#It's like a snake doorbell? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mr-cha-n · 9 days

Text

Chapter One: How to Not Get Stabbed

Pairing: Lee Chan x reader

Genres: action, smut, angst, fluff, superhero AU

Warnings: violence (heavy), sexual content, penetration, mentions of death, profanities, drinking

Word Count: 22.2k

Summary: The peace of quiet of your garage is only broken by the hum of machines and clanking tools, and you like it that way - until a superhero crashes his car straight into your door.

The garage hums with the familiar sounds of clanking tools and low rock music playing from your dad’s old radio, its worn dials barely holding the station through the static. The air stinks of oil and metal, a mix of grease and gasoline lingering in the corners of the shop that reminds you of home. Rusted car parts and half-disassembled engines are scattered across workbenches in an organised chaos that only someone who spends hours here could understand.

Most of the time you spend in the shop is alone – you haven’t expanded enough to need to hire a second mechanic, although you’d been considering getting someone to do your telephone and books after you dropped the phone behind an engine block, trying to juggle too many things at once.

But, that’s how you like it. Being surrounded by machines and metal brings you far more contentment than interacting with your customers – a necessity, although often a frustrating one. The beautiful complexity of the mechanisms feels like creation in your hands, the ability to mend and perfect a power usually reserved for God alone.

Something about the surety of everything having its place, and knowing what that is, brings you a solace well needed in your grungy corner of life.

Your garage sits on the edge of the city, tucked in a dodgy part of town where most people would think twice about wandering after dark. It’s not unusual to see someone rush by with their hood up, or hear the occasional screech of tyres speeding away from something best left alone. Keeping to yourself is the chosen lifestyle here, and you are no stranger to the consequences of choosing to get involved.

Over the years, you’ve managed to build yourself a reputation – not just for your skill with a wrench, but for being a place where no one asks too many questions. You’ve seen all sorts roll past: street races, ex-cons, people looking for a little discretion. You don’t judge. As long as they respect the rules and pay their bill, you don’t pry into their business. It’s a system that keeps you afloat amongst an unforgiving landscape. Every time you flip the newspaper over to see another store shot up or looted, you feel even less obliged to know anything about your customers.

But, peace and quiet is never-lasting.

You’re stuck at the bottom of a lifted car, trying to wrestle a stubborn bolt loose from the undercarriage as the high-pitched squeal of your doorbell rings out through the shop. Your hands, slick with oil, slip on the wrench and you mutter a curse under your breath.

Heavy bootsteps lumber into the shop, stopping a few feet away next to your squat wooden desk.

Finally, with a grunt of effort, the bolt loosens. It comes free with a satisfying click, and you slide out from under the car, swiping your forehead with the back of your hand. You wipe your hands on a rag, and take a quick glance out toward the street, taking in the dark, rusty tone of the early evening sky.

“How’s she lookin’?” A familiar, gravelly tone calls out towards you.

A lopsided smile crackles over your lips as you tilt your head with a small shrug, your gaze finally locking with the customer. “She’s looked better – but I think you already knew that.” The car is an old classic, its parts worn and rusted like they haven’t seen a proper tune-up in years.

Mr Corallo lets out a huff of laughter. His arms cross together over his broad chest, revealing a snake tattoo on his lower left forearm – a reminder to everyone of who he is loyal to, and who protects him. “Yeah, alright. And you’ve got a cure, doc?”

“Give me a few days and she’ll be as good as new.” You tap the hood of the car lightly with your fingertips, wiping off a speck of oil that had dripped from your shirt.

Mr Corallo nods, pulling an envelope from his jeans’ back pocket. “Half now, half later, right?”

You give a small hum of agreement, walking around to wash your hands of the oil.

"Mr Scott thanks you for your business," Mr Corallo says, throwing the envelope down. The corners of his mouth curl up, revealing just a hint of teeth, and his eyes gleam with a dangerous glint, revelling in the uncomfortable shift in the air at the namedrop of Mr Scott.

“Always a pleasure.” You reply with a tight-lipped smile. The invocation of Mr Scott bothered you less than it would others, but he wasn’t a person you wanted to be associated too greatly with your garage. The ‘lawyer’ has a reputation for criminal activity more well-known than any of his actual court cases, and you’ve seen the evidence of his anger splattered across the Lower South Rim back alleys. But, like many of your seedier customers, his business kept your shop out of harm’s way, and so you could get over his more displeasing mannerisms.

“Oh, hey-” Just as you think he’s gone, Mr Corallo turns around one more time, his gait falling to a stop with one hand on the doorknob. “-you haven’t happened to see or hear anything about that incident at Brewer’s Quarter, have ya? Mr Scott’s been interested in finding out more about what went down.”

You pause, drying your hands on the towel, careful to keep your expression neutral. The incident at Brewer’s Quarter had been all over the news – a warehouse fire, but not of the accidental variety. Word on the street was that it had been a targeted hit, a gang skirmish that went too far. Brewer's Quarter is just a few blocks over, close enough to your shop that you’d heard the sirens blaring late into the night.

You hadn’t seen anything, not directly at least. Of course, there was that incident with the car, but you aren’t sure that had anything to do with the fire…

It was the early hours of the morning, police had scattered, the fire had been put out, and anyone involved was long clear of the area. You were walking back from the shop, having had a late night trying to sort out your accounts for the last month – a job that required at least two glasses of whiskey to get through it.

You didn’t tend to stay late at the garage often, and the prospect of walking around these streets late wasn’t one that sat well with anyone who knew them. But there was a shortcut to your apartment through the old dump on 64th that cut down your journey to a five-minute run, if needed.

The night air had been cool, the kind of eerie silence that clung to the aftermath of violence. You had been walking quickly, your hands shoved deep into your pockets, eyes darting around out of habit. The whiskey buzz had made the shadows seem a little more sinister than usual, but you were steady enough on your feet.

You’d first noticed something odd when you’d reached the outer chain-link fence cornering off the dump – a faint, metallic glint, barely visible in the low light. At first, you’d assumed it was just junk, another rusted-out shell of a car left to rot. But, as you got closer, you could see the car was too new for this area, and wrecked – badly wrecked.

Instinct told you to keep moving; this kind of thing usually spelt trouble. But something about the car had caught your eye, something familiar. The lines of it were sleek, too well-crafted to be an average street racer.

You had crouched down, running your hand over the dented hood, feeling the grooves where it had clearly taken some kind of brutal impact. The whole front end was smashed in, the windshield cracked and splintered like a spider web. There were scorch marks, too, as if the car had been through a fire.

Either this car’s owner was involved in some dodgy business, or he was a terrible driver.

And then you had seen it – the unmistakable emblem, barely visible through the soot and grime. The flaming star, the symbol of the Red Comet. For the past two years, you’d seen headline after headline regaling how the Red Comet had saved the city once again, always seemingly one step ahead of the people who threatened to tear it apart. You know hardly anything about the superhero, although apparently nobody does. Even his name is a phantasm of the media, given in the aftermath of his first appearance which happened to be on the day that a red comet streaked through the sky. And this was his car.

Your heart had skipped a beat. What the hell was it doing here, and in this state?

You knew you should have walked away. But something in you just couldn’t. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the whiskey making you bolder than you usually were, but you couldn’t just let the car sit there. Maybe, it was your way of giving something back to the hero who’d saved the city time and time again.

After making sure that no one was watching, you’d decided to tow it back to the garage. You’d covered it up, keeping it out of sight, hoping that no one would come looking for it. For the next few nights, you’d worked on it in secret. The damage was extensive, but you’d seen worse. Underneath the mangled metal and burned parts, the car was a marvel of engineering. You’d never worked on anything like it before – high-tech gadgets, reinforced steel, the king of stuff you only saw in movies. Every time you popped the hood, it felt like uncovering another layer of mystery.

Some of the damage seemed aeons old – definitely not the product of its latest encounter. The craftsmanship suggested that its owner knew his way around the car, but the lasting injuries let you know that he wasn’t a trained mechanic.

You only left one trace of your involvement – a small note, scribbled on a scrap of paper and tucked neatly in the wheel well. It simply read: ‘Fixed her up. No charge. -M.’

You figured if the Red Comet ever came back for the car, they’d know someone had taken care of it. You hoped that the note would calm their suspicions of foul play...

“Nope,” you reply to Mr Corallo, your tone light and steady. “I heard about it, like everyone else, but I was two drinks deep by the time I heard the sirens, and I wouldn’t have been able to get down the stairs even if I’d wanted to.”

Mr Corallo watches you closely for a moment, trying to gauge whether you’re telling the truth. You’re good at this game, though; slipping in half-truths to conceal the true extent of your knowledge.

“Smart,” he says after a beat, the tension in his stance easing just a bit as he releases the door handle. “Wouldn’t want you getting in the middle of anything … unpleasant.”

He flashes a grin, but there’s a hint of warning behind it. You match his smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. With that, he finally turns and makes his way toward the door, his boots scuffing the concrete floor. You let out a slow breath, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly as he steps outside. But just before he leaves, he calls back over his shoulder one last time.

"And if you do hear anything… well, you know where to find us."

The door closes with a soft click, and the garage is silent again, save for the low hum of the radio.

Every bone in Lee Chan’s body aches, and he’s surprised his skin hasn’t turned green and blue all over. Any little move hurts – and that’s with days of much-needed recuperation. Groaning as he pulls himself up out of bed, he looks down to inspect the damage. A few cuts, scrapes, and bruises, and a particularly nasty swipe along his left thigh that has begun to scab over.

Chan winces as he gingerly presses his hand against the cut, the sting reminding him of just how close things had gotten. It had been a mess – a confrontation with Tempest as the Brewery Quarter. The whole thing had escalated far faster than he’d anticipated. What should have been a routine patrol had turned into a disaster as Tempest decided to unleash a barrage of electrical blasts, wrecking half the district in the process.

The fight is a blur now, fragments of shattered glass and the acrid scent of smoke lingering in his memory. He’d been so focused on taking Tempest down that he hadn’t fully realized how much damage he had taken in the process.

In the end, it was brute force and desperation that won out. He had managed to hold up the building just long enough to knock Tempest off balance, forcing the villain into retreat. But victory had been fleeting. Tempest had disappeared in the chaos, vanishing before Chan could deliver a final blow. By the time the authorities arrived, Tempest was gone, leaving behind only destruction and debris, and Chan had barely made it out himself, collapsing in a nearby alley as sirens blared in the distance. He’d limped home under cover of darkness, his mask barely shielding him from prying eyes.

A low groan escapes him as he stretches. He limps over to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks like hell—his skin is pale, dark circles linger under his eyes, and the bruises that cover his torso are turning an ugly shade of purple. He splashes some cold water on his face, trying to wash away the fatigue, but it doesn’t do much. His body is spent.

God, he needs a hobby.

A small laugh ripples through him at the thought, getting stuck painfully in his scratchy throat. Seungkwan had told him just as much last week when they finally had time to hang out.

"You're not talking to enough people," He'd said, and he'd been right - Chan has hardly talked to anyone as himself in days. Making quippy remarks and telling people to get out of the way isn't quite the same as having a proper conversation with a friend.

Chan towels his face and stumbles into the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee while his mind drifts. Maybe a hobby wouldn’t even help. Maybe what he really needs is to let go of the whole hero thing, at least a little. Being the Red Comet 24/7 is exhausting, and lately, it feels like it is swallowing him whole, leaving nothing for himself.

The coffee smells good, but Chan's stomach twists at the idea of caffeine. He sits at the kitchen table, cradling the warm mug in his hands but not drinking, staring blankly out the window. He can’t help but wonder if next time he’ll be able to handle it. Tempest is growing stronger, more reckless, and each encounter is becoming more dangerous. He doesn’t know how long he can keep doing this, how many more nights his body can take the punishment.

I have to get ahead of this, he thinks, rubbing the back of his neck. Figure out where Tempest is hiding before he strikes again.

The thought of rest is tempting, but he knows there is no time for that. Not with Tempest still out there, licking his wounds and plotting his next move. Chan glances at the clock. Morning is just creeping in, but his mind is already racing through the next steps - tracking Tempest, preparing his gear, and finding his car.

The nagging feeling of unfinished business crawls under his skin. Chan hadn't had time to think about it amidst the chaos of fighting Tempest. His ride had been totalled - again - and left behind in the fray.

He stumbles over to his laptop, ignoring the stabbing pain in his thigh, and pulls up the city's traffic cams. His fingers clumsily tap at the keys as he rewinds footage from last night, scanning for any sign of the car. He remembers the last place he'd seen it—by the Brewery Quarter, just before Tempest had thrown him through a storefront.

The footage shows chaos: explosions, debris flying, panicked civilians running. For a moment, it’s overwhelming—too much movement, too much destruction—but then he spots it. His car, smashed and smoking, left abandoned next to the dump.

His stomach twists as the camera catches something else: a tow truck pulling up beside it. But not a city truck. The logo is fuzzy, and there’s something strange about the way the driver moves—hurried, almost too careful for a standard recovery job. The truck hooks up his wrecked car and drives off, disappearing into the shadows of the industrial district.

"Who the hell…?" Chan mutters to himself.

His heart races as he shuts the laptop. If he’s lucky, whoever has the car just wants to strip it for parts. If he’s not, well… there are people out there who would pay a fortune for the tech inside that car. And some who’d use it for much worse.

He forces himself up, grabs his jacket, and heads out the door, ignoring the protest from his still-aching body. He knows the industrial district well enough to navigate it, even in his current state. If the car was taken there, it shouldn’t be too hard to track down.

The sun is starting to set by the time he reaches the dingy outskirts of the industrial district. This part of the city is a graveyard of old factories and warehouses, the kind of place where no one asks questions. Chan walks down the narrow streets, scanning every alley and garage for a sign of his car.

