bit less anxious about the whole situation. The house was a charming two-story Craftsman, painted a soft shade of grey with brown trim. The porch looked welcoming, with a swing that swayed slightly in the breeze. The yard was a little overgrown, but you could see the potential it had to be a lush, green paradise.

As you climbed out of the truck, the heat of the day slapped you in the face like a wet towel. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand and walked over to where your friend, Pietro, was standing. He was taller than you remembered, his hair had grown out into a messy mop, and there was a new confidence in his stance. His grin was the same though, wide and welcoming, as he threw his arms around you in a bear hug. "You made it," he exclaimed, slapping you on the back. "Come on, let's get you settled in."

You followed him inside, the coolness of the house a relief after the sweltering heat outside. The interior was surprisingly bright, with sunlight streaming in through the large windows and bouncing off the gleaming hardwood floors. There was a faint scent of lemon in the air, hinting at recent cleaning efforts. Pietro led you to the kitchen, where a woman was unloading a box of dishes and glasses.

"Hope you don't mind, but I asked sis to help," Pietro said as you both walked into the room. She was stunning, with her hair pulled back in a messy bun and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She looked up and offered a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Welcome to Foxwood," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Wanda, your new neighbor and occasional pain in the ass." You took her hand, feeling the electricity between you. Her grip was firm, her eyes a piercing green that seemed to see right through you as they ran up and down your body.

"Thanks," you managed to reply, trying to play it cool despite the sudden surge of butterflies in your stomach. "I'm Y/N. I guess I'll be the new girl in town." You sent her a dashing smile before Pietro interrupted.

"Wands moved before I was able to introduce you two when we were in high school. Too quick to get the fuck out of Westview," he laughed, coming behind his sister and draping an arm around her shoulders. Wanda rolled her eyes playfully and shrugged his arm off.

"I don't blame her," you laugh, catching her glance back over at you. "Westview is a shithole."

Wanda arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Tell me something I don't know," she said, her voice light and teasing.

"Well, Wands," Pietro started, a knowing smirk on his face. "This one seemed to run every woman or daughter out of town. She's always been a little bit of a player."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the playfulness replaced with curiosity. "Is that so?" she said, leaning against the counter. "And what brings you to Foxwood, dare I ask?"

You cleared your throat, trying to find the right words. "A new job," you replied, your voice a bit too high-pitched for your liking. "And a chance to get away from all that drama. Start fresh."

Wanda nodded, studying you with those piercing eyes. "Well, I'm sure you'll fit right in here. Everyone loves a good redemption story," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. "And if you need anything, I'm just next door. Now, if you don't mind, I need to head home and get ready for dinner with Agatha." she turned, hugging Pietro before throwing the towel on her shoulder into the sink.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "That old hag?" he teased, earning a playful elbow from his sister.

"She's younger than me, Piet. If that is what you think of her, I would hate to know what you think of little old me."

Pietro's cheeks flushed red, but he chuckled it off, slapping his sister on the shoulder. "Wands, you know I didn't mean it like that. I love you, I'm morally obligated to." he laughed, shying away as she punched him in the chest.

"Ass!" she smirked, turning to you. "Y/N, it was a pleasure, albeit a brief one. I'm just next door if you need any help."

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, leaving you with a strange mix of excitement and nerves. You nodded. "Thanks, Wanda. I'll keep that in mind." You flashed her another smile, moving out of her way so she could walk away from you and Pietro, and you watched as she left.

"No, Y/N. Just...No." Piet's voice cut through the air as you watched her leave. "Don't mess with Wanda," he warned, his eyes serious. "She's had enough bullshit in her life without you bringing your Westview drama here."

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I'm not planning on messing with anyone, Pete," you said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Just here to work and keep my head down." But as you took a sip, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his words. You had a history, and it wasn't exactly squeaky clean.

The rest of the day was spent unpacking boxes and getting the house in order. The place had good bones, but it was clear that the previous owners hadn't put much effort into the upkeep. There were cobwebs in the corners and a layer of dust that had to be thick enough to write your name in. But every time you looked outside and saw the picturesque street, you felt a flicker of hope that this could be your fresh start. Pietro helped you move everything that was left in the truck inside and took it back for you before he went home for the night.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with a warm orange glow, you finally finished setting up the living room. You flopped onto the couch, letting out a sigh of relief that was quickly interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. It was Wanda, dressed in a simple sundress that made her look like she'd just stepped out of a magazine. Her eyes ran up and down your exhausted, sweaty frame, you were in just a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Once she made eye contact with you again, she smiled. "Hey, I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, holding up a tray of food. "I figured you'd be too tired to cook."

Her smile was infectious, and before you knew it, you were inviting her inside. The tray was filled with a mouthwatering assortment of dishes that smelled heavenly—roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. "Wow, this is amazing," you said, your stomach rumbling. "Thank you so much."

Wanda waved off your gratitude with a casual flick of her wrist. "It's the least I could do," she said, setting the tray down on the kitchen counter. "I know moving can be a real bitch."

You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious in her presence. She had an air of confidence that you hadn't seen in a long time, something you had lost amidst the parties and one-night stands back in Westview. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she was near, telling yourself that this was just friendship, and Pietro's older sister- nothing more. But as you watched her unpack the Tupperware containers, her slender fingers moving with purpose, you found it harder and harder to keep that thought in your head.

"Here you go," she set everything out, all you had to do was serve yourself. "You can bring me the containers whenever," she said, before heading back to the door. "Have a good night." she winked before turning to walk out the door.

"Thank you," you called after her, watching as she stepped back into the warm embrace of the evening. The door clicked shut, leaving you with the tantalizing smell of the food and a sudden feeling of loneliness.

You filled a plate, the aroma making your mouth water as you took a bite of the chicken. It was tender and perfectly seasoned, the taste exploding on your tongue. You had to admit, that Wanda had skills in the kitchen. You took your dinner to the porch, the swing groaning under your weight as you sat down. The evening air was cooler now, and the street was silent except for the occasional distant laughter of children playing in the twilight. With the slight breeze that was cooling everything off, you decided to open some windows, and allow the house to air out some.

As you sat there, you couldn't shake the feeling that Wanda had left you with. You had never felt so...seen by someone before. It was as if she knew all your secrets just by looking at you. But you weren't about to let that ruin your first night in your new home. You had a job to start in the morning, and you needed to be well-rested. So, you finished your meal and decided to rest, getting yourself ready for bed.

The night passed quickly, and before you knew it, the sun was peeking through the windows, signaling the start of a new day. You dragged yourself out of bed and into the shower, the hot water doing little to wash away the last of your weariness. As you toweled off, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The person staring back at you looked like a stranger—tired eyes and a rumpled expression that told a story of a life lived hard and fast. You vowed to change that, starting now.

You threw on some clean clothes and headed downstairs, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen. The house was eerily quiet without the clamor of boxes and the banter with Pietro. Thankful that you remembered to set the timer to the coffee pot, you opened the cabinets until you found the one that your coffee mugs had been put into. You poured a glass of the liquid, putting just a hint of sugar in it and taking a swig.

As you sipped, you glanced out the kitchen window to see Wanda's car parked in her driveway. A part of you was relieved she was home; the thought of seeing her again made your heart race. Another part was nervous. You didn't want to give her any reason to think that you were the same old you. You were here for a new start, after all. You stacked up the now clean containers that she had brought you dinner in and neatly put them in a bag before getting yourself ready for work.

You stepped out of the house, the cool morning air kissing your cheeks and making you feel alive. You walked over to Wanda's house, the bag of containers swinging at your side. As you approached the door, you took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that had suddenly taken over your body. You knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet street.

The door swung open, and there she was, dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt that still managed to hug her curves in all the right places. Her hair was down today, cascading over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looked surprised to see you but quickly composed herself. "Morning," she said, her voice a little raspy from sleep.

"Sorry, I know it's early. I wanted to give these back before I forgot." You handed her the bag of containers, trying not to stare at the way the morning light kissed her skin.

Wanda took the bag, a small smile playing on her lips. "No worries, I'm usually up early. I appreciate it." She stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. "Would you like some coffee?"

You shook your head, gesturing to the cup sitting on top of your car. "No, thank you though, and dinner was delicious."

Wanda nodded, her eyes lingering on you for a moment too long before she turned away to set the bag by what you assumed was the entrance to her kitchen. "You're more than welcome, Y/N. Pietro said you're starting work today?"

"Yeah, I am," you replied, your eyes following her as she walked inside and then came back to the door.

"I guess I should have guessed," she insinuated, motioning to the suit you were now wearing. "What do you do, again?"

You took a deep breath, your nerves starting to rise in front of this ethereal woman. "I'm an architect," you said proudly. "Starting at the new firm downtown."

Wanda's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh, really?" she leaned against the doorframe. "That's cool."

"Thanks," you said, feeling a bit more at ease. "I'm hoping to make a name for myself here, maybe even start my own firm one day."

Wanda nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "Well, Foxwood's definitely growing. Could use some fresh designs to spruce the place up," she said with a smile.

You nod, looking down at your watch, realizing you were really cutting it close. "I should get going, I don't want to be late on my first day," you said, taking a step back. "Thank you, Wanda." you smile, stepping backward as you walk toward your car.

"Good luck," she called after you, her voice soothing and genuine. You smiled, before turning around to walk the rest of the way to your waiting Audi. You grabbed the coffee off the roof, settling yourself inside. As you drove off to work, you couldn't help but think back to your brief interactions with Wanda. You had only seen her in pictures, and she certainly grew into her looks.

The office was bustling when you arrived, and the air was thick with the scent of ambition and freshly brewed coffee. You were greeted by your new boss, Mr. Castillo, a man with a firm handshake and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He walked you around, introducing you to the team. Each person you met offered a polite nod and a murmur of welcome, but you could feel the underlying curiosity—who was this new face that had strutted into their well-established dynamic?

The first few days were a blur of paperwork, meetings, and getting acquainted with the projects you'd be working on. You threw yourself into your work, eager to prove that you weren't just a pretty face from Westview. You had skills, and you were here to use them. You found yourself working late, working out, eating small meals, and sleeping. It was this same schedule, on repeat. Before you knew it, Friday was upon you, and Pietro was calling.

"Come out with me tonight," he begged. "You've been holed up in that house and that office all week. You need to live a little. Explore."

"Hello to you too, Piet." You chuckled into the phone, leaning back in your chair at the office. The clock on the wall ticked away the final moments of the workday. "But I'm pretty beat. I don't know if I'm up for a night out."

"Come on, it'll be fun," he said, his voice full of excitement. "I've got a surprise for you."

You hesitated, the thought of a surprise from Pietro sending a shiver down your spine. His ideas of fun tended to land you in trouble. "What's the surprise?"

"That defeats the whole point, Y/N. It wouldn't be a surprise if you knew what it was." His laugh was contagious, and despite your exhaustion, you found yourself smiling. "But I promise, it's nothing crazy."

You sighed, knowing that 'not crazy' for Pietro was still a relative term. But his enthusiasm was infectious, and the thought of letting loose after a week of intense focus was tempting. "Alright, fine," you conceded. "Where and when?"

The whoop of excitement on the other end of the line had you shaking your head. "I'll text you the details!" he yelled before hanging up, knowing you would change your mind if given the chance.

The day dragged on, but the anticipation of the night ahead kept you going. When you finally clocked out, you drove home with a mix of excitement and dread. You knew that going out with Pietro meant you would be meeting new people, and while you weren't necessarily a hermit, you were trying to turn a new page. You threw your coat onto the bench by the door, before stalking upstairs to your room. You sat down on the edge of your bed, peeling your dress shoes off your feet before undoing your tie. As you began to undress, you caught a glimpse of the woman next door. The elder Maximoff, lounged by the pool in her backyard, reading a book in a bikini.

The sight made your thoughts run wild, and your mouth went dry. You tried to shake it off, but the image of Wanda in that bikini was burned into your mind. You decided you needed to hop in the shower, so you quickly turned to get undressed and threw your work shirts into the laundry bin that would soon go to the dry cleaners.

As the hot water cascaded down your body, you couldn't help but replay the moments you had already with Wanda. You felt a stirring in your chest that was unfamiliar, a mix of attraction and something deeper. But you pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. You had a night out to get ready for, and you needed to be on your best behavior. You couldn't have any distractions, especially not from your best friend's sister.

After a quick shower and a change into a black deep-cut tee, black jeans, and a leather jacket, you checked your phone to find the details of the night's plans. "Meet me at The Den at 8," the text from Pietro read. You had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and mentally prepare yourself. You grabbed a granola bar from your snack cabinet and chugged a bottle of water, looking out the back window as you ate the aforementioned snack.

Deciding you would take the bike out instead, you put your helmet on before starting your blacked-out Harley. You smiled at the feel of the familiar rumble between your legs, and made your way out of the garage, propping it up on the kickstand before walking back to shut the garage door.

"Be careful, Y/N," Wanda called out from her porch as you climbed onto your bike. She had changed into a short, floral dress that highlighted her toned legs and a pair of sandals that made you wonder if she had ever worn shoes that weren't designer. You nodded, giving her a subtle salute as you accelerated down the street past her house.

The sun had already set by the time you pulled into the crowded parking lot of 'The Den', a popular local hangout spot. The music thumped in the distance, a bass that you could feel in your chest. The anticipation grew as you stepped off of the bike, straightening your jacket and running a hand through your hair. It had been a while since you'd been out, and the idea of a night free from the constraints of your new life was exhilarating.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of spilled drinks and cheap perfume. The lights were dim, and the dance floor was packed with bodies moving in sync with the rhythm of the music. You spotted Pietro at the bar, his tall frame making him easy to find in the sea of people. He waved you over, a wide grin on his face. "You made it!" he shouted over the noise.

"Barely," you said, sliding onto the barstool next to him. He passed you a beer, already cold and sweating. "What's the plan?"

Pietro leaned in, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "First, we grab a drink or two. Then, I introduce you to the Foxwood nightlife."

You took a swig of the beer, the cold liquid sliding down your throat, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in your stomach. The last thing you wanted was to go back to your old ways, so this night was going to be a challenge. But as you scanned the room, you reminded yourself that you had changed. You weren't that person anymore. You were here to build a future, not rehash the past.

The first few hours were surprisingly tame. You talked with some of the locals, who were surprisingly welcoming despite your outsider status. They asked about your job and your life back in Westview, and you kept your answers vague, not wanting to dredge up any drama. You danced a bit, but it was more about the music than the flirtation. And every time you felt a pair of eyes on you, you couldn't help but look over at the door, expecting to see Wanda walk in.

"Okay, Maximoff. Out with it. What is this "surprise" you drug me out of my cozy night for?" you shouted over the music, now feeling the effects of your beverage choices cloud your brain.

Pietro leaned in, his smile growing wider. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass. He looped his arm around your neck, dragging you out of the bar you were at, and walking you down the street to another. "Welcome to heaven, Y/N." he motioned as you walked up to a padded door, the door swinging open as a bouncer checked your ID. The overwhelming scent of booze and perfume struck you, a remixed version of Deftones pumping through the speakers.

