#tiny dog in a biker jacket

[kiwizoom]

ty for being one of the only hxh fans to understand that chrollo is a massive loser

Ohoho!! You will like any future updates I make about Chrollo then

[bluejutdae]

Biker Changbin x you

Biker Changbin with a black leather jacket, too large on his hips to accommodate his shoulders and arms, arms covered in tattoos.

Biker Changbin who decides to get thighs tattoos, that show up anytime he wears ripped jeans (the neck tattoos are almost always on display) and matches them to the stickers on his helmet.

Biker Changbin who looks like an asshole the first time someone looks at him but the moment he smile, everyone is falling for him. He’s allergic to cats and dogs but he loves bunnies; so at least once a week he goes into the petting section of the animal shelter to pet bunnies. He’s too scared to adopt one, because what if he’s not good enough to take care of it? What if he uses too much force while petting it? (To him, it doesn���t matter that he’s actually the most gentle guy ever, always always careful and conscious about his own strength.)

Biker Changbin who lets you convince him to finally adopt two bunnies sisters, tiny and soft, and he loves them so dearly he decide he needs two bunny stickers on his bike.

Biker Changbin who comes pick you up at work, leather jacket and tattoos, the peaking of a pink shirt underneath, and his usual sweet smile. On the back of the bike there’s a woven basket filled with food and a blanket for the picnic he organized for you.

Biker Changbin who hand feeds you strawberries and peaches, kisses you softly and praises you for eating so well.

[urdreamydoodles]

If you want to do another dog request, would you write for the x-men, especially Logan, with a reader who crochets little hats and sweaters for Mr Pickles??? I love Mr Pickles so much I wanna make lil clothes for him..

X-Men x Fem!Reader & Reader's Dog

You crochet little clothes for Mr. Pickles

As you sit on the couch, happily crocheting little outfits for your beloved dog, Mr. Pickles, your X-Man partner can't help but be charmed by your creativity and dedication.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Wanda Maximoff & Laura Kinney

As you sit on the couch, happily crocheting little outfits for your beloved dog, Mr. Pickles, your X-Man partner can't help but be charmed by your creativity and dedication.

Thank you for summoning Mr. Pickles. Hope you like it!

Logan Howlett

- Logan was the first to notice your tiny, not-so-bright dog, Mr. Pickles, wandering around the mansion looking somewhat confused in a bright yellow crochet sweater you’d made. The sight was enough to make even him chuckle. He’d never admit it, but the image of a clumsy little dog dressed up in various sweaters quickly became a highlight of his day. It wasn’t long before he found himself looking forward to the next outfit you’d make for Mr. Pickles.

- While Logan has a gruff exterior, he found himself strangely attached to Mr. Pickles. Maybe it was because the dog reminded him of himself—a little rough around the edges, not the sharpest tool in the shed, but loyal and oddly charming in his own way. He’d occasionally give Mr. Pickles a head pat, muttering something like, “You’re not so bad, ya dumb mutt,” when no one else was around.

- You’d sit on the couch with yarn strewn all around, focused on your latest crochet project, while Logan lounged nearby, pretending to read the paper. In reality, he’d be glancing over at you, watching the way your hands worked the yarn with such patience. It amazed him, really—how you could pour so much love and care into every little stitch for a dog that didn’t even realize how special he was.

- Logan would grumble whenever you asked him to help dress Mr. Pickles in one of his new outfits, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous it was. But you knew he secretly enjoyed it. He’d even hold the dog steady as you adjusted the hat or sweater, giving Mr. Pickles a scratch behind the ears when he inevitably wobbled. Once, Logan gruffly insisted the dog “needed a tougher look” and dared you to crochet a tiny “biker jacket.”

- On cold nights, you’d find Logan sitting with Mr. Pickles curled up in his lap, the dog snug in one of your creations. Logan claimed it was just to keep the “little guy” warm, but you knew better. The image of Logan cradling your dopey, sweater-clad dog melted your heart, especially when he’d absentmindedly scratch Mr. Pickles’ head with such surprising gentleness.

- One evening, after a long mission, Logan came back bruised and tired. As he sank into the couch, you handed him Mr. Pickles, already dressed in a new sweater. Logan sighed but pulled the dog onto his lap, letting out a soft chuckle as he noticed the tiny “X” you’d crocheted into the sweater’s design. In that moment, he realized he had somehow found a strange, unexpected family—with you, and even the clueless little dog in his arms.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy was absolutely charmed from the moment he saw you holding Mr. Pickles, dressed in a lopsided little sweater with paw prints. He thought it was hilarious that a beautiful, intelligent woman like you had such a goofy, clueless pet, and he was quick to dub Mr. Pickles “le petit clown.” It wasn’t long before he’d started slipping Mr. Pickles treats behind your back, delighting in the way the dog would eagerly follow him around, tail wagging.

- Remy loved to watch you crochet. He’d lean against the doorway with a lazy grin, watching your fingers work and occasionally tossing out ideas. “How ‘bout a lil’ beret for monsieur Pickles?” he’d tease, putting on his best Parisian accent. To his surprise, you actually made one, and he proudly took a photo of Mr. Pickles with the tiny hat tilted jauntily on his head.

- Whenever you were sitting with yarn and needles, Remy would slide in beside you, offering to “help.” Of course, his idea of helping usually involved trying to distract you with sweet talk or playful kisses, but you’d just laugh and shoo him away. Secretly, he adored how absorbed you got in your work, finding it impossibly endearing. Sometimes, he’d end up tangled in yarn as you playfully scolded him for making a mess.

- Remy was quick to make Mr. Pickles part of his card tricks, “borrowing” your dog to entertain the younger mutants at the mansion. He’d let Mr. Pickles “pick a card” or have him wear a little cape while he “levitated” the dog with one hand (though Mr. Pickles seemed entirely oblivious to the attention). It became a running gag, with the kids eagerly waiting for the next “Remy and Mr. Pickles” show.

- One night, you made Mr. Pickles a special Mardi Gras-inspired sweater, complete with beads and tiny feathers. Remy laughed so hard he nearly fell over, declaring Mr. Pickles the “king of carnival.” He insisted on taking Mr. Pickles to his favorite bar in New Orleans the next time you visited, already picturing the laughs and adoration the little guy would get from everyone.

- When he thought you weren’t looking, Remy would scoop up Mr. Pickles and let him sit on his lap, scratching his head and muttering in French about how “tres stupide” yet lovable the dog was. And every time, you’d catch Remy smiling down at Mr. Pickles with genuine affection. Despite his smooth-talking charm, Remy found a sense of comfort in the goofy little dog, and he’d often look at you with a soft smile, knowing he’d found a family in both of you.

Kurt Wagner

- Kurt was delighted when he first met Mr. Pickles. He adored animals and immediately took to the little, clueless dog, finding him adorable in every way. When you told him about your hobby of crocheting little hats and sweaters for Mr. Pickles, Kurt was enchanted and insisted that you show him each new creation. It became a tradition for you to reveal the latest outfit to Kurt first, always greeted by his delighted laughter.

- Kurt would teleport around the mansion, carrying Mr. Pickles in his arms and showing off the latest sweater to everyone he could find. The sight of the fuzzy, sweater-clad dog disappearing and reappearing in a puff of smoke quickly became a running joke among the residents. And every time, Kurt would look at you with that infectious smile, proud to share the joy your little creations brought.

- You’d sit beside Kurt, working on your crochet as he watched with rapt attention, sometimes leaning over to give suggestions. He’d throw out ideas for elaborate costumes—“Maybe a pirate hat and tiny eye patch next time?”—and you’d humor him, laughing at his excitement. The more whimsical the idea, the more Kurt loved it, especially when you actually went through with it and made Mr. Pickles a tiny pirate outfit.

- Mr. Pickles quickly became attached to Kurt, often following him around and waiting expectantly for him to teleport them both to some new corner of the mansion. Kurt would always oblige, chuckling as Mr. Pickles looked around in a daze, probably wondering how he got there. Kurt joked that Mr. Pickles was his “faithful sidekick,” and you’d laugh, happy to see Kurt so genuinely joyful with his new furry friend.

- One winter evening, Kurt sat beside you on the couch, admiring Mr. Pickles in his new holiday sweater. With a sudden burst of excitement, he suggested that you crochet matching scarves for the three of you. You were touched by the idea, and after you made the scarves, Kurt proudly wore his everywhere, beaming whenever someone noticed the matching set. It became a special little bond between the three of you, something that made Kurt’s heart feel incredibly full.

- When Kurt was feeling down, he’d often teleport to wherever Mr. Pickles was, seeking out the dog’s clueless yet comforting presence. He’d sit beside Mr. Pickles, scratching his ears, feeling an unexpected peace in the dog’s simple joy. With you nearby, working on your next crochet project, Kurt felt a happiness he’d never thought possible—a sense of family, love, and laughter all wrapped into one.

Scott Summers

- Scott was a bit surprised when he first saw Mr. Pickles, your tiny, rather dim-witted dog, wandering around the mansion in a sweater you’d crocheted. He had to admit, it was a funny sight seeing such a serious, no-nonsense guy like him dealing with a dog in a pastel sweater. But, for you, he tried to be supportive and even gave Mr. Pickles a gentle pat on the head, which only made you love him more.

- At first, Scott was skeptical about all the little outfits. He didn’t quite understand why Mr. Pickles needed a new sweater every week, but he never said a word against it. He’d just watch you work with an amused smile, occasionally muttering things like, “He’s not even going to know what he’s wearing,” and you’d laugh, nudging him to let go of his practical side.

- Slowly, Scott started getting attached to Mr. Pickles. The dog’s clumsiness and clueless charm made Scott chuckle, and over time, he found himself looking forward to your “fashion shows” for the dog. You’d call him over whenever you finished a new outfit, and he’d come watch, nodding in approval and making silly, serious comments like, “That’s a very dignified look for him.”

- Scott found himself frequently carrying Mr. Pickles around the mansion, especially if the little guy was dressed in a sweater Scott deemed particularly cute. He’d mutter about “proper care” and “not wanting the dog to get cold,” but you could tell he secretly enjoyed being Mr. Pickles’ unofficial guardian. It became almost a ritual for you two, with Scott taking the dog out for “patrols” around the grounds as you watched with a fond smile.

- During one particularly cold winter, you surprised Scott with a matching set of scarves for him and Mr. Pickles. He laughed in disbelief, shaking his head, but he wore it with pride, and even went out of his way to take a picture with Mr. Pickles. He sent it to you with a small message: “Don’t tell anyone.” You never did—but you kept that picture as one of your fondest memories.

- When you were crocheting, Scott would sit nearby, reading or working, casting frequent glances your way. He loved watching you work so diligently for such a silly, endearing purpose. It softened his heart in ways he never anticipated. And on days when his responsibilities felt heavy, he’d look down at the silly, clueless Mr. Pickles, cozy in his latest sweater, and feel just a bit lighter.

Erik Lehnsherr

- Erik raised an eyebrow the first time he saw Mr. Pickles toddling about the mansion in one of your crochet creations. He made no attempt to hide his bemusement, giving you a slightly amused look as if to say, “Really?” But it was clear that he found the whole thing endearing, even if he’d never admit it aloud.

- Over time, Erik grew fond of Mr. Pickles in his own way. There was something oddly relaxing about the little dog, with his clueless stare and innocent charm. Erik would occasionally sit in silence with the dog beside him, stroking Mr. Pickles’ head as if the small, simple presence helped calm the storm inside him. He began calling the dog “mein kleiner Trottel” (my little fool), which made you smile every time.

- Your crochet habit amused Erik to no end. He’d tease you lightly as he watched you work, remarking on how you were “spending time creating garments for a creature who won’t even notice.” But he loved the way your face lit up when you finished a new piece, and he’d always watch you present the latest sweater to Mr. Pickles, his eyes softening as he observed your joy.

- Erik would secretly play a small part in your crochet projects, “assisting” in his own way by lifting the yarn rolls with his powers to make them easier for you to reach. He’d do it silently, as if it was a simple, practical thing, but you both knew it was his way of spending time with you, of supporting your passion without breaking his tough exterior.

- Mr. Pickles became Erik’s companion in the quiet hours when the mansion was still. Erik would often hold the dog on his lap, absentmindedly petting him while he thought or read. The little creature’s simple presence and warmth grounded him, and he started referring to Mr. Pickles as “a noble soul.” When you heard him say it, you couldn’t help but laugh, which Erik took in stride with an amused smile.

- One night, you surprised Erik by crocheting a tiny helmet that resembled his iconic headgear for Mr. Pickles. At first, Erik looked at it with a mix of horror and amusement, muttering about how you’d made his dog look “ridiculous.” But you caught him smiling as he placed it on Mr. Pickles’ head, shaking his own as he watched the little dog toddle around with his new “crown.” For a moment, Erik looked at you with a softness few people ever saw, realizing how much happiness you brought into his life.

Charles Xavier

- Charles was utterly charmed by Mr. Pickles from the start. He found the dog’s dimwitted nature incredibly endearing, and he loved that you’d taken it upon yourself to crochet sweaters and hats for him. The sight of Mr. Pickles waddling around in a tiny, handmade sweater was enough to make Charles laugh out loud, something he hadn’t done nearly enough lately.

- Charles would often join you as you crocheted, pulling up a chair beside you and admiring your handiwork. He’d sit quietly, asking about your process or sharing stories from his past as you worked. The calm, domestic rhythm of it all—of you creating something, of him simply being there beside you—felt more comforting than he’d ever imagined.

- Occasionally, Charles would insist on holding Mr. Pickles as you tried a new hat or sweater on him, laughing softly as the little dog wriggled and blinked in confusion. Charles found the whole process incredibly sweet, and he never missed a chance to compliment your skill. “Another masterpiece,” he’d say with a warm smile, and you’d always feel a rush of pride at his approval.

- Charles would use his telepathy to communicate with Mr. Pickles in subtle ways, giving the little dog gentle nudges to behave or come to him. The little creature’s simple mind and warm affection brought Charles a rare kind of peace. He’d often sit with Mr. Pickles curled up beside him as he worked, knowing that even a small comfort could make a difference in his day.

- Once, you made a small “professor” sweater for Mr. Pickles, complete with elbow patches. Charles was delighted, genuinely touched by the gesture. He took it upon himself to take Mr. Pickles to his next class, introducing him as the “assistant professor” for the day. The students got a kick out of it, and for the first time in a while, Charles felt the lightness of simply being happy.

- In quiet moments, Charles would hold Mr. Pickles close, resting a gentle hand on his small frame as he pondered the challenges he faced. Sometimes, he’d murmur to the dog, sharing thoughts he couldn’t share with anyone else, and he’d feel a strange sense of relief knowing you’d brought Mr. Pickles into his life. Charles knew he’d found a rare gift in both you and your small, slightly dim-witted companion, feeling a renewed strength in your shared happiness.

Jean Grey

- Jean was instantly in love with Mr. Pickles the moment she met him. His little quirks and clueless gaze made her laugh, and she was endlessly entertained by his antics. Watching him prance around in your crochet sweaters always brought a smile to her face, and she’d often kneel down to shower him with affection, whispering sweetly, “Aren’t you just the cutest thing?” as he squirmed in delight.

- Jean loved how much care and creativity you put into crocheting for Mr. Pickles. She’d watch you work with admiration, asking about your patterns and colors, fully invested in the process. Sometimes she’d even lend a hand, helping you choose yarns or holding Mr. Pickles still while you adjusted his latest outfit. The two of you bonding over your little “fashion shows” for him became a cherished ritual that made her feel close to you.

- She would telekinetically lift the yarn, guiding it back to you whenever it rolled away, making sure you didn’t miss a beat. Jean even experimented with telepathically nudging Mr. Pickles when he seemed particularly clueless, gently encouraging him to stay put when you tried on a new hat or sweater. The simple joy you two shared while fussing over Mr. Pickles helped her relax in ways nothing else could.

- One night, you surprised Jean with a red-and-gold sweater for Mr. Pickles, inspired by her Phoenix costume. Her eyes lit up with joy, and she laughed, a hand covering her mouth as she took in the adorable sight of Mr. Pickles strutting around like a “mini Phoenix.” She hugged you, whispering, “You’re amazing,” and you felt warmth bloom in your chest at her genuine appreciation.

- Sometimes, during quiet evenings, Jean would sit with you on the sofa as you crocheted. She loved the calm intimacy of those moments, watching your hands move in steady rhythm, occasionally reaching over to press a soft kiss to your cheek. Mr. Pickles would curl up between you both, his clueless gaze softened with comfort. Jean treasured these times, the simple joy of being with you both grounding her.

- When things got hard, and Jean was struggling with the intensity of her powers, she found peace with you and Mr. Pickles by her side. She’d hold Mr. Pickles in her arms, letting his silly antics pull her out of her dark thoughts, and you would be right there, holding her hand. Those small, quiet moments made her feel like everything was going to be okay—like no matter how heavy her powers weighed on her, she’d always have this little family with you.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda was instantly taken by Mr. Pickles and his innocent, somewhat dim-witted charm. She found it adorable how such a small, simple creature could bring so much joy, and she was delighted by the little outfits you crocheted for him. Watching him toddle around the mansion in colorful sweaters brought a lightness to her heart, something she often craved amidst the weight of her powers.

- She would watch you crochet with quiet fascination, sometimes reaching out to help untangle yarn with a touch of her magic. She loved seeing your creativity come to life, and she’d often tell you how proud she was of your dedication, even if it was for something as simple as dog sweaters. Wanda appreciated the gentleness of it, the way you brought a piece of yourself into every stitch.

- Wanda developed a unique bond with Mr. Pickles, often using her magic to create small illusions to entertain him. She’d cast little sparkles or floating shapes in the air, watching him try to chase them with his clumsy, happy steps. Seeing his joy was infectious, and she’d laugh with you as you both watched him tumble around in his latest outfit, eyes wide with fascination.

- When you made a tiny, crimson-and-black sweater inspired by her own costume, Wanda was incredibly touched. She looked down at Mr. Pickles, who was proudly (if cluelessly) wearing his new attire, and then up at you with a wide smile. Pulling you close, she whispered, “Thank you. You’re always so thoughtful.” In that moment, she felt so grateful for the warmth and creativity you brought into her life.

- During quiet moments, Wanda would sit with you on the couch as you crocheted, watching you with soft eyes and occasionally reaching out to run her fingers through your hair. She loved how peaceful you both felt together, with Mr. Pickles nestled between you, wearing his latest creation. She treasured these moments, feeling the weight of her responsibilities melt away as you all relaxed as a little family.

- On days when Wanda felt the burden of her powers bearing down on her, she’d find solace in your presence and the little world you’d created with Mr. Pickles. Watching you fuss over the dog or crochet something new gave her a sense of normalcy and peace that her life often lacked. She’d hold Mr. Pickles close, drawing strength from his silly, happy presence, and feel that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright as long as she had you by her side.

Laura Kinney

- Laura was a little skeptical when she first met Mr. Pickles, your small, not-so-bright dog. But his harmless, clueless nature quickly won her over. Watching him stumble around the mansion in one of your crocheted sweaters always managed to bring a rare smile to her face. She might try to act tough, but you knew she secretly found him adorable, especially when he looked up at her with those big, innocent eyes.

- Though she didn’t quite understand your obsession with crocheting new outfits for Mr. Pickles, Laura respected your dedication. Sometimes she’d sit nearby as you worked, quietly observing the way your fingers moved with such focus. She wouldn’t say much, but you could feel her silent appreciation for the love and effort you put into each creation.

- Over time, Laura grew attached to Mr. Pickles, even if she tried to hide it. She would carry him around when no one was looking, giving him little pats and murmuring soft words to him, though she’d deny it if anyone asked. Seeing her gentle side emerge around him made you love her even more, knowing that Mr. Pickles brought out a softer, more vulnerable side of her.

- You made a tiny black leather jacket for Mr. Pickles as a tribute to Laura, and her reaction was priceless. She tried to look unamused, raising an eyebrow and muttering, “Really?” But you caught the slight smirk tugging at her lips as she took in the sight of the dog prancing around in his little “X-23” outfit. She even let you take a picture of the two of them together, though she claimed it was “just for you.”

- Laura was fiercely protective of both you and Mr. Pickles. Whenever the dog got himself into trouble, she’d scoop him up, muttering about how he “wouldn’t last a second without us.” Her bond with Mr. Pickles became something you both cherished, a symbol of her softer side. And watching her take care of him, guiding him with a firm but gentle hand, always warmed your heart.

- Despite her tough exterior, Laura found a sense of peace in the little family you’d created with Mr. Pickles. She’d sometimes watch you as you crocheted, content to just be by your side in those quiet moments. Having Mr. Pickles around brought her a sense of calm and belonging, reminding her that she didn’t always have to fight—she could also be part of something soft, something warm, something that felt like home.

[the-californicationist]

Hello🐻❤

Military!Biker!Price ?

I mean... Repaired a motorcycle, ride a biker

I love you Cali ❤🫂

I love you too @leixy and I’m so sorry for the wait!! Hope you enjoy the story 🩷🩷

MDNI

Storm Chaser

The rumble that you heard just outside of your garage may have been mistaken for thunder. The skies were gray, and as they rolled across the firmament, you knew they’d linger, soaking the ground and making the soil black with its fallen waters. But, this wasn’t a thundercall. This was a Triumph. 

A giant, hulking man, laden with muscle and black leather gear, rolled into your mechanic shop’s driveway on a blacked out, stealthy Triumph Storm GT. Its rider’s face was covered in a full helmet, and as he slowed to a stop, his heavy boot dug into the shale, catching the center of the bike and sitting up straight, killing the enormous engine.

He looked at you. You knew he was looking at you because there was no one else to look at. You saw yourself in the black mirror of his visor, and all around you were the empty fields surrounding your shop, the tall grass roiling in the wind. 

The gloves came off first, and you indulged in his hands. They seemed monstrous; a thin dusting of dark hair covered his skin, and each finger looked like it might have been wider than two of your own. His nails were clean, which surprised you for some reason, and there was a nasty scar along his right palm. 

He fiddled with his helmet, unlatching the buckle, and then yanked it over his head. 

Shit. You cursed inside of your mind. He’s hot as hell.