Turning the corner to the large, decrepit dump, the first thing that hits him is the overwhelming stench of rust and decay. The place is a sprawling mess of discarded metal, twisted scrap, and a mountain of broken-down machinery.

But, there it is. Chan immediately spots his car nestled between two towering heaps of rusted junk. The sleek frame, now only slightly dented, stands out against the twisted metal and debris.

As he gets closer, he notices that the car’s exterior, though damaged, has been worked on. The front end, which had been complete wreck, is now at least partially repaired. Fresh metal panels have been welded on and the wiring had had once been exposed in neatly tucked away. Someone’s been fixing it.

Chan’s mind races. Who would do this? And why?

As he begins inspecting the car, he notices a small white flap peaking out from the front-left wheel well. He's been in one too many fights to trust that pulling it out won't immediately blow him and the car up, but curiosity gets the better of him. Pulling a glove out of his backpack and creating a small blast shield from a nearby sheet of scrap metal, Chan takes a deep breath, positioning himself cautiously as he reaches out.

Carefully, he pulls the note free. Nothing explodes, nothing clicks ominously. The paper is crumpled and worn, as if it’s been shoved in the wheel well in a hurry. Chan straightens, exhaling the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and unfolds it with cautious fingers.

''Fixed her up. No charge. -M.'

Chan stares at the note, his mind racing. It still feels like a trap to him, but nothing about this situation makes sense. The repairs, the hidden note—it’s too deliberate to be a coincidence, yet not malicious enough to feel like a typical setup. Whoever M is, they didn’t just stumble upon his car. They knew exactly who it belonged to, and for some reason, they’d chosen to help. The fact that the repairs are real, tangible, and expertly done is a gesture of… what? Trust? A warning? He can’t decide.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. The car is functional—enough to get him back on the road, at least.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Chan checks the dashboard. The wiring looks as pristine as ever, the engine hums quietly when he turns the key, and though the car still bears the scars of its encounter with Tempest, it’s ready to move.

Pulling out of the dump, he glances into the rearview mirror, half-expecting someone to step out from the shadows and reveal themselves. But the place stays still, abandoned, as the setting sun casts long shadows over the heaps of twisted metal.

Between the note, the footage, and the repairs, he's got enough to work out who this mysterious mechanic is, and what they want.

It’s about 11 pm, two weeks after you finished fixing up Mr Scott’s car, that you hear the crash.

The sound is unmistakable – the sharp screech of something heavy colliding with metal, followed by the distinct echo of glass shattering. The garage rattles slightly from the impact, and you pause mid-wrench, heart immediately kicking into overdrive.

What the hell was that?

You set down the wrench gently, wiping your hands as you strain to listen for any other signs of disturbance. The city is loud, but the crash came from too close – maybe just outside the garage. You mind runs through a quick list of possibilities: a car accident? A break-in? Something more sinister?

Instinct kicks in, and you head toward the door cautiously, flipping off the lights in the main work area to stay hidden in the shadows.

As you edge closer to the garage door, you hear another sound—a low, metallic groan followed by the clank of something heavy being dragged. There’s movement outside, slow and deliberate. You risk a glance through the small window in the side door and immediately spot the source.

There, just outside the window, the sleek black car that you fixed up all those days ago sits awkwardly on the side of the road, the front end crumpled around a streetlamp. The driver’s side door is hanging off its hinges. Standing next to the wreckage is a figure – tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a long coat, their silhouette barely visible in the dim streetlight. They seem to be inspecting the damage, unfazed by the mess.

But there’s something off about the way they move, something too calm for someone who’s just been in a crash.

As the figure leans around the edge of the unhinged door, peering inside of the car, you realise that that’s because they are not the one who was in the crash.

Grabbing a heavier tool from the nearby workbench, you edge towards your door, heart pounding.

The figure straightens and, as if sensing your presence, slowly turns toward the garage. Even in the dim light, you can see their eyes – cold, calculating. The figure doesn’t move for a moment, just staring, and you can’t tell if they’re sizing you up or deciding whether you’re a threat.

Finally, the figure steps forward, their footsteps slow and deliberate as they close the distance to the garage door. You brace yourself, unsure if you’re about to get a question or a fight.

Then, you see something rustle from the corner of your eye. A blur, barely visible in the darkness, moves faster than you can register. One second, the mysterious figure is advancing towards the garage door, and the next, they're violently thrown back into the wreckage of the car. The sound of impact echoes through the night - metal crunching, glass shattering anew.

You blink, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to make sense of what just happened. From the shadows, another figure emerges, slightly hunched, moving with a combination of grace and exhaustion. The way they move—the fluidity of it—immediately gives them away. It’s him. The Red Comet.

He stumbles slightly, but regains his balance, turning toward the crumpled figure near the car. You can see the strain in his posture, the way his breathing is laboured. He’s injured.

The man in the long coat struggles to his feet, groaning as he wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” the figure sneers, pulling something from the inside of his coat. A gleam of silver flashes in the dim light.

Before you can react, the man lunges, moving with startling speed, the blade aimed straight for the superhero. You want to shout, to warn him, but it all happens too fast. The Red Comet dodges, just barely, the blade slicing through the fabric of his suit as he twists to the side. But even though he avoids a fatal blow, the movement causes him to stagger, his injuries slowing him down.

The mysterious figure presses the attack, slashing again and again with precision and fury. The Red Comet blocks and counters, but it’s clear he’s at a disadvantage. You grip the wrench tighter, your knuckles white, debating whether to rush in or stay hidden.

Before you can make your decision, the Red Comet manages to disarm the man with a swift kick, sending the blade clattering to the ground. The figure growls in frustration, throwing a wild punch, but the Red Comet catches his arm and twists, throwing him hard into the side of the car. There’s a sickening crunch as the man’s body slams into the metal, and he falls to the ground, unconscious.

For a moment there’s silence. The only sound is the superhero’s ragged breathing as he stands over the fallen figure. His shoulders heave, and you can tell that every movement is causing him pain.

Then, without warning, his knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground.

“Shit,” you mutter, your body moving before your mind has fully caught up. You drop the wrench and rush toward him, your pulse racing. He’s still conscious, but barely. Up close, you can see the gash across his side, blood seeping through the torn fabric of his suit.

“Hey, hey—stay with me,” you say, kneeling beside him, your voice low but urgent.

The Red Comet’s masked face tilts towards you, his breathing shallow as he tries to sit up. “I’m … fine,” he manages to rasp, though the wince that follows tells you otherwise.

“Yeah, sure. You look like you’re just peachy,” you mutter, glancing at the wreckage around you. “Come on, let’s get you inside before someone else shows up.”

He nods, clearly too exhausted to argue. With some effort, you manage to help him to his feet, guiding him toward the garage. He leans heavily on you, his weight almost too much to bear, but you grit your teeth and push forward. You’re not sure how much time you have before the figure wakes up—or if they’ll wake up at all—but right now, your focus is getting the superhero somewhere safe and outside of foreign eyes.

You heave him onto your makeshift cot, the one you use when you decide to stay in the garage overnight. He groans as he lies back, and you can see the toll the fight has taken on him now under the garage lights – bruises, cuts, and that deep slash across his side that’s still bleeding.

"I'm going to grab a first aid kit," you say, your tone more commanding now that the adrenaline is kicking in. "Don't move."

He doesn't seem to be in any state to do so anyway.

You grab the kit and hurry back, your hands surprisingly steady as you kneel beside him. "Alright, I'm going to have to cut the side of your shirt away." You say, looking up at the masked face for confirmation. But, nothing comes. Moving forward, you realise that he's completely out cold, his breathing shallower than it should be. You know you need to patch up the wound before he loses too much blood.

Taking care to avoid causing more harm, you gently cut away the fabric of his suit. The fabric peels back to reveal the deep gash along his side—angry and red, still oozing blood. Your heart pounds, but your hands remain steady. You’ve dealt with injuries before - though, usually your own.

Working quickly, you clean the wound, wincing as you realise how deep it really is. This isn’t good. The gash will need stitches, but there’s no time for that now. You press a gauze pad against the wound to stem the bleeding, your mind racing.

"Stay with me," you mutter under your breath, wrapping a bandage tightly around his torso to hold the gauze in place. "I’m not letting you die on my cot."

Once the wound is secure, you check his pulse—faint, but there. The man’s been through hell, and whatever fight he was in tonight clearly pushed him to the brink. You can’t help but wonder how often this happens. How many times has he barely made it out alive?

You glance up at his masked face, wondering who exactly is lying before you. There’s the urge to check, the man completely vulnerable to you, but you think better of it. What would be the point of knowing anyway? It would just bring you more trouble.

You sit back on your heels, a shaky sigh of disbelief exiting your body. For now, he seems stable, but you know he’ll need more help than you can provide tonight. In the morning, you’ll redress the wounds and take him over to a hospital, if he wants.

You grab two blankets from underneath your desk, draping one over the suited man. Dropping a spare pillow down on the floor beside him, you make sure that you’re close enough that you’ll wake up if his condition gets dramatically worse. The floor is cold and hard, but the exhaustion hits you as the adrenaline drains from your body, and you fall into a dreamless sleep, your mind still half-occupied with thoughts of the masked hero bleeding out in your garage.

It takes Chan a whole minute after waking up to work out where he is. All of his instincts tell him to run, to get out quickly and quietly before anyone finds him, but the pain in his torso when he squeaks even an inch is enough to keep him bedbound.

Touching his hand to the wound, he feels the soaked-through gauze. That’s going to need replacing.

His hands trail up, confused at the suffocating stuffiness that labours his face. He quickly notes the cause – his mask is still on. You didn’t take it off last night, and he’s suddenly very grateful for the stuffiness.

Twisting his head to the side, careful not to strain himself any more than necessary, he spots you.

You’re slumbering next to him, your back crooked at an awkward angle from sleeping on the floor. Oil and grease still stain your skin and shirt, the liquids mixing with a darker substance – his blood – on your hands and wrists.

Chan can barely recollect what happened last night. He remembers being chased down, and not knowing where to go. He remembers typing something in the navigation pad and your shop being the first thing to come up. He remembers getting stabbed, you helping him in here, and nothing more.

Letting out a small sigh, he can’t believe that he actually came here. It was a reckless move that not only relied on an unknown person’s charity, but also put you in danger. It had been stupid and, more than that, selfish.

Yet, he’d made the right call. Anyone else could have left him to bleed out on the sidewalk, shut up their doors and windows and ignored him entirely. But you’d helped him, patched him up, and given up your bed to allow him to rest.

Chan isn’t sure the last time someone else had done so much for him.

A low groan escapes his lips as he tries to adjust himself slightly, wincing from the sharp pain that shoots through his torso. He catches his breath, forcing himself to stay still, even though every fibre of his being wants to push through the pain and figure out what to do next.

"Alright, Chan, just move carefully," he mutters under his breath, trying to psych himself up. Gritting his teeth, he gently pulls himself into a sitting position, groaning as the movement aggravates his injury. Every breath feels like fire in his ribs.

Before he can do much else, you stir slightly, blinking groggily as you wake. You stretch your arms and rub your eyes, clearly disoriented. It takes you a second to remember where you are, and then your gaze locks onto Chan.

"You're awake," you mumble, pushing yourself off the floor with a grunt. "And sitting up? That’s ambitious."

Chan gives a half-hearted chuckle, though it turns into more of a pained exhale. "Yeah, well, I thought I’d try not to bleed all over your place anymore."

You shake your head, already reaching for the first aid kit on the nearby table. "You should’ve woken me up. That wound needs fresh bandages."

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he replies, feeling overwhelmed by your instinct to help. “You’ve done enough already.”

You pause, glancing at him as you grab the supplies. The look in your eyes makes him feel like a child again, shivering at the intensity of your gaze. “You must be my worst patient – the cars never try to leave in the middle of being fixed.”

Chan watches you work as you kneel beside him, carefully unwrapping the soaked gauze. Your movements are precise, steady, but there’s a certain gentleness there too. It strikes him how unphased you are by all of this. He shivers as your hands ghost over his obliques, careful not to irritate the damaged tissues.

As the gauze comes off, you let out a little hum of confusion, tilting your head. Chan looks down, and understands your surprise. The cut, which had been deep and angry last night, is now scarred and blistering, not fully healed but significantly better than it should be.

You pull back slightly, your brows furrowing in confusion. “I’m no doctor, but that’s not normal,” you murmur, eyes flicking between him and the nearly healed wound.

Chan shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. He’s always kept his abilities under wraps, never letting anyone else get close enough to notice the odd things that happen to his body – especially when he’s injured. But here you are, kneeling beside him, piecing things together faster than he’s ready for.

“Yeah … it’s … complicated,” he stutters. “I heal quickly. Doesn’t help much with the pain, though.”

You blink at him, clearly processing what you’re seeing. “So this is … normal for you?”

Chan shrugs, wincing as the motion pulls at his side. “Sort of. Part of the whole... superhero thing.”

Your eyes narrow a bit, but you don’t press him. Instead, you shake your head and return to reapplying fresh gauze. “Well, whatever’s going on, it’s saving me a lot of work,” you joke, though your voice is tinged with curiosity.

He lets out a low chuckle, though there’s still tension in his voice. “I guess so.”

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels and meet his gaze. “You really should rest more,” you say softly, the concern in your voice genuine. “Even if you heal fast, pushing yourself like this is ... well, it's a bad idea.”

Chan nods, knowing you’re right but unwilling to admit just how much he’s been pushing himself. “I’ll try,” he says, offering a half-smile.

“Good,” you reply, standing up and brushing the dust off your knees. “And when you’re ready, maybe you can tell me more about what’s going on."

He looks at you, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. The last thing he needs is to bring someone else into his mess, but after crashing (literally) on your doorstep and bleeding all over your floor, he supposes that he probably owes you some explanation.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can do that."