You walked in, Pietro high-fiving some people he clearly knew. "Welcome to Velvet, Y/N." Piet gestured around, the purple and red neon casting a dull shadow among all the dancers on thier platforms, and all in various states of undress. You felt like this could be trouble, but you had agreed to this night out, so you followed him through the sea of bodies to the VIP section. There was a table with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses already waiting. "You know how to pick your spots, Piet," you said, taking a seat.

"Isn't it great?" he smiled, his eyes dancing back and forth from one dancer to another.

You nodded, trying to keep your focus on the conversation and not on the... distractions around you. "It's... different from what I expected," you shouted back. His eyebrow shot up, a look of doubt on his face.

"Don't tell me you've gone completely soft on me, Y/N. You would have been all over a metal strip club like this a few years ago." He said, pouring you a glass of whiskey.

You took the glass with a nod, trying to keep your cool as you surveyed the scene around you. The music was loud, the lights were strobing, and the dancers were... mesmerizing. "I'm trying to not be the playboy me anymore, Piet."

He laughed, leaning over to you. "Just because you don't wanna be a fuckboy anymore, doesn't mean you need to be boring." He nudged you, his eyes still on the dancers. "Besides, I own this place," he stated, in the most nonchalant way possible.

"Excuse me?" You turned to him, questioning if you heard him correctly.

"Yeah, you heard me. I own this." he winked as one of the dancers pulled him into the back.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. This wasn't what you had in mind when you agreed to go out. But before you could do anything, a figure caught your eye. Wanda. Dressed in a tight black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, her hair cascading down in long, auburn waves, she looked like she didn't belong in this place. You felt your heart drop as she moved through the crowd, her eyes searching for something—or someone. She finally came up to someone, another woman, sitting with her at the table.

"Pietro, seriously?" you muttered under your breath, watching as he took the stage with one of the dancers, throwing money around like it was confetti. You watched as he threw himself at one of the dancers, Wanda laughing and shaking her head at his antics before he was pulled off the stage by another dancer.

"Don't worry, he does this every time he brings someone new to Velvet." A waitress dressed in a skimpy dress said as she came to grab your empty glasses. She had a pixie cut, green eyes, and a piercing smile. "I'm Natasha, by the way," she offered a hand.

"Y/N." you smiled, shaking hers in response.

"How do you know Pietro?" she asked, sitting down across from you.

"High school friends," you replied, watching as Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother's showmanship. She nodded, her gaze following yours. "He said he had a surprise for me tonight. I guess telling me he owned a strip club was the surprise." you laugh, shaking your head as you take another sip of your beer.

"Well, he does love to make an entrance," Natasha chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But he's a good guy, really. Really good boss. One of the best I've had."

You nodded, trying to keep your eyes from wandering back to Wanda. "Yeah, he's... something else," you said, your voice trailing off as you watched her. Natasha followed your gaze and smirked. "So, you're here to see the show, huh?"

"More like I'm here to keep an eye on him," you admitted, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "And maybe unwind a bit."

Natasha leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, if you're looking to unwind, I can give you the VIP tour.”

You sat, thinking as the woman stood before you. "Sure. Why the fuck not?" You smiled, deciding that Piet was right. You really needed to let loose. 

[clubsoft]

⠀

⠀ ⠀ SUMMER , LO SIENTO ⠀ ⠀ JEY USO / POC ! F ! READER⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

SUMMARY ⋆ cupid's arrow arrives in the form of a pink cadillac && takes root . WARNINGS ⋆ mechanic!jey / nods towards sexual acts but none are written out / mentions of blood / puppy love heartbreak / lots of fluff / lots of angst / a man talking abt cars but its jey so its cool / longing / minimal char description but written w woc in mind / age gap ( reader is mid - late 20s , jey is late 30s ) / size difference / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N WORD COUNT ⋆ 3 . 2 k NOTES ⋆ i originally wrote this fic abt 6 - 7 years ago w someone entirely different in mind but i love it sm that i went back n edited it to fit jey . it's mostly proofread but i doubt its perfect , there might b a difference in quality as well but i think thats the charm of re writing an old story . anyway !! enjoy !!

ACT . 1

With summer that year came the death of Jey— figuratively, of course. The heat nipped at his flesh and sweat beaded on his forehead as his low cut muscle tank stuck to his back. He spent his hours at his workplace, surrounded by the smell of car grease and rubber, and his free moments at the beach, but he could only watch so many sunsets before his heart ached  for something more.

That day, the sun was burning intensely and stepping out of the air conditioned car garage had quickly become an irritation inducing task. Jimmy, his coworker and twin brother, was away for the week, visiting some friends down in the valley. That left Jey alone in the mechanic shop to tend to however many customers he could before he finally closed for the day.

His last customer— as dramatic as it may be— waited in her 1962 Pepto pink Cadillac. With her feet perched up on the dashboard, eyes transfixed on her phone screen and earbuds tucked in, she didn't notice the man until his knuckle rapped on her window. He watched a gasp form on her lips as she shot up, rolling the window down for him.

"Sorry— I didn't see the line go by," she said slowly, smiling sheepishly. He chuckled politely in response, ever the sweetheart, never one to make a customer feel uncomfortable in his presence.

"All good. What can I do for ya?" Jey fixed his loose top and leaned down, eyes shifting hastily over the sleek leather interior of the car. Impressive.

"I just need to get the battery replaced…" Judging from her hesitation and the way she bit the inside of her cheek after replying, she wasn't quite sure of what she needed. Just as he'd expected, her words were quickly followed by: "I think." Jey grinned that easy grin of his, his cheeks dimpling.

"What are the problems you've been having? Is it just not starting?" Her answer came as a confident nod and he held his hand out for the keys, which she placed in his palm before stepping out of her car. He wiped his dirtied hands over his jeans as he stood straight, glancing at the matching pink heart that hung from the keychain— he assumed it was some sort of obsession, but he himself had never found the shade of Pepto Bismol to be appealing.

The sky was beginning to darken, the lights in the garage shining much brighter than they did in the daytime. His last task of the day was an easy one, but he'd missed the sunset with how long he'd been at it. Older cars were set up differently. They were easier to fix— thankfully— but he found himself being extra careful not to touch the clean exterior with his grease stained fingers. The silence was awkward, but it wouldn't have been if there weren't so many questions swimming in Jey's head.

"This is real nice. S’this your car?," he finally asked, looking up for a moment, catching the girl's eyes. Had she been watching him this entire time? Many customers did, more often than not, so to feel a shiver run down his spine upon realizing she was doing such was… odd. What was so different about— Not all of those customers were so pretty… that was what set her apart. Jey blinked; once, twice, a third time, and then cleared his throat. To answer his question, she shook her head and just when Jey assumed she'd leave her answer at that, she began to speak.

"It's my grandmother’s. She's had it for forty years,” she replied, to which Jey nodded. "It's been broken down for a while, I just thought it would be more serious than a dead battery." This time, he shook his head.

"Sometimes, cars shut down if you don't turn ‘em on for a while. Usually, s’not just a dead battery. You got lucky, really." He watched her nod in understanding and divert her gaze back to her phone. There was something detached about the way she answered his questions, how quick she was to turn her attention away when it would no longer be too rude and how focused her words were, as if she picked each and every one carefully as she spoke. He didn't pry, he didn't feel the need to at that time. Everyone was always disturbed in their own ways, it seemed.

It soon became evident that his encounters with the girl would never end. After their first meeting, he'd forgotten her face within the next twenty to thirty minutes, much to his relief. Pretty faces weren’t good news when it came to him. Their second meeting, two weeks later, was passed off as a coincidence— it's a small world, he thought. After their third time stumbling across one another, he finally found out her name. He remembered her face after that night; glittering eyes and honeyed skin, lush lips and a perfect nose.

Jey could recognize her figure anywhere after that, and if he were to say he didn't miss her fingertips brushing against his hands as he held her hips or the feeling of her nails scraping his nape as she crooned his name, he'd be a lying fiend.

ACT . 2

Jey felt dainty fingers thread through his hair, the light scratching of long nails against his scalp. He breathed out a sigh.

"What are you doin’, baby?" he mumbled. Soft tresses brushed against his shoulders as she leaned down to press her lips to his, moving her body into his lap where his arms encompassed her waist. Her lips planted roses and tulips along his jaw and she buried her nose into the crook of his neck, exhaling gently and sending the butterflies in Jey's stomach to his spine, making him shudder.

"I have to leave," she whispered. She never met his eyes when he tried to look at her; instead, she borrowed her face into his chest, avoiding his gaze at all costs. She feared she'd cry, or say something he didn't want to hear just yet. She feared he wouldn't care— worse, she feared he'd leave her first.

"Hey, look at me." She felt the rumble of his voice in his chest, the tenderness of his fingertips against her chin, guiding her eyes to his own. Jey's hand shifted to cup her cheek, his thumb running gently over her skin. "What's wrong?"

"My dad…” she began, and then trailed off.

“Your dad?” Jey coaxed, gently.

“He doesn't like you and he— fuck— he saw me kiss you that one night when you dropped me off and he doesn't want you near me, because he doesn't like that I'm dating someone like you so I—”

Confusion apparent on his countenance, Jey tilted his head, and repeated, “Someone like me?” He wasn’t sure what that meant, for she avoided the topic of him meeting her family like the plague. He’d always assumed it was to do with things she wasn’t ready to tell him about. Never did he think it was to do with him. A naive way of thinking, when he reflected upon it. Yes, he was older, a good decade and some change separating their years, but she was old enough to know what she wanted. He didn’t have a career that made him six figures a year, nor did he plan on working towards one. The only thing he was good at was fixing cars, and he did that with no complaints. To her family, who’d worked hard to get her a college education, put themselves in debt to ensure her a future, Jey wasn’t an equal. Sure, it hurt to not be seen as enough, yet a single glance at his baby and his hurt faded, washed over by the sheer love in her tearful eyes. 

“Age and job, college degree and— bullshit, it’s all bullshit! You take care of me, you make me happy, s’that not enough?” Her voice was raising, becoming fervid with perplexity. Jey cupped her chin with one warm hand, and watched fondly as the simple touch led her to match his slow, steady breathing, letting his closeness answer for him.

Droplets began to flow freely from her eyes, trembles running down her back. She cried herself tired in his arms, only relaxing under the sensation of his fingers drawing circles into her skin. "I don't want to leave you, but he knows I'm gone and if he finds me with you, he'll send me away.” Her embrace tightened around his torso. “Baby, I don't want to leave you."

"S’okay, sweetness," he mumbled. "We’ll figure somethin’ out."

"I have to get away from him, but where am I going to go? And what about you? What am I going to do without you?" Fresh tears raced down her cheeks, swiped away by Jey's thumbs. "I can't make you leave your life here… not for me.. not even temporarily… and I can't stay with him because he'll send me away to somewhere I might never see you again.” Utterly despondent, she let a sob shake her frame. “I'll lose you either way… I'm flirting with the edge of a cliff." Strong arms squeezed her tighter in reassurance. Jey’s heart was aching, hearing her sound so hopeless taking a much bigger toll than he feared he could handle.

"I won't let you jump… I said I’d never let you go, I meant it." Again and again, those words had left his lips. What a fool he’d been to think this was anything but love. When he mistakenly thought he missed the softness of her thighs and the smoothness of her lips instead of her, when he only held her close to listen to her whimper and groan, to feel her legs quivering around his waist. When he thought he would one day get tired of her voice, her laugh, her touch. Inhaling deeply, he filled his senses with her scent, and those three words slipped away before he even felt them on his tongue.

I love you. I'm never letting you go.

Fear had made his body freeze, the gasp that left her lips and the sigh that followed. The lust and courage drained to be replaced by lovesick whispers and tender touches. The soft dips and curves of her body were stamped into his memory and he refused to make himself forget.

His fingers basked in the softness of her locks as he let his mind wander, hoping to find a fragment of a solution among the growing shadows of anxiety. His lover had gone silent, her soft breathing indicating that she too, was in deep thought. He held her tighter, left kisses along her brow, and closed his eyes.

He could take her somewhere, leave behind what he'd known for years. They'd say he ran away for a girl, that she ruined him. It's what his friends always assumed, that she was in it for something else; rarely did women who looked like her truly love, but his baby was a fallen angel with tears of gold and a kiss like freshly bloomed cherry blossoms. Perfect. Oh, so perfect.

There was bound to be somewhere underneath the palm trees where they were safe.

"Baby," he began, his chest rising with a deep breath. "Let's take a trip."

ACT . 3

Jimmy thought Jey was wasting that golden heart of his on the wrong one; ruining his time on someone who'd run away once he was no longer enough, so the news of Jey's departure, especially as it was announced over the phone, had him shaking with anger. Every attempt made at getting his brother to rethink his decision was hastily dismissed, and though he understood how much joy the girl brought the man who'd been wallowing in his own angst, Jimmy was too careful to let her grow on him.

"You're just worried. She's not like that, she's… perfect."

Really, it wasn't her mistake; Jey was the happiest Jimmy had ever seen him, but that happiness was there years back as well, with Jey's high school sweetheart who hadn't looked back after she stomped his heart into the sidewalk and disappeared— completely vanished into thin air. This happiness wasn't nearly identical to the one from years ago, a seemingly purer form of it, but Jimmy never cared to look too closely at the details; he just wanted to help his twin avoid heartbreak.

"It'll only be for a bit, until she can fix things with her dad."

The repair shop was closed already, a sign hanging from the doorknob claiming they'd be back soon! in bright red letters that bugged Jimmy the longer he looked on. He struck the door with his fist, wincing as the metal shook on its hinges.

"You don't get to tell me who to love."

Jey's voice was so awfully calm when he spoke those words, but Jimmy had heard the sigh that followed— the soft, shaky sigh. Jey was scared, no matter how much he denied it, he was scared, but not of leaving, no. It was something else, something Jimmy couldn't guess.

"We both remember what happened the last time you said that, Jey."

Jey's high school sweetheart was a childhood friend of Jimmy's first. As twins, they shared everything. It was only a matter of time before Jimmy’s first friend became Jey’s first love. As they grew older, distance was inevitable. The boys who once played racing games together on their GameCube as kids dodged death by the skin of their teeth while taking part in a race of their own, one with nasty twists and competitiveness that overshadowed their care for safety. Jey being the winner while Jimmy coughed up blood behind the wheel landed them in a fight so brutal, they spent the weekend in the emergency room. Even after that, Jimmy was always there. He was there when Jey ran away from their dad's place, and he was the one who snuck back into their dad's house when they gathered the stuff he'd left behind. He’d been the one to co-sign on Jey’s small apartment, the one to give him his first real kitchen appliance, the only person in his life who could bring him out of a slump with a trip to the movies and cheap margaritas at their favorite diner. Nine minutes older, Jimmy never failed to be a good older brother… but when he made a mistake, it was a big one. He was the one who’d set Jey up with his first love, the girl who held no remorse after abandoning his other half since birth.