You’d been drooling over the bike, but the man sweetened the deal. He was ruggedly handsome, and his movements were so easy. It was like being in the presence of a magician, as if he knew all the secrets and delighted in hiding them from you. He was so certain, so sure of his tricks, and you waited on him to break the spell he’d put on you. 

“Alright, love? How’s it goin’?”

He held out his hand for you to shake, and it warmed you like a fire. His grip was firm but careful, and he let you go without a shake. You smiled,

“All good. Slow day,” you pointed upwards, “No one but you out in this weather.”

He chuckled, and you fell for him even harder. His mirth was contagious. He looked up at the darkening sky and told you,

“Aye, it was pourin’ cats and dogs a few minutes ago. Chasin’ me here, I’ll wager. Thought I’d wait it out here. Maybe get the service I’m due for.”

“This bike’s brand new,” you scoffed, “How did you put ten thousand miles on it already?”

He gave you a half-grin and admitted with a shrug,

“I like to get away.” 

You nodded, and he dismounted, unzipping his jacket for comfort. You gave the bike a once-over, checking for any signs of trouble. As new as it was, you’d already been trained on it, so you felt confident you could help him. You mentioned your plan,

“Oil, brake pads, filters. Check your sensors. My Triumph cert is up to date, so we’ll just clean her up by the book. How does that sound, mister…?”

“Price. John Price. Sounds class, love.”

“Waiting room just in there, John,” you pointed over to the tiny little sitting room you’d added to the garage, “Got a library and some coffee. Should be fresh. Just made a new pot a few minutes ago.”

“Cheers,” he smiled, and it was the most handsome one you’d seen in a while. His full lips stretched into his cheeks, and his tanned skin crinkled up to his eyes. 

The eyes themselves were a problem. They were a hue of blue you’d never seen, and they pinned you down like a wild animal, a hunter and his prey. But, all of that ferality was tied taut, held by a rope in his clenched fist, and his gnashing hungry teeth were kept from biting you, controlled by his tight-laced civility. All of that chivalry made you wonder what he was like when he was allowed a little freedom. 

As he walked away from you, you ogled him. You weren’t even ashamed to do it. He was everything you wanted in a man. Him and his bike oozed a primal sort of power that you’d been craving, and you wanted a taste of that freedom. 

His bike was his escape, that was for sure. Ten thousand mile service after only a few months of ownership was impressive. This man liked to ride long and often. There was plenty of evidence of wear and tear, but as rough as he had been with his ride, there was evidence of his love as well. The clean body, the mended tailpipe, evidence of a scuff polished away; it was all proof of his affection.

The service was easy and quick. As you were checking his sensors and finishing up the job, the first pitter patter of rain began to fall into the gravel drive. In the beginning, it was soft and sweet, just a few drops here and there. Then, over the short span of mere moments, it came down in a torrential pour, slamming itself into the ground and pummeling the pavement. 

You watched it slip and slide off of your metal roof in sheets, and you got close enough to the edge so that you could feel the cool spray from the downpour, a few droplets spitting onto your nose and cheeks. A bright blue bolt of lightning streaked across the cloudy pall, followed by a deafening roar of thunder that resonated in the hollow of your chest. 

Cleaning the oil from your hands as best you could, you went to deliver the bill to your customer. To your sick delight, he’d be trapped with you at least until the storm passed, and you crossed your fingers that he could do with a bit of company. 

He was sitting on the wide couch in the waiting room, his hands prying open a book. When you looked at the spine, you noticed that he was deep into the first few chapters of Moby Dick.

“Having fun yet, John?”

“Enjoying the rain on this tin roof of yours. Makes me want to kip down here on your sofa. Love to fall asleep listenin’ to the storm.”

“Me, too,” you admit, nodding towards the book, “Has he caught the whale yet?”

John shook his head,

“No, we barely got out of the harbor. You work fast. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me though, love. I don’t fancy a ride out in this mess.”

“No problem. Take all the time you need.”

“D’ya mind?” He dug around in his jacket and pulled out a short, fat cigar. 

You waved him on, motioning that it was alright with you, and he happily lit his stick, working an ambery, glowing tip until fiery smoke spilled from the end. You were about to turn and hide somewhere else, anywhere that you wouldn’t need to smell his burnt, woodsy scent. It was making you hungry for a puff of his cigar and a long lick of the inside of his mouth. 

A little self-control please… You begged yourself. 

He caught you as you started to leave, and the feeling of his hand on his surprised you with its warm sincerity. You looked down at him, but you didn’t pull away. 

“Stay… for a bit. I was just gettin’ to the good part,” he said with a sly smile, holding up the book as if to offer it to you. 

“Alright,” you replied, your voice sounding too small and too quiet in the small space. 

You sat next to him, worrying over your oil-stained nails as he read aloud to you, pausing every now and then to smoke his cigar or to turn his pages. Slowly, you started to relax, and as you leaned back into the couch, the sound of his voice and the drumming of the rain blended together into a soporific haze. You caught yourself looking at him — staring at him — with hooded eyes, studying the way his lips and tongue and teeth formed his words. The dark bristles of his beard giving you a clear view of every micro-movement of his face. 

He was looking at you, now, too. Staring at you. Every now and then, he’d glance back at the book, read a few lines, and then take a long pause to smoke and to meet your gaze. 

Suddenly, he seemed to make a conscious choice. He sat forward, and his huge shoulders cast a shadow over you. He held out his cigar and asked, 

“Fancy a smoke?”

You didn’t reply, but you took it from him ever so slowly, as if he might bite, and put the end in your mouth. You sucked in the smoke to taste the rich tobacco, and you let it roll around in your mouth before releasing it, letting it hit him in the chest and neck, billowing around his stoney jawline. 

Then, he said something to you in a new voice. It was one you knew, but you hadn’t heard it in a very long time. It was desire,

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you, love?”

You let his compliment wash over you like the downpour outside. It soaked through, right to your bones. You took another drag from the cigar, earning yourself a deeper chuckle and a pleased, approving grin.

“You should see me when I’m out of these coveralls,” you quipped, certain that your smudged cheeks were now a rosy shade of crimson. 

He took the cigar back from you and put the book down, leaning closer to you, positioning his knee between yours, forcing you to spread your legs. He smoked, filling the space between you, taking another drag for himself, breathing in and breathing out, trying to test the waters,

“Care to show me now?”

You met his smoldering gaze. The tip of his cigar had nothing on the glow from behind his eyes. He was poised and ready to pounce, a lion on a lamb. 

You didn’t answer him. You simply watched as he unzipped your work coveralls and let the sleeves slink down your arms. You pulled them free, revealing what was underneath. You were braless, letting your heavy tits lay unbound in the soft fabric of your ribbed tank, preferring comfort over fashion. 

His hand came up to cup your cheek, rubbing some of the smudged oil with his thumb. He leaned forward even further, breathing heavily with you, panting like he had run for miles, all for the sole purpose of brushing your sensitive bottom lip with his own, teasing you with your own taste, hungry for your body and ready to consume you in every way he knew how. 

He began to kiss you slowly, languidly, as if you were both trapped in some world of slow motion where time need not exist. You need not be bothered with the past or the future. The present was enough, and it stretched between you forever. Each kiss deeper than the last, each touch more sensual, making your breath catch in your chest. 

John pulled away from you, slowly untangling himself, looking at you as if he had been keeping some smoldering question inside of his chest. He moved so slowly, telegraphing his motions so you would know his intent. Rapt, you watched his hand drop to the hem of your tank, his thick fingers dancing along the seam, carefully pulling it away so that his warm hand could slide underneath. 

Your whole body shuddered as his palm spread across your soft belly. His callused hands were rough against your skin, and the way he grabbed at you, greedy yet slow and savoring, made you feel like he had hypnotized you. You were frozen in place, submitting to his desire. 

He looked up into your eyes, checking with you to see if you would allow him to venture further and then moving further anyway, unable to quell his lurid hunger. His fingers found the swell of your breast, the heavy flesh hanging like ripe, sweet fruit, ready to be tasted. A thumb slipped across your nipple, encouraging it to tighten into a little peak, just plump enough to fit into his wet mouth. 

Without lifting your shirt off of you, he bent his head and suckled on your taut nipple through its fabric. He wet the cloth and your skin, and when he pulled his mouth away, the dampness lingered, teasing you with the memory and lingering on you, chilling your flesh. Another swipe of his thumb and you heard yourself let out quiet little mewls, whining and needy. His immediate, chuffed grin made you blush with shame. 

So, you took your revenge. You reached your hand across the supple leather of his riding pants and found the tip of his fat cock hanging trapped and turgid halfway down his muscular thigh. You used your finger to draw tiny circles around his head, knowing he could feel it. To your satisfaction, his eyes fluttered closed, lost in the sensation. 

Then, his hands plundered under your top, scrunching the fabric up to your collar, revealing your skin to him. As you messaged his heavy cock, you watched him sigh as he admired your curves, drinking you in like a desert palm, his hard root stretching towards its oasis. 

“Take me out, love. Please,” he begged you softly, kissing you between his gentle whispering words, and you knew what he wanted. 

You yanked at his button to pop it off, and you pinched at the zipper, listening to the metallic whir of its teeth as you freed him. 

He wasn’t wearing anything under his leathers, which drove you wild. He must have been so sensitive during his ride, feeling every bit of the garment’s texture and folds as he straddled his machine. 

You reached for him and he let out a dark groan. His voice became threatening all at once, and he grabbed at you with all of his might, drawing your attention with his words,

“Both hands… ungh, ahh, please. Please touch me with both of your hands, love.”

There was plenty of his length for you to comply, and even with both of your hands, his swollen, rigid girth was still a challenge to manage. You focused on his head, watching as his whole body responded to your touch.

John pulled you in for another kiss, forcing his tongue down your throat, filling your mouth with his heat, crushing you to his chest, abandoning all of his earlier tenderness in favor of lustful fury. 

As he ravaged your mouth, you felt his cock slipping through your hands on its own and you realized that he was using his hips to thrust himself through your grip. You tried to help him, matching his pace, but that only spurred on his carnal want. 

He was moaning into your mouth, and you could feel the hum of his joy against your lips. With each shameless thrust, he cried for you in that dark brimstone timbre, aching and full of longing. 

“John…” you whispered, breaking away to catch your breath, saying his name like a prayer. 

Adding to the drama, a long peal of thunder shattered the sky, killing the lights in your shop. But, you were both so worked up by one another, the shock of a blown fuse paled in comparison, and your eyes stayed locked on each other’s, bound together, unable to look away. Unwilling. 

But, he paused, staring at you, wanting something from you, something more. 

You gasped when he lifted you, rumpled clothes and all, right off the couch. He shouldered the door to the tiny room and walked quickly to his bike sitting you sideways on the seat. You braced yourself with one hand on the tank and one on the tail, waiting for his next whim. 

He was working on your clothes, peeling off your coveralls and shucking off your layers until he found your panties. When he saw the fabric, he paused. You fretted for a moment until you felt the cool, stormy wind blow across the damp gusset. Then, you knew what he was looking at. You were soaking through your panties, and there he was, transfixed on the darkening stain. 

“Wanna taste you, love. Want you in my mouth…” 

John fell to his knees in a flash, his cock still free and flagging up and down, wet with his precome. You squirmed a bit, unsure of your scent and your sweat from your earlier work. 

Those gentle eyes had been replaced with a sinister warning. He pinned you with them as if to say, move away and I’ll bloody drag you back. 

He didn’t bother to kiss the softness of your belly nor your thighs. He wanted one thing, but you didn’t expect him to take you quite like this. He didn’t peel down your panties, instead eating you right through the thin cotton, sucking on the wet cloth and making lewd squelching noises, lapping his tongue over your soaking lips and sucking at your flavor with his eager lips.

“Oh, shit…” You lamented, feeling your body go slack, submitting to him and his power. 

“Fuck…” He said between bites of his meal, “You’re so sweet… Let me… ungh, fuckin’ hell…”

He used his thumb to tug the fabric aside, revealing your gleaming pink flesh. And when he tasted you, skin on skin, John became obsessed. He was pushing his strong jaw so hard into you, working you with his mouth, making you rake your fingers through his hair just to hold onto something, you were afraid the bike might tip. 

In one ruthless motion, he tore your panties from you, ripping the sides and tucking the ruined fabric into his fist. Then, he put that same hand on his cock and began to jerk himself off, rubbing your wet cloth all over his cockhead. 

With his free hand, he grabbed the handlebar of the bike, pulling it down towards him, preventing it from falling, now able to eat you with as much reckless abandon as he liked. 

His mouth moved in long, deep thrusts, fucking you with his scruffy face, suckling at the hardening body of your clit. His tongue pressed into your swollen lips, moving between them with forceful need. As he licked you, he moved lower and lower towards your wet hole, hoping to thrust his writhing muscle inside of you, wanting nothing more than to lick you dry. 

Finally, he reached it, and the tip of his tongue slipped into your pussy, pressing through your slit and fucking you like his cock wanted to. You heard him elicit a gravelly, smoldering whine when he tasted your smooth center, and you watched as his eyes rolled back in his head, his brow furrowing in disbelief. 

Meanwhile, the rain pounded in the open garage doorway, swirling and spitting under its ebon shroud. John cared very little about it, nor did he care that you and he were nearly naked, in full view of the street. The idea that anyone could drive up and see you there, caught in his jaws, made you lose control. 

You tried to hold your voice down, but once he felt you start to come, he did everything he could to set you ablaze. His hand abandoned the handlebar, preferring instead to sink two of his large fingers inside of you, working with his tongue to stretch you open, giving him more of your ripeness to devour. 

You keened like you were on fire, and maybe you were. You thought, as the flames licked up your legs and down your arms, that maybe you would burn right up. Maybe you were a flare, ready to sear a bright scorching light through his mouth, burning his throat like whiskey, brutal and cruel. 

Your whole body had given in to the feeling as if you were an orchestra at the mercy of its conductor. If he wanted your kindling to catch, it would, and you would burn for him. You were his opus, trapped in a perpetual crescendo of his lust, an expression of his own fiery fate. 

His mouth only left your body to cry out in his own right, growling out a breathless groan as he spilled his come into your panties, smearing his cock through his own emission and mixing it with yours. 

Unable to maintain your balance, and unwilling to jeopardize his bike, you sank to the floor with him, feeling the cold concrete on your shins. John tugged you into his lap, panting into your neck, smelling strongly of your scent, his face and beard shining with it. 

You breathed together, fondling what you could reach, cradling each other as if you’d found one another again after years apart. Penelope clutching at her Odysseus, recognizing him through a sea of lesser men. 

“You alright, love?” John asked, still catching his breath, petting your cheek absentmindedly. 

You nodded, affirming your well-being,

“Mmhm. You?”

“Aye,” he smiled, laughing quietly to himself, “But, now you’ve gone and done it.”

“What?” You smiled, enjoying his joy. 

“Didn’t think runnin’ from the rain would be such a fuckin’ good time. Now, when it rains, I’ll be craving you.”

You smiled at him, letting him kiss your neck and cheek, planting his affection like little promises, deep under your skin. 

“You’re always welcome back, rain or shine.”

“How about tonight at six; dinner at my flat?” He looked up at you, hopeful. 

“As long as I get to ride this bike, it’s a date,” you teased. 

He raised his eyebrows at your challenge, and then he gave you a lascivious grin,

“Don’t worry, love. I’ve got just the ride in mind.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

AO3 Link

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, smut, NSFW, sex & intimacy, praise kink, brief thoughts of exhibitionism, p-in-v, fingering, hand job, some sub/dom dynamics, sub!Simon for a bit, soft!Simon, property damage, bike crashes (wear helmets everyone), violence, past toxic relationship, sabotage, attempted murder, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your fingers tighten around Simon’s waist, the helmet you’d been given pressed into his shoulder as the both of you slice through wind—an engine roaring below you from the Honda Rebel 500. The fit was a tight one, Simon not having a proper second seat beside the passenger kit he’d been quick to install not a few hours before when you’d hesitantly asked for a ride into a neighboring town. Your body was directly above the back tire, and Simon had been firm in his words when he’d been adjusting the back suspension in the bustling shop.

“You’re not lettin’ go until we get there, copy? I feel your grip loosen, I’m pulling over.”

You had begrudgingly agreed, needing the high-quality art supplies a twenty-minute drive away. The stores here didn’t have what you needed, and, not owning a car as this town was entirely walkable if need be, this was your only option. 

Once you’d gotten on that bike though, Simon hadn’t needed to reiterate himself about holding on—you did that all on your own. Yet, that wasn’t to say you weren’t enjoying this.

Lips peeled back into a smile, your eyes stare out across the unfolding hills and mountains in the distance; fields of verdant grasses and trees. The vibrations of the Rebel left your head jittering, but this view was the clearest you’d ever seen. 

Chuckling, the driver under your rib-cranking hold blinked at the nearly missed sound, only able to tell from the movement of your chest at his spine. Simon’s sunglasses glinted over the thin sliver of flesh that would otherwise be the only piece of his face visible, and his fingers twitched as he stared ahead at the open road. The man had given you his leather jacket, taking a spare of black coloring like an all-dark cat, his boots and pants matching the theme that carries over. 

You shout above the whipping of the airways. 

“This is amazing!” Simon puffs a laugh at that, though his heart patters ever faster like a dog at the turn of a key. He doesn’t answer, even if his lips itch into a smirk to tell you he’s appreciating the spinal re-adjustment you’re giving him. 

Your laugh echoes out through the scenery, and your heart has never been more full. 

It had been a decent amount of time since Simon and the others had come into town—three weeks since you’d been hired on your off days to go and paint the mechanic’s shop. A base coat had already been applied, then the secondary and the final with the help of a very animated Soap saying that no one could get to the tops of the walls better. Gaz had seen him hit himself with the soggy paint roller not five minutes later after trying to flip it, and that had been the end of the interference on your work.

All that was left was to start the mural.

There hadn’t been a peep from Graham or his goons—they’d even left you alone on your walks back home. As much as you wanted to be elated about it, there was a brief stint of paranoia in the days that had followed the party. Graham Whitaker was a coward, but he didn’t…let things go. 

But holding onto Simon Riley as he pulled into the nearby town made that sharpness at the back of your mind flee in an instant. The mountains and fields dissipate to tiny houses and long stretches of connected businesses—sun-washed bricks surround you as Simon shifts the tires to dodge potholes. 

His head moves slightly to the side, and you hear the call through your borrowed helmet. 

“Where am I headed?”

“East side!” You rest the bottom of the helmet on his shoulder, seeing a sliver of his October browns through his sunglasses as he rips his eyes back to the road. “Look for the rose bushes!” 

“Makin’ me go deaf,” Simon mutters to himself, but he does as you instruct. Parking in the street outside of the art shop, he moves out the kickstand with one foot—the other resting on the ground so you don’t tip. He gives you a look over his shoulder to get off first as the engine cuts and the jungle of keys comes to silence inside of his pocket.

Giggling, you let go of his hard waist and step out to the concrete of the sidewalk, turning around and fixing the strap of your carry bag with a hidden grin. 

“I think I just found a new form of transportation.”

“Then you can forget about it,” Simon smirks, taking off his sunglasses and sticking them to the neck of his compression shirt. “Helmet, Sunshine.” He reminds, looking around for a moment. 

You slap your hands to the side of the item around your head as you continue to giggle like a child, elated and feeling the throws of wanderlust—you’d never felt so alive than when watching the world pass by at your sides. How quickly you can form a routine of boring days, one after the other. You felt…light again. 

A finger grabs at the visor, flicking it up as your crinkled eyes come into view for the gruff man and his raised brow. 

“You drunk?” Simon stares, tilting his head as he looms closer, studying you up and down. 

“No, Brown-Eyes,” you roll your eyes teasingly, waving his hand away as you unclip and pop the helmet off before it’s leveled back to him. He takes it and holds it loosely in one grip, blinking at you slowly. “I’m excited. Can I not be excited, then, huh? Not happy seeing me enjoy your company?” 

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” Simon shakes his head but his amusement is heard, slipping past as you eagerly follow after, expression airy. 

You hum, leaning into him and smirking. 

“C’mon Simon, you’re completely taken with me—I can see it.” There was no question that the two of you had become close. There was rarely a night when he didn’t come to visit you at the bar; had even taken up walking you back home too, though there was little need to. Simon had said it was because he had nothing else to do, but you doubted it. Since the shop had opened, there had been no shortage of work.

The man grunts as he opens the door for you with a shoulder, sending you a blank eye. “Taken aback.”

“Fucking jerk,” you grin at him as you slip inside, face loose with banter. Simon chuckles lowly and follows, standing behind you as his boots clop to polished tile floors. 

This place was exactly how you remembered it—holding an old feel with the beams in the ceiling and the raw brick walls. There are tables with paints and brushes, all neat and orderly with unique looks and designs to them, even the wall has shelves of old wood holding hidden nicknacks and unique wonders. 

Simon gazes around with a glint of interest in his eye, understanding now that the painting was better off in your hands. He has to wonder how you managed to find a place like this. 

“Over here,” you say. Walking to the very back, your hands are already reaching for the quality brushes you’d need for the mural. Simon’s hands slip into his pockets, stance casual in a way he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago. 

It was no secret that Simon trusted very few people. It wasn’t just because of his past military experience, it was his life in general—each turn led to something that could go wrong like a gun in the hands of a criminal. But you had been nearly sly in the way you’d grown on him. 

The quick-witted comments, the way you spoke and carried yourself; your light and unapologetic attitude. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d stared at the bar from his shop’s garage—under the body of some car with grease up to his elbows, legs dangling as his back was on top of the creeper. Brown eyes that can pinpoint your form before his mind blanks and sweat pools at his collarbone. 

It was something that Simon was afraid to name.

“Bloody expensive,” the man mutters in the present, fingers pushing at the price tag of some paints nearby. “You sure you need this shit?” 

“It’s not shit, Riley,” you scoff, grabbing two large brushes and three smaller ones from wall buckets, pointing one at him. “But I have to agree on the expensive part. You should see how much I would spend when I was really into art. You’d puke your blackened guts up.”

