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e1dritchjackal0pe · 9 months ago

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𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You always knew deep down that getting involved with the Kook prince himself would result in nothing but heartache. Unsurprisingly, like an absolute sucker you had allowed yourself to get pulled into his orbit, hook, line and sinker.

The two of you were always unlabeled, two people just trying to take the edge off; so it shouldn't have stung when you caught him with another girl on his arm. But it's completely unfair when he comes crawling back as soon as you attempt to move on.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Rafe, 18+ content (so minors go somewhere else), AFAB, fem aligning pronouns, toxic relationships, lack of communication, infidelity if you really squint, stalking, hints of dark!Rafe, Soft!Rafe (because I'm a sucker), Rafe refers to himself as Daddy once (I'm sorry, it's so in character), Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), public sex (they do it in a bathroom at a party), dubious consent (both Rafe and reader are intoxicated).

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 25K words (the Lana Del Ray and Chase Atlantic continuously playing in my headphones wouldn't let me stop). Not proofread (as per usual, I'm sorry), Pogue!reader.

You love your life. The simultaneous merge of monotony and spontaneity. Sure, it is boring in certain aspects. The schedule of your job demanding that you wake up nearly every day of the week, pulling yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed before the sun has even bled across the horizon in hues of pale gold and soft lavender to begin opening up the restaurant; passing through the door that always squeals sharply on its hinges. No amount of WD-40 has managed to correct the offending, metallic shriek, but Deborah, ever the penny-pincher always brushes off the notion of simply replacing the hinges. Huffing and shrugging it off whenever you suggest it. One of these days you plan to go down to the hardware store yourself and buy a fresh set of replacements.

The ritual of your mornings is often tedious. The one before it the same as the one that comes after; setting the chairs down from their places tucked upside down on the tabletops to be seated on their designated positions on the floor, turning the coffee machines on to begin brewing a fresh pot for the early risers and regulars that stop in for a quick uplift before they head off to their jobs, checking to make sure that you had properly stocked up the night before you left; that the sliced lemons and creamers and ketchup bottles have all been filled. You sometimes have a habit of accidentally skipping out those tasks when you've been on a double. Sometimes on purpose if you know that you're going to be the opener the very next day.

Though more often than not it ends up with you cursing yourself out for leaving more unnecessary work for yourself.

You're at your job more than you're at your own home. But with how high Deborah's turn rates are, and how little people do actually come in to retrieve an application, it's practically been up to you to try and hold down the fort as best as possible. Apart from Charlotte, who does her best to cover as many shifts as she can (though that isn't always possible if one of her kids falls sick or the babysitter calls off), and Rusty. But as the main cook, he practically lives in the restaurant to begin with. So much so, that it has become a joke among the staff that he should just call it quits and put up a cot in the back so that he could takes naps in between shifts. He's always at the restaurant long before you are. Piddling around in the back of the house to get a head start on the day ahead and prepping for what he'll need.

It's dull work, sure, and the breaks that you get are few and far between, but the threat of oncoming bills always looming overhead like a fucking hydra. As soon as you manage to cut off one head, another immediately seems to grow in its place. Plus, you also have a difficult time in saying no to Deborah. You think everyone does honestly. She could be hard to navigate at times, seeming to seesaw between being almost sickeningly sweet and intimidatingly disgruntled. Skulking around the restaurant with a sharp anger glinting in her eyes, a harsh scowl pulling at the wrinkled corners of her lips as she barks orders and huffs over crumbs and stains that aren't there.

But you try, like the others, not to hold it against her. You know that she's just stressed. Struggling to pick up the pieces that her son had left behind; to keep his dream alive as best as she can.

Still, you can't help but to revel in any chance you get to have a day to yourself. Even though the reprieve that you do get is typically spent at your own home. Basking outside underneath the warmth while you soak in the small layer of water contained in the old sun faded kiddie pool, reading one of your unfinished books, or reclining against the lip of the hard plastic while the music from your old Bluetooth speaker drifts down from the steps of the small, worn porch attached to the front of your trailer.

Every once in a while, if your budget is willing, you might head down to the quaint thrift store that lies just on the outskirts of town. Though calling it a "store" is being quite generous. It's pretty much just a shed that had been repurposed as a business in Metilda Clark's backyard; the walls boarded with shelves for books and DVD's and VHS tapes, and racks filled with garments donated from families whose children have grown out of their clothes or family members that have passed on and they can't bear to look at their personal belongings anymore.

So you suppose that in a sense, it's a graveyard of sorts. A place for people to bury or move on from their pasts without entirely discarding the items that they need to be free from. Given that that a large chunk of the island's population is in part of the working class, a vast amount of the wares and goods found at the store are a little lackluster. Every once in a while, you manage to find something good. A piece of clothing or shoes that have managed to trickle down from the Eight, like a pair of vintage heels that you were able to snag for twenty-five bucks. But for the most part it's just plain knickknacks, fishing lines and old bodice rippers - many of which are wildly amusing to flip through.

If only you had a nickel for every time you had seen a man's dick referred to as a "pulsing hot member" or "engorged manhood." It never fails to remind you of Ms. Perky from Ten Things I Hate About You trying to write smut in her office.

Still, it does sometimes prove to yield some interesting finds. Like the magenta lava lamp that now sits on the shelf posted along the far side of your room or the rooster shaped tea pot that you always use on stormy nights. That purchase might have been a little dumb, just maybe, but you had thought it was cute when you saw it.

But if you're being honest, you mostly go to the thrift store for the small ceramic bowl full of candy that Metilda keeps along the front counter; always full of strawberry bon bons, Tootsie Rolls, and hard caramels. You always make sure to pluck one up as she tallies up your purchase on her archaic cash register, squinting through her glasses as her bony fingers skitter across the buttons while she shares the latest bit of gossip to you. She's always in the know it seems, like some sort of P.I . . . or maybe Batman. It's almost a talent. But you suppose that being a member of the church, the local book club, and attending bingo every weekend would get you in on a lot of the gossip that circles around town.

It's how you found out the Janice Morty was cheating on her husband of twenty-three years with his own brother, or that Sammy Kennedy has been breeding and selling exotic reptiles in his basement illegally. Sometimes you'd find yourself standing in front of that little desk long after your purchase had been bagged and paid for, just listening intently as she gives you the scoop on everything. Watching the earrings dangling from her lobes quiver and shake animatedly as she passionately recounts all of the drama she's heard - she's always got a new, fun pair on every time you see her. Many of them are retro, 80's style, but a large majority are shaped after everyday objects. One of your favorites so far would have to be the odd pair of small rotating fans, colored in that vintage mint green shade with pink blades. But the fuchsia gumball machines have to be a close second.

You love to come in and see what pair she's going to be wearing, to hear all of the local drama. But the sound of a single name had made you regret the trip entirely.

"- all of a sudden the screen had lit up! Just set alight without any warning." She recounted, tucking a book alongside the others inside of the recycled bag, the wrinkles in the plastic causing the smiley face to become disfigured. "Well, one of my customers saw the culprits - or at least who they suspect to be. They saw a big group of them scatter once the chaos erupted; that Thorton boy, and old Heyward's kid was there. And even Rafe Cameron, that spoiled little nuisance -"

Your brain had blanked then. Falling flat and somehow chaotic like static filming over a TV screen. It had made it difficult to tell what you were truly feeling in that moment as it all seemed to crash over you into a still hush. But the elements of it all was certainly there: irritation, resentment, and that pathetic sense of longing that never seems to truly go away. It sticks to you like a nasty parasite. Burrowed deep and latched onto your flesh, the disease in it seeping into your bloodstream.

No matter how much you try, it seems that you can't get away from him. The woes of living in a small community. It feels like a sort of damnation. A limbo that you can crawl yourself out of. You've gotten so close to it too. All but throwing yourself into your work - even more so than usual, if that was possible. It was to the point that your coworkers have begun to notice. You can see the way they all watch you curiously as you talk to your tables and flit about the dining room floor. Charlotte had even thrown away any attempts at subtly and had directly confronted you about your "situation." Claiming that you've seemed distracted as of late. Tense. And shit, maybe you have been a little uptight lately. Forcing plastic smiles and pretending that there isn't a hurt that's aching deep in the pit of your chest. You had promised her that you were alright, while the words felt fake, almost acidic on your tongue. She hadn't looked convinced.

You had been doing good at pretending that you're alright. For the most part at least. With the distraction of your job and lounging around at home, diverting your attentions with old comedies and comfort watching the same old TV shows, you had nearly convinced yourself that you were alright. Though you mostly owed that to your recent proclivity for eating your feelings with Ben and Jerry's and sunbathing. Cliche, maybe. But effective. Indulging and pampering yourself has become your new means of deflecting the heartbreak that you so desperately want to pretend isn't there. And it had been working so well too.

Until Matilda had to go and ruin it. The sound of his name leaving her red lips might as well as been nails on a chalk board. You know it was well meaning. There is no way that she would know, not even with all of the tabs and connections she's got running through the island. And that had been the point of it all. There was no label for whatever the two of you had been. The only agreement there was that your "relationship" - friends with benefits or whatever you were - was to remain on the down-low. A quiet, airtight secret lest the population of Kildare become privy to the fact that the Kook prince himself had been fucking a Pogue.

It had been fine in the beginning. Well, not exactly fine. If someone were to ask you how you had begun seeing Rafe Cameron of all people, you wouldn't have a good answer. You yourself aren't entirely sure. It had sort of just happened. Like a wildfire that had grown out of control. The both of you have always been at each other's throats. The bullshit roles thrusted upon you by the divide of the classes on the island seeming to demand that you be enemies. Though he was more interested in maintaining those characters than you.

You had never cared much for the Kook vs Pogue ideal. It seems archaic, tired and outdated. An unnecessary dissection that often gets grossly out of hand by the other locals. Sometimes violently so, with the clashes ending in busted lips and bloodied knuckles. Not too long ago a fight had broken out during an after-storm party, where it was claimed that a gun had been drawn and fired. Just another reason why you found the blatant classism in the town to be entirely too much and downright threatening at times.

But no one else believed in it more than Rafe Cameron. Topper Thronton might give him a run for his money, but you'd still have to give the victory to the prince himself. That's why it came to a complete shock to your own system when your relationship with had gone from scathing, sardonic quips and passive aggressive remarks to something balancing on almost playful. You had seemed to dangle precariously between that fine line, rocking back and forth between a genuine disdain and a delicate sort of camaraderie.

It was an explosive mix that was just waiting for the trigger. And the anticipation of it had suspended over you like the humidity that taints the air outside, like the heavy quiet before a great storm before the lashing and booming of lightning and thunder rattles across the sky. Still, the both of you had blindly ignored the signs - the fleeting glances, the jealously that would fester in your gut whenever you saw him with someone else, the way that he would seek you out while you worked to hover over you as you poured sugar into shakers or bussed tables after your customers left. Hiding his interest in the guise of immature taunts and corny insults. And you'd do your best to deny the temptation suspended over you, writing it off as hatred and irritation whenever you crossed paths.

You would see Rafe sparingly in your day-to-day life. Though he would fleetingly come into the restaurant every now and again. Typically to bring his newest fling in for the slices of lava cake or malted milkshakes. The Backyard Grill - or more simply, the Backyard, is a seafood restaurant first and foremost, but one thing that cannot be denied, even by the likes of the upper class, is that it has the best desserts in the entirety of Kildare Island. People of all walks of life come in to get a warm slice of apple pie, or a rich piece of red velvet.

But it's the floats and milkshakes that are the most popular. Usually among couples that are trying to have a romantic evening. Or as romantic as it can be while in the ambiance of a ramshackle dining room, with scratched, defaced tabletops that have the initials of lovers etched into the (once) polished wood, and an old A/C unit that hisses as it spits out air.

It's hardly a place that you'd imagine someone like Rafe Cameron frequenting, but he would still pop in every now and again. Usually with a new girl on his arm, trading them out as just easily as he'd change clothes.

It had made you tempted to speak up about it. To dare to make a subtle warning in the guise of a joke to clue the girls in, but he would always look up at you with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As though he was challenging you to spill and make a scene; to give him a reason to lash out with that scornful tongue of his and somehow pin the blame back on you. It always left resentment bubbling just underneath your skin, hot and angry while you forced yourself to hold your words back, all while a sharp, mocking smile threatened to show on your face.

You had loathed when he would walk through the door. The infrequent nature of his visits making it feel like a sort of roulette as to whenever you'd hear the squeal of the hinges, and the dainty chime of the bell posted above the threshold - if it would be him passing through the door or not. Each time it was him, irritation would flare throughout you, but some traitorous feeling that you couldn't name would quickly follow; light and almost warm. Horrendously close to what could only be considered affection. You'd always shove it down as soon as you would register it.

Rafe was unpredictable. A notorious hothead with a proclivity towards handling any offence he deemed against him with violence and hostility. The echoes his past rampages are still frequently on the town's lips despite being old news. Much like the time that he had reportedly attacked Matthew Bailey in the hallway of the private school for accidentally brushing against him. In Rafe's words, Matthew had rudely shoulder checked him and tried to walk away without apologizing. Regardless, the beat down that had proceeded had been a complete overkill, with Matt ending up on the flat of his back on the floor while Rafe pinned him down and repeatedly struck his face with a closed fist. He only managed to deliver two blows from what you had heard before he was pulled back, but the force behind it had been enough that Matthew's nose is now permanently bent.

Everything about him should have repulse you. From his insistent belief that the less financially fortunate aren't as important or deserving as the wealthy, from the downright volatile way that he behaved. Like a rabid dog on a fraying lead. Morality should have been enough to repel you from him. To get you to steer clear of Rafe Cameron and pretend that he didn't exist.

But that night on the beach, with bonfires burning high along the shore like blazes and the rowdy scattering of people cheering and laughing around you, everything that had been restrained between you both seemed to finally tear free from the grip you had on it. Maybe it had been the influence of the alcohol in your system, buzzing about your veins in a rush of warmth, or a side effect of the excitement thrumming throughout the air, but when you had saw him enter through the mass of bodies, something - some kind of resistance seemed to break.

It was pitiful how your eyes had found him through the masses, fastening onto him as though he was the only thing that had mattered. But the way that the firelight had casted onto his skin had been gorgeous, panting him in hues of amber and vermillion and dramatic shadow. The traces of it glimmering clearly in his eyes, still visible from the distance that had separated you. A few strands of his hair dangling above his eyes in a way that you found a little too appealing, the glow of the flames highlighted the traces of brown and red in the strands.

It was almost offensive; how attractive he looked. Even while wearing one of those stupid polo shirts that he's so fond of. The color of it was a soft sort of blue. A shade that you knew would bring out the color of his eyes, gunmetal and baby blue.

It felt like all of the oxygen had been siphoned from your lungs when the pair of them had flickered over to you and the shadows that you had found comfort in while you watched over Becca as she danced with some random guy, her laughter twinkling over the exuberant chaos letting you know that as of now, he was being respectful and minding his manners. But being under the sudden observations of Rafe had caused the dancing and socializing around you to melt into a dull background until it was nothing but the soft sand beneath your shoes and the balmy glide of the breeze shifting over your skin, slightly damp with humidity and tinged with the salt of the waves crashing along the surf.

You had expected him then to simply alter his path and seek out some of the other Kook's that were mixed in along the crowd, but he hadn't. He kept on his trajectory, walking straight towards you, unworried as the rest of the people around you were too caught up in their own affairs or too intoxicated to notice.

There was a determination and intensity in his eyes that had made you feel uncertain. Almost awkward in your own body, leaving you to pluck at the neon glowstick bracelet around your wrist and absentmindedly swirling the mixed drink in your red solo cup, that had long since gone warm. Once he had been standing directly in front of you, the conversation that had taken place was almost delicate as it was playful. Something new was stretching out in front of you both, strange and tricky to navigate.

"Hey, Pogue," had been his greeting. As though he was trying to remind himself of who - of what you were to him. But it had been said so oddly, not laced with the usual contempt, that it nearly sounded endearing to you. It had been enough to warrant a smile, and the sight of your apparent amusement had been enough to have the tension melting from his posture. The rigid set of his shoulders sagging into something more relaxed and familiar, allowing him to settle into that arrogant stance of his.

"Hey, yourself," you responded and raised the edge of your cup to take a sip of your drink. You had to fight off the urge to wince as the alcohol went down, sharp and stinging on your tongue from the cutting edge of hot vodka and the sickly-sweet syrup of cranberry and orange juice. "What the hell are you doing here, consorting with the enemy. Try not to get to close, yeah? You might catch our diseases."

He had seemed then, to take your words as a sort of challenge. Like a raise to a sort of bet. He had stepped closer, crowding himself into your space in a way that should have felt invading, but you had only delighted in it. Free of a shirt, with only a bikini top to conceal your chest, your skin was unprotected from the subtle warmth that radiated from his body. His sudden proximity washing over you with the scent of his cologne and the gel in his hair, that seemed to have come unruffled from its usual slick back style.

You had felt hypnotized as he pulled himself closer into your presence; engulfed by the ardor in his stare. A like of which you had never seen aimed at you - not so unabashedly, at least. You had only gotten glimmers of it. Small doses given behind the cover of hard glares and snide remarks. But then, the want on his face was bare. Shown freely underneath the cover of the dark while he leaned close enough for you to feel the gentle trace of his breath on your neck. His eyes bore into your own, demanding that you meet his stare and bear the weight of it.

"Maybe I wanna get close."

It had all been a flurry after that. A rush of playfully passed words and hushed, almost covetous whispers. You had allowed him to tug you into the night, far away from the illumination of the bonfires and the possibility of seeing eyes to carve a space just for the two of you. Guiding you into the thicket of trees surrounding the festivities, far off until the laughter darting over the air and the calming rise and fall of the waves had dimmed; softening so that your focus was fixed entirely on him.

He'd taken you against a tree, fucking up into you harshly as though he'd been waiting a lifetime to do it. Splitting you open on his cock and driving his hips forward like he hated you, leaving you to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt, nails catching and slipping up towards the nape of his neck where they left marks deep enough to have him hissing in pain. You could have felt guilty for it, but the subtle agony seemed to spur him on more. Somehow causing him to pump himself into you with a new vigor, leaving you to hang on and take it while he punched the air from your lungs. Pinned in place uselessly while the bark of the tree he had you pressed against scraped and nicked at your back. It left marks on you for nearly two weeks.

You had thought that would have been the end of it. A night of regret fueled by alcohol and hatred, but the both of you hadn't stopped afterwards. He had begun to seek you out afterwards. Not too brazenly. He couldn't have the locals of the island finding out about your little trysts. But he would often sneak up to your house, around the late hours, always long after your neighbors had tucked in to sleep and the sun was well past the horizon.

At first, it was fully apparent what he wanted from you. He'd stay long enough for the both of you to get what you wanted. A simple transaction of the flesh. The boundaries had been clear then. Just two people working out their frustrations and using each other to take the edge off. Put then he had started spending the night. You aren't sure when he had stopped leaving and begun staying over, tucking himself next to you in bed, burrowing under the covers while you watched the shitty action movies that he always requested you put on.

And pretty soon he began leaving pieces of his clothes. Small things. A shirt or two. Because he liked to see you wearing them; that's what he had told you. But then there had been pants, and the odd sock, and a few pairs of his boxers, all of which you washed with your own clothes and then kept folded in a corner of your closet.

His toothbrush was placed next yours on the bathroom counter, colored white and blue. And there was a bottle of his cologne tucked in the shelf underneath the sink, right next to some of your hygiene products and rolls of toilet paper. He kept spare shampoo in the built in shower cubby, so that he wouldn't have to use yours. He'd smell too feminine, that's what he told you.

He'd spend the night whenever things would grow to be too much with his dad. Their relationship was always so strained. So full of resentment and insecurity. He had shared that with you one night, while you were held to his chest, your head tucked just underneath his chin while you stared up at the fairy lights strung up around your room. The scent of sex was still heavy in the air, the sweat from it clinging to your skin while you counted the thrum of his heart racing under your ear, gradually mellowing out to a steady beat as your breaths calmed.

You had tried to nudge him to stop, promising that you didn't expect for him to share any of it with you. Warning him that it was just the influence of sex and the rush of dopamine and oxytocin thrumming steadily in his veins urging him to open up. You didn't want him to regret it. To regret what you had between you. But he had promised then that he wanted to. That he needed to tell someone. There had been a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard from him before. A mild tremor as though he was trying to hold onto himself. To keep himself from potentially falling apart while he confessed about his home. How his stepmother was always present and yet entirely absent, how his father saw him as nothing but a failure, how Sarah paid him little mind. A psycho, she had called him once. But he was always sweet to you in those simple moments, when he would scatter kisses up your neck, tender and light while he drew you to him with the wide grip of his hands.

There were so many lines that had been crossed. Lines that just "fuck buddies" don't cross. Not without a clear conversation at the very least. Perhaps it had been your fault, for reading into things that weren't there. For applying meaning to all the little moments you had spent together. All of the times you had ate leftovers together in your small kitchenette, laughing and playfully insulting each other while you ate away at Chinese food or reheated burgers in between jokes. Childishly nudging at him with your foot underneath the table while he complained or made remarks about his day.

It's just fuck buddies who ask for you to pick a box of Lucky Charms during grocery runs because it's a quick meal to eat after fucking, when the weed gives him an appetite; it was just being a fuck buddy when he would lay in your arms for hours, molding himself against the shape of you to try and burrow himself along your skin, breathing tiredly into your neck; and it was perfectly casual when he bought you a necklace with a pendant of his first initial - 14 karat gold he told you. He wanted to go for 24k, but it would have been too weak and malleable, and 18k wouldn't be as scratch resistant. He wanted it to last. That's what he had said as he sucked and nipped at the skin on your neck, around the thin, golden chain; turning the flesh tender and marked.

Maybe it truly was all your fault. So you shouldn't have been at all surprised when he had ghosted you for four days straight and then you had seen him strolling around town with Casey Ellis; her head tucked into his neck while she laughed, her hand placed to his chest. She was a gorgeous girl with highlights in her hair and a body that didn't have so much as a hint of a single stretchmark or a dimple of cellulite, wearing Luis Vuitton sunglasses and an outfit that must have cost a fortune. She was perfect, and she wasn't you.

You were smart enough to connect the dots. To put two and two together. You had been replaced. Just all the girls before you had, and it made you feel like a complete idiot. How you had let yourself be so blinded by affection, to let the wool be pulled over your eyes and tricked into believing that you wouldn't fall to the same fate. Letting something that feels dangerously close to love delude you into thinking you'd be different. It dug deep. Slicing through you and reaching to grip a hold of a vulnerability that you hadn't even known was there. Still, you hardly even thought it over when you had skimmed through your contacts and blocked his number; doing it as though you had been put under a sort of spell, detached and numb while anger seared underneath it all in a burning undercurrent. You sent him a single message before cutting him off and out of your life. Affording him at least that little curtesy, unlike what he had done to you. It was curt. Cut and dry, if not just a little personal.

it's clear that you've found another person to cry to and fuck. that means we're done. Dont come back

Was it a little juvenile? Perhaps. But it had felt good, even if you hadn't done it face to face. But he didn't deserve that much. And it was nice to be so detached about it. To do something as shitty as cutting things off over a text message. It was disrespectful, a slap to the face, and you hoped that it had hurt and confused him. That his brows had pinched in the way that they do when he's bewildered, that he had paced around his room and combed his fingers through his hair while he read those letters over and over again as though it would help him make sense of it.

You had ignored the curious, perplexed stares of your neighbors when you threw his clothes and toothbrush into the containment of the firepit behind your trailer, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them alight. It had felt therapeutic to watch it all burn. Charring around the edges and turning black as it melted from the unforgiving heat to turn into an indiscernible pile. You'd like wish that the memories with him would do the very same, but you've had no such luck yet.

But it's difficult to forget someone when they're determined to be remembered. Skulking about like a wild dog in the shadows, wandering up to your door in the night, pawing to be let in. The first week after you had cut ties, he had shown up at your trailer, forgoing all attempts at being quiet to bang his fist on your front door. Loud enough to all but tear you from your sleep, causing you to jerk up with a gasp, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as his muffled voice bled past the walls.

"C'mon, baby! Listen - I - I know I fucked up, but we can work past this, alright?" A dull bang had punctuated it, and it left you to wonder if he had dropped his forehead against the door, defeated and desperate. Good. "It's not that - can't we just back to the way things were?"

You had ignored his please to be heard and turned over in your bed. Drowning out the sound of his voice by turning on the TV and waiting him out until he left, deterred only by one of your neighbors' dogs, agitated by the sound of his shouting. After that he only tried to approach you one more time. Turning up at you job and all but ambushing you once you stepped out into the parking lot. You had done your best to ignore him. To keep the venom and contempt that longed to rise up past your lips as he trailed after you like a shadow, demanding that you stopped and just listened to him while you beelined for your car at the far end of the dirt lot.

He had only touched you once you clutched your keys and turned them into the lock and reached for the door handle, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to shove your back to the driver side door, caging you in with his body while he clutched at you like a drowning man reaching for a buoy in a storm. You swear that there were tears in his eyes then, glinting in the dim cast of the nearby streetlamps. The emotion in his voice had been so raw. Broken, as though he was hanging on by a thread and just barely holding himself together. It made you feel like you were being dragged under.

"Just look at me - just let me speak, okay?" His words nearly melded together in a quick rush, as though he couldn't spit them up fast enough. But your heart was in your throat, adrenalin running rampant in your veins while you stared into his eyes. Lost in the desperation in them. The dark of his pupils like hollows, threatening to swallow you whole. All the while your hand remained latched onto the door handle, frozen as he sucked you into the raw emotion that could only be described as a sort of anguish. "I fucked up, I know that, but we can get through this. "

His hands had slipped up to your face then. Cradling you as though it might keep you with him, secure in his palms, a fine porcelain that might shatter if handled too harshly. But you couldn't stand to listen to him. To feel him on your skin, to smell the scent of him after trying to wash the fragrance of his cologne out of your sheets. It had you jerking in his grip like a wild animal, even while a pathetic part of you longed to draw him closer. Before he could fully register it, you had tugged the driver's side door open, slipping out of his grasp and into your car. You had yanked the door shut and slammed your hand down on the main button to lock the entirety of the car down. Keeping him out.

You didn't spare him a glance as he banged on the window, asking that you step back outside in a tone that was so soft. So broken. But you swallowed down the urge to comply. You fueled yourself with the anger buried beneath it all instead as you twisted the key into the ignition and sped off and out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spewing behind while you left him behind. Standing alone in an empty parking lot with only the dim sound of his voice trailing after you like a wounded, violent howl.

"Fine! Go on then! I don't fucking need you!"

It's only been a few weeks since then, but you've done well to move on from it all. It was a simple, few month-long fling. Nothing more, nothing less. And that's all it would ever be. Thankfully, eventually, after a few weeks, he had given up. He stopped coming by your house, he quit stalking around the outside of your job. It was as though he had never even existed. All traces of him were gone from your life. For the most part. Until Matilda had gone and opened up her mouth, accidentally drawing up old memories and picking at a wound that had just begun to heal.

It had been enough to put a blight on the remainder of your day, looming above like the thick of storm clouds. You're suffocating. Being pulled beneath crashing, tossing waves that threaten to fill your lungs with the sting of water and leave you lifeless and adrift. All of the vibrancy and enthusiasm for life that had been there just this afternoon seems to have fizzled out like a sparkler that's been dropped in a puddle.

It makes you frustrated and tired with yourself. Exhausted by how much you've paled in comparison to the person you were only weeks ago, and here you are groveling in self-pity and loathing all because of an egocentric, insecure man who runs around town with all of the self-restraint of a rabid dog. He doesn't deserve your heartache or your tears. He never cared about you or your feelings. You had just been a hole to fuck, a pair of arms to run into when his life at home fell into shambles.

For the first time in a while, you found yourself calling Becca in the hopes of wrangling her into going out. There was a party going on tonight, and an invitation had been extended to you, passed on by Allen Thatcher when he had come into the Backyard yesterday for his usual. You declined then. In any other circumstance, you would have accepted, schedule willing. Then the idea of attending a party, as relaxed as the environment might be, had seemed daunting. Far too much, too overstimulating while you still struggle to grapple with the torrent running rampant within you. But now, with anger and betrayal breaking through it all, bursting between the hurt like a fire spreading through a dead forest, the prospect of blaring music and the sting of alcohol sounds like a relief.

It had been enough to have you dialing Becca and asking if she was free. She had seemed surprised on the phone, and she has a right to be. She's spent close to two weeks now trying to draw you out of the fog that you had fallen under. Doing her best to be supportive and keep you grounded while you try and weather the onslaught of your emotions, often swinging by your place if your work schedules allow to spend hours talking and exchanging some of the local drama with each other and catching up on the little things. She had also goaded you into bleaching and dying her hair late at 3 a.m., a task that you weren't fully confident in, but now the final result isn't too bad.

She knows what happened between you and Rafe. She's the only one on this entire island that's aware of the precarious fling that had taken place between you and him and the sudden "break up" that had followed. She was the only person that you had trusted to share your secret with, and once your mood had taken a steady decline after cutting him off, you were unable to deny that the shift in your demeanor was entirely obvious, and she of all people, deserved to know the reason why.