"She left me. She just— she's gone… Jimmy, she said she doesn't love me anymore…"

Heartbreak clung to each and every word that left Jey's mouth that night, his voice trembling, tears spilling down his cheeks, the pain in his eyes so evident, even in the dark. That night was stamped into Jimmy's memory and he wished to forget it for it brought on an ocean of guilt that'd drowned him for the months after the breakup. It took years for Jey to recover, the change in body language when her name was mentioned, the sad glint in his eyes still visible, but not anymore; not since the girl arrived in her pink Cadillac.

"I think I'm in love, and I'm not just sayin’ that. I've never been so mesmerized by someone's presence before. Hell, today, I stared at the lil’ crinkles that appear around her eyes when she smiles the entire time she was here. I know you were scared this would happen but she isn't one’a those girls… she doesn't have any other guys; I told you that before. You know that one girl we met at the bar when we all went? She said my baby was the best person she knew… she can't be lying, right? If she is… S’too late. I think I'm in love."

ACT . 4

Her hands shook in her lap, dainty fingers curling and uncurling, gripping onto any piece of reality she could as neurotic thoughts suffocated her and twisted their claws into her flesh. The girl couldn't stop trembling, the countless deep breaths she took useless. She only found solace in Jey's touch, but even those sensations soon rendered futile. Still, he held her hand and wiped her tears.

Jey was humming some old song, moving about the hotel room as if he was indifferent to his own circumstances, but his restlessness spoke louder than his words. He kissed the crown of her head when he came back from the shower, clad in only sweatpants, and as they lay on the bed, he kept her small hand on his bare chest, where she could feel the subtle vibrations of his heartbeat. He ran his fingers through her hair— soothing her nerves to the best of his ability.

Below her fingertips, his smooth skin was stained with ink. Tatau, he called it. Beyond those grease stained shirts and calloused fingers was a vision of beauty, a symbol of the tenderness her beloved possessed. It's for my uncle, he'd said, he was wonderful, woulda adored you.

She was burrowed into his side, head resting on his outstretched arm and her legs thrown over his. Aside from her soft breathing, she was silent, lost in her own sea of thoughts. He could see them swimming in her orbs like koi fish in ponds, each one holding its own maybe's and what if's. Jey hummed, tugging gently on a lock of hair.

"Tomorrow, we'll do something fun," he whispered. The girl's response was a quick nod; she hadn't heard him, he was sure of it. Instead of snapping her out of her daze, he put his hand over hers and let her wrap her fingers around his pointer and middle digits. To believe such small palms held his entire world. "Baby." He squeezed her hand gently. This time, she hummed in response. "Tomorrow… we'll do something fun."

"Okay."

It would take time to keep her ring of fears from tightening around her chest, to stop her from apologizing for something he'd voluntarily done.

"I love you."

"I love you, too." She shifted to press her lips to his jaw, lingering there for a quick heartbeat before he tilted his head down to mold his lips against hers. Her hand gripped his fingers tighter, and Jey couldn't ignore the rush that went through his body the moment her chest pressed against his. Her heart was beating so fast as his lips slid down to her neck and his teeth grazed her skin. "Jey?"

"Yea, baby?" he murmured against her bare chest, untangling their legs to bring himself up to the pillow.

"I'm sorry." She hid her face in the crook of his neck before she continued, "for making you do this."

"You didn't make me do anything," he spoke into her hair, his chest vibrating with each word he rasped out. "Oh, baby… if you only knew all the things I'd do for you."

⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ © CLUBSOFT⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀

TAGLIST ⋆ @days1 / @luvrsluxe / @uceyliyahh / @uceypunk / @punksyeet / @chasssssworld / @ctinadiva / @bookuce / @bratzzzdoll / @mselenalovebug / @sheaabuttaababyy / @partypoison00 / @meemee444u / @pr0wlerpunk / @queeny23 / @mingisfavgf / @brianochka if u would like 2 be added 2 my tag list 4 my wrestling fics , pls like this post !!

[seat-safety-switch]

One of the things that nobody tells you about automotive repair is how much of the job involves cleaning. Brake cleaning. Contact cleaning. Interior cleaning. Wiping off pounds of mud so you can even see. Some fixes, you spend more time cleaning off the area than you do actually doing the work.

There are two schools of thought on this issue. Not everyone believes what I do, which is that clean cars run better than dirty cars. Some part of the immortal machine spirit smiles upon you for having treated it well. I will swear as I am being lowered into the ground that a car wash picks up, like, a quarter of a horsepower.

A couple years ago, I went out mudding in my buddy's Isuzu Impulse which had been inexplicably converted to a dune buggy. He tells me that some kind of entity came to him in the woods and told him to do it, but I'm pretty sure it must have been some stoned kids on spring break. Either way, it's very satisfying to pop the pressure washer and hose off five pounds of mud from each of the seats after we're done playing. It's by far my favourite kind of maintenance: done from afar, indiscriminately, with power tools.

Of course, there are limits to my love of the clean. For instance, my old Impala has a hole in the floor big enough to catch a mid-sized dog inside. Road salt and the oil leaking out of the engine make a huge mess in the interior. Cleaning it is futile until I've fixed the hole, and I can't fix the hole until I've cleaned it well enough to get a weld down on what's left of the metal. So instead, it's got some stolen hotel towels duct-taped over the hole. When one becomes too rancid, I put it in my neighbour's trash, and wear my hotel-maid outfit to go get a new one.

Don't worry; I do a little bit of tidying-up while I'm in there. Otherwise that towel cupboard would be so cluttered. How could anyone see what they're doing in there? Super dangerous to the workers, they should be paying me.

[escapismbook]

ESCAPISM CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter Seven | Vincenzo

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female)

→ AUs: non idol!au→ Genre(s): dark romance, smut, mature, mafia

→ Trope(s): professor-student, forbidden romance, dark, sin-evil, passion, slow-burn, seductive, mafia

→ Rating: mature/explicit (this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.)

→ Word count: 3.1k

→ warnings + triggers: explicit smut, (female) OC is innocent and pure and Yoongi is desperate for her. Drug use, Strong language, Explicit scenes, Mentions of S.A, Violence, Dark Themes, Crime Elements, Alcohol, Club setting, Obsession, Possessive, Protective Love, Emotional.

→ Author’s note: Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden. This story contains mature themes, including:   

This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.

Dedication: Reaches out to cup your cheek, "now be a good girl for me."

(Don't forget to like and comment.)

A small note: When you see the italic font, it means they are speaking in Korean.

SONGS FOR THE CHAPTER |

Nina Simone • I Put a Spell On You

Halsey • Young God

Three days passed in silence. If anyone were to look at Aalia, they would think nothing had happened between her and Yoongi in the car that night. She carried herself with the same quiet grace, the same polite indifference. She did not stumble over her words, did not flinch when she heard his voice in the lecture hall. It was as if she had erased the moment entirely, wiped it clean from her mind. The only time she spoke to him was when he called her name during registration, and even then, it was just a simple, monotone "here." Nothing more. Nothing less.

But he watched her in class, his dark eyes trailing her every movement. She was determined to keep her distance, but it only made him want her more. She was avoiding him, and yet, she was still there, still in his reach, still breathing the same air as him. He could tell she felt his gaze, the way her fingers sometimes twitched when she turned a page in her notebook, the way she adjusted her cross pendant absentmindedly when she thought no one was looking. But she never met his eyes.

And still, he had her cardigan. She had left it in his car in her hurry to escape that night, and he hadn’t given it back. He wasn’t planning to. The soft fabric still carried her scent, something warm and sweet, something purely her. It was a small piece of her, a fragment, and for now, it was enough.

That night, Vincenzo stood in the heart of Seoul, its grandeur veiled under the illusion of just another high-end restaurant. But to those who knew—those who moved in the shadows—it was a different kind of empire. Crimson red, black, gold, and jade green adorned its interiors, reflecting the wealth and power of those who owned it. The Min family’s influence lingered in every corner, though no one outside their world was aware.

The event was for the students who had passed their modules, a celebration of their achievements. Though dining was optional, most were here to drink, to socialize, to bask in their own success. It was an evening of formalities wrapped in elegance. Professors and students alike gathered in tailored suits and delicate gowns, glasses clinking, polite laughter spilling into the air

Aalia sat at an empty table, scrolling through her phone, idly fidgeting with the golden cross pendant resting against her collarbone. No one was at her table; they had all wandered off to either drink at the bar, or dance, leaving her alone. But she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she looked relieved to be by herself, away from the noise, the laughter, the attention.

And that’s when she saw him. Aalia caught sight of Yoongi walking toward her table. His dark eyes were locked onto her.

“Don’t-“ but before she could even began to finish her sentence, he sat down next to her.

The space between them vanished in an instant, the heat of his body brushing against her own like a whispered sin. His cologne—dark spice and something deeply masculine—curled into her senses, setting her nerves alight. “It’s cute how you think you can tell me what to do, darling,” he murmured, his voice rich with amusement, a slow-burning drawl that wrapped around her like silk. There was something almost lazy in the way he spoke, but the undercurrent of control was unmistakable. His lips curved at the corners, predatory, teasing.

She ignored him. She had to. If she let herself react, she was certain she would combust right there in her seat. Her fingers twitched as she placed her phone face-down on the table, her cheeks burning with heat she couldn’t control. Her stomach twisted in something unfamiliar—something that felt dangerously close to anticipation.

oongi watched her with dark amusement, taking in every detail—the way her delicate fingers curled slightly against the surface of the table, the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the way the dim light played with the soft strands of her half-up, half-down hair. And then his gaze swept lower, taking in the black dress that clung to her frame, the elegant neckline that left the gentle slope of her collarbones exposed. She looked untouchable. Pure. A vision of something that had no place sitting next to a man like him.

"Don't you think you're a little too close?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her voice steady despite the fire in her veins.

He exhaled a soft chuckle, dark and knowing. "No," he said simply. It was the kind of answer that left no room for argument, as if the thought itself was ridiculous to him.

His gaze flickered downward, catching the way her left thigh crossed over her right leg, the exposed skin of her calf tempting in the dim lighting. Something dark and wicked curled in his chest, and before he could think better of it, his hand slipped beneath the table. His fingertips barely grazed the back of her calf, a slow, featherlight touch that traveled up and down, barely there, yet enough to send an electric jolt through her.

“So you haven’t thought about the kiss?” he asked, his voice quiet, deliberate, each word laced with something dangerous. His fingers continued their slow, teasing path, dragging up and down the soft skin of her calf, as if daring her to lie.

Aalia forced herself to hold his gaze, refusing to let him see how much he affected her. "Not once," she answered, her voice steady, but he caught the slight tremor in her fingers as they curled into her lap.

Without warning, his fingers pressed slightly into her skin, not rough, just firm enough to remind her of his presence, of his control. A small, knowing smirk played on his lips as he watched her expression falter, just for a second.

Then, slowly, deliberately, his touch traveled lower, wrapping around her ankle. His fingers locked around the delicate bone, his grip not harsh, but unyielding, possessive. A silent warning. A silent promise.

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Liar,” he murmured. The word was soft, but it sent something sharp and electric through her, curling deep into her spine, unraveling everything she was trying to keep together.

He watched as she bit the side corner of her mouth, her teeth grazing the softness of her lower lip, a fleeting moment of hesitation he caught instantly. Aalia was trying—struggling—to keep her mouth shut, and he could see it in the way her jaw tensed, in the way her fingers curled slightly against the table as if grounding herself. He found it amusing. No, more than that. He found it intoxicating. Watching her fight against the urge to say something witty, something sharp and burning, was like watching an angel teeter on the edge of damnation. And he wanted nothing more than to push her over.

He leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin, his voice a silken whisper. "Don’t be shy," he murmured. "Tell me what you want to say, Aalia." The way he said her name, like he was swaying her into temptation.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, as if trying to compose herself, before speaking through gritted teeth. "You're insufferable," she said, her voice laced with annoyance, yet something deeper, something she refused to acknowledge. "And I don’t want you kissing me anymore."

For the first time, his smirk faltered, only for a fraction of a second, but it was there. The very thought was inconceivable. He could not imagine a reality where his lips never claimed hers again, where he never got to taste the warmth of her, the soft gasp she made when he took control. It was impossible.

His fingers, which had been tracing up and down the back of her calf beneath the table, now pressed in slightly, just enough to make her breath hitch. "You need a lesson in submission," he said lowly, his voice nothing but a sinful promise.

Her jaw clenched. "I said it before," she said, her eyes burning into his. "You fuck all your students, sir?"

His lips curled into something dark and amused. "No," he said simply, staring straight into her soul. "Just you."

"You didn't."

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice thick with certainty. "But I will."

The air between them was molten, charged with something dangerous and inescapable. He was the devil himself, whispering sweet, dark things into her ear, offering her the apple with a knowing smirk. And she—his angel, his pure and untarnished little saint—was fighting a losing battle.

Aalia tilted her head slightly, something almost taunting in her gaze, though the innocence in her eyes betrayed her. It was like she was trying to be something she wasn’t, and he found it both arousing and endearing. "What happened to when you said you would be patient?" she asked, her voice laced with quiet challenge.

He chuckled, deep and smooth, shaking his head slightly. "I am being patient," he admitted. "I just don’t like the thought of not being able to touch you." His words dripped into her veins like honeyed poison, slow and intoxicating.

Aalia inahled, like she was trying to calm herself and she turned her head, looking away.

His mind drifted for a moment, thoughts slipping into forbidden places. He knew she had never been with anyone. He was the only man who had ever touched her, kissed her, made her feel this way. And yet, all he could think about was what she would sound like moaning his name, her voice trembling as she gasped beneath him. .

"What?" Aalia's sharp voice snapped him from his thoughts.

His gaze refocused, the corner of his lips twitching. "Nothing," he said smoothly, voice deep and teasing. "Just admiring the view."

She exhaled a short, disbelieving laugh. "I shall bid you goodnight," she said and stood up.

He didn’t stop her. He simply watched as she moved through the restaurant, her dress swaying with each step, her golden cross pendant catching the light as she approached the other students and professors, offering her goodbyes. A symbol of purity, of righteousness, wrapped in the dark and dangerous world he inhabited.

And then, his phone rang.

Yoongi barely glanced at the screen before answering, his attention still tethered to Aalia’s retreating figure as she wove through the restaurant, bidding her goodbyes with that quiet grace that both irked and fascinated him. “Yeah?” His voice was a low drawl, detached yet laced with something distant, something lingering.

“Hyun.” Jimin’s voice crackled through the speaker, the unmistakable bass of Kitty Gang’s music thrumming in the background. “Are you coming tonight?”

Yoongi exhaled, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t planned on going tonight, but when Jimin needed him, he was there. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“It’s Game Night,” Jimin reminded him, his tone playful. “Oh, and bring that girl you told me about.”