Simon hums, giving you his attention as you peer at a table of rich paints in smaller cans a few feet away.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, the soft tinkling of piano music coming from somewhere in the back. 

You pause, your back turned to him as you look at the label of a small aluminum container of enamel paint for vehicle detailing. Licking your lips, you clear your throat and ease out a nonchalant, “Graham,” and end the conversation there with less blood spilled. 

Your Ex had almost sucked all of the individuality from you—you’d barely made it out as you are. 

Simon’s eyes darken, clenching his jaw after a moment as looks away. It's only when you put back down the enamel paint can that he speaks again. 

“He wasn’t worth your time,” he eases out, giving firm advice like orders. As if he wants you to believe what he’s saying to the fullest degree. “You know that?”

You snort, turning back around. “Yeah, I know it. Why do you think I threw the guy out? He ran through women like a damn kid with a stack of new playing cards.” 

Simon blinks from over his mask as you walk to the counter, putting down your brushes and adding in a few containers of nice pigment. As your fingers ding the bell up front, your free hand digs for your wallet. 

Before you can pull out the wads of cash that you’d need to pay, smelling of booze and all, a credit card hits the table. You stare at it in silence for a moment. 

“Simon?”

“You’re putting it on my wall,” he rolls his shoulders to dispel tension from the previous conversion as the employee comes out from the back. “M’not going to make you pay for the tools to get the job done. Not a fuckin’ heartless bastard.” 

“Heartless? No,” you tease, though your face burns and crashes with a fiery inferno of adoration. Inside of you, your stomach flips and your throat tightens. Oh, it was coming on bad, wasn't it? “A bastard…?”

“Shut it,” Simon glares from the corner of his eye as you raise your hands innocently. 

“Alright, alright. A very handsome and generous bastard, better?” You hear a hum, a huff of breath. 

“Getting there.” 

The ride back was much the same, but it still filled you with awe. Your hands were looser now, even with the added weight from your filled bag, but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware of Simon’s presence. Once more your helmeted head was set at his shoulder blade, resting as your lungs pulled in fresh air even if it was a bit heated from the barrier. Simon had pushed the thing back onto your head the minute your leg was about to straddle the bike, firmly grabbing your chin and tilting your face forward as he shoved it on.

“Safety first, Sweetheart.” You had sworn you nearly went weak-kneed at that. 

But the sturdy presence before you made a very comfortable headrest even if the longer ride was beginning to make your legs ache and give you a migraine from the noise. 

Your hand was flat to the man’s covered flesh, the oversized jacket around your frame, and in that moment you discovered that you were almost entirely submerged in Simon Riley until it became impossible to remember who you’d been before him. You were drowned in his scent—his presence an ever-present weight of purpose and prospect. 

Blinking over the view and feeling Simon’s pulse under your fingertips, you realize with a start that Graham had never made your stomach fill with butterflies over a simple word; never made you pause or have to re-think your thoughts because you’d entirely lost them when he entered a room. 

With so much going on, and at the same time so little happening…what exactly were you supposed to make of it? There was no question you liked Simon—there was no question he liked you, either. It was obvious by the looks Price would give the two of you when you came by with lunch for them all; free drinks. 

How the both of you would sit and talk, exchanging stories while Simon showed you the adjustments he had made to his bike. The issue was that you and Brown-Eyes were stubborn. Pigheaded.

Emotionally constipated.

Your eyes drag along the view, but they always shift back to the body that’s stuck in your grip; how his heat moved through his clothes, warming your wind-beaten hands. You’re right there at his back, hanging off him and you feel…good.

There just had to be something to make one of you snap.

Entering the garage, Simon once more parks his bike and lets you get off first, and you unclip your helmet and slip the object from your head with a puff of air. 

“Thank you, Simon,” you breathe, watching him stand. “Drinks on me tonight, okay?” 

“No need for that,” his brows pull in, confused. “If I didn’t want to, I would have told you.” 

Your hands pass the helmet, which he takes as your fingers brush one another's lightly. You repress a sharp inhale, scoffing playfully at him as your eyes soften.

“I’m not going to leave without saying thank you and you taking it, Brown-Eyes.” 

“Well, then I just took it, Sunshine.” Simon motions his head outside. “Now get going ‘fore I come to my senses.” 

Laughing, you shrug and take your leave, all of your items safe in your bag for a time when you could use them next. 

“I’m already gone,” you breathe, and a soft brown gaze sticks to your form as you cross the street and slip inside to clock in. 

A truck parked down the street has its window glinting in the sunlight. It seems to agree.

—

Simon tipped back the last of his bourbon and sighed, putting it down on the bar top as you polished glasses. 

“Anything happen today?” He asks you as you put the sparking material to the light, tipping it to try and find smudges before it passes your acute inspection. 

“Nothing interesting,” you respond, humming. “Had to kick a few guys out, but it was nothing big.” 

Simon’s interest makes his eyes shift to you like a wave, head tilting to stare as the warm light cascades over your figure. He waits for you to continue, but when you don’t, he prods with a slightly concerned undertone.

“Why?” Your lips twitch as you turn to look at him, exasperated. 

“Put a cork in it, Big Guy, it was just a few who had too much to drink—I cut them off and sent ‘em home.”

Simon grunts, “That’s a girl.” 

You ignore the way your heart jumps to your throat and the tingling of your arms. “Anything with you?” Your voice is higher than it should be. “Beat off any bartenders from your property?”

“Can only think ‘o one,” he speaks slowly, his voice wafting about as the both of you were the only people here. Your chuckle makes his heart constrict in on itself.

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in with mock confusion. Your body moves closer as it leans into the wood. Simon’s lips twitch from where they're visible, the fabric of his balaclava pulled over his nose. “Tell me about her.”

“Yeah?” He speaks in a low murmur, eyes half-lidded in that dead-and-buried kind of way—only he could pull that off and still look so handsome. You had said once that he felt like danger, and you suppose that had to be true. Simon Riley was danger, and you had taken those snake fangs and put them directly in between the cross-hairs of your neck and your pulse, waiting, wanting for that fatal strike. 

You had bet that the sting of those fangs might just be the best pain you’d ever felt.

Simon Riley was unabashed freedom.

 “She likes to think that she’s the bloody boss o’ me,” Simon grunts, scars, and tattoos on full display; there’s blackened grease on his fingers, under his nails. You listen with bated breath. “Comes ‘round all the time now, hangs like she’s under a noose. I can’t figure her out. Not for the fuckin’ life of me.”

Simon doesn't know what he’s saying, but he can’t quite help himself when you’re looking at him like that. Your eyes going wider, your usually snappy and quick tongue silent as you take his words in like law. It was addictive to see you gobsmacked—the man has to stop himself from thanking Graham Whitaker for being such a fucking fool even if the thought of ever being near that man again made him want to clench his fists.

“And?” You push, trying to force your mouth into a playful smirk, but anyone can see it for what it is. Your faked emotion falls short, leaving behind only that which Simon can claim to be the sole owner of. 

Astonishment. Admiration down to its base form—a woman gazing at something that should not be, and yet is here among the ashes and ruins of broken earth and open roads. A sliver of sky between the rain clouds.

“And?” Simon mirrors, that numb mock. 

The both of you are closer now, puffs of air hitting the other. Everything in this bar became a backdrop, shifting colors and images like some dream. The dart in the ceiling was nothing to you—the tables that needed to be buffed, the bottles restocked; even the trash that you usually took out at this time was only a shape in the corner of your vision. It all blurred around him, and while you spoke again, Simon understood that he had left the city for something new; something that he could revel in and worship like he had his guns and his duty. 

Your sentence is whispered. 

“Why did you come here?” To this town? There was no answer for that. It was picked at random—even Price knew that. It was nothing special, not even to the bugs. But here…

Simon parts his lips and utters on the lightning of the air particles, all rushing past as if he was still on his motorcycle with you—your hands around his waist and your nails digging into his flesh.

“For a bartender that keeps making my damn head spin.” 

For a long minute, there’s nothing that happens. The AC whirs and the lights outside flicker over the stretch of the empty street. In your chest, your heart hammers with the strength of the Titans. A mechanic, a veteran; a man with broken, October eyes. 

How could he be the one thing you were looking for? 

Your eyes stay locked, those shredded flecks of color holding secrets that you want to know instantly—you want to learn his tattoos and the way he thinks, know Simon's dreams and aspirations. To you, that was better than any physical destination or journey because it was one in and of itself. 

Simon was an enigma. 

“Keep talking,” you mutter, lips so close now that they brush the man’s own. He doesn’t blink as he watches you, his lungs unsteady in his chest as he takes down a deep breath. 

“Why’s that, Sunshine?” His voice is raspy, and his accent makes you shiver. 

Simon’s tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, sneaking back in as your gaze flickers down to watch pupils blown. “Because I like it when you speak to me like that,” you have to admit, a whine trapped in your throat that you won’t let out.

There’s a low chuckle that makes your legs close together, moving like honey through your veins. 

“Can do more than talk.”

This is a game—a test—can either of you go this far? Is it more than lust, is it more than some strange attraction between two people who don’t belong here? A relationship of need rather than want?

You don’t care enough to test it, because if there’s one thing that this town taught you, it's that you don’t need to worry about the future so long as there’s something promising right in front of you. 

And Simon Riley was as promising of a man as you had ever met.

Your lips meet his, and his hand is eager to snap to the back of your skull, pushing you into him as your eyes pull shut and the edge of the counter digs into your guts. Air is exhaled from your nose, mouth heavy, and skin hot as it digs and molds to the rough scrape of Simon’s stubble. His fingers pulse into your scalp, waves of something sawing you open as he stands quickly from his stool and pulls away only to push right back in. 

Your hands move into fists on the counter, stuck in this dance of wet lips and shaky legs. 

Simon groans into your mouth, shifting his head as a purr emanates from his chest and makes you respond with a silent gasp that he takes advantage of. A tongue slips to run over your own as the lights glint outside, pushing itself in before retreating just as swiftly before teeth nip at your swollen bottom lip. Your eyes snap open, locking with deep wells of brown that seem more endless than the depths of space. 

You both breathe heavily, the bar silent to the two souls that seep into one another. Not once do either of you look away from one another. 

The man seems hesitant, and before he speaks, the rasp in his voice is felt as he blinks. 

“These parts in me have been shuttin’ down, Sunshine.” Your brows slightly pinch in for a moment, confused at this turn in tone—cocky had gone to still-stone as if Simon had laid eyes on Medusa herself. 

But you know what he means. You’d seen it in his stature and how he spoke to others; you knew nothing much of his past beyond a handful of stories from his service and none of them had been pretty. And of his childhood, you knew nothing. 

You know it can’t have been good. 

Your head softly tilts, a small, delicate smile forming the words of some long-lost deity.

“I’m sure you have the tools to fix them, Simon.”

He blinks at you, fingers still stuck to your head. “Don’t know if I remember how to use ‘em.” 

Simon’s giving you a way out of this if you want to take it; you know that he thinks you should. 

“...Then you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?” You whisper, stubborn as always. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets, right?” He hums, eyes the most open and soft you’d ever seen them as he melts—forehead connecting to yours as your smile grows wider, truer. “Then I’ll keep yours closest, Brown-Eyes.” 

You both kiss once more, more delicate as the man takes a deep breath of you. Your smirk pulls along his flesh like a brand as he holds in a quiver. 

“What’s a bartender without a bottle of Bourbon on her shelf?” He growls into you, and not wasting a moment rips his lips from yours and wipes at his face with the back of his arm. 

“Such a mouth,” he mutters, moving as you stand there to push open the half-door to let him get to you. You stand waiting, pulse wild and lips tingling. “Cameras?”

Your head shakes without you knowing it, and a finger is hooked under your chin, maneuvering it as he sees fit. Another grabs onto your hip, kneading it slowly as you melt into him. Your hands grasp into the back of his belt and his eyes spark—hips canting instinctually.

There’s a hard prod at your inner thigh. 

“Only one at the door.” You set your chin to his chest, gazing up. “Back room?”

“Won't have you on the floor,” Simon says bluntly, unphased. Your core pounds, stomach tightens as you have a sudden need to get rid of your pants and touch yourself as dampness pools through your underwear. 

“Such a gentleman,” you’re breathless, voice airy. “Guess I’ll have to be on top.” 

Simon’s breath gets caught as you slip past him, sauntering to the back door and pushing it open as you slip inside. You had already started fumbling with the zipped on your pants as the man pushed on the barrier just before it could close, coming in and letting it slam behind him as the click of a lock could be heard. 

With your shoes off, you can feel Simon’s eyes burning into you as your fingers send the zipper down your navel, the sound of the metal teeth being separated from one another a call to action. When your thumbs hook the top, ready to send the fabric down, you let the man watch before your eyes shift back up to lock together. 

Simon’s gaze was intense—unblinking and unmoving beyond the slam of his heart and the pulse of the erection in his pants, begging to be palmed as you stood only feet away. The man’s hands clenched, knuckles going white. 

While holding eye contact, you let the pants—and your panties—drop to the ground with a whoosh of fabric. Simon tenses, but doesn’t look away.

You smirk, taking a few steps forward.

“I’m surprised.” Your hand captures his waist, one moving to stroke along the prominent v-line that’s hidden by his shirt. Simon’s heavy breath meets your head as his blown pupils make his eyes look black entirely. He’s almost in a trance. “Usually I’d be having to snap my fingers.” 

“Better than that,” he grits out raggedly. You have to agree. 

Your mouth finds his neck as he leans back against the door, letting you do what you wish as his hands settle on your hips once more, rubbing up and down as your own eagerness drips from you. Simon clenches his jaw as you bite down, taking and sucking on the skin as he hisses when you give him hickeys, eyes fluttering. 

“‘Such a mouth’ you said,” you comment, hand falling lower to hear the jingle as you unclip his belt. He stares off as your hand rests and cups him, sharply inhaling when you rub your palm over the large tent. Simon fights the sway of his hips, but the widening of his legs is telling enough, pelvis knocking forward as you groan, a line of slick falling down your thigh. “I’d bet you’d like my mouth, Brown-Eyes, wouldn’t you?” Your joke and your teasing of his dick—your hickeys and your sly eyes—they all at once snap something inside of him. 

You find yourself manhandled with a squeak of shock and a jump in your gut as your legs dangle, moved back, and pressed into the very door where Simon had been moments before. Your feet settle as his figure descends.

“Your mouth, Sunshine?” Brown eyes glint, staring you down from where he taps your legs open to the air, kneeling with an open belt and pre-cum staining his pants. “Want to see what mine can do?”  

There’s no more than a dangerous smirk before his face slots itself into the clutch of your pussy. 

You gasp, hands going down to his covered hair as his nose slides along your clit, making lightning go up your spine as you push down on him, grinding as a long stripe is licked, tongue flattening out at the nerve before a loud groan makes Simon’s mouth vibrate as it attaches itself to you. 

Giving you your own medicine, teeth lightly bite, tongue flicking as your cunt clenches over nothing, fingers grasping guilty as your head knocks back with a loud whine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, toes curling as your hips move back and forth. 

Your body can feel his smirk, your juices leaking out to drip at his chin, falling down his throat as this beast of a man sucks and mewls around your clit like he’s possessed. Hands grasped your thighs, holding them open. Well, one anyway. 

Lost in the movements of his mouth, cursing and gasping as he keeps trying to build you up to the point of rapture with every hard flick and measured nip, there’s no way your dopamine-addled brain can comprehend the fingers at your cunt before they’re already inside and curling outward. 

You moan out his name pleadingly, the pace of your hips instantly increasing as Simon’s chuckle makes your lungs constrict. A separate heart-beat lives in your navel, skin sweaty and slick making its way down his fingers. 

“Being so good,” your voice breaks as Simon’s wide eyes from below meet you as your head lolls forward. He stutters, hearing the wet squelching of your pussy as his movements cease for a moment. You whimper, face pulling in, and he instantaneously gets back to it with increased fervor and ferocity as if he’d never just felt his cock twitch in his pants and his abdomen bunch up.

Your eyes widen, rapturous moans falling from your lips in blown-limpness as his mouth and fingers do sinful things to you.

The sounds coming from below were feral and animalistic at best, sopping wetness and loud groaning—it makes it all so much better. 

“So thorough for me, Simon. Making me feel so good Brown-Eyes,” you babble, tightening your core and palming hands shoving him impossibly farther into you. “Such a fucking perfect mouth—perfect fingers, knew you could make me cum on ‘em, please, Simon, fuck, oh God right there,” you break off of the praise into desperate whines. Your quivering body shakes and ruts faster, Simon’s stubble making it all burn in such a way that leaves you gasping, back begging to arch as everything comes to a tipping point.

Simon can feel it by the way your walls flex and pull in, how their slipperiness gets so loose it’s not even a problem to finger-fuck you even as your cunt bares down like a noose. Your fluids drip past his elbow, falling to his pants as his pelvis involuntarily tries to get friction from his zipper by humping the air in broken intervals. 

He’s breathing heavily, but not as much as you are, broken up by groans, grunts, and his open mouth licking of your engorged clit. He’d never admit to you how much your praise was making him want to bust in his own fucking pants. 

“S-Simon,” you knock your head back into the wall, eyes going glassy as the knot in your navel goes painful, a vile itching so very close as your spine begins to arch for the man’s viewing pleasure. “So close, oh God, so fucking good. Need it, Simon, need it from—”

Your breath hitches, fingers twitching into tight fists of fabric and the hair underneath as your walls clamp down. 

Orgasm ripping through you, your voice lets out broken, airy, moans of Simon’s name like a prayer, hips continuing to spasm and toes curling inwards. Not letting up his assault, the smug man’s tongue and fingers draw the entire experience out until your legs are too weak to hold you, having to be pressed back into the wall by white knuckles and fingers stained with your cum. You hear it drip to the floor and see it when your half-lidded eyes blurrily make out the ragged appearance of an arrogant Simon, clear beads falling off of his chin and his lower face decimated by your pleasures. The bottom of his balaclava is stained—sopping with absorbed juices. 

You both stare—you, lust-blown, and Simon, ready to grasp at himself and stave off the near-painful erection that needs to be taken care of. 

But you’re true to your words.

Not seconds after your release had flooded him, your hands pushed at his chest and shoved him to the floor. Simon grunts but lets your hands quickly fiddle with his zipper and send it down. Not a moment is wasted, and the man’s hands move your hips higher as you pull his pants and boxers down just enough to let his dick spring free and slap his abdomen. 

Your hand curls around it and he groans long, pushing up into your hand as you stroke him quickly and mercilessly with the spread of his weeping tip. Simon’s words come out as a way to steady himself, but the work of your hand is easy to get lost in as his voice is a growl.

“Tase so bloody good, Sunshine, yeah? Be needin’ that every day,” his mouth is taken in a kiss, and you tase yourself on his tongue as he shakes and his fingers flex into your flesh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says as you lick his lips, panting below you as he quickly loses himself. “Not gonna…”

Simon’s orgasm builds incredibly fast—and not once does your hand slow in its course. He blinks in a blind panic, mouth letting off soft sounds of confusion as he looks down to see his red cock and how you play with it like a toy. You chuckle at him as his sounds get louder, legs rising, and the slapping of skin on skin addictive. 

“You are good with your mouth—and your hands. Should have guessed really, you are a mechanic after all. Got yourself all worked up.” Simon's hand comes up to your head pressing your lips back to his as his abdomen tightens and quivers, thighs shaking as his hips try to meet your break-neck pace but just can’t.

What were you doing to him? Why can’t he last longer than a few mere minutes? 

You break off and connect your forehead to his, brown eyes fighting to not go blurry and his mouth open with fast breaths. You push out as you feel his tip twitch and spurt prematurely, “Be a good boy and cum, Simon.”

He groans loudly, eyes fluttering as they try to stay locked to yours before the wet splatter of his rapid ejaculation layers yours as well as his abdomen sticky and soaked. It keeps going, not stopping until Simon’s eyes have come back down from where they had fled to the back of his head and his small grunted whine lets you know you should stop pumping him so violently. 

You release his member and go to rub along his abdomen, massaging the skin and laying kisses on his clothed chest slowly. His hands loosen on your hips, thumb pulling back to carefully run circles into the flesh as you hum in appreciation. 

Simon's quivering slows to a stop.

“You sure you only work a bar, then? Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Simon hisses, looking down at himself. “Made a fuckin’ mess, yeah?” 

“Only fair,” you mutter, moving up to press your lips together as you both sigh. Simon’s breath hitches as your stomach rubs him. “I like having you under me. It’s nice to see you look confused.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, and a red sheen comes to his flushed face. “Won’t happen again.” 

Your face goes mischievous, head tilting. Simon growls a weak, “Don’t.” You chuckle and hide your face into his neck. 

“Don’t test it?” You ask into his flesh, your body still pulsing and needy at the display you’d managed to pull from the stoic man. Your tongue licks over your placed hickey with a newfound appreciation for the black and blue mark, blowing on it as Simon feels himself harden again. “Or don’t acknowledge that Simon Riley has a praise kink and when a woman tells him what to do he—”

Your spine settles to the floor, hands stuck on either side of your head and digging into the wood. Simon’s eyes glint primarily, and you keen to him as your arms move to wrap around his neck as your cunt tightens.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me on the floor?” He grasps your chin, moving his face to be above yours so he can speak plainly and dead-like. A surge of power takes over his voice, and you yield with a rising of your legs and a shiver as his fluid-slick abdomen slides over top of yours.

“That was before you made me cum in a matter of fuckin’ minutes by just stroking my cock. Now,” he breathes, “now I’m going to fuck you how you deserve.” 

He grasps your legs and pulls them around his waist, locking them as he lines up his half-hard dick and bullies it inside of you, your arching back bends into him, but your shocked moan is cut off as Simon starts to move. The pressure inside of your pussy is tight enough to feel like it could snap—your gummy walls taking the curve of his veins and the grate of his head as the tip curves upward. On girth and size, Simon is the largest you’d ever taken, and your face pulls in with a mix of pain and pleasure before the latter takes over completely. 

“Get me to be your toy, eh, Sunshine?” Simon keeps your chin grasped, not letting you look away as you try to garble words over the heavy slap of wet skin. “Keep me ‘ere so you can play with me like you’ve been doin’ from the start?” 