You seem satisfied, and start to walk back over to your desk, pulling out a rusty, old kettle and a bottle of long-life milk. After a moment, you notice him looking at you, and quirk an eyebrow. "Still awake?"

A small laugh reverberates through his chest as he feels himself being pulled back into the darkness of slumber.

By the time that the superhero reawakens, you’ve achieved a number of things. After making yourself a cup of very strong coffee, tidying up your sleeping nest, and checking that he’s still alive, you descended into a deep panic, and then you solved it.

The events of last night had been freaky, although it isn’t unusual for crashes or violence to populate your area. But something about the way that man had moved, the look in his eye, had put you on edge. And now, you have a banged-up superhero sleeping in your garage, who can apparently heal himself at an extraordinary rate. The whole situation feels like being dragged into something you don’t understand or have the ability to deal with.

The one thing you are certain of, however, is that you feel better for helping him.

The weariness in his voice, the untrusting flinch of his body – it all spoke to a man who knew loneliness as well as you did. And even if he could have survived without your help, there is a level of satisfaction in knowing that you’ve done something for someone else; someone who isn’t a crime boss or gang leader.

After deciding that you’d actually dragged yourself into this mess, and that you had to stick with your decision, you felt a level of calm.

You’d spent the morning repairing the Red Comet’s car for the second time, wincing every time you saw your previous alterations damaged by the impact of last night. The collision with the lamppost had been particularly harmful to the car, and you realise that you’re going to need access to the superhero’s technology to be able to have a chance at fixing the complex mechanisms fitted under the hood.

By midday, the Red Comet stirs again. For a moment, as he reorientates himself, you sit in comfortable silence, the noise of the city outside barely filtering in. It feels a little odd to have someone else here. Usually, the garage is your sanctuary – your place to escape everything and everyone. Yet, having him here, even in his battered state, doesn’t feel like an intrusion.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “I, uh … I guess I owe you an explanation.” His voice is rough, although less than it had been this morning, and it has a softer quality to it that you aren’t expecting.

You nod but keep quiet, letting him decide when to speak.

“I don’t normally ask for help,” he admits. “But I didn’t really have a choice last night.”

You watch him carefully. There’s something raw about him, something that feels more human than the stories you’ve heard. Right now, he’s not really a superhero – he’s a man, wounded, worn out, and trying to hold it all together.

“Well, you found the right place,” you reply, keeping your tone light. “I guess you found my note?”

His head snaps up, and although you can’t see his expression well through the mask, you think that he looks a little shocked. His gaze darts over to the car, now suspended in the garage, and back over to you.

“I did,” he nods, holding back from telling you too much.

When he doesn’t say any more, you sigh, wringing out your frustrations on a damp cloth. “Look, I know you probably just want to leave. I also know that I’m basically a stranger to you. So, I’m not going to force you to tell me more than you want to. But, some guarantee that this isn’t going to come down on my head would be appreciated.”

His head falls slightly at your words, a tired sigh echoing through the room. “I – I can’t guarantee that. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved at all, but now you are, and I can’t promise that nothing will happen.”

You feel your heart drop a little as your concerns are confirmed. You know that what he’s saying is correct, and that you’d expected it, but it still strikes fear through you to hear it put so plainly.

Before you can say anything further, the Red Comet pushes himself up from the bed, wobbling onto his feet. This pushes you a little too far.

“Nope. Stop. You’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but I’m not going to let you limp out of here and collapse two blocks down.” You grimace, your voice forceful and commanding.

He looks surprised that you’re stopping him. A moment passes between you, tension thick in the air, as you wonder if he’s going to push past you anyway. You know that he’s far stronger than you, even in his weakened state, and that he could leave any time he wants to. But he sits back down, a breath of relief releasing as he takes the weight off of his feet.

Another moment passes and he looks back over to the car. “It’s pretty bad, right?”

You nod. “About the same as you, I’d say.”

The superhero huffs a laugh, but the sound is strained and weak.

“Look, there’s a sink over there with some towels, and I can leave some water and food out for you to eat. I’m just going to go over to the shop to grab some extra supplies for my first aid kit, but no one will see if you want to take off the mask and get some air.” You explain, pulling a bottle of water out of the mini fridge next to your sink.

He seems apprehensive, until you pull up a chair. “You can sit on this – don’t strain that cut any more than you need.”

With that, you march out of the garage, grateful for the fresh air yourself. You’re not sure if he’ll take up your offer, or if, by the time you get back, he’ll be gone again. Either way, it’ll be his choice.

Two days later, your garage is still shut.

You’ve had to make far too many phone calls to concerned customers asking why the doors weren’t open when they’d driven by, and when you’d next be open. News of the crash had spread quickly around this part of town, and that has given you an easy cover for your current closure. The repairs needed after your shop front was damaged mixed with the emotional toll of the crash happening so close to you becomes the perfect excuse.

In reality, you and the Red Comet had been working on his car. After doing the basic repairs, the superhero had returned to his place and brought back the technology he used to supe up the vehicle, and you’d spiralled into mechanical heaven. The gadgets were like nothing you’d ever seen before, and your mind was spinning with ideas of other ways you could use them in your shop.

Every now and then, the Red Comet would slip some more details into the conversation, slowly letting you in on the knowledge of what is happening in the city, and the threats he’s currently trying to tide. But it is a slow process, and you are still more in the dark than in the light.

Nevertheless, you have to admit that you’ve enjoyed the company. Contrary to his first impression, the superhero is chatty, having opinions on everything from the condition of the city’s transportation infrastructure to the performance of the Southville Stormriders in the upcoming championship. As his body heals, his spirit follows in suit, becoming more lively with every conversation. He has the aura of a kid forced to grow up too quickly, but you can tell that whatever passion and zest for life got him into the superhero gig still exists within him.

And he’s funny, which shocked you at first. He makes you laugh in a way that you haven’t experienced since your father passed, and the joviality is much appreciated in contrast to the looming fear that someone’s out for you.

You still haven’t seen under the mask, although he came back in normal clothes – a white tank under a black jacket, dark jeans, and heavy boots. Today, his face has been hidden behind a balaclava and chunky vizor glasses.

You’re working on the undercarriage of his car, lying side by side beneath it. You hand him a wrench, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the small space between you. The work is a little tedious, but satisfying, especially with the challenge of integrating his advanced tech back into the framework. It’s the kind of hands-on talk you’ve always loved.

“Pass me the torque wrench?” His voice is muffled by the balaclava, but you can hear the concentration in his tone.

You hand it over, your fingers brushing lightly against his gloved hand. It’s the closest you’ve been to him since this whole thing started, and there’s an odd comfort in the proximity. You’ve spent more time together in the last few days than you have with anyone in the past year, and the easy companionship is something you didn’t realise you were missing.

"It’s getting warm under here," he mutters after a while, loosening the final bolt on the undercarriage.

You glance at him and nod. The garage has become a furnace with the afternoon sun bearing down on the metal roof. Sweat is starting to bead on your forehead, and you can only imagine how hot it must be for him with the extra layers.

He shifts beneath the car and pulls off his jacket, tossing it aside. Beneath, the white tank top clings to his toned arms and chest, the fabric stained with grease. His arms are littered with scars – some fresh, some old. You try to focus on the work, but it’s hard to ignore the way his muscles flex as he reaches for the next tool.

"So, how exactly does this tech work?" you ask, trying to distract yourself and also genuinely curious. "It’s like nothing I’ve seen before."

He chuckles, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "It’s… complicated. But I can walk you through it if you want. It’s mostly about energy efficiency—getting more out of less, that kind of thing."

You raise an eyebrow. "Sounds useful. Ever thought about putting this stuff on the market? You could make a fortune."

His smile falters for a second, and he glances away. "Not really. There’s too much risk. The wrong people get their hands on this tech, and it could be dangerous."

You nod, understanding the weight of what he’s saying. "Fair enough," you say, going back to the bolts. "I guess we’ll just have to make sure it stays in the right hands, then."

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he nods. "Yeah. We will."

For a while, the two of you work in comfortable silence, the steady rhythm of the tools and the soft hum of the city outside the garage filling the space. Every now and then, you share a joke or a story, the conversation easy and unhurried. You realize that, despite everything, this feels … normal.

The sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the garage. The temperature drops slightly, but the warmth of the day's work lingers in the air. You sit up, stretching your arms above your head, feeling the satisfying ache of a job well done.

"That should do it," you say, wiping your hands on a rag. "She’s ready to go."

You can see the balaclava shift as a grin appears on the superhero’s face. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.” There’s a sincerity to his voice that makes you feel like his words are about more than just the car.

“You probably could have,” you admit, with a teasing smile. You offer him a hand. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, and pulls himself to his feet. For a moment, as your hands connect through the gloves, you wonder what his life is like outside of this – what he does when he’s not saving the world or fighting villains. You wonder who it is behind that mask, and if he’s ever wanted a normal life, away from all of this.

But you don’t ask. You’re not sure you’re ready for those answers, if he would even be willing to give them. There’s something nice about the mystery – something comforting in not knowing everything.

"Drinks on me?" you offer, grabbing a couple of beers from the mini-fridge in the corner of the garage.

He hesitates for a second before nodding. "Yeah. That sounds good."

The two of you sit down, you on your makeshift bed and him on the hood of the car, facing opposite directions to allow him to drink comfortably. You take a sip of your beer, the cool liquid a welcome relief after the heat of the day. For a moment, everything feels still—quiet. Almost peaceful.

"Thanks for letting me lay low here," he says after a while, his voice sincere.

You have to stop yourself from glancing around at him, surprised at the weight in his tone. “Anytime. If you ever want to give up the superhero gig, I’d pay to have another set of hands around here.”

He chuckles softly, the low sound reverberating through you. “You wouldn’t want the business I’d bring.”

You shrug, a smile breaking across your face. “Eh, I’m not interested in what baggage you have. I’m really only about the money.”

A full, hearty laugh escapes him, and you feel warmed by the noise.

“You know,” you say, leaning back onto your hands, “I’ve always wondered what it’s like. Being out there, doing what you do.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you think you’ve overstepped. But then he sighs, the sound heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts.

“It’s complicated,” he finally says. “People think it’s all glory and heroics. A sort of celebrity lifestyle – free things, all the attention you could want, as friends or more. But most of the time it’s just … messy. You make decisions in the heat of the moment, and you hope you’re doing the right thing, but there’s always a cost, and sometimes, you don’t know if it was worth it until it’s too late.”

You feel your heartstrings tug at his answer. The idea of being a superhero always seems so black and white – good versus evil, right versus wrong. But you can see how every choice would have a consequence, and one that everyone else would have an opinion on. Given that, you admire that he’s stuck with it for so long.

“And I guess with your identity hidden you don’t get to reap those benefits very much.”

“Well…” He starts, and you can hear the grin in his voice. You let out a bark of laughter at the implication. “But actually, no, not really. Friends are a bit of a luxury when everyone you know is put in danger just by knowing you. The free doughnuts from Jupiter’s are pretty sweet though.”

“Ahh, a man with good taste,” you hum, nodding your head in agreement.

“I almost considered doing a sponsorship with them,” he chuckles.

“Do you ever wish you could just ... walk away from it all?” You ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“Sometimes,” he answers, not seeming bothered. “But it’s not that simple. Once you’re in, you’re in. There’s always something more, someone else who needs saving. And if I’m not there to stop it … who will be?”

You nod to yourself, understanding the weight of that responsibility even if you’ve never carried it yourself. “That’s a hell of a burden for one person to bear.”

A beat passes before he responds. “It’s the life I chose. Or maybe it chose me. Either way, it’s mine.”

You’re about to respond when a sharp pinging sound cuts through the quiet. You spin round, confused at the origin of the noise, and see the Red Comet pull out a burner phone from his pocket, glancing down at the screen. The balaclava scrunches up as something in his face ticks.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says, standing up and moving towards the car door with one quick motion.

You feel the weight of your aloneness before he’s even left, but you just say: “Okay, be safe.”

The superhero stalls for a second, and you can feel his gaze lingering on you through the mask. Then, he nods a quick goodbye, dashing into the car and slipping into the night.

Your words have been echoing in Chan’s head all week.

Well, that whole conversation has. You’d asked him if he’d walk away from it all, and he had almost said yes. You’d asked him what it was like to be him, and he’d almost asked you if you wanted to find out. And you’d offered him something – a job, an escape, companionship.

Those are the words he’s thought the most about: ‘I’m not interested in what baggage you have’.

You’d said it so casually, like it was just part of the joke, but he’d felt it in his soul. The uninhibited acceptance of everything he is and has, the knowledge that a life around him could never be one of safety – it didn’t seem to matter to you.

It is that simplicity that tugs at him the most. You didn’t want anything from him, didn’t expect him to be more than what he is. And for someone who has lived his life under the pressure of constant expectations, that is a gift he hadn’t realised he’s been longing for.

When he’d woken up after that fight at the chemical factory, the night that he left you, the first thing he’d done was reach for his phone. For once, it wasn’t to check on the city’s news feed or get updates from the fiend. He hadn’t texted his informants or checked in with any of the underground sources he kept tabs on. Instead, he’d messaged Seungkwan.

He’d texted him out of the blue—no preamble, no explanation—just a simple: Hey, you free to hang out this week? It had been too long since he’d allowed himself to do something normal, something that didn’t involve running across rooftops or dodging bullets.

Seungkwan had responded almost immediately, and they’d planned to meet up at a quiet café on the edge of town.

Now, here, with his friend, Chan finally lets himself relax. As Seungkwan launches into another exaggerated story about his latest antics, Chan doesn’t once think about putting on the mask.

Seungkwan is mid-sentence, hands flying animatedly through the air as he recounts yet another ridiculous moment from his week.

"...and then I swear, the cat somehow managed to lock me out of my own apartment. I'm standing there, in the hallway, keys in hand, and all I can think is, 'Is this really my life now?'"