Yoongi’s brows twitched. “I don’t know—”

“Come on,” Jimin’s voice carried that familiar, teasing pout. “I’ll see you soon.”

The call ended before Yoongi could say another word. He clicked his tongue, slipping his phone back into his pocket as his gaze followed Aalia’s exit. With a quiet sigh, he rose from his seat, slipping through the restaurant doors and into the cool night air.

Aalia walked ahead, her frame illuminated by the glow of passing streetlights. She was heading toward the subway station.

She turned a corner, and Yoongi followed. His pace was unhurried, his hands tucked into his pockets as the alleyway narrowed, empty save for the distant hum of city life. The parking lot stretched out on the other side.

She halted to a stop and turned around to face him. “Article 18 of the Anti-Stalking Act punishes stalking with up to three years in prison or a thirty million won fine.”

Yoongi blinked. Then, an amused smirk ghosted his lips. She’s unbelievable. “That so?” His voice was low, lazy, like he was indulging in something sweet on his tongue. “Damn. And here I was thinking I was just walking.”

She exhaled, ready to leave, but before she could, he reached out, catching her wrist. Not tight. Not forceful. Just enough to make her pause.

“Hey.” For the first time, she heard something different in his voice. Not teasing. Not commanding. Just—something softer. Something real.

Her gaze flickered to him, searching.

“Look,” he said, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the inside of her wrist. “Jimin asked me to bring you to Kitty Gang tonight.”

Aalia stared at him for a moment before, unexpectedly—she laughed. It was the same laugh from that first night. The one that had caught him off guard. A contagious kind of laughter—the kind that made her almond-shaped eyes almost close, her nose scrunch slightly, and her cheekbones lift. It wasn’t the demure, careful giggle that most women gave him. It was unfiltered, real, ringing into the night air like music.

“You—ahhahah…” she tried to compose herself, wiping beneath her eyes. “You’re insane if you think I’m going anywhere with you.”

Yoongi chuckled, the sound deep and slow. “And why is that?”

“I am not going to the nine circles of hell,” she said, still laughing.

If only she knew that beneath the polished façade of neon-lit streets and glistening skyscrapers, there was a Korea few spoke of—a world stitched together by whispered deals and untraceable power. The country prided itself on order, discipline, and prestige, but beneath its surface, a labyrinth of corruption thrived in the shadows.

Money was the real justice here, the invisible hand that dictated who rose and who was buried. The rich played their games behind locked doors, their sins rinsed clean with influence, while the desperate clawed for survival in alleyways no cameras dared to watch.

Kitty Gang was merely an entry point, a playground of temptation laced with something far more insidious. It was a place where the city’s elite indulged in vice, where pleasure and danger bled together under dim, flickering lights. But beyond its velvet ropes and dimly lit corridors, there were darker places still—places where the rules no longer applied, where names were erased with a whisper, and where the devil didn’t bargain, only took what he was owed.

If only she knew that Yoongi was not just a professor or a businessman, but a man living between two lives—one dictated by society’s expectations and another by blood, by legacy, by something far older and far more binding than contracts or degrees. Within the world of crime, his name carried weight, spoken in equal parts reverence and fear. He was not the boss—not yet. His grandfather, the last of the old kings, still sat on that throne, ruling with an iron fist wrapped in silk. But Yoongi was more than just an heir; he had carved his own name into the underworld, praised for his unwavering determination, his unyielding courage, his ability to make decisions that others flinched away from. He was a leader among men, respected for his brilliance, feared for his resolve.

And yet, the stories that surrounded him were never just one-sided. Some spoke of his compassion, the rare moments where his actions were not driven by power but by something human—by a desire to protect, to provide, to ensure the safety of those who belonged to him. Others, however, painted him in an entirely different light. They called him cruel, an oppressor cloaked in wealth and influence, a tyrant who did not rule with words but with fear. A man who did not hesitate to crush anything—or anyone—that threatened what was his.

His smirk widened, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s a darker side to the underbelly of Korea, Aalia,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Kitty Gang is just the tip of the iceberg.”

She stilled, her expression unreadable. And then, she did something he hadn’t expected. She stepped even closer. “I,” she said, her voice unwavering. “Am not going anywhere with you.”

She turned, ready to leave, but Yoongi shifted, blocking her path with the ease of someone who had spent years maneuvering shadows.

“You can either walk with me to my car,” he said smoothly, “or I can carry you there. But you’re coming with me, like it or not.”

She scoffed, laughing once more. But when he bent slightly—just enough to reach for her—her laughter cut short.

“Fine!!” she snapped. “I’ll walk.”

Yoongi smirked, stepping back with a small nod of approval. “Good girl.”

With a roll of her eyes, she followed him to his car.

Once inside, she exhaled, staring out of the window. “But I have to be home by eleven.” Yoongi glanced at his silver Rolex, the glow of the dashboard illuminating its face. 7:45 PM. “I’m serious,” she said, turning to him.

He tilted his head, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright. You’ll be home by eleven.”

Aalia finally leaned back in the passenger seat, her fingers brushing against the hem of her dress. “Thank you,” she murmured softly.

Yoongi’s fingers tightened briefly on the steering wheel before he glanced at her. His voice was just as soft. “You’re welcome.”

For a few minutes, they drove in silence, the hum of the city passing them by. And then— “Why did you need me to go with you?” she asked, her voice quieter now, less sharp.

Yoongi’s eyes stayed on the road, his expression unreadable. “Once a month, on the last Saturday, Kitty Gang holds a game night.”

Aalia arched a brow. “Game night?”

He nodded. “Every month, it’s a different game.”

She hesitated. “And the game this time?”

He didn’t miss the way her fingers curled slightly on her lap. “Spin the Bottle: Truth or Dare.”

Aalia tensed. Her heartbeat picked up, her throat tightening. “I don’t have to play, right?” she asked, her voice lighter than she felt.

For a moment, Yoongi said nothing. Then, he turned his gaze from the road, looking at her properly. Her expression was different now—guarded. Uneasy. “No,” he said, his voice genuine. “You don’t have to play.”

She nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing. Yoongi returned his attention to the road, but his mind lingered

(you can read ESCAPISM on AO3)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64009903/chapters/164201557

[feederheart]

I had caught her.

This was the third time she had shown up this month and this time, I didn’t have to wait for nearly an hour after I had closed up shop for her to finally show up. This time she appeared as if she were ready for a date. She adorned a nice dress that showed off all of her curves (especially her gargantuan belly that hung below her hips), she wore makeup for the first time, and her hair shined like a new car outside of its usual hastily-tied bun. Usually, I took the extra time to get cleaned up and change out of my chef’s uniform; I was covered in fruit preserves and my arms felt a little sticky. This time, however, I didn’t want to take my eyes off the beautiful enchantress before me. It was as if her planetary body came with a gravitational pull that had trapped my gaze.

“You got the goods?” she asked with more assertiveness than usual.

Her beautiful, dark eyes looked at me with intense hunger; it was equal parts arousing and terrifying.

“You’re making this sound like a drug deal,” I chuckled.

“C’mon, I’m hungry,”  she pleaded, my joke falling flat on its face.

“Alright, relax, I’ve still got you,” I said.

I already had exactly what she wanted; I had stashed all of the leftover pies by the rear door in anticipation of her arrival. I reached for the brown bags each containing four whole unsold pies and handed them to her.

“Got any more?” she asked.

“Really?” I asked, amazed by her gluttony; eight pies is a lot. “You want more?”

“They’re good!” she replied, blushing ever so slightly. “I mean- really good. You knocked these out of the park!”

Then it was my turn to blush; compliments for my cooking or baking are my heart’s kryptonite.

“Thank you,” I replied. “But I’m not sure if you can carry any more without dropping or crushing one.”

“How about I just ate one?” she suggested. “Before you threw the rest away.”

“Right here?” I asked, turning around and scanning the interior of the restaurant. “I don’t know, The Boss is strict about giving away food and I don’t want you on the security camera.”

I then pointed to the camera right above the back doorway.

“We’re lucky this one doesn’t work right or else I wouldn’t be able to sneak anything to you.”

“Th-that's okay, I’ll sit right here,” she replied matter-of-factly as she waddled a few steps forward and plopped her huge, round ass onto the floorboards of the rear porch. The wood creaked loudly and her fat spread out across the surface like thick pancake batter poured on the griddle. She then reached into one of the bags and grabbed a blueberry pie sitting on top of the surface along with a plastic fork.

I stared at her, unable to take my eyes off of her quivering rolls that jiggled as she rocked back and forth trying to get comfortable on the hardwood surface. As she finally stopped and her fat jiggled and quivered for a few more seconds, she turned her head and looked up at me.

“What?” she said as if taking a fork and eating an entire pie was a completely normal thing to do. “I’m hungry, I’ve barely eaten anything today. I’ve had, like, a half-pounder at Fudruckers and some Chipotle today but that was it.”

“Oh nothing, there’s no problem,” I said nonchalantly. “Lemme finish cleaning before I get the rest and lock up shop.”

I turned around and finished cleaning the kitchen for the day, I snuck a few glances at the beautiful woman happily gorging away at the pie I made like a greedy pig, shoving massive forkfuls of fatty, sugary, blueberry goodness into her mouth, her arms quivering with each forkful. I could just barely hear her humming happily as she ate over the sounds of the sink and clanking pans. As I wiped down the sink, I could see her throw the now-empty pie container aside and get started on a new pie, this time a special cognac and peach pie I won a baking competition with. As she got her fill, I could see her adjusting her dress as her belly swelled with the delicious dessert. She rubbed her corpulent tummy and let out a small burp as she put away the now-half-eaten peach pie and tossed it next to the blueberry pie dish.

I fought to hide my arousal as I grabbed two more pies and handed them to her.

“Thank you- urg,” she groaned as she rose to her feet slowly, weighed down by what must have been a quarter-ton of fat plus one and a half pies. “Oh that was so good, holy shit, these are really the best pies ever.”

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling a rush of giddy warmth flow through me. “You know, I may be a baker but I’m a damn good chef too. How does dinner at my place tomorrow night sound?”

“Yeah that sounds amazing,” she replied rushedly as if her gargantuan stomach made that decision for her before she could think about it.

“Excellent, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I replied happily.

She grabbed the pie-filled bags and waddled back to her car, her belly looking the roundest I had ever seen her. She stopped once and set down a bag to adjust her dress one more time as it rode up her fat-laden thighs before picking it back up, waddling to her car, struggling to fit her gut behind the wheel, and driving away.

I took a deep breath, knowing that I had won. I had caught her like the whale she was.

[ret1cent]

the space between (pt.3)

josh dun x fem reader

WC: 4,000+

“yeah, these things take forever, i especially am slow. but i realized that i need you and i wondered if i could come home”

warnings: conversation about a past abusive relationship (physically and mentally), brief mention of a panic attack, just a lil angst

a/n: yayy i’m finally getting this part out to yall! i’ll try to make sure part 4 comes out in a timely manner this time 😭😭 also sorry if this part seems to end a little abruptly! i planned to make it longer but decided to allocate that content to the next chapter

previous chapters

May 20th, 2016.

Me and Josh sat in the car, his hand on my shoulder as my breathing slowed and my tears slowly stopped. 

“Are you ok?” he asks softly, his brown eyes locked on my own, studying me as I came down from the panic attack. 

“Hardly.” I say with a soft laugh, wiping the tears off my face with my arm. “But I don’t assume you’re doing perfect either.” I say, circling the outline of my eye, referring to the red bruise that had started to appear around his eye. 

He chuckles quietly. “This thing? I’ll be fine. I’m more concerned about you.” He says and I look away, rubbing the back of my neck. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks carefully. 

“No, not yet.” I admit. 

“That’s ok. I understand.” he says with a sympathetic smile, trying to cover his worried demeanor. He looked away to buckle his seatbelt and put the car into drive. 

“Hey… I’m sorry for all of this. You having to take a beating for me for no reason. And for the fact that I got all emo on you.” I say anxiously, looking down and picking at the skin around my fingers. 

“Hey, no need to apologize.” He says with a side glance. “It wasn’t necessarily on my list of what I expected to happen today, but I think the day still went well in some ways.” He said sheepishly, referring to our rekindling. “And you don’t have to feel weird about getting emo on me.” He says, laughing at my phrasing. “That is not the first time you’ve cried on me. Plus, you’ve also helped me get through a lot of shit too.” He reminds me. 

It was true. Throughout our friendship Josh had always been a source of comfort for me. I’ve cried on his shoulder through breakups, fights with friends, when the movies we watched were too sad… But it went both ways. Josh had a lot of issues with his anxiety and depression that became very prominent in our last year of friendship, I spent countless nights up with him star gazing on the roof or sitting with him on his bedroom floor talking out his inner battles. 

“Where we headed?” I asked him as he takes a left turn. 

“Well, you’re welcome to object I'm not trying to kidnap you or anything, but I was thinking maybe we could stop by my place so I can get cleaned up real quick and then maybe we can grab a bite to eat? All this stress made me hungry.” He says with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, that sounds perfect actually, I’m starved.” I say gratefully, but feel a guiltiness stir in my stomach. Maybe it was wrong to go back to his place and get dinner together after everything that happened. Of course, me and Josh both knew we were just 2 friends reconnecting, but in the eyes of Logan I could see how me running to another man after our argument could make him feel that I was proving his suspicions… 

Whatever. He didn’t deserve any of my remorse right now. Not after everything he’s done today. I deserved one stress day free with a friend. 

I sit in the car, rolling down the window and leaning my head against my folded arms as wind flies past my face, my hair blowing along with it. Josh briefly looks over at the sight with a smile, turning up the indie rock station his radio was set to. Chocolate by the 1975 was playing, Josh continuing to look forward at the road. I hum to the song happily, admiring the canvas of the sky that had been painted a mix of yellow and orange, glints of the warm light emitting rays across the interior of the car.  

We drove in a comfortable silence, the music filling any space needed for conversation. I continued resting my head on the open window, looking on in admiration as we passed the streets of LA, the tall buildings shining as the sun cast a halo in the horizon.  

We eventually reached the uphill slopes of Mulholland Drive, driving until Josh reached a secluded neighborhood, the houses around all spacious and lavish. We get out of the car, and I look around at the large houses in awe. He led me towards his house, it standing tall with a dark wooden exterior and large glass panes that gave it a modern look similar to the houses surrounding it. The yard was full of plants and had a stone flooring with a trail of large slabs of white rock that led to the door.  

I take in the scenery in disbelief. Of course, I had been aware of how successful the boys had become. It was impossible to be an avid internet user, especially in the scape of Tumblr and not see anything about Twenty One Pilots. I heard Stressed Out or Ride on the radio every other day. But seeing Josh’s home like this after knowing him while he lived in a small house with 3 other dudes really put things into perspective. He unlocks the door, the two of us stepping inside.  