“So full,” you seem to have lost that edge, staring up into brown eyes as your spine digs into the wood below you, your cunt taking the fast slaps of Simon’s prod as it reaches every part of you that you could ever ask. Every trust makes your legs tighten, clamping down to keep him there and ring pleasure like water. “Such a big cock, Simon.”

He huffs, but his pace increases, panting at you as your lips meet for a sloppy and slobbering kiss of teeth and saliva. Sweat falls from both of you, coating your faces and lower halves with more liquid to make this dance easier—staining already ruined clothes. 

“Splitting you open, am I? So tight,” Simon grumbles, grunting as his elbows shift to stay beside your head. “Gettin’ me off so easily, need ta return the favor for making me feel so good, Sunshine. Bloody perfect cunt, takes my cock like it was made for it. Hear that?” Your skull moves to push into the side of his face as he bites at your neck, ravishing you as the forward and backward motion of his body makes your mouth hold back mewls of raw need. So many sounds—so loud and wet it was lewd, borderline obscene with every pump of the man’s hips that more just spilled out of you, pooling with every back and forth spreading of your hole. 

Simon bites a long whine back and angles himself higher, making you shout and cry as a burst of white light explodes in your eyes.

“Making me want to fill you full of myself. Over and over, make you drip with it—go until you can’t walk. You’d take it too, yeah? You’ve got such a good look on your face, you bloody love it when I stretch you open like this—takin’ my dick so well, Sweetheart.”

You were both animals trying to get fix after fix—drunk off scent and a biological urge. 

At the words, your pussy tightens around him even more, Simon holding back a loud groan and letting your little puffs of air grace his ears along with the ravaging dig of his fucking.

“You like that?” You whine, face burning as a hand descends to play with your clit. You gasp loudly and moan, not hiding the way your hips jump and rut and fight to keep Simon’s cock taking you raw.  

“Simon!” You call loudly. “I like it—fuck I love it, Brown-Eyes. Keep touching me, please, please keep going. Keep talking, love it when you talk like that.”  

“Makin’ fun o’ me,” he scoffs, “but the little temptress has the same bastard kink, eh? It’s alright, then. I’ll just help me get you off—”

The front door of the bar opens from beyond the wall. 

The both of you stop all carnal desires instantly, wide eyes snapping back and locking with each other. A pin could drop, fast breaths and fast hips held back even as you both quiver and your nerves plead to keep going. The need doesn’t last long. Simon's fat hand covers your mouth as your eyes glint with panic before getting right back to it. 

You try to speak, to get the words out that you should go out there, but it’s all cut off by the way he rubs you every right way. Your hand anchors to his back as someone walks around the bar, their voice muffled just like yours is, but this person has no idea you’re getting railed in the back room by the mechanic from across the street. 

Simon’s eyes are dark and urgent, but his hands can't as the slap of skin that’s still incredibly loud, and the wetness that follows all but telling. Your moans and whines are hidden, kept back by a tight palm as he smirks down at you. His hips are bruising yours and you can feel the hard bone of his pelvis as it slots itself fully into yours.

“Good girl,” he whispers, accepting the words with hard thrusts that make you whine like a dog, pawing at his gargantuan shoulder blades. “Keep quiet. I’ll make you feel good.” 

Your heart hammers, walls flexing and clamping at the words. Outside the walking continues, searching for you, no doubt. Simon's hips increase, almost cruelly, and your cut-off cries spill from between his fingers. 

The bastard chuckles and watches, letting your hips meet his as your release builds with the added need to finish quickly. 

It was rabid now your back arched, how the person outside mattered so little to you now, in fact, maybe you even wanted them to hear you like this—being fucked so perfectly to the point where you had tears in your eyes and your body was growing numb; mind blanking to only pleasure and the grating press of a foreign entity all the way to where it digs at your cervix and makes you see starts with every addictive thrust.

You can’t hear anything over the previous sounds, that and rough breathing are the only things in this hot room—the air tense and ready; anticipation a drug of the highest order. 

“C’mon,” Simon grunts into your ear, hand flexing as his lungs burn. He wasn’t far away either. “Let me see it—how your face screws up all nice and pretty for me.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you can only stare at the ceiling as the door of the bar slams shut once more, whoever there leaving. Simon releases your mouth and you fall apart with a spine-breaking arch and a high, feral, keen.

Your release is subsequently followed by Simon’s own, his body spasming as he gives three more violent pumps before the warmth of his cum seeps into your womb with a loud groan and a pound of his fist into the floor. He grinds you both through the aftershocks, the sparks of electricity that make both of your hips jerk just a few more times before you fall limp and useless. 

Simon stays inside of you as he shifts to the side, hooking one of your hips over his thigh as you stay face-to-face as your bodies gasp and pant for air. 

When the two of you come back to yourselves, some delirious minutes later, the first thing that you both notice is the tightness of your clothes and skin. Glancing down at the mess you’ve made of yourselves, you both slowly look back into each other's eyes, pausing.

You’re the first one to snort, before you have to hold your loud laughs back behind your hand. 

“Well, I sure do have some more secrets to keep,” you say through your fit, knocking your head to Simon’s chin. The man is smiling, his eyes crinkled and mouth jerking in a series of chuckles.

“Proper few.” The laughter died down to a simmering emotion of amusement. 

You smile at Simon, and he stares back, a hand coming up to touch your cheek delicately before it traces the lines of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?” You ask him, and those browns blink at you in question. “What I said before we decided to fuck. About keeping your secrets.” Simon’s face gets slightly more serious. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the stubble on your fingertips. 

“Simon,” you say, “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, okay?” 

He watches you for any glint of hesitation—of a lie. But there is none.

“Why,” Simon asks. Your answer is simple as you smirk, recalling words from a while ago. 

“You’re just going to have to stick around to find out.”

Simon shoves his lips to yours and drags you back on top of him.

—

You both exit the back room two hours later, clothes ruffled and bodies far dirtier than ever. You have a limp in your step, a pulsing ache between your bruised legs, and yet you’d never felt better. 

Simon presses a kiss into your temple. 

“Walking you home,” is what he says, and you sigh through an adoring look. You were tired, incredibly tired, and you hoped that Simon would share your bed tonight so he could hold you like he did back there. 

“Deal,” you wink, and the man huffs a chuckle, back to that same stoic mechanic that you knew. 

It’s only then that you realize that Celina had never shown up for her shift. Pausing behind the counter, you blink and look around, confused as you flatten out your clothes. Simon catches on quickly, brows pulling in with concern. 

“Something wrong?”

“Celina,” you tell him, “she never showed up.”

A beat. 

“...Probably kept away,” Simon tries to lightly say, implication enough to make you scowl. 

“No,” you utter. “She would have tried to break the door down if she actually came in. She never would have walked away.”

The man hums, pulling down his balaclava and looking about. 

“What do you want to do about it?” It wasn’t mocking—he was being honest. Your lips thinned out in thought. 

“Well…I can’t leave the bar unattended, she needs to be here in order for me to go home.” You motion a hand helplessly, shaking your head and walking forward. Through a sigh you grumble, “I guess I have to call her or I’ll—” A shadow darts from across the street and your head snaps to the dark window. 

Words coming to a swift stop, you gaze outside with blank eyes, mouth open in confusion. Simon stands taller, not having seen the strange event but not liking the shock on your face as he pivots to the view to study it. 

Brown darts over the street lamps and the closed body of his shop, along the sliver of the obsidian street and the tops of bushes in the plant boxes. But there was nothing there and Simon glanced back at you from over his shoulder with furrowed brows. 

“Thought I saw someone in a…” you frown, eyes not leaving the window as your heart tightens. “In a mask.” 

“Mh,” Simon watches for a moment before he grunts and tension seeps into his muscles. “Mask?” 

“Like yours,” you say quietly, suddenly very still. “Without the skeleton.” 

Simon moves back slowly, one foot backing up before he’s behind the counter again and shifting nearer to you—your eyes flicker upward but swiftly return to the view. He pulled out his phone from his wrinkled pants, and no sooner had he put it to his ear that you saw the individual again. This time it wasn’t just one shadow, it was three, and there wasn’t just a flash of black mist and then poof gone again—it was worse than some schoolyard prank. 

There was a bat. There was the swing of a strong arm. The glass explodes with a resounding shatter and the shrill yell falls from your mouth not milliseconds later.

Getting tackled down, Simon keeps your head to his chest as he shifts to hit the ground first, body sliding slightly before you’re forced under him and protected by his bulk. Grasping at him, you clench your eyes shut as large projectiles are hurled through the broken window and make contact with the bar shelf right above the two of you. 

But Simon doesn't move for a second. Not as the bottles shatter and drown him in alcohol and colored glass, not as the bricks fall back from gravity and strike his spine with a loud thump. He holds you to him, curled over your body as if in reverent worship, grunting as he takes the beating without thought to anything else but your safety. Loud shouts and laughter echo in from outside, but your wide eyes only stay and focus on Simon, his fingers gripping across your back and creasing your shirt. You flinch as a spec of glass knicks your arm, slicing through it with a sharp drag of an uneven edge. 

Simon growls into your scalp, but as he attempts to squish you farther into him, the barrage, just as it had come, entirely stops. 

Staying there, breathing heavily and your mind panicked, you have no time to think before Simon shoves himself up and snaps his enraged eyes forward. Like a large beast, his hands are in shaking fists, alcohol dripping from his shirt and glass pinging against the wood. You can smell blood. 

“Simon,” you say in concern, moving to stand up quickly as you try to get your breath back.

What the hell had just happened?!

“Stay there!” he barks, eyes tight as they dart back and forth to nothing until they find something. 

No one was there anymore, but in that absence, the true damage was brought to light. You ignore Simon’s words and shift until you can peek over the top of the counter, fingers shaking and mouth dry. The man beside you is stone-still, his darkened eyes lighting like fire and brimstone as the anger can all but be tasted in the air. 

The mechanic’s shop across the street. Seen through the broken remains of the bar as if a tornado had come through on the dusty air. 

It had been ransacked.

—

The illumination of the police lights takes over everything, pushing the dark away as Sheriff Russel tries to get statements from the two of you. But your attention keeps getting brought back to the stiff-standing presence of Simon. 

He hasn’t spoken beyond clipped sentences, even when he’d called Price, Johnny, and Gaz to explain the situation. 

“Can you explain what you saw?” The Sheriff eases, and your attention is drawn back. 

“It wasn’t much,” you stutter, shaken. “Shadows—men wearing masks. One had a bat and hit the window before they started throwing bricks.”

Simon’s eyes shift over the damage, numb gaze finding more broken glass, thrown paint, and dents in the garage door. The front had been trashed with garbage, and the lobby was ruined—it was by some miracle that the bikes had been left alone for whatever strange reason. 

It didn’t make him any less full of wrath. 

Your hands are still shaking, and your arm still leaking small droplets of blood down your flesh. Simon’s injuries were worse; he’d taken the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all, even as the crimson liquid stains his wet back.

“Simon needs medical attention,” you speak lowly to the Sheriff, head moving forward. “Can we do this later at the station?”  

“I’m fine,” the man in question grunts, voice deep with anger before turning and walking back to the two of you. Not once do his eyes stop searching the area; on high alert even now and not eager to be out in the open. Those old instincts were creeping back over him, and he wanted to get you somewhere safe so he could handle this situation himself.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who was responsible and while property was one thing, your comfort was another. 

How dare anyone do something like that to you. 

“You’re bleeding,” you explain, eyes tight. A hand brushes over your arm, taking it up and inspecting the small cut that you wear. 

Feet shift, and through a clenched jaw Simon utters, “So are you.” 

“You know what I mean, Brown-Eyes,” you try to make him listen, but it’s fruitless. 

“Don’t worry about me,” the Sheriff walks to assess the damage, letting the two of you speak in hushed whispers and firm looks. 

“You sound stupid,” you hiss, and Simon’s fingers rub your skin softly, his study of your body taking place in a slow sweep. “Of course I’m going to worry.” 

“Need to stop shaking.” Your face creases at the comment. 

“I’m not shaking.” Simon grabs your hand and puts his fingers through yours, raising it between you so you can look. Your eyes shift down, and your limb can clearly be seen vibrating like an engine in his hold; the fingers unable to close fully. 

Not speaking, Simon cups it with his other hand and presses, grounding you as your lungs take a deep breath before you can clear your throat. 

“I’m fine,” your words barely make it to the air. 

“...Now who’s sounding like me?” The man mutters eyes creased as he stares. “Breathe.” 

You listen, taking another deep breath and staring at Simon’s chest.

“Up ‘ere,” a finger moves out to tap under your jaw, making you tilt your head up to lock with his browns. “There we are, then. Focus. M’right here.” 

“You’re good at this,” you grumble, put off by your own separation from your body. 

Simon tilts his head. “Had to be.” 

You spare a strangled huff at that. 

How quickly things could go wrong—you had thought that tonight would be the best night of your life, but now it was just one single instant that things had made sense, the rest a stain on your memory. 

“You know it was Graham and his friends?” Simon nods, still watching you and making sure you’re calming down properly, waiting for that adrenaline crash. He knows. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Right now?” The man pauses. “Nothing. You’re coming down with me to the Bed and Breakfast. Staying there.” 

So that was how Simon shifted his priorities, walking you down the road as more and more police showed up—there would be more talking in the morning, you had given them everything you’d known so far. It was also how you were mobbed by three more concerned mechanics as you entered their temporary living situation until houses were purchased, blue and brown eyes blinking at the two of you quickly. 

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Gaz had asked, but you were much too tired to speak beyond leaning into Simon’s shoulder and grunting. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny had muttered, only in boxers as he’d shoved out of his room. “Heard the sirens—what’s been happenin’ without me?”

Price had been the one to finally settle everyone and push out a stiff order to leave Simon and you alone for the night. With various glances and tense looks, you were both allowed into your room with little more trouble. 

It was tiny but clean, and Simon had locked the door with a grumble and moved you over to the bed so you could sit, moving off to run a bath. 

You heard the pipes squeak—the whoosh of water as it entered the tub. 

Your mind has still not entirely caught up to itself as Simon leads you forward and begins undressing you; taking off your top and letting you shift out of your own pants. The bathroom tile is cold, and you wrap your arms around yourself when you’re entirely bare as you can’t find the words to speak. That is, before Simon takes his shirt off and you see the damage that’s been done. 

You gasp, hand reaching out but stopping above the cut skin surrounded by a million bruises and large welts. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, delicately touching the skin. None of the slices were deep, but the horror was still there. “Simon…”

Brown eyes soften, and the balaclava is removed as well before a kiss is dug into your forehead. The shade of his hair matched his eyelashes, and now with the full picture, he was as handsome as you imagined him to be, though to all others the scars and the crookedness of his nose might be a shock. You hadn’t expected anything different. 

“Just bruises, Love,” he pets your neck, thumb running over your pulsepoint. 

“You’re all cut up,” your eyes water, but your stubbornness holds them back as you try to take everything in from his willingness to show you his face to the events of tonight. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that he would do something like this, really, he was always a jerk but he was never…never bold like this.” 

Cupping his cheeks, you kiss his jaw, salty water tracking down your face as you hear Simon take in a breath. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly, curling over you as if another barrage of bricks was imminent. 

But there wasn’t going to be any danger here. Not with three other veterans down the hall.

“He ever…?” You shake your head, shakily uttering a quick response to Simon’s trialed-off question.

“No. No, I’d never stand for that.” The man’s broken body loosens, a long sigh exiting his nose in blatant relief. 

“Good,” is all he says. “Deserve better.”

You sniffle, getting a reign on your emotions. “I’ve got better.” 

During the shared bath, you clean the others’ wounds, your back to the wall as you run water over the stretch of Simon’s shoulders, washing away the blood. Your nails drag over his skin as he shivers, not looking back at you as he reaches behind and takes one of your hands into his. The black stain of his tattoos rubs along your bare arm as fingers intertwine, your limb moved and held to his abdomen as you kiss one of the knobs in his spine softly and hum to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin. 

Simon doesn’t respond, only leaning back into you more. 

—

Two days pass with no sign from Graham or his friends—Celine, either. Everyone in town was on edge, and in that time you’d been put on paid leave from the bar on account of your involvement and the potential involvement of your coworker. So, you spent most of the time at the shop with Simon, as he’d asked you to so he could keep an eye out.  

You had thought that maybe this was a one-time event, and had believed it, as well. Graham had made a point, and being the idiot that he was, he’d pay for it. If he was smart, he’d be out of the country by now—there was no mistaking Simon’s vendetta now. Price had to reel him back in the day after the vandalism. 

You’d woken up to an empty bed, having been fitted into one of Simon’s incredibly large shirts and sweatpants for pajamas, and heard arguing. Feet padding like a cat, you had pressed your ear to the door and listened with held-back breath, as if only a peep would make the heated conversation stop.

“He made her bleed, Price. He put her in danger!” 

“Get your head on, Simon, you aren’t in the service anymore,” Price had hissed, shadows slinking along from under the door. “You can’t do anything about it.”

There had been a low growl, an aggravated breath. 

“I can’t sit ‘ere when he’s waiting like a fucking robber. This is my responsibility— happened on my watch.”

“Since when did that fucking happen, Simon, eh? What’s been going on with you two?”

A pause. “...It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it—you’re thinking like a damn soldier.” 

So here you are, fixing the streaks of miscolored paint that had been spattered over the mechanic’s shop as Simon comes out, wiping his hands with a rag. 

“Good thing I didn’t start on the mural yet,” you comment to him, stepping back and putting your roller down. The rag is offered and you take it with a small smile while you slide it over your fingers. “Else I would have tracked him down myself.”

“Would ‘ave helped.” October eyes flicker along the drying paint—the marks still visible. “M’sorry.”

“If you won’t let me apologize,” you raise a brow in challenge. “I won’t let you either.” 

Simon’s eyes crinkle from behind a new balaclava, missing the skeleton details. “Cheeky.”

“It’s called being truthful, Riley.” You sigh through the tilt of your head. “But the bad news is that I had to use up the paint, and I’m not even halfway done with this. It didn’t help that they used a darker color than what I wanted as the backdrop.” 

“Want to take a drive out, then?” The question is swift and honest as it's aimed at you like a distraction from the anxiety. Simon motions his head to the garage. “Got a bit before I’m needed, m’sure you could use a break, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” you utter, moving to rest a hand on his bicep. He almost purrs at the touch, leaning in. 

“Want to,” Simon grunts slowly. “Bikes are still good. Bastards knew I’d skin them if they touched ‘em.” 

“I’m sure,” you chuckle, teasing him through a smirk. “Big Bad Simon Riley.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes at that, turning back around as you follow after, laughing. 

You both get onto the Rebel, and the brown leather jacket moves your way along with the helmet, slipping it over your head not seconds later as Simon grabs his spare. 

“Are you sure you shouldn't ask for another helmet?” You had brought it up the first time as well—the prospect of a crash. 

“Only a small ride—I’ll go slow, Sunshine.” Knuckles tap the top of the helmet in reassurance. “Matters more that you’re the one wearing it.” 

Your face creases up, but you sigh and nod, wrapping your hands around Simon’s waist and tightly holding on as the engine starts rumbling below you. Moving your feet up to the rests, you scoot closer as the man pushes off the ground, flipping the kickstand back up before he leans forward slightly and lets the bike do the work.

As before, the two of you get out of town and nature opens up—but as soon as you really start to let your worries slide away and focus on Simon’s pulse and the freedom he gives you, there’s a cold wind from the west. Coming up and dragging along with it, a dark rain cloud sits over you both about a seven-minute drive in.

“Should we pull over?!” You shout in question as raindrops begin to patter off your helmet. The bike makes a strange chirping sound, and you blink over Simon’s shoulder until your attention is taken away by his answer. 

“Soon!” You nod, trusting him to know, and ease back. Your fingers trace the small bulge of scars at his waist, shivering. 

One minute later, you’re about to say you can see the town ahead when that chirping starts again. Brows furrowing, you grunt in the back of your throat and yell, “What’s that sound, Simon?”

He glances back briefly, unable to hear you.

“The sound!” Simon’s fingers flicker, head moving down to the bike below him—the hum of the engine was too strong up here, he can’t hear anything out of the ordinary. 

“What are you—?!” 

There’s a great shriek of black metal, and the Honda Rebel 500’s front wheel breaks off from the motorcycle fork and the bike flips. 

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

tired (sirius/remus)

a/n: wartime wolfstar except they get to be cute and domestic and in love and not fighting mwah x

‘Hello? I’m home.’ The front door swings shut with a soft whoompf as Sirius hauls himself inside, stamping his boots on the mat and rubbing his hands together in a feeble attempt to rid his bones of the cold that’s seeped in. Outside the night is deep and liquid. Sighing, he chucks his keys on the console, yanks off his shoes and throws his hefty biker’s jacket up on the hook beside his boyfriend’s worn-out duffle, before calling out again.

‘Remus? You there?’ This time, a head pops out of the kitchen doorway in response.

‘Hi, love. You’re late.’

‘Yeah, well. Such are the joys of life at present,’ Sirius replies joylessly, running a hand through his hair. Remus just gives him a rueful smile.

‘Come on through, I’ve got the kettle on.’

The kitchen is warm and comforting when Sirius sinks into his usual chair at the table, and a wave of exhaustion comes crashing down on top of him. The dull ache that had already started up a low thrum in his limbs seems to take over now that he’s finally let his guard down, and for a moment all he can really focus on is the soreness in his feet. Remus leans down to kiss his head, all soft wool and smoke and cinnamon, then sets about fetching a mug. The one he settles on is a gift from Lily. It’s got a slight chip on the handle and the words Best Dog in the World neatly hand painted on the front in an imitation of Sirius’ fancy cursive. Sirius had roared with laughter when he’d unwrapped it, and it had immediately become a fan favourite in their household.

‘Do you fancy something herbal? We’ve got peppermint and liquorice in if you’d like.’