Chan can’t help but laugh – the kind of laughter that feels good, deep, and unburdened. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this, the simple joy of sitting across from a friend, talking about nothing and everything all at once.

Seungkwan grins, leaning back in his chair. “See, this is why you need me in your life, Chan. To remind you that no matter how crazy things get, at least you’re not getting outsmarted by a house cat."

Chan shakes his head, still chuckling. “Maybe if you let it outside once in a while, it wouldn’t hate you so much.”

His friend gasps, an overexaggerated, sprawling exclamation. “If you want him to get hit by a car and die, just say so.” Seungkwan crosses his arms in front of his chest, pouting out his lips.

“At least then you’ll be able to get inside your house,” Chan replies, unable to keep the smile off of his face at the horrified look that crosses his friend’s features.

“You’re incorrigible,” Seungkwan sulks.

There is a moment of comfortable silence between them, the kind that only comes from years of friendship. Seungkwan’s face softens into something more serious, a tender look in his eye.

“You’ve been busy,” he says. “I haven’t seen you in, what? A month? Two?”

“Something like that,” Chan admits, leaning back in his chair. “Things have been hectic.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “Hectic? I’m guessing that’s code for ‘I’ve been running myself into the ground again’?”

Chan grimaces. Seungkwan has always been able to read him like a book, even when he himself wasn’t sure how to explain things.

“You could say that,” He finally replies, his voice quieter now.

Seungkwan leans forward, his expression softening. "You know, you don’t always have to be ‘on,’ right? It’s okay to take a break every now and then. Hell, you deserve it more than anyone I know."

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not that simple. There’s always something. And if I’m not there…"

"If you’re not there, the world won’t end," Seungkwan cuts in, his tone firm but kind. "You’re not a machine, Chan. You can’t keep going like this forever. At some point, you have to take care of yourself too."

Chan looks down at his hands, the weight of his friend’s words settling over him. It isn’t that he doesn’t know Seungkwan’s right—it’s that he doesn’t know how to stop. Being the Red Comet has become so much a part of who he is that the thought of walking away, even for a little while, feels impossible.

But then he thinks about you—about the quiet moments in your garage, the way you’d offered him something without asking for anything in return. And for the first time in a long time, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to find some balance.

“I met someone,” Chan blurts before he can stop himself.

Seungkwan’s eyebrows shoot up. "Oh? Now this is interesting."

“It’s not like that,” Chan says quickly, though he isn’t entirely sure what it is like. “It’s just … they’ve been helping me out. And they said something that’s been sticking with me.”

Seungkwan tilts his head, waiting for him to continue.

“They said they weren’t interested in my baggage,” Chan murmurs, almost bashful to say it too loudly. “Like it didn’t matter. Like I could just … be there without all the weight of everything else.”

Seungkwan leans back, crossing his arms. “Sounds like someone who just likes you for you.”

“Yeah,” Chan whispers, surprised by how much that realisation has hit him.

“And that scares the hell out of you, doesn’t it?” Seungkwan adds with a knowing smirk.

Chan can’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head. “I can’t drag anyone else into this – I feel bad enough that you know.”

Seungkwan’s smile softens. “Look, Chan, whoever this person is, they sound good for you. Don’t let that slip away because you’re too scared to let them in.”

He wants to push back, argue that you deserve better, it wouldn’t be safe, but the truth is that you’re already involved. That the shadow of the Red Comet had already eclipsed you and you’d embraced it. And that scares him more than anything else.

The garage is dim, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the tools and scattered car parts. The air smells of oil and metal, and Chan can hear the soft hum of the city outside – far enough away to feel distant but close enough that the noise never truly stops. He understands why you like this place so much.

Tonight, he’d come without the excuse of his car. He feels a little bit embarrassed that the thought of visiting you without a clear reason is making him so nervous, but if you suspected his real reason for being here, you didn’t let on.

Instead, he’s helping you with a different car, and you’re teaching him more basic repairs that he can do to his own vehicle when it inevitably gets scuffed up again. The implication is that then he’ll need to use your services less, but Chan’s far less interested in that.

You’re standing behind him, your hands resting over his, guiding him as he grips the wrench, showing him how to loosen a particularly stubborn bolt. “Here, let me show you. It’s all in the wrist.”

“Am I bad at this?” He asks, puzzled as the bolt doesn’t move despite the extra force he puts through it.

You chuckle, taking the wrench from him. “Bad? No. Just hopeless, I think.”

He laughs, watching you remove the rusted bolt, his gaze shifting between the tools in your hands and the subtle way your brow furrows when you’re focused.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up about how I’m using the wrong size socket.”

Chan huffs a soft laugh at the absurd suggestion that he knows more about mechanics than you. You seem to have a way with the tools, the cars, the entire garage, that makes it all look effortless. There’s a confidence in the way you move, a fluidity to how you handle even the most rusted, stubborn parts, and Chan finds himself mesmerized by it. “I’m not always lecturing you.”

“Oh, please. I’ve had more mechanical critiques from you than my old boss did.”

He grins, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t blow anything up.”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes playfully. “That sounds like a challenge.”

The low hum of the radio fills the quiet of the garage as you work. Suddenly, a voice crackles through the local news, catching your attention:

‘Another power outage struck the East Side last week, with authorities pointing to the recent attacks on the city’s power grid. Though no group has claimed responsibility, speculation points to the villain known as Tempest.’

Chan feels himself tightening a bolt with a little more force than necessary as the report continues:

‘Sources close to the investigation say the damage could take weeks to repair, and citizens are growing increasingly concerned about the city’s ability to handle these incidents. Vigilante Red Comet was spotted at the scene of the attack, but the damage seems to have eclipsed even his abilities.’

There’s a beat of silence as he grabs a wrench off of the bench, before setting it down with a sigh. “We should talk about it.”

You sit up, brushing your hands on your coveralls. “Tempest?” you reply, more softly now. He sits up too, his back against the car’s wheel, gaze distant.

“Yeah,” Chan replies, his voice dropping. “It’s getting worse. He’s not just causing chaos anymore. He’s targeting the city’s infrastructure. Power plans, grids, anything that’ll knock out a large portion of the city. The hit on the east side—it was a disaster. People are starting to panic.”

“Jesus. Why? What does he want?”

Chan runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face. “He’s … unstable. I think he just thrives on destruction. There’s no rhyme of reason with him. He’s got power, and he wants to show it. Or, at least, that’s how it’s always been with him. Recently, he’s felt more calculated, like there’s something new at play.”

You nod, your face thoughtful. “You think he’s working with someone else?”

“Maybe,” He shrugs. “I can think of a few people who would profit from issues with the city grid.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look like you’ve just had a realisation. Chan’s fingers tap the metal beside him, his adrenaline shooting up at the suggestion of new information. “So can I.” You say, slowly getting up from your seat on the floor.

“I have a few regulars that come by the store, less than clean people, if I’m being honest. They don’t tend to bother me much, but recently Mr Scott’s people have been coming around more than usual, and they were asking about you.”

Chan's eyes narrow at the mention of Mr Scott. The tension in his jaw is unmistakable, and his fingers curl into a fist by his side. "Scott’s people have been around here? Asking about me?" His voice is low, dangerous. He doesn’t like that you’re in the middle of this, that you’re even saying the name of a man he’s been trying to avoid for as long as he can remember.

You nod, your expression cautious. “Yeah, it was subtle at first. Just questions about who comes in, what work I’ve been doing lately, but the last time they came, they dropped your name. They didn’t ask directly, but it was clear they were fishing for information.”

Chan’s breath hitches. He pushes himself up from the ground, pacing slightly, his mind racing. “That’s not good. Scott’s been trying to get a foothold in the city’s underbelly for years, but if he’s working with Tempest…” He trails off, the weight of the implication hanging in the air.

“And you? Where do you fit into all this? Why are they after you?”

His head hangs back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. “I’m the only one standing between them and control. Tempest sees me as the only real threat to his chaos, and Scott... well, Scott doesn’t like people he can’t control. He’s offered deals, threatened me, tried to recruit me. But I’m too unpredictable for him.”

There’s a heaviness to his words that makes you pause. “So that’s it? They want you gone because you’re the last line of defence.”

He nods, eyes closed. “If I slip up, if I lose... the city falls apart.”

You let out a low whistle, trying to break the tension. “No pressure, then.”

Chan smiles faintly, but the weight of it is crushing him. “Yeah, no pressure.”

“You know,” you say, nudging his knee with your foot, “for a guy who spends his nights punching villains and saving the city, you’re pretty bad at explaining the whole ‘hero’ thing. No flashy speeches, no dramatic pauses. I’m almost disappointed.”

He snorts, feeling the pressure draining from his body, just slightly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get the ‘how to be a superhero’ handbook.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Clearly. Maybe I should write it for you. Chapter one: How to Not Get Stabbed.”

Chan chuckles, the sound rough but genuine, and the tension eases. Your teasing banter cuts through the weight of everything, pulling him back to the present, away from the looming threats of Tempest and Scott. He looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s something about the way you’re sitting there, so calm and grounded despite everything he’s just told you, that makes his heart skip a beat.

He’s always admired your strength, the way you handle yourself in situations that would break most people. But now, sitting here with you, there’s something more—something deeper that he’s been trying to ignore for too long. The way your eyes light up when you tease him, the subtle curve of your smile as you try to lighten the mood, even though you know how dangerous things have become.

His chest tightens, a sense of longing creeping in before he can stop it. God, how did I let it get this far? He’s been trying so hard to keep you at arm’s length, to convince himself that this was just a friendship, that you were just a part of his life he could protect from a distance. But sitting here with you now, he can’t deny it anymore. He feels something—something strong, something that terrifies him.

“You know,” you continue, leaning back and giving him a grin that makes his heart race, “I’m thinking of starting a new side hustle – PR for superheroes. I can make you look all mysterious and broody, like the city’s very own shadowy protector.”

He shakes his head, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. This is dangerous. Not the banter, not the situation with Scott or Tempest, but this—this closeness, this pull he feels toward you. He wants to reach out, to close the gap between you, to tell you what’s been gnawing at him for weeks. But the thought of dragging you deeper into his world stops him cold.

You have no idea how much danger you’re already in just by being near him. If Scott or Tempest found out how much you meant to him … the thought sends a wave of fear crashing over him. He can’t let that happen.

He feels you watching him, your smile fading slightly as you sense his inner turmoil. “Hey,” you say, your voice softer now, more serious. “You okay?”

Chan nods, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you don’t buy it. “You know, you can talk to me, right? You don’t always have to be the tough guy. I mean, I know you’ve got the whole hero complex thing going on, but I’m not going anywhere.”

He swallows hard, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. I’m not going anywhere. That’s what scares him. Because the more you stay, the more you get involved, the harder it’ll be to keep you safe.

You are halfway through reorganising your toolbox when you hear it – a heavy, deliberate knock on the garage door. There’s something about it, the measured calm, that instantly raises your hackles. You look around, and realise that the noise of your work and the bright lights above your head are dead giveaways that you’re still in the garage.

It’s not long before the knock comes again, and you get the sense that the third time won’t be so polite.

Swearing under your breath, you straighten up, trying to look as menacing as possible. You walk towards your door, not bothering to temper the sound of your footsteps. Your boots make a deliberate, echoing thud with each step as the tension in the room increases.

You yank the door open, not wanting to give whoever’s on the other side the satisfaction of forcing their way in. Two hulking figures fill the frame, their shadows stretching ominously into the garage. Their suits strain at the shoulders, muscles rippling beneath as they size you up. The one in front leans in slightly, his eyes cold and calculating.

“(Y/n),” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “We need to have a word.”

The sound of your name rolling off his tongue makes your stomach twist, but you keep your expression hard, unflinching. Crossing your arms, keeping your stance wide and shoulders square, you look up and down at the man. “Funny. I’m not in the business of chit-chat. What do you want?”

The response doesn’t seem to satisfy them, and the next thing you know, you’re being hoisted up, your arms and legs swinging around furiously as the two men move you inside the garage, placing you down your desk chair.

The edge of your chair digs into your back as they force you into the center of the room. For a moment, panic surges, your heart hammering in your chest. Your breaths come quick and shallow, but then you see him.

The man from the crash steps into the light, his coat swaying slightly with each step as his eyes bore into yours, and the sight of him makes your blood run cold. His smile is familiar, twisted with cruelty, and it sends a wave of nausea through you. The two goons stand like statues beside you, blocking any potential escape route. You force yourself to stay calm, but the icy grip of fear claws at your chest.

“It’s nice to see you again, (Y/n).” He says smoothly, his voice laced with mockery. “Didn’t think I’d be back so soon, but it seems you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something … unfortunate, and Mr Scott doesn’t like his pets to disobey his orders.” He stops just in front of you, towering over where you sit, pinned by his presence.

You grit your teeth, struggling to keep your emotions in check. Rage simmers beneath the surface, but your heart is still racing. “If you’ve come for more trouble, you’re going to regret it,” you spit out, your voice sharp despite the tremor you feel inside. You flick your gaze toward the two muscle-bound men, wondering how quickly you can move if this gets ugly.

The man in the coat laughs, a sound that chills you to the bone. “Oh, I think it’s you who’s going to regret it, sweetheart.” He leans in closer, his breath brushing against your cheek. “You’ve made some... interesting friends lately. Friends like the Red Comet. And that’s got Mr. Scott very curious. He doesn’t like being curious.”

Your stomach drops.

“I fix cars,” you say flatly, keeping your eyes trained in front of you. “Whoever walks through that door looking for a tune-up isn’t my business. Now unless you’ve got something that needs fixing, get out of my shop.”

The man straightens up, his smile fading as he gestures to the two goons. “Search the place.” They don’t hesitate, immediately scattering toward your workbench and tool racks, tearing through the space without any regard for your belongings.