“Wassuppp I’m Josh, welcome to my crib.” He says holding his arms out pretending like he was on MTV Cribs. I laugh looking around the room, taking in the band and movie posters framed on the walls, the tall ceilings, the open white tiled kitchen with black leather padded barstools, the large cozy looking chairs in the front room and the large hidden spiral staircase that matched the wooden exterior of the home. “Josh this is amazing!” I say with a laugh of admiration.  

He rubs the back of his neck embarrassed and looking down with smile. “Thanks dude.” Despite his massive success, he still had the same amount of humbleness as when they first started, that’s a trait I can always appreciate. Josh peels off his zip up jacket, slightly wincing as the material slides against his skin. I watched him in concern, looking down at his elbows and seeing that they had been bruised and bleeding from the friction of falling back when he and Logan fought in the yard.  

“Where’s your first aid?” I asked.  

“Oh, don’t worry I'm fine.” he says with a smile, slightly startled by the fact I noticed his injury.  

“Please? You’re bleeding and you’ve been helping me all evening, let me help you.”  

“Ok fineee.” He says with a small smile. “It’s upstairs in the bathroom of my room, it’s to the right.”  

Josh wasn’t a stubborn person; he’s always been very agreeable. But when it comes to people offering him help, he always seems to have a weird sense of guilt about accepting it. I approached the spiral staircase, walking up until I was met with the long hallway. I turn right like Josh said and walk into the master bedroom. I tried not to spend too much time snooping around in there, but it was hard not to admire the whimsical decor around the room, along with the big windowpanes that offered a view overlooking the city. I walk into the open bathroom, opening the cabinet to find a little red first aid kit sitting there, next to countless skincare products. I had to give it to him, he’s incredibly well groomed. He’s always been that way; it was a refresher from hanging out in a group of 4 other guys who didn’t exactly meet his same hygiene standards. I grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol that sat next to the kit and headed back downstairs.  

“Sit.” I demand gently, pointing at the tall barstool.  

“Ok mom.” He says and I roll my eyes with a smile.  

I sit the kit on the counter and open it, pulling a cotton ball out, setting it next to the alcohol. I then walk over to the sink, ripping off a paper towel and slightly dampening it, pumping a bit of the foaming hand soap on it.  

“Gotta clean it off a little first.” I say in a soft focus, holding onto his arm while I gently rub the blood off, him wincing at the contact. I repeat the same for the other side, the dried blood now cleared from his elbows apart from the skinned parts that were still drawing a bit of blood.  

“I have to disinfect it so it might hurt a bit.” I warn him gently and he nods. I poured a bit of alcohol on the cotton ball, starting to clean the injury, the room quiet besides for his shaky breaths of pain.  

“I’m sorryyy.” I whine sympathetically while looking over at him, knowing that it probably stung a lot.  

“It’s ok, I know you’re just helping me.” He says gratefully, momentarily holding eye contact.  

I smile and look back down, finishing by putting wide Band-Aids on each side of his elbows.  

“Ok I think we’re done with that, now how about your eye?” I ask, standing taller as I study the bruise. I softly touch his face, him slightly flinching away at first but then coming back so I can study it more, him closing his eyes and leaning into my touch as I run my finger across it.  

“It hurts to the touch?” I ask him he nods slowly, me quickly removing my finger at the fact. I held his jaw, studying the reddening bruise that had slowly turned darker, hushed hints of purple sitting around the edges, him looking up at me with curious eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s a black eye…” I say with an apologetic frown.  Before I had hoped it was only a little swelling, but thinking back to the force of the punch it was kind of impossible for Josh to have walked away without a black eye. 

“Ah fuck.” He says, leaning his head back in defeat. “I have shows coming up too…” 

“Hey, it makes you look badass.” I say, softly punching his shoulder playfully. “Plus, I’m sure the makeup team can handle it.”  

“Do I look like an awesome rowdy rockstar?” He asks, looking at me with a smile and I laugh.  

“Yes, absolutely.” I say and then walk over to his freezer, finding a blue gel icepack and wrapping it in a paper towel. “Here hold this to your eye for a bit.” I say and he takes it, holding it on the bruise.  

“You should’ve given me a bag of frozen peas.” He says and I chuckle.  

“Ah yes, a classic.” I walk over and grab my purse. “I wanna do my makeup real quick before we go, is there somewhere I could go?”  

“Yeah, there’s a guest bathroom further down, you can use any of the little travel toiletries if you want to, make yourself at home.” He says with a smile.  

I thanked him gratefully, heading to the bathroom and him going upstairs to freshen up.  

I look in the mirror, slightly startled by the sight of my cheeks that had turned puffy and reddened, along with my lips that had reddened around the edges from my crying. Yeesh, this is the face Josh has been looking at? Whatever, we’ve seen each other in much worse conditions and he’s a friend, it’s not like it mattered. I open the cabinet, thankful to see a little travel sized face wash and moisturizer like Josh had mentioned. I wash my face and do my makeup, enjoying the silence and repetitive motions. It was soothing. 

Once I finish my makeup, I fan my face feeling the warmth of my sweater starting to radiate. Ugh, I needed to change. Maybe Josh had something? I felt bad asking, it feels like I'd be pestering considering the help he’s been giving me. 

I walk out, seeing him sitting on the big, cushioned chair in the front room, scrolling on his phone.  

“Hey Josh?”  

“What’s up?” he asks, looking up with curious eyes.  

“Do you have like a shirt I could borrow or something?” I asked nervously, fidgeting with the soft material of my sweater.  

“Yeah of course! Is anything cool?”  

“Yes, I'm not picky at all.” I say apologetically.  

He runs upstairs and is gone for about 3 minutes, flipping through hangers in his closet. He comes back down with a shirt and flannel folded over his arm. “Are these ok?” He asks and holds out a gray NASA shirt, along with the red and black flannel. “I brought the flannel too just in case you get cold.”  

“Yes, that’s perfect.” I say with a smile at his thoughtfulness. I observe the NASA shirt. “You’re such a space nerd.” I say with a giggle.  

“Hey space is cool dude! it’s where all the aliens live.” He says with a goofy smile, and I roll my eyes.  

“Ok alien boy. Someone oughta shove you into a locker and take your lunch money!” I joked, him chuckling in response.  

“Yeah, being emo in high school kinda gives you that experience. Excepts I never got shoved into a locker I just got called gay.” He says, the both of us laughing. 

“I never got the experience of being called gay for being emo but I didd frequently get accused of devil worship.” I say, reflecting on my high school experience as a teenager who looked like the epitome of Myspace. 

“Yeah, being emo while going to a Christian high school in the early 2000’s was fun.”  He jokes. The two of us continued reminiscing until I remembered I had to change. When I slipped on his shirt in the bathroom, I couldn’t help but appreciate the scent of clean laundry mixed with the faint but lingering smell of his cologne. Maybe that was weird, but it was oddly comforting.  

I walk back into the front room, Josh looking up when he hears my footsteps padding against the floor. “Do I look like you now?” I ask, doing a spin to show off my outfit.  

“Yeah, you do. You rock the look.” He says with a chuckle. 

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

We were back in the car again, Josh taking us to a pizza place he loved in Studio City. The windows were rolled down, the cool air rushing into the car as we took turns playing our favorite songs for each other. Josh had said that we had 4 years of new music to catch up on, which he wasn’t wrong about. One of Josh and I’s biggest bonding points had always been sharing new music with each other. 

“Ok my turn!” I say after his song choice ends and I grab his phone, go to Spotify and think about what newer songs I hadn’t played for him yet. I go to the album Night, Time, My Time by Sky Ferreira that was released months after Josh and I’s falling out. I click on my favorite song, ‘I will’.  

“Ooo Sky Ferreira, I don’t know if I’ve heard this song before.” He says, nodding his head along to the beat.  

“Ugh she’s my queen.” I say in admiration, leaning against the open window and he chuckles. “Try to teach me a lesson I'll keep I'll keep you guessing!” I shout the lyrics out the window and he shakes his head with a smile.  

“Oh wow… you’re really jamming out over there huh?” he asks, looking me up in down in a pretend judgment.  

“Hey, don’t act like you weren’t just playing air drums over there a song ago like we get it you’re a famous drummer.” I say with an eye roll, and he laughs.  

“Yeahhh, I can’t argue with that one.” He says feigning cockiness. 

We pulled up to the pizza place, the two of us walking inside. The aroma of cheese and baking bread wafted in my nostrils, making my stomach growl. Rock music faintly played in the background as I looked around at the stickers and posters covering the walls.  

“You in the mood for any specific kind?” Josh asks, crossing his arms as he focuses on the menu.  

“Anything you want! I’m hungry as hell.” 

Josh ends up ordering a cheese pizza he likes from there with a mix of mushrooms and other veggies for us to share. We were sitting in the open patio area, wooden benches with fairy lights strung around, emitting a soft glow on our faces. We happily much on the pizza in a comfortable silence and for the first time in months I feel at peace.  

Though it was comforting to have our friendship back, it felt like we were both ignoring the big conversation that needed to be had about what had happened between us, my situation with Logan and his with Sophia.  

“Hey Josh, can I ask you something?” I asked him timidly, looking up from his pizza, continuing to chew.  

He swallows before he answers. “Of course, what’s up?” 

“What… happened with you and Sophia?” 

He pauses, looking down at the table. 

“I’m sorry.” I rushed out. “Is that too much? I’m sorry just forget I asked.”  

He looks back up at me, the emotion in his hazel eyes being brought out by the shine of the lights.  

“No, it’s ok. You deserve to know I just don’t even know where to start…” 

I pause, looking up as I think. “How about the breakup… What lead up to it?” I ask. I had been vaguely aware of their breakup when it had first happened due to friends back home, but not the reasoning. 

“Well, it was a buildup of all kinds of different things honestly. When we first started dating everything seemed perfect, more or so during the honeymoon phase. I thought she was cool, she was easy to get along with, she was pretty, and we had a similar music taste. But as the relationship started becoming long term I just started noticing more of her flaws, but they weren't normal. She became very controlling about who I would hang out with, she had to know exactly where I was going and for how long and if I was out any later, she’d lose it... You weren’t the only person she made me cut ties with, she made me cut ties with other women I was friends with along with people she simply thought were a ‘bad influence on me’, which really just meant my friends who wanted to take me out often.” He sighs and I look at him in sorrow. “I know I didn’t have to do anything she said. I just loved her and felt like I was being disloyal if I didn’t listen to her. And I had never been in a serious relationship before that. I just couldn’t tell right from wrong early on enough.”  

“I understand that feeling.” I say softly, reflecting on my past relationships and my current one with Logan.  

He looks up at me with I nod, understanding what I was implying. “She would just say all kinds of awful shit to me, she always made me feel like I was the unreasonable one for being upset with the inordinate rules she was setting for me. I always wanted to feel like I was good enough for her, but I was never going to meet her standards. I don’t think anyone could.”  

“Of course not, it’s completely insane to put that kind of pressure on anyone. And her making you cut off huge sources of support for you, it's a manipulation tactic...” I say, anger bubbling inside my stomach at the thought.  

“Yeah, I think her issue was that she needed to be in control of everything she could be because she felt like she didn’t have control of her own life... It was an exhausting dynamic.” he says, shaking his head. 

I think of the question I had been wanting to ask, hesitating as I open my mouth. “When you said she would get physical with you…” I start, not knowing how to continue.  

“Yeah um…” He starts, looking down. I slowly reach out to hold his hand on the table, squeezing it gently. He laughs softly, recognizing the gesture, in the past it had been a soothing sign of reassurance or support between us in hard moments.  

“You remember that?” he asks softly, squeezing my hand in return before I let go.  

“How could I forget?” I ask and he smiles, a silence lingering before he sighs.  

“Basically, we had a lot of blow out fights, screaming matches and whatnot. Of course, I wasn’t perfect either, I shouldn't have been yelling like that...” He says in remorse, closing his eyes as he runs his hand across his face. “But she just brought out the worst parts of me. Parts I hadn’t ever seen before. And when we’d have these big arguments, it wasn’t abnormal for her to slap, shove me, throw things at me... That kind of stuff.”  

My chest feels heavy as I take this information in, shaking my head in disbelief. “Did you ever tell anyone?” I ask cautiously.  

“No, not until now. I never felt actively endangered. I was fully aware it was a situation I could get out of, I just couldn’t gain the strength to leave her...  Plus, I had the means to defend myself if I needed to. I just didn’t, I can’t even imagine hurting anyone I love like that, nonetheless a woman. So, I kept letting her get away with it, of course I tried to talk to her about it to try get it to stop, but it never really did until I left.” He said, a heaviness hanging in the air.  

I get up in silence, him looking at me in confusion. I walk over to his side of the bench and sit down, wrapping my arms around him. He stiffens up at first but then melts into the hug.  

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, pulling back to look at him.  

“It’s ok now. It’s the past.” He says gently.  

“I know but I should’ve been there for you…”  

“I didn’t let you be there for me.” He reminds me.  

I lean back against the table, looking up at the sky in silence. He grabs a slice of the pizza, continuing to eat and looking up with me in.  

We walk back to the car quietly, a sadness lingering between us. He holds the door open for me and I thank him quietly, wondering what was going through his mind. Talking about this stuff must’ve been beyond difficult for him. Once we were settled into the car, I plugged in my phone to play music this time. I wanted to try to cheer him up somehow.  

“I’m gonna DJ this time and I'll be doing some throwbacks.” I say, typing in songs to add to the queue.  

“Oh yeah?” He asks in interest.  

“Uhhuh.” I say in response as the intro to Ohio Is For Lovers by Hawthorne Heights begins and he chuckles softly.  

“Holyyy shit I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard this song.” He says, his pearly teeth shining as he smiled, looking back so he could reverse. He hums to the intro contently.  

He turns onto the main road, the lights of the city sparkling under the moonlight.  

“Hey there, I know it’s hard to feel like I don’t care at all...” Josh sings in a dramatic emo accent, making me giggle.  

“Where you are and how you feel with these lights as off as these wheels...” I sing back in the same tone.  

The two of us continue singing as he slows down to a stop light, us yelling the chorus together.  

“Because you kill me, you know you do you know you do!” We shout, him grasping onto my shoulders and me doing the same. The light turns green, and we burst into laughter over our dramatic performance, him focusing his attention back on the road.  

Today's been a mess, but this wasn’t a bad way to end it at all. I look over and smile softly as I watch him continuing to sing. This is nice. This is the first time in months I’ve felt like I’m where I’m meant to be. Ever since the moment Josh showed up at my doorstep today, I've felt this euphoric feeling of belonging. It was a feeling I never actively thought about missing, but now that I had it again it was impossible to think how I was living without it. It’s not something I’m willing to let go of again, and if I had to fight to keep that feeling so be it. I was snapped out of my thoughts when the song changed and Josh cheered, recognizing it as one of his old favorites. I giggle and continue to sing with him again.  