You received about what you had anticipated. A confused, somewhat disappointed stare in turn, as she no doubt processed why you hadn't told her sooner. The shock clearly written on her face as she wondered just how and why you had chosen to have a fling with Rafe Cameron of all people. But thankfully she had kept (most of) her thoughts and feelings to herself. For now, at least. Once the wound in you heals, you know that she'll be poking and prodding for you to give her all the details.

For now, you can just bask in the sense of freedom that falls over you. It's like breathing after holding your breath for too long and it invites you to be shameless as you allow yourself to sway and move under the guide of the music's rhythm, taking sips of your drink until you can feel it humming in your limbs, making you light and pleasantly warm. People scattered among the space had greeted the two of you as you entered, nodding in greeting and lifting their solo cups to acknowledge you. It was nice to be seen so unabashedly, to be invited into a space without any strings attached or expectations. It just feels like another reminder that you don't need him in the slightest. With all of his insecurities and expectations for how he's perceived in the world. In his version of society. A place that you didn't fit.

Here you're liked. You're wanted without having to give hardly anything in return. You're only expected to be present.

It should be suffocating in Thatcher's living room, crowded by the scattered throng of people as laughter rises and falls across the air, bubbling over the 2000's pop song that blasts through the speakers loudly enough to have the walls vibrating. But the atmosphere is purely electrical, thrumming with an excitement that almost seems tangible, gliding along your fingertips and down your spine. It's lively, but comforting in a space that's decently familiar, having spent many a night in these same walls during parties just like this one, surrounded by many a familiar face. You know the people here. You've grown up with them. Many of which you had played with as a child, exploring creeks for bottles made of green and blue glass, skinning your knees from climbing trees, and breaking into abandoned buildings to explore and decorate with spray paint.

Even if time has grown you apart somewhat, your lives forking from each other to divert you on your own paths, you can easily scan the throng and find at least ten people who you know. It brings you a sort of solace. You community is small, and your luxuries are often just as limited but there's a genuine connection between the lot of you that the Kook's will never have.

Their relationships come with a check list. Requirements and demands that rests entirely on the number of digits in their bank accounts or how they're recognized by their accomplishments. It's all purely material. It's not a give or take, but a constant influx of give, give, give. You suppose in that aspect, you can pity Rafe. And all the other Kook's on this island.

But you don't need to worry about all of that here. You're entirely free to do whatever you want. It could have been hours, or maybe only seconds, time seems to have poured into a blur in the middle of Thatcher's living room. Drawing down into a sluggish glide, like a thin flow of water cascading over the bend of rocks. It had taken you by surprise when a girl had run in from the adjoining kitchen, whooping loudly over the music, and she had nearly sent you and Becca tipping over when she brushed past you, tossing a handfuls of confetti as she went.

Your irritation is only able to flourish for a breath or two before it's snuffed out when the shifting star-shaped silver begins to fall down around you like a soft scatter of rainfall. You have to cover your drink with your hand to keep it from getting contaminated from the confetti as you shift with the music, listening to the elated sound of Becca's laughter from somewhere beside you. Her attentions fixed on a guy that she's been eyeing all night. He's cute in a way, not exactly you type personally, but what you and Becca find attractive has always coexisted on a different spectrum.

He seems to be watching her too. Sneaking glances from his place on the worn couch, but he hasn't worked up the courage to part from his friends, remaining fixed in his place as he clutches his beer. Either playing hard to get or too shy to make a move.

"You gonna go for it?" You ask, leaning in towards her ear to be heard over the energetic tempo.

Her face pinches like she's considering her option, nose wrinkling slightly. She has a tendency on waiting for guys to make the first move. A strategy that typically pays off in a party setting, with everyone boosted by liquid confidence, but this one in particular doesn't seem to be budging from his spot. If she was going to even attempt to approach him then she wouldn't do it without a little, gentle push. But once she works past whatever is giving her hesitation, she's pretty quick to gun for what she wants. Now you just have to nudge.

"I don't know." She answers, shifting on her heels to get closer to you. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice, even underneath the cover of the swelling music. It has an amused smile tugging at your lips, and you fight off the urge to playfully roll your eyes at her as you dare to look back over to the guy who's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night.

"Oh, come on," you urge, meeting her doubtful expression with your own confident one. "You've been watching each other for at least twenty minutes now. "

"Then why hasn't he made a move?" She taps her nails absentmindedly along the side of her cup.

"Maybe he just likes the chase," you shrug. "But I've seen a couple other people here checking him out. Most notably, the tall blonde in the corner. It's only a matter of time before she swoops him up herself."

She seems to take a pause, falling silently for a moment as though she's weighing her alternatives, but when you catch the hint of a smirk on her face you know that she's finally made her choice. She silently taps her cup to yours in a salute, and a quick, "Alright, I'm going in," as she heads off in the direction of the couch with an inviting smile on her face and an extra sway in her hips.

As soon as she leaves, her absence is unignorable. Despite the living room being packed with people, it suddenly seems terribly hollow. There are faces scattered among the throng that you easily recognize. People who you went to high school with. A few only live down the street from you, and you see them nearly every day on your drive to work piddling around in their yards; you talk to some of them while you stand in line at the corner store to ring up the gas for your car a fountain drink. It would be easy, in theory, to walk up to just about any of them and strike up a conversation, but that suddenly seems impossible.

It's like being in the middle of an ocean, clinging onto a scrap of wood left from the remnants of a wreck to keep you afloat in the tossing waves. The colorful array of confetti casted along the carpet, the music humming along the air like a current, the dispersed chimes of laughter floating up around you, it doesn't seem as lively as it did before. The sight of couples mingling in the corners of the room like they're the only people left alive is a nasty reminder of what you've lost. Of what you've never had to begin with.

It has you glancing down at the inside of your cup, and it's a little frustrating to see the bottom of it, dark with only a thin sliver of what isn't even half a sip left. It has you making off towards the kitchen. Weaving through the sprinkling of bodies, carefully avoiding in accidentally nudging shoulders or running into someone as they mindlessly dance and wave their arms in the air. Lost in their own worlds.

It's mostly empty when you pass the threshold, with only two three other people present, two of which are little more than strangers and the other is Thatcher; the small group huddled together near the cabinets. The aforementioned man responsible for the little get together perches on the counter, his head leaned against the cabinets while he talks with the pair between swigs of his sweating beer, laughing loudly with his companions.

You don't let it stop you from approaching the kitchen table posted in the middle of the room, surveying the multiple two liters of soda and bottles of liquor that are scattered along the top, almost lost among the various chips and junk food. There's a lot to choose from, from Tito's to tequila and Fire Ball - the latter of which you can't help but to grimace at. You liked it for all of one night, and now the scent of cinnamon and overwhelming flavor of syrup threatens to make you gag every time. When you first got here, you had let Becca make your drink. A rum and Coke, you think, but it looks like someone might have finished off the bottle of liquor.

"There's beers and stuff in the fridge," a voice sounds out, drawing your attention up from the table and across the room. It's Thatcher, watching you from underneath the scattered dark strands of his hair. He points in the direction of said fridge with the hand holding his drink. "Some of those seltzers and uh, fruity beers too - Mike's or whatever."

"Oh, thanks," you say, crinkling the plastic cup in your hands and turning to toss in the trash can that's been blatantly placed near the table's legs. Probably so that it can't be missed. You see him nod towards his friends in your peripheral vision before slipping off the counter, the three of them exchanging words before he shuffles past them, and they leave the room, passing him knowing smiles as they slip out of the space.

You can guess what they might be insinuating, and suddenly it leaves you feeling just a bit awkward as you move over to the fridge and tug the door open to scan its contents. True to his words there's a pack of Bud Light, the majority of the cans already gone, leaving the box nearly hollow. But the seltzers and alcoholic lemonade is still fairly plentiful.

You've always known about the small crush that Thatcher has on you. Granted he's always been more than a little obvious with it, always following you with his eyes and popping into the Backyard on his lunch breaks from the docks, always requesting your section without fail, if more than one server happens to be scheduled. He's never been untoward or suffocating in his pursuit of you - if you could even call it that. It's always been more of a quiet admiration. He's sweet. Kind. A hard worker and boy-next-door type. The sort of guy that you should be able to see spending your life with. Except you can't. No matter how much you've tried to convince yourself, or others have tried to talk you into seeing his potential, the feelings never come.

You can easily acknowledge that he's attractive. With a light dusting of freckles over his warm skin and defined muscles in his arms from his work on the boats. You can almost be mad at yourself for not having so much as a flicker of attraction for him. It isn't a fault of his own. There isn't some awful thing he had done to you as children, or a comment that he had made in the past that rubs you the wrong way, there's just nothing. Not an ember of want buried down deep or a flicker of consideration that maybe you really should give him a try and maybe you'll discover that he's truly the guy for you. He's patient and sweet, and it somehow does nothing for you.

Being in his presence has never made you feel nervous before, but with the recent gash that Rafe has left in your life, the prospect of Thatcher suddenly coming to you with the insinuation of his feelings seems alarming. Like a wave that you don't have the courage to try and surf and navigate. It makes you almost regret coming here. Of letting your anger and exhaustion get the better of you to cling to an attempt to try and have a sense of freedom.

"Have you been doin' alright lately?" He asks, and your suddenly hyperaware of his body beside your own. The inquiry has something unsteady prickling along your flesh. To prolong the silent gap between you, you unseeingly sweep your vision along the fridge and grab at one of the first cans you see before closing the door softly. You try to focus on the atmosphere around you for a few more moments, listening to the hum of the music, the ceaseless chatter echoing around you. The scent of vape fumes and weed smoke piercing the air and making it thick.

"Uh, yeah, why?" You ask, keeping your voice light and leveled. You only pass him a look when you dig your finger underneath the tab and push it down to pop the can open with a sharp, metallic crack.

He shrugs then, tilting his head as he considers you from his place leaned along the kitchen counter. "I don't know. You seem . . . Different. Distracted, I guess?"

You've heard that one before. From Charlotte and the other girls at work. Even Becca herself has said that you've been quiet. Withdrawn. It makes you feel as though you're being put underneath a microscope. It forces you to be conscious of yourself. Of how you hold your shoulders, the way your arms hang at your sides, the posture of your spine. If you're smiling too much or too little, and the line between the two sometimes seem like they're merging.

"Just personal stuff," you reply, occupying yourself by taking a sip of your drink. "It's nothing serious, honestly."

Another small stretch of silence extends between you two, and you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye as you shift to properly face him.

"Okay. For what it's worth I'm here if you ever need someone to speak to. I know it can seem a little lonely when you're dealing with shit. Especially, personal, family stuff. " He clears his throat then, his eyebrows drawing close. "Sorry, I didn't invite you here to interrogate you. You're probably trying to forget it all, and I'm just reminding you-"

"No! It's fine," you assure him in a quick rush. And it's the truth. You can't deny that the sentiment of it is nice. To know that he does care. You wouldn't consider yourself particularly close to him. You get on well enough. You've been to several of his parties, and he comes in to see you semi frequently at work, but beyond those cordial meetings, your time with him has never really extended beyond that. He was sort of part of an old friend group of yours when you were young. A friend of a friend. But age had seemed to draw you apart. You outgrew each other, it seems. But from what you remember, he was always one of the most doting. A natural part of his personality brought on from being the eldest brother to three siblings, most likely.

Despite it all, it's a comfort. You can feel the tension that had pulled your muscle taut beginning to fade, allowing you to relax again. There's the impression of a soft smile on your mouth. A product of the relief that melts through you at the small offering of his support. It's probably not one that you'll actually seek out or indulge in, but the thought behind it is a welcome one.

"I appreciate it." You offer a smile.

Something shifts in his expression then. It's tender and subtle, but the implications of it suddenly terrifies you. The sight of it gives you a good idea of what is going on in his head. Of what he thinks might be happening, that an opening has just presented itself to him. It's more than enough to have that delicate sense of unease welling up inside of you again, trembling up your spine like a bolt of electricity. It urges you to make up an excuse, no matter how flimsy or paper thin it might be, but the words in your throat never rise. You feel trapped as you watch him shift awkwardly on his feet, the bottom of his shoes squeaking lowly on the fake, linoleum tiles as he prepares to speak, clearly thinking over how to make his approach.

"Who the hell is this?"

At first you consider that one of your earlier drinks had been spiked, and that you're suffering from a hallucination before you tip over and pass out on the kitchen floor. That could be the only possible explanation for the familiar voice that has just cut across the energetic atmosphere and uncomfortable tension. The sound of it seems to sever through you like a hot blade. The tone of it and the subtle, almost tired croak that always seems to be present in the edge its inflections searing through you like a lick of fire.

It has your head jerking in its direction in a sharp snap and so many different things happen in you at once. Your mouth goes dry, you're certain that your heart stops and plummets down to the pit of your belly; time grinds down to a halt. The air is like static, thrumming over your skin in a way that tingles and hums. It forces you to stare like a deer caught in the headlights.

Something about him looks rough. You can't tell if it's just the oily hue of the overhead kitchen light that's making the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced, but his face looks ragged. As though he hasn't slept properly in days; body pulled up tight with a nervous energy. His hair tousled and unkempt, as though he's been restlessly running his hands through it, knocking the strands loose to hang above his eyes, which look wild. A little blood shot as they dart between you and Thatcher, sweeping down the length of the other man's body as though he's sizing him up. It makes you worried that he's come here coked up. Fueled by chaotic emotions and drugs.

It immediately puts you on edge, the way that he's openly evaluating him. No doubt, considering what might happen if he crosses the floor and swings on Thatcher. It's enough to rip you from your daze, the very prospect of it snapping over you like the crack of a gunshot.

"Rafe," you gasp. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," he answers, as though it's normal. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He creeps forward a little bit then, as though he's attempting to approach a wild animal that might startle and dart at any second. And honestly, you feel as though you might. Your mind is scrambling, whipping around like a storm as a barrage of questions rise and swell.

"How did you know I was here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth like something molten. Even with the unease seeping at you, you're unable to fight of the irritation burrowing beneath the surface of it all. "Are you stalking me? Do you have someone keeping tabs? What-"

"It was a lucky guess."

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, a voice in your mind seethes. He's such a liar. It's like he's allergic to telling the truth. There's no way he had a "lucky guess" for this. There's no explanation as to how he managed to track you down to a house in the middle of nowhere. A place that you know he's never been to before.

Thatcher stands up straighter beside you, removing himself from the support of the counter to evaluate Rafe. "Ah, do you want me to kick him out? -"

"Why don't you keep out of this." But it isn't a question or a suggestion. It slips from Rafe's mouth sharp and venomous, a clear command. Nearly a hiss with how much disdain is etched in his words. His vision flickering from you just long enough to pin Thatcher in place. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be so cross with a person that he doesn't even know. But then again, you've seen him snap people for as something as little as looking at him for too long.

You can practically feel the possibility of a fight in the air. Heavy and charged like the presence of electricity running through the thick of a storm with the promise of a lightning strike. You can see the hypothetical rope that's restraining Rafe fraying and straining by the second. Growing weaker and weaker. Everything about the way that he's holding himself is practically screaming that he's preparing for the possibility of a physical confrontation; shoulders set, and eyes wide and glinting in the glow of the lights in a way that looks feral.

You hardly think when you step out in front of him, moving yourself away from Thatcher to place your body between the both of theirs until there's little more than a few feet separating you and Rafe. You hardly have time to process how close you are to him. That night in the parking lot feels like a lifetime ago. A murky, faded memory now that he's here in front of you again. You try to shove it all down as you crowd closer, drawing his focus onto you. He watches at you like you're a ghost. Like you might not be real at all. A figment of his imagination. There's a type of wonder in his expression, wide eyed and doused in disbelief.

"You want to talk, right? That's why you're here?" You ask sharply, in a rapid fire, ignoring Thatcher as he shuffles just close enough to enter your peripheral vision. You have half the mind to warn him to back off, but you don't.

"Yeah, I just wanna talk," Rafe answers. It sounds like another lie. His eyes are still attentive on you, the joined shades of faint gray and blue boring into you with an intensity that you long to both shy away from and bask under. You can see it now that you have to confront whatever this is. He's made it more than apparent that he won't leave you alone. That he won't back off until he's said his piece. He's a dog with a bone, and he isn't going to relent until he finally gets his way.

"Fine." You relent, and all but slam the can of drink that you're holding on the edge of the kitchen table, nearly knocking a bag of chips down onto the floor. You swear you can see relief wash over Rafe then, slipping over from his body as though he had been held down by a physical weight. The alleviation burns bright in his stare, and a deep, silent sigh expels from his chest. It's as though you had just saved him. Tugged him out of deep, dark waters and onto solid land.

It's Thatcher who speaks up next, standing straighter like he might dare to move closer. "Hey, are you sure that that's a good idea?"

That's all it takes for Rafe to start forward, lunging like a guard dog. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it, huh? She's not your girl, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut."

You have to throw yourself in front of him again, smacking your hands onto his chest to try and nudge him back. It's probably by the grace of God that he relents, yielding to the press of your hand and allowing you to push him back a few paces. You're quick to look over your shoulder to pass a glare at Thatcher. A silent signal to get him to keep silent, lest this get out of control. It's a plea and an order all once, and thankfully he complies, even while he looks like he wants to do nothing more than to meet Rafe's challenge.

"It'll only be for a few minutes," you decide and promise; to Thatcher, to Rafe, but mostly, it just seems like you're saying it to yourself. You can see that Thatcher is uncertain. He has every right to be. You should be as well, but you can't find yourself to be swallowed by your doubt and caution. Instead, you move around him, not even bothering to check and make sure that he's following.

You know that he is. Like a buried instinct, you can practically feel his presence running down your spine as he trails closely like a shadow. Allowing you to guide him through the living room where some people pause and turn with confused expressions as they see Rafe pass. But you do your best not to pay them any mind. Not even when you can hear hushed murmurs manage to trickle past the wild thrum of music; gossip already taking root.

You were able to get a glimpse of Becca making out on the couch with the stranger from earlier. You wish you had it in you to be happy for her, but you're currently too busy being attacked by a chaotic swirl of emotions as you lead him down the narrow hall until you come to a door on the right. The knock that you harshly tap against the flimsy wooden panel is loud but rushed, and you hardly give anyone time to answer before you're twisting the knob and all but throwing the door open on its hinges.

Fortunately, it's empty and you're quick to slip into the compact space, slamming it shut behind you once Rafe steps past the threshold and twisting the lock. It's all done with the sharp pronunciation of anger, quick and heavy as you try to control the absolute flood of insults and questions that threaten to spill past your lips, but you settle for leaning back against the sink, watching him with your arms crossed.

"Well? Go on then," you encourage tersely.

His eyebrows crease just the slightest. He shifts back, tilting on his heels while his lip's part. Like he's perplexed. "So that's how it's gonna be, then?"

"Yep."

He stares at you for a few beats as though he's trying to process your remark, wiping a hand along his mouth in an annoyed gesture. "Y-you just left. Without hardly so much as a word. One minute we were fine, and the next -" his hands raise up in the air in some sort of a flourish like it'll help him articulate better, " - Gone. Like nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

For a long moment you can only stare at him. In disbelief. In complete shock honestly. You can feel your face twisting up in a snarl, but probably does nothing to show the true extent of your anger. "What it did to you? What about me, Rafe?" It comes out scathing. Dripping with contempt and it has you leaning just slightly from the support of the sink - just enough to tilt into his space. "Do you even realize how shitty it made me feel, seeing her clinging to you like a tick? No warning from you or anything. You used to sleep in my fucking bed, Rafe. I would wash your boxers with my laundry. And then what? I'm just thrown away? That easily?"

A laugh bubbles up from you, full of scorn and mocking. You hate the lost look in his eyes. How he shuffles back a few paces, as much as the small space of the bathroom with allow, just until his back nudges with the wall and shakes the small picture frame hung there. Suddenly, he seems like the trapped animal. A nervous, wild thing that's been cornered and threatened, but you can stop yourself once you've started, and it pours out of you in a rush, talking over him as he tries to speak. Tries to defend himself with more lies.

"I guess it's my fault though, isn't it? I shouldn't have expected anything different. How could the prince of Kildare Island be seen with someone like me, huh? I'm not rich and perfect. How could a Pogue honestly expect to be with someone like you? " Your mouth shapes into a grimace as you observe as he stands to the wall, shoulders hunching like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "What was I to you, honestly? Just a distraction? A little inside joke with yourself? A quick fuck to take the edge off when life with daddy and mommy got too rough?"

"That's not it, okay!?" He shouts suddenly, moving forward abruptly enough to send you reeling back into the sink. Enough for the press of the porcelain to sting. "Will you just let me speak? Just - " His face pinches again, lips twisting while he draws in a deep breath as a means to steady himself. "Just let me talk."

It makes you swallow. Burying down the nerves that prickle along your gut and beneath your skin as you watch him. You move your hands to grip the edge of the of sink tightly enough for your knuckles to ache, but you do keep your mouth shut and he seems to take your silence as the go ahead.

"I didn't sleep with her, alright? I tried. But I didn't - I couldn't. "

"Like that's any better." You scoff. It's childish, but in your defense, he's entitled. So out of touch with reality and the impact that he truly leaves on things. Unaware of the hurt that he's carved into you. You have to distract yourself by looking off; anywhere but him, and you end up scanning over a half-used bottle of body wash and a bar of soap that sits in the bathtub caddy like they're the most interesting objects in the world.

"When I'm with you, you make me feel . . . things. Things I've never felt before. Not really." The clunky confession draws your attention to him much easier than you'd like to admit. The way that he describes his feelings is always odd. Detached. Sort of messy, like he's trying to come to terms with being a human being and doesn't know how to fully understand the gravity of his own emotions. "It was a lot to deal with. I didn't know how to. And there was all of this shit with my family and that damned Pogue sticking his nose where he shouldn't - I just needed a distraction. But it couldn't have been you. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself - "

He seems to catch himself short. Biting his tongue to keep it at bay. And whatever it is you aren't sure. But you have to know now. He's not allowed to backtrack as soon as it gets uncomfortable for him. Not after what he had done. How he had left you and tried to pin the blame back on you.

"You wouldn't have been able to keep yourself from what?" It surprises even you when your voice comes out soft. Far too light for the conversation you're having and all of the pain that it's digging up. But it must have some sort of effect on him. He seems to lean closer to you then, like he longs to dip into your space and is just barely resisting in holding himself back.

When he looks at you again there's such bare vulnerability reflecting in his gaze. It nearly breaks something in you, but you hold onto your resolve. Gripping tight onto the heat of your resentment while something pathetically tender yearns to surface. It's dim and weak, but even the traces of it are enough to frighten you. To make you angry at yourself.

Rafe himself seems to hesitate. Like he's reached a physical barrier and doesn't know how to move past it. Something about his aversion annoys you. The implications that his words have left hang heavy in the atmosphere. Thick and prickling just like the humidity outside, and it seems to cling to your skin just as it would. Uncomfortable and sticky. He looks as though he might back away again. His body curling in on itself, clearly agitated, like he means to hide from your stare.

"Rafe," you murmur. It sounds like a plea to you; just as desperate as he looks. it almost pains you to be so delicate around him, but you can't seem to force the anger back into your voice.

He swears lowly under his breath, muttering lowly to himself in a tone that's too quiet to make out. He nearly looks as though he's lost his mind, mumbling to himself with some sort of distress clearly visible in his posture. And then in a blur he's on you. He's crowding you into the sink, his hands cupping your face lightly as though he wants to touch but isn't sure if he can. There's something frantic about it all. Like someone trying to catch water and keep it from slipping between their fingers. And there's a glimmer in his eyes that fervent, full of need and want; pupils blown so wide that they almost seem like chasms. Like they could swallow you whole.

"I think I love you." He says it slowly and yet it still comes out like a mess. Like he's articulating softly to try and sound out a foreign language. A tongue that he's never heard before. There's a confused edge to it. Almost as though he's in disbelief himself.

It leaves you more stunned that anything that has left him this night. Or in the entire span that you two have known each other. There's laughter welling up inside of you, but it feels like it might be out of hysterics rather than joy, but all you can do is sit and stare at him in total silence. You think you've lost the ability to speak. Your voice is absent. A dead thing in your throat.

"Baby, talk to me. Say something." His thumbs sweep along the swells of your cheeks, stroking you tenderly like you're something breakable.

"That's not true." You will it out of you, forcing your voice from your chest and it rises up a pale comparison of its usual tone. Light and weak around the edges. You hate the hurt look that flickers across his face. As though you had struck him or thrusted a knife into his chest. "You wouldn't have hurt me if you did. You wouldn't have done what you did."

"I know, but I was scared, baby." He nods in agreement. But there's still an excuse. Because there always is with him. He just can't seem to help himself and cuts you deep, prodding the wound that's already there and bleeding. It has you gripping at one of his arms, to pull him away or keep him close you aren't sure. "I was scared of us."

"There is no us."

"But there could be."

He's clinging onto you with the desperate zeal of a starving man groveling at the feet of a savior. Spewing out praises and pleas to satisfy the unforgiving hunger ravaging his body. In any other circumstance, you would have delighted in seeing him so anguished. You would have gloated over it. But it's difficult to find that delight while he's making promises of you've always longed for. A promise that you know he can't really keep. Not when you're worlds apart. It makes it cruel, the way he dangles it in front of your face with so much conviction. As though he believes in his own lies.

And you want to trust in them. So badly that it aches. It's almost like a physical agony, and it has you resisting the urge to lean into him for a comfort that only he can provide while he causes your pain.

"Don't do this, Rafe. Please." You know that you must sound pitiful. A far cry from the rage that had possessed you only moments before, and you hate how powerless he's able to make you. How easily he can disarm you with just his presence, the sound of his voice. You're weak against him. You think that you always have been, long before the two of you had begun to hook up; always sneaking quick glances at him when he wasn't looking. Admiring him when you knew that you shouldn't have been.

"We can do it; just you and me." He insists, curling his body closer to yours as though he's trying to cage you in; his lips nearly brushing along yours. It has his scent wafting over you, filling up the air and tainting every drag of oxygen you take until he's trapped in your lungs; all dark rum, musk, and a blend of something woody and embellished with a hint of spice. It always blends with the salt of his skin and his natural scent. The same one that had stubbornly clung to your sheets and lingered about your trailer like an unwelcome ghost for days.

"And what happens then? When the friends you're always so worried about see you with me? How do you think they'll look at you then?" You try to manipulate some strength into your voice, but it still sounds too light, even to you. Nearly wavering.

"They don't matter anymore. Not really. " He promises. The cradle of his hands becomes firmer in its press, sinking the warmth of his palms into your skin. "It's just you; it's always been you."

You think that it shatters you and snaps your ire back into place all at once. Striking fire around the molten heat that had just begun to dim. But it doesn't manifest in the nature of more scathing words or a slap to his cheek. You just want him to shut up. To stop talking. Suddenly, your lips are on his, your fingers are threading through his hair as you guide him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue; fueled by the fire and the suffering in your veins.

A small, startled sound puffs from his chest. The only indication of his surprise before he's matching your passion with an ardor and need that leaves you just as bewildered and breathless; swept under as though a raging surf has crashed over your body. He nips at your mouth, biting at the tender flesh of your bottom lip like he means to draw blood. His nails scratch at your scalp, his fingers tensing like you might slip away otherwise and he's determined to keep you held against him while he nudges his body flush to yours.

It quickly becomes a tangle of limbs as you both scramble to get closer, guided by the overwhelming sense of relief that smooths over you like a balm on a burn scar. The taste of him in your mouth seeming to soothe you and tear you apart all at once, but you can't find the strength to stop now that you've started. The mere idea of it seems like a damnation. Like hell incarnate. And now that he's here you can't help but to wonder how you've made it so long without him. You feel drunk on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol on your veins and the scent of him; the desire coiling in your belly like something molten and starved.

You moan into him when he removes his hands from your face sweep them down the length of your body. Trailing them along your ribs and down to cup your ass, squeezing the shape of it as he hauls you up onto the counter and the edge of the sink so that he can wedge a place for himself between your thighs. It urges your legs to part, and you willingly let him settle between them, rucking your skirt up high on your hips as he presses against you.

Fitting himself so close that there isn't any space left to separate your bodies.

He already seems restless, his hips working on yours in slow, almost broken grinds. Like he's not even aware that he's doing it. Mindlessly seeking out friction while he breathes into you. It's like he's been starved, and now that he has something to feed that hunger, he's frantic and wanton. His fingers claw at you. Gripping so tightly that you know the skin beneath them is going to smart and sting later, but you almost welcome the pain. The reminder that it'll leave.

You've been kissing for so long that it feels as though you're beginning to suffocate. The small gulps of air you've been snatching in between the nips of his teeth and the sweeps of his tongue aren't enough. There's a slight pinch in your lungs, screaming at you to pull away, but you wait only till the last second to do so. Only removing your mouth from his once you fear you could go lightheaded and faint. Still, you can't help but to mourn the loss when you break the kiss to come up for air, gasping softly to soothe the mild ache in your chest.

Rafe's nose brushes against yours, nudging as though he's tempted to seek out your mouth again. But he grants you the mercy of occupying his own by scattering fervent kisses up the stretch of your neck, removing a hand from your hip to grip your hair instead. Using it as leverage to tug your head to the side to offer himself more of your flesh.