‘Sure Moons, that’d be lovely.’ Remus hums in response and takes the box of teabags down from the cupboard. Then he shuffles across to the kettle where it’s cradled childlike by its tipper (a lifesaving stroke of genius on Mary’s part) and pours the water. It’s a familiar sound, mundane, and Sirius closes his eyes to bask in the feeling of just being home. When he’s opened them again his tea is sat steaming happily before him, and he pulls it closer, grateful for its warmth in his hands. Remus pulls up a chair opposite him.

‘That better?’, he inquires softly.

‘Loads, thanks.’

‘I’m glad to have you back.’ Sirius winks at him.

‘Can’t stand to be without me, right babe?’ Remus laughs and makes a face.

‘Actually I take it back. You can give me that mug back now and return to the dark and cold.’

‘You’re a cruel man, Lupin.’

‘Not my fault you’ve poor taste in men.’ Sirius shakes his head at this, a fond expression softening the sharpness of his features.

‘I’ve got great taste in blokes. The best.’

They spend a few quiet minutes together after that. For the first time in about four weeks time seems like it’s on Sirius’ side, and things are allowed to slow to a dreamy kind of pace where whole lifetimes can be spent wrapped in the gentle embrace of a tiny old fashioned kitchen with a flickering lightbulb. It’s grounding to sit still for a second and focus on nothing else but being. Soon enough he’s finished his tea, and looks up to find Remus watching him somewhat analytically. He’s looking at Sirius in the way he sometimes does, like he’s trying to memorise every detail of his face just in case there’s a test on it later.

‘You don’t look right.’

‘Wow. Complimentary.’

‘You know I don’t mean it like that. Are you alright, cariad?’ The question is so gentle and so genuine that Sirius has to fight to keep himself from tearing up.

‘I’m just tired, Remus. I’m so fucking tired.’ Remus studies him, then stands.

‘Here. I think you need it.’

Sirius doesn’t need to be told twice. Remus’ arms are safe and reassuring and soft and Sirius clutches fistfuls of his woollen jumper tight as they hug. He buries his face in Remus’ shoulder and decides to just let the rest of reality fuck right off. Somewhere along the line Remus reaches up to stroke his hair and God, if that doesn’t heal something in him. They’re like that for a while. Just the two of them, in the very very early hours of the morning, embracing. As if maybe if they were close enough, if they held each other long enough, they’d be able to squeeze all the sadness and all the suffering out of their weary souls and send it spiralling off into the night. As if they’re comforting each other through something so much bigger than half past midnight on an awfully cold Thursday.

‘I’ll run you a bath,’ Remus murmurs eventually. ‘Wash your hair for you, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ breathes Sirius, voice barely audible, muffled by his boyfriend’s shoulder. ‘Please.’

[chloemarievaughan]

May 7

Grey and I have planned to separate today- He is going to attempt Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the United Kingdom, with the caveat that the peak of Ben Nevis is often cloud covered with no visibility, and he may turn back early if it doesn’t feel worth the hike for no view. It’s a 7-9 hour round trip hike, not to mention a bit of a walk back into Fort William. One would think there would be a more direct bus line to the foot of the mountain but I guess not, but grey did hop on a bus that at least took him closer to the mountain to start off the day!

I have no interest in hiking the highest mountain in the UK, so I found a more touristy mountain option. Nevis Range is a ski slope nearby with a convenient Gondola taking you from the bottom of the mountain to about 2100 ft up. Then, there are two hikes, about an hour round trip and about 40 minutes round trip. With the bus timing, I left at about the same time as grey, but we took two different buses. This was very convenient because the bus picked me up directly in front of my hotel and dropped me at exactly the ski resort; I was only stressing a bit when the bus was 10 minutes late and I had been waiting at the stop for about 30 minutes to be sure I wouldn’t miss it 😂 made it without incident though. unless you count waiting in line for an unneccesarily long line to buy a gondola ticket. There were a bunch of mountain bikers going up the gondola who had to fill out a long waiver, and instead of letting people who were not mountain biking buy a ticket quickly or having two lines, I had to wait for multiple people ahead of me to fill out their waivers painfully slowly 😂

I paid $30 for my Gondola ticket which was so fun. I love taking weird transportation and I got to float in the air above the hills almost to the top of Aonach Mor, the 8th highest mountain in the UK! It was also hard to take pictures through the gondola windows, which were both dirty and appeared to be scratched by people carrying their skis up 😂In ski season, they have a chairlift going up to the actual top, but in the summer, you just go mostly up. And I had a good amount of time to kill so I took my time savoring the view. There were a bunch of mountain bikers going down the mountqin; they could attach their bikes to the outside of the gondola to go up!

The hour long hike I did first and it was the “flat” one; it was only flat in comparison to the other hike. Clearly the makers of the trail have never seen what “flat” means in Ohio lol. I stopped and took pictures, wandered, touched the water coming down in a babbling brook (not as cold as I was expecting!). After the first hike, which was pretty much just me and the less than 10 other people I passed on the trail, I stopped at the ski lodge cafe for some tea and cake, and then wandered out for the second hike drinking my tea. This one was short and much less flat, and way more people had made it up the mountain by this point, including a ton of people with dogs. Some very tiny chihuahua type dogs were walking on the hike 😂 I assume they were mostly being carried though. . I sat at the scenic overlook for about an hour, soaking in the view from different angles. I wore my warmer jacket and my rain coat overtop, but didn’t get too cold until I was sitting down for a while. Went back to the little cafe and had a cheese and mushroom melt and some sparkling water, and then it was time to make my descent. Got a message from grey as I was heading down that he made it to the top of Ben Nevis! One of the many mountains I could see from the top of my view was apparently Ben Nevis but honestly I could not tell which one lol 😂 As advertised, it was snow covered with no good view from the top, but Grey couldn’t resist. Also, no wonder I always feel like he is walking so fast; he made it to the top in 3 hours and 15 minutes when it often takes people 5+ hours to summit!

once I made it down the gondola (this one had an open window! So I got one dirty window free picture on the way down haha) I had about 20 minutes until my bus came. Due to some construction it wasn’t super clear where the actual bus stop was, but then a couple minutes before the bus was due I realized a large crowd had gathered to go back to town so that made it easier to find 😂 Instead of riding all the way back, I hopped off the bus at Ben Nevis Distillery. I was hoping for a tour, but they are sold out the next few days and it was more spur of the moment because I saw it from my window on the way there. I enjoyed both the whiskies I tried, but have no idea which was which 😂 I *think* what I tried was the Coire Leis and the Dew of the Nevis Supreme; I liked the supreme better. But I had a confusing situation when I ordered and am Not totally sure if that’s actually the ones I was trying lolol. After the distillery I had the option of a 50 minute walk back into town or waiting for the bus so I waited for the bus. I wasn’t sure if I had to pay because I got off the bus early on my return ticket, but the bus driver was the same one from earlier and he remembered me and let me ride the rest of my return ride to the hotel for free. Grey had beat me back to Fort William and we both took lovely showers and then went out for dinner. Did not really enjoy my seafood dinner which was disappointing as there are a lot of rivers and lakes and oceans in the vicinity so should have been better! Grey and I have an early train tomorrow (leaving 7:45 am for a 5 hour journey to Edinburgh!)

[lizzygrantarchives]

Wonderland, November/December 2011

The “Video Games” singer’s dilapidated, sepia-tinged glamour and heart-melting vocals have made her the talent to watch this year. For all you wannabe internet sensations out there: this is how it’s done.

Lana Del Rey and I are perched on the curb trying to light cigarettes with a novelty lighter shaped like a gold bar. Tiny, encased in a leather biker jacket and skintight jeans, her soft brown curls cascading over her shoulders, she finally beats the breeze with the diminutive flame that pops out the top.

It has been a whirlwind year for the 25-year-old NY native, who has been splitting her time equally between Brooklyn and east London’s Kingsland Road (couch surfing all the way). Like Willow Smith, SuBo and, er, Boo the dog, she has achieved that dubious accolade of “internet sensation” status and is in the process of turning her hit ‘Video Games’ – seemingly everywhere at the moment, from the Christopher Kane show this September to the latest episode of Made In Chelsea – into a proper chart topper.

To be fair, the song does its own PR pretty well. It’s one of those niggling tunes that lodges in your head, both because of its simplicity (the main refrain is just four notes, mirroring the slow march of the backing chords) and a more complex, displaced sense of nostalgia, full of odd contrasts. Lyrics like “I say you the bestest/ Lean in for a big kiss” have a sad, faded coquettishness to them, while the chorus (“It’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you”) blaze with naïve sincerity. Then there’s the repeating full stop of ‘Video Games’ – which seems both weirdly out of place and suitably childlike in the midst of it all.

Del Rey’s heart-stopping voice – think Mazzy Star with Stevie Nicks’ vocal range and Nancy Sinatra’s fragile strength – stands a mile out from the other stuff in the charts. There’s no Auto-Tune or expensive video or banging remix. It’s just Lana, and some harps and a bit of piano, creating a spooky, swirling filmic atmosphere.

I expect her to be like her songs, a bit sad and introspective. She’s not. She’s giggly and full of beans. She jumps up to talk to various other people that walk past, proclaiming her love for them. She flutters her eyelids, which are thick with eyeliner and falsies, and twiddles with the tassels on her purple slippers.

Lana (born Lizzie Grant) started to make music when she was 18. “I was always writing little songs, but nothing I liked then. When I left school I wanted to do music because I thought I was good at it and I wanted to do something that I loved. So my uncle taught me to play guitar and I did these little shows, just me and my guitar, singing and playing the five chords that I knew.”

I mention how that’s quite punk, that Patti Smith famously only knows three chords, and she laughs, “I’ve got two up on you, Patti!” That might not be the only similarity either – Patti famously plugged away until the world sat up and took notice of her. “Yeah, there were so many times when I didn’t think ‘it’ would happen. I just carried on living my life, you know?”

Raised in Lake Placid, upstate New York, Lana listened to Eminem as a kid (“Everyone listened to him, it was the 90s”) until she discovered Bob Dylan, Nirvana and Frank Sinatra, “the masters of all genres. Does their music inspire mine? They inspire me in life and my life inspires my music, so I sort of think they have influenced my music.”

I’m trying to imagine how the Dylan/Cobain/Old Blue Eyes triumvirate permeates her life on a day-to-day basis – her hair is perfect, her face is perfect, she’s not wearing a suit or a holey old sweater: she looks like an escapee from Valley of the Dolls meshed with, as one blogger put it, a blow-up doll version of Natalie Portman.

Maybe it’s in her old-fashioned Hollywood pizzazz that so many aspire to and even more fail at. And this in turn might be the crux of some of the Del Rey backlash that has surfaced online – that her lips are fake and that she originally recorded under her own name. Neither things are new or surprising with many other pop stars, but with Lana it has caused a Marmite reaction.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “my mood changes about it depending on the day. In general, you don’t want anyone to say anything bad about you. I think when anything gets popular quickly there is always scepticism, but I don’t think that’s grounds for being rude or cruel. I’m sure it wouldn’t have happened if I were a man. I personally don’t believe in expressing a negative opinion, just because I’m not interested in it. Life is so short in general – the more negative energy you put into the world is just time-wasting.” She takes a long draw on her cigarette and adds, fixedly, “What other people think of me is none of my business, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

The dilapidated glamour of Del Rey’s aesthetics is part of the reason we love her. Her DIY videos, made with her sister holding the laptop to film her, and spliced in with old clips from YouTube, are part of what has gotten her to this point. No marketing man or video director could have faked the naivety and enthusiasm she’s poured into them.

“Yeah,” she bursts, “I’ve made all the videos so far – it’s expensive and I had no budget to ask anyone else. I think when you really want to make your own world around you, you just do what you can with what you have. And I didn’t have that much. Building my visual world was something that I transitioned to because I had done everything I wanted to do sonically – I’d finished my first record and I needed to get the pictures around it and, again, I was just guided by my own intuition, for whatever that was worth.”

We shoot the breeze for a while, talking about boarding school (she went, she was an outsider, although she wouldn’t want to put it like that), stylists (she has one, it’s more of a gay-best-friend-who-helps-her-find-the-right-frock-for-events scenario), where to get the best manicures (she has huge acrylic nails) and where she’d like to call home (“New York. Or Paris. I don’t know.”).

Listening to Del Rey’s music, it seems incongruous that someone so chirpy could make such sad songs. “I’ve been happy and sad; I’m not sad anymore. It doesn’t have anything to do with the music; it has to do with enjoying life, on life’s terms, and finding peace with yourself. I’ve been happy for a real long time – seven or eight years.” Is she happy because she makes the music she wants to? “Yeah,” she beams before saying, dogmatically, that she believes “it’s important to walk along a path towards something that makes you happy career-wise. And if you’re not happy, you can’t tell yourself that you are.”

Has having four million hits and counting on ‘Video Games’ made her happy? “I am happy with the way things are,” she says, “but I was happy with the way things were. I could be doing anything but I am doing what I love, and not doing things I hate.” There must be parts she doesn’t favour? She grins. “When I thought it was never going to happen, I stopped doing it and just lived my life. I haven’t been on stage for two years… so I’m not too sure how that is going to work – I’m not a natural exhibitionist.”

This much was evident during Del Rey’s recent appearance on Later… With Jools Holland. Dressed all in white, with huge hoop earrings, she shuffled uneasily from side to side, her eyes cast down and her voice perhaps even more fragile than usual. But somehow it ended up being all part of the charm – the rapt silence in the room was palpable.

She lights another cigarette and stirs at the gravel with her toe, hands neatly folded in her lap. What will happen next to the girl who reminded us that pop can be crafted and beautiful, whose favourite records are Lil’ Wayne and the American Beauty soundtrack? Whose big hit that was made at home on her laptop went viral quicker than you can say ���Bieber”? “This afternoon I’m off to work with Bobby Womack,” she laughs. So, she’s right. There’s something to be said for gentle persistence.

Originally published in the November/December 2011 issue of Wonderland with the headline Miss November.

[mylittlesyn]

My favorite trope that I'll be writing soon (it's in a long fic involving OCs only posted on my AO3) is:

Big burly alpha male with tiny floofy dog. And he takes floofy dog seriously. This is a man who does crimes. You laugh at him with floofy dog, you lose a finger. Floofy dog also has a tokofuku that says 'fuck bitches' (tokofuku is basically a japanese biker jacket).

I am so excited to write this and have nobody read it but a few people.

[moralcompass-archived]

Correct. He grins handing the first bag. “Open it! Open it!” He is clearly excited.

When the other opens it, he would find a massive blanket for thier bed, a nice good quality biker jacket, some new carpenter tools, and of course a tiny white dog plush.

When they get out of the bath, he helps the other to the couch after they get dressed. He's about to go make breakfast when he notices something under the door...

-Mondo

He happily thanks the other before noticing it as well. He gets up rather shaky still, but still takes..whatever it is..and reads it. He doesn’t say anything, but his complexion pales.

@shsl-bosozoku-mondo-oowada

[bratkook]

tied up. (m) jjk.

pairing. biker!jk x reader genre. smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship word count. 6k of just filth <3 warnings. light bondage, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, spanking, begging, sweet dirty talk, cum play/stuffing, oc tries to be in control hehe summary. jungkook would do absolutely anything you asked. which is how he found himself on his back, arms tied up above his head, with you perched on his lap and a look on your face that meant trouble. note. little valentine’s day special for deep six!couple (it’s a pwp so no need to read the original story) i hope you enjoy it, lmk what you think ❣️

Never in a million years did Jungkook expect to be in this position. He’s a tough man, always clad in leather and thick rings, covered in dark tattoos, riding around on a loud bike with his club patch adorning his back. 

Yet here he was, laying on his back with his arms above his head, while your cute self sat perched on his hips, eyes sparkling and a giddy smile on your red coated lips. All because he was so inexplicably weak for you. 

“This is what you want?” Jungkook questions for the first time in the span of ten minutes. 

When he arrived home earlier, hands holding a giant plush teddy bear with a bouquet of sunflowers and baby’s breath between it’s paws, his attention was momentarily on the two dogs at his feet yapping for him to acknowledge. Jungkook had been too focused on petting the tiny furballs to notice you weren’t in the room, but when the usual feeling of your hands sliding around him in greeting was missing, he stood back up with a look of confusion. 

It wasn’t until he wandered further into the house, following a small trail of rose petals that lead from the front door all the way to the bedroom, that he finally spotted you. Sitting on the center of the bed in the dimly lit room, a few candles scattered on the dresser and nightstands, flames dancing and illuminating the scene in a warm glow, casting your form in a golden hue that left you looking unreal.

A silk ribbon lingerie set that matched your lipstick hugged your curves, tied up bows covering your nipples, completed by a matching garter belt hugging your waist with gold detailed chains dangling down to your thighs. It was as if you had taken a screenshot of Jungkook’s deepest desires and brought them to life, placed right in front of him, positioned perfectly in order to pull him in.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” you had murmured so sweetly, hands placed delicately over your thighs with your legs tucked under your butt, slowly beckoning him over when he had stood in a state of shock at the door. 

It didn’t take much to get Jungkook wired when it came to you, but seeing you covered in silk ribbons, looking like the perfect present he wanted to unwrap, made his mind blank. It’s that same horndog dazed look on his face that you knew so well, roping him in with your tender kisses and roaming hands, marking his skin in shades of red in a trail from his neck to his ear. This is not entirely how he thought the night would go, his earlier plans blanking from his mind, the teddy bear he held now placed on the nightstand while you lured him in.

“I wanna try something,” you had suggested, soft breath tickling his skin and turning him into a puddle at your feet. 

“Anything.” Jungkook meant it, always willing to do whatever you wanted with unmatched enthusiasm. So when you brought out a jute rope and used your sultry voice to ease him onto his back, slowly undressing him until his top half was bare, he could feel his heart thumping erratically in his chest. 

The question he had asked minutes prior continues to hang in the air as you loop the rope under a final time and pull the bight through, pulling tight to lock the knot in and tugging gently to double check that it wasn’t pinching his skin. The red rope compliments his skin, the double-column tie keeping his hands snug against the bed frame in the perfect position. 

“This is what I want,” you confirm, fingers trailing from his bound wrists, down the veins that covered his arms, and the black ink that painted his skin. Jungkook felt a trail of fire that followed your touch, burning his skin with molten pleasure while you continued down onto his chest, fingertips feeling the bumps of the golden chain he always wore with your initial on it. You admire it for a brief moment, loving the way it glimmers on his chest before your hands continue their path, sliding down until you reach his sides, hands cupped over his ribs and feeling the racing of his heart. 

“Nervous?” you tease, teeth biting down onto your lower lip, your thumb gently soothing his skin. You had half the mind to be a brat and tickle him, knowing he had no way to swat you away like he always did now that his hands were tied to the bed frame, but you could see the small shivers racking his body from being in this position. Jungkook was horny, and a little intimidated by you. 

“You make me nervous. Always look so pretty,” he trails off softly, eyes glazed over as he observes you. There would never be a time where Jungkook wouldn’t stare at you like you were the reason the sun came up every morning, your scattered kisses mimicking the constellations you swore he placed in the sky. Everything on this earth reminded him of you and he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

“Yeah, you like this?” you wonder, hands coming up to trace along the straps of your lingerie with a knowing smile. He takes another minute to admire the silk fabric, eyes focused on the caged bralette hugging your boobs, ends of the ribbon covering your nipples and bouncing when you lean back to give him a better view. The matching underwear with a tiny heart cut out of the front was the cherry on top, silky material felt along his skin from your position. “I bought it just for you.”

A small groan escapes him, tongue coming out to swipe at his piercing before he’s biting down on the soft flesh. Jungkook loved you in absolutely anything you wore, but knowing you had gone out of your way to pick this out had him wondering just how many other options you had hidden away. He’d definitely be bringing that up once he wasn’t focused on the sweet sound of your voice.

“That makes me feel special.” His hands move to touch you, so accustomed to gripping your hips whenever you’re on top of him, he forgets he’s currently restrained until the bed frame rattles and a small burn is felt around his wrists. A wince reaches your ear before he’s relaxing once more, briefly looking up to remind himself that he was tied up before looking back at you with those doe eyes that always swoon you, just now understanding what a compromising position he’s in.

“Nuh uh,” you tsk, wagging a finger at him playfully. “You can’t use your hands today.”

Jungkook honestly didn’t think this through before accepting, not realizing just how much he loved to grope and hold on to you at all times. “What's your plan? Tie me up and use me until you’re satisfied? Because that sounds like one of my fantasies.”

A sly smirk curls your lips, eyes clouding with lust, and it makes his stomach flip. He knew you meant trouble whenever you had that look on your face, and the current situation leaves him a little wary—and excited—for what you have planned. 

“Should I blind fold you too then?”

His eyes narrow as he stares at you, a small frown turning down his lips, clearly displeased with the suggestion. “Alright, that's taking it too far. You know I love staring at you, baby.” 

Jungkook slowly ruts his hips up, cool belt buckle felt along your clothed core, pushing against you when he repeats the motion once more. It makes you shiver while you lean forward, resting more of your weight against him and seeing the teasing grin on his face. Tie him up all you want, he’d even let you contort him into a pretzel if that's what you were into, but blindfolding him and preventing him from seeing the pretty faces you make as you moan over his cock? That was sick torture. 

Thankfully you weren’t totally cynical, agreeing that Jungkook bound to the bed frame with his muscular arms held up was more than enough. “I’m just teasing, Guk. You look good like this though.”

Wiggling a perfectly shaped brow at you, he already feels his cock hardening underneath you, the small ruts of your hips joining his only spurring him on further until he’s aching in his jeans. “C’mon, do whatever you want to me baby.”

Jungkook holds his breath when you lift your hand up, slowly reaching across to tuck a strand of his long hair behind his ear, thumb gently tracing the tiny scar marking his skin with a smile on your face. 

“I will,” you whisper with mischief in your eyes as you shuffle off his lap, nimble fingers undoing his belt clasp with ease, enjoying the way his stomach tenses with anticipation while you unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper. His impatience shows when he lifts his hips, eager to have you yanking the denim from his thick thighs, not satisfied until you’re tossing the material aside, landing in a heap right beside his leather jacket on the floor. 

The black briefs he has on do a good job showcasing his growing bulge, slowly tenting the fabric when you gently trace your finger along his thighs, following the bold lines of ink on his skin. Almost like a ritual, you place a soft kiss to the double-headed wolf shaded in black before your fingertips dip beneath the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down his hips smoothly. 