[ns-imagines]

What they drive

141 Guys x domestic/everyday life

SFW | Word Count: 1.4k | Headcannons

**Long post with lots of pictures!

A/N: I dunno much about cars but I always wonder what the boys would be driving. See what they’re picking me up in for date night… this is just for fun and highlights the modern life they have outside of missions. Also the gif of Soap falling on the car took me out lmao. Not requested. -Kiv

John Price

A man who takes pride in his vehicles. He has two Chevy trucks. A nice truck for everyday use and a project truck. The perfect person to talk to if you are thinking of purchasing a car or truck. Price has got the “dealership scam” game down. You'll be leaving the lot with a good deal.

The project car being a 1985 Chevy C10. Price is always going on about how “this is every man's dream car to work on”. He says it everytime he opens the garage. Without fail! It's got a classic blue color with a few rust spots but, nothing a good layer of paint can't fix. Its the 90s car from the movies. Nothing else to say about it!

Ahh the project car. Price works on it when he can. Set up a lawn chair, get a glass of lemonade, and just watch that man work. Sometimes hell even explain to you what he’s doing. That is if you can even pay attention. There’s something so attractive about a man talking about what he’s passionate about all sweaty with a nice pump. HEY, wipe that drool off your face.

Price’s personal truck is nice. It gets him from point A to B. Everything on it is stock. He’ll always tell you hes gonna sell it once his project car has been fixed. But there’s still quite a lot to do on the project car. Its a 2012 Chevy Silverado in cherry black with a covered bed. Good on gas and can pull a trailer or boat! He doesn’t invest money in it for other than maintenance costs.

It smells specifically like “Lakeside Morning” from Bath and Body works car scents. The packaging is what got him. It was honestly super cute when he read the package out loud. “Smells like: Cool, Sweet, Fresh, and alone time on the dock” followed by a shrug and him throwing it into his cart. Does he even fish?

Oh, whenever he turns a corner in the Silverado theres a thud coming from the bed. Its a cooler that has been there FOREVER. He swears he’s going to take it out. Price brought it when 141 met for a cook out and some beers a few months ago.

-

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Don’t ask about the APR please. Kyle is going to use this bad girl till it breaks. Its his dream car. Price took him away from base to get a better rate for it! Its fast its speedy its a 2015 Ford Shelby GT350. Oh yeah racing stripes and all. He got it wrapped in a matte ocean blue. Im talking leather seats, tinted windows, and custom wheel.

Kyle loves this car and will always offer to pick you up. Ur always going to be passenger princess. Kyle always drives up reallll slow, rev the engine a little, and rolls down the window to smile big at you. He gets the door for you when you are both approaching the car. Don’t test him. He will literally sprint to get the door for you. An actual cutiepie

Hes so damn cute when it comes to long drives. Hand on your thigh and singing to the music together. Expect spontaneous trips!! He doesn’t even know where you guys are headed today.

Loves to speed up when there no cars in front of him. That feeling of the car pushing into you the sear is his favorite. Kyle is definitely the type to lightly bang on the steering wheel and go “Wooooooo” when returning to the normal speed limit. Hehe. Hope it didn’t freak you out too much. You will without a doubt get a few reassuring thigh squeezes.

Classic Black Ice scent. Cant go wrong with it! Its his car’s signature sent if you ask him. Kyle keeps his car clean. Theres a few half empty water bottles in the back but never straight up trash. He makes sure to buy the premium wipes for the interior. Like I said that car is his baby. Ugh did i mention the sound system?! Its absolutely amazing. You can feel the bass in your bones. Literally sounds like you’re in an air pod pro.

-

John “Soap” Mactavish

His car is the hangout car. Like if were going out with boys were taking Soaps car. He drives a pearl colored 2020 Honda Accord. He ordered the under the seat lights and everything. Its actually a vibe in there. The music changes the lights or he has an app on his phone to change the color. Another amazing sound system tbh.

Similar to Gaz the glovebox in the car is yours. He even puts stuff in there for you as a surprise :,). Sweet baby Johnny. Like one time you got in the car like usual and opened the glovebox to grab chapstick or some perfume/cologne and sitting on the car instruction manual was a bag/box of ur favorite snack. When you looked back over, Johnny was looking back at you with a big derpy smile.

Since his car is the hangout car it can get messy pretty easily. He has to do “trash runs” to empty the random things people leave in his car. Dont get it wrong, It isnt nasty with random food left behind!! Soap has tried those like little trash cans on Amazon but they always end up lost under the back seats.

Johnny always goes with New Car Smell. He doesn’t have a specific brand he likes he just gets whatever’s at the gas station at the time. He also has the bad habit of never locking his car. Soap swears he always forgets to but you think its just a habit at this point.

CEO of spontaneous trips. You would never believe how much camping stuff his car can hold. Soap will give him car encouraging words as it struggles to go up the hills to the hike or camping site. He always keeps an emergency box under the passenger seat. Its shaped like tackle box. It has a first aid kit, some portable batteries with chargers, flares, and an emergency flash light. Last time you both went camping he was so excited to show you the random hatchet he bought. He keeps it in the trunk for no reason. I mean, he cant have it in the barracks so you suppose it makes sense.

-

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon currently owns two bikes. Hes in the process of selling his old one. Which is a chameleon purple painted 2006 Suzuki GSXR600 with 750 cc. It gave him a good year and half off rides. He took care of it and rode it to its top speeds. It has a scuff on the side from when he tried to do a wheelie but, he was going to slow and had to jump off before it fell to its side. Your heart sunk when it happened. Ghost was super embarrassed because he thought he had it down. He’ll never tell you though.

After a long deployment where he was getting quite a big of hazard pay (extra pay when you’re in a dangerous location) he saved it all up. As soon as he got back he bought a black 2021 Honda Rebel 1100 DCT. This bike is fast but it’s more for cursing. Trust that he’ll ride it to its max speed at least once for the adrenaline rush.

Bought you a matching jacket. He wont say anything about it being matching but you noticed almost after putting it on. Best part about riding is when you get to wrap your arms around his waist. Simon always makes sure to take it slow especially if you get nervous on bikes. Don’t even try to do your hair. He wont move the bike unless you have the right gear on. Ghost doesn’t wanna lose you from an accident.

You are probably wondering what he does when it rains… or maybe you already knew he chooses to ride anyway. I promise though that after a ride in the rain he will slightly complain about how wet the road was. It makes you worry because so much could happen with one slip. Simon will always reassure you that he’s an experienced rider. If you pick him up in your car he won’t be upset. Definitely wont say no to a free and dry ride!

[inf3ct3dd]

003. LOVING IS EASY

warnings: none! :)

authors note: and so it begins 🤭

previous chapter. next chapter. masterlist.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

you rub your eyes with the back of your hand, begrudgingly sitting up from your bed. you shut off your alarm, and you see a notification pop up on your screen.

you grin at your phone, opening the message to reply.

your heart suddenly stops for a second when you see her reply. ‘my girl’? you didn’t expect her to keep up the charade when it was just you two. she’s just committed to the bit, right?

right?

you look up at yourself in the mirror, and you want to wipe the smile off your face.

snap out of it baker. fake girlfriend. fake. shes just being convincing, right?

you take a deep breath and start getting ready, trying to distract yourself.

you move a lot faster than usual, suddenly gaining a passion for academics. you rush kitty from outside her door, impatiently leaning on the frame.

“since when do you want to go to school?” kitty slightly yells from her vanity. she grabs her things, opening the door to reveal an unusually happy you.

you look down at the helmet in her hands, and snatch it from her.

“hey! you almost ran a girl over yesterday, i do not trust you enough to leave lucy.”

you roll your eyes at her, holding the helmet out of her reach as she tries to grab it from you.

“you named the helmet?”

“she’s very important to me.”

she finally stops trying, and stares at you with a pout and furrowed brows.

“you don’t need her, im not driving today.”

“is dad driving us?” she questions, before you throw the helmet back into her room and start walking towards the staircase.

“nope.” you answer, practically sprinting downstairs.

“well who is?” she asks, quickly approaching behind you.

“a friend.”

you both hug your dad goodbye, and quickly grab your lunch from the fridge.

“last time you said ‘a friend’ was driving us, mina almost killed us.” kitty retorts as you walk to the door.

you and your best friend have a LOT in common!!!

“its not mina.” you reply simply.

you open your door to a white jeep in the driveway, abby sitting in the drivers seat, tapping the steering wheel.

kitties eyes widen, yours do too, before she looked back at you.

“oh?” she mumbles.

“you wanna stand here all day?” you say, a smug grin on your face. kitty shakes her head no and starts walking over to the car, and abby notices the two of you and unlocks the door, smiling at you before swinging the passenger side open for you.

how chivalrous :)

“morning abs!” you said, a chipper tone in your voice.

“morning r.” she replies, turning to face you.

you hear the slam of the back door, and kitty shuffles into the car.

you look around the interior, nose filled with the scent of a pine air freshener hanging on the rear view mirror and- a hint of lavender? all you knew was that it smelled good. clean. and the scent matched the rest of the car, which looked almost brand new.

“hi kitty.” abby says, turning around.

kitty gives abby a once over before saying hi back, a slightly questioning look on her face.

“since when are you friends with r?” kitty asks, eyebrows furrowed.

abby lets out a small chuckle before replying.

“a few weeks. why?”

“no reason… just haven’t heard much about you.”

abby turns back around, facing you.

“wowwww, am i not worth talking about?” abby questions, putting a dramatic hand on her chest.

“yup. im just ashamed, you’re so awful.” you tease, grinning at her.

you both giggle, staring back at each other.

“i knew there was something gay going on here.” kitty states accusingly , staring at the two of you with a quirked eyebrow.

you and abby burst into laughter, kitty following quickly after.

“wow kitty, you should be a detective.” abby says sarcastically.

yeah, she can specialize in fraud.

“so you guys are like, dating?” kitty asks.

“yeah, we’re ‘like’ dating.” abby answers. it practically rolls off her tounge, like a reflex.

she’s a good actor.

kitty hums in approval , leaning back into her seat.

your eyes unintentionally move to abbys hand, and you see her grab a drink from the drink-holder-thingy.

“here, got you something.” abby turns around , handing kitty the drink and a straw.

kitty’s eyes light up, smiling as she accepts the drink.

“holy shit, thank you!” she beams, taking a sip.

“don’t mention it. trying to make a good first impression.” abby grins at her before turning back around.

“well, im definitely impressed.”

and i am too.

abby lets out a small chuckle, reaching for your drink and handing it to you.

a venti?? damn!

you thank her, a wide smile on your face as you take a sip.

“like i said, anything for my girl.”

hearing her say it out loud makes it ten times worse. ‘it’ being the sudden rush of nervousness and the annoying churn in your stomach. and with how close she was, you swore she could hear your heart pounding in your chest.

fake girlfriend. fake.

you smile at her, not being able to form a response, and she starts driving.

you never realized how happy that grimacing stare on ellies face made you.

the curse of ellie being in almost all of your classes quickly turned into a blessing when you realized abby was there too.

well, a blessing for you.

ellie kept her eyes glued to you all day, same way she did yesterday, but this time something was clouding her view. abby.

every time she looked over at you, there she was.

passing notes to each other, laughing at each others jokes, giving each other random glances during class, ellies grip on her pencil seemed to get tighter and tighter by the second.

so much so that she broke the tip multiple times from pressing too hard. and every time she got up to sharpen it, she got an even more up close view of why it broke in the first place.

and at one point, she almost threw the fucking sharpener.

“uhm miss, i didn’t get a passage.” you chimed from your desk, holding your hand in the air.

“hey, we can sha-“

“i dont have any other copies, just share with abby.” ellie was cut off by ms. scotti, ruining her poor attempts at trying to be near you.

you looked behind you and your eyes immediately met abbys, smiling back at you. you moved your chair from your single desk to abbys, taking a pen with you. you hadn’t realized how close the two of you were until you sat down , feeling her leg against yours.

real smooth.

abby handed you the paper and you decided to take turns reading it, and you chose to go first. you started reading the paragraph out loud, and you couldn’t help but feel abbys eyes settle on you. specifically, on a place that seemed all-too-close to your lips. you tried to shrug it off, finishing the paragraph with a few mess-ups.

calm down.

instead of abby continuing, she reached her hand towards your face.

“huh?“

in one swift motion, abby runs her thumb against the area right under your bottom lip, wiping off some lipgloss that got on your face.

you felt your face heat up at the sudden contact, and you prayed abby couldn’t feel it.

“you had a little somethin’ there.” she explains, smiling at you and wiping her thumb on her cargos.

lunch was….a lot more fun than yesterday!!!

trading your depressing, lonely, wet courtyard bench for some time with your fake-girlfriend was…much needed.

you walked with abby out of your last class before lunch, stepping shoulder-to-shoulder down the hallway till you reached the cafeteria. when you finally reached the two big green doors, you heard the sea of people inside. you reached for the door, only to be beat by abby, reaching over you to push it open.

“ladies first.” she jokes, holding the door open for you.

you giggle at her, turning around as she walked up to you and let the door come to a close.

you were used to being invisible. well, thats a bit dramatic, you were used to being ‘less known’.

you were only really known for being ‘ellies girlfriend’ not having any crazy identifying factors. you mostly kept to yourself, and mina, of course.

but now, people were looking at you, talking about you.

“who is that?”

“isn’t that ellies girlfriend?”

“since when do they know each other?”

you brushed off the sudden feeling of attention, focusing back on the blonde next to you.

“is she new or something?”

okay, ouch.

you however, couldn’t brush off the feeling of abbys hand slipping into your back pocket, thumb hanging out of it. her warm hand was legit on your asscheek, moving slightly as the two of you walked.

you did this to yourself. why did i put this in the contract ???

you tried to ignore the sudden rise in your body temperature, and you tried your best to not melt right there.

be casual. be cool. its just….part of the plan.

and, without warning, you feel abby stop in her tracks, and use your back pocket to spin you, making you face her. you slightly gasped, resting your hands on your chest to steady yourself.

“abby, what are you doing?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. she could definitely hear you though, considering how close the two of you were.

“this-“ abby reached into her back pocket, pulling something out. “is for you.”

you look down at her hand, holding a folded up note with your name and a heart on the front.

you grab it from her, grinning up at her.

“you remembered.”

“i remembered.” abby chimes back, smiling down at you.

you open the note, revealing abbys handwriting in pink pen.

“can’t keep my eyes off of you.”

your lips curl into a toothy smile, looking up at abby again.

“you’re so sweet.” you chime, smiling at her.

she smiles back at you, moving a stray curl behind your ear.

and within a millisecond, you feel abby lean in towards it.

“good job.” she whispers hand now resting on your shoulder.

your breath hitches in your chest, feeling her breath against your neck. she moves away and starts walking again, so casually, like shes done that a million times before.

its weird, and somewhat off-putting to be congratulated on doing nothing more than accepting a note, and having an ass pocket for someone to stick their hand into.

but, i guess thats where my life has taken me.

you slightly look around the cafeteria, ignoring the lingering eyes on you, and looking back at the table you two had stopped in front of.

and low and behold, there was nora. her eyes were searing, laced with obvious annoyance. her mouth was slightly open, and her brows were tightly knit together. her friends were looking at you too, but they looked significantly less pissed-off than nora.

to be fair, the two of you put on quite the show.