It all feels so overwhelming. As though all of the nerves in your body have come alight and are burning, flaring like embers at the press of his body and the wet glide of his mouth. His tongue traces over you, lashing out to taste the salt on your skin. His lips close around the point on your neck that turns you soft, and just as easily as if he had pressed a button, your muscles seem to go taut and malleable all at once when he begins to suck. Slightly dragging his teeth over that spot, making your hips jerk against his. He's already hard. The weight of him pressing against your cunt. The motion tugs at the fabric of your underwear, and it could be embarrassing when you notice the arousal soaking the material, making it cling to your skin, but you're too deep in the want the licks up your flesh to truly care.

He groans lowly in your ear, the noise drawing up deep and heavy from the depths of his chest. Spurred on from the restless drag of your hips as you begin to greedily chase after the bright heat that zips up your spine when you do.

"Rafe." You moan, clinging to his shoulders like it might keep you from floating away.

"I know, I know. I got you." He mumbles it on your skin, saying it between sharp bites of his teeth. His fingers flex again, like a physical period on the sentence. Then he's moving again. Shifting his focus down your chest to map out a string of kisses across your chest. Nipping at your collar bone and tracing his tongue over the hint of your breasts that peek from the low cut of your shirt. Your head thumps back on the mirror as you arche towards him, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth when suddenly he pauses. His lips detach from your skin, just near enough that you can feel the light brush of them, but it's not firm enough to bring you any pleasure.

Your eyebrows furrow close when he still doesn't move. You can't keep yourself from tilting your head down to glare at him with a frustrated scowl, lightly panting as you as you speak. "Wh - why did you stop?"

He pulls back then, posture straightening just a bit to meet your eyes, and you can't keep the confusion off of your face when you feel something slip from between your breasts. But then a glint of gold passes into your vision, twinkling lowly in the warm light projecting over the bathroom. Dangling from his index finger and still hooked around your neck is a familiar chain. Thin and delicate, but it's the pendant that hangs from it that really captures your attention.

Humiliation stings at your cheeks at the sight of his expression. All smug and too satisfied as he suspends the charm in front of your face, faintly swinging it back and forth like a taunt. Forcing you to confront the R and its significance; still safe and secure on your body despite everything. You can see his delight and pride glinting clearly in his eyes, and there's a comment on his tongue.

"Don't," you warn. But despite your best efforts to sound firm, something soft bleeds around the fringes. It's playful but also sensitive. Reluctantly spirited despite all of the hurt. It dips over the heat that clouds over the atmosphere like the light fall of a delicate, scattered rain. It's frustrating how natural it feels. Like slipping into the comfort of your bed after a long day or falling back into the soothing relief that comes with giving into a bad habit. It's like a second nature. That should concern you. It should make worry and maybe even hate yourself a bit too, but the wave of self-loathing doesn't come. You can't seem to find a place for hatred when being so close to him is like coming home.

"Don't what?" He asks cheekily. Finally, he drops the necklace. But he doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward to plant a kiss between your breasts over the obnoxious barrier of your shirt. You've never wanted to rip off a piece of fabric any more than you do now. It's almost as though he can read you mind once his hands slip beath your shirt, bunching the short, tight cut of it further up your ribs and past your breasts until its little more than a strip of gathered fabric. And then he's slipping it up around your torso and impatiently tugging it free from your arms, which you lift to aid him. Allowing him to toss it somewhere on the floor. You hear it land with a light thump, discarded and forgotten.

There's only the cover of your bra now keeping your chest from being on display, but his eyes zero in on it regardless. Eyeing the shape of your breasts as they heave against the lace clinging to them and the gold jewelry draped over your skin. That starved look is back again, melting with the smug glint in his eyes; gone dark from lust.

"I've missed you so much." He speaks against you, speaking the words to your skin like it's a prayer. A declaration and plea for all at once. He drops to his knees then. The bottoms of his shoes lightly squeaking on the tiles as he shifts to trail the plush of his mouth down your stomach, pausing in his trail to swipe his tongue along the divot of your belly button. It makes your stomach twitch when he does it. Lurching at the liquid fire that it leaves in his wake. He playfully nips at the hem of your skirt, nosing at the button keeping it secure around your waist. "What about you, baby? Did you miss me?"

He already knows the answer to that. You can tell by the way that his eyes fix on the pendant glinting just above the joining strip of your bra, between the cups of delicate fabric. But even with the traces of his ego still present, the desperation that was there before is still clear in the dark of his stare. He looks so vulnerable then, with his head cradled between your thighs, staring up at you like a sinner seeking absolution. You know that he's always craved to be wanted. To be needed and seen.

You could easily tear him down right now, in the exposed state he's in. To exact the revenge that you had wanted so badly. To finally get ahold of the retribution that has haunted you for many sleepless nights. But the desire to truly do so doesn't come. The sting of anger that ravaged you before has dimmed into a weak ember, set to go dark and cold.

Instead of lashing out, as though it has a mind of its own one your hands reach down to smooth over the side of his face. Your fingers glide over his skin and cup around the shape of his ear. His eye lashes nearly flutter when he leans into the warmth of your palm, seeking out the press of it like he needs it to survive.

"Yeah, I missed you," you admit. You swear that he shifts closer to you at the confession. Such a minute movement that you might not have noticed it had your attentions not been so heavily fixed on him. There are the traces of a smile on his lips. But it isn't smug like before. It seems like one of relief this time. Happy and at peace. Like a sentence so small as brought him a kind of solace.

"Yeah?" He presses a soft kiss onto your upper thigh then, holding his mouth there while a puff of what could be a breath of laughter, or a sigh of elation leaves him. "Let me show you. Can I show you?"

The fervent pitch of his voice is loud in your ears, your dazed mind sluggishly making sense of his rushed beg. But once it connects, you don't take long to respond. Your head nods quickly in agreement, a jumbled string of yeses pouring from you in a steady stream. Anticipation thrums thick in throughout your body, smoldering and intoxicating as it winds through your veins. You've hardly done anything with him, and you already feel drunk. Like your head has been packed full of stuffing and fumes. You feel like a live wire. Running hot and searing; waiting to light up in a barrage of sparks.

You swear you could already tip over the edge when he shoves his face between the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue over the clothed heat of your cunt without any warning. Licking you through your underwear. It all but crushes a strangled gasp from you and your hands fly to the edge of the counter to support yourself as your body curls in on itself. Doubling over from the zip of pleasure that skirts through you like the wild crack of a lightning rod.

"You're already soaked," he groans. The vibrations of his voice doubling with the drag of his tongue and making your hips mindlessly grind into the warmth of his mouth. It feels so good, and yet it somehow isn't enough. The barrier of your underwear makes the swipe of his lips and tongue too dull. A faint comparison of what it could be. Of how good you know it really feels.

"Ray, take 'em off." You beg, arching as he grinds the point of his nose against your clit.

The look in his eyes is impish as he watches you from his place between your legs. The look of it is always a sign of trouble from him. Especially in situations like this, where he can easily exercise control over you by keeping you malleable and desperate on the caress of his fingers or the glide of his tongue. He'll keep you dangling on that edge for hours if you let him. Pushing and pulling you like the sway of the tide. Working you up to the precipice of something debilitating only to drop you back from it, until your pleasure ebbs away into a dull, frustrating ache. And he'll do it over and over again until your moans meld into the beginnings of a sob. But you can't do that. Not now, at least, with a hunger and want that feels like it could tear you apart by twisting inside of you.

"Please, don't tease tonight." You pant, still mindlessly chasing after what little pleasure he gives with the roll of your hips. "Not now, Rafe. I can't-"

"I won't. I promise," he says, placating you with kisses along your underwear, sucking at the delicate skin at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll play nice, hm?"

It's only then that he's tugging your underwear off. Ripping it from you so suddenly that it would have uprooted you from your place if you hadn't already been clinging to the edge of the counter. You can hear the sharp cry of fabric giving a little as he slips it free from your legs. But you don't have time to mourn or admonish him for the loss because you're pretty sure that he pockets it, taking if for himself like the pervert he is. It wouldn't be the first pair that he's snagged from you. His probably has more of your panties than you do at this point.

He uses his shoulders to shove your thighs far apart, using his hands to lift and drape your legs over his back as he lurches forward, smothering himself in your bare cunt. He groans into you, dropping his mouth open to swipe his tongue, lapping at you like a man starved.

A loud, startled moan rips free from your lungs and you only have half the mind to swallow it down, making it trail off in a strangled noise. You can still hear the party living on just outside the thin barrier of the door. The music and chatter from beyond it trickling past in a muffled hush. From deep in the living room there would be no possible way for them to know what's happening, but if someone was to walk past the bathroom it would be more than apparent as to what the both of you are doing inside.

Rafe isn't having it. He lands a soft smack on the outside of your leg, mostly just to catch your attention, but the subtle sting of it makes you gasp regardless. It forces you to return you focus to him, looking down at him as he watches you with eyes that seemed glazed and almost drunk. He just barely pulls back, his lips still sweeping over you while his tongue brushes over your clit in soft licks as he talks in a slurred sort of tone: "Don't hold yourself back like that. Let them hear you. I want them to." His voice dies down then, falling into an almost crazed murmur in between the drag of his mouth. But you are certain that you can make out scraps of what he's saying in between the messy, wet sounds coming from your pussy and the pants of breath rising from his lungs. Something along the lines of "especially him - I'll kill him."

Regardless of who he's referring to (even though your addled brain slowly gathers that it's more than likely Thatcher), it should concern you. The threat that easily slips from him as though he's proposing something as simple as taking a joy ride around the island or making a remark about an annoying coworker. It's supposed to be disturbing, especially when you know that violence comes easily to him. Sometimes as simple as breathing. As though it's engraved in his DNA, part of his genetic coding.

You know deep down, in the pit of your soul that the remark isn't one to simply pass off. It isn't just a product of his mood or a fleeting result jealousy; it could very well be a promise. He's always been protective over what he deems as his. If anything poses a threat to his happiness or comfort, he's quick to lash out. He doesn't shy away from the possibility of violence, bloodied knuckles or busted noses and broken wrists.

You had seen the way that he had looked at Thatcher earlier. Like a guard dog staring down a potential intruder through the bars of a fence, eyes wild and locked on. You hate to admit that you liked it a little then too. The glimmer of satisfaction that had zipped through you then had been so easy to ignore underneath all of your confusion and frustration, but here and now, with his head buried between your thighs and his fingers tensing around your skin, it's impossible to disregard.

His jealousy had been clear as day underneath the warm hue of the kitchen light. Naked for the world to see. Thatcher had to have noticed it then. He would have to be an idiot not to. Rafe came here to find you, trailing after you through the crowd of Pogue's and locals just so that he could speak to you. His reasons for showing up to this party in the middle of nowhere was obvious to everyone, and it pleases some twisted little part of you to know that gossip must already be circulating around the rooms just outside. Whispers about you and the prince of Kildare Island himself that would quickly spread beyond these very walls and make their way to town to be scattered amongst the population. To the two-faced old women of the church on Driftwood Parkway and all the way down to the rich men in khaki's as they cruise across the green in their golf carts.

Just about everyone on this island would know about you and him by the time that the sun sets tomorrow over the waves and douses Kildare in the dark. Just the prospect of it nearly pleases you as much as the glide of his tongue splitting you open does. Dipping inside the entrance of your cunt like he means to drink your soul from you. The combination of it all threatens to make you double over again, and to keep yourself from writhing off the counter you thread your fingers into his hair. Using the grip of it to grind your hips against his nose and the heat of his mouth. Your head knocks back on the mirror with a dull thump as a cry shakes itself free from your ribs, pitching and ragged.

"Rafe - oh fuck. God."

"Mmm, nah, not God - it's just me." Comes his response. It's so cliché and corny that you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed at him were you not too busy trying to gulp down oxygen in between your labored breaths. All you can do is manage an exasperated, playful frown in response, but you can see amusement flicker in his own gaze at the sight of it.

His apparent delight is enough for you to scramble enough air together to form a sentence, but it comes out winded; slow and choppy around the edges while you force it out. "You're so lame, Ray."

"Well, you're stuck with me. Now don't interrupt me." Then he's taking your clit into the cradle of his tongue and sucking. Laving it with small licks that turn your thoughts slow and syrupy. You hardly notice that he's pressing a finger against you, gathering the slick of your cum before slipping it inside, stretching your walls around the thickness of it; so much longer and wider than your own. It has your jaw dropping at the added pleasure and your hips twist up when he trusts it in deep. Finding that depilating spot that leaves you a mess with a practiced precision, reaching it so easily, just as he's done countless times before.

He chases after the jerk of your hips. Keeping his mouth fixed to you while he hurtles you closer to drowning in bliss. The influence of your approaching orgasm starts to crest with a speed that's dizzying, and you feel as though you hardly have any time to brace for it. It has your free hand scrambling across the stretch of the counter, blindly seeking for something else to hold on to, but all you succeed in doing is knocking down a bottle of mouthwash, sending it toppling over the edge to clatter on the floor below.

You can feel it fizzling at your fingertips and toes. Skirting down your spine like a zip of electricity, like a drizzle of scorching honey. Your body is drawing up tight. The muscles in your abdomen already seizing to mangle the pleasure from your body.

"Ray-Rafe, I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum."

He doesn't bother coming up for air. Instead, his free hand slips up your thigh and reaches for your own. For the same one that had been mindlessly clawing for something to reach onto, and it makes your heart ache a little bit when he takes it in his own. Threading his fingers with yours for you to squeeze. It's a gesture that's far too sweet for a person who's currently eating you out in someone else's bathroom, but the pressure of his palm on you, the chill of his ring on your warm skin, the intimacy behind it, is enough to throw you headfirst into the throes of an orgasm.

You moan his name when you cum. Repeating it over and over again like a mantra that might save you as your bliss rips through you. But it's the support of his hair threaded through your fingers and the weight of his hand held in your own that serves to keep you grounded while you coast through the flood of warm and pleasure. It ebbs away slowly. Slipping from your body like melted sugar being poured down the drain and stubbornly catching in place. But it doesn't stop. It stretches out in front of you and begins to shift into something tainted by licks of fire and shocks of electricity.

It's too much. Blending between the lines of pleasure and pain. You need to catch your breath. To properly orient yourself but Rafe hasn't removed his mouth or his fingers from you. It's like your nerves have been lit on fire and it only heightens when he slips a finger in along the next, curling them together to stretch you out around them.

"Rafe, I can't." You nearly sob, your back impulsively bows and twists to try and shuffle your hips out from underneath the constant swipe his tongue but he stubbornly keeps himself in place.

He parts his lips from you only long enough to speak out a harsh reply, his voice firm and rigid while he pins you with a stare that's equally unwavering. "You can and you will. You've done it before; just ride it out and take it, baby."

And then he's on you again. Smearing your pussy open with his mouth, which suddenly feels too hot. It's a sweet sort of torture. One that you've never fully gotten used to, as much as you like it. It's like grasping onto a pop of lightning; searing underneath your flesh and ravaging you from the inside out. He's gone down on you for hours before, spurred on by the stresses brought on by his family and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's a sort of stress relief for him, in some way. He gets a kind of peace out of it. From keeping you underneath his mouth and working orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're a wet, incoherent mess. Even while you benefit from it, it's more than apparent that it's mostly for his pleasure.

A set of your favorite silk sheets had been ruined because of it. Nothing that a cycle in the one of the trailer park's community wash machines hadn't taken care of, but the point still stands. He had kept you there for hours, pinned down on your bed while he used your body, wringing it of its pleasure and getting drunk on the taste. You had lost count of how many orgasms he had pulled from you after the third one. You can only hope that he isn't that starved for it tonight. You don't think that you'll survive it. Not here at least, while you're held up in Thatcher's bathroom.

But it seems that a small mercy has been bestowed upon you with how another coil of bliss begins to wind up tight, closely trailing after the influence of your previous orgasm. It's running up on you so much quicker than the first. Zipping through your body at a breakneck pace, spurred on by the curl of his fingers, and strengthened by the traces of ecstasy that still flood your system.

The movement of his fingers flexing and stroking inside of your send little shocks of static zipping inside of you. Still bordering on something almost painful, but it only serves to tip you that much closer to the precipice. Promising to toss you over the edge as he lightly shakes his head while he drinks down your arousal.

You gasp as you look down, taking in the sight of him through the rapture turning your mind into mush. He looks blissed out, eyes slipped closed and the worried pinch between his eyebrows has smoothed out. The traces of your cum has smeared across his nose and the corners of his cheeks, glinting softly in the light. He seems just as intoxicated it as you. Soothed by the taste of your cunt and the scent of sex in the air. It's filthy.

You hardly register being swept under by your pleasure, but it tugs you down ruthlessly. Seeming to snatch you by the throat and leave you breathless as you twitch and jerk beneath his mouth, and you're hardly able to hear his words of encouragement as he thrusts his fingers deeper to help ease you through the thick of it. "There you go. Just ride it out and give it to me."

Your body bends the command like its gospel; hips twitching to the rhythm that his fingers have set to further chase after the dull flickers of heat biting at you at you and sinking in the base of your spine. It turns your blood into something molten, and your muscles go pliant like melted wax, leaving you to sag against the mirror like dead weight; the sink presses almost painfully into your back but you're too spent to shuffle from it. He lets up only once a sharp hiss escapes you, slipping past your teeth in a thin sigh. He's careful when he removes his fingers free from you, shuffling up from his kneeled position on the floor to stand on his feet. His drags his tongue over his fingers as he does so, cleaning the taste of you off of them as he watches you with an intense stare, releasing them from his mouth with a pop that seems to ring out across the close walls of the bathroom.

He crowds into your space suddenly, his body now flush with yours. His chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon. "You did so good, always such a good girl for me." He murmurs as he places a kiss to your forehead, undeterred by the perspiration that dampens your skin. It's another soft moment between you both. Like an echo of all the ones just like it from the past, hidden under the guise of an odd camaraderie, always dancing around the emotions that truly lied beneath. This feels so much more natural than that. No longer self-conscious or restrained.

It makes everything seem light and airy. Probably a side effect of the dopamine now rushing through your veins and the remaining traces of alcohol, but there's no mistaking the soft look in his eyes. The peaceful expression on his face, now free of the clear agitation that had drawn his body tight just earlier. It has you reaching out for him. Smoothing your hands up his arms, feeling the texture of his shirt as they trail up his shoulders - a dark black shade. One of your favorite colors on him. Something that you had casually shared with him once, and it makes you smile to think that he had purposely worn it to come and see you.

Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, carefully scratching your nails along the sensitive skin there. It feels like a reward when a pleased sigh puffs from his chest, and he props his forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His own hands come up to trail over your bare thighs, messaging the flesh there as he runs them up and down their length, prompting you to lift them to wrap around his waist. Tugging him closer despite the slight tremor running through your relaxed muscles.

You feel almost impossibly close to him now. As though a pocket has been carved in time and made for the both of you; intimate and private. Even with the dim chatter of the party and the dull hum of music drifting through the flimsy door, and the possibility of people standing just outside, listening in to gawk and recount what they've heard and seen. The Kook prince himself is fucking a Pogue. You'll no doubt get looks once you finally leave this little space. Some will be curious and shocked; others will probably be out of disgust and maybe even horror. But that seems so trivial right now. None of it has a place in this moment. It's secondary. And you can't be bothered to give it any attention while he watches you as though you've created the heavens themselves, the same ones that glimmer and wink above this very island. The striking blue of his eyes seeming to burn with something that seems a lot like admiration.

"Hi," you breathe. It sounds a little corny. Kind of dumb, even to you, once you fully register what you've said, but it's all that seems fitting. It's like you're meeting him all over again, as dramatic as that may be. Like you're seeing him for the first time. You can only hope that it isn't just from the high of sex - that it won't all wear off and vanish as soon as you both leave this room and face reality.

"Hey, pretty girl." He returns with a smile of his own. It urges you to lean that much closer to him, drawing your legs up tighter around him to seek out his natural warmth. He complies easily, allowing you to press him flush to you, almost molding your bodies together. It soothes the wounded ache in you that still lies beneath the surface of it all, stinging lowly under the haze of bliss and pleasure. The warmth of him and the pressure of his body smoothing over the hurt like a compress.

But the press of him against your inner thigh draws everything to a hush, hot and heavy under the material of his pants. It shouldn't be possible, but the subtle weight of it against you has another flicker of lust lashing between your hips. Smoldering and heating up like a handful of embers. And suddenly the scent of him filling the air is tempting, all dark musk and cardamom. It's mouthwatering, settling deep in your lungs with every drag of your breath.

It's almost instinctual when you slip one of your hands free from the back of his neck to glide it between the press of your bodies, playful trailing your fingers down and past the stretch of his abdomen until you're able to cup him through the material of his pants. A groan rumbles out from his chest, deep and drawn out before bleeding into a low, almost strained "fuck."

"Still need you, Rafe." You brush your lips over his, gathering the traces of your arousal that's smeared on his mouth onto your own like a vulgar sort of gloss.

"Yeah, shit, okay," he agrees. He nods frantically in agreement, pulling himself back from you just enough to give you the space to start undoing his pants, but your fingers slip on the button, slightly slick from the sweat on your skin and uncoordinated from the zeal of your excitement. Rafe isn't patient enough for you to make a second attempt it seems, restlessly batting your hands away with a somewhat snappy, "Jesus, just let me do it," huffing from him as he reaches to slip the button through the puncture in the material.

The urge to snap at him rises up, but it's snuffed out just as quickly when the sharp metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down its teeth cuts across the heavy air. It all happens in quick succession after that. He tugs his pants down just enough to free the length of his cock. He doesn't give you the ability to admire him, because he's tugging you forward by your thighs, parting the sliver of space between your bodies to drag the head against the slick entrance of your cunt, still wet and messy from the mixture of your cum and his spit.

He tilts his face to be able to speak against your lips, gazing into your eyes with a determination and fervency that seems to cut through you, holding your attention hostage even as one of his hands comes up to grip the nape of your neck. All but pinning you in place.

"I want you to scream for me. Don't you dare fucking hold back."

That's all the warning you get before he's shoving himself inside of you with a single thrust. Burying himself all the way to the hilt, forcing your walls to give and stretch around his girth. Even with the aid of your previous orgasms making you pliant and soaked, there's still a dull ache that zips through you as your cunt clenches around the shape of him. The force of him inside of you all but strikes the air from your lungs, and it leaves your hands to scramble across his shoulders, your fingers gripping and clawing at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself.

He doesn't waste any time by starting in a slow pace to gradually work up to something greater. He's moving fast and hard from the very start. Thrusting himself in and out of you like he's desperate. All but punching himself into you with enough force to rattle your head back on the glass of the mirror, and with how many times you've knocked against it tonight, you have to send a fleeting prayer up to the universe that it won't shatter and break.

It's like he's trying to make up for lost time. Like he's trying to drill all of his frustrations into you; all of his pent-up anger, humiliation and regret; to make you feel what he's feeling. Or maybe he's just trying to prove a point. To himself, to you, and all of the people outside. That you're his. It leaves you clinging onto him. Holding on while he drives himself into you with a passion that's almost brutal. You can practically feel yourself going stupid. Going pliant and dumb on his cock at it drags through you, gliding against your walls in a way that makes you feel all of him, every little detail. Every single inch is heightened by the veins that run down his length, starting from the base to trail down near the head. He used to go crazy whenever you would glide your tongue over them, throwing his head back and moaning with the sound of your name or a curse under his breath.

You almost wish that you could have him in your mouth right now. To see him break underneath something as simple as your tongue and the heat of your mouth, but you think that you could die if he pulled out of you. It would be a horrendous sort of torture. Worse than death.

"God, you're such a fucking slut, hm?" He almost croons it. Mean and condescending as he grips your cheeks to get you to look at him. Making you get lost in the flecks of cerulean and hints of gray that's nearly become swallowed by the width of his pupils. "Letting me fuck you like this, in some Pogue's bathroom while everyone stands outside. They're probably listening right now; you know that, right? Standing outside while they listen to you moan like a whore."

It's downright degrading how he's speaking to you. It should hurt you to some degree, or make you irritated at the very least, but all it does is make you clench around him harder. Your pussy seizing up around his length like it's trying to suck him inside to keep him there. And he feels it too. You know he does based on the nasty smile that breaks across his face; teeth baring in what almost looks like a snarl. All arrogant and mean.

"Yeah, that's right. Not even gonna deny it, are you?" He uses the hand still secure around you jaw to shake your head for you as though you're a doll. Using how malleable you've been reduced to for his own benefit. "That's right. Cause you're mine. "

You find yourself nodding out of your own volition then, drawing up enough focus to will yourself in moving your head around the grip of his hand to agree. You can tell that it pleases him. His expression is one of pure, arrogant delight, and you know that he'll be riding the high of having you dumb, and cock drunk like this for days. His ego always manages to find a way to inflate whenever he succeeds in turning your brain into liquid and mush; until you're practically mindless and stupid. It used to have him striding around you trailer with a satisfied glint in his eyes. The traces of a smug smirk on the edge of his lips as he'd rummage through your fridge for leftovers or dig through your cabinets for a snack before he'd leave (unsurprisingly, Kildare's most spoiled rich boy can't cook worth a shit - he's burnt eggs black before and left your trailer tinged with smoke that took a good two days to get aired out).

But you can't find it in yourself to be exasperated or annoyed with him while you're too occupied surviving the white-hot heat shooting throughout your body, drizzling down your spine like a vat of liquid sugar to settle between the cradle of your hips. It's too much. It's like being torn to pieces but in the most delicious way possible; you don't want it to stop. You want to stay here, suspended in this moment with the scent of sex and the musk of his cologne staining the air. With the warmth of his body seeping deep into your bones while he uses you for his pleasure while throwing you headfirst into your own; the sound of his name repetitively falling from your lips.

So it's completely cruel that he suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you torturously empty and on the edge of something cataclysmic. A confused, annoyed look crosses your face, and a complaint rises to the tip of your tongue as you openly scowl at him. Though you don't get the opportunity to voice it.

"Turn around. " He commands impatiently, but he doesn't even give you the chance to try and shuffle free from your perch on the counter. It's all an abrupt rushing blur when he tugs you from your spot and forces you onto your feet. His hands settle on your waist, fingers greedily gripping the shape of them as he spins around you on your heels and bends you over with the firm press of his hand. A gasp rattles from your ribs as he pins you on the sink, leaving you exposed to the gluttonous sweep of his eyes.

Then he's kicking your legs apart, spreading you open to bare you to him and without any warning he's slipping himself back inside in a single, long thrust. It has your jaw dropping open, your lashes fluttering at the sensation of it ripping through you, all liquid and smoke. Now that he has you facing the mirror, it gives you no other option but to watch you both as he begins fucking you again. It's like a magnet to metal, the way that your vision flickers up to him. Seeking out the sight of him as he works you closer to that debilitating end.

Not even the way that the harsh edge of the counter digs into the bend in your hips is enough to distract you from it. The pinch of it fading into a dull ache. He looks beautiful like this. Even as he does something as vulgar as watching the sight of his cock ceaselessly plunging into you. It's as though he's hypnotized by it, his own focus fastened to where the two of your bodies join. Where the smack of your skin meeting his sounds out from; the wet slap of him thrusting in and out of your pussy.

There's a blush on his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat glinting softly on his skin like a dusting of pale gold. It almost makes him look angelic. That should be impossible for someone as frantic and violent as Rafe, but there's no denying that there's something gorgeous about him, as volatile and unpredictable as he can be. The sounds falling from past the parted shape of his lips are beautiful. His moans and the almost drunken cursing and rambling douse your nerves with heat and rapture every time he speaks; slurred and low like he's falling apart in the best way possible.

It took you forever to convince him that it's okay to vocal in bed. That the sound of him groaning is a turn on. For the longest time he thought it was a joke, like you were trying to trick him into embarrassing himself. Some odd form of toxic masculinity, you think. But you had finally succeeded in getting him to be comfortable with it, after what must add up to days of convincing him and getting him to moan in bed, he finally gave in. And now it's almost impossible to get him to shut up - not that you would ever dare such a thing. You wouldn't dream of depraving yourself of it now that you have it.

He finally looks up from between your bodies, and you don't miss the way that his eyes nearly roll in the back of his skull, lashes fluttering. He meets your stare in the reflection of the mirror, and that mean smile makes its way on his face again. But it's gone nearly just as quickly as it had appeared. His mouth drops open in a deep groan when your cunt clenches tight around his girth, a crease pinching between his eyebrows to make an expression that almost looks pained.

He leans over you then, hooking his chin over your shoulder to nuzzle his nose against your head to speak into your ear, not breaking eye contact with you even for a split second. "You're not allowed to leave me again. You can't this away from me. You're not gonna take yourself away - not again."

It's structured like a command. Or manic ravings. Regardless, it would enough to send anyone else running the other way and ducking for cover. Someone with common sense, maybe. But the tone of his voice is so desperate. Fragile and a little distraught. Like the very thought of you slipping from him could send him into a spiral. It has so many different things rising up inside of you: a sick type of satisfaction. The hurt in you pleased to see him in just as much pain. To know that you're not the only one who's been scarred. But there's the urge to soothe him as well. To cradle the parts of him that have been broken and kicked - by the world, his family. To nurse the wounds that have been left on him. They all gave up on him, but you don't think that you can.