Jungkook audibly groans at being released, hard cock bobbing in the air slightly with small beads of precum collecting at his tip, already hard and heavy just from looking at you. The prettiest veins line the underneath of it, guiding your eyes all the way up until you reach the pink mushroom head, just waiting to find its way into your mouth. 

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you marvel, pulling his underwear down all the way and letting it join his pile of clothes on the floor. He lay completely naked now, chiseled body out in the open for you to drool over, and he’s not opposed to it. The fiery look in your eyes while you trailed your gaze over every inch of him only made him squirm, desperate for you to touch him, to show him just why you wanted to have him tied up. 

“Show me how much you love it,” he rasps, teeth sinking down on his lip when you stare up at him, slowly lowering yourself until he could feel your breath hitting his skin. Your eyes are trained to detect any of his movements, from the bob in his throat when he swallows as you wrap your hands around his cock, to the tensing of his thighs when you place a teasing kiss to his swollen tip, taking note of his reactions to your touch.

A shuddering breath escapes him at the contact, once again forgetting about his limited range of motion when he goes to touch you and the headboard shakes behind him. It makes his wrists sting as the rope rubs against his skin in the same spot from before, but he couldn’t help it. The way you’re kneeling between his legs, back arched while you lean forward with your ass jutting into the air, he just wants to reach forward and give it a good smack like he always does.  

You know Jungkook inside and out, so as much as he was trying to act like he was okay with not being in control, you can tell he’s edging closer to becoming a desperate, frustrated mess underneath you. The small whine he releases when he settles his arms back into place shows you that much, and another glance up at him allows you to see the tiny grimace painting his features now, brows pinched together while you continue to tease him. 

“Wanna hear you beg for it,” you sigh, loosely pumping him in your hand, hovering your mouth above him when you stick your tongue out and let a thick trail of spit drip onto his cock. Jungkook hisses slightly at the visual, eyes focused on the way your spit mixes with his precum as you swipe your thumb along his slit. 

“Baby,” he whines, rutting his hips up and frowning when you inch back to prevent his cock from nudging your lips. The wicked smile on your cherry coated lips sends his mind spinning, fingers clenching in his palm when you tilt your head at him innocently. 

“Beg Jungkook. Wanna hear you.”

Your hands tighten around him, making his thighs tense as his hips rut up once more. “Fuck,” he cries out, raspy and desperate. “Please baby, make me feel good. Ah, just wanna feel your mouth please—“

His rambling gets stuck in his throat when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, gently flicking your tongue against him and having the salty taste of his precum fill your senses. Jungkook’s chest heaves when you hum around him, red lips circling his length as you slowly sink down, the warm wetness of your mouth making his blood simmer. 

The weight of his cock on your tongue has you mewling, eyes fluttering shut when you take him an inch further, gently hollowing your cheeks to suck in time with your hand. Jungkook can’t form a coherent thought now, focusing on the messy way you suck his cock, leaving it nice and shiny each time you pull back. Strings of spit drip down his length and gather around your palm, the wet thump of your hand coming down mixing in with the obscene slurps of your mouth.

“I like you like this,” you breathe as you pop off his dick, hands gliding across his length with the help of your saliva. It’s a torturous rhythm you have going, knowing exactly what to do to make Jungkook writhe around, applying just the right pressure, focusing on all the parts that you know would drive him crazy. 

“Yeah?” he manages to speak, arms flexing in their restraints when you lick a stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around his pink tip with a smile on your lips. 

“Mhm, you sound pretty when you beg.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re lucky I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you hum, the familiar warmth filling your chest at his confession just as strongly as it did when he first said it. Although he’s being playful you know how deep his words go, you can tell by the look in his eye, and if that wasn’t enough then the mere fact that he was allowing you to tie him up said it all. 

“How much more do I have to beg to get you to sink onto my cock?” The muscles in his neck tense when he throws his head back, gasping as you take him back into your mouth, sliding further down than before. His stomach hiccups once his cock nudges the back of your throat, muscle tightening around his length when you gag slightly at the feeling. Jungkook’s lungs forget how to function at the sight, your red lips pulled taut around his girth as you slurp back up only to repeat the motion again and again until he’s tensing underneath you, stomach caving in each time he hits the back of your throat. 

The breathy whine that spills past his lips has your underwear dampening with arousal, thighs rubbing together when you lift off of him once more, feeling the lust growing inside of you with each moan he releases. Very rarely did you ever get to see Jungkook like this, pleading for you to make him feel good, nights like that typically reserved for the days where he was exhausted from the club, easily becoming a needy mess in search of a stress reliever. But this version of him was new, and you wanted to savor it a little longer.

“Beg a little more for me, yeah?” Your eyes sparkle while you speak, sitting back up between his legs. His cock is left alone when you bring your fingers to the sides of your underwear, gently tugging at the knotted silk on each side to undo the garment, allowing you to slip them off while keeping the golden garter chain attached. 

Once Jungkook gets the view of your glistening folds, he doesn’t need you to ask twice. Instantly, he’s pleading to feel the warmth of your pussy around him, begging to see the look on your face once you sunk onto him, needing to hear the wet sound of his cock slipping into you. “P-please, wanna see my pretty baby use me. Wanna—fuck—wanna feel you cum around me.”

The soft skin of your thighs rub against his when you reposition yourself, straddling his lap with your pussy hovering a few inches above his length, and Jungkook can’t look away once you slowly lower yourself onto him. His lips press together at the sensation, the wetness coating your folds helping you grind against his cock, lower lips parting around it as you rock forward. It’s a teasing motion that tortures the both of you, the head of his cock just barely nudging against your clit each time, but it’s enough to have him groaning.

“Baby,” he whines again, jaw dropping open, brows furrowed together as his eyes move from the spot between your thighs, looking directly at you and seeing the sinfully evil smile you have on. The weight of you on him, keeping his cock pressed against his stomach while you grind against him, has a pool of precum gathering below his belly button, leaving a sticky mess on his warm skin.

“You wanna feel me?” you tease, letting your hands rest on his chest, tracing the skulls marking his skin and gasping when he ruts up in time with you. Your nails lightly dig into him when his cock rubs against your swollen clit with precision, biting down on your lip to prevent a moan from escaping.

“Please, let me feel you,” he whispers breathlessly, mind hazy with lust, skin tingling with each roll of your hips. You let his pleading go unanswered for a minute, enjoying the way his abs clench in time with your hips, smiling when his arms yank at the restraints in his dazed state, small moans leaving his swollen lips while he stares at you.

“Because you asked so nicely,” you smirk, bending forward to place a tender kiss to the edge of his lips, pulling back for a second as he chases your mouth before appeasing him and allowing your lips to meet in a heated kiss. Jungkook gasps into your mouth when your tongue slips past the seam of his lips, tangling with his while you reach between your bodies and grab his cock.

A slight raise from your hips allows you to lead him to your entrance, bulbous head prodding the tight ring of muscles, slowly breaching through in a familiar stretch. It didn’t matter how often Jungkook felt the warmth of your walls, his reaction was the same every time, moaning unabashedly into your mouth, the glide of your walls against his cock leaving him breathless. He’s patient as you ease onto him, continuing to kiss you, swallowing each other’s moans and pants until he bottoms out once you’re fully settled on top of him.

The full feeling of Jungkook’s cock would never fail to make you weak, curving just right inside of you, nudging the perfect spots like it was meant to be there. Your palms on his chest let you feel each rise and fall of his lungs, skin slightly sweaty to the touch, heart racing even faster than before. The wet smack of your lips separating fills the brief silence, faces inches from each other and the half lidded gaze Jungkook gives you makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

“You always feel so good,” you keen, lifting up slightly before sinking back down, becoming more fluid as you get used to his size. His body trembles slightly underneath you, rugged pants felt against your face when he groans at the feeling of your velvety walls wrapping around him beautifully. 

“Don’t tease me,” he sighs, arms flexing and mind going foggy from the slow pace. The pretty pout on his lips when he whines makes it all worth it though, lets you relish in the small sense of control he’s given you. 

You give in to him though, knowing just how bad he wanted this, allowing you to do what you pleased to him, and the least you could do was give him what he wanted too. With a soft smile, you’re bending forward and placing a kiss to the golden chain, not feeling the way his heart skips a beat as he stares at you, the warm light of the room casting you in an angelic glow that only made him fall for you further. 

“Sorry,” you giggle, grabbing his chin before you kiss him, sweet and tender as if you didn’t have him bound to the bed frame. Jungkook can’t even make light of it all, a choked moan of your name reaching your ears when you pick up the pace of your hips, skin slapping together each time you come back down. 

His hooded gaze meets yours, locked onto your every move: the bounce of your breasts while you ride him, still caged behind that bralette he couldn’t rip off with his hands, thighs tensing with the rise and fall of your hips, pussy sucking him in each time, arousal dripping down his length and staining the sheets below you.

“Fuck baby, just like that.” The husky drawl to his voice ignites a small fire within you, hot desire building inside you. The euphoric feeling spreads to every limb on your body, the thickness of his cock spreading you apart deliciously, taking over your rational thinking the way it always did, leaving you drunk off his cock as you succumb to the feeling of it all. 

He smirks lightly when you quiver above him, core tightening each time the head of his cock nudges deep inside you, rubbing along the sweet bundle of nerves he knew all too well. Your hips continue to lead you back to that same spot, cursing each time the jolt of pleasure courses through you. A trembling moan blends in with the sounds around you, walls tightening around his cock when you lift up, resting more weight on his chest when you lean forward for leverage. The angled position has your clit brushing against his pelvis, delicious friction that makes your orgasm creep up on you. 

“Fuck Guk,” you whimper above him with your eyes fluttering closed, missing the awed look he gives you, how his eyes trace the arch of your brows when you pull them together, following the curve of your mouth pushed into a pout with lips coated in a sheen of your saliva—something he desperately wants to feel against his own lips. Jungkook doesn’t fail to see how the table has turned, how easily you’ve become the whiny mess you were so determined to have him be. He loves it like this though, loves to see you shuddering with ecstasy, all because of him. 

“You gonna cum?” he wonders, voice thick and dripping with want. No longer passive, his thighs tense as he starts to fuck up into you, chuckling when you lean fully over him, allowing him to do more of the work once you start to lose momentum. A strained moan is your only response, cheek pressing into his chest as he pistons his hips into you, the lewd sound of your skin slapping together louder than before. Jungkook smiles down at you, seeing the way your body rocks in time with his thrusts, mouth dropping open while you drool over his cock. 

“C-close,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, half moon indents blending in with his chest piece while you try to find your bearings. With a bit of struggle, you lift your head once more, eyes glazed over with lust and you frown at him. “This was s-supposed to be about you.”

His hips speed up now, fingers itching to reach forward and cup your jaw, wanting to bring you closer to kiss the frown from your face. “This is about me. Love seeing you like this.” Jungkook groans as you get impossibly tighter around him. “Cum for me baby, please.”

His begging is what pushes you over the edge, wet gasp sticking to your throat once your climax washes over, incoherent mumbles of his name sounding like music to his ears. Your body trembles above him as your juices soak his cock, slurred curses spoken into the air while another gush of wetness escapes you, leaving his thighs wet with remnants of your orgasm. 

“My pretty baby,��� he coos, continuing to rut into you as you whimper, sensitive walls pulsing around him, sending light sparks of overstimulation through you. “Let my arms go angel, wanna make you feel special too.”

Still drunk off your high and vision spotty, you weakly nod, fingers slowly undoing the knot you made until his hands are finally free.

In a flash, he’s pushing you back onto the bed, messy cock slipping out of you in the process. Once his large hands are gripping your skin, everything feels right with the world, soft flesh between his fingers when he grabs your ass as he flips you over, exactly where they belonged. 

Jungkook takes his time, allowing his palms to roam your skin, acting as if he hadn’t been in this exact position last night. He traces over the golden chains along your thighs, admiring them like you had admired the chain on his chest, following them to your waist, up your back until he’s unclasping your bra and finally discarding it to the side. 

The sudden movement has you dazed, not even realizing when he had pushed you onto your knees with your hands holding you steady. The soft material of the sheets is felt beneath you, fingers gripping them while you whimper in anticipation.  

“You had your fun baby,” he sighs, fisting his cock and leading it back towards your drenched entrance. “Let me have mine.”

“Jungkook,” you mewl, arching your back further for him. His palm soothes your skin once he gently sinks back into you with a wet squelch, both hands now gripping your hips when he starts the quick pace you were both accustomed to. Your thighs spread further apart for him, keening when he sinks deeper into you, fisting the sheets as he filled you up. 

Jungkook is focused on the view of his cock stretching you open, how you’re creaming it each time he pulls back out, more of your arousal coating your thighs in a sinful mess. “Love this view,” he groans, one of his hands rearing back to deliver a rough smack against your ass, smirking when the flesh jiggles from the force. The sting spreads to your core, makes you squeal in surprise as your skin smarts and tingles, warmth intensifying when he swiftly delivers two more smacks to the same spot. “Love you.”

The sweet confession makes your walls tighten, a small cry released into his sheets as you rut back into him, meeting his thrusts in time with your own in a messy rhythm. “Love you too, so much—fuck.”

“Do you?” he jests, leaning over your body until his golden chain dangles against your shoulder, free hand clasping over yours and digging into the mattress. “Is that why you wanted to tie me up?”

A playful laugh escapes you, turning into a filthy gasp when he speeds up his thrusts, thighs smacking against yours, bed creaking under the movement. “Yes,” is all you can choke out, shivering at the ticklish feeling of his chain rocking along your skin. 

“You gonna let me tie you up next time and do whatever I want to you?”

“God, yes. Whatever you want Jungkook.” He huffs out a laugh, knowing you mean it, knowing you would indulge every one of his desires with no questions asked. You were his match made in heaven, aligning perfectly with every one of his wants and needs, and he’d forever wonder how he got lucky enough to have you enter his life. 

His right hand reaches for your face, cupping your jaw and turning you to face him, lips meeting yours in a frenzy. His fingers dig into your cheek, tongue slipping into your mouth with a shared moan, hips never losing their momentum. It leaves you in a haze, sighing into the kiss when his tongue tickles the roof of your mouth. 

“Wanna fill you up,” he whispers between smacks of your lips, letting his tongue trail against the seam of your lips before kissing you again. “Leave you nice and messy.”

“Please,” you pant, jaw slack when he angles his hips, cock hitting your gspot with precision, your sensitive walls spasming around him. “H-harder.”

“Whatever you want baby,” he murmurs, giving you another kiss before straightening up, both hands tightly gripping your hips while he gives you the rough pace you asked for. Your upper body gives out on you, face burying into the sheets as your senses overflow with him, body jostling forward with each snap of his hips, nipples grazing the sheet beneath you and making you mewl.

The sweet moans of your name he lets out, fingers burning your skin as he holds on to you, cock filling you up perfectly, it's all you can think about. And when he sneaks a hand around your body, fingers meeting your sensitive clit, you nearly shriek at the stimulation. 

Jungkook feels his own climax creeping up his spine, giving your ass another slap and groaning when you tighten around him. Your thighs tremble against his, hands yanking the sheets while you melt into his touch, moans getting breathier with each flick of his fingers. The pressure builds in your core, whole body tensing up when your second orgasm of the night makes itself known. 

“Guk.” It’s a guttural moan, needy and drawn-out, your hand mindlessly reaching behind you in search for his. He grabs it instantly, lacing your fingers together and anchoring you to him as your mind starts to float, continuing to circle along your clit with his hips never slowing down their intoxicating pace. 

With a final flick against your bundle of nerves, you’re pushed over the edge once more, falling head first into your orgasm so fast it shocks you. Your eyes slip shut, flashes of light displayed against your lids, goosebumps flaring across your skin while the white-hot pleasure consumes you. 

Jungkook curses at your walls sucking him in, attempting to milk his orgasm out of him as he continued to fuck you through it. Your hand grips his tightly, soft mewls filling the air while your body twitches and shudders, breath hiccuping as you come down, knees barely able to hold yourself up. His strong hold keeps you steady, golden chains around your messy thighs swinging from the force of his thrusts. 

“Shit baby,” he grunts, thrusting into you in quick bursts, desperate to feel his release. Your thumb gently rubs along his palm, quiet pleas begging him to fill you up, wanting to feel his cum drip out of you the way you loved. Jungkook’s hips lose their rhythm, fucking you with urgency, jaw clenched tightly when the familiar feeling overtakes him. With a few shallow thrusts and another quiet proclamation of love, he’s pushing deeper into you as he cums, warm bursts of white painting your walls, filling you up until it drips out of you around his length. 

The harsh breaths of both of you fill the now silent room, the thrumming of your heart felt in your ears as everything settles around you. Your limbs feel sore already, ass aching from where he delivered the harsh slaps, but the dopey smile on your face shows no complaints. 

You’re the first to move, gently prying your hands apart and allowing him to slide out of you. The slight gush of his cum escaping only makes you squirm, more so when his fingers stuff it back into you with a chuckle. He can’t look away though, focused on the thick globs of cum coating your folds, disappearing once more as he fills you up again. When you whine in protest he slips his fingers back out, smiling sweetly before he peppers kisses onto your back.

“I’m just trying to prevent the sheets from staining.” 

“Yeah right,” you snort, flipping over onto your back and smiling up at him. These sheets were as good as ruined, they typically were whenever you two decided to roll around and make a mess. “You’re trying to knock me up aren’t you?”

He only rolls his eyes while he crawls over you, long hair framing his face while he gives you his boyish smile. “Maybe,” he shrugs, placing a tender kiss to your lips before kissing the tip of your nose. 

When he pulls back, you let your hands cup his face, taking a good moment to admire your boyfriend, tracing every one of his features that you had memorize, your favorite being the slope of his nose leading to the curve of his lips, second favorite being the tiny mole below his mouth that you loved to kiss. Jungkook always let you take as long as you wanted, staring down at you with glimmering eyes and a sweet smile, taking his own moment to admire you as well. 

“Did you even notice the gift I brought you?” he questions lightly, eyes looking over to the teddy bear and bouquet of flowers. Your head cranes back to see what he was talking about, letting out a delighted gasp when you spot it. He snickers when you twist around on the bed, scrambling over to grab the cute gift in your hands, sniffing the flowers once you do. 

“I love them,” you beam, fondly staring down at the plush toy with the sewn on heart, both your initials embroidered onto it. “Sorry I ambushed you earlier.”

Jungkook grabs a pair of his sweats from his drawers, slipping them on before handing you one of his shirts once he stands beside you. He didn’t mind his own plans for the night being slightly derailed if it lead to this. “Ambush me all you want,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just remember, you told me I could do whatever I want next time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” His playful laugh fills the air when your elbow digs into his side, making him squirm, arms refusing to let go of you despite your attack. He only loosens his grip when you turn around, hands falling around your waist as your own hands settle around his shoulders. 

“Happy Valentine’s day. I love you.” His smile is wide as he looks down at you, cheeks pushing out in a way that keeps his innocence and makes you want to pinch them until they’re pink and he’s giggling for you to stop.

“I love you more,” you breathe out with a matching smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He sighs into it, letting himself melt into the slow motion, hands bringing you closer to him as he deepens it. But before it could go any further, a yap and a few scratches to the door pull you apart. 

“You sure you want kids?” you joke when he walks over to open the door, the two dogs rushing into the room for attention, stretching out their legs onto you as their tails wag. 

Jungkook settles onto the floor, allowing the youngest dog to climb onto his lap, standing up to lick at his jaw. “If it's with you, I want twelve.”

You can’t hold back the loud laugh you let out and he joins in, turning to stare at you when you playfully nudge his shoulder with your foot. “Keep dreaming Six. You know you’re not ready to give up your bike just yet.”

He knew this, perfectly content with the two dogs you currently had, only enjoying teasing you with the ridiculous number of kids and dogs he suggested. But Jungkook also knew that when the time was right, things would fall into place. And as he stares at the room, seeing an abundance of photographs of the two of you, newer photos showing the puppies you had adopted, there's only one thing he’s certain about: as long as he's with you, nothing else matters.

[marvel-fanfic-writer-8675]

Alpine

Pairing: Bucky x fiancée!Reader

Warnings: fluff, Alpine being adorable, cursing

Summary: your fiancée brings home a new friend to your shared apartment near the avengers tower after a mission

“Doll! I’m home!” Bucky had been away on a two week undercover mission in Romania, you had only been able to talk to him once for like 5 minutes for the whole 2 weeks. “Love!! You’re back! I missed you so much!” You say as you ran to him and gave him a giant hug. Meow “Umm…love? Why did your jacket just meow?” You ask him accusingly even though you already know the answer. He then pulled out a fluffy white cat, who you had to admit was adorable. “His name is Alpine, I found him in the rubble on the mission and he was lonely. Can we keep him?” Oh no, he was giving you the puppy dog eyes you couldn’t resist, “pleaaaasssseee. I’ll take care of him and I’ll do the dishes for the next week!” He knew your weak spot, you hated doing the dishes… He was now batting his eye lashes. It was at this point you wondered how anyone in their right mind could see this man as a scary, huge, violent winter soldier when he was obviously just a cute, sweet gentle giant. “Remind me why I agreed to marry you” you say shaking your head, “Mmm…. ‘Cause you love me. And if you really do love me you’ll let me keep Alpine!” “I suppose we can keep the cat love” you give in. “Yay!” Bucky spins around Alpine still in hand, till the cat gets annoyed at this motion and jumps out of Bucky’s hands. Alpine then runs over to you and rubs against your legs. “My two boys.” You say giving Bucky a kiss and Alpine some head scratches.

“Have you bought him anything yet?” You question your fiancé, you had cats growing up so you know what they need. “Not yet, I figured we could go together.” With that you both headed to the nearest pet store, Bucky wanted to take his bike but you reminded him that everything wouldn’t fit in there, so you settled on your car. You guys picked up the necessities like food and a litter box, but also some other stuff that Bucky claimed was necessary. This included one of those cat backpacks, a tiny cat biker helmet, since he apparently found out they made side compartments for cats, and he was totally getting one. You headed back to your shared apartment and got everything set up. The cat tower, that was more like a cat palace, took a little while but you two figured it out.