You try to keep your breathing steady, but your mind races. If they find anything – any trace of the tech that linked you to the Red Comet – it could be the end for you.

“Stop!” you shout, jerking forward, but the goon behind you grabs your arm, yanking you back into the chair. Pain lances through your shoulder, and you twist against his grip, muscles straining, but he’s too strong.

“You’ve made this harder than it had to be,” the man in the coat says, stepping forward, his voice a mockery of sympathy. “But all we need are answers. Tell us what we want, and we’ll leave you in one piece.”

Your pulse races as you glance around, weighing your options. The tools are scattered across the floor, too far to reach easily. You know how to fight, but outnumbered three to one, it’s going to be a challenge. The man in the coat watches you closely, as if waiting for you to make a move.

The sound of metal clattering to the floor grabs everyone’s attention. One of the goons has knocked over a pile of parts, and in the chaos, you see your opening. With every ounce of strength left in you, you twist, wrenching yourself free. The adrenaline surges, your muscles burning as you lunge toward the nearest workbench, your fingers closing around the heavy wrench.

The sickening crack of metal meeting bone echoes through the garage as you swing the wrench at the goon’s head. He stumbles back, cursing in pain, but there’s no time to hesitate. Your breath is ragged, each gasp like fire in your lungs, and you scramble to your feet, racing toward the door.

But before you can make it, the second goon blocks your path. His fist swings toward you, and you barely duck in time, the force of the hit grazing your shoulder. The pain is sharp, but you ignore it, bringing the wrench up again and slamming it into his midsection. He doubles over with a grunt.

Before you can make it to the door, though, the man in the coat grabs you by the wrist, twisting your arm painfully behind your back.

“You should’ve stayed out of this,” he snarls, his voice dripping with venom. His grip tightens, and you bite back a cry as the pressure mounts, your muscles screaming in protest.

Just as you think he’s about to slam you into the ground, the door bursts open with a crash. In a blur of motion, the Red Comet sprints into the room, his fists a flurry of movement as he takes down the first goon in seconds.

His eyes lock onto yours, fury blazing behind his mask, and in a split second, he’s on the man in the coat. With a swift, brutal motion, he grabs him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. The impact reverberates through the garage, shaking the shelves as tools rattle.

“If you ever touch them again,” the Red Comet growls, his voice low and dangerous, “you won’t be walking out of here.”

The man’s smug expression falters, but before he can respond, the Red Comet knocks him out with a single blow, the thud of his body hitting the ground echoing in the now silent room.

You collapse against the nearest wall, your breath ragged, your muscles trembling from the exertion. The garage is still, the only sound the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. The Red Comet turns to you, concern replacing the fury that had been there just moments before.

“Are you okay?” His voice is filled with worry as he steps closer, his hands hovering over your shoulders like he’s afraid to touch you, afraid you might break.

You nod, still catching your breath, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “I’m fine,” you manage, though your voice is shaky.

He shakes his head. “This is my fault. I should have never come here.”

You reach out, resting your hand on his arm. The fabric is terse and warm, and you can feel that his muscles are still tense beneath it. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can handle myself.”

His jaw tightens for a moment, but he nods. “Still,” he says softly, “I’m sorry.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening as the weight of the situation settles between you.

The strained cough of one of the men is a quick reminder that the situation is yet to be over. You glance around, feeling panic building as you try to figure out what to do before they wake back up. “Do you have, like, protocol for this kind of thing?”

The Red Comet nods, his posture straightening as he seems to shift back into superhero mode. “Leave them with me.”

You hesitate, your eyes scanning the room again. The unconscious bodies of Mr. Scott’s men lay sprawled across the floor, and despite the superhero’s calm demeanour, the tension in the air still feels thick and suffocating. You want to argue, to insist that you stay and help clean up the mess. After all, this is your garage—they came here because of you.

But then you look over at him. His shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched, but he seems more confident and sure of himself.

“I’ll be back,” you say, your voice softer than you intended. “Fifteen minutes.”

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the gratitude there, mixed with something deeper—something unspoken. And as you turn to leave, your heart feels heavy with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

You step outside, closing the garage door behind you and leaning against it, trying to steady your breathing. Your mind is spinning, replaying the events of the last few minutes over and over.

Fifteen minutes pass like a blur, and when you finally open the door again, the men are gone. The garage looks almost untouched, only the scatter of a few tools out of place letting you know that the confrontation ever happened. And the Red Comet is standing there, his back to you, head bowed slightly as if weighed down by something.

“All okay?” You call softly, stepping inside. Your voice feels too loud against the stillness.

He doesn’t respond at first. The silence that follows feels thick, uncomfortable, as though it's hiding words he’s not ready to speak. Your heart pounds harder in the quiet. You move forward, feeling unsure, and reach out to him, grabbing his arm and guiding him to sit with you at the workbench. His surprise flickers for a moment, but he doesn’t resist your touch.

"I can’t keep doing this,” he finally breaks the silence, his voice sounding so broken that it hurts to hear. “I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t affect you. That being around me doesn’t put you in danger.”

Your breath catches. For a split second, doubt clouds your mind – am I making a mistake being involved in this?

But before the uncertainty can take hold, you push it away. You take his covered hand in yours. “I know what I’m getting into. I knew the risks when I fixed your car, and I know them now. And I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “It’s different now. They know about you, and they almost hurt you.”

The words hang in the air between you, an admittance of the truth that feels too heavy. A cold chill runs through you, the fear creeping in despite your resolve. But hearing the despair in his voice—the way it trembles with guilt—makes you push past your own fear. Is it dangerous? Yes. But leaving him, letting him deal with this burden alone, feels worse.

Reaching out, you gently lift his chin so that he’s forced to look at you. A small, determined smile forms on your lips. “Hey, you may have saved the day, but I had it covered. Don’t underestimate my skill with a wrench.”

A choked, sob-like laugh leaves him, and his shoulders crumple slightly, releasing the bundle of stress he’d been holding.

“Look,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re just going to have to accept that I’m involved now; there’s nothing stopping that. And I don’t want it to. You’re not getting rid of me even if you try.”

A beat passes, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. His posture is so still that you feel like you cannot move an inch either.

His hands are the first to move, slowly and a little shakily. When they reach the bottom of his mask, you realise what he’s trying to do.

In a flash, you pull your own hands back to cover your eyes, the instinct to respect his privacy taking over. “I’m sorry,” you blurt out, feeling awkward in the silence. “I didn’t mean for-”

“Don’t apologise,” His voice is softer now, more vulnerable. There’s a rawness you haven’t heard before, unfettered by material. You keep your hands over your eyes, and jolt slightly as you feel his own covering yours. His fingers wrap around delicately, and gently pull the cover away from you. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, hesitantly, you open your eyes, your heart thudding in your chest.

When you look up, he’s there—entirely unmasked, fully exposed. Your lips part, and you instinctively reach out, your fingertips ghosting over his jawline. He lets you, his skin warm beneath your touch.

He’s beautiful, each feature perfectly balanced in its own way. But there’s something deeper in his eyes, a mix of concern, fear, and vulnerability that pulls at you. You can’t look away, and yet, you feel your attention drawn towards his soft, full lips.

For a moment, you just stare, processing the weight of what he’s just done. He’s standing in front of you, fully exposed, fully himself, no longer hidden behind the persona of the Red Comet.

And then you smile, a euphoric beam that lights up your face. The corners of his mouth perks up in response, slowly exposing his teeth and gums, and you realise that you’ve uncovered his most beautiful feature.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, as if he’s afraid of what you might think now that you’ve seen him. “You’re too good for this, for all the danger that comes with me.”

You shake your head, your grip on his hand tightening as you refuse to look away from him. “That’s not for you to decide. I choose to be here, with you. And we’re going to figure it out. Together.”

His eyes search yours, and for the first time, your see something break in him – something deep and guarded that’s been locked away from far too long.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admits softly, his voice trembling. “I don’t think I could handle it.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his words, and without thinking, you pull him into a hug. At first, he stiffens, like he’s not sure how to respond, but then, slowly, he wraps his arms around you, holding on tightly as if you’re the lifeline he didn’t know he needed.

“You won’t lose me,” you whisper into his shoulder, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I’m right here.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The garage is quiet, the world outside seeming to fade away as the two of you sit there, holding onto each other in the dim light.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a softness in his eyes. “My name’s Chan. Lee Chan. I’d like you to know that, too.”

Your heart swells, and your head tilts forward. “Thank you for trusting me.” You say, hoping your sincerity is clear to him. “Chan.”

Hearing his name from your lips seems to soften his worry, bringing him a sense of calm. You both stay still, sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. The air between you feels charged with something unspoken. Your hand is still resting lightly on his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. His breathing hitches slightly. There’s a question in his eyes, a silent invitation.

Slowly, hesitantly, you close the distance between you. His breath mingles with yours, and just as your lips are about to meet, he pauses, as if giving you one last chance to pull away. But you don’t. You’re here, with him, and you want this.

When his lips finally press against yours, it’s soft at first, almost tentative, like he’s afraid of moving too fast. But then the kiss deepens, and all the tension, the fear, the vulnerability between you melts away. It’s as if everything you’ve both been holding back—the uncertainty, the emotions you couldn’t quite voice—comes rushing out in this one moment.

His hand moves to cup your face, pulling you closer as the kiss grows more urgent, more certain. You feel the warmth of his skin, the way his body moves against yours, and it’s like nothing else matters.

As you start to peel the suit from his body, careful to avoid touching the side he’d been stabbed, you reveal more and more of him. Your head swirls with thoughts of him – not just of the muscled body that now presses against yours, but of the vulnerability of the moment; the superhero allowing you to see all of him after so much hiding.

It makes you feel euphoric, being allowed a peak under the mask, knowing that he trusts you enough to let you.

As your own clothes are removed, you don’t feel any shyness. The tenderness of his reveal is enough to put you at ease, to want to give yourself to him.

He’s beautiful under your eyes, chest heaving as you wrap your legs over his, gently positioning yourself on top of him. The way your name falls from his lips, in the voice you know best of all, only makes you feel more eager to please him.

The movement of your bodies against each other is slow, subtle. It’s quiet, other than the breathy moans that escape you and him. It’s not the type of intimacy you’re used to – quick flings with rough strangers to satiate a need are completely different to the unhurried, deliberate push and pull between you.

It hits you part way through, as Chan’s hands flutter over your hips, that he must be holding back to not hurt you. A man with super strength, his grip the gentleness you’ve ever known. You wonder what it would be like to have him at full strength, pounding into you, another time. But, now, you’re addicted to the slow movements, the hesitant touches, and almost teasing way he’s dragging you both towards completion.

You fall flat onto him, your body twitching slightly with exhaustion as you finally reach the peak, unable to tear your eyes away from his face, scared that if you look away you’ll never see it again.

He’s panting beneath you, head thrown back in bliss, but he’s cradling your body, holding you up as you’re unable to do it yourself.

Here, curled up into his grasp, you feel the safest you’ve ever felt. You want to tell him as much, let him know how much you appreciate him, but you can’t say anymore, too fulfilled to do anything but let your eyes flicker shut.

The hum of the city has changed.

What once was the usual rhythm of car horns, distant chatter, and the thrum of daily life has been replaced by something more unsettling – a tension hanging in the air that you can feel in your bones. The streets seem quieter, but not in a peaceful way. It is the kind of quiet that came just before a storm. A charged silence.

You stand in the doorway of your garage, leaning against the frame, arms crossed as you take in the atmosphere of the Lower South Rim. Even in your rough corner of the city, people are moving differently. Heads down, quick steps, and nervous glances thrown over their shoulders. There are more empty storefronts than usual, their "closed" signs flipped down in the middle of the day.

The power cuts have been getting more frequent. A few seconds here and there at first, and then they started lasting longer—whole city blocks going dark for hours. You think back on what Chan said about Tempest, about his attacks on the power plants and grid, and wonder what the next step is.

You can hear the buzz of a TV playing from the diner across the street, the static of an emergency news broadcast cutting through the afternoon haze. The voice of the newscaster drifts through the open window, tired and strained.

‘...no official statement from the Mayor’s office yet, but sources say that tonight’s blackout could affect up to 40 percent of the city’s power grid...’

You can’t help but let out a slow breath, your eyes narrowing as you scan the horizon, the towering skyscrapers of downtown standing like sentinels in the distance. Even from here, you can feel the anxiety that’s creeping its way into the heart of the city. People are scared. And for good reason.

A flicker of movement catches your attention, and you glance down the street. Two men in heavy coats are standing outside the old hardware store, their eyes shifting nervously as they talk in low voices. Normally, you wouldn’t think twice about it, but something about their hurried conversation and the way they keep looking around sets off alarm bells in your head.

You strain to catch snippets of their conversation as they move closer to your side of the street.

"...another one tonight... Tempest, they say..."

"...power plant’s next... you hear about Brewer’s Quarter? That’s not just a coincidence..."

Your heart clenches at the mention of Tempest, and the knot in your stomach tightens.

The men glance your way, cutting their conversation short as they catch sight of you standing there. You raise your chin slightly, meeting their gaze, and they turn and disappear down an alley without another word.

For a second, you consider following them, but then you catch the low growl of an engine coming up the street. It’s a familiar sound—Chan’s car. The sleek, black frame pulls up in front of the garage, its polished exterior gleaming in the dull afternoon light.

His eyes meet yours as he gets out of he car, and you can see the tension in his shoulders, the faint lines of worry etched into his face.

“Another blackout,” you say, nodding toward the TV screen in the diner. “And it sounds like Tempest is involved.”

Chan’s gaze flickers toward the diner as he listens to the broadcast for a moment. Then he looks back at you, his voice low. “It’s worse than that. I think I’ve figured out what Tempest and Scott are planning.”

You frown, stepping aside so that he can follow you into the garage. The heavy steel door shuts behind him with a dull clang, sealing the two of you away from the restless streets outside. The familiar smell of oil wraps around you like a protective barrier, but even in here the tension of the city’s looming crisis feels suffocating.