It has you tilting your head back to give him access to your neck, and like a moth to a flame he immediately dips his face to tuck it into the junction of your shoulder. Nipping at the skin with his teeth and breathing in your scent like it's a drug. One of your hands lets go of the iron clad grip it has on the edge of the counter to clutch at his hair, threading through the thick of it and grazing your nails close to the nape of his neck.

It draws his attention back on you, making him tilt his head just enough to meet your eyes again in the reflection, pinning you with a stare that seems to communicate so much. It's a silent plea and a devout order all at once. A beg that you won't slip away from him.

"Just as long as you don't leave me first," you answer. Your voice is full of conviction, even as it wavers just the slightest. The sound of it weakened by the breathlessness in your lungs and the brutal pace that he's managed to maintain; still thrusting himself into you as though he needs it to survive.

He speaks into your skin then, answering you in a low mutter. Nearly a whisper: "I won't. I won't, I promise."

One of his hands shoves your hips down flat on the counter. It slips your hand from his hair and forces your spine to curve into a more pronounced arch that somehow makes him feel deeper than before. Hitting that spot inside of you with every single stroke. Forcing a gasp of air from your chest every time his hips meet yours, making your toes curl in your shoes. The position that he's tiled your spine into almost stings. The ache of it licking up your back but can't find it in yourself to complain. Or even really care. Not with the way that it's rendering you completely mindless. Seeming to knock a thought from your head with each grind and thrust.

One of your hands flies up to the sink. Your fingers claw and grasp around the shape of it, clenching around the cool steel like it's a lifeline, but it does little to offer any semblance of support to guide you through the high that's beginning to overwhelm you. It bleeds along your toes and sears up your fingertips and up your spine like a current. It has your body going slack, muscles falling weak. It's almost as though you've been tazed when your head drops against the counter. The weight of it suddenly too much for your neck to hold up.

It's like everything's been plucked free from your skull. Leaving it an empty pocket, a vacant space that only Rafe occupies. You can't focus on much more than that now. You're lost in the pleasure lighting you up from the inside out and eating you alive. It's only the vague details that you're still able to register. Like the smear of your arousal slipping down your thighs, pushed out of you each time he pulls out to fill you up again; the sting of the counter's lip digging into your hips; the smack of his balls hitting your clit with every stroke, sending sparks around your cunt, making it clench and pulse around his length. You think that you might be drooling, but you aren't entirely sure; saliva slipping past your lips as your mouth hangs open.

You can hear yourself moaning over the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Breathless, pitchy moans rising in the humid air each time he pumps into you, rolling his hips in a way that's almost mean. The zeal behind every movement would have the crown of your head knocking into the sliver of wall beneath the mirror if it wasn't the secure grip he has on your waist, keeping you held in his grip so that he can control your movements. Practically using your own weight and pliancy to fuck you back onto his cock.

You try meeting his thrusts on your own, but his hold on you is rigid, and the rhythm he moves in is punishing. At this point he's just using you, and simultaneously using himself to get you off like it's his job.

"You're so tight," he groans. You can't see his face, not with the side of your own pressed to the counter and your eyes squeezed shut, but you can hear the smug edge in his tone. He's absolutely thrilled with the state he's reduced you to for the second - third time this night. "You're squeezing me, baby. Gonna kill me if you keep doin' that."

But he quickly contradicts his statement, gripping onto your hair to pull up and off of the counter. Just enough so that he's able to slip his other one past your hips and the fabric of your skirt to glide his fingers around your soaked cunt, just above where he thrusts into you. Gathering your cum on his fingers, and then his slipping them up to circle around your clit.

You would have doubled over if it wasn't for the hold he has on your hair, keeping you held in place. A flare of pain bites across your scalp, but it's a shadow in comparison to the ecstasy flooding your system. It might be dramatic, but a small part of your brain wonders if you'll survive the onslaught of it all once it finally slams over you. It's hurtling towards you again. A rising tide that's set to drown you and hold you down. It flares underneath your skin, skirting across your nerves and leaving traces of heat behind.

It has your body winding up tight again. The muscle connecting you and holding you together seizing up in preparation to wring you dry of every ounce of pleasure, and Rafe is determined to get you there. Working himself inside of you in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back, his fingers sweeping tight figure eights over your clit, making your abdomen draw up harshly.

"Shit, Rafe - my God."

"I feel you about to cum again. I know you're close. " He says it in your ear, slipping his hand from around your ear to grip your throat, using the leverage to tip you back towards his chest. His nose nudges along your cheek and you can feel the brush of his lips glide over the edge of your jaw. "Just let go. You know you want to. I want you to cum on it. Give it to Daddy, baby; let me feel you, pretty girl."

It's like your body was waiting for his permission, and now that it has it, it's caving in and sweeping you under. Time seems to blank out as a field of stars bursts across your vision. All of it flattening and smearing into a distorted blur with your sense of sound dimming into something dull and muffled. The only distinguishable noise is the roar of your heart thundering in your ears like a warped drum. It makes you lost, muscles lax and completely reliant on him to keep you upright.

It probably only takes seconds for you to come back to yourself, but deep in the throes of it, it feels like years have passed. As though you've been frozen in place and dipped in hot wax and electricity. It bursts in your bones and the pit of your stomach, making your body tremble with aftershocks as it struggles to ride out the waves of bliss ravaging through you.

It takes a minute for your brain to orient itself. For you to become aware of your limbs and the support underneath you, the drag of Rafe's cock still splitting you open. It's beginning to border on too much again. The pleasure is leaning on too sharp and bright, making you hiss under your breath. But Rafe is close. You can hear it in the groans spilling from him. You can feel it in the glide of his hips. The once hard, smooth rhythm faltering into something broken.

"Where do you want it?" He gasps in between raged pants. A glimpse in the mirror lets you see his face and the grimace taking up his expression. Like he can hardly stand the pleasure overtaking him - like it's tugging him apart at the seams and might not leave anything of him left behind. His grip is harsh on the length of your neck. His other fingers squeezing tight on your hip. Hard enough that it's going to smart the skin underneath, and it's with a shaky sense of strength that you manage to lift a hand up to slip over his hold on your hip. Your fingers threading alongside his.

You feel as though you can hardly breath, forcing your lungs to expand and pull in oxygen. Trying to give yourself enough air to form a sentence, and you just barely manage to do that. You practically have to force it out of your throat. "Inside. I'm still on the pill-"

That's all you get to say before he's doubling over you with a long groan. Driving himself into you a few more final, sloppy thrusts. They're sharp and heavy from the force behind them as he tries to work out every possible scrap of pleasure, a rush of heat spreading throughout you as he cums inside - thrusting his hips into yours one last time and holding himself there. Making you take every possible drop.

That's how the two of you stay. Pressed against each other and floating in your own euphoria as the high in your vein's flows and ebbs through your limbs and fills your head with an empty kind of euphoria. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, syncing with your own as you try to level out your breathing. You aren't sure how long you stay that way, with Rafe draped along your back just barely holding himself up with your joined hands now splayed out on the counter. The thumb around your throat idly sweeps along your pulse point, tracing over your skin like he means to count the racing of your heart.

It all feels thick and syrupy. As though your limbs have been left to soak in a pool of warm water. As pleasant as it is and as hesitant as you are to move, the weight of him simultaneously sagging against you and keeping you held up is straining on your spine and shoulders. The desire to shift from your position is dull, but the ache in your body demands otherwise. You lightly nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, reluctantly mumbling for him to move. To which he complies with a quick, alright, alright, I got it, huffed out, but it lacks any real bite as he detaches himself from you.

It makes you uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, and when he finally pulls out of you it's even worse. You both groan from overstimulation when he removes himself from you to tuck his cock back into his pants, the metallic cry of the zipper ringing off of the bathroom walls. You can feel his cum trickling down your thighs, smearing across your skin and beginning to cool.

Now that the high of it is wearing off, you just feel gross. It has you turning on your heels to face him, the bottoms of your shoes squeaking on the floor as you pivot to lean your back against the counter with an exhausted sigh. You let your head thud back against the mirror again, but you can't find it in yourself to care this time. Not while you can barely hold yourself upright; the buzz of sex still pleasant and clinging in your body.

You hadn't even realized that you've closed your eyes until a sharp clatter has them opening. Your head also turns on its own, leaning to glance over to your right where Rafe stands alongside you, rummaging through a narrow set of cabinets fixed between the sink and the bathroom door, carelessly glancing around the folded piles of towels and wash cloths.

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him while your sluggish brain connects the dots. As soon as you come to the realization, you can feel the opposition on the tip of your tongue - ready to say no. To tell him that you can just wad up a pile of toilet paper instead, but he's already plucking a towel up from one of the shelves and gently nudging past you to run the tap, the knob quietly squeaking as he twists it on.

You don't hide your exasperated look when he shuffles away from your side to stand in front of you, reaching to spread your thighs open. You hiss when he runs the damp cloth over you, cleaning up the mess you both made with the aid of the warm water he's soaked the fuzzy material in. You appreciate the gesture, but you still don't think that he had to ruin someone else's towel to do it.

"Really?" You ask, tilting your head as you watch him.

His eyebrows perk up just the slightest when he meets your unamused stare, but he doesn't seem to be troubled by it in the slightest. Once he's finished, he tosses the soiled cloth across the room and into the bathtub without so's much as a glance.

"What? We already fucked in the bathroom; I don't think a towel is going to do that much more damage." He just shrugs, unbothered and nonchalant as he answers. Then that amused, smug smile is on his face again as he casts a look towards the door. "Unless you wanna walk out of here with my cum pouring out of you. I won't complain."

You can't help but to roll your eyes at him while you reach down to tug your skirt from where it had rucked up, smoothing it back down to cling over your thighs, but the expression seems much more playful and relaxed than it should probably be. His usual brand of douchie, cocky sarcasm is already making a comeback now that the tension has left him. It should annoy you, probably, but it soothes you more than anything. It's a comfort, as odd as it may be, to see him gradually resorting back to himself. Arrogant, and a little obnoxious, but in a way that you find entirely endearing.

He notices the traces of the smile on your face. You can tell by the way that his own goes from gloating to a little soft. The tenderness of it reflecting in his eyes as he closes the space between you to settle himself close. His lips are on yours then, drawing you into a kiss that's so much slower than the first. The desperation and the anger between you both having settled and died out like a fire. Now there's nothing left but ease and a relaxing calm. It makes it unhurried and languid as he leads your lips to move against his.

It doesn't last for long though, eventually breaking off for you to come up for air. His eyes are still a little glazed over when you meet them. Dopey from the high of sex, and knowing him, a line or two. He seems so far off from the nervous wreck that he usually is. Free from the aggression and arrogance that usually taints everything he does.

But he's soft with you. Gentle when he wants to be - gentle with you. Only you. And it's going to stay that way if you have anything to say about it.

"Don't ever pull that shit again, Ray." You warn, dipping your voice into something stern despite the affection blossoming in the pit of your chest. " I swear I'll castrate you if you do."

Something like a snicker puffs past his lips, like he finds the prospect entertaining. Or maybe he just likes you being possessive over him. It's probably that. Regardless, he leans closer to you, pulling you closer by your waist and stroking his hands down your hips. "Yes, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind."

You don't get to respond to him. A knock rattles against the door, slow and light enough that it nearly sounds hesitant. Still it causes you to flinch a little, nearly jerking you out from underneath Rafe's hands but he maintains his grip on you, assisted by the way that the counter keeps you blocked in place.

"Hey, uh, I'm not trying to . . . interrupt anything, but you've been in there for a minute, so I just wanted to check and make sure that you're alright." The voice that bleeds past the barrier of the old wood is muffled from the thick of it, but just loud enough that you're able to recognize it as Thatcher's. Embarrassment floods you at the realization. Especially when you briefly think back on your old statement you had promised to him just before leading Rafe out of the kitchen. It'll only be a few minutes. That's what you had told him then. It's definitely been longer than that. Probably closer to thirty - if not longer.

You let your forehead thump against Rafe's chest, a low, defeated sigh leaving you as you consider what to say next. An apology would probably be in your best interest. Just to be polite, for what little it's worth, considering that you and Rafe have all but defiled his bathroom. It makes you wonder how you're even going to be able to walk out of here without cringing underneath the weight of everyone's intrigued - if not disgusted - stares.

"I just made her cum three times in a row, man, but yeah, she's 'alright.' " Rafe replies, irritation and contempt lacing his words like a venom. You truly wish that the floor would split open to swallow you whole as soon as you register what he said. All you can manage is pulling yourself back enough to shoot him a withering glare, but he doesn't appear to be affected by your look in the slightest, far too busy scowling at the door.

"Rafe," you snap. You try to collect yourself, mentally shaking off your humiliation as best as you can and dipping your voice into something pleasant and even to be heard through the door to answer Thatcher. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'll be out in a minute. For real this time." You almost wince when it leaves your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation stretches on when Thatcher doesn't answer immediately. There's a pause and silence before an unsure, stiff "alright" rises up from outside before he presumably leaves.

A relieved sigh leaves you, the breath you were holding leaving you like a deflating balloon as you allow yourself to lean into Rafe once again, finding solace in his warmth to try and detach yourself from the embarrassment of the encounter. His arms slip around you easily. Shifting to take you around the waist in a loose hold that has all of your thoughts settling down into useless background chatter.

"Want to go to yours?" he asks suddenly. It makes you look to him again, shifting back on your feet to observe him from the containment of his embrace. There's the hint of something vulnerable peeking through the blue of his eyes as though he's partially expecting you to deny him. To pull the rug out from under his feet - turning him away. Like it was all just a cruel joke to get back at him.

As wrong as it might be, it feels somewhat vindicating to see him still so unsure. Visibly insecure about where he now stands with you. Mostly because you're in the same boat. This is a new territory for you both, and regardless of the previous words shared, there's still the fear that it was all induced on his part by the high of the moment.

"Then maybe in the morning we can go get breakfast at Merrick's? Just not dinner there though - if we're going out for dinner, then I'm taking you somewhere nice."

That grabs ahold of your focus in easily. Rafe's been to your trailer a hundred times. Sneaking in in the dark and making himself welcome in your home. Using your shower, eating your food, sleeping in your bed. All of these intimate things done as easily as second nature. But something as simple as walking alongside you, as touching you openly in the stark daylight, was a boundary that had never been crossed past casual conversation. Whenever you had associated it was under the guise of eating at your work, or because you had naturally happened upon each other in your day to day lives. There was never any intent behind it. Especially not while in a part of the Eight.

Merrick's is right on the docks, settled in the center coast of the Northside of the island, among the wealthy houses and businesses of the OBX. It's a fairly popular spot among the wealthy locals. Being seen with you there would be a public declaration of sorts. Something that the customers, and employees would take notice of.

"And you're good with that? Being seen with me?" The question leaves you in a pale version of your usual tone. It's hesitant, revealing the fear that begins to pool in your gut. Settling there like a nausea. Now it's you waiting for him to reject you - to backtrack on his promises and leave you standing here in the middle of this bathroom hurting, confused and heartbroken. You could nearly imagine the scornful smile that would tug at his lips, the glimmer of his teeth, the contempt that would burn in his eyes as he pinned you down with an unforgiving stare. You wouldn't survive it.

But it never comes.

"I meant what I said earlier. I don't give a shit what anyone has to say; you're my girl now." Some of his usual hostility seeps through his tone then, biting through the sweetness of it. None of it aimed at you. But it's like he's asserting a challenge for himself and others. Stating a threat to anyone else who may try to oppose him - or you. But it sounds like so much more than just the promise of a possibly verbal conflict. That wild glint is back in his eyes, passionate and determined, and you know now that he's prepared to draw blood for your sake. That he'll break bone and start fires to defend your name if he has to.

It's another one of those things that should repel you - a red flag waving vigorously in the air, but you can't find so much as the hint of an urge to turn and run. To escape and from his explosive nature, but you find warmth and comfort in it. He's like a wildfire. Erratic and starved, lashing out and reaching for anything that might burn and feed it, and like a glutton for punishment, you'll always open yourself to be consumed. Willingly allowing yourself to be licked at by the destructive edge of his nature; picked apart and feasted on. But he'll be there to put you back together again. Always eager to hold you up in his greedy palms, to have you safe in the shelter of them.

Because he's sweet too. Caring when he wants to be. When he's allowed to be - safe from criticism or disapproval. He's been taught to be harsh. A product of his father's love, most likely. But you'll show him a different kind of love if he lets you. Something gentle and nonjudgemental. The sort of affection that he's been deprived of his entire life.

You're his now, and he's yours; rough, violent edges and all.

"Okay," you agree. "Breakfast it is then. And dinner." You nudge his nose up with your own, guiding him to angle his head so that you can place a lingering kiss on the plush of his mouth, feeling the shape of his smile against your lips.

"Alright, and dinner." He nods, raising his hands to cradle your face. Watching you with a gleam in his eyes that looks like he wants to devour you entirely and hold you close. "Just you and me."

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urbanwoods56 · 1 year ago

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#wooden cots in bangalore #bed in bangalore #bed price bangalore #double bed price bangalore #cot price bangalore

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hoe-days · 4 months ago

Text

OKAY HERE WE GO

Y’all this is 3+ years of not writing fanfiction and pent up thoughts I am so sorry

(Also mind any spelling or grammar mistakes I am on 30 minutes of sleep and it’s 2AM)

(Senku x Smart! F! Reader SMUT)

——————

‘Frustrated’

‘Unfocused’

‘Pent up’

‘Math.’

‘Math…?’

‘That’s right. I need to focus.’ But how could she focus on this equation like this. She’s been pent up for ages. There’s not really any time for intimacy when you’re building the new world.

(Y/N) sighs as she puts her mind back on the equation before her. The team is on the brink of a break through, she can’t falter now.

Wrong.

“Huh?”

“That’s wrong.” She turns her body to look over at her lover. Senku gazes at their makeshift chalk board with his head tilted to the side.

“Not like you to make that kind of mistake. Pulled an all nighter?”

“No- Well, yes. I did, but that’s not what’s wrong. I’m fine.”

Senku watches as she corrects her mistake, getting any little detail wrong can crumble everything. They both know that. But they’ve been working nonstop since they broke free of the stone, their efficiency doubled once they found each other in the stone world.

She puts her chalk down, rubbing her aching eyes. “I’m gonna call it a night. Can’t utilize my brain if it’s half dead.” Senku nods, understanding the feeling.

“T’s cool. I’ll take over,” He assures. She gives him a small kiss to the cheek before leaving the lab, heading to her sleeping quarters.

———

“Left over materials are a life saver. Had just enough Methyl Chloride to create a mold…”

(Y/N) smiles at her little “side project”. She carefully places the small motor into the silicone tube she made.

“First vibrator of the stone age. Hilarious.”

She chuckles to herself as she delicately adjusts the wiring.

“Done!”, She allows the hot glue she whipped up to cool before testing out her creation, she twists the dial and it hums to life.

“Science my love thou hast never failed me.”

She stands to go over to her cot when she hears shuffling outside the door. There’s a shadow at the door. Shit.

She scrambles to turn off the machine and lock it back away in the small chest she made for it.

The door opens just as she locks the latch.

“You’re still awake?”, Senku stands in the doorway, holding some papers.

“Yeah, I was just working on a side project.”

Senku raises an eyebrow, “Oh? Like what.”

She averts her gaze. “Confidential.”

“Ya. Okay.” He chuckles as he rolls his eyes.

She slides the chest under her cot and walks over to him. “Need something?”

“Just wanted you to double check me.

“You’re a smart, grown ass man.”

“And?”

She shoots him a teasing smile as they both sit on her bed, checking over his calculations together. It may seem odd, but it’s their love language.

———

Sadly, (Y/N) fell asleep midway through their calculation session, she never even got to try her toy, how tragic. The next day comes and she’s more irritable than before.

Senku had a sneaking suspicion something was going on. He wants to get to the bottom of it immediately, whatever is happening is hindering their progress.

While walking to check on (Y/N) during her break from working he catches her right as she’s storming out of her room in a huff, heading towards a loud crash a little ways away. It’s always something.

Before he can follow he hears something curious from their room. Buzzing. Senku’s curiosity gets the best of him as he peaks in, immediately spotting the toy on the cot

“Oh. So that’s what this is all about.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Guess I haven’t been the most attentive boyfriend, huh. Let’s nip this in the bud then.”

He smirks as he turns off the toy, tucking it away in his pocket before leaving the room.

——

(This next part is absolutely freaked out. You were warned)

Panic.

“No, no, no, this is NOT happening.”

She can’t find it. This is awful. Did it roll under something? She frantically opens the drawers at her makeshift desk.

Senku watches from the door, an evil smirk painting his face as (Y/N) searches for her toy, her face flushed with embarrassment and frustration. He chuckles, enjoying the the scene before him. "Looking for this?" he asks teasingly, holding up the vibrator and letting it buzz loudly in his hand.

(Y/N) freezes, her face burning with humiliation as she slowly turns to face Senku. "Give that back to me," she demands, trying to snatch it from his grasp. But Senku quickly moves it out of her reach, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Not so fast," he chuckles, backing away and examining the object with intrigue. “Interesting side project.”

(Y/N) crosses her arms, glaring at him as she tries to maintain some semblance of dignity despite her mortification. "It's not what you think," she snaps. "…Okay maybe it is. I just... I needed a release, okay? And there aren't exactly sex shops in the stone age."

Senku's grin widens, and he takes a step closer to her, one hand still holding the vibrator behind his back while the other reaches out to trail his fingers along her arm. "I’m a bit offended you didn’t come to me directly, but I can’t say I don’t find that innovative mind of yours exhilarating," he murmurs. "

“You are really annoying, you know that-”

Senku silences her with a searing kiss, his lips claiming hers with a passion that steals her breath away as he walks her back against the desk. She melts into him, their bodies molding into each other as the vibrator begins to buzz softly against her inner thigh. (Y/N) gasps into his mouth, her hips jerking slightly at the unexpected sensation.

Emboldened, Senku slides the toy higher, rubbing it along the damp fabric covering her most intimate area. He swallows her whimpers and moans, his tongue delving deep to taste her as he grinds his semi hard cock against her.

Without breaking the kiss, Senku pushes her papers and tools aside to a safe distance as (Y/N) stands on her toes to get up onto the desk. Senku pushes her thighs apart to step between them. His hand slides underneath her dress, caressing her thighs.

"Let's see what this thing can really do," Senku hums, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and tugging them down. (Y/N) lifts her hips, allowing him to strip them off completely and toss them aside. She shudders at the cool air, Senku doesn’t give her any time to relish the feeling though. He presses the vibrator directly onto her clit.

(Y/N) cries out, her head falling back and her fingers searching for anything to grab behind her on the desk. "Ah! Senku, fuck! It's too much!"

“Too much? You’re the one that gave it so much power. I’d figured you could handle it.”

He leans down, kissing the petrification marks on her skin as he applies a bit more pressure.

“Stop being a dick..” Her fingers curl around the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly as she fights the urge to push him away.

“There’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m far too invested in this experiment to waste even a millimeter of a breath on it.” He shoots her his signature shit eating grin before sliding his free hand between her legs, pushing two fingers into her.

She moans out, rocking her hips along with the motion of his fingers. She’s so close. The build up is intense. Just as she reaches her peak-

Nothing.

“Senku what the fuck?” Senku doesn’t say a word as he adjusts his clothes, swiftly pulling his aching cock out. “I’ve got all the data I need on that experiment. I’ve got to give you a participation reward.”

With one hard thrust, he sheaths himself inside her, burying his length deep into her wet heat. (Y/N) throws her head back with a cry of ecstasy, her walls clenching and fluttering around him as he fills and stretches her. The vibrator falls forgotten from Senku's hand, buzzing around somewhere on the floor.

Senku starts to move, pulling out until just the tip remains before slamming back in, setting a hard and fast pace. The desk creaks and shakes beneath them with the force of his thrusts, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. He leans down to capture (Y/N)'s lips in a passionate kiss, her moans and his groans and (sorta pathetic) whimpers mixing together like a melody.

(Y/N) meets his thrusts eagerly, wrapping her legs around his waist and using the leverage to pull him deeper with each pump of his Senku gasps, breaking their kiss and burying his face into her neck.

He can feel his stamina waning, his breath coming in ragged pants against (Y/N)'s neck. He's not built for such intense physical exertion, and his muscles burn with the effort of holding himself up and thrusting into (Y/N) so vigorously.

With a grunt, Senku suddenly pulls out and sits back on the chair that sat in front of the desk, his chest heaving.

(Y/N), knowing all too well about his stamina(or lack there of), wastes no time in straddling Senku's lap. She positions herself above him, reaching down to grip his shaft and line it up with her entrance. With a sensual roll of her hips, she sinks down onto him, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion.

They both groan at the sensation, She starts to move, rolling and grinding her hips in slow circles as she gets used to the new position. Senku lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You’ve made me throw all logic out the window.”

(Y/N) is confused for a moment, but recalls a conversation from a while back. Senku expressed his hesitance for unprotected sex, that’s the last thing they needed in the stone world. But here he is, his lust, his needs overpowered his mind for once.

(Y/N) rocks her hips faster, chasing her own release. She leans in closely to his ear, mustering up all she can to speak.

“I got you, baby. Don’t worry about it.”

Senku nearly came right then, she’s going to be the death of him.

(Y/N) shifts her position, allowing him to hit that special spot inside her with every thrust. Her fingers claw at his chest, leaving red marks in their wake as her body is consumed by pleasure. She can feel that familiar knot forming, tightening and tightening until it finally snaps. The motion of her hips falters, jerking sporadically as she rides out her orgasm.

Senku holds on tightly his head thrown back, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The feel of her clenching around him nearly being too much to handle.

Once she’s come down from her high, (Y/N) pushes her self up weakly. She stands, wobbly legged and all before lowering herself to her knees, massaging his balls as she takes him into her mouth.

Senku can’t even muster up a witty remark, no tease or quip leaves his lips, all he can do is grip onto the back of her head, weakly thrusting up into her mouth as he chases his own release.

All it takes is one touch. One motion of her free hand against an area of his side she knows is sensitive. That’s all it takes for him to spill into her mouth.

She stares up at him with hazy, half lidded eyes as she swallows all he has to offer. Senku’s body spasms and twitches as he reaches his high, instinctively pushing her head away, the feeling being too much for him.

(Y/N) sits back on her knees and pants, attempting to catch her breath.

“I feel better now.”

——————

#whoo chile #dr stone #senku x reader #ishigami senku #dcst #dr stone imagines #dr stone smut

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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

Good things are hard to come by in the desert, but surprisingly, not drugs. Alliances are forged over questionable motivations. A real romance takes root.

[Part one] [Ao3] [10] [12] [Chapter Index]

11 * Sucker Punch [9k]

"My, my, my what a position:

The love of my life smokin' crack in the kitchen,

Lovely long nails and a nasty half grin:

"It's a livin'," she shrugs."

Some Kind Of Disaster Relief - The Taxpayers

"Hey." You turn on your side away from the noise. "Hey." Louder. "Goddamn it," your cot was jostled under your form, "wake up shithead."

You peel open an eye to find Tracksuit leaned over the bed. The sun pierced through the porthole. Everyone else had gone searching, leaving him on babysitting duty. His life had been threatened approximately five times that very morning and hearing you hiss, "What?" Made you particularly unlikable in the moment.

He stopped jostling the bed. Considered leaving you to get fucked but remembered- this was like being a producer. Nudge things the right way and the desired outcome should occur. His was mild entertainment and not the group eating itself alive so he said, "They sent me after you two last night."

Now you were sitting upright, bug eyed. "What-"

"I heard you two mashing pissers-"

"Excuse me?" You shot out of bed, standing unsteadily.

"-And I turned around and told 'em you were yelling at Omni Boy or whatever. I covered for you asses for like, twenty minutes. Do you know how many times I had to stop those guys from going after you? Too many. Almost beat the shit outta me and there I go thinking' you'll be smart and not super obvious. You come back, go right to sleep like you just got hit with the best dick of your life- like are you kidding?" His hands tangle in his hair. "Oooh, you're so lucky we're not full blooded dude. They would'a been able to smell that."

"We didn't-"

"I know fuckin' when I hear it, toots, don't even." His hand came to your face to shut you up, pressing to your lips, other arm securing you in place, "What I'm sayin' is, if they say shit to you about it at the fire tonight, you were laying into him but not laying him, ya hear? Cuz they ain't stupid, they know somethin' went down between you two and if I get caught lying- I'm fucked cuz I don't want those stupid assholes fighting and collapsing the caves- you know our only fucking source of water so sue me-" He stops himself from going on a tangent while you're effectively muted.

Your eyes narrow. Hands come to his wrist to peel his hand off your mouth to tell him to die. He holds firm, but not enough to hurt.

"Relax! I'm not a snitch and I don't fuckin' care. I just wanted to warn you that the next time you go romping around- be fuckin' careful, dude. If any of those guys went instead of me? They would'a intervened- we wouldn't be runnin' outta jerky, ya kno' what I mean. Nod if you get it." You nod. "Okay, alright, cool, I'm gonna take my hand away now and you're not gonna freak your shit on me."