“r?”

abbys voice snaps you back into reality, staring down at you with a confused look.

“hm?” you hummed, looking up at her.

abbys lunch table was…surprisingly fun!

given the fact she’s rather well known, her table was much bigger than yours.

you saw a few familiar faces. some people from the lacrosse teams, a few people you had classes with, and a girl you went to elementary school with.

abby said her hello’s to the people at the round table, dapping-up a few people and simply saying hi to others.

“so, you’re not gonna introduce us?” a man abby greeted as ‘manny’ questioned, looking at you.

you quickly chimed in and introduced yourself, smiling and waving at the people sitting down.

“you know, you could’ve asked her yourself.” abby states, playfully rolling her eyes at him.

“my bad.” manny responds, arms up in defense.

“you guys just gonna stand up all lunch?” he questions.

you move to sit down, but quickly see theres only one seat left.

shit.

abby notices quickly after, and turns back to you.

“just sit, i can stand.” she offers, motioning towards the seat.

“are you sure?”

“positive.” she affirms.

you sit down on the seat, having to step up onto it when you realize it’s slightly raised off the ground, just enough for your feet to dangle slightly above the ground.

and for abby to move behind you and snake her arms around your waist.

you can somehow still feel her muscles through your hoodie, toned arms relaxed around your front. heat rises to your cheeks at the sudden contact, and you wonder why you don’t know how to get a grip.

you try to focus on the conversation abbys having with her friends, but you can’t seem to calm yourself down.

“blah blah blah lacrosse blah blah blah classes blah blah blah blah blah”

you occasionally smile and nod, letting out a laugh when everyone else does. trying to be cool about it.

trying to act like you can’t feel abby resting her chin on your head, messing with the fabric of your sweater, and making you feel queasy.

after a while, you can’t make yourself fake listen anymore, and you try to distract yourself by looking around the cafeteria. with limited mobility, you only really move your eyes, scanning the room with your limited view trying not to bother abby.

and as soon as you look to the left, you see that angry look you’ve grown to love.

ellie.

she’s staring at you, almost looking like she’s trying to explode you with her mind, and she’s completely disengaged from her friends conversation.

her eyes soften when they meet yours, offering a meek smile.

you look away, leaving ellie alone with her thoughts.

taglist:

if ur name is crossed i can’t tag u :((

@rimaybank @nickiminaj689 @leomcshizzle @planetflorxa @teawithnosugar @sawaagyapong @how-to-disappearrr @vsselz @pepperispicy @chrry1ovr @4yn1y4h @lottienatfinalgirls @honeycinnamonenthusiast @heartrobynn @ibatman @sugarbag @arizvla @seventeenelliesgf @gaptoothedlesbo @joannaaaasblog @nil-eena @natsprideandjoy @iylaa @abbyismywife @seattleellie0202020 @elleatethat @mostlyhornyandsad @hjjmmbv @dykefarts @nillaice @spinnyshark @honeystab @paleidiot @sunkissedpixies @greencacty @444na0m1 @deftonianfr

[oralmisery]

Horny for Horsepower

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

[ complete fic on ao3 ]

Rating: E | WC: 2511 | tags: Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Humor, Crack, Steve is a car, Sex with a Car, Masturbation

Week two prompt: Backseat

Steve is a transformer and Eddie is the mechanic in love with him. Dustin accidentally spills soda all over Steve’s backseat and Eddie has to clean it up. In spite of Eddie's best efforts the sticky situation only gets stickier.

(in which Steve IS the backseat)

From his crouched position on the ground, Eddie shifted to the right, barely avoiding the car door that swung open. He wobbled in place and stuck a hand out to regain his balance. His hand smacked into the car's exterior, where he was scrubbing with a soapy sponge.   

“Hey! I wasn't even close to scratching your paint, this stuff is sticky, Dude. It's gonna take some elbow grease to get it out”, Eddie said. He swiped a forearm over his face, not sure if he's getting sweat or suds, but wanting to stop the trickle of moisture from getting in his eyes either way.

The door slammed shut in a huff but didn't move again when Eddie continued his scrubbing, notably with more care this time.

The 1983 733i maroon BMW was by far the most unique car Eddie had on the lot. The competition wasn’t steep, considering Munson Mechanic was a repair shop and junkyard in one. Most of the rusted cars around them were missing doors, side mirrors, engines, and decidedly not fit for the road. But, even if every hunk of junk on the property was in mint condition there would still be no competition. No, the maroon beamer was exceptional because it was actually a he . An alien–part of a race of autonomous robotic organisms that were hiding on earth disguised as human vehicles. And his name was Steve. 

Eddie sighed, “Ya know, this would be easier if we went to a car wash”.

The car’s radio turned on, 𝅘𝅥𝅮 shot through the heart and you're to blame 𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Okay! okay! drama queen”, Eddie said with a laugh. “I'll spend my afternoon handwashing you”.

𝅘𝅥𝅮 You're the best around, Nothing's gonna ever keep you down 𝅘𝅥𝅮

“That's more patronizing than encouraging”, Eddie muttered. He swiped the last of the dark residue from Steve’s sparkling maroon. “They don't do interiors anyways, and, ah, Dustin really got it everywhere in there”. Eddie looked into the backseat where soda was lazily dripping from the ceiling and drying on the leather seats.

Steve opened and shut all his doors in a synchronized angry click. Eddie was reminded of a kid stomping their foot.

“ I know , but he swore he didn't know Lucas shook it up before he handed it to him so it's not really his fault”.

Steve honked but Eddie knew the car wasn't actually mad, just like Eddie wasn't that annoyed cleaning up the mess. 

Steve loved the kids, he just had a grumpy way of showing it. Like, locking the doors on them when they tried to get in but driving them around the entirety of Hawkins anyways. Steve almost drove them into a ditch running down Billy Hargrove when he threatened the kids, but wouldn't move an inch until everyone's seat belts were fastened. Even this afternoon when Dustin doused the entire backseat and whatever got out the open window with an exploding can of grape soda, Steve still drove him home and did not start back up until the kid was safely in his house. He did pretend to run over the young teen’s foot but Eddie knew Steve wasn't even close, no matter what Dustin said.

Eddie grabbed a clean towel from the stack of cleaning supplies next to him and opened the back door wide. Steve started playing the only station that played metal. Truly a softie.

“Alright Stevie, let's get you shiny and new again”. 

Steve rocked side to side, in anticipation or impatience Eddie can't tell. Maybe both.

Eddie started wiping down the wet areas. He mopped up the ceiling and the puddle on the floor first. He then used both hands to drag the towel along the grooves of the leather seats, digging in with his fingers to get every seam. 

The radio cut out with static then stuttered back on.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, surprised, looking toward the dash.

Steve’s fuel gauge needle shot to FULL, meaning yes. A system Eddie had proposed when he and Steve first met.

“Okay…” Eddie said. Maybe Steve was more upset about being dirty than Eddie thought.

Eddie continued his movements, trying to be thorough. Steve was high maintenance at times. He’d let Eddie know, promptly and loudly , if he needed an oil change or his tire pressure was low and he refused anything but premium grade gasoline. Eddie honestly didn't mind that Steve was kind of a brat. He liked spoiling the automobile.

Finished getting all the wet soda, Eddie threw aside the ruined towel and grabbed a fresh one to dunk in the bucket of soapy water. Eddie got down on his knees on the ground beside Steve’s open door, bent over and with hard, fast motions started scrubbing the shit out of the carpeted floors.

Steve honked. A quick, seemingly accidental beep.

“Dude, are you sure you're okay?”, Eddie asked again. He paused and sat back on his heels, starting to worry. 

Steve’s fuel needle jumped back and forth a few times before shakily landing on FULL. 

[ continue reading ]

[ominoose]

𝐀 𝐅𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐱𝐢 - 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A taxi pulls up beside you to rescue you in the rain, turns out its no ordinary cab. Warnings: Smut (f!recieving oral, vaginal sex), google translated Spanish. WC: 2.5k A/N: Thank you to @minispidey for brainstorming this with me <3

The rain was unrelenting, the pavement reflecting the bright neon lights of New York as you stand at the corner of the block, holding your jacket over your head as if it could save you from the sudden storm. Taxi's were roaring past, almost splashing you as they sped on through busy street's, yet not paying any mind to your out stretched hand, waving wildly in the hopes of shelter and a ride.

With a sigh you drop your arm, trying to shake off the water that was running down onto your dampening top. There was no use, no way were you going to manage to catch a stray taxi on a Saturday night. As you turn in defeat, resigning yourself to walk home, a honk and bright lights catch your attention.

A slick, black taxi cab pulls up next to you, the windows completely tinted, shielding the interior and driver from view. You stare in confusion, looking left and right. Everyone was walking by with haste, hunched under umbrellas and rushing to get out of the rain, no one was stood waiting for a cab.

The hum of a window rolling catches your attention, and when you glance back towards the cab a man is resting an arm on the car door. A black flat cap sat low on his face, casting a shadow over his eyes, leaving only a dark mustache and a casual smirk to define him.

"You getting in or what, querido?" The voice had a husky New York drawl, casual and confident as he gestured between you and the door.

With only a moments hesitation you hurriedly step towards the cab, opening the door and dumping yourself into the seat, your jacket thrown beside you. For a moment you felt bad, wetting the leather seats of the one taxi that would stop for you.

"Thanks for pulling up, I was about to give up. Thought I was going to have to walk it home in the downpour." You huff out, offering a friendly smile to the man as you buckle in.

"No hay problema, wouldn't want a pretty lady like you getting too wet." The taxi rumbles to life, merging with the rest of the cars of and setting off.

It was a spacious cab, the kind that had two rows of seats facing one another with enough space in the middle to stretch your legs out. There was two clean towels folded on a seat to the left, with water bottles and a pack of wipes in the car door. 'What a nice cabi, leaving little amenities for customers', you thought before looking up at the glass separating the back and front of the taxi, trying to peer at the mysterious driver.

Stray dark curls peeked from the back of his flat cap, resting on the collar of a leather jacket and black gloved hands patted the wheel in a rhythm as a soft, classical Spanish song sounds through the radio. The man held an aura of mystery, leaning back against the seat like he'd done it a thousand times before, but you couldn't shake the feeling he held a cat like awareness. There was something about him, exuding a raw masculinity that he wielded nonchalantly.

"So, you dried off yet or are you still wet?" A small flush works up from your neck as he speaks, hoping he hadn't caught you staring.

"No I- I'm still a bit wet. Didn't want to waste your nice towels there, I'm basically soaked through so there'd be no point. Hope you don't mind me getting your seat a bit damp." You laugh a little self-consciously, looking down sheepishly at your wet clothes. You were thoroughly drenched.

"Soaking through you say?" The man repeats mirthfully, tutting a little, "No, the towels would be no use now, not when you are only going to get wetter."

You nod, smiling, chuckling with him automatically before his words sink in.

"Wetter?" You blink in confusion, glancing out the window at the passing lights as the taxi drives on, "Wait, I never told you where I wanted to go."

The man looks at you in the rear view mirror, dark eyes creasing with mischief.

"I'll tell you where I am going to, bebé. I am going to fuck you with my tongue until you've pulled out at least three clumps of my hair. Then I am going to fuck you into those back seats until your ass leaves a permanent imprint." The words were spoken casually, with a wave of his hand as if he was discussing any usual fare.

The taxi turned into a car park, slowly driving up a few floors before pulling into an empty corner. The lights were dim, flickering periodically, and if it weren't for the lights on in the taxi you likely wouldn't have been able to see much.

"W-What?" Your heart was almost thudding out of your chest, and as the man turned to look at you he only smirked in response, looking amused. His lack of an answer sends shivers down your spine, in both excitement and alarm.

As you're left processing the situation he's stepping out the front of the taxi and into the back, slamming the door behind him and sitting directly in front of you, legs spread and arms clasped atop his knees as he stares you down.

"So, cosa bonita, I think it's time we see just how wet you are, sí?" A leather clad finger gently taps your knee and slowly strokes up your thigh, all the while his eyes never leave yours, watching over your reactions with a dark intensity.

You don't stop him, exhilarated as you glance down to see his finger stop just at the top of your thigh making your breath catch in your throat. You gaze back up at him to see his eyes flicker to the top of your jeans before looking back at you, quirking his eyebrow expectantly.

Swallowing nervously, you take the hint, unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans, sliding the wet denim down slowly to your knees and yet by his expression it's not enough. You're forced to stand awkwardly, hunched over so you don't hit the roof and trying to fully lift your leg out your jeans when his gloved hands suddenly impact your ass with a loud smack.

"You weren't joking about being soaked through bebé, those panties will need to go too. Can't have you completely ruining my leather seats." He doesn't pay any mind as you gasp at your reddening rear, he only pats your thigh, encouraging you to strip for him.

Once again you do as he bids, biting your lip as you pull your underwear down past your knees. A deep groan leaves his throat as he brings a finger up to stroke over the skin of your thigh.

Without warning his hands grip at the soft flesh of your waist, pushing you back onto the seat as he kneels with one leg in front of you, nudging your thighs open with the other. Without hesitation's his head delves snugly between your thighs, kissing a line up and down your glistening folds.

"Dios mío, so fucking wet..." The man mumbles as he delves his tongue into your heat as deep as he can, his nose nudging at your clit while his gloved hands massage your thighs.

Your head slams back against the headrest of the seat as you arch into him. Flinging your legs over his shoulders, you knot your hands into his curls, knocking his cap off as you fight to bury his tongue further into you.

As you slowly start to grind against his face he splays his palm over your abdomen, his thumb reaching down to rub circles over your bundle of nerves. The stitching of the leather adds a hardness that has you keening with pleasure, griping his hair tighter. Just as he predicted.

He smirks into your skin, fucking you in deep strokes with his tongue, curling it into your walls as you pant harder and louder before he pulls back. The man licks his lips in satisfaction, a small string of slick coating his mustache and he tilts his head almost innocently as you whine at the emptiness you now felt.

"Aw, there there querido. Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel very, very good, all you have to do is lay down on those seats for me."

There was something about his voice, so calm yet commandeering, that had consistently doing anything he asked. With a breathless nod, you shift yourself and lay flat against the cold, now damp seats of the taxi, knees bent to fit.

"'Atta girl." He chuckles, patting your leg before he unzips his black trousers, pulling them and his boxers down in one practiced motion. His erection bounces up against his white shirt, leaving a tiny wet spot as a bead of precum slowly bubbled from the top. It was thick, a large vein curling up the underside and your lips parted in awe.

The man maneuvered himself between your legs, turning you on your side a bit to comfortably press himself against your as he shrugs off his leather jacket and chucks it onto the other seats. He keeps his gloves on, squeezing your thighs one more as he holds your leg up. His other hands strokes up and down his cock slowly, tapping it against your clit, drinking up your mewls and whines with a smug expression.