Surprisingly Alpine didn’t run and hide like most cats do, but he was super friendly. Bucky took lots of photos of Alpine and even more of you with Alpine, claiming they were perfect since they had his favorite and 2nd favorite things in the world. You of course teased him by saying, “wow, didn’t know the cat outranked me” but Bucky then said he ‘had’ to prove you wrong and he proceeded to kiss and tickle you to death.

Two weeks later, Bucky’s cat side car for his bike came in the mail and he was super excited. He installed it that day and got Alpine used to sitting in it first. Over the course of the next month he was able to get Alpine to comfortably sit and stay in there.

Bucky then had a mission, it was a really long one too, a whole month, luckily he would be able to video call you almost everyday. Usually on nights without Bucky the bed felt cold, and foreign and you ended up sleeping on the couch, but with Alpine it felt better, and you could sleep in the bed. You both still missed Bucky terribly and when he came home you and Alpine rushed to him. Alpine rubbed his legs and meowed a welcome home while you gave him a kiss and checked him for injury. He promised you he wasn’t injured and just wanted to get a shower and watch a movie. As he requested, you, Bucky and Alpine all curled up on the couch and watched a movie, eventually falling asleep accidentally. You were glad Bucky had found the little white cat in the rubble.

AN: I’m almost done with The Jungle unknown part 4, it will be posted tomorrow along with Giving thanks part 2, and possibly a surprise extra short Drabble! I know I posted 2 Bucky x reader today, I was in a Bucky mood! Hope you guys enjoyed!!

[cyberneticlagomorph]

🔴 Cyberneticlagomorph is LIVE on Caster!

>> A link to a live stream is posted to Jack's blog

>> There isn't much on the screen except for a somber lavender sky dotted with green glow-in-the-dark stars like you'd find on a child's bedroom ceiling. 

>> The camera rattles a bit, rolls over like a puppy and begins to float.

>> Jack appears, standing in a field that's actually a massive green quilt embroidered with plants and paths and the occasional sequined rock. 

>> He waves at the camera and the entire picture bobs excitedly back and forth as if the camera were alive somehow 

>> Someone in the chat uses a handful of cash to say "DUDE I THOUGHT YOU FUCKIN DIED!" 

>> Jack gives the camera a wry smile but doesn't really reply to that, and honestly it's probably for the best. 

>> Behind Jack is another player… presumably. 

>> Their avatar looks like if you took the skin off a stuffed animal and somehow all the fluff stayed in that exact shape, with two big black eyes and a sprout coming out of the top of their head.

>> Their username is just a string of numbers. 

>> They wave enthusiastically at the camera. 

>> This must be Fluffy. 

>> The chat window immediately fills up with pogchamps at the sight of Fluffy.

>> Fluffy dabs about it, to everyone's immediate delight. 

>> Two more players filter in, popping into existence a few feet away from Jack and Fluffy. 

>> BearFistsOfFurry, a hulking bear-dog-tiger plush with massive paws.

>> CmStress, an opossum dragon in a biker jacket with a safety pin in one ear.

>> Jack introduces them as Nick and Eddie respectively. 

>> The pair waves at the camera and Nick leads the group to the server select room. A massive vertical tunnel somewhere underground where the walls are lined with doors of every imaginable shape and size. 

>> The floor is covered in mattresses that players bounce on to reach the higher doors.

>> Many of the doors are bound by huge locks, some asking for Minimum Level Requirements before entering or broadcasting that that specific server is invite only, requiring a specific 'invite key'.

>> The door that Jack's party is headed for is on the ground floor and is easily the size of a human child, massive compared to the tiny toys. 

>> The lock on this door is equally huge, shaped like a rabbit skull holding a set of writhing black chains in its mouth that wrap around and around the rotten looking door. Something dark and slick leaks from the cracks in and around the moldy wood. 

>> Jack and his party offer the door their keys, each one shaped like that same grinning rabbit skull on the lock. The lock eats the keys one by one, shuddering and dropping its chains which dissolve like ash in water. 

>> The huge door swings slowly open with a horror movie creek, beyond the threshold is nothing but absolute blackness. 

>> For a second, no one moves, but then Jack takes a step forward and dozens of long spindly limbs skitter out of the darkness and grab every party member. 

>> Including the camera. 

>> Jack can help but scream as he and everyone else is pulled into the void at blinding speeds, with the sound of the door slamming behind them ringing out as finally as a funeral bell. 

>> They're falling, plummeting end over end down a darkened tunnel wrenched from Alice's worst Nightmares.

>> Beneath them is a speck, slowly growing into a forest as it gets closer and closer until Jack, his friends and the camera hit the ground so hard that the feed cuts out and the stream goes dark. 

[aroaessidhe]

link & full entry in pinned post!

Maeve

I’m not really into makeup or jewelry or anything, but I feel like the only reason I’m not is because everyone expects you to be as a girl, y’know?

He extracts a long golden thread with a hard black pendant on the end of it, accompanied by a single red bead. “She told me it was a protection charm,” he says. “Azabache.”

I, meanwhile, am in a stripy jumper from Next and a pair of leggings I keep having to pick dog hair off. It’s painful enough standing next to her in my street clothes

light blue knit dress

gray-blue  eyes,

I manage to find some black fishnets she wore at Halloween, but that’s the best I’m able to do. . I do, however, find one deep-plum lipstick that looks quite good against my dark hair. I hit the jackpot in Pat’s room, where I find a big black Kate Bush T-shirt. And I actually know some Kate Bush songs, so I won’t feel like a complete imposter wearing it. I cut an old pair of black jeans into shorts and put the fishnets on underneath.

I’m wearing navy, as Fiona instructed. A woolly jumper dress with thick black tights underneath. I pull it over my head, standing up as I take it off.

Fiona

Her mum is Filipino, and as one of the few nonwhite people in our school, she gets a few comments about her looks.

shiny black hair

she uses different highlighters to color her shoelaces, making a striped tricolor of pink, yellow, and blue.

She’s abandoned her uniform in favor of gray jeans, an emerald-green leotard patterned to look like mermaid scales, and an oversize biker jacket with wide sleeves and deep, zippy pockets that her hands are stuffed into.

sweatpants and a horse T-shirt that is too small for her

black jeans, a Penelope Pitstop T-shirt, and her big leather jacket. She has a little bit of winged eyeliner on

Roe

big hazel eyes, which really do look a bit like Ariana Grande

big, soft features and solitary habits

fingernails are painted pink. Not loud, hot fuchsia but soft pink, the color of a ballet slipper

freshly painted nails. They are aquamarine now.

a scarlet bomber jacket that would look almost sporty if the collar weren’t leopard print

looks at Roe in his red bomber jacket trimmed with leopard print, his schoolbag covered in badges, his hair long and curly.

Roe’s so much more Irish-looking than I am. The curly hair. The thick shoulders. The wiry frame. The ruddiness in his skin, high in his cheekbones, scarlet at his ears. He’s like an old drawing of some Celtic warrior.

in black Dr. Martens and a floor-length, deep red velvet gown with a slit up the leg is Roe O’Callaghan. His hair is curlier than ever and pushed forward so his eyes are barely visible under the thick mop. And with lips so painted they look swollen, he starts to sing, slowly at first. 

pushing his hair back to reveal two pearl earrings

I smudge coffee-colored shadow across his eyes, then draw inky lines across the lids, trying my best to flick upward. I remember Michelle boring us all about “cat eyes” at school. Roe, though — he actually looks like a cat. I let him put on his own mascara because I’m too afraid of poking him in the eye. I dab a tiny bit of pearly highlighter on his cheekbones so they glow when he catches the light.

I have a fur coat you could wear.” “A fur coat?” “Don’t start. It’s inherited from my great-grandmother or something.” We go up to my room, and I show him the coat. The room, lit by the single bulb of my bedside lamp, glows like a sunken sunset. The rabbit fur shines a deep, steely silver. He puts it on over his T-shirt. “You need to see the whole thing. With the silky top and the pearls and all that.

Lily

sitting on her own with a book, her long dark-blond fringe falling into her eyes. I can see red swollen spots around her temples, acne breakouts where the grease from her hair touches her skin.

a very tall girl with dark blond hair near the Beg wearing a coat over her pajamas.

[shinebrightlikeanarwhal]

Ok ok we’ve heard about Larry and Travis now I want to know what sal and Travis kids would look and act like you just now one of their children got both of there grandmothers names

Lucia Diane Fisher 1st

Diana Lucielle Fisher 2nd

First and second born got both names and a variant

Two kids with dead moms bonding over trauma.

I love the thought of Sal having children that act out their feelings unlike him.

Babies learning Italian with papa Sal and whispering amongst themselves about everything.

I feel like the blue hair might be a dominant gene so most of them will have it, but maybe one will have white hair like mama.

Sal was born to be a girl dad. They have one little boy who ends up not only the baby, the white haired but also the little baby doll for his sisters. He comes to terms with it once he sees his gaggle of sisters beat up any one who dared bully him for how he dresses.

The first born girl having curly hair, a different pattern from mama and papa, a new styling they learn to care for her hair. The second born has bone straight hair. It grows relatively fast. Only beat by the fourth girls coily hair that grows rapidly. The third girl is curly like the first born. And the fifth baby boy has wavy white hair.

The first and second born admireLarry. They love their cool stoner uncle that shoots guns and rides bikes! Pretending pixie sticks are cigarettes and wearing tiny leather jackets to copy him. The school tried to complain about it, but Sal, a fool for his kids, just let Larry handle it.

The principal stopped calling home about bad behavior after the bikers pulled up to pick up the kids.

They would be the most likely to start a fight over a chicken nugget.

The third daughter is a quiet little bookworm. She loved to read and write. Sometimes hosting plays that she begged the others to take part in for their parents. Despite her meek figure she is the tallest daughter and packs a very heavy punch. It just takes longer to get her to that point.

She’s a pacifist like her papa, but shit talks with her sisters.

The fourth daughter is peppy and beloved. A social butterfly that befriends any and everyone. With her mothers bright eyes and her father bright hair, she stands out quite a bit. There were times Larry almost had a panic attack picking up his little niece and seeing her talk king to scary kids, only to see her laugh and then laugh along with her, hug and she trots towards him with a big grin. She was once voted most likely to stop a crime, and she did with nothing but a smile and a snickers.

Unlike the other sisters, she doesn’t talk bad about people. She picks up the languages of her peers and tries to talk to them through that so they can feel comfortable.

Fifth, the beloved little boy, is just like his daddy when he was a kid. Loves animals and shamelessly running to them. Many times Sal had a mini heart attack when he bolts off to pet a dog. Thankfully Travis is usually with them and his Disney princess/villain aura keeps the animals away. Nothing reigns a child in more than the disappointed mom tone. The youngest of the kids is a doll. He’s a model student and likes to take pictures with everyone. Many of his teachers had pictures of him (with saalvis consent) as their lock screen to show off the best boy.

He would go viral for crying that his sisters were leaving for school when he was still too young to go.

In order their names:

Lucia “Luce” Diane Fisher

Diana “Dia” Lucielle Fisher

Larissa “Riri” Marilyn Fisher

Teresa “Resa” Rosalind Fisher

Benjamin “Benji” Henry Fisher

Travis avidly avoids K-Ken names-

[monsterywriting]

Maledos - pt 1

masterlist

This is a rewrite. Read the original parts here, here and here

word count: 7,381 (!!!)

AN: i have really wanted to finish this story, but the original wasn’t really well planned out (and reading my old writing was :/) SO i decided to make one GIANT rewrite of the originals and continue from there. i mostly added on to what was already there with some minor changes so the story would make more sense and just add some extra bits :) the originals will be taken off the master list but will still be linked here.

Everything burned as you raced through the streets of your neighborhood, frantically searching for your dog. Your legs and lungs were screaming from the workout you’d only just finished and your eyes stung with the threat of tears from your panic.

Of course Pumpkin would take off after the two of you had just come back from running on the park trails, only seconds away from entering the safety of your apartment building when a car backfired nearby and scared her.

You called her name out in desperation, though you knew she was probably long gone from the area. You had only just moved into the city recently and neither her or you were familiar enough with the area to not get lost.

You bit your thumbnail anxiously. Pumpkin wouldn’t last a minute out on the streets by herself, exposed to the elements. She was sensitive, scared of her own shadow when it was cast on a wall. Not to mention, the weather forecast for the night called for thunderstorms, dark clouds already gathering overhead to block the afternoon sun.

“Hey, kid, need some help?”

You almost don’t realize the stranger is talking to you, too preoccupied in your own worry to pay much attention to your surroundings. Once you do, however, you’re too relieved at the display of kindness to correct the tiefling that you were actually an adult.

Your potential savior towered over you, well over 6’ even without including his horns that curled back over his head, average for a tiefling but giant in comparison to your short figure. His skin was a fiery red and he was dressed in all black - a nice dress shirt tucked into slim-fitting trousers that accentuated his buff figure nicely. The most striking part of his outfit, however, was the leather biker jacket with an unfamiliar emblem of a stag surrounded by brambles. Had you been in your right mind, you may have also taken in his short-cropped black hair, bright yellow eyes, strong nose and jawline, nice full lips - in short, handsome, model-like, statuesque, hot, all terms you may have used to describe him if you weren’t preoccupied with finding your dog.

He also looked fairly annoyed with you, though you decided to attribute it as his resting face since he had obviously taken the time to come out of his way to stop and help you.

“Uhm- yes, my dog, Pumpkin,” you explained breathlessly, hardly able to focus as you continued to look around for a familiar flash of fur, “she took off while I was unlocking my apartment building’s door! We just got back from the park!”

Maledos appraised the tiny human with an eyebrow raised. He was still debating whether to actually go out of his way for you, his question more rhetorical than anything else, expecting the person to wave away a stranger rather than roping them into their problem.

Based on the owner, however, he figured ‘Pumpkin’ was a chihuahua. Or a Pomeranian; something small and fluffy that surely couldn’t have gotten far. It wouldn’t take long to find the little rascal, so he didn’t mind potentially being a few minutes late to work.

“I’ll walk with you and help you look,” he offered. You certainly didn’t look like you were a resident of the neighborhood, and at the grateful look you gave him as you eagerly accepted, you had probably been worried about wandering around the predominantly orcish neighborhood alone.

Maledos came to regret not minding his own business, however, as those few minuets stretched into an hour of searching every single alleyway, dumpster and parked car they came across and he had long since missed the window to get out of this mess. Valbaugh was definitely going to kill him once he finally showed up. 

You, on the other hand, were laser-focused on finding your dog, nervously looking up at the darkening sky every so often and hoping that she was hunkered down somewhere and not running in the busy intersections.

After entering yet another alley while you checked under parked cars, Maledos squatted down to look under a store’s dumpster, careful not to get his shoes or pants in any of the unidentifiable dumpster juice leaking from a crack in the metal but eventually forced to place his hands on the pavement to peer underneath the gap, internally cursing at the definite crease in his leather shoes. He stood up, glancing down the mostly empty alley and catching a glimpse of brown fur disappearing behind some smaller trashcans.

Praying its your dog and not a stray so he can leave, Maledos approaches, intent on grabbing the dog and swiftly returning it to you. Moving the trashcan and expecting to see a tiny fluff ball, his gaze was instead met with that of a giant pitfall, its expression decidedly murderous. Its muscles flexed impressively underneath its reddish-brown pelt and its studded pink leather harness only added to the fearsome image before him. He scrambled out of the way, about to yell at you to run when you suddenly let out a screech and called out Pumpkin’s name again, this time in joy, crouching down and holding your arms open.

The pit ran past him and barreled into you, nearly knocking you over with the force of the collision. Standing up, you lifted Pumpkin with barely a grunt - an impressive feat in and of itself - and peppered her face with kisses as Maledos stood awkwardly out of the way of the touching reunion. 

Finally setting the dog down, you grabbed the leash that had been trailing behind her and began thanking Maledos profusely as the two of you walked down the street and back to your starting point.

“Thank you again,” you repeated as you walked your now definite savior, sincere in your gratitude even if he’d been a grouch the entire time, “I only moved here a month ago and I was so worried I’d get lost!”

You gestured to the specific building down the road, evidently having no issue with telling him your address. In fact, the entire time Maledos had been with you alone in isolated parts of the neighborhood, you didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact that he, a complete stranger, may well have been a serial killer.

But more pressingly, Maledos realized the apartment building you pointed to was his own. Another surprise - you were apparently his neighbor.

As Maledos tuned out your rambling, he took the time to fully examine you. You obviously weren’t a little kid as Maledos had originally thought, but were incredibly short - you couldn’t be more than 5’. You were dressed in workout clothes, which was to be expected if you had just left the park as you told him. You spoke animatedly, your eyes and facial expression giving away every fluctuation in emotion while your hands waved about, even as he didn’t pay attention, he could guess you were recounting the moments leading up to you losing your dog - who was walking calmly in between you and him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, seemingly the exact opposite of her spaz of an owner.

“I just don’t know how to repay you,” you finished as you finally reached the front of the apartment building, gulping down a deep breath before looking expectantly at Maledos.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly, continuing down the street in the direction he’d originally been going before the over hour-long deviation from his routine. Glancing at the time, he realized just how much time had elapsed and cursed under his breath, Valbaugh no doubt fuming at the bar.

“Well, I hope to see you around!” You called after him, certain he didn’t catch your name even as you shouted it as loudly as you dared in a residential neighborhood.

Maledos doesn’t turn around, not bothering to acknowledge your friendliness, knowing you wouldn’t last long in the neighborhood - no matter how tough your dog looked.

You, meanwhile, turn to look down at Pumpkin, the dog whining as she pulled on her leash to go inside. You quickly acquiesce, rushing to unlock the door just as the first raindrops began to fall on the sidewalk where you’d just been standing.

It wasn’t until after you reached your apartment and threw yourself on your bed in exhaustion that the gravity of the entire situation hit you. You could have lost Pumpkin for far longer than the time it took to find her had that tiefling not found her. And only now did you realize you never caught his name, though as you hugged Pumpkin close in your bed with emotional tears streaming down your face, you felt incredibly indebted to him, whoever he was.

You don’t remember falling asleep like that, though you must have as you’re forcibly shaken awake by your roommate facedown on your bed with your shoes still on your feet hanging off the edge and Pumpkin stretched out along your side. In your surprise, you suddenly shot up, effectively scaring the daylights out of Kharza, which in turn scared Pumpkin passed out next to you.

Checking your phone, you were shocked to find it was already 4 o’clock in the afternoon and outside your window the storm was in full force, the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance as giant raindrops sounding like hail pelted the windows.

Kharza flicked your forehead and pouted as her other hand reached over to scratch Pumpkin’s ear to soothe her, “Don’t scare me like that! What the hell happened to you? I’ve been calling you all afternoon.”

“Pumpkin got spooked by some car backfiring today and took off,” you explained, apologizing before getting into the whole spiel of what had transpired, wondering just how much to reveal to Kharza of the grumpy tiefling who came to your aid in case it made for an awkward interaction later, “Somebody did stop and help me, though. I don’t know if he lives nearby but if it wasn’t for him I probably wouldn’t have found Pumpkin.”

Kharza’s expression had grown increasingly grim as she absorbed the story, concerned about what could have happened to either one of you while running around the city’s busy streets alone. Rather than lecture you for not being more careful when you were so clearly shaken up about what had happened still, Kharza instead turned to Pumpkin and mock-scolded her in a baby voice, making you laugh at Pumpkin getting excited by Kharza’s tone alone.

You’ve known the half-orc since you were both in diapers, growing up in the same small town together - and keeping in touch even after she went to college in the much larger city - meant that she knew how important Pumpkin was to you and exactly what you needed to relieve the tension you felt.

“I’m glad you found her quickly,” Kharza said as she got up and walked to your bedroom door, “but hurry up and jump in the shower. We’re going out for drinks tonight.”

“What about the rain?” You asked, looking out the window at the seemingly endless torrent. You couldn’t even see the street below through the thick sheet of rain.

“I already checked the weather. It should be done by 7 so we can head out at 10,” Kharza insisted confidently, “I need a drink after being called in on a Saturday and you need to get out of your little new resident bubble. Bring out the party animal you from our high school days, huh?”

You chuckled along at the memory, somewhat embarrassed but acquiescing with her invitation out, knowing that despite coming out as a demand, she would have no problem if you declined. You supposed Kharza was right in that you had been in something of a slump since moving to the city and away from home - not going anywhere besides your job, the park with Pumpkin and the apartment. You didn’t know anyone here, and hadn’t really made the effort to get to know them.

You thought once you started your job you could get to know your co-workers, but the office you worked at was much larger than you thought and the cubicles kept everyone fairly separate, making it hard for you to really get friendly with anyone. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity for you to meet Kharza’s other friends and perhaps make some of your own.

Still, you were apprehensive standing in front of your closet wrapped only in your towels just hours later. It had taken you hours to convince yourself that Pumpkin would be okay alone, the thunderstorm long past and snoring loudly on your bed after going out to use the bathroom, and now you couldn’t help but agonize over what to wear. On one hand, it was your first time going out with Kharza in a long while and you wanted to go all out. On the other, you didn’t want to be stuck wearing uncomfortable clothes all night long.

Finally, you decided to go halfway, picking out a nice top but comfortable jeans, nice shoes but slipping an extra pair of sneakers into your bag just in case. Once you’re satisfied with your pick in clothes, you decided to leave your hair as it was out the shower, only blowdrying it briefly without brushing it out.

With your outfit complete, you grabbed your bag and keys and went out into the living room where Kharza was waiting to head out, though not before you both hyped the other’s outfit. She thankfully also went with a more casual outfit, wearing a pink crop top with a short jean skirt and black heeled boots. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back in loose waves, untamed but not entirely wild, which it usually was when she took it out her work braid. Kharza had been in the process of putting on her jean jacket to complete her look when you exited your room, and as soon as she was ready, you both left.

“What’s the name of the place again?” You asked as you both walked down the empty sidewalk looking for what Kharza claimed was ‘the best bar in town’ and ‘just down the street.’