His palm, calloused and slightly sweaty unlatches from your cheeks. The arm that held your waist in place fell away. You step back. Your head swivels left, right. Double-checking you were alone. "You heard us?"

Under the mask his brows peak. "I'm shocked nobody else did, dude. You were like," his voice pitches, hands go to his knocking knees and chest puffing perversely, "Uhhhhnggg, fuck me Markus."

"Shut up." He went ridged, quiet. Looks like your powers had returned for the day. You weren't foolish enough to make him hurt himself. He'd get back up and do you worse. Being found alone with his neck snapped on the cave floor also wasn't a good plan.

He broke free about ten second later, shaking himself off like your control was slime on his skin. "Eugh, that feels like ass."

"Don't make me do it again." You stand, stretch, feel your back crack. Find your dried underclothes neatly folded on Omni's side of the cot.

Tracksuit follows your gaze. "He's also not hiding it, awesome. I'd say it was nice knowing you assholes but- it hasn't really been."

You pick up the clothes. "This doesn't mean anything."

"That he folds your clothes like some house husband? I couldn't imagine doing that even for some bitch who gave my the messiest sloppy of my life. That's like, love, dude."

Your stomach curdles. "It's not." You check the multiple openings in the cave walls, where anyone could be returning at any time. "Keep your voice down."

"I'm not being anywhere loud as you." He snickers. "Marrrrkusss, unngggnhh!"

"Shut up, turn around."

He did. You quickly took off the top of the armor and slapped on the tank top. You were pulling off the solider pants, back to Tracksuit when the control snapped. "You gotta- whoa! Whoa! No! I don't care how nice your ass is, I'm not getting killed over mediocre pussy!"

You leap into the shorts. "You were supposed to stay turned around." You grab the pants and boots off the ground, slipping them back on. "And please, don't flatter yourself."

Though your ass was hidden under tighty-whiteys, he still watched it. "I mean, you flattered him, who is also me, plenty last night."

"Want to find out how hard you can hit yourself?" You toss the empty threat.

He caught it. "Kind of, but I don't wanna end up lookin' like Seven. Lensless, you called 'im?" He sat pressed against the wall. "Crazy son of a bitch." Out of his pocket came that pack of alien cigarettes. Nine down to six he smoked in secret so nobody would ask for a hit. He caught your eye, "You don't plan on going out today, do you? Anywhere you could go they've already mapped beyond it like, a hundred times." He pulled the curtain from his face and tucked it to his left ear. Revealing the low of his face- Mark's. "Dunno how nobody's found shit yet."

***

Sand. Lots and lots and lots of sand was shoved into every unused crevice. Mushy mold and mildew that he helped the bugs propagate, just to use as wall padding. Their super hearing was nowhere near full-blooded Viltrumite level, but he couldn't risk the others finding his personal paradise to share with you.

It'd be ready soon, if all went to plan. Just you, him, bugs, and the dark.

***

You knew you were near useless in this survival situation. They were aliens, nearly God-like. You were a doll to throw around. You yearned for normal people, to play with them the way the Marks played with you. To be in some sort of control.

You consider leaving, knowing Tracksuit would be obligated to follow. But you also consider the more you moved, the more they'd feed you of Emperor at the campfire tonight. You could barely stomach what you'd already eaten. Puking was a constant, round the corner threat.

The blue-wrapped cigarette was placed between his lips. A blur passed over his face and it was lit, glowing green at the end. He takes a drag, relaxing fully against the stone. A pillar of smoke forced out between his teeth, light gray, and smelling of coriander. He catches you staring and holds up the side of his hand, "Don't need a lighter when ya got friction."

You point at the thing. "Give me a hit."

He leaned forward, held the cigarette out to you, glowing end first. You take it in two fingers and place it into your mouth. The pale filter still damp with his spit. (You hadn't smoked in a long time / You'd never smoked) and were nervous to see how this would go. If alien tobacco would kill you or not. You don't think, feel the hold loosening, so you suck it down.

Lemongrass and rotten laundry had a baby that shit acid down your throat- that's what it felt like. You jerked, folding forward, hacking up wispy clouds of smoke and spittle. The control breaks and the cigarette is snatched away. Your hands are propped on your knees. You could only see his boots as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

"I'd whoop your ass for that," the cigarette is placed back where it belonged between his lips, "but you're kinda doin' that for me."

You'd curse him if you could.

"Dude, this shit kills like, most alien species. Didn't you look at the warning on the box?" He points at a struck-through red circle with alien looking lungs in the middle. "No baby-shit lungs can touch this shit."

"Obviously," you hack out the syllables one by one, trying hard not to puke on your shoes, "I didn't."

"No dip." It pissed you off how easily he breathed the acrid air in.

You straighten up, pounding your chest, "What's in that?"

"Uhhhh," he flipped the box in his hand, squinting behind the lenses, "a hundred percent pure Loethicainian root. Huh, thought it was laced with something else."

"You didn't even know what was in it before you started smoking it?" Your voice cracks. Throat feeling like an uncleaned chimney after one puff.

"You didn't either." The box disappeared into his pocket. His palm outstretched in front of you, "Alright, now give it."

"What?"

"You took a hit'a my shit, I'ma take a hit'a yours." His fingers flexed, "Hand it over."

You flinched back, hands going defensively to your pockets. "No way."

"I could just take it, but I'm being nice and asking."

That was true. You preferred to have some dignity, so you pulled out a bottle. "Just don't over-"

The lid was crushed off the top, thrown aside. He knocked his head back, thumb punching a hole in the bottle bottom. Cigarette held off to the side in his spare hand. The bottle was shotgunned before you could blink.

"-dose."

He groaned, threw the bottle to the floor. "Tastes like shit."

"So does that." You watch him chase the bitter cough syrup taste with a pull off the cigarette. Man had taste buds of steel.

He shrugged, "Ya get used to it. When's it supposed to kick?" He sat himself on the closest cot. Gray's. He'd definitely notice things shifted about but Tracksuit couldn't care less.

"Uhm, I thought you've done codeine before?"

"Nah, buddy Rex did, though. Guy did everything he got his hands on." He sighed, hands going behind his head, now sprawled on Gray's cot. "Miss 'im."

You stand by the cot edge, watching him smoke. Feeling no difference beside the burning in your throat. Maybe one hit wasn't bad. "That Guardians of The Globe dickhead?"

Tracksuit smiled around the cigarette. "He made it to The Guardians in your world? Good for him."

You sit, pulling the last bottle of codeine out of your pants. "Should be a half hour before that kicks in. You sure you'll be fine? That's way more than most people can take. I don't feel like eating you." Though there was enough of Emperor left to last you all a week at this rate. Hell, all of him hadn't been smoked yet. Apparently without green plants to burn there was less smoke, the process took days longer. What hadn't been cooked yet started to rot. Gray set aside the first cooked, stalest, safest jerky for you to eat. You hadn't today, though you should.

"I'm an alien." He laughs, "I'm smoking the cheapest, but deadliest smokes in the galaxy. I'll be cool."

You tell yourself you don't care, that you're just killing time but you still ask. "So Rex Splode." You'd never met the guy but there was news here and there. People he saved said he was a douche, reckless, almost got them killed while saving them.

"We slummed it together awhile." He blew smoke past your shoulder to the ceiling. "Roommates while my parents were figuring out their relationship shit. Cuz like, Dad sprung all that crazy alien-invasion shit on mom and she was like 'what the fuck?' And who would want to live with those assholes anyway? Like rabbits those two, then they'd get on my ass for bein' loud. So, Rex 'n I got ourselves this piece 'a shit place in Queens. Roaches all over the place, you should'a seen it." He talked plenty but not normally this much, not so openly. Whatever hundred percent pure Loethicainian root was chilled him the hell out.

"I lived in New York," you crack the bottle, "I know." You knock your head back. Feel the sour syrup slide cross your tongue. Your body goes slack, like all your problems have been solved when it hits your throat. You flop onto the cot beside him.

"Crazy how I never met you." He says, and you can feel his eyes on you. "And everyone else but that one dude is all over you. Makes me wonder."

You tilt the bottle forward, cut yourself off before you really wanted to. High soon to go feather-light in your dome. "If you're gonna get all misty-eyed on me I'm fucking off."

"'M not." He says, "Just wonder how it didn't happen." He keeps out the part he'd been wondering about lately. That maybe, if he'd had you, things wouldn't have gotten so messy. Rex wouldn't be dead. That Eve bitch wouldn't be alive with the resistance. His Dad would've never called the Viltrum Empire to Earth. Things would've been normal and he could've lived his life doing fuck-all-bullshit till he died in a million years. Dad made sure things didn't dice out that way.

He could hardly see how you'd change a thing. Why you and Mark Grayson seemed to be so inter-dimensionally intertwined. Was it just cuz he was biologically wired to think your ass was nice?

"Tell me about your Rex." He said instead.

You did, as much as you remembered from the papers. You mostly avoided supes, bad for business if you were caught. Worse for you if they wound up being psychic and didn't listen. Tracksuit listened aptly, smoking the cigarette down to the filter.

The high began to wax. Your brain felt fat in your head, skull gone, cheeks like jelly, everything easy. You'd missed being high. Angsted that the only reason you were was because of Mark. Always because of Mark.

You're looking down at Tracksuit, elbow on knee when you say, "I really hate him, you know."

"The other me?"

"Yeah." You can't get over how good he looks with a septum, even though you can't see his whole face. You wonder if there are any more piercings, any scars to further differentiate him. "Yeah, that dickhead." The words spill out, stupid, slow. "Ruined my life, that..." What's the word? "Dickhead." Yeah, exactly.

Tracksuit flicked ashes onto the ground and dusted them away. Gray would notice later anyway. He couldn't care, these details were juicy. "What'd he do?"

"He-" You look up to the porthole. Watch sand specs idly floating in the sun. Then you are there in the sunbeam. Naked, glowing, floating.

You fall hard next to Tracksuit. He jumps up, watching you twitch. "Shit!" He'd forgotten you'd taken a hit of his cigarette. That you probably had minutes left to live at best. "Shit! Hey!" He shakes your shoulders but your eyes, rolled back to your skull, don't fix. You are stiff, then twitching, stiff, then twitching.

Then you're upright like a bolt cracking your skull against his, "What?"

He is unaffected, head like a cinder block. "I thought you were like, seizing."

"Me too." You rub your pulsing forehead, the only part of your head you could feel.

His breathing, that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, hitched, began to even. "Scarred the piss outta me."

"Me too."

"Sure you're not still seizing or whatever?"

Your muscles contract tight, tighter, then let go. "Think I'm just..." Your fingers find your eyes, push into the lids. Thinking slow. "I'm just stressed and that Loethicainian shit is making me tic." Better than being dead.

"I mean yeah, you almost starved to death and now you've got like," he counts on his fingers, "seven super crazy boyfriends. No, six, and husband guy."

"I'm not dating a guy who killed a different version of me in literally any timeline." You looked around for any broken hearted faces but find none.

"I don't think all of 'em did." He says.

"A concerning amount of them have."

His arms go out to his sides, defensive, "We've all killed people. It's not that big a deal. You're still alive."

"Not my Mark." You leave out the 'not on purpose' part. The Chicago disaster part. "He didn't kill people." You don't know why you feel the need to go to bat for him.

"Good for him I guess, but he's a giant pussy."

Your lips thin, defense came up your throat just to be swallowed because Tracksuit was right. "His girlfriend got hurt when you guys came," you start, unable to look at him and his stupid Mark face, "he wouldn't leave her. She was unconscious and probably would've told him to go help, but he wouldn't. Refused to fight you guys. I know he could've taken more of you out but he just-" You shrug, hands slapping against you thighs, "He was just a giant pussy."

You lick at the codeine bottle edge just for the taste. You recap it before you lapse into shotgunning the whole thing and dying on the cave floor.

"Wow. That's insane." Tracksuit didn't care much for humanity or anyone in his life these days, but he couldn't imagine not fighting. Deciding one person was worth the effort to ignore everything else.

"Right?" You felt vindicated. You needed him to know, "I've killed more people on purpose than he has. He won't even kill people that he knows will bust outta prison. Just, lets 'em go and-" You laughed, shaking your head, like it was no big deal, like your sad, angry little life didn't revolve around him. Who cares about Mark when you're getting high with a different Mark? Mark would've never touched a cigarette let alone shotgun codeine just to try it.

"He broke up with me." Words come out in a hot puke spray. Tracksuit's head snaps to you. Surprised you'd share anything about yourself with him of all people- seemed like you only shared to hurt the others' feelings. "It ruined my life."

He's quiet a moment before saying, "Dick that good?"

"No. I just-" Your fingers press to your eyes, head light, spinning. You knew you shouldn't tell anybody but keeping it in felt so bad. And you just wanted to feel good again, enjoy the high the same way you enjoyed Omni's fingers. Purge. "I did something for us, and it went so bad, and I just- God. He didn't want me or the baggage I came with." You felt like you were about to cry so you unscrewed the codeine for one more sip. Wouldn't kick in for awhile but you couldn't stand feeling like this.

"I'm not a snitch if you wanna spill." He offered. You accepted. Reluctantly at first, voice low so if anyone came back they wouldn't overhear. It was bad enough telling Mark Grayson how Mark Grayson ruined your life. It'd be worse if the Mark Grayson who murdered you and was still very much in love with you, overheard. They'd never let you live it down and you'd really end up killing them all, then you'd starve to death out here.

By the end, you were so high you didn't care that a few tears slipped here and there. You couldn't care much for anything at all, but at least Tracksuit was good company.

"That's majorly fucked up." He'd said when you finished. Among much more colorful commentary during your story. Calling you stupid for being head over heels for the first guy you fucked. For not finishing school. For falling for him of all people. "But, hey, we ever get back to that shithole? I'll help you whoop his pussy ass." It was the good nurtured chiding old friends did, that kind strangers do when they get high together. You knew it didn't mean anything, and you would never get to go home, but you smiled.

"I'll introduce you to Rex." You say because you don't know Rex is dead. Tracksuit doesn't either. The thought is nice, as it is impossible.

"How's that high treating you?" You ask.

"Got nothin'." Tracksuit fidgets with his pocket, thinks of pulling out another cigarette but decides against it. "Pretty sure most Earth shit won't do anythin' to me so what's the harm in tryin'? You?"

"I think." You don't think, lost a moment as your body tensed and untensed, "Whatever you gave me isn't agreeing with me but it's okay." What wasn't okay was how bored you were. Always sitting around or walking or eating dead guy meat. Lame.

You want to play, be entertained. You pull out your phone and try to find some meaningless game. Tracksuit leaned over your shoulder, watching you click through apps, a smile on his face.

"You got any tunes downloaded on that thing?"

You did, and he helped you pull them up. He had no clue what any of the words were. Who was singing. But that was okay. You lay together on Gray's cot, letting the music bounce off the ceiling and trash down onto your bodies. You were almost asleep when an angel came down, a shadow in the sunbeam.

"I thought I heard something." You lifted your heavy head.

Baldie stood over the cot. Hairless brow raised at the scene. Fabric scraps in hand.

"It's not what it looks like." Tracksuit raised his hands in mock defense. On high alert but not looking like it. "We're just hanging out, man."

"Uh, I can tell?" He would've been suspect if any other variant had been laying with you. Not Tracksuit. He was stupid and inconsequential, but friendly enough.

You sat up to talk but stop. The light frames his muscle thick form like a halo's hug. Mark's expression on his face but not Mark's face, not with all the scars. He is him but so other and so beautiful like this and the music is so nice and you are absolutely fucking blasted.

Your body tenses again. "Are you okay?" Baldie asks.

You stand up shakily, body swaying slightly.

"Hey, are you alright?" His hands go to the sides of your arms to steady you but you aren't seizing, you're dancing. Terribly. You're not happy, just high, and having recently cum. You're relaxed. Listening to music you intend to enjoy because fuck the misery.

"No." You say, "But dancing is better than just laying there while the universe dies."

"Hey!" Tracksuit said from the comfort of his back.

Baldie pauses. "You're... dancing?" He was unsure. Partly thought the movement a mild seizure.

"Guess I am."

He's taken back. Four years ago, days before the fight with Dad. He had no idea what was coming. He could feel the anxiety coming off Mom in waves, it made him edgy. But he got to your apartment, floated out the window and found you dancing with a hungry dog you'd found in the street six months ago. Skin and bones now muscle and smooth fur. You held its front paws, going back and forth in little steps while the dog's tail wagged. The other rescues crowded around your ankles.

He landed next to you with a smile. Problems off in the wind. You traded paws for his hands and you dance together slow in the studio apartment kitchenette to the same music you played now.

He smiles, nostalgic for a past you didn't know, and takes your limp hand. Opens it gently with the press of a thumb. You let it happen, staring stupidly as his marred hand slipped into yours. He pulls you in, hand set at the small of your back. Then leads you to insanely unfitting music in a waltz he could barely remember the bones of. It was more like spinning in circles while holding your bodies together but you couldn't tell. You were high and in a sun beam and he was smiling at you and the music was so nice.

Tracksuit watches. Thinking good for you, get some more dick. And then thinking, Jesus I'm gonna have to run interference for this horny bitch till we all die out here.

You're across the room now. Stepping on Baldie's feet because you're so high you can't coordinate your movements well. He thinks you're still half asleep and teases you. You laugh at something Baldie says, it's quick and you immediately try to hide the joy, but Baldie hears it and glows. Because for once, the laugh wasn't a nasty sound, but genuine.

"Hey." Maskless is knelt beside Tracksuit's head, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. "Walk with me a sec."

"Uh? Sure." He sat up.

Maskless led him out of the cave, into the desert sun and miles away while you danced on. He landed in a skid, turning hot on Tracksuit when he came down.

"You need to back off." He says.

Tracksuit paused his landing trot, "What?"

"Those guys ruined their lives for the chance to see her again. Don't get any stupid ideas that'll cost you." His finger found home in Tracksuit's chest. Honestly, Maskless didn't give two shits who you liked and didn't. He cared about keeping the peace. He cared about how he'd feel if he had William here and some douche who didn't know him was drooling to get in his pants. It was one thing for the other guys to want their ex, a whole insult for him not to even know you in his world. He wouldn't take sides, wouldn't tattle, but he'd watch and make sure Tracksuit's tracksuit stayed on for the good of the camp.

"Whoa! You've got the wrong idea." He says it, but it's not entirely true. Tracksuit had been starting to appreciate your appearance a tad more these last few days. You were a whole helluva lot nicer when you were high and not starving to death. You were also probably a decent fuck and he really needed to cum, but that wasn't here nor there. "We're on the same side here. I'm not gonna do nothin' stupid just cuz she's hot, man."

That was as earnest as Tracksuit got, but to Maskless it sounded like fuck boy bullshit. "You're going to get yourself and her killed if you keep acting all buddy-buddy. You can't lay on the same cot as her and ogle, they're not stupid."

"Dude, were you watching us? That's super fuckin' creepy!"

Maskless's jaw hardened. "I wouldn't be surprised if another one of us was watching too. You weren't subtle. I didn't watch for very long, but it was long enough to see you staring at her ass."

Tracksuit wasn't an unreasonable man, but a shortsighted one. A man who thought fists would tell the truth. "Then that's long enough to see I didn't tap it!" A fist was aimed straight for Maskless's chin. Sent him into the air. He spun, stopped the spiral a hundred feet up, face hard. Absolutely sure Tracksuit had a thing for you and absolutely sure he needed to kick common sense right up his ass.

***

The music died with your phone. After days of being used for flashlight navigation, it was bound to die. But did it really have to die at the best part of the song? You could mope but you didn't. Sleepily happy as Baldie guided you round and round.

Phantom watched from the dark. He'd picked up heat signatures from Maskless's body on the outskirts of the cave minutes ago. Knew he'd likely interfere somehow, Maskless wasn't stupid. He knew any blooming romances were a danger. Maskless should've broken you and Baldie up but instead he took Tracksuit outside. Allowed this to continue.

Phantom tells himself it's fine. You are happy. With someone else who is him, but not him.

He tries telling himself Baldie is a temporary creature of comfort. Like Omni clearly had been to you last night. None of this meant a thing.

***

"Hey." Behind him. Lensless turned. Lost again a few minutes into exploring these stupid caves. Maskless had drawn him a mini map but Lensless was never one for directionality.

Scars was there, cloaked in the dark. Wearing that same old smile.

"Hi?" Lensless was perfectly friendly back, but his body was tense. Come on, a lone meeting in the dark was a prime murder locale. He'd done it himself enough times to know.

"I think we can help each other get what we want." Scars didn't have to say it was about (Y/n). He was just as obsessed with you, the new you, as Lensless was. That was why he'd gotten so lost in the first place, he just couldn't stop thinking about you using your powers on him.

Lensless was the perfect partner for the job. Slower than Scars in every aspect. Feared and discomforting in your eyes. And he wanted you to use your powers just as much as Scars did.

***

You were floating on a euphoric cloud because you were dancing with Mark Grayson (and peaking on a codeine high). He smiles down at you, holding you. Dancing with you like he did when he came to your place after homecoming. You had been on the stoop crying with the night sky overhead, trying to keep the tears off your thrifted outfit. He'd missed the whole thing and you were majorly pissed, but he danced with you right there on the apartment stoop in his wrinkled suit. Apologies whispered into your ear, compliments as his hands ran over the clothes you'd picked for him.

His excuse was terrible, pissed you off more, but you ended up forgiving him. You always ended up forgiving him. He was your first serious boyfriend, how could you not? You took him inside. Things escalated. You didn't feel different the next morning, though you told yourself they did. That being each other's firsts meant you'd be together forever.

And now, five years down the line, you were in the same man's arms, but not really. Having just spilled your guts to also the same guy because the other guys who were also the same guy couldn't be trusted with that information. You were too high to think about it. That's what you liked about being high. Not forgetting things, but not quite being smart enough to remember.

You don't know what does it. The sun shining through his black lenses, letting you see a sliver of eye through the material. Soft, drooped with scarring but looking at you so sweetly. Or was it the gentle touch you hadn't felt in so long? Calming and grounding, but not wanting, content with the moment. His lips, twisted as they were with old wounds, smiling for you, of all the rotten people in the world- for you.

You kiss him without thought. Standing on your toes to get the angle right. His lips are opened, a question on the tongue that is soon forgotten. When he kisses back it's tentative, hesitant. Close mouthed and chaste. He wouldn't let himself taste too much of you. He knows he'll go mad if he doses on too much of your sweet belladonna. But you smile, kiss him again, and he can't resist pulling you closer.

Four years since he'd kissed you. The last one a quick goodbye peck, excited for a date the next day. He never got to see you again. Not the you he knew. You were warped and scarred compared to her, a mirror held up to himself. You were and weren't her. You understood him.

He let himself be poisoned with a kiss. Lips parting to let in your tongue.

***

Hearing you tell Tracksuit about your Mark stung. Phantom wished you could've confined in him, but he understood. He wasn't a big talker. You needed someone to bounce off of. He could do that. He just preferred it to be just you and him when he did so. But no opportunities shone through, someone was always around. Listening and watching.

But that was a bee sting compared to the gutting that was you kissing that marred thing with his name. It was a good thing, he told himself as he watched, you were still attracted to Mark Grayson as a concept. That's all this was, a proof of concept. But you just kept going and going and going. Kissing and kissing after obviously fucking Omni last night. Stabbing him in the heart as many times as you pleased. Did you even know how this made him feel?

Fine. It was fine, really. He had to think as he took deep breaths through his nose.

It was fine because Baldie couldn't be in the caves longer than a few hours without growing agitated. He kept saying he heard things but Phantom's enhanced suit didn't catch them. Baldie was cracking up. Baldie was clearly your favorite and had to go. Which was fine, because Phantom knew just where to put him.

***

He pulled away, flushed. "I'm sorry." He said, though he doesn't let you go. "Is this okay?"

You'd had a taste for blood. Were in for more, voice low and wanting "More than okay."

He leans back in and stops himself. He knew you were acting strange from the get go, but let himself ignore it because you seemed happy and that's all he wanted. He saw it now, your constricted pupils, they way you relied on him to hold your weight. He had thought you were finally trusting him but he was wrong. "Are you-?"

"High?" You finish for him. "A little." It's a lie.

He feels the kiss was a lie. Illegitimate. He wanted you plenty but not out of your head. He wanted you steady and sure. Something to even out the roaring between his ears. His touch fell away. Your body followed after him but he avoids your advance.

"I shouldn't." He knows but seeing you chase after him, eyes searching and lips parted, made him want you more. Which means he really, really shouldn't. "I'm sorry I didn't notice I-"

His teeth clack together when the fists come down on the back of his head. Body hammered feet down into the rock. You don't get to see it, already hundreds of feet above the porthole. Held by the middle where your body went slack against the arms caging you in. The pressing g-force ceased. You were far above the horizon. Above where anyone could hear you scream.

You can see his legs, coated black, going into blue boots. Feel his body pressed to your back, grip tight around your middle. Fingerless gloved hands raking across the bare skin between your tank top and pants.

"Hey," Lensless says against your ear.

"Lan-" His hand didn't just press to your lips, no, he forced his fingers into your mouth. Dusty skin lathed across your tongue, forced to the back of your throat where you gagged, much to his enjoyment.

"Much as I want you to, we're not doing that. Not yet."

He uses his hand in your mouth to puppeteer your neck. Makes you watch the fight below as it erupts into the desert. Baldie is pissed, but smart enough to know anymore underground thrashing could collapse the cave system- kill you all without access to water.

Scars is a yellowjacket blaze under the afternoon sun. Back for a surprise round two with the added stressor of you being held hostage in the sky. Baldie's distracted, keeps trying to pull from Scars to get to you and Lensless, but that's what Scars had been betting on. What they'd both been betting on.

Lensless doesn't let you go as he drops like an anvil directly into Baldie's flight path. His heels crack something in Baldie's back while Scars fist nearly punches a hole in his belly. When the impact is done, Baldie falls to the sand. Shirt torn, bruises already blooming under his skin. Blood pooling out the side of his mouth where some of his teeth had been knocked loose.

You screamed against Lensless's hand. Thrash in his hold as he climbs higher in the sky. Followed by Scars sporting a fully busted lens and a purple shiner. They matched in eyelessness, cruelty, and how much you wanted to kill them.

Lensless propped his head on your shoulder, observing your fit hopefully. "Are you gonna cry?"

Scars laughs but says, "Your little boyfriend will be fine." That gets your attention on him. So full of hatred and intent to kill. Just like his (Y/n) before it drained out between his legs. He doesn't know if things will end the same and that's why he's here with Lensless. To change you, make you stronger by sheer force. "Just couldn't have him interrupting. He wouldn't get it."

You bite Lensless's fingers hard as your jaw would allow, a growl vibrating through your body.

"So weak," Lensless says but he's shivering in delight at the attempt. "But you should quit while you're ahead. If I get too excited, I think I'll crush you." He laughs at the idea. You wet and red and all over him, makes his cock twitch.

Much as you hate listening, you do. "Good job." Lensless bumps the top of his head against your jaw. "I knew you'd listen."

"Don't praise her." Scars victorious smile melts as he stares you down. "You've been bad."

You'd ask him what he meant if you weren't murderous and gagged.

"You don't seem to get it. Those other guys, they're weak, useless. Couldn't take a bomb to the head like I can. They don't deserve you." He hovers closer, reaches between him and Lensless and holds up your chin. Fingers pressing hard to flesh.

Lensless pulls you back, out of his grip. A gesture that says 'it's not your turn with my toy, yet.' "Hey bud, you forget I'm also one of those guys?"

Annoyance flashed across Scars exposed eye. "You're smart enough to work with me." He leaves it at that, no promises of trust or friendship. Lensless grip tightens, makes your bones ache, but he doesn't pull you back when Scars reaches out. Thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "But you. You've been letting them pass you around. I get it, you're sad, you're lonely, you're looking to fill the void. And you can do that! You're your own person. I just need you to remember at the end of the day- you belong to me. Everytime you lend your lips or cunt out them?" His pointer and thumb squeeze your lip, pinching it plump and buzzing. "I see it. I feel it. I keep a tally of everytime you let them touch you, everytime you betray me. Do you know what that tally's at?" His head tilts, waiting, though you literally can't reply.

"Come on, answer him." Lensless jostles your rear with his knee.

Your hands, pressed to your sides by Lensless's arms, twitch. Scars notices, looks at them smiling. Up comes a single finger. Counting off your fuck with Omni or kiss with Baldie- he can't tell. Because it's your middle finger and he's laughing at you for daring to defy him.

"I'll take that as an 'I don't know'." He sighs, "Everytime that number goes up, know that I'm waiting for them to leave you alone or with someone weak. And they will because they all are. So I'll find you vulnerable and alone," he leaned in, pinching your lip so hard drool started to seep onto his gloves, "and make you understand how bad I feel when you're with them. And if you're not strong enough to take it, you die." He's close enough to bite your lip. For you to feel the heat of his stale breath. Then he removes himself from your personal space all at once. Skin-crawling touch gone.

"Ready?" Scars asked.

Lensless grins against your neck. "Oh hell yeah."

The flesh gag was gone, but so was the arm around your torso. You hurdled to the dunes, softer than your human body but you'd splat like it was concrete on impact. You can only see the sky, the men falling either side of you, looking bored with terminal velocity. You snap, "Catch me!"