"Feel goods, huh? You ain't seen nothing yet." His words are all the warning you get before he slides into you all the way, bottoming out completely. He hisses as presses fully into you, squeezing your thigh enough to leave marks while his other hand pulls your shirt up to your chin, leaving your chest exposed. His hand leaves goosebumps in its wake as it smooths over your bare skin before he leans down and licks a wet strip from your belly button all the way up to your breasts.

"Please..." You whisper, begging as you push back against him, desperate for more friction, "Please, move, god I need more."

"So needy, maybe the neediest lady I've had yet." Before you can fully process the word's he pulls out until his tip is barely inside you, pausing for a moment to grin down at the look of anguish on your face before he thrusts back into you.

The man sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with enough force to rock the taxi. The inside is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin while you gasp and moan loudly, too caught up in the searing pleasure to restrain yourself.

His leather thumb flicks your clit cheekily, a sharp yelp leaving you breathless at the touch before he rubs circles over it. The man was clearly experienced, angling his thrusts experimentally until he hit the spot that had your head craning back against the car door and left you seeing stars. Once he found your sweet spot he made sure to hit it with precision each and every thrust, unrelenting as he matched his pace the thumb swirling over your bud.

"That's right bebé, keep taking my cock, so fucking good for me." He sneers down at you, huffing hard through his nose as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand finds the bar on the car door and you grip it until your knuckles turn white, the pleasure coiling in your stomach almost becomes too much to bare and you're surprised you haven't cum already.

He seems to sense how close you are and groans as your walls preemptively tighten around his cock, but he kept his pace, not even letting his thumb falter as he fucked you into oblivion. The taxi was creaking from how badly it was being rocked, to anyone outside it would've been obvious what was happening within, but the outside world was lost to both of you.

"Oh god, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come." You were babbling, eyes screwing shut as you arched against him, grinding yourself into his hardness.

"Do it, come on my cock, come for me." His sharp grunts were the last thing you heard before that coiling heat in your stomach bursts through the rest of your body, flooding ecstasy into your veins. Your nails rake down his shoulders as your body tenses, the walls of your pussy pulsing around the man's cock as he came.

The sudden feeling of his fingers bruising grip on your thigh was your only indication he'd come undone as well, the snapping of his hips stuttering as his thumb slowed its march around your clit.

You both lay there panting, trying to catch your breath as your limbs went weak, a very faint tingling present just underneath your skin.

After a moment the man pulls from you with a deep breath, his face neutral as he moves to grab a bottle of water from the car door.

"Not bad." He muses, taking a quick swig of popular, "I think you'll be popular, you make good noises. This'll get a fair number of views."

Slowly you sit up, wincing a little now you no longer have pleasure to dampen just how hard he had been plowing into you. The man throws a towel and pack of wipes at you, taking another drink.

"What do you mean? Views? Did you record this?" You ask each question in rapid succession, confused and concerned at the prospect of being filmed without consent. Letting a random taxi driver take you into a secluded parking garage for sex was a bad enough decision, having it plastered over the internet was a whole other game.

The look of confusion he turns to you with doesn't help.

"Uh, sí? How else would it be posted?" He looks you up and down for a moment, eyes narrowing as he tries to discern why you seem so bewildered.

"Posted? Posted where?!" At your words a flicker of understanding flashes over his face and the man turns fully to you, brow furrowed.

"To the porn site. This is the Fake Taxi. I pick up the actress from the designated spot, drive her, fuck her good, then it goes for editing and whatever before it is put online. You were standing at the designated spot." He speaks bluntly, watching you with narrowed eyes as you take in what he's saying, watching the realization dawn on you.

"Oh." You thought you'd gotten lucky when the sleek cab pulled up next to you, assumed he had saw you waving just before giving up. Neither was true, you'd been mistaken for a porn star.

"You are not the actress." The man states, not even a question at this point. It was obvious he'd picked up and fucked the wrong girl, and you find yourself curling up under the towel in embarrassment.

"No. I'm not."

He stares at you, face completely stony. Even as he takes another drink of water his dark eyes never leave yours. His expression shows nothing, giving no indication of whats going through his mind and the silence, the tension, has your heart beating a little faster as you wonder whether you were in trouble.

A gloved hand is held out in front of you as the mans signature knowing smirk curls its way back onto his face.

"I'm Jake Lockley. We make a good team."

[raptorific]

A hypothetical, for the table! CW for gross/unsanitary health stuff. Not based on a true story

Imagine you're riding in the car of a friend or family member (let's say it's a him and call him Jim, for brevity's sake). Suddenly and without warning, you become lightheaded and dizzy, and lose consciousness.

You awake some time later in the back of ambulance in the parking lot of a car wash. Jim is nearby, wiping out the interior of his car. It seems, shortly after losing consciousness, you vomited.

The EMT tells you that you had terrible food poisoning, absolutely nothing you could've done to predict it. You'll be fine, as long as you take it easy and drink lots of fluids, etc. Jim is visibly shaken by the experience, and clearly has his hands full cleaning out his car while he waits for you to come to.

Details:

Assume you can afford to pay for his car to be cleaned

Jim is not demanding an apology and is a forgiving friend, even if you apologize you know his priority is that you're okay. That said, if you offer to clean the mess out of his car or pay for somebody else to, he won't reject that offer and will appreciate the gesture

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Five Little Ducks

Fandom: DC Comics, Batman

Summary: Bruce finds a magically de-aged Jason.

Chapters: 1/13

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Zatanna Zatara

Additional Tags: De-Aged Jason Todd, Magic, Babysitting, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, POV Third Person, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne Tries, Jason Todd Has Issues, Childhood Trauma

Chapter One: Hickory Dickory Dock

Bruce leaped out of the Batmobile, blood pumping as he sprinted halfway across the docks and kicked in the warehouse door in a panic. He couldn't be too late. Not again. He looked around the room, his heart still beating in his ears. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to regain his cool. Jason wasn't a child anymore. He could take care of himself. Jason was probably long gone. Bruce tried to reassure himself that everything was fine. He turned to leave just as a pipe clattered and clanged against the cement floor, followed by a gasp. Bruce met eyes with a little boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles. He sat in the corner of the room shaking and crying, wearing a hoodie that was so oversized it pooled over his feet.

The boy held both hands over his face, stifling sobs as his body shook. Bruce's shoulders dropped, and he made himself appear smaller and less imposing. He stepped forward to approach, and the child screwed up his face and broke into a sobbing mess. "Oh no, I'm not here to hurt you-." The little boy shook his head frantically.

"No! No," he pleaded. Bruce sighed and sat down where he stood.

"I only want to help," Bruce reassured him. "Can you step into the light for me?" The child shook his head. "My mask is awfully spooky, huh?" The boy nodded. "Don't worry. I'm just a regular man under the mask."

The little boy shivered in the cold. "It's too cold in here to stay all night... I actually have a ravioli soup to pick up in a little bit, and I couldn't possibly eat it all by myself. Do you know anybody who might want to eat hot and spicy ravioli soup with me?" Bruce questioned. The little boy's stomach growled. Bruce reached out, and the little boy took his hand. "Oracle-."

"Got it," Barbara replied. Bruce held his hand out, and the child finally accepted. Bruce took a wet napkin and wiped his face and hands clean, checking for signs of a broken nose.

"Does that hurt?" Bruce questioned. The little boy tried to stop himself from crying. "Does your head hurt?"

The little boy shook his head. "No..." His voice was small, almost mouse-like.

"Okay... I don't think anything's broken," Bruce whispered, "Will you come with me?"

Bruce walked him to the Batmobile and set up the car seat he kept around for emergencies. He buckled the boy in and checked to ensure the seat belt was secure. The little boy grabbed Bruce's wrist, and they locked eyes. There was a strange familiarity swimming around in the boy's downturned eyes. "Am I in trouble?" asked the boy. Bruce shook his head. "Are you gonna take me home after?"

"I'm going to try to. How'd you get way out here?" Bruce asked.

Bruce hopped in the Batmobile and started driving toward the restaurant in Little Italy. "I don't remember," the boy mumbled, "I usually remember things... But I don't know this time. I never go this far away by myself."

"Do you know what neighborhood you live in?" Bruce questioned. The little boy swung his feet as he looked around at the Batmobile's interior.

"Uh-huh. I live in the apartments on Park Row," the boy answered, "Mr. Batman, you hurt my daddy before... But sometimes, he does bad things. My mommy says sometimes people have to do bad things to survive."

"Well-."

"I think he had to go away again and get punished," the little boy explained.

"I'm sorry that I hurt your father," Bruce apologized.

"It's okay... You probably didn't know. Sometimes people hit people because they don't know better," the little boy justified. Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he pulled up into the alley.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Bruce asked. The little boy nodded.

Bruce went into the back entrance and paid for his order. He took an empty soup container and split his order in two before grabbing his forks and returning to the Batmobile. He climbed into the backseat and draped a napkin over the boy's lap before handing him his soup. "Thank you," the little boy whispered. Bruce could tell it'd been a while since the child's last meal, but he had excellent manners. Bruce ate with him in silence. "Do you know my name?"

Bruce shook his head. He thought it was a strange question. "Do you know Santa Claus?" the little boy questioned.

"No, I can't say I do," Bruce replied, "What is your name, by the way?"

"Jason," the little boy answered. Bruce turned to him and shook his head.

"Jason Peter Todd?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded and smiled.

"Hey! You told a fib! You do know my name," Jason giggled. Bruce's breath caught. How was that possible? Jason was a full-grown man when Bruce received the distress call earlier. Who could've done something like that to him? "Mr. Batman?"

Bruce took off his mask and looked him in the eye. He hoped it would spark something in Jason's memory. "Jason, how old are you right now?" Bruce questioned.

"You're Bruce Wayne," Jason grinned, showing Bruce the little gap in his front teeth.

"Jason, please. How old are you today?" Bruce asked.

Jason frowned. "I'm five... Are you mad at me?" Jason questioned. Bruce shook his head.

"Do you remember talking to me today? We talked to each other three times today... I've known you since you were twelve, and I-."

"Mr. Wayne... I'm five," Jason whispered.

Bruce sighed. Jason was literally five years old. He had no memory of the past nineteen years, and there was no way to explain any of it without traumatizing him. "Well, Jason, if your mommy and daddy aren't home, do you want to stay with me for a little while?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded.

"How'd you know my whole name?" Jason asked.

"I'm a good detective," Bruce answered. Jason hiccupped and apologized. "It's alright. Jason, is it alright if I take you to a doctor and let her bandage up your cuts?" Jason nodded. "If you're good, Dr. Thompkins might give you a sticker."

Jason lit up. "I know who Dr. Thompkins is! She helped my mommy once when she was sick," Jason explained. Bruce smoothed Jason's hair down in the back. He felt something warm and wet, like blood, and he drew his hand back to see a glowing inscription on his hand. Magic. Of course, it was magic.

Corpus et mens infantis ad cor infantis. It was written in liquid on Jason's head and Bruce's palm. Jason didn't notice the glowing green inscription. "Does Dr. Thompkins know you're Batman?" Jason asked. Bruce nodded. "Am I asking too many questions, Mr. Wayne?"

"You can ask all the questions you want, Jason. Okay?" Bruce reassured him. Jason nodded as he drank the tomato broth from his soup container. Bruce smiled and wiped Jason's face. "I used to have a little boy like you... Except he wasn't as little as you. He was older... But to me, he was my little boy."

"Is he gone?" Jason asked.

"Kind of," Bruce whispered.

"Do you miss him?" Jason questioned.

"All the time," Bruce whispered, "He was only little for such a short time. I wished I could turn back time and be better to him."

Jason looked at the sad expression on Bruce's face, and he tapped his shoulder. "I bet he misses you too," Jason reassured him.

[xzerosparrowx]

Chapter 5 of Stand and Deliver is now up for your reading pleasure on ao3. I really like this chapter, having my own complicated relationship with kindness and mother figures it was good to sort of put that particular feeling onto (digital) paper. I also really hope you like where I'm going with Steve. Anyway, here is a little excerpt from the chapter that I was proud of:

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself on a Wednesday night without a Corroded Coffin show at The Hideout. Much to his disappointment, Jeff and Gareth had bailed—claiming they needed to finish assignments and study for exams.

Alan and Elizabeth stumble through the door around midnight, giggling like drunk teenagers. Elizabeth plops down next to Eddie with a lazy smile, her perfume mixing with the sour edge of vodka and cigarettes. Alan’s boots are heavy on the floor, and Eddie rolls his eyes when Alan drops into the ratty armchair across from him with the kind of dramatic flair that means he’s in a good mood—his version of good, anyway.

His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide. He can’t seem to sit still—tapping his fingers against his knees, rubbing the side of his nose, tongue flicking across his teeth like he’s tasting a thought.

“Alright,” Alan says, grinning too wide, running both hands through his hair like he’s trying to push the energy somewhere. He leans forward, elbows sharp on his knees. “Friday night. It’s go-time.”

He pulls a folded map from the inside pocket of his jacket and slaps it down on the coffee table, smoothing it out with more enthusiasm than necessary. It’s creased and stained, and Eddie frowns, recognizing it—the student map from Chicago University.

“What?”

“Earth to Eddie,” Alan sighs, snapping his fingers in front of Eddie’s face. “Remember that Beemer I told you about?”

Eddie nods slowly, a stone of anxiety sinking to his gut. Fuck. Alan was actually serious. 

“So, here’s the place,” Alan says, jabbing at a car park at the edge of the map. “That rich kid always leaves it there on the weekdays. Overnight.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Unbelievable.”

“I know, right?” Alan’s grin spreads wide. “Shiny red thing. Leather seats. Looks brand new. Like it’s never been driven faster than thirty. Goddamn purrs when it idles.”

“You’ve been casing it?”

Alan shrugs quickly, like it’s no big deal. “Been watchin’ all week. Same routine. Parks it there around seven. Nobody around after that. Thing’s just sittin’ there like a fuckin’ invitation.

“We hit it after midnight. Quiet. No headlights until we’re clear of the lot. I know a guy out in Naperville who’ll take it—no questions, cash up front. Could be a few grand. More if the interior’s clean,” He sniffs sharply, wiping his nose and mouth with the back of his hand.

Eddie nods again, slower this time. And the weirdest thing is how easy it sounds—like Alan’s ordering takeout. Like this is just what they do.

As a family.

Eddie looks to the TV, a model smiling brightly in a fur coat, and he feels something tight coil in his chest. Family. He thinks about Monday morning—waking up in his own sick after drinking too much—and wonders if criminality is inherited. If addiction is passed down like eye color. Jesus.

[mouseratz]

Adderall is insane. I just cleaned the entire interior of our car like vacuumed and wiped down and everything. which has not been cleaned in probably five years and was full of trash. but nobody ever had the energy to do anything about it. it took like four hours and I'm tired now but like. wtf. how the fuck did I do that .