“What’d you find out?” You ask, your voice low with concern as you monitor the stormy look on his face. Your hand stretches out, instinctively wanting to make him feel better, and you settle it on his shoulder, drawing small circles on the tense skin.

He rolls his neck, letting out a long sigh. “Tempest is targeting the main power plant. If he pulls this off, it’s not just going to be a few blackouts. The whole city will go dark. Emergency services, hospitals, everything will be offline.”

Your stomach drops. “He wants to take out the whole grid?”

Chan nods, his eyes hard. “And Scott’s working with him. He’s planning to seize control of the city once Tempest throws everything into disorder. They’ve been building towards this for weeks. Those smaller blackouts were just tests. Tonight’s the real deal.”

A chill runs down your spine as the weight of the situation sinks in. The whole city could be plunged into darkness – people trapped in hospitals, traffic systems down, everything coming to a halt. And in the chaos, Scott would swoop in, consolidating power and taking control while everyone else is scrambling to survive.

“How do we stop them?” You ask, your voice steadier than you feel.

Chan straightens up, his gaze snapping round to you. “Nuh-uh, there’s no ‘we’. I’m not letting you put yourself in danger.”

You feel a slight prickle of irritation that he doesn’t trust you enough to let you help, but its tempered as you realise that he just cares about you. But, he’s wrong, and you think he knows it. There’s no way that he’s going to be able to stop Tempest and Scott at the same time, and your engineering expertise is too useful in this situation for him to stick you at home.

“Chan,” you say, softly, watching him shiver as you say his name. “There’s no way that you can do this alone. Please, let me help.”

The air between you feels charged, as if the storm Tempest is brewing outside has somehow seeped into the garage, thickening the tension. Chan’s eyes flash with conflict, his body tensing further at your words. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he looks away, his gaze fixating on the far wall as if searching for the right words there.

“No,” he says, but his voice is softer than before, lacking the firm conviction you were expecting. “I can’t risk it.”

Your hand remains on his shoulder, your fingers still tracing soothing circles, but you can feel the tension rippling beneath his skin. He’s at war with himself, caught between wanting to protect you and knowing deep down that you’re right.

“Chan,” you say again, more firmly this time. His name feels like a thread that connects the two of you, tugging at something vulnerable and raw beneath his guarded exterior. And when his eyes finally meet yours, there’s a flicker of fear, not for the situation, but fear for you.

“You’re not a liability,” you continue, your voice gentle but steady. “You know I’m not. I can help with this. You need me.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his fingers tangling briefly in the strands. “It’s not that I don’t think you can help. I know you can. That’s what scares me.” His voice is strained, the words heavy with the weight of something unspoken. “If anything happens to you…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. You can see the battle playing out in his mind—the need to keep you safe warring with the reality of what’s at stake. He’s terrified of losing you, of dragging you into a world of danger that he’s never wanted for you.

And you have to decide for yourself too. The city’s fate hangs in the balance, and you can viscerally feel the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders. This isn’t something you’ve done before, you’re not superhuman like he is, and even if you have a good swing, you’re not a trained fighter.

But, as the fear about what will happen to you ripples between you, you feel your own fear for him fighting back, equally as strong. “If you go out there alone, you might not come back. And then what? What do you think that’ll do to me?” You step closer, your hand sliding down from his shoulder to his chest. His heart is pounding beneath your touch.

He freezes at your words, his breath catching. You watch as his defences start to crack, realising that everything he’s feeling about you, you’re mirroring straight back to him.

“I’m not asking you to put me in harm’s way,” you continue, your voice soft but insistent. “But we’re a team. We’ve been through enough together that you know I can handle myself. And you know I won’t sit by while the city falls apart.”

His eyes close briefly, as if he’s trying to block out the truth in your words.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re filled with a mix of longing and fear, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You mean too much to me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting it aloud makes it too real. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

Your breath hitches at the vulnerability in his voice, at the raw emotion that’s finally breaking through. The tension between you tightens, like a taut wire about to snap. The air feels electric, charged not just with the danger outside, but with the undeniable pull between the two of you.

You step even closer, your body now inches from his. “Then don’t push me away,” you murmur, your hand still resting over his heart. “Let me stand by your side, Chan. We’re stronger together.”

For a split second, you think he’s going to close the distance, to give in to the longing that’s been simmering beneath the surface. His gaze flickers down to your lips, his breath coming quicker as he leans in just a fraction.

But then, just as quickly, he pulls back, taking a step away from you. The sudden distance feels like a physical blow, and you can see the pain in his eyes as he forces himself to pull away.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice filled with resignation. “But we do this my way.”

Relief washes over you, but it’s tempered by the new distance between you.

Chan straightens up, his face set with grim determination. You watch him morph into superhero-mode, no longer the man you know. “We go to the plant. Tempest won’t go down easy, but he’s not the brains behind this. Scott’s pulling the strings. Tempest just wants to destroy—Scott wants control. If we can cut off their communication and disable whatever tech Scott’s got rigged at the plant, we might have a shot at stopping them both.”

You let out a slow breath. “And what do you want me to do?”

“I’ll need you to guide me through the plant while I handle Tempest.” Chan continues, his voice frighteningly calm.

You watch as he begins emptying out his backpack – things you don’t recognise but know are meant for the kind of fight that’s coming. His suit comes out next, and you realise that you shouldn’t go in there unprotected either.

As if having the same thought, he pulls out a set of spare clothes. They’re his, and they sit slightly too large on you, but they give you some protection and hide your identity.

He moves to the garage door, pushing it open to reveal the darkening city streets beyond. The sun is already starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the buildings.

"We’ve got maybe an hour before they hit the plant," Chan says, his voice low and urgent. "We need to get there before Scott’s men lock it down."

You follow him to the car, your heart pounding in your chest as you climb into the passenger seat. The engine roars to life, and within seconds, you’re speeding through the streets of the Lower South Rim. The city rushes by in a blur of neon lights and dark alleys, but all you can think about is what’s waiting for you at the power plant.

The power plant looms ahead, a dark silhouette against the evening sky. The hum of machinery grows louder as Chan and you approach, its rhythmic thrum pulsing through the ground beneath your feet. The towering smoke and tangled networks of high-voltage lines have Chan biting his lip in anticipation of what sort of damage Tempest could do in this place.

He stops the car just outside the perimeter fence, far enough away to avoid being spotted by the guards patrolling the gates. He cuts the engine, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant buzz of electricity and the faint whistle of the wind through the nearby trees.

“We go in quiet.” Chan says, turning towards you. He feels almost unable to meet your eyes, and is suddenly grateful that the mask means that you cannot see his. His voice sounds urgent, pleading, and all he wants to do is tell you to stay here. But, instead, he has to be content with urging you to stay safe. “Tempest will be inside by now, and Scott’s men will be guarding every entrance.”

You follow his lead, slipping out of the car and crouching low as you both move toward the fence. The power plant’s lights flicker sporadically, casting eerie shadows across the yard.

“Here,” he whispers, pointing to a section of the fence he’d scouted out earlier that day. “There’s a gap in the security feed by the northeast corner. We can slip through there without setting off the alarms.”

You nod, your eyes scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement.

Chan pulls out a small cutting tool from his belt and makes quick work of the chain-link, creating a narrow opening just wide enough for the two of you to slip through.

"Stay close," Chan whispers, pulling you to your feet as the two of you creep through the shadows toward one of the smaller side entrances.

The place is heavily guarded – more than he expected. Groups of armed men patrol the exterior, their faces hidden behind black masks, each carrying enough firepower to take out half the neighbourhood. He can count at least three groups circling the building, their movement precise and practiced.

"They’re serious," you murmur under your breath, ducking behind a stack of shipping crates as one of the patrols passes dangerously close.

"Scott doesn’t leave anything to chance," Chan replies, his eyes narrowed as he watches the guards move. "But we’ve got an advantage. They don’t know we’re coming."

He feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.

“Can we take them?” You ask, glancing over. He has to stifle a small laugh, taken off guard by your instinct to run right into the fray of it.

Pulling a small device from his pocket, he shows it to you. “We don’t have to. This will scramble their comms for a few minutes – just long enough for us to get inside without raising the alarm.”

He activates the device and tosses it towards the guard post. Within seconds, the guards’ radios crackle with static, and they begin frantically tapping at their earpieces, trying to regain contact with their base.

"Now," Chan whispers, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door.

You move quickly together, your footsteps silent against the concrete as you weave through the shadows. The guards are distracted, their attention focused on their malfunctioning radios, and you slip past them without a sound. It feels almost too easy, like he’s holding his breath, waiting for something to go wrong.

As you reach the door, Chan presses his hand against the electronic keypad, and the door clicks open with a soft hiss. You slip inside, the dimly lit hallway stretching out before you. The air inside the power plant is thick with the smell of metal and oil, the low hum of the generators reverberating through the walls. He wonders if it smells is at least a little comforting to you.

"This way," Chan says, nodding toward the far end of the corridor. "We need to reach the control room. If Scott’s got his tech set up, that’s where it’ll be." His eyes dart around the darkened hallway. The place feels like a maze—industrial pipes and steel beams crisscrossing overhead, the walls lined with electrical panels and junction boxes. Every corner feels like a potential ambush, every shadow a threat.

"How far to the control room?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Two floors up," Chan replies, glancing over his shoulder at you. "There’s a service elevator near the back. We can use it to bypass the main floors."

Just as you reach the service elevator, a crackling voice echoes through the plant’s PA system, sending a chill down Chan’s spine.

‘All units, be advised: intruders detected. Sweep the lower floors. Shoot on sight.’

Chan curses under his breath, his fingers hovering over the elevator button. "We don’t have time for subtle anymore," he mutters, pressing the button as the sound of footsteps and barking orders echo through the corridors behind you.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and you and Chan slip inside, the doors closing just as the first group of guards rounds the corner. He catches a glimpse of their rifles as they move past, their boots thudding against the concrete. He takes the moment to glance over at you, and although he knows you’ve seen the guards as well, you appear steady and calm.

The doors slide open with a soft hiss, and you step out into a narrow hallway, the control room just ahead. But before you can move, Chan grabs your arm, his eyes wide with urgency.

"Listen to me," he says, his voice low and serious. "Once we’re inside, things are going to get messy. I need you to stay close, and if things go south, you get out. No arguments. Just run."

You blink, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. "What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you in there alone."

Chan’s grip tightens slightly, his gaze locking with yours. "If something happens to me, you need to get out. Promise me."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stops you cold. He’s not asking. He’s telling you.

Swallowing hard, you nod. "Okay. I promise."

Chan lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "Good."

He releases your arm, and the two of you move toward the control room. The door is just ahead, the hum of machinery louder than ever as you approach.

With one final glance at Chan, you push the door open.

The massive door creaks open, revealing the control room – sprawling, cold, and sterile. Row upon row of screens flicker with data, tracking every part of the city’s power grid. You can see the central control panel at the far end, its flashing lights indicating the system's full capacity. If Tempest gets his way, the entire city will be plunged into chaos.

But there’s no time to appreciate the magnitude of it all.

Standing next to the control panel, you see Tempest for the first time. His eyes glow with a crackling blue energy that dances along his fingertips. His face is twisted in a cold, sinister smile as he watches the screens.

At the far end of the room, perched in front of one of the larger monitors, is Mr Scott. He’s leaning back in his chair, completely at ease, his sharp suit unwrinkled, as if this whole operation is just another day at the office. His eyes flicker toward you and Chan as you enter, a slow, calculated smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, well," Scott drawls, his voice oozing with smug confidence. "The city’s little hero, right on schedule. And you brought company. How quaint."

Tempest’s gaze snaps toward you, the crackling energy in his hands intensifying. His grin widens, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as the air around him grows charged with electricity.

"Red Comet," Tempest growls, his voice a low rumble of thunder. "I’ve been waiting for this."

Chan tenses beside you, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to explode. You can see the weight of the situation bearing down on him, the knowledge that every second counts. One wrong move, and Tempest will fry the entire plant.

But it’s Scott’s next words that make your blood run cold.

"I’m impressed, Red Comet," Scott continues, his voice smooth as silk. "Not many people would be brave—or foolish—enough to bring someone they care about into a situation like this."

His eyes flick toward you, and suddenly, you realize what’s happening. Scott knows. He’s figured out who you are, and worse, he’s figured out how much you mean to Chan.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. You can feel the weight of Chan’s gaze on you, the unspoken fear that he’s been trying to keep hidden now laid bare.

"Don’t listen to him," Chan whispers, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "He’s just trying to get in your head."

But Scott’s smile only widens, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee. "Oh, I don’t need to get in your head. I’ve already won. Tempest, if you’d be so kind…"

Tempest raises his hand, and in an instant, the air around you crackles with electricity. You can feel the charge building, the hair on your arms standing on end as the temperature in the room seems to spike. The power plant’s machinery groans in protest, the lights flickering as Tempest channels his energy into the room.

Chan reacts in a flash, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind one of the large control consoles just as a bolt of lightning crashes into the floor where you were standing. The air is filled with the smell of burning metal, and the ground shakes beneath you as Tempest unleashes another wave of energy, sending sparks flying.

"You okay?" Chan asks, his voice tight with worry as he crouches beside you, his back pressed against the console.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Yeah. I’m fine."

But there’s no time to catch your breath. The room is a war zone now—Tempest’s lightning bolts crackle through the air, shattering monitors and sending showers of sparks raining down around you. Scott’s men scramble for cover, their rifles raised, but they’re clearly outmatched by Tempest’s raw power.

Chan’s eyes scan the room, searching for an opening. " “We need to split them up,” he mutters, his eyes scanning the room. “I’ll keep Tempest busy. You get to the control panel and shut down the grid. That’ll cut his power supply.”