They both hurdle toward you, two sets of arms under your back. Stopping the decent slowly, not too sudden. When you're finally stopped, your heart is hammering in your chest, you're still far above the ground but no longer falling. Not safe because the men you controlled were no longer held under your will. They grin down at you. Satisfied before both sets of their arms fall away again.

It's catch and release. They let you fall, scream a command with blood pouring out of your nose. They mock praise as they drag you back up high into the sky. By the third round, you've calmed enough to know what to do when Lensless catches you before Scars. You turn to him, grinning under the perpetual summer sun and say with a finger pointed at Scars, "Kill him."

You are dropped because in Lensless's head, he can't kill Scars while holding you. The logic and semantics work against you. And again you fall screaming, "Catch me, catch me!" But he's too fast, too far away in the atmosphere with a fist poised for Scar's throat.

***

Phantom watched the exchange. Let Baldie fall without help. Because he understood and agreed with what Lensless and Scars were doing. You did need to be stronger, needed to hold your own if you were to choose one of them. Work out that muscle of power because you'd let it go so slack in the desert.

He knew it'd happen sooner or later. You forcing them to attack each other, forgetting that morality and gravity don't mix. Scars tries to save you, he didn't want you to die even though he acted like it. Scars wanted you to suffer the slow creep of his corruption and not wilt, but thrive under it. Phantom understood this, didn't fault him for it. They were all creatures of some desire.

Scars could not dodge around Lensless long enough to catch you. Your hold had been getting better once you'd started eating again. There was no telling how long Lensless would attack. Scars was ruthless, trying to kill him but just couldn't. The fact was, Lensless was the faster of the two.

When you neared the ground, Phantom was there. Shot out of the porthole as a silent shadow, slowing you down then bringing you to a stop. Your unconscious body limp in his arms, stirring after a few seconds, as your body figured out it was still alive and not falling.

You look up at him, shaking, nose bleeding, sun in your eyes. So beautiful, weak, alive. Your hand clinging to his chest enough to bandage the wounds you'd left him.

***

They lay beside one another in the sand. Skin burst open by sheer force. Sun beating down on their bodies.

"You get it now, asshole?" Tracksuit tried not to sound winded, but he was. That gay little fucker could move.

There was no reply. Tracksuit heaved up onto his elbows, thinking the other dead and more jerky was on the way.

A few of his ribs were bruised but he breathed on. "You could've just talked to me instead of hitting me." Maskless said.

"I tried that, 'member?" Tracksuit flopped back into the sand.

"Yeah, well, you're not very good with words." Maskless said with no bite.

Tracksuit slapped him across the chest, earning a groan. "Nah, but I'm pretty good with a fist."

Maskless smacked the hand away. "Don't flatter yourself." He sat up, sand falling off his shoulders. Insides pounding. "We should get back. If the others see them together, they'll lose it."

Tracksuit ran a hand through his hair. All the gel he'd slopped through it before coming to your Earth gone clumpy and stale. "I just don't get it, man. Why can't they leave her alone? They're pushing her away by being freaks."

"Because we're us." Maskless stood, "We can't leave these things alone. You wanted something bad enough to make a deal with Angstrom Levy, so you're no different from the rest of us."

Tracksuit chuffed because the guy had a point. "I can. She's just some human."

"Would you be saying that if she was Rex Sloan?"

That name from that mouth made Tracksuit go stiff. "You creepy little fucker."

"I know if she were William, I'd be acting just as crazy." Out came Maskless's hand, offered with no smile. "If not more than some of them are."

Tracksuit considers slapping the offer away but takes the hand, pulling himself up off an aching tailbone. "I ain't you know, man."

"I know," Maskless says, though he doesn't believe it. He and Rex had a thing years back before it all went bad. There was bound to be another one of him who had the hots for that idiot. Still, he tacked on, "I see how you look at her, I get the picture."

"No, no, I mean I don't..." Tracksuit let go of his hand soon as possible.

Maskless held himself with a seriousness he didn't feel. He told himself the same thing a long, long time ago. "You'll figure it out." He hovered above the sand, "We going or what?"

***

The fireside is chaos.

You are drained dry of power and want to kill despite how your body is shaking from the adrenaline and codeine come down. Baldie wants them dead more than you do. Omni more than he. Omni held you when he heard, hand cradling your head as you tried not to lean into it. You were almost glad for the distraction Scars and Lensless brought to the group, because he was being obvious, and if someone asked you were sure he wouldn't deny it.

Tracksuit watched on, achy all over. Back to treating your personal drama like his TV after a long day. Maskless nearby considers swiping one of Tracksuit's cigarettes. Sneaking out and smoking while this fizzled out, but he had to stay. Make sure if the peace snapped that the cave didn't collapse.

Scars and Lensless revel in the jeering and suggestions of exile from Gray. The threats of death from Omni. Regrettably, they lived through your control. Scars suit was frayed, cape torn at all the edges but he was fine. Lensless's chest was exposed, skin gone purple with bruising.

After Phantom caught you, the two had played it relatively smart. Avoiding camp until nightfall, where Baldie told everyone what they'd done while licking his wounds. Only when he was proclaiming his hate for the yellowjacket and his minion did they make an entrance. Leading to the current hellscape of things.

Despite all the talk, it was Mohawk who was the first to lunge for Scars, waiting for the fight with open arms. Phantom jumped between them, just barely able to keep them off each other.

"Stop." He says.

"He could've fucking killed her." Spit flies off Mohawk's lip onto his mask.

"Please, she was fine. Aren't you, sweet thing?" The second Scars eyes land on you, Mohawk reaches around Phantom and cracks Scars in the temple. Scars cackles as he hits the ground. "You'll thank me for it later." Mohawk lunges.

Phantom grabs his ankle and throws Mohawk across the room. "Listen to me."

Listen, Mohawk does not. He flies for Scars. "I'm tired of your face!"

"We have the same face!"

The screech tears through the room. Bounces off the walls. Reverberates through your bones. Mohawk's flight waivers, he crashes in a heap, clutching his ears. The rest of them are in similar positions, groaning, hands on head.

Phantom does not apologize, he is not sorry. "I was hoping you wouldn't make me use this." He says cool through the modulator. During the second day of the ravaging of Earth he'd caught out one of the re-animen. Taken the speaker from its chest, a tiny thing that he hid in the pockets of his utility belt. Down to the core, he wanted to curl into a ball and scream, but the noise-canceling tech in his suit's ears helped curb the urge. It also helped that he knew it was coming, that he controlled the noise.

"Turn it off!" Mohawk snaps.

"Not until you listen." He says, louder, more confident than he'd felt in his entire life. Mohawk does not protest again. "You can exile them, kill them even, but it will not fix the problem. We all want her to ourselves, but we can't fracture into factions, We'll just end up killing each other and her. The best thing for her, for all of us, is to work together."

"Fuck that." Mohawk spat, the only one able to speak over the noise.

"You don't have to like it, but if you don't want her to die in the crossfire, you'll do it." Phantom is right. Feels the truth sink into the bones of everyone around him. Yet he leaves the frequency playing, "You don't want her to die again, do you?"

Mohawk doesn't. None of them do.

He turns it off when he senses no more fight in the room. He waits for Mohawk to lunge at Scars. He thinks about it, Phantom can see it in his spring-loaded muscles but he doesn't.

Scars rises to his feet, hiding the stagger Mohawk punched into him. "We'll be back." He says it as he floats towards the exit, "Remeber, I keep a tally." His eyes are on you.

Lensless went to follow, their partnership officially cemented, "See you guys this time tomorrow, cool?"

They were gone. You took a shuddering breath.

Baldie shot up to follow them. But stopped when you said, "Wait."

"Don't you want them to die for what they did to you?" He tries to keep the anger out of his voice, the accusation he wants to level at you, at the others for letting this continue.

Your head was pounding. You were well into come down. Regretting and not regretting the dancing from earlier that killed your only flashlight. Regretting and not regretting the kiss. "I do, but if anyone's killing them, I am."

Baldie shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know if you could.

"I-" His lip twisted. How could you want those two alive even a second longer? Why? Did you favor them? Like the harassment? Is that what he should be doing instead of being soft and kind? Would you like him without drugs then? The anger chewing at his insides is surprising and sharp.

He shot into the caves to angst alone in the quiet, familiar enclosure of darkness. Even though he knew it'd make him worse.

You try to rise to your feet before falling back down wobbly. Head falling to your hands. Gray quietly brings the basin of freshly boiled water to your side for you to drink. He and Omni hover within reach but say nothing.

Phantom disappeared into the caves behind Baldie not long after. Nobody noticed. All so fretful over you, minds racing with options. But if they really cared, they'd be doing what he was doing. Approaching Baldie from behind.

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Mae!! I wanted to request a story where doctor!Remus and you are dating. You're out with James and Sirius whilst he's at work and you pass out/are sick/whatever you think fits the story and they freak out and take you to the hospital, where Remus sees you and loses his mind. He takes care of you and the guys are there for moral support. Also, reader is afraid of doctors in general but specially needles so putting that IV on is a hassle in itself hehe.

Thanks in advance!!!!

Hi, thanks for requesting!

cw: fear of hospitals and needles, somewhat angsty, mention of vomit (in the past tense, if that helps), this was sort of weird to write because I don't usually write reader arguing with their love interest like this but I hope it came out okay

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re alerted to Remus’ arrival by Sirius’ shrill voice.

“Finally! I’ve been texting you.”

“We’re not really encouraged to be checking our phones during busy shifts,” says Remus. He sounds sharp and tired, and you look up from where your head rests on James’ shoulder just as he comes to a stop in front of your chair. A creased brow and gentle hands feeling at your forehead. “Hi, darling. Seems like that flu’s gotten a bit worse, hm?”

“You told us to check in on her,” Sirius goes on, “and we did, and we found her basically in a puddle of her own sick.”

“She’d been sick in the toilet, and then fell asleep on the bathmat,” James clarifies. “But she seemed really very ill.”

“Let’s go back,” Remus slides an arm around your waist, hoisting you up against his side and helping you walk towards the double doors that lead out of the waiting area. “What was her temp at when you found her?”

“We don’t know.” Sirius trails behind, exasperated. “We couldn’t figure out where you kept your thermometer, and she was hardly in a state to say.”

Remus makes a worried humming sound. “How are you feeling, dovey?”

“Tired,” you sigh, hoping you’re not leaning too hard against him but having a difficult time recalling what walking normally feels like, “‘nd my head hurts.”

“She seems a bit better than when we first found her,” James says. You think you detect some worry in his tone as well. “She was just waking up then, and Sirius got her to drink some water in the car.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve been taking very good care of yourself,” Remus murmurs, just for you. He kisses your head. “Poor love, I knew I shouldn’t have come to work today.”

“M’alright,” you say, letting him help you onto a small cot in a curtained-off room. Sirius and James file in behind you, and Remus shuts the curtain once they’re inside.

You look at him, and your surroundings, the machines and tools and the overwhelming harshness of it all, start to sink in for you.

“Can you take me home?”

Remus’ expression is gentle. “Not yet, sweetheart. You should be feeling much better once I do, though, yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face, encouraging you to lie back on the pillow. “Would one of you want to hop up here with her?” he asks the other boys, then to you: “You don’t mind sharing your bed, do you?”

“No,” you say, somewhat bemusedly. Sirius grins at you, climbing over you to lie down by your side.

“Thanks. I’m just gonna get your vitals now, dove.”

You feel a bit silly, but your nerves worsen as Remus checks you over, sticking plasticy things in your ear and cold metal on your back and making his various concerned faces. He must notice something when he takes your pulse, because he thumbs over the skin of your forearm comfortingly. Sirius, noticing, works an arm under your shoulders and pulls you close to his side.

“Alright,” Remus says in what you recognize to be his most soothing voice, “look at Sirius for me, please.”

You, of course, look in the opposite direction of where he wants you, and he’s taking your arm, pushing up your sleeve.

“Remus.” Betrayal sounds in your voice as you pull away from him, holding your arm close to your side.

He sighs. “You need fluids and medicine to get better. You want to go home, yeah?”

“I don’t want an IV,” you say in a tight voice.

Remus softens. He rubs your leg through your pajama pants. “I know, babydove, but you need to have one. I’ll get it over with as quickly as I can.”

“I had to have one last summer, when I got dehydrated,” James pipes up. He’s stolen a small stool likely meant for the doctor and is swiveling back and forth restlessly. “It wasn’t as bad as you might think. I hardly remembered it was there most of the time.”

“I just don’t want to,” you say again, voice going quiet and frail. Your vision starts to blur.

“Take a deep breath,” Remus coaches in that lulling voice. It’s half working, a familiar sort of comfort wrapping like a blanket around your frazzled nerves. You feel torn between your trust in your boyfriend and your absolute terror of everything that happens in a hospital. “You’re alright, yeah? This is the last thing you have to do for me. After, you can rest or have a nap, and when you’re well enough you can go home, okay? I might even be able to go with you.”

You shake your head wordlessly, feeling ridiculous and childish but altogether petrified as you wipe tears from underneath your eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His brows pinch, and he leans over, kissing your temple. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Look over at Sirius, yeah?”

You cry but don’t resist as Sirius uses the arm around your shoulders to turn your face away, feeling Remus take your arm in his grasp. His fingers press gently into the crook of your elbow.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sirius says quietly. He touches his lips to your forehead. “You’ve got this, babe, it’ll be over before you know it.”

Remus is obviously doing his best to make good on this promise. He ties the tourniquet quickly, and something cold and wet swipes over your skin. The bite of the needle doesn’t come as a surprise, but you take in a tiny, petrified breath anyway. It rasps wetly in your throat.

“You’re alright,” Remus murmurs, undoing the tourniquet as he speaks. “You’re doing so well, almost done now.”

You’re not in pain, necessarily, but the sensation of a foreign object in your arm is distinctly unsettling, and Sirius makes a soft sound of distress when your weeping worsens. None of this is helping your headache, either. Your sinuses throb.

“There.” You hear tape ripping, and then Remus is pressing it carefully over the spot in your arm. “There, done.”

Sirius lets go of your face. The moment you turn around Remus’ is on you, brushing away your tears and kissing your hairline apologetically.

“That’s it, darling, you can relax now. You did so well. Do you feel alright?”

“He means are you cross with him,” James translates helpfully.

Remus gives his friend an exasperated look, but his smile is sheepish. “That too, I suppose.”

“Honestly?” Your voice is pitchy. It scratches against your flu-torn throat. “A little, but not really. I’ll get past it.”

Remus gives a little laugh. “Oh, my love.” He bends forward, wrapping you up in a hug. “Thank you. I can live with that.” He holds the back of your head, rubbing between your shoulder blades firmly. When he lets you go, it’s with a kiss to your brow. “Sirius, get out of her bed. She needs to rest.”

“Excuse me?” Sirius is affronted. “I think I’ve just proven I make an excellent pillow. And where am I supposed to sit? James has taken the only stool.”

“He can stay,” you tell Remus.

“Thank you, gorgeous. See? Jamie, come over here so we can watch a film on your phone.”

Remus rolls his eyes, stepping aside to let James scoot by on his stool. “Fine, but try to get some actual sleep. I want your temperature down when I come back to check on you, yeah?”

“You’re the doctor,” Sirius points out, getting cozy on his side of the bed as you and James scroll through films. “What’s she supposed to do, will it down? Sod off.”

Remus heaves a long-suffering sigh, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in the trash can. “So glad you’re here.”

“And where would your girl be if we weren’t, Rem?” asks James, looking up from his phone to raise his brows. “She’s lucky to have us.”

Remus rolls his eyes, leaving the room. “Aren’t we all.”

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bravoechoes · 28 days ago

Text

on the topic of Final Reckoning being the most bleak thing ever. this is a work in progress snippet of a larger post-MI8 fic that I probably won’t have time to work on for a while. tw for Ethan being like catatonically depressed and passively suicidal

———

It’s quiet when he wakes up. This is wrong.

Ethan’s hand feels at his side. The scratchy material of the old cot rubs against his skin, and then his fingertips find cool, hard plastic. There’s a tremor in his hand as he brings the recorder up into focus, squinting at it in the dim light of the room. Thumbing the play button does nothing. Dead battery again.

He sits up. It’s morning, fortunately, so the yellowed light coming in from the papered-over windows dimly illuminates the interior of the building. It’s warm, too, enough that he sweat through his jacket during the night. He doesn’t shrug it off; it’s still preferable to being cold.

Getting his boots planted on the bare wooden floor, he begins rocking on the bed, building up momentum for standing. It’s always the hardest part. He just has to get through the initial wave of pain, and then it’s fine. One, two, three….

His cry echoes throughout the upper floor of the building, ceilings high and empty. Clenching his teeth, he stands half-hunched, free hand braced on his thigh, waiting for the tremors to work through his body. They’re getting better, he thinks, or at least they aren’t getting worse.

Once he’s steady enough, he limps towards the stash of supplies he’d set on a table in the north-eastern corner of the room, away from the windows. He grabs a water bottle from the open pack—eight left; he’ll need to buy more soon—and swallows some of it down. He checks his phone: six missed calls from Benji, four of which had ended with a voicemail.

The small box of batteries are right by the front, where he’d left them. He lifts the cardboard lid with a finger. Six packets of four are left, and the open one has two inside. He hasn’t measured it out exactly, but he thinks they’ll last him a few months still.

Ethan takes another drink of water. It’s warm in his mouth, which is nice. Setting the water bottle and recorder down, he flexes his hands, clenched and open, clenched and open. This is the other hard part. His fine motor skills are still out of whack. He’s sure one of the messages Benji left him is to remind him to go to a doctor.

He spends the next few minutes extracting the dead double-As from the exposed back of the recorder, watching his fingers tremble. The first one is always the more difficult one to pull out, but he eventually does it, and sets both of them down on the table. They immediately roll off the edge and drop onto the bare floor.

Now to open the plastic wrap around the batteries. Thankfully, one of the packets is open already, so he can just crush the plastic in his hand until it deforms enough to shake the batteries out. He’ll have to peel open a new one next time. The next replacement will be harder, take longer.

He has to press the body of the recorder down onto the table to hold it steady as he slots the fresh batteries inside. It’s too dim to see where the plus and minus indicators are, but he memorised the positions awhile ago.

The joints in his fingers are already starting to hurt again. He’d snapped the latches on the protective plastic backing of the recorder at some point, purely by accident. It makes replacing the batteries easier, although he has to be careful about not knocking them out.

All done. With a sigh of relief, Ethan flips it around, rewinding to the beginning and pressing the play button.

“Hello, brother.”

Ethan smiles, a wave of calm washing over him. “Hey, Luther,” he whispers, and grabs his water bottle.

“If you’re listening to this, the world is still here. And so are you.”

He limps back to the cot. His boots echo on the bare wood floor, loud enough that he has to hold the recorder up by his ear so he doesn’t miss Luther’s voice. He half-collapses back onto the cot, setting the water bottle down on the floor next to him and placing the recorder on his chest.

“For the record, I never had any moment of doubt. I knew you’d find a way. You always do.”

Ethan settles back into the thin mattress, letting his eyes slip closed. He’s got a few hours still before the hunger gets bad again. For now he can rest.

“I hope in time you can see this life was not some quirk of fate.”

Following along, his lips form silently around the words as Luther speaks them, caressing the inside of his mouth.

“This was your calling.”

———

Benji’s really getting on his case again. The next time Ethan checks his phone, there’s a ream of unread messages, sent over the course of the last ten days. He should’ve looked at it sooner.

Hey man, how you doing?

You doing okay?

Ethan?

Are you eating at least?

Im gonna come find you if you don’t respond to me.

Ethan. Just checking in

Youre starting to really worry me

Please answer me man. I only need to know if youre alive. I don’t care about anything else

Ethan

Please

I will find you, you know

We’re all worried about you. You still have people who care about you. You can call anytime, anywhere, I’ll pick up. I’m not mad

Proof of life. Just send me that. a thumbs up or something. anything. Then I’ll leave you alone

I promise

He swallows down the resentment and the guilt with a bite of the energy bar in his hand. Benji’s just being nice. But he’s forcing the issue, and now Ethan can’t put it off any longer; he knows the threat of searching for him isn’t an idle one.

Proof, Ethan sends back, and then Sorry. It hurts his knuckles to type. Relief washes over him as he sets his phone down on the floor next to the cot. He won’t have to deal with that again for another week.

He presses play on the recorder.

“I hope you know I’ll always love you, brother. And I will see you again. Though I hope it’s not too—”

Ethan thumbs the rewind.

“—know I’ll always love you, brother. And I will see you—”

“—hope you know I’ll always love you, brother. And I will see—”

“—you know I’ll always love you, brother—”

“—I’ll always love you, brother.”

———

Benji lied to him, obviously. Of course he came looking for him. He shouldn’t have said anything.

He wakes to someone gently shaking his shoulder. “Ethan. Hey.”

His head is pounding. The building is quiet, aside from Benji. Batteries must have died again.

Ethan opens his eyes. It’s light, mid-afternoon. Deep yellow. He feels for the recorder. It had slipped from his chest, down to his side.

Benji’s face comes into focus, breaking out into a smile that’s almost convincing.

“Hey, buddy. It’s good to see you.”

“Benji.” He clears his throat. It’s dry. He needs water.

“Come on. Sit up.”

He lets Benji do the heavy lifting. His hands feel good on shoulders at least, gentle and warm. Ethan avoids his eyes, not wanting to deal with the poorly-concealed look of horror Benji is giving him. He hisses as he gets upright, and his hand wraps around the recorder so Luther doesn’t slide off the cot.

“There we go.” Benji grabs one of the mostly-full water bottles from the floor. “Here.”

Ethan blinks as a wave of dizziness washes over him. It doesn’t sound like anyone else is around. Benji came alone. A small blessing.

“Can you….” He coughs around the dryness in his throat.

“What is it?” Benji’s kneeling in front of him, eager. “Ethan, you should drink.”

“Yeah.” He takes the bottle. “Change these,” he says, offering the recorder to Benji. “The batteries. Table.”

“Sure,” he replies tentatively, frowning down at the recorder as he stands up. “As long as you drink.”

A fair trade. Ethan does. It’s warm, but not as warm as it used to be. The weather is starting to get cooler. He’ll have to relocate soon.

“How long have you been here?” Benji asks, his back to him. Ethan watches his hands work where he stands at the supply table. He can change the batteries a lot faster.

“What day is it?” Ethan asks.

“Thursday.”

“The date.”

Benji turns, recorder in hand, expression pinched. “September 24th.”

“September,” Ethan repeats, frowning. “Uh—I don’t know. Few weeks.”

Benji comes back to his bedside, handing Ethan the recorder. He holds it against his chest.

“I rented out a motorway hotel room you can stay in for the next month,” Benji says, standing over him. “It’s a lot nicer than this place. Is there even running water here?”

“There’s a bathroom on the lower floor.”

“Can you walk?”

He rubs his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ethan—” Benji looks around, eyes lingering on the exposed insulation and pipes. “You can’t stay here.”

“My stuff’s here.”

“The supplies on the table, you mean?” Benji looks over his shoulder. “I can move all of that for you. I have a car.”

Ethan sets the water bottle down on the bed next to him, wiping his mouth. “Leave me alone, Benji. I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, and no I won’t.”

His voice is forceful but not unkind. Ethan finally looks up at him.

“Come with me,” Benji says softly. It’s hard to meet the warmth in his eyes. “We’ll get you cleaned up. You’ll feel better.”

“Benji, I’m fine—”

“It’ll get cold soon,” he interrupts. “You don’t even have a blanket.”

Ethan pauses. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Benji smiles at him, way too sad. “Yes I do. Come on, Ethan. Please.”

He looks down at Benji’s outstretched hand. It feels good to talk to someone, and Benji’s a nice someone to talk to. It’s not Luther’s voice, but it’s a lot better than silence.

Ethan nods. “Okay. Yeah.”

———

Benji’s uncharacteristically quiet as he drives them to the motel. Ethan doesn’t have the stamina for it; his fingers keep brushing the play button of the recorder, aching for Luther’s voice. Any voice, really.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ethan asks eventually.

Benji gives him a side-eye. “What?”

“When you were moving my things. I saw you wincing.”

“Oh, that.” Benji’s hands shift restlessly on the wheel. It’s really bright outside; Benji gave him his sunglasses to block some of it out. “Nothing major. Risks of the job, y’know. I’m healing.”

He can’t rest his head anywhere but the seat headrest. The car rattles too much. His head lolls against the thin cushion, staring blankly out the front window. “What’s nothing major mean?”

“Well, I….” Benji trails off with a nervous laugh. He looks at Ethan again, properly this time. “Nothing as bad as you.”

“I’m not gonna die if you tell me.” It takes a lot, but he offers Benji a smile. “I can handle it.”

“Just—you look like you’ve got a lot on your mind, is all.” His eyes flick down to the recorder, still clutched to Ethan’s chest. “What is that, by the way?”

“A recorder.”

Benji gives him a sour look. “Ethan.”

“Tell me what happened to you and I’ll tell you what this is,” he bargains.

“No way. You still haven’t even told me what you’ve been up to.”

“You saw what I’ve been up to.”

Benji gives him another one of his pinched worried looks. It makes the lines on his face crease together, especially deep around his eyes. Deeper than Ethan remembers them being.

“Tell me….” Ethan swallows. His throat is dry again. “Tell me what you’ve been doing the past few weeks.”

Benji scoffs. “You’re awfully demanding.”

“I don’t like the sound of my own head. And I like listening to you.”

That seems to be enough to get Benji going. “Uh, well, I’ve been recovering, mostly. Nothing serious, like I said,” he adds quickly. “Decompressing, y’know. Been in London for the most part. But I’ve spent a lot of time in bed, and it’s quite boring if you’re not sleeping, so I’ve been reading French novels to get my vocabulary back up. It’s the only common language I have with Paris that either of us have any fluency in, and she’s stuck around for some reason. Well, kind of. She disappears randomly. Kind of like you. But it’s been good. I’ve been walking Grace through some….”

Ethan closes his eyes as he listens to Benji talk. It’s a soothing babble of noise, and he especially likes hearing about the others. Grace is alive. Paris and Degas are alive. And Benji is here, alive, right in front of him. It’s good to be reminded of it.

#fic.txt #mission impossible #ethan hunt #benji dunn #my fic #edited to add one final little section I forgot at the end

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sorrowsofsilence · 6 months ago

Text

the bet 3 • bad omens

pairing: all bad omens members x fem!reader

words: 12.7k • masterlist

warnings: 18+, polyandrous relationship (so yes, there is some angst and discourse with navigating the challenges of a shifting relationship), threesome, foursome, voyeurism, double penetration- pls wrap it b4 u tap it, male!masturbating, male!receiving, fem!receiving, creampies, "sloppy seconds" (oops), swearing, nicknames: princess, pretty girl, good girl), jealousy,

summary: It wasn't really just a game after all, was it?

note: buckle up as there will be a part 4 due to how long this ended up being lol I’m sorry - also it’s 4am and not proof read I’m sorry

PS. THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

Turning, you blinked at the clock on the nightstand, its digital numbers glaring back at you.

10:45 AM.

Your heart sank, realizing you all overslept and missed the bus's scheduled departure time.

"Guys," you said, voice hoarse as you tried to sit up. Peeling yourself from the swede beside you, you frantically shouted, "We’re late. We’re so late."

Jolly groaned beside you, pulling you back down against his chest.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, nuzzling his face into your back.

"No," you insisted, wriggling free despite not wanting to, "It’s almost eleven- the bus was supposed to leave an hour ago.”

Ruffilo sat up from beside you abruptly, eyes wide with panic.

"What?" He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, cursing when he saw the time. "Damn it."

Folio muttered something incoherent, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to wake up from the cot on the floor. Matt frowned over at you from the bed beside yours, though his sleep-tussled hair marred the effect.

Noah already began to dress rapidly as you offered an apologetic look to Jolly who sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“We have an eight-hour drive. We’ll make the show but we’re probably fucked for soundcheck,” Matt mumbled, pulling on his jeans.

Ruffilo scrolled through his phone, and you peered over, noticing the array of missed call notifications and texts. “Shit, Bryan’s been texting for hours.”

Matt pulled his shirt back over his body, searching the floor for his baseball cap. Placing the fabric over his head he tossed you a wink, before putting his phone to his ear. “No regrets though, right?”

"No regrets," Ruffilo confirmed, the edges of his mouth tugging into a slight smile as he pulled himself out of the sheets, picking up a shirt.

"Speak for yourself," Jolly muttered. He remained lying down, arm slung over his eyes. But the small grin that played at his lips spoke more truth than his words.

The room was suddenly filled with hurried activity and idle chatter as the boys launched themselves into action - Matt taking control of the situation and letting Bryan know everyone would be there shortly, while Ruffilo, Folio and Noah packed their bags quickly.

Through it all, Jolly lay still, his gaze focused entirely on you, fingers threaded through yours.

“You’re worth it," he declared softly. His tone smothered any potential doubt regarding last night.

"Come on," he said after a moment, finally rousing himself. He moved with careful deliberation as he started to collect his clothing from around the room.

You pushed yourself off the bed and hurried to pack your things. Searching for your hoodie, you sighed in frustration when you couldn’t find it before a hand reached out to yours.