“The sign doesn’t really match the name, but it’s named after the owner,” Kharza explained, directing you to cross the street at an intersection, “Mal’s.”

You heard the place before you saw it, the patio completely full even after the sudden rain left everything drenched. Though what made your drop was when you approached and recognized the sign, the familiar crest with the stag surrounded by brambles.

You kept your mouth shut, however, as Kharza led you inside through the crowd to a large corner filled with people of all kinds - a couple of orcs and elves, a satyr and a dryad who jumped up smiling and immediately enveloped you in a hug as Kharza introduced you to everyone else.

After brief introductions, you and Kharza head to the bar and you somehow managed to order your favorite beer from the absolutely colossal orc bartender despite the place being completely hammered.

Once you both return to the booth cradling your drinks, you get settled at the edge across from Kharza, you quickly get comfortable, engaging in the conversation with ease, the coincidence of the sign slipping from your mind as you laughed along with everyone.

Kharza always said you had a knack for making friends ever since you insisted on being her friend even when everyone else in kindergarten was wary of her as a half-orc and even went so far as to convince everyone else in your class that she was quote - the coolest and prettiest friend ever. However, tonight you had to attribute your easy assimilation with Kharza’s city friends to her having apparently talked their ears off about you, her best friend back home - including the story of how you became friends. A nice circle, you thought.

Less than an hour later, a familiar face appeared from the midst of the crowd, making you freeze in the middle of listening to the dryad, Nitidea, talk at length about their day. The newcomer squeezed in next to you, making you freeze where you were. Everyone in the group shouted over the crowd to greet the person next to you, all of them referring to him as Mal.

You don’t look up, caught by surprise and stunned into silence at the sudden appearance of the tiefling you met only a couple hours earlier with the most sour expression you’d ever seen on anyone now smiling so widely you were nearly blinded by his sharp, pearly whites. You do note that the smile does falter once his eyes finally met yours as ‘Mal’ realized not only was he sitting right next to you, but the arm he’d so carelessly draped around the person next to him was also you.

“So you were the new roommate Kharza’s been talking about,” Maledos said quietly, recovering from his initial shock with record speed once the rest of the table’s conversation shifted back to what it had been before he arrived, carefully taking his arm off you and pretending to reach for his drink while flashing a quick smile to everyone else, “I wasn’t expecting you to be…”

“Human?” You chuckle as you took a small sip of your own beer, not wanting to get buzzed too quickly, “and I wasn’t expecting the person who went out of their way to help a stranger look for their lost dog to be named Mal.”

“Maledos,” he clarified just a little too quickly, thanking the gods above that he was too red to noticeably blush as you laughed, though he wasn’t sure why he was so damn nervous in his own bar, though he suspected it may have something to do with the intensity of the stare Kharza was giving him from the other side of the table.

“Thanks again for today, I really do appreciate it,” you turn serious for a brief moment, noticing Maledos’ discomfort, which you presumed to be from how standoffish he’d been when you first met, deciding to try and ease the tension now that you apparently had mutual friends.

Giving Maledos one last nod of appreciation, you turned to rejoin the booth’s conversation, the tiefling soon loosening up as well as you pointedly didn’t make a big deal out of his entirely different demeanor. 

Most of the group had never lived outside of the city and urged you to tell them more about living in “the country” since Kharza only ever went on about how boring it was - downplaying just how wild it could be growing up in a small, half-suburb-half-farmland town could be when kids were left to make their own fun.

As you were in the middle of telling your highly engaged audience about the specifics of the after-prom house party at one of the football players’ houses your senior year, the bartender appeared and quietly extracted Maledos from the group. You glanced up as he left, conscious of the sudden loss of the body next to you but continuing the story with Kharza inputting her own memories of the event.

Some indiscernible amount of time later, you found yourself struggling to get through the crowd and to the bar to order another beer for yourself. Once you finally are able to get the bartender’s - Valbaugh, you overhear a nearby patron call him - attention and get your order in, you noticed Maledos a few feet away talking with another group of people, once again amazed by how different he could be, though you supposed since he was at work he couldn’t exactly be Mr. Resting Bitch Face, an assessment you were now comfortable with making now that you knew that wasn’t how he normally looked.

Just as you paid for your drink and were about to turn away with it, Maledos glanced up and you both made eye contact. You smiled and gave a small wave with your free hand, but instead of returning the gesture, Maledos said something to the people he was talking to and began walking over to you. Neither one of you spoke as Maledos ordered a whiskey and when he gave no indication that he was going to speak while you both drank, you finally decided to break the silence yourself.

“You need that stiff a drink to talk to me?” You quipped, already kicking yourself mentally as it seemed to have the opposite effect than you intended, Maledos attempting to explain himself rather than lightening the mood, “I was kidding, Mal. This isn’t a interrogation.”

“Right,” Maledos cleared his throat, downing the rest of his drink, “Sorry, I’m not usually- I just really didn’t expect to see you again, much less with my friends. No offense.”

“None taken. I get it,” you smile, truly not offended as you figured that was just Maledos’ personality with with people he wasn’t close to, deciding to extend the olive branch of friendship first, “So… Kharza tells me you’re the mysterious neighbor I’ve never seen around the apartment before.”

“Yeah, I’m usually here all night and just knock out once I get home,” Maledos finally relaxed, falling into easy conversation with you once he imagined he was speaking to a potential regular customer, “I come and go at odd hours, so most people with normal work schedules wouldn’t exactly run into me.”

“I’m not envious of the all nighters but it sounds nice to have days for yourself,” you marveled, “so how’d you decide you wanted to own a bar?”

“I inherited it from my mom, actually. It’s named after her, too,” Maledos explained, handing his empty glass to Valbaugh and holding up two fingers, “When she opened it, the city was still pretty segregated between the different races. She wanted to have a space that was a neutral zone.”

“Well, it definitely fits the vision she had,” you smile, turning in your chair to take a full look at the diverse crowd in a new light.

“Well, what about you?” Maledos inquired.

“What about me?”

“Why the sudden switch to big city living?” He pressed, “I mean, I get Kharza’s old roommate sucked but that’s hardly a reason to move halfway across the country.”

“You’re right,” you snort, “I was already offered a job here when Kharza told me she needed a new roommate. The pay’s good and the rent was in my budget, so I decided to just bite the bullet and come out here—”

“With Pumpkin,” Maledos finished, chuckling as you beamed at him and nodded enthusiastically in agreement. You had a nice smile, he thought offhandedly, “I’m not gonna lie - seeing that giant dog when I was expecting a chihuahua almost gave me a heart attack.”

“A chihuahua?!” You feigned indignation, the corners of your lips threatening to turn up into a smile, “I’ll have you know a lady of my stature needs a dog to match.”

At that, Maledos burst out into laughter as he commented you probably had to scale the bar stool you were sitting on when you sat down, which finally broke your own serious expression and you both were laughing uncontrollably. The rest of the night passes in a blur, you and Maledos talking at length about anything and everything with only occasional interruptions as other patrons of the bar came to say goodbye to Maledos before leaving.

“I was totally surprised to find out you were so talkative… and smile-y,” you admitted, only a little tipsy after cutting yourself off on your third beer since sitting down, “I mean, you hardly said two words to me all afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of an asshole before people get to know me, or so I’m told,” Maledos admitted, slightly embarrassed that after making so many assumptions about you, he was now actually enjoying an entire conversation with you.

At some point, Kharza comes looking for you, everyone else heading out. The orc was giving you a familiar look, one you pretend not to recognize or notice. You were shocked you’d spent so long talking to Maledos after telling everyone you were just going to buy a single beer. Maledos glanced down at his watch, looking just as dumbfounded as you.

“Shit, it’s already closing,” Maledos frowned, “Valbaugh, why didn’t you announce last call?”

“I did,” the bartender replied, rolling his eyes, though the grin on his face indicated he wasn’t truly annoyed as he added teasingly, “I guess you were too preoccupied to notice.”

You and Kharza burst out laughing as Maledos’ tail, which had up until then been lazily swishing behind him, stood straight up as he began sputtering indignantly.

“Well, we’re going to head out,” Kharza said, dropping her hands on your shoulder and about to lead you away from the bar when something finally dawns on you.

“Oh, since we’re neighbors we should exchange numbers!” You said quickly, rummaging around in your bag for your phone and completely missing the looks Valbaugh and Kharza shot Maledos.

“Don’t feel too special,” Kharza warned sarcastically, “she also got Ms. Lalshur’s and Mrs. Umekrana’s numbers the first week she moved in.”

Valbaugh snorted, but Maledos’ pointed ears perked up at the second name, “I understand Ms. Lalshur, she talks to everyone… but I’ve lived there for almost five years and Mrs. Umekrana hasn’t said more than ten words to me. And they were ‘quit making all that fucking racket on the stairs every night’.”

You bite back a smile at the jab at your cranky neighbor, handing Maledos your phone so he could add his number to your contacts and taking his offered phone in return, “she’s nice once you get to know her. But it didn’t hurt that I was able to fix her sewing machine for her the day I met her…”

After saying your final goodbyes to both Maledos and Valbaugh, you and Kharza walked back to your apartment, Kharza wasting no time interrogating you about your apparently two hour long conversation with the tiefling as soon as you exited the bar. What did you two talk about? Did he pay for your drinks? Was he flirting with you? And, most importantly, do you like him?

You barely manage to keep up with the barrage of questions, and the last question nearly makes you choke on your own spit at its abruptness. As far as Kharza knows, you’ve only just met Maledos tonight at the bar, and while it is too soon to discern any deeper feelings, you can’t deny that you had fun spending time with him, or that he was incredibly attractive. However, you reason, it wasn’t ideal to date within a friend group, especially when you had no one else you knew - if things even got that far. Frankly, you would probably just embarrass yourself developing a crush on Maledos.

In any case, it would be more trouble than what it’s worth for everyone involved and you immediately decided it would be best to avoid that road altogether, firmly denying any feelings when Kharza asked.

…

A month passed quickly since your first night at the bar. It was the go-to hangout spot for Kharza and her friends, so it was a given once you became a part of the group that you would hang out there often as well, which meant even more interactions with Maledos - the only time you’d see him despite living across the hall from each other. And whenever you went to the bar, the two of you would inevitably take up each other’s time and attention, a fact Kharza loves to claim as proof of something deeper going on between you, entirely convinced that the two of you were sneaking behind everyone’s backs no matter how often you point out that your very average conversations were nowhere near the proclamations of undying love she imagined.

Rather than convince Kharza that nothing was happening - which it wasn’t - it always managed to set her off in a long speech about how dense you were and how you wouldn’t recognize Maledos’ feelings for you if he got down on one knee before you in front of everyone, to paraphrase.

While you couldn’t deny that Maledos was attractive to your best friend, who would easily see through such blatant lies knowing full well your ‘type’ had remained largely unchanged since you were teenagers, you still stood by your decision not to complicate the dynamics of the group with undoubtedly unrequited feelings. It was just downright unlikely that a hot, successful business owner who met hundreds of people every week through his job would find you of all people particularly interesting. Especially considering the fact that Maledos hadn’t given you any sort of indication that he wanted to be anything more than friends, no matter what Kharza said about the ‘subtleties of love.’

Despite your conviction whenever you told Kharza she was reading too much into things, but that didn’t stop the part of your pride that reared its head whenever she inadvertently stroked your ego with claims that some small action showed Maledos secretly was crushing on you. Despite it feeling so very high school, it was still an addicting rush to think so and didn’t help your burgeoning feelings for the tiefling every time you saw him.

After a particularly long day at work - a visit by an important client for the company you worked for requiring all hands on deck as your boss had everyone bending over backwards for them - you fell asleep almost immediately after getting home, only taking Pumpkin out to use the bathroom by your apartment building before passing out and even bailing on Friday night drinks with everyone. So when at almost 6 in the morning Pumpkin’s whining at your bedroom door to be taken out woke you up, you rushed to get changed and take her for a much needed walk, feeling terrible for depriving her of her evening walk.

You went to the park a couple blocks away, sitting on a bench in the small dog park while you watched Pumpkin excitedly sniff around. Despite sleeping well over eight hours, you still somehow nod off, not even realizing you do until you felt someone tapping on your shoulder, eliciting a shrill scream from you.

“Gods above that was loud. And here I was trying to save you from falling off a bench,” you recognized Maledos’ teasing voice right away, twisting around in your seat to look at him leaning over the fence as Pumpkin jumped onto the bench next to you for ear scratches.

“Are you barely coming back from the bar?” You stifle a yawn behind your hand, grinning as you watched Maledos easily scale the fence to sit next to you, still apparently full of energy even after pulling an all-nighter at the bar. He was wearing the leather jacket with the bar’s logo on it - the one article of clothing you had yet to see him without in all the time you’d known him - but now he wore a plain black shirt, jeans and white sneakers as opposed to the dressier clothes he’d been wearing when you met.

“Yeah, Fridays are always our busiest nights so I usually have to stay until the next morning,” Maledos sighed, draping himself over you melodramatically with one arm thrown over his face in mock despair, “I was bored all night without you there. Why did you leave me all alone?”

“Oh, I’m sure you were absolutely lonely in the bar surrounded by 800 of your closest friends,” you snarked, nudging Maledos in his side to get him off. You stifle down your soaring emotions at his remarks, knowing that Maledos’ words were far from flirtatious.

You had long since realized that the tiefling was very much like a cat in that respect - an aloof brick wall to those he didn’t know but incredibly needy with those he was close to - though you couldn't help the swell of pride that came with thought that he preferred having you around over anyone else. It certainly didn’t help dampen your growing crush on the man.

“And what are you doing sitting around in a dimly lit park this early?” Maledos asked, finally sitting up but still draping his arms around the back of the bench.

“I fell asleep early and didn’t get a chance to walk her,” you replied, placing both palms on either side of Pumpkin’s face and squishing the excess skin, making the dog grow so excited her whip-like tail began swinging right dangerously close to Maledos’ arm, “but when else would I be able to run into my night owl of a neighbor?”

Maledos snorted, the two of you beginning to joke around with each other while you sat, mostly about a certain couple on the first floor who was seemingly constantly arguing. You thought it was just in the middle of the night, but Maledos assured you they also kept him up during the day when all he wanted to do was sleep.

As the sky rapidly lightened overhead, Pumpkin started tugging on her leash in your hand, a sign that she was ready to go. Maledos walked with you through the park and back towards the apartment building in a comfortable silence, Pumpkin sticking close to Maledos’ side since he pet her while you walked.

“Oh yeah, Ms. Lalshur tells me you baked her the best cookies she’s ever tasted when you first moved in,” Maledos mentioned as he held the building door open for you, “gotta admit I feel a little left out.”

“I gave some to everyone on our floor, but somebody never answered their door when I knocked,” you said as you started up the stairs with Pumpkin.

“Y’know, I think I remember looking through my peephole and seeing a girl scout once…” Maledos tapped his finger on his cheek while feigning a contemplative look, though he was soon doubling over in laughter as you shoved him for the jab, though he doesn’t even budge.

“Well you can forget tasting any of my baking skills, mister,” you scoffed, turning as though you were going to stomp to your apartment door.

“Hold on, I’m sorry, please give me—shit!” Maledos tried to follow behind you, but neither of you noticed Pumpkin standing between you, the large tiefling falling forward as he tried to avoid hurting her and stumbling over his own feet.

Maledos fortunately caught himself on the wall, effectively caging you between his muscular arms as he hunched over you, your faces mere centimeters apart just short of a collision that would have surely left you both concussed - you worse if his horns had knocked into you.

You let out a chuckle to try and ease the tension, but it comes out too airy, made worse as you tried to joke, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you tripped on purpose, Mal.”

Maledos’ expression softened at the nickname you so rarely used for him in favor of his full name despite how universal it was for everyone else. He broke into a small grin, beginning to say something when the door across the hall slammed open and Mrs. Umekrana walked out into the hall with her trash in one hand and a cigarette in another, interrupting.

“You can’t keep it in your fucking pants until you get into your apartment, Maledos?” She muttered, continuing towards the stairs and taking a long drag that somehow doesn’t set off any of the smoke detectors.

The two of you watched the willowy-looking drow disappear down the stairwell like deer in headlights, the moment quickly hurtling towards uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know Mrs. Umekrana even knew my name,” Maledos said weakly, the first to break the silence as he quickly stepped away from you and loudly cleared his throat.

You were still struggling to catch your breath, not wanting to sound too flustered when you finally responded, though you were fortunately spared from the awkward situation as Pumpkin began whining to go inside beside you.

“It was good seeing you, Maledos,” you said with an only slightly strained smile, unlocking your apartment door and waving one last time before finally shutting the door and able to let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding.

Your mind and heart were racing as you took off Pumpkin’s harness, relieved Kharza was such a heavy sleeper. Obviously unable to sleep after that, you tossed and turned in your bed as you wondered what would have happened - if anything at all - had Mrs. Umekrana hadn’t decided to take out her trash at that very moment.

Finally giving up on sleep, you got up and ventured into the kitchen, Pumpkin not moving from her spot on the bed. It was already 9 o’clock, which meant if your started baking now you could be done in an hour.

You quickly set to work, gathering all the necessary ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator while the oven preheated. Rather than make cookies, you decide to go with brownies since they were much easier to prepare.

Kharza wandered into the kitchen after you’ve already set the pan of mix in the oven, futilely pushing back her bedhead as she watched you pretend to scroll through your phone and look at anywhere but her while you sat at the dining table.

“Brownies? Who’re you bringing out the big guns for?” Kharza yawned as she leaned on the island counter with her chin resting on her palm.

“I’m not bringing out anything,” you replied, pressing the oven light to watch the brownies’ progress despite only just putting it in, keeping your voice even as you nonchalantly add “I’m just making Maledos some brownies.”

“Oh, Maledos, I should have known.” You don’t even need to look up to know Kharza was wiggling her eyebrows with a knowing smirk, her tone saying it all.

You don’t bother to make a reply, any defense of your actions only feeding into her conviction. You definitely could not tell Kharza about what had transpired hours earlier - no matter how badly you needed her advice on the matter. It would only make her more convinced that you and Maledos were an item and Kharza would no doubt tease Maledos with the information, which would make it obvious you were overthinking things with him when nothing actually happened and you couldn’t risk Maledos finding out your feelings like that.

By the time Kharza left on her morning jog with Pumpkin, you had already taken the brownies out the oven and placed the pan in the fridge to cool before cutting them into squares. After stacking two thirds of them onto a plate and sending a quick text to Maledos about coming over, you leave your apartment to go down the hall.

It took you a minute of pacing back and forth in front of his door to gather up the courage to knock, praying that Maledos was even awake. However, before your lifted hand can even make contact with the door, it was swinging open, Maledos standing before you before you can even jump from the sudden movement, your mouth slack in surprise.

“I- uh- got your text,” Maledos explained, standing aside to let you inside. He had changed into a plain white t-shirt and sweats, his hair still dripping obviously fresh from a shower. 

As you walked into the apartment, you were struck by how different it appeared from your and Kharza’s, even with the exact same layout and fixtures. The interior definitely suited Maledos - a lot of steel grays with black splashed here and there, all very modern. The entire apartment was impeccable, ripped straight from a catalogue, a show apartment for tours rather than a home and definitely not one lived in for the last five years. However, it made sense considering Maledos spent most of his free time in the apartment sleeping, the rest in the bar, so it was a given the apartment wouldn’t be messy.

You set the plate down on the kitchen counter, nearly running face to chest into Maledos when you turned around just as he was reaching around you for a piece.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, ducking around him and not looking at Maledos as you felt your cheeks burning. In turn, you missed how Maledos turned to watch you make your way to his bookshelf, reading the spines but not daring to move your hands from your sides lest you mess up the order of everything.

Unbeknownst to you, Maledos had also been unable to sleep after the almost-something in the hallway. He had laid in his bed, wide awake and texting his older sister, who had been less than pleased to be woken up so early on a Saturday but easily placated with the news that Maledos of all people was having girl troubles.

He had been surprised as well. For years running the bar had been his life, everything else put on the back burner to that goal. He was good at that. Successful, even. But in romance, short flings and one night stands were his forte, not pining over his neighbor or a friend’s best friend - in your case, both. You were growing increasingly important to him and he knew for a fact you didn’t deserve having to deal with his ineptitude in longterm relationships. You were someone who baked cookies for your neighbors in your free time and helped old ladies fix their ancient singer sewing machines. You just came over with a plate full of brownies just because he mentioned he wanted to try your baking that morning.

Not to mention he would be risking your friendship if you didn’t even feel the same way. There was simply too much at stake for him, preferring to keep his feelings closely guarded and never acted on.

But all that care and caution was all thrown out the moment he would see you - just as he had this morning while walking back home from the bar. He had needed to rest, wake up before noon and go back to do the expenses. Instead, he found himself already walking over to you and tapping your shoulder, reveling in how all drowsiness dissipated from your expression upon seeing him and the way the corners of your eyes crinkled as you flashed him the widest grin - unconscientious, unabashed in wearing your heart on your sleeve.

“Maledos?” You asked again, jumping up to wave your hand in front of his eyes and drawing him back to reality, “You were spacing out pretty hard. Are you okay?”

“Of course!” It came out too forced, you certainly looked unconvinced. He laughed sheepishly, “Sorry, the all nighters are starting to get to me. What happened?”

“I said Kharza and I were going to go for drinks tonight since we didn’t get a chance to go out last night,” you reiterated, curious of what he had been thinking but respecting his decision not to share, “Maybe you could go with us? I think you could definitely use a night off. You seem tired. Get away from the bar for a night, scope out the competition. I’m sure Valbaugh and the others can hold down the fort.”

The concern you showed for him made a surge of emotion rise up in Maledos, bringing forth a wide smile before he could stop himself, agreeing to go with you. And Kharza.

“Great,” you clapped your hands together in excitement, heading towards the door with a wave, “See you tonight, then. I’ll text you.”

“See you tonight,” Maledos repeated back, returning you wave and standing in the middle of his foyer for a good five minutes after you’d closed the door behind you.

His phone alarm finally sounded, rousing him from his stupor rather than a nap and telling him it was time to go back to the bar. Dismissing it, Maledos opened up his recent calls and dialed Valbaugh to let him know he would be taking the night off.