His body softens for a second, as if he’s realised something. “Please, be safe. I lo-”

A spike of panic riles your body, and you put your finger on his lips, shaking your head. “Not now. Afterwards.” You know what he’s doing, giving you one last goodbye in case something goes wrong, but you’re not going to let that happen.

With one last look, Chan stands, his body moving with a grace and fluidity that belies the tension in the air. "Tempest!" he shouts, drawing the villain’s attention away from the rest of the room.

Tempest’s head snaps toward him, his eyes narrowing as a cruel smile spreads across his face. "Running away already, hero?"

Chan doesn’t respond. Instead, he leaps into action, moving with lightning speed as he closes the distance between himself and Tempest. The two of them clash in a violent burst of energy, Chan’s fists moving in a blur as he dodges and weaves around Tempest’s attacks.

You watch in awe for a moment, until the pair crash out of the control room, leaving you alone with your task. And Mr Scott.

Ducking low, you sprint across the room, weaving between the shattered remains of monitors and control panels until you reach the central console. Your heart pounds as you reach the panel, your fingers trembling as you start scanning for the emergency shutoff switch.

The control panel is a mess—wires sparking, glass shattered—but you spot the emergency switch buried beneath a layer of debris. Just as your hand reaches for it, a shadow falls over you.

“Now, now,” a smooth, chilling voice says. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you turn to see Mr. Scott standing just a few feet away. His expression is cool and collected, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“Did you really think I’d let you shut down my operation so easily?” Scott steps closer, his presence suffocating as he corners you against the control panel. “You’ve been very helpful, of course, playing your little part. But I’m afraid your time’s up.”

“You’re wrong,” you say, your voice trembling slightly but defiant. “You can’t win this.”

Scott chuckles, a low, mocking sound. “Oh, I already have. Tempest is keeping your little hero occupied. You really think Chan can save the city and you?” He steps even closer, his eyes narrowing. “He’s going to have to choose. And I know what heroes always choose—they save the city, and they let the people they care about burn.”

Fear claws at your chest. Scott’s words are like poison, seeping into your mind. You know Chan, you trust him, but in this moment, Scott’s chilling logic feels too real. You glance at the control panel, your fingers brushing against the switch. If you could just reach it…

But Scott is faster. He lunges, grabbing your wrist in a crushing grip, and slams your hand down on the panel, pinning you in place. “You’re not going anywhere,” he sneers.

Panic surges through you. You try to struggle, but Scott’s hold is like iron, unyielding. Your mind races, heart pounding as you glance desperately toward the outside, but Chan is nowhere to be seen.

Scott’s grip tightens on your wrist, and he leans in close, his voice a cold whisper in your ear. “See? He can’t save you. He’s too busy fighting for his precious city. And you… well, you’re just collateral damage.”

You grit your teeth, anger rising in you as Scott’s taunts cut deep. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot something – a heavy metal pipe, half-buried under a pile of debris.

Without hesitation, you spit in Mr Scott’s face.

He staggers back slightly, a furious yell retching out of his mouth. It’s all you need. You lunge forward, loosening his grip on your wrist, and close your free hand around the cold metal. With all the strength you can muster, you swing the pipe up and slam it into Scott’s arm.

He curses, and you yank your hand free. You fall backwards, breathless and shaking, but you don’t hesitate. You dive for the emergency shutoff switch, slamming your hand down on it. The room plunges into darkness as the power grid shuts off, the hum of electricity fading into silence.

Chan barely has time to move before Tempest is on him, unleashing a bolt of lightning that crackles through the air with a deafening roar. The strike slams into Chan’s side, sending him flying across the room. He crashes into a metal column, the impact knowing the wind out of him.

Tempest strides forward, his eyes glowing an eerie blue as arcs of electricity pulse around him. His grin is wide, feral, and filled with malice.

Chan groans, pushing himself up on shaky arms, his muscles screaming in protest. The force of the lightning has left a sharp, burning pain radiating through his body, his skin tingling and raw from the electric blast. He staggers to his feet, trying to catch his breath, but there’s no time. Tempest’s next attack is already coming—a barrage of lightning bolts raining down from above.

Chan dives to the side, rolling behind the column as the floor where he stood moments ago explodes in a shower of sparks and shattered concrete. The heat from the lightning is intense, the air thick with the smell of ozone and scorched metal.

He grits his teeth, struggling to keep his focus. Tempest is stronger than ever, feeding off the power grid, the electricity in the room swirling around him like a living thing. Every movement is effortless, every attack precise and brutal. Chan’s every muscle aches, and he can feel the burn of his injuries starting to slow him down.

He knows he’s outmatched while Tempest is drawing power from the grid, but there’s no backing down now. The city’s fate—and yours—rests on him holding Tempest off long enough for you to shut down the power.

He darts out from cover, launching himself toward Tempest in a blur of movement. His fists connect with Tempest’s chest in a rapid series of strikes, each punch landing with a dull thud against the villain’s armour. But Tempest barely flinches, his body crackling with electricity, his smirk widening as he grabs Chan by the arm, sending a surge of lightning coursing through him.

Chan screams, his body convulsing in pain as the electricity sears through his nerves. His vision blurs, his muscles locking up as he struggles to break free. Tempest's grip tightens, his laughter booming like thunder as he watches Chan writhe in agony.

"Pathetic," Tempest sneers, throwing Chan across the room like a ragdoll. Chan crashes into a bank of machinery, the sharp edges biting into his back as he collapses to the ground. His chest heaves, his body shaking uncontrollably from the aftershocks of the lightning. Every nerve feels raw, every movement like fire.

For a moment, he can barely move. He hears Tempest’s footsteps approaching, the crackling energy growing louder with each step. Chan’s vision swims as he tries to push himself up, his limbs sluggish, the weight of the fight pressing down on him. Tempest looms over him, the villain’s eyes glowing brighter as he raises his hand, ready to deliver the final blow.

“You’re done, Comet,” Tempest growls. “Your city is done.”

Chan’s breath comes in ragged gasps, his mind racing. He’s out of options, out of strength. But then, through the haze of pain, he thinks of you. You’re trying to shut down the grid—buying him time, risking your life to stop Tempest. He can’t let you down. He can’t let you face this alone.

With a pained groan, Chan forces himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he stands. His body protests every movement, but he grits his teeth, pushing through the pain. He raises his fists, squaring his shoulders as he locks eyes with Tempest. “I’m not done yet,” he growls, his voice filled with defiance.

Tempest’s smile falters for a moment, irritation flashing across his face. “You should’ve stayed down,” he spits, raising both hands, lightning coiling around his arms in a deadly swirl.

The air hums with electric tension, and for a heartbeat, time seems to freeze. Chan braces himself for the incoming strike, every instinct screaming at him to dodge, to move, but his body is slow to respond, his muscles stiff from the earlier shocks. He knows he’s not fast enough. Not this time.

But just as Tempest unleashes the full force of his power, the room suddenly plunges into darkness. The lights flicker once, then die. The hum of electricity disappears, leaving only silence in its wake.

Tempest freezes, his hands still crackling with fading energy, but his powers falter—flickering like a dying flame. His eyes widen in shock as the realization hits him.

The power grid is down.

Chan feels the shift immediately. The oppressive weight of Tempest’s electric aura vanishes, the air stilling as the last crackle of lightning fizzles out. Tempest stumbles, his control over the electric currents slipping through his fingers.

Chan takes the opportunity. With Tempest momentarily weakened, he surges forward, his body moving on pure adrenaline. His fist connects with Tempest’s jaw in a brutal uppercut, sending the villain staggering back. Before Tempest can recover, Chan grabs him by the collar, pulling him close.

“This ends now,” Chan growls through gritted teeth.

Tempest’s eyes widen in fury, but without the power grid to fuel him, his strength is faltering. Chan slams him into the ground, pinning him with a knee to the chest. Tempest struggles, his hands sparking weakly with residual electricity, but it’s no use. The fight has been drained out of him.

From across the room, he hears your voice crackle through the earpiece. “I did it—the power’s down, but—Scott’s here! I need—”

Your voice cuts off suddenly, and Chan’s heart drops.

“Hold on,” he mutters, his grip tightening on Tempest’s collar. He delivers one final punch to the villain, knocking him out cold, before rising to his feet, every part of him screaming in pain. But there’s no time to rest. You’re in danger, and Scott is still out there.

Without hesitation, Chan takes off, sprinting through the now-darkened room, desperate to reach you before it’s too late.

Chan races through the maze of darkened corridors, his heart pounding in his chest, every step driving him closer to you. His breath is ragged, and every muscle in his body aches, but the thought of you alone, facing Scott, fuels him. He can’t let anything happen to you. Not after everything.

He rounds a corner and skids to a halt as he hears voices ahead—yours and Scott’s. The sound sends a chill down his spine, the urgency in your voice mixing with the low, taunting rumble of Scott’s.

“I told you,” Scott says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Your little boyfriend can’t save you. He’s too busy with Tempest to even know you’re in danger.”

Chan’s heart clenches at Scott’s words, and he presses himself against the wall, moving silently toward the source of the sound. He peers around the corner and his blood runs cold.

There you are, backed into a corner near the control panel, Scott towering over you with a cruel smile on his face. His fingers trace a small, menacing blade in his hand, the tip glinting in the dim emergency lights. You’re holding your own, standing tall despite the fear that’s clear in your eyes, but Chan can see the tension in your shoulders.

Chan's breath catches in his throat as he watches the scene unfold. His first instinct is to charge in, but something makes him hesitate, his heart pounding even harder. It's you—there’s something in the way you’re standing, the way your movements subtly inch you towards the metal pipe lying next to the control centre. You’re not just holding your own—you’re planning something.

“I’ve been in worse situations,” you say, your voice tight but steady, the words slipping through gritted teeth. “And you’re not nearly as intimidating as you think.”

Scott laughs, a low, cruel sound. He steps closer, the tip of the blade catching the dim light, and Chan tenses.

“I’m not looking to intimidate,” Scott sneers, “I’m just making a point. Once Tempest brings the city to its knees, people like you won’t have a place anymore. There won’t be anyone to run to. No heroes. No Red Comet to save you.”

You shift slightly, your gaze flickering to the corner of the room. Chan follows, and his heart skips a beat as he spots it – a small metal canister tucked away near the base of one of the computer systems.

“Shut up,” you snap, your voice filled with a fiery determination Chan has always admired in you. “You talk too much.”

Scott’s smirk falters for a second, and in that moment, you move. In one swift motion your hand snatches up the heavy pipe from the floor and, with all the strength you can muster, hurl it towards the canister of compressed air.

The wrench strikes the canister with a sharp clang, and for a heartbeat, nothing happens. Scott’s eyes widen, his smirk faltering as he processes what you’ve just done. Then, with a deafening whoosh, the canister bursts open, releasing a blast of compressed air with explosive force. The sudden eruption knocks over machinery, sending a wave of sparks into the air, and ignites a small fire as it hits an exposed electrical panel.

Chan darts in, fear spiking as the room plunges into chaos.

Scott stumbles back, his arrogant composure shattering as the explosion disorients him. He throws his arms up to shield his face from the heat and debris, his confident swagger replaced with pure instinctual panic.

"WHAT—" Scott shouts, but his words are drowned out by the roar of the flames licking at the side of the control panel, smoke curling into the air. The ground trembles beneath your feet as the machinery in the room jolts, sparking uncontrollably from the burst.

You dive forward, using the confusion to close the distance between you and Scott. He’s still reeling, eyes darting around the room in shock, trying to regain his bearings, but you’re faster. You slam your shoulder into him, knocking him off balance. His knife clatters to the floor as he stumbles, barely catching himself on the edge of a console.

“No more talking,” you grit out, grabbing a broken-off piece of equipment from the floor. You swing it with precision, striking Scott’s leg just below the knee. He cries out, collapsing to the floor in a heap, pain and fury etched across his face.

You step back, panting heavily, and spot Chan. He’s standing in the doorway, his chest heaving with exertion, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and relief. For a moment, the noise and confusion around you both seem to fade, leaving only the two of you. His gaze flickers from you to Scott lying on the floor, and then back to you. He can’t help but be overwhelmed with pride for you.

He rushes forward, dodging a sparking cable that snaps to the ground beside him. “Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice filled with barely contained urgency. His hands hover near your shoulders, wanting to touch, to check for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you breathe out, though your hands tremble. “I had it under control.”

Chan shakes his head, disbelief mingling with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I saw that.”

Before he can finish, a groan from the floor snaps both of your attention back to Scott, who is struggling to push himself up, his face contorted in pain. His eyes, wild with anger, lock onto you and Chan, but there’s a flicker of something else there—fear.

“You think this is over?” Scott spits, his voice hoarse and filled with venom. “Tempest is already—”

“-is already beaten.” Chan cuts in, his voice low and dangerous. He steps forward, his body tensed like a spring coiled up, waiting for a release. Scott’s arrogant demeanour falters. His eyes flicker between you and Chan, weighing his options, and for the first time, it’s clear—he knows he’s lost control.

Scott's face twists in frustration as he struggles to comprehend his downfall. His once smooth and confident façade now appears cracked, broken by the realization that his carefully orchestrated plan has failed.

"You’re finished," Chan growls, stepping closer, his presence looming over Scott like a shadow. "Tempest is down, and your men are scattered. It’s over."

Scott’s jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists as he scrambles to pull himself together, grasping for the last shred of control. "You don’t understand," he spits. "You might’ve stopped me here, but this city... it’s already rotting. You can’t save everyone, and when it crumbles, you’ll fall with it."

Chan’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t flinch. "Maybe. But not today."

With a final blow, Chan knocks him unconscious. The room falls silent except for the distant crackle of the damaged electronics and the faint hum of the emergency lights flickering on.

As Chan turns to face you, his features softened in the dim light, a sense of relief washes over both of you.