Nicholas smiled warmly at you, holding out his own sweater. With a nod of his head, he motioned for you to raise your arms, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head and down your body, engulfing you in his scent.

“Thanks,” You smiled shyly, mind flickering to images of him devouring your body just hours prior.

He beamed as he placed the hood over your head, gently holding onto your cheeks as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

As he stepped away, you couldn't help but notice the lingering glances from both Noah and Folio. But these looks were not filled with animosity; instead, they seemed to hold a gentle challenge within them. Who could make you smile wider? Whose touch made your heart skip a beat?

It almost seemed like an unspoken agreement between them that you were cherished by all, but possessed by none.

Yet, despite this understanding, a twinge of envy still crept into Noah's chest.

The brunette came up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders, smoothing out the fabric of Nicholas’ hood against your back, "You're quite remarkable, aren't you?"

Your face warmed at his words, spine-tingling as Noah’s hand roamed down your back, and Ruffilo’s soft breath brushed your face.

“C’mon guys, we gotta go,” Matt said, eyeing the three of you briefly before opening the door.

Matt led you all out of the room and down the hallway, while Ruffilo and Folio followed closely behind, deep in conversation. You glanced briefly at one of the workers, who raised a curious yet accusatory brow toward the group leaving the hotel room.

As you moved through the lobby, Noah's arm slithered around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He pressed a hasty kiss into your hair before diverting his attention towards Bryan who had been pacing by the entrance, phone clutched tightly in hand.

“Sorry we’re late,” Matt said as he approached Bryan, “We overslept.”

“Overslept?!” Bryan exclaimed incredulously, brandishing his phone like a wand, "I've been trying to reach you since six in the morning! The bus was scheduled to leave at nine! You’re the manager, Matt, how come I’m doing the managing?.”

Matt held up his hands in surrender, visibly trying to keep things calm, "Sorry Bry, didn’t mean to stress you out. Let’s head to the bus."

Bryan drove everyone in the van back to last night's venue, and you quickly helped unload the bags onto the bus.

“I’ll stay in the van with Bryan,” Matt said, shifting on his feet as his thumbs jumped across his phone screen, likely texting the venue an update, “We won't have time for pit stops if we want to even make time for a brief soundcheck, so, prepare for eight hours of non-stop driving.”

Once Matt closed the bus door, you smiled at your boys, nerves suddenly radiating through your veins.

Eight hours. With a glance around the bus, you took a seat on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. You looked around at anything but them; until you noticed Noah sit across from you.

As your eyes met him, his gaze twinkling of mischievous innocence he wore so well, a rush of anticipation warmed your chest.

The bus started to move, smoothly looping itself onto the road.

Noah, leaning over the armrest of the seat across you, smiled that charming grin of his again. Jolly was already fishing for a bottle of water in the cooler. Ruffilo swiped through pages on his phone once more, while Folio had his head bobbing lightly to the music spilling out from the speakers.

It wasn’t an awkward silence, but unspoken words and thoughts lingered.

“You okay?” asked Noah, keeping his eyes on you as if trying to read you like an open book. His nearness made your body shiver in response, images of last night flashing back into your mind.

"I'm perfectly fine," came your reply, gentle but firm.

There was a soft grunt from Jolly’s corner, causing the group to glance at him.

He commented without looking up from his water bottle, “I think we have some things to talk about.”

“Such as?” You asked, knowing what he was going to say- yet prompting him anyway.

“Us,” he shrugged now, eyes darting between each of the boys before landing on you, “What happens now?”

There was a loaded silence that wrapped the room, each one of them mulling over their thoughts. Noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. Ruffilo stared blankly at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen while Folio gently tapped his fingers to the beat of the music from the speakers, his gaze distant.

“I mean,” Ruffilo started, his voice cutting through the dense quietness like a knife. “We all agreed that this wouldn’t change anything between us.”

As if on cue, all eyes fell on you. The weight of their gazes made your heart pound against your chest and face, burning.

“But did it?” Jolly pressed on, his gaze steady. His question hung heavily between you.

You remained non-committal, much to everyone's growing frustration. But then again, you had been so calm throughout this ordeal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred among you and the boys.

The bet was just for fun, right? Surely, this was nothing more than a week of lust and desire… right?

You chewed on your cheek in thought, unsure now.

"Well, did it?" Folio echoed his words barely in a whisper. His eyes shimmered with a mix of emotions, the teasing glint now replaced with uncertainty.

Silence fell upon them once more, awaiting your response.

You looked at each of their faces. Ruffilo's expression was unreadable as he continued staring at his phone, Folio wore an almost amused smile as he bobbed his head along the rhythm of the music. Ruffilo glanced at you briefly before his eyes quickly darted back to his phone screen.

Finally, your gaze landed on Noah, who was staring back at you intently. His gaze was questioning, but there was a hint of warmth hidden beneath his serious demeanour.

You knew there was more to this than sex, and your heart pounded as the words fell from your mouth.

"It's not that our dynamics have changed... but my feelings have."

The confession hung in the air as a new round of silence sunk into the confined space. It was filled with the hum of the bus engine and the low notes of a forgotten song playing softly from the speakers.

All eyes bore into you; curiosity, surprise, and in some, what seemed like relief reflected at you. You met each gaze in turn, holding your breath against the immensity of your declaration.

"Feelings? Toward all of us?" Ruffilo asked cautiously. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied your face for any inkling of insincerity.

You nodded, biting your lower lip nervously as you tried to gauge their reactions.

"Last night wasn't just... physical." You cleared your throat slightly, catching their almost intense attention. "I mean, it was and it wasn't simultaneously."

"Makes sense," Folio said suddenly, breaking his self-imposed silence. He shrugged a little under their stares. "I mean... feelings can catch you off-guard. It's not like you can control them. Especially in... unusual circumstances."

"Unusual? That's one way to put it," joked Jolly, trying to lighten the mood. A chuckle echoed through the bus from Noah, but the mirth quickly faded.

"I think what we really need to figure out is what you want to happen now," Noah said, leaning forward in his seat to look at you, hands lazily folded on his lap. His eyes flicked away from yours for a moment as if he was afraid to press further.

"To happen now?" You mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Unease stirred within you as you tried to summon words that wouldn't disrupt the equilibrium further.

"The question is more like... do you want us?” Jolly added softly, eyes never leaving yours, "All of us? Not only for sex but more than that.”

A statement so profound left you momentarily breathless. But it wasn't fear or dread that perforated the air within the bus - it was anticipation. A tantalizing spectre of something undefined yet powerful seemed to rise from the worn carpet of the bus, coiling around each one of you, poised to strike.

Noah broke the silence, his voice barely louder than an exhale; "Is that what you want?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, your emotions stripped bare before the boys whom you had known for years.

"Yes," you found yourself saying, gaze pinned to Noah's warm eyes, "But that doesn't mean everything just... falls into place."

"Do we take turns being your boyfriend?" Jolly asked after a beat, humour flicking through his eyes as he waited for you to react.

You scoffed playfully and rolled your own, "I don't know how it will work, Jolly."

"Neither do we,” Folio admitted, a stark rare seriousness replacing his usual aloof demeanour, “But we all want you. Last night, and the bet, was proof of that.”

"But we're willing to find a way if that's what you want," Noah chimed in, his voice gentle as he held your gaze with a hint of vulnerability.

You swallowed, the implications of what they were saying starting to sink in. Still, you found the courage to reply, "I think I'd like that.”

"What about Matt?" Ruffilo asked, looking up from his phone again to glance at you.

Your brow furrowed, "What about him?"

"He has feelings for you,” Ruffilo continued, meeting your gaze. “You know that."

“I do," you nodded, remembering the words spoken in confidence. "And I care about him. But right here, right now... it's not Matt I need an answer from." You scanned their faces one by one.

A silence stretched between you, and then, as though orchestrated, they each nodded in turn. Noah cleared his throat and played with the hem of his shirt.

“Alright," he said finally, voice steady but eyes fluttering with an array of emotions, "If that's what... if this what we’re all okay with... then we should go for it.”

This time, the silence that ensued wasn’t uncomfortable or tense. It was reflective, filled with a calm understanding and acceptance.

“Yeah,” Jolly agreed, chuckling as he tossed his water bottle from one hand to the other, “But let’s not get carried away. This needs... rules?”

“Yes, agreed,” Folio added in quickly at Jolly's suggestion. He could already see tension lines forming on Ruffilo's forehead.

“I think it’s fair to say the ground rule is honesty," he continued after a beat, "With each other and with oneself."

You nodded at his words, feeling a comforting warmth spread through you as you basked in their acceptance, their willingness to navigate this unconventional relationship.

“And respect," Ruffilo interjected abruptly, his voice a firm echo of conviction, "Respect for boundaries."

There was earnest sincerity to his words, and it moved you profoundly. He wasn't looking at his phone now. His eyes were on you, steady and unyielding.

“No one’s forcing anyone into anything," Noah added quietly. He glanced down at his hands briefly before meeting your gaze once more, "We're all here because we want to be."

A soft, comfortable silence fell as the weight of their words sunk in, each voice echoing the same sentiment: they were in this together

"Time," Jolly suddenly said, breaking the silence, "Each of us gets equal time." His tone was light, but the unexpected depth in his gaze told you he was serious about it.

"Like dates? Hangouts?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. This might not have been what you initially envisioned when divulging your feelings, but Jolly's suggestion made sense and even provided a fair sense of order amidst this chaos.

Jolly shrugged, "Something like that. Just to ensure no one feels left out. We can make a schedule."

There was another round of nodding from everyone, accompanied by gestures of agreement. Noah gave a thumbs-up sign, Folio hummed appreciatively from his corner and Ruffilo nodded slowly.

"Okay," you agreed with a small smile, a blush creeping into your cheeks colourfully. This was really happening, and it might be terrifyingly unknown, but you were excited, too.

The tranquillity that swept over you all seemed to promise more than just a simple acceptance.

A moment later, Noah's phone chirped with an incoming message.

He glanced at it, expression unreadable, before passing it around without a word. The message was from Matt, the subject line reading "Guys, we need to talk."

A pause filled the air as they absorbed the brief message. It certainly added another degree of complexity to your delicate situation.

“What’s he want to talk about?" Ruffilo wondered aloud, frowning as he reread Matt’s message.

Folio bit on his lower lip in thought, "It could be about anything… but I guarantee it’s about what we are talking about right now."

Jolly glanced down at his phone again before looking at you, "Should we tell him? About... all this? Offer him a spot if you’re willing to have one more?" He waved a hand toward the group parked in the small bus.

You considered this for a few heartbeats, "I guess we have to," you said finally, "unless we start hair-pulling for timeslots in front of him and he figures it out himself."

The comment earned chuckles from across the bus, the tension easing somewhat at your joking tone. Jolly’s laughter was the loudest, his boisterous voice echoing like a jingle bell against the battered metal of the bus interior.

“Dibs on being first then," Folio chimed in, grinning. “You know, to avoid hair-pulling."

“Noted,” Noah played along, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he tried to suppress his smile. “It’s all about fairness.”

At that moment, somehow amongst all the complexities and apprehension of what was to come, a bubble of joy swelled within you, buoyed by their good-natured bickering and warm camaraderie. It was a strange feeling - being loved by not just one person, but four... It was intoxicating and overwhelming in equal measure.

"Okay," Jolly declared, "we’ll tell Matt when we get to the venue… he’s going to want in.”

Make that five.

Noah spoke up again. “And what about jealousy?”

Your eyes widened slightly, a lump forming in your throat. That was the issue, wasn't it? The very hurdle threatening to sever this complicated web of emotions binding you all together.

“Jealousy,” Jolly repeated, chewing on the word as if tasting it for the first time. There was a thoughtful edge to his expression, followed by a shrug, "Well, we are all human, aren’t we?"

Ruffilo let out a dry chuckle at that, then sighed, "I think it's unavoidable."

Folio nodded, "Yes, but what we can avoid is letting jealousy ruin everything.”

You looked at him; his statement echoed in your mind and held true. Jealousy was an emotion no one could escape from, but how you manage it was what mattered.

“And how do we do that?” Ruffilo's voice hitched higher as he asked the million-dollar question.

“By talking it out,” Noah placed his hand on your knee, "Being honest about our feelings. If we're starting to feel...you know...possessive or if something's on your mind, say it."

Folio huffed, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back against his seat, stretching his legs out. “Yeah, that’ll be fun. So who do you think will end up in a jealous rage first?”

You shot him a mock glare. “I’m going to personally ensure it’s you.” You paused before blushing slightly. “Besides, it's not always about possession." you pointed out and felt relieved when Folio nodded with an understanding smile.

“True,” he admitted, giving your hand a light squeeze before letting go. "It's also about the equality... of love.”

“Oof, you’re already sounding like a philosopher,” Jolly commented with a lopsided smile, teasingly poking Nick’s shoulder. This elicited a small ripple of laughter amongst the group, which helped to dissolve some of the tension that had begun to creep in.

“Can’t help it,” Folio retorted with a sheepish grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “When you're faced with an unconventional situation like this, it brings out the thinker in you.”

“And that's what we should do," Ruffilo chimed in, seemingly inspired by Nick’s words. "We don't have a rule book for this. We just need to...think before we act or say anything. If something doesn't feel right or if someone isn't comfortable, we need to respect that and discuss it. I mean, that's what relationships are about, right?”

You nodded along, listening intently before chewing on your bottom lip, and staring at the ground.

“Use your words, beautiful. What’s up?” Ruffilo reached over, holding onto your thigh. The touch sent a jolt of electricity up your leg, causing your stomach to churn.

“What if… what if you don’t want me… anymore?”

The bus fell into silence, the weight of your words hanging in the cool air.

After a long pause, Noah spoke up, his voice steady and comforting. “First off, stop assuming the worst. Second..." He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. "We're all here because we care about you.”

“But what if…” You started, but Ruffilo interrupted.

“What if we turn into aliens? What if I grow a third eye?” He shrugged with a smirk playing on his lips, earning chuckles from Jolly and Folio. “What ifs can drive you crazy, princess.”

“Hey!” You swatted at him lightly, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

Jolly chimed in next, leaning closer to you. "Look... this whole thing is new to us too. It's unchartered territory for everyone here." He gestured towards your companions, "And it comes with its risks and uncertainties."

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten.

Noah’s finger gently guided your chin to turn to him, his face inches from yours, “Each of us is committed to you- and only you- from now on. It’s us and you.”

“Look," Ruffilo interjected, his voice breaking through the weighty pause that had fallen over the bus. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair before he continued, “We all like you. We've known each other for what? Two years now? And there's just something about you..."

He trailed off indefinitely, leaving the silence to wordlessly weave itself into the fabric of your shared conversation.

“And what might that ‘something’ be?” Jolly burst out in his theatrical manner, falling against Ruffilo in exaggerated curiosity.

"It's not your cooking, that's for sure!" That earned Jolly a smack on his thick arm from Noah, while laughter echoed around the bus.

"No," Ruffilo quietly continued when the chuckling had subsided, "It's... you. It’s every little thing about you. It's the way you tilt your head when you're deep in thought. The way your eyes light up when you see someone in need and can finally help. The way..." his voice faltered slightly before he cleared his throat, "...the way you've found a place in our hearts. Fuck, its the way your mouth feels against mine and the feeling of your fingers running down my back.”

His words hung heavily in the air, “I- and the others, don’t want to even think about being with anybody else.”

Folio let out a strangled laugh, fighting bravely against his blush, "Well... Can't argue with that."

Your heart hitched at Ruffilo's raw honesty. His words conjured up an image of his grey, captivating eyes tracing your every movement, committing them to memory with a love so fierce it made your knees weak.

Jolly let out a snort full of amusement and suggestion, resting his arm over Ruffilo’s shoulders. “Did our dear Ruff just confess his undying love for our girl here?” he teased, nudging him playfully.

Ruffilo shot him an annoyed look but didn’t say anything.

“I feel the same,” You shared a smile, chewing on the inside of your cheek, “I want all of you, and no one else.”

A shared giggle erupted around the bus, light and airy and deceivingly innocent for such a bold revelation.

"Aww, guys," Folio began, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "are we having a moment right now? I feel like we're having a moment."

Jolly rolled his eyes dramatically, tossing an arm around Ruffilo. “Oh definitely. We’re all getting sappy in our old age.”

“Old? You’re the most aged,” Ruffilo shot back, swatting Jolly lightly on the arm.

Noah chuckled as he looked from face to face at his friends, shaking his head with a grin before reaching to tickle your side causing you to squeak with surprise, "Come on...we're all in this together," he added warmly.

The conversation carried on in cheerful spirits - an extension of what felt like an ever-evolving bond among all of you. There was laughter and teasing and even a few moments of quiet contemplation. As you watched the interactions, your heart so full it was nearly bursting, it dawned on you that there could be no looking back from this point.

“Well, I’m gonna take a nap,” Folio said, standing with a stretch, “As fun as last night was I barely slept on that fucking cot.”

His statement was met with scattered nods and murmurs of agreement. He flashed you a grin before heading down the hall toward his bunk, Jolly and Ruffilo following suit.

“You should sleep too,” Noah suggested to you, his voice soft in the dim light filtering through the worn curtains of the bus. He moved to sit next to you on the couch now, subtly reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I will,” you promised, nestling against him as your body tingled. The bus hummed as it travelled further, everyone else slowly drifting into their dreams. But despite the fatigue that tugged at your eyelids, you stayed awake, your mind filled with thoughts brought forth by recent confessions.

"You know," he started, his voice barely more than a breath in the quiet, "you don't have to worry about anything. We're here. We're not going away."

You hummed, nodding as you closed your eyes, sucking in a breath.

"We...we do love you," Noah whispered against your ear, his words followed by the soft touch of his lips against the side of your neck, a sweet promise painted across your skin.

With those words settling over you like a warm blanket blanketing you in the hum of the bus, sleep finally beckoned. You drifted towards it, his breath against your skin anchoring you amidst a sea of emotions.

"Noah?" You whispered, your eyelashes fluttering against his shirt.

"Hmm?" His fingers traced gentle patterns over your back, making you feel even sleepier.

"I love you too," the words tumbled out softly.

A comfortable quiet ensued, and you could make out Noah's slow smile pressed against your temple as he held you close. It was a quiet moment shared between the two of you, amplified by the thrumming energy of the tucked-away confessions.

He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, whispering back a response that was both warm and reassuringly subtle, "I know."

Your nap was short-lived as your eyes opened slowly, your body moving against the hand of the man beside you.

As you lay across Noah’s lap, you felt his fingers trace up your legs, dipping between your thighs as he gently grazed across the thin fabric of your leggings along your desire.

You froze, heart racing with excitement as he tested you further, slipping his fingers closer and closer.

"Noah..." you breathed out, his name barely louder than a sigh. A shiver ran down your spine, shooting a thrilling jolt to the pit of your stomach. He paused, one finger precariously close to where you needed him the most. His soft laughter vibrations spread from his chest into yours and he placed a reassuring kiss on your temple.

"Pardon me for taking liberties," he murmured, his fingers stilling their prodding explorations, "But I feel we have moved past formalities."

Though his words were slightly teasing, you sensed an underlying seriousness in them that caused a strange heat to spread through you in waves. You pushed back against his hand lightly in silent permission and felt him exhale a soft sigh of satisfaction against your skin.

His fingers started to move again, starting their slow and expert exploration of your form through the thin material until they reached the hem of your leggings. His touch withdrew for a moment as he looked down at you with an expectantly raised eyebrow. Heavily lidded eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension awaited your response. You nodded, your warm gaze meeting his as your fingers moved to slip the material lower.

Gently biting down on your lower lip, you glanced up to meet Noah's eyes - they were darkened, pupils dilated with desire.

The brunette resumed moving his hand in tantalizing circles between your legs. He watched your face closely as he continued with expert patience, observing the subtle shifts in your expressions, etching each detail into memory. He teased you, delicately brushing your covered skin.

Suddenly, the bus lurched as it veered onto an uneven stretch of road, causing Noah's touch to falter momentarily. His breath hitched alongside yours at the sudden movement.

"Shouldn't we... maybe find somewhere more private?" You suggested, amusement flickering in his eyes.

To that, Noah ran an inked finger along the hem of your leggings, dipping his hand between your waistband and skin to just barely touch your core.

“Doesn’t matter anymore baby. You’re ours now. We are the only ones on the bus.”

Pushing past your underwear he dipped his fingers between your folds, his breath hitching once he felt how wet you were. He chewed on his lower lip, biting back a smile as his thumb circled a slow path over the sensitive bud, every rotation drawing out a choked moan from your lips.

“Shh…” He soothed, holding onto the delicate peak until you were writhing against him, “Wouldn’t want to wake them, would you?”

"No," you murmured, though the sound came out more as a desperate whimper.

Noah's slow, teasing motions inspired a yearning within you that was almost unbearable. "No...they should sleep."

Yet, part of you hoped one of them would hear.

"That's a good girl," Noah cooed softly, smiling down at you before sinking his fingers into your body, eliciting another choked cry. He tugged your leggings just below your ass, giving him enough room to pump his fingers mercilessly.

Gently rocking against his hand to afford yourself additional friction, he chuckled, brows furrowing in slight concentration as he adjusted his movements.

His other hand roamed up to cup your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip, "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips with his own.

The kiss was open-mouthed yet achingly tender. One of Noah's hands was still buried between your legs while the other cradled the back of your head. You could taste the memory of last night's orgy from his tongue and welcome it, losing yourself entirely in the feeling of having him fill you in different ways.

The tenderness escalated quickly into a frantic pulse of desire behind one last thrust which pushed you over the edge. Pulling back from the kiss, a soft gasp slipped from your throat as your thighs tightened around Noah's hand.

"Easy, I got you," Noah whispered, his voice soothing as he rode out the waves of your climax. His fingers never stilled, drawing the pleasure out until you were shivering and whimpering beneath him with the intensity.

Breathing heavily, you watched as he pulled his hand from your body, taking his fingers into his mouth.

“Fuck,” He moaned, relishing in the taste as his hips rocked beneath you, “I love the way you taste.”

His words coiled heat in your lower belly, intensifying the ache between your legs despite the orgasm you’d just had. His mouth returned to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue; undeniably intoxicating.

“Want you,” you told him in between pants and ragged breaths, fingers fumbling with the button on his jeans.

Noah led you between his legs, and you slid down onto the floor, knees bent with your exposed ass in the air, tugging at his zipper to expose his arousal.

He groaned as you wrapped your fingers around him, licking desperately from base to tip agonizingly slow.

"Noah," you murmur, repeating his name like a sacred chant. His fingers weaved through your hair as he reclined back against the seat.

Your finger wound tightly around the base of him, thumb brushing over the wet tip of his swollen cock. His breath hitched, a tortured groan escaping his lips.

You were busy deciding your next move when Noah placed his hands on either side of your face.

"Look at me," he commanded gently, leaving your dripping between your thighs as you nodded.

Lifting your lashes, you found yourself locked in his fierce gaze. His eyes were even darker than when they watched his fingers glide in and our of your pussy.

“God, I’ll never get used to how good you look on all fours,” Noah whispered huskily, a sense of pride flashing across his eyes. A jolt of exhilaration washed over you at the compliment; the image of you splayed out so wantonly displayed on the bus floor pleasing him.

Taking his cock back into your hand, you resumed stroking him once more.

“Fuck,” He murmured appreciatively, his thumb tracing your swollen lips with a light touch. Unconsciously, you parted your lips for him, allowing him to slide his thumb into the warmth of your mouth. His eyes hooded as you suckled it suggestively, a small groan escaping through his gritted teeth.

Gaining courage from his reactions, you freed your mouth from his thumb and planted a chaste kiss atop the tip of his cock, before enveloping him with the wet heat of your mouth. A strangled grumble escaped from Noah’s lips as he watched you take him in without hesitation. His arousal was evident on his face- eyes glowing with animalistic hunger, lips parted in a silent gasp.

You continued to test the waters with slow, gentle licks and soft sucks. The noises he made were encouraging, each whimper, moan and sigh fueling your movements as you grew more confident.

Noah’s hand cradled the back of your head gently, "That's it..." He murmured beneath his breath, clearly struggling to keep his voice down. "Just like that."

The taste of him was intoxicating, driving you to take him deeper. His hips bucked involuntarily, and you had to fight the urge to grin around his length.

All too quickly his voice started escalating, fragmented warnings cutting through the silence - urging you to slow down or pull away. But you wouldn’t. You needed him to come undone, to dissolve under your touch and surrender to that delicious pleasure only you could offer him.

You swallowed around him as best as you could, creating a tight suction that elicited a loud guttural groan from Noah's lips.

Just as you pulled off him, a trail of saliva dripping sensuously from your mouth, you heard a low cough come from the hallway.

Your hand stilled and you glanced up at Noah, who only smirked at the man who slowly approached you from behind.

“Thanks for the show. But I’m tired of just watching.”

You shivered, turning to face the Dummer who stood leaning against the wall, hand wrapped firmly around his arousal as he chewed on the inside of his cheek excitedly.

“You’re right Noah. I do love watching our girl spread on all fours. Especially with her pretty pussy exposed as she takes care of you.”

Your face warmed as Noah’s hand found your jaw, turning you back towards his cock. You wrapped your lips around him once again, causing his head to fall back in pleasure.

You heard Folio shuffle behind you, running his hands up your exposed thighs, encircling the shape of your ass.

"Folio," you called softly, hot breath washing over Noah’s length, causing his grip on your hair to tighten. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath but didn’t stop you; the darkened desire in his eyes told you he wanted nothing more.

Folio chuckled as he knelt behind you, his rough fingers expertly tracing the wetness between your thighs. He spread your folds apart slowly, leaning forward to allow his tongue a sample of your arousal. The jolt of pleasure caused you to gasp and jolt forward, pressing Noah's erection further into your mouth. Noah groaned at the depth and arched into you.

The bus seemed to close in on you, the heat from Noah and Folio's bodies leaving you dizzy and clouded with need.

Nick’s tongue continued its sweet torture against you, each languid lick causing your body to tremble with anticipation. With each pass of his tongue, you pushed back onto his face, desperate.

"Folio," you whimpered his name again as he teased your most intimate area. His hands took a firm grip on your hips, holding you steady as he continued his delicious torment.

"Noah," Nick murmured, pulling away from you momentarily to speak hungrily to the former. "Can't wait to see her take us both."

Noah’s groan of agreement had a slick rush pooling out of you onto Folio's waiting tongue.

His relentless strokes drew another orgasm closer within your grasp. You got lost in the sensation of his tongue and Noah's hardened length in your mouth.

You felt Folio pull away, only to replace his touch with his erection sliding between your arousal.

“How badly do you want us beautiful?” Nick’s voice was husky, thick with desire and anticipation, as he swirled his tip around your opening. You whimpered, body trembling as you tried to push back, craving for him to fill you.

“Tell us,” Noah’s commanding voice cut through your pleasure haze. You moaned around him in response.

“I- I want you,” you breathed out replacing your mouth with your hand, stroking him as you begged. “Both of you.”

"Well then," Folio murmured against the sensitive skin of your back as he lifted your shirt, "Who are we to deny you?"

He didn't waste another second before he thrust into you-- hard. Your body rocked forward at the sudden intrusion, causing Noah's cock to hit the back of your throat again.

Nick’s every thrust was met by your eager pushes, the sensation of being filled so fully driving you closer to the edge. You could hear his harsh pants, and felt his abs tensing against your back with his every movement.

With one hand on your hip and the other on your desire, Folio skillfully manipulated you to a fever pitch. His fingers circled your clit while Noah's cock thrust in and out of your mouth, time slipping along the lines of pleasure and pain.

"Noah," Folio grunted, teeth grit as they scraped against the damp skin of your shoulder. "I'm not gonna last long. She's so fucking tight."

A strange mix of cockiness and raw desperation coloured Noah's voice as he responded, "Don't you fucking dare, not until I fill her mouth.”

Folio laughed, a dark, rugged sound that vibrated through your bones and increased the pace of his thrusts. Your body tightened around him as his fingers dug into your hipbone sky-rocketing your pleasure.

Your mind blanked at the overload of sensations; even as you struggled to breathe through Noah’s relentless rhythm. The world narrowed down to the two men possessing you, their harsh breaths mingling with your own.

All at once, you were on the precipice. Your body tightened like a bowstring, the sweet tension coiling in your abdomen.

"Noah...Folio," you moaned their names as your vision blurred.

"And there it is," Noah grunted. His hand gripped your hair tighter, and you felt his cock twitch in your mouth.

The taste of him shattered your resolve as Folio's cock stretched you wide. In unison as if orchestrated, Noah spilled into your mouth just as Folio filled you.

Your orgasm was swift and intense, rendering you senseless and quaking around the two men. Each gasp for breath painted pleasure on your senses until you were nothing but a crumpled mess between them, reeling in the aftermath of such pleasure.

When they finally pulled away, carefully untangling themselves from you, it felt like they left behind a void that ached. You swirled your tongue around the salty remnants of Noah, swallowing and collapsing forward onto your hands and knees. Your body felt spent, and yet ridiculously alive – every nerve ending tingling with satisfaction.

If this was a taste of your future, then you were ravenous for it.

Folio wiped perspiration from his brow and helped you up only for you to flop against him, exhausted beyond words. He laughed lightly, cupping your cheek affectionately as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from your eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated soothingly through you.

“Mmhmm…” You hummed, too content and flushed to articulate any other response. Nick leaned forward, placing a gentle yet hungry kiss against your lips.

“Maybe we should keep track of all your orgasms,” Nick chuckled again, licking his lips.

Noah nodded eagerly as his gaze was locked on you, blush tinting the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

“Come here,” He whispered, and you nodded, pulling your clothes back up and sitting next to him. Folio joined you on your other side, and you sat cradled between both boys.

“You think we broke her, Noah?” Folio teased, his voice a warm purr against your ear. His arm was draped over your lap, fingers interlocked with yours.

“You can try again later if you want," you mumbled, curling further into Noah's side.

He smoothed his hand through your hair, his heart fluttering when you sighed contentedly in response. His thumb began to draw lazy circles on your shoulder, a comforting rhythm that matched your steady, shallow breathing.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep," Folio warned playfully, grazing his teeth along your jaw.

"Would never dream of it," you replied to Folio's warning. You tilted your head, allowing him to press soft kisses along your jawline. He traced his lips down your throat, stopping just above the neckline of your shirt; another searing kiss here could so easily leave a mark.

His eyes met yours, a silent question in them that had you blushing more than your previous activities did. You nodded, permitting him. A wicked grin pulled at his lips as he pressed a kiss there, wet and heated. You knew a hickey would blossom there within the hour.

From your other side, Noah gave an approving hum, watching you and Folio with half-lidded eyes.

+++++

Matt, although slightly jealous, was happy to join your… relationship.

After arriving at the venue and hastily setting up, you approached him with a blush on your cheeks and a nervousness that seemed almost alien to the usually confident you.

“I want to talk,” you’d said, pulling him aside and tenderly taking his hands. The way you fumbled over words and avoided his gaze had Matt worried.

When you finally voiced out what was going on, the surprise in his eyes was evident. But instead of pushing you away or getting angry, he merely blinked at you, taken aback but not repulsed.

“If this is what you want, then I want it too, " he said, adjusting his cap before smiling warmly. I want you, they want you, and you want us. It makes sense, right? It may have started as a bet, but it's turned into much more.”

Even as the first blush of embarrassed desire rose in your cheeks, Matt leaned in. He whispered against your lips, his voice low and rough, "Besides, it’s not like I've never shared you before." His cheeks flushed pink at the memory and he cleared his throat.

“Well aren’t you full of surprises,” you murmured against his lips. He smirked at that, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between the two of you.

“Only for you,” he shot back, effortlessly charming as ever. The smugness in his voice made the tips of your ears burn - but it sparked an excitement in your belly that was impossible to ignore.

“Ready for our brief soundcheck, rock gods?” he practically yelled across the green room, causing all the boys to groan in protest.

"Wouldn't be much of a band without it, would we?" Folio refuted, grinning as he grabbed the cymbal bag. The banging and clashing as he set them up served as a prelude to the havoc that would be unleashed during their performance.

Jolly rolled his eyes and stood up, slinging his guitar over his shoulder while giving you a wink that made your heart flutter, "Yea well, don't expect me to save your ass if you miss a beat, Folio."

Ruffilo scoffed from where he was tuning his bass, "Both of you talk big for a couple of amateurs."

"Wow boys, keep your egos in check or we won't be able to fit in the room," you intervened with an amused chuckle.

“Messiah has spoken,” Matt announced dramatically.

Grinning, Ruffilo plucked a playful tune on his bass, echoing through the room.

On the other hand, Noah couldn't resist teasing you, "Oh yeah? We got to keep our egos in check?" He chuckled, leaning across the couch.

He reached out and lightly tapped your nose with one finger, "What about you, huh? Got any confessions for us before we hit the stage?"

You swatted his hand away playfully, although your heart pounded at the warmth in his gaze.

"What could I possibly have to confess?" You scoffed, attempting to dodge. But Noah was relentless.

"Bullshit," Noah contradicted, grinning.

"Maybe I like keeping you on your toes," you replied with a shrug and a smirk of your own. All too familiar heat rose in your cheeks when Matt interjected, "That's our girl."

"Don't ruin the moment, Matt," Folio chided, laughing even as Jolly lobbed a battery at him.

"Why not?" Matt retorted. "This is us. We're not exactly the sentimental type."

"No," Noah agreed, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. "We're just a mess.”

“A beautiful mess,” Ruffilo added, coming to stand behind the couch. He leaned over it to ruffle your hair, messing up whatever semblance of neatness you had attempted.

You swatted his hand away, instinctively fixing your hair. “Watch it, you.”

He barked out a laugh that echoed across the room. “There’s the feisty spirit we all love.”

“Feisty?" Folio echoed with a wicked grin, "Should we be worried?"

"Or excited," Ruffilo teased. He darted forward, placing a quick peck on your forehead before stepping back with a mischievous grin.

“That’s enough boys,” Matt chided, although he was hard-pressed to hide the laughter on his own face, “We’ve got a show to do and we better fucking practice.”

“Right,” Jolly said, pulling away from you and striding towards the stage.

“Lead on, rock star,” you replied with an encouraging smile.

Matt extended his hand toward you, palm up and you took his hand, letting him lead you down the halls towards the sound booth.

After soundcheck, you all headed back to the green room for a quick break.

“You were literally off beat bro,” Noah sighed, annoyed. Folio glared in response, nudging his shoulder.

“I literally couldn’t hear shit with my earpiece. I think it's broken.”

"I'll check it out," Matt offered, but Noah shook his head.

“It’s alright, Folio and I will figure it out. I’ll text you when we need to be backstage. C’mon Nick.”

Meanwhile, Jolly had surreptitiously sidled up to you, his fingers tracing circles on your arm as you entered the room.

"You doing good?" he mused. The furious blush was still evident on your cheeks and you couldn't help but fidget under his gaze.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," you stammered, mustering up a weak smile, only for Ruffilo to interrupt. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and grinned at Jolly.

"Leave her alone, Casanova. Can't a girl get some peace?" Ruffilo chided with a good-natured wink directed at you.

"Is there even such a thing as peace with you five?" you retorted, nudging him. Your response was received with a chorus of laughter that echoed down the hallway.

“Highly unlikely princess,” Ruffilo laughed.

Jolly approached you with two bottles of water, pressing one into your hand before gesturing to a seat beside him with the other. You graciously accepted both, sliding into the spot next to him. You noticed how his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, causing your face to warm.

“What?” You asked, eyes tracing his face, attempting to read his expression.

“You’re mesmerizing,” he whispered, his gaze devouring you now.

Shifting on the couch you took a sip of your water, refusing to take your eyes off of Jolly’s.

Unable to hold his gaze, your eyes flickered downwards to the floor, feeling both flattered and flustered. His lingering words left you in a tantalizing whirlwind of emotions and made you tremble with a fantastical mixture of terror and thrill.

“Come here,” He nodded, patting his lap.

You paused for a second, eyebrows raised in surprise, before complying with a silent shrug. As you settled onto his lap, Jolly’s arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close to him.

“Comfortable?” He asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he leaned slightly back in the chair.

“Mmm…” was all you could manage in response as you snuggled against him. His heart was thumping against your back and you wondered if he could feel the racing pace of yours too.

As comfortable as you were now, no one else seemed to take notice of your new position. Well, except for one person. You turned towards the direction where Ruffilo was shooting glances at Jolly from the corner of his eye. A slight pang of jealousy was visible in his eyes which he masked quickly when he noticed your gaze on him.

Rather than ignoring it, you nodded at Nicholas, beckoning him forward.

“Feeling left out Ruffilo?”

He shot you a stunned look, but a playful smile danced on his lips. "Never," he declared, rising from his spot on the floor. Suddenly he pounced, tossing himself onto the couch beside Jolly, nudging your legs playfully in the process.

"Hey!" you protested with a laugh, trying to find a comfortable position amidst Ruffilo's sprawling limbs.

Jolly grinned down at you from above, enjoying your struggle. His arm tightened around your waist as if holding you in place, your back pressed flush against his chest.

“What? Sharing is caring,” he teased, flashing you an impish grin.

The next words that left your lips spilled out faster than you could process them. “Why don’t you show me what sharing looks like?”

Challenged, Ruffilo leaned forward, angling his body towards you. He shot a quick glance at Jolly before his lips brushed against your cheek in a lingering peck that made your heart flutter. "Like that?" Ruffilo asked, the smirk evident in his voice.

Your face flushed a deep crimson, and you ineptly cleared your throat.

"Yes. Exactly like that." You managed to say, trying to keep the fluttery feeling inside under control.

Jolly leaned down, placing a kiss on your opposite cheek, allowing his hands to roam the curve of your hips.

With a careful eye, you noticed Matt leaning against the wall, taking a swig of his water as he watched you intensely.

Without much thought, you slid off Jolly's lap and onto the floor. You tiptoed ahead, biting your lower lip to hide your smirk.

"Liking the view, Matt?" You called out playfully when you were a foot away from him.

Matt choked on his water, and blushing furiously, shook his head in denial, "Wha- I wasn't - you're imagining things." He spluttered shoving the bottle to his lips again.

"Oh right!" You gasped dramatically clutching at your heart. "How could I possibly think that, considering how much you enjoyed it last night," you carried on, wagging your index finger at him admonishingly.

He glanced down at you for a moment before raising an eyebrow at your mock rebuke. "You caught me." He deadpanned.

"Always." You agreed quickly. As if prompted by some inner force, you stepped closer; so close that Matt had to bend his head down slightly to keep eye contact. His bottle suspended halfway between his lips and his grip on it growing looser, you reached up and yanked his hat off his head.

The water from his mouth gushed onto the carpet below, causing Matt to step back hurriedly, sputtering, "What the hell?"

You merely grinned at him, twirling his cap around your finger. Before he could snatch it back, you'd already made your way back to Jolly and Ruffilo on the couch. Planting yourself firmly between them, his hat resting atop your head like a crown, you smirked at Matt.

"Well, are you going to come get it?" you said slyly.

"What's the magic word?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you lightly tapped the brim.

Matt growled in mock frustration, pointing at you with a stern look plastered on his face, “You’re lucky we have a show tonight," he warned playfully.

“We have like 20 minutes,” Jolly interjected, placing a hand on your thigh as he peered down at you, his smirk growing.

"Just enough time for some fun then," came your response, tilting your head in challenge. You could practically see the cogs turning in Matt's brain as he worked out his next course of action.

Suddenly, he lunged towards you, but you were too quick and rolled off the couch just in time. You heard a loud thump and a burst of laughter behind you as Matt ended up on the couch where you'd just been sitting.

"Smooth," Ruffilo chuckled, patting Matt on the back while Jolly struggled to contain his laughter.

Pulling yourself up from the ground, you crossed your arms and smirked down at Matt who was now sprawled across both Ruffilo and Jolly like a big blanket. "Second try?"

Matt growled again - this time less playful and more serious – as he disentangled himself from the other two guys. He stood up, eyes never leaving the cap that was now in your hands. His gaze was intense, causing a shiver of anticipation to run down your spine.

“Ready when you are.”

With a swift motion, Matt leaped toward you but you dodged him again, quickly running across the room. You laughed, thinking he was far behind until you turned around.

Two arms pinned you against the wall as his body caged yours against the wall.

"Gotcha," Matt whispered, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand moved swiftly, snagging the cap from your head and placing it backwards upon his own.

The sight of him holding you against the wall made your thighs clench tightly, his hat no longer an obstacle of space between you.

Matt’s triumphant grin faltered as he read the fire in your eyes. A strange electricity danced between you two, the banter fading into silence replaced by the sound of your rapid breaths.

"But I still got you," you whispered, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Stop teasing me,” He mumbled, lidded eyes staring down at you with fueled desire as he dipped his face inches from yours, brushing his lips across yours.

Before you could retort, his lips crashed onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. His other hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, sending a rush of warmth coursing through your body.

"Clock's ticking," Jolly called from the couch. A smirk danced on his lips, one that was mirrored by Ruffilo, “15 minutes now.”

“Then we better hurry up,” Matt said quickly, latching his lips to yours in swift desperation as he tugged your shirt. You immediately moaned into his lips, arching your back to press into his body.

A husked laugh rumbled from Matt's chest as he broke the kiss to nuzzle the side of your neck. His hot breaths tickled your skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine. His hands raked down your sides in an attempt to pull you closer against his chest.

Peeling you from the wall, you two walked over towards the middle of the room, now infront of Jolly and Ruffilo on the couch. As Matt began trailing kisses down your neck you tossed a smug smile towards Jolly, who chuckled lowly.

“Care to join in?” you teasingly asked Jolly, watching his eyes flicker with same mischief he seemed to evoke in you. “Or are you too afraid I might end up stealing your hat too?”

Jolly chuckled, pushing himself off from the couch with a quick shake of his head. “Sweetheart, I’d like to see you try,” he said before stepping closer, taking place behind you.

As Matt’s lips trailed to the side of your neck, a gasp slipped past your lips as Jolly put a protective hand on your waist. His head tilted down towards you, causing your heart to pound harder against your ribs.

“Twelve minutes,” pausing Matt warned, voice strained while maintaining eye contact with Jolly, who didn’t seem fazed one bit by his reminder.

“A talented man can accomplish much in only five minutes,” he said with a nonchalant smile before he leaned down to capture your mouth in a heated kiss, his tongue tracing the bottom of your lip.

You glanced quickly at Ruffilo, telling him to lock the room door as Matt's grip on your waist tightened.

“Take my clothes off,” You mumbled against Jolly's lips, the whisper carrying an undertone of urgency. Quickly slipping his hands under your shirt, he tugged it gently over your head, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. Matt moved away momentarily to assist him, his warm fingers tracing the bare skin of your back as he unhooked your bra with practiced ease. Once again discarding the garment somewhere in the room, he moved closer still, his chest flush against yours.

"Eleven," Ruffilo called out from the couch, his own hand tracing the outline of his growing arousal beneath his slacks.

Eager fingers skimmed the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and tossing them amongst the floor.

Matt and Jolly’s hands roamed your body as you were sandwiched between both of them, their mouths and tongues darting across your skin greedily.

Both rotated their hips into your body with asynchronous movements, curating a string of moans as their desires pressed into you.

"Ten," Ruffilo growled, his voice husky as he watched you with hooded eyes. Looking over at him, you give him a sultry grin and crooked your finger challengingly.

Jolly's hand trailed down your stomach until it converged with Matt's hand already covering you. A gasp escaped your lips as they simultaneously began exploring you further, their fingers dipping lower over your exposed skin and causing shivers to course through your body.

Jolly whispered against your ear, his hitched breath causing you to stir further back against him, rubbing against his covered erection, “You’re soaked.”

“Then do something about it,” You mumbled, staring at Matt who’s face flushed from the excitement.

Matt slipped his fingers into your core, eliciting a moan from your chest as Jolly circled your clit with his middle finger.

"Nine," Ruffilo growled, and you watched as he freed himself from his pants, stroking himself as he watched you mercilessly pressed between his friends.

Jolly nipped your neck lightly, drawing a gasp from your parted lips as Matt's fingers curled inside you.

"More," you whispered, arching your hips to meet the rhythm of their hands.

“Impatient today, are we?” Jolly murmured in your ear, but you felt him unzip his jeans along with Matt, both cocks pressed against your thigh, “Jump.””

Obliging, you allowed Jolly to lift you from behind, forearms holding you underneath the bend of your knee as he spread you open for Matt.

"Eight," Ruffilo called out, his voice tight with anticipation. You glanced over at him, noting the way he was pumping himself with an intensity that matched the thrumming excitement coursing through your veins.

Nicholas’ eyes were fixed on you as Matt positioned himself between your legs, his arousal teasing your folds before pushing into your body with need.

His moans were erotic as he relished in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him.

With you secure in Jolly's arms, Matt pressed more deeply inside you, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You reached down to grasp at Matt's arm, his bicep flexing under your touch as he filled you with slow deliberate motions.

Jolly nodded at Matt, having him replace one of Jolly’s arms so they both held you in the air.

Sucking his fingers briefly, Jolly teased your behind with proading motions.

“Think you can show us what it takes to be a good girl and handle two cocks?”

You leaned your head back onto Jolly’s shoulder and blinked up him, even as you gripped tighter to Matt- your breath hitching as you felt the cool slickness of the swedes fingers against your other entrance.

Jolly's grin was positively predatory, his eyes aflame with a need that mirrored your own. You nodded mutely, your body arching on instinct as he began nudging at your tight hole with one slick digit.

“Only if you can make me cum before Nick gets down to 3,” You moaned, brows furrowed as Matt pounded into you.

"Seven," Ruffilo called out again from the couch, his voice hoarser. His tight grip on his arousal and the desperation threading in his gaze made you bite down on your lower lip, the anticipation prickling under your skin.

"Challenge accepted," Jolly said, pushing his cock against you from behind. His head tipped back against the stress of having to delay himself, and once he finally sunk into your body your stomach butterflied with need.

Matt’s grip tightened around your thighs as you clenched around him due to the additional pressure. He moaned your name loudly, his teeth gritting in an attempt to hold back his orgasm.

“Fuck,” they both swore in unison as they watched each other disappear in and out of your body. Their shared rhythm faltered but quickly caught up again amidst groans of pleasure, their breaths hot and humid on your flushed skin. As they started following a synchronized pace, you could not tell where one ended and another began inside you.

Holding onto Matt’s shoulders for stability you cried out their names, completely overwhelmed as both pounded into you greedily.

"Six," Ruffilo rasped out, his voice strained from the feverish pace he was setting. The sight of you between his friends, being taken so thoroughly, was pushing him to the very brink. He never took his eyes away from the spectacle, his hand moving over himself swiftly and unrelentingly.

"I'm- I'm close," you whimpered, your fingers slipping from the sweat-soaked hair at Matt's nape to grip onto Jolly's muscular arm. The simultaneous stimulation was driving you towards a precipice of release faster than you'd anticipated. A sharp gasp left your lips as Jolly drove deeper into you, hitting a spot that made your vision blur.

"S...Five," Ruffilo's voice cracked against the constant onslaught of pleasure laced visions before his eyes. He watched as Matt's jaw clenched, just as desperate to hold back as he was himself.

“Hold on, love,” Jolly growled in your ear, “Give

us another moment.” Matt punctuated his plea with a particularly forceful thrust that made you bounce in their hold. You moan loudly, your fingers involuntarily digging into Jolly's arm.

"Fuck!" Jolly swore, feeling the first clench of your impending orgasm. The intense pleasure shot through your body as you tightened around them both.

"Four," Ruffilo's voice was nothing more than a whisper, almost obscured by the desperate sounds coming from the three of you. He was teetering on the edge, his hand working in time with Matt and Jolly’s vigorous pace.

Jolly accelerated his rhythm, the wet slapping sound of his skin against yours mingling with your frenzied cries of pleasure. Matt mirrored his movements, the two working as one to push you toward release.

"Three!” Ruffilo's voice barely held onto the last shred of control he had left, his free hand gripped tightly onto the armrest of the couch.

Jolly held you tighter, teeth gritted as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. The angle allowed him to brush against that sensitive spot within you once more, eliciting a choked moan from your lips. Pure bliss ran through your body as you let go.

“Fuck,” Matt exclaimed as he took in the sight of your body arched back, legs writhering and shaking against his hold as he kept them spread with Jolly.

Your next scream reverberated through the room, a raw and primal sound signaling your climax. Matt and Jolly barely had time to react before they were being squeezed tightly by your convulsing inner walls, the sensation pulling them over the edge with you. Both their movements were erratic before stilling abruptly, spilling inside of you with mangled breaths.

"Fuck-" Matt stuttered out haltingly between clenched teeth. Jolly bit the side of your neck gently, his teeth grazing the sensitive hickey Folio left earlier.

"One," Ruffilo choked out which caused you to stare at him hungrily.

“Wait Nicky-” you begged, allowing Jolly and Matt to lower you to the ground.

Ropes of their cum dripped between your thighs as you stood up shakily, but the sight of Ruffilo, so close to his own release, kept you rooted.

His eyes were wide with desperation and arousal as you inched closer to him; his focused gaze never once strayed from your sinful body getting closer.

"Z..Zero," he managed to breathe out just as you knelt before him, your lips scant inches from the tip of his cock. His eyes were pleading, awaiting your next move.

Without needing any further invitation, you opened your mouth towards his waiting desire.

"No..." Ruffilo swallowed hard, his voice a whisper among the heated gasps and pants of the room. His cock was throbbing, but he held himself back at the last moment, gripping your shoulder firmly. "Not like this..."

There was a pause when everyone else in the room seemed to hold their breaths, chests heaving from their own climaxes as they watched the interchange between you and Ruffilo.

"Up," Ruffilo ordered in a low voice, his fingers tracing over the curve of your ass as you clambered onto his lap.

Without any hesitation you sunk down onto his arousal, his head falling back in relief.

You cried again over the feeling of Nicholas filling you right after Matt released inside your body, leaving you clenching your thighs at the thought.

As you rocked on his lap, each movement was filled with a world of pleasure. Your lips met his in a feverish kiss, muffling your sweet moans that trickled into his mouth. His hands were on your waist, guiding your rhythm with determined fervor.

“H-How are you.. so full…” Ruffilo slurred out although the question was halfway lost amidst the gasping moans of your coupling.

"It's them,” you gasped against his lips, tilting your head back as he rolled his hips upward, forcing a high pitched whimper from your throat. "You taste - fuck, Nicky - you taste them?”

The thought drove him wild and he could only groan as he pistoned into you with renewed vigor, his mind clouded over with hot lust. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you down harder onto him every time he thrust up.

A knock on the door sounded and you heard the door knob jiggle; but nothing could pull you away from Nick’s cock as he thrust into your body from below.

“Ignore it,” Ruffilo rasped, his fingers now delving deeper into your flesh, “Fuck the time.”

But the knock came again, this time louder, a worrisome addition to the symphony of pleasure echoing through the room.

“Guys? Open the door,” You heard Noah yell from the other side, “I need Y/N’s help.”

"Ignore him," Ruffilo commanded, his thumb tracing over your shivering belly that was full of their mixed cum. His teeth grazed the tender bud on your chest, drawing a desperate cry from you.

You glanced at the door, a pang of worry dancing in your chest…yet the persistent knocks and Noah’s voice only served to amplify the decadent pleasure you were feeling – it was a sinful thrill, performing something so intimate, so intense, with three men, while another begged for entrance.

But Ruffilo was focused too much on your body, and the sounds it made in response to his. He gnawed at your hard nipple while the other hand trailed down, tracing over the curve of your hip bone and around the juncture where he thrust into you.

"Forget Noah," he said with clenched teeth. His breath was hot against your damp skin and you felt a tingling sensation start from your center.

You shook your head in protest, ready to beg Matt to open the door- but with one final thrust all you saw was stars, your vision clouded from Ruffilo’s cock buried inside as another orgasm was pulled from you.

Ruffilo was not far after, his body freezing as his nails dug into your hips, spilling inside of you.

Both of you gasped in unison, panting heavily as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through your bodies. Ruffilo slowly loosened his grip on your hips, falling back against the couch as he held you close to his heaving chest.

"Noah...I swear," Ruffilo hissed between breaths, a low growl resonating in his throat.

"Open the damn door!" Noah shouted again, the desperation in his voice more apparent than before, “we are on stage any fucking minute!”

Jolly walked over and turned the nob, allowing Noah and Folio to enter; both froze when they saw you splayed on the couch, face flushed and body dripping.

Noah's brow furrowed as he took in the sight before him, his gaze darting between your spent body and Ruffilo who was still buried deep within you. Folio however, simply raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

“Having fun, are we?” he sarcastically asked, leaning against the door frame.

Ruffilo grumbled something under his breath, but otherwise made no move to untangle himself from you. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks under their scrutiny but all you managed to do was whimper, closing your eyes as aftershock rode through your veins.

However, once you pulled away from Nick and finally stood up, you couldn’t help but feel shy under Noah and Folio’s intense gaze.

“Locking the fucking door was not cool,” Noah said, folding his arms.

Jolly laughed, shaking his head, “What if Bryan came in? What if another crew member did?”

Folio shrugged, “Yea well when we ask you to open the door, do it. Don’t leave us out.”

"Noah, Folio... Relax," Matt managed to say in between his chuckles, finally gaining some breath back. His smirk was wide and lopsided from the sidelines, naked under the dimly lit room with a sheen of perspiration matting his chest hair.

Jolly, leaning against the door frame now, rolled his eyes, "Seriously, guys. Have a bit of patience, will ya? We were in the middle of something." He walked back towards you, placing a protective hand on your waist as you struggled to keep standing.

“Fuck off Jolly,” Noah snarled, glaring at him with burning eyes, “This isn’t about patience.”

“And what is it about then?” Ruffilo snapped back from the couch.

“It’s about fucking respect.” Noah shot back, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

Everyone fell silent as Noah's words echoed around the room.

Rule one of this relationship: respect.

A bitter taste filled the air as Noah's words echoed. He spoke out, pointing a firm finger toward Ruffilo still lounging on the couch, “We all agreed to this…thing because we’d respect each other. It's not just about getting our rocks off.”

Noah then turned his gaze to you, softening ever so slightly, "And it's not just about respecting one another," he said quietly, almost a whisper but loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, "It's about respecting her too."

You said nothing, standing there with Jolly’s hand still wrapped around your waist, warm and protective. You could feel every eye in the room upon you; their intense gazes made you feel even more raw and exposed than before.

"I needed to talk to her about the ear pieces and we are literally going on stage any minute," Noah continued after a heavy silence had filled the room again. “But you guys ignored me. Like you’re the only ones that matter. We still have a fucking job to do: and that job is not getting off minutes before a show.”

You chewed on your lip as Jolly finished helping you dress, and ran a hand through your disheveled hair.

Noah sighed, continuing, “It’s not necessarily about the sex; like yea, I’d love to have joined or what the fuck ever,” he said, glancing at you briefly before looking at his band mates, “But to make this shit work, we need to listen to everyone in this relationship.”

"Fine, we fucked up." Matt finally conceded, crossing his arms and leaning back onto the couch. "Next time we'll remember to let you in, Noah."

"I can't believe we're having this discussion right now." Jolly interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose, "A literal stand-off because we didn't let Noah into the room."

"This isn't about locking a door," Ruffilo said, "This is about control."

"What?" Noah's brows knitted in confusion, taken aback by his accusations, “the fuck does that mean?”

"You want control over this --" Ruffilo gestured vaguely to Jolly and you "--you want control over her."

"No!" Noah shouted, his face reddening as he pointed a trembling finger at Ruffilo, "Don't turn this around on me! This isn't about control; it's about, fuck..." He groaned in frustration, stuffing his hands into his hair.

"It's about boundaries. There are five of us here - all with the same level of ownership, the same rights, and the same responsibilities."

The room fell silent again for a minute before Folio sighed heavily. "Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way," he suggested, "I want everyone to feel equal in this relationship." He looked around the room between you and each of the men, his fiery gaze finally resting on you.

There was a moment's pause, then the click of a microphone being switched on followed by a low, distorted voice echoing over the sound system: "Bad omens on stage in two. Meet back stage."

The room, which had moments ago been echoing with tension, turned to sudden urgency. All thoughts and discussions of boundaries and power dynamics were put on pause.

"Guess we gotta go," Folio said, breaking the silence.

Jolly’s hand slipped away from your waist as he swooped down to grab his leather jacket; Matt hastily buttoned his shirt, while Ruffilo went over to the couch and began pulling on his boots.

Noah grumbled under his breath and nodded stiffly at you, his usually easy-going demeanor replaced with a stoic facade. Before turning on his heel and moving toward the door, his words floated back towards you, "We'll talk about this later."

You felt a pang of regret pinch your heart as you looked at each man striding out of the room; their bodies tense, their spirits subdued. You realized then what an enormous impact this conversation had on all of them. This wasn't just about a closed door or establishing boundaries, it was about setting the course for the unfamiliar and complex journey you were all embarked on together. This was a relationship shaded in harmonies and discord.

Just like their music, it was a composition of distinct individuals striving for harmony, yet not losing themselves within it.

Folio turned his head towards you at the doorway, his eyes lingering on yours as though waiting for some form of assurance. You nodded, forcing a small smile onto your lips, an affirmation that this conversation was necessary and beneficial in the long run. A promise, whispered through that fleeting contact: we will navigate this complicated score together.

+++++

note 2: I have no idea if this is what you guys wanted :-: lol, but this is the turn I took to build upon some more plot I guess since it was a requested a few times about delving into the actual relationship aspect. I do really appreciate the love this has gotten, especially considering I wrote the bet as a oneshot. Yet, here we are lol. Thank you so much for taking the time to read!

tags:

@xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical @sitkowski

@sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86 @thefallennightmare

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lacy1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers @anything-more-than-human

@fuck-me-muke @fadingangelwisp @tosoundlessdarkistare

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens smut #bad omens x reader #Noah Sebastian smut #Nicholas Ruffilo smut #Noah Sebastian fanfiction #Nicholas Ruffilo fanfiction #nick folio fanfiction #jolly karlsson fanfiction #joakim karlsson smut

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