He steps closer, searching your eyes for any lingering fear or doubt. But instead, he only finds exhaustion and a shared understanding of what you’ve both just survived. His hand reaches out, cupping your cheek gently as his thumb brushes against your skin, wiping away the smudge of ash from the battle.

His breath hitches, the emotion of it all threatening to overwhelm him as you stare at each other. He takes a deep breath, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly, afraid to let go. You cling to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, a grounding rhythm to remind you that you’re both still here.

“I’m not letting you go,” Chan says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Not now, not ever.”

You smile, your heart swelling as you look into his eyes. “Good,” you whisper back. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, with the city still buzzing in the background, the chaos subsiding, and the weight of the battle falling away, Chan closes the gap between you, pulling his mask out of the way, and kisses you. It’s slow and deliberate, filled with the kind of tenderness that only comes from knowing that you’ve both found each other on the other side of something dark and dangerous.

And as you pull back, resting your forehead against his, he knows that whatever the future holds, you’ll face it together.

You look up at him, your eyes sparkling under the glowing light of the plant. A small, soft smile curves your lips, your face contorting as if you’ve remembered something important. “I love you.”

Chan’s entire body stutters at your words. His breath catches, and for a moment, he’s complete still, feeling like the world has stopped spinning around him.

“I love you,” you repeat, your voice quieter now, more certain. The words hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw, yet filled with a warmth that settles into every corner of the moment.

Chan exhales slowly, his grip on you tightening just a little, as if anchoring himself to the reality of what you’ve just said. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. He opens his mouth, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I love you too. And I don’t know how to do that without pulling you into this fight, but I know that I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel this.”

The world outside might be chaotic, and the battles ahead uncertain, but right here, in this moment, everything feels clear.

Chan pulls back slightly, looking down at you with a smile that’s equal parts relief and joy. “Whatever happens next, we’ve got this,” he says softly, his voice steady with conviction.

And you know, without a doubt, that he’s right.

153 notes · View notes

page-yerin · 4 months

Text

𝐋𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘. 강태현

sypnosis: you can’t sleep so your boyfriend comes over to help

genre(s): fluff

pairing: nonidol!kang taehyun x afab!reader

trigger warnings: profanity, (mentions of) insomnia

a/n: i wrote this for myself honestly LMAOO insomnia really loves messing with me these days

for my fellow insomniacs that stan taehyun<3

You toss around your bed for what seemed like the nth time, the mattress sheets shuffling under you. With a heavy sigh, you roll around to the small table on left side of the bed. Your fingers lightly tap on your phone screen, the brightness spreading and lighting up the whole room.

2 AM. Well.. shit.

You groan into your pillow, coming out as muffled grumbles. All you wanted was sleep, even one hour, but insomnia just had to bite you. Not even the lingering scent in your boyfriend’s clothes could help.

Tired—literally, and of no sleep—you grasp your phone. You pull it over to you, laying sideways on your pillow and pressing your boyfriend’s contact.

[y/nie] : taeee are u awake? can’t sleep ㅠㅠ

You knew he probably wasn’t, but it gave you some comfort to let him know you were awake. Although, you did feel guilty if your message wakes him up in the middle of the night.

You get up from the bed and manage to stumble downstairs, eyelids heavy and exhausted. You plop down onto the couch next to the front door with a deep exhale. You pick up the remote next to you, turning on the TV in front of you.

Just a few minutes into the video, the doorbell rings. Taehyun. You hastily shut off the TV and dash to the door, opening it.

Your boyfriend stands there, at your door, the street lights reflecting onto his skin in the dark of night. Taehyun scans you up and down, a gentle smile enveloping on his face. “You look really cute in my shirt.”

Your eyes widen, feeling heat rising to your cheeks and your stomach filling with butterflies. “Thanks..”

Taehyun slowly steps into your house, closing the door behind him. As soon as the door shuts, he snakes his arms around your waist and lowers his chin onto your shoulder.

“Were you on your phone before you went to sleep?” Taehyun murmurs into your ear as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck.

“Mhm..” You hum, feeling his lips press onto your collarbone. Taehyun pulls away to look at you, eyes softening.

“That’s why you can’t sleep, princess..” He scolds lightly. You nod sheepishly, letting your head fall to Taehyun’s chest.

You hear Taehyun sigh before sliding one arm to your upper back. He pulls his other arm away from you, moving to one side of you and crouching to slide his other arm under your thighs. He then lifts you up bridal style, making you letting out a small squeak.

You lean against his chest as Taehyun carries you upstairs, pushing the door of your bedroom open. He gently lays you onto your bed, going back to close the door. He returns shortly after and slips in next to you.

You shuffle towards him, laying your head on his chest. “Sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night..”

“It’s okay, love. I got up because I want you to be able to sleep.” Taehyun tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You look up at him and whisper, “Can you sing for me? It might help me sleep.”

Taehyun looks back down at you with a small smile, wrapping his arms around your torso. “Anything for you, princess.”

Your heart flutters at his endearing words, and warmth envelopes you as Taehyun holds you close. Your eyes shut as you listen to the sound of his heartbeat and his soft lullaby. Sleep once again welcomes you in open arms.

254 notes · View notes

madebycloud · 11 months

Text

Melting

wednesday addams x fem!reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you went trick or treating with your girlfriend. warnings/themes: fluff, soft!wednesday (ooc eheh), halloween, trick-or-treating, making out words: 1.8k

'Tis the witching season!

The whole neighborhood is in a festive mood, with ghouls and ghosts lurking around, kids dressed up as their favorite or the scariest characters.

Now, there's someone who couldn't care less about all the hoopla.

You know Wednesday doesn't like to be all sunshine and rainbows, but secretly, you've always wished she would let her guard down and have some fun.

“It's overrated,” she scoffs. But if there's one thing that can sway her, it's you.

The nostalgia. You missed those carefree days when your only worry was scoring as much candy as possible in one night. And now you have the perfect opportunity to go back to your child self and relive those memories.

“Pleeeeeeaaaaase Wednesday,” you whine, dropping to your knees and clasping your hands in front of her.

She doesn't bat an eye. She just continues to write, her fingers moving across the typewriter.

“Please baby, please love, please,” you try again, pulling out all the stops—cute silly nicknames, puppy dog eyes that you know she secretly adores. “It'll be super fun.”

Finally, she stops writing. She lifts her head and turns to face you. She pauses for a long moment, considering your plea. “Fine. But only on one condition,” she starts. “I know it's important to you—so I'll indulge your request. This is just a one-time thing. We won't be making this a habit.”

“Just... once?”

“Just once,” she repeats.

You think for a moment. “...okay.” You nod. “But I'll choose the costume.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Fine, no funny business. Let's make this quick and clean, understood?”

“Understood.” You grinned.

—

“Hey there, Mario!” you exclaim with an exaggerated Italian accent while waving your hands around, trying to mimic how he does it. “It's-a-me, Luigi, your lovable sidekick!”

“It's-a-me, Luigi? I don't know which I hate more—my ridiculous costume or your ridiculous sense of humor.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at the garish plumber's costume she was forced to wear. She even had to wear a fake mustache. “I can't believe I let you convince me to wear this ridiculous costume.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the daggers she was sending your way. “Don't worry, no one will recognize you as Wednesday with this get-up.” You winked, but she was having none of it. “Besides, this is just a 'one-time' thing, right?”

She groaned inwardly. “Just make sure you carry this, you have a stronger arm.” With a huff, she hands you the pumpkin. “After all, you're the one who suggested this fiasco, so the least you could do is carry the stupid thing.”

Her hand snaked around your wrist, her grip was so tight you could feel it even through your gloves.

You both made your way to Jericho, the streets were alive with kids in crazy costumes running around, laughing and shouting as they made their way to different houses. The streets are lined with jack-o'-lanterns and spider webs.

Suddenly, you spot a house that looks amazing. There are a few children waiting outside, excitedly chattering as they anticipate a chance to fill their buckets with candy.

“Let's try that one,” you say, pointing to the house. “They look like they're giving out some good treats.”

Wednesday just nods and crosses her arms, not seeming interested in going with you to get candies. “I'll just stay here,” she insists.

“Are you sure?” you ask, pausing to look at her for a moment.

She simply nods, waiting for you to get your candies. You give her a quick smile and head towards the house.

You ring the doorbell and wait for someone to answer. A woman with a warm smile opens the door.

“Trick or treat!” you say, holding your pumpkin out.

However, the woman looks at you with disdain. “Aren't you a little too old for this?”

The smile slips from your face as you realize what she means. But before you can say anything else, she closes the door in your face. You stand there, stunned, staring at the closed door.

That was rude.

You returned to Wednesday, your shoulders slumping as you held up your empty pumpkin.

She looks at you with an eyebrow raised, as if to ask what happened.

You scratch the back of your neck and frown. She could almost see the smoke coming out of your ears. “She... she said I was too old for this.”

You can tell she's angry at the way you were treated, and you secretly hope she doesn't plan on getting back at the woman for her rudeness. She can't believe the audacity of that woman, as if there's an age limit for having fun.

Still, you don't let the incident put a damper on the rest of your night.

“It's fine, there's still a lot of houses we can try again,” you say, grabbing her arms and looking around for another house to approach.

But people keep telling you that you're too old for Halloween and refuse to give you candy.

Wednesday senses your disappointment and starts coming up with elaborate plans to avenge the people who have denied you treats. She seems determined to make them pay for their deeds, yet you keep trying to convince her to just move on and keep searching for sweets.

Just as you were about to give up, you came across a house with the porch light off, but you could hear giggling coming from inside.

This time, Wednesday joins you in trick-or-treating.

Together, you knock on the door and a person in a ghost costume stands in the doorway, holding a bowl of candy.

“Trick or treat,” you say, holding out your pumpkin for a sweet.

Wednesday's stare serves as a warning to the person not to disappoint you or suffer the consequences.

The man hesitates before finally grabbing a handful of candy from the bowl and thrusting it into your pumpkin, his hands shaking with fear.

You thank them, and Wednesday gives you a smile as you walk away. “See? Things aren't so bad after all.”

Wednesday rolls her eyes. “Let's just keep going,” she says, before pushing you forward towards the next house.

—

You were walking back from trick-or-treating, your pumpkin filled to the brim with sweets and goodies.

“Let's go back,” Wednesday mumbled as she walked alongside you, still holding onto your hand. Her hand slipped into your biceps, yet she hardly even noticed.

You nod, prepared to return home. However, before you can leave, you hear a voice from behind you.

“Wednesday Addams?!” the boy says in shock, recognizing her beneath the Mario costume.

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” Wednesday muttered under her breath. She couldn't believe someone had recognized her in her stupid, ridiculous Mario costume. She could swear in her life that she's never felt so stupid.

You turned to see a boy dressed in a brightly colored insect costume, his antennae bobbing as he waved at both of you. “Hey Eugene!”

Wednesday narrows her eyes. “What are you doing here, Eugene?”

“I came to get some candy!” He replied eagerly, his eyes sparkling, but then his eyes widened. “Wait... is that really you... Wednesday?” he asks, taking a step forward.

Wednesday clenches her jaw and you stifle a laugh, amused by her reaction. You offer Eugene some candy from your pumpkin, and he excitedly accepts it, thanking you.

“Eugene, can you take a picture of us?” you request, handing him your phone.

Wednesday snapped her head in your direction, her eyebrows furrowed as she glared at you. She's just about lost it. She swore in her mind that she would never take a picture wearing this ridiculous costume.

You flung your arm around her and gave a peace sign as Eugene held up your phone. You chuckle and give Wednesday's waist a reassuring squeeze.

“Three, two...”

Wednesday knows she will be miserable. But she looked at your smile and realized that, despite her aversion to the costume, she didn't want to ruin your fun. So she reluctantly struck a peace sign, hoping that no one would recognize her under that ridiculous mustache.

“One!” the flash flickers, and the photo is captured.

She couldn't deny the warmth in her chest as she watched the picture saved to your phone.

—

You realized that your feet were starting to feel tired after walking so much. Eager to rest your tired legs, the two of you made your way over to a nearby bench, tucked away amidst the shadows of the trees.

Wednesday is now holding the pumpkin-shaped basket full of sweets while you gaze up at the stars in the sky. She eventually pulled out one of the candies and popped it into her mouth.

“Taste good?” You turn to look at her.

“Tastes like poison,” she teases before popping it into her mouth.

You can't help but stare at her lips. Why did her lips look like they were begging to be kissed?

“Do you want one?” Wednesday asks, seemingly reading your thoughts.

You were almost too stunned to speak, but a soft “yes” managed to escape your lips.

Small smile formed on her lips, as though she knew exactly what she was doing. She offered the candy before you swallowed it whole, savoring the sweetness on your tongue.

A glance at her lips and then back at her eyes told her everything she needed to know.

Before you knew it, Wednesday had leaned in to share the sweet with you, her lips soft and supple on yours, the taste of candy still lingering on your tongue.

When you finally pulled away, you were left weak in the knees and breathless.

Wednesday's lips part slightly, her breath brushing against your cheek. You lean in again, but she stops you with a gentle hand on your chest.

“One condition,” she whispers.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“I get to choose the costume next year.”

“We're going to trick or treat again next year?” you ask, grinning. “Fine,” you concede, “your choice of costume next year then.”

With Wednesday's permission granted, you lean in for another kiss, this time lingering even longer than before. Your lips lock together in a sensual dance.

But you pull away, teasing her. “Wait.”

“What now?”

“Well, I was thinking we could dress up as Remy and his human companion, Alfredo from Ratatouille.”

Wednesday's eyes narrow, clearly annoyed at your choice.

“Okay, I admit, that was a terrible idea, but what about SpongeBob and Patrick? or I can go as Squidward, and we can be rivals instead,” you suggest, desperate to find a costume she'll actually like.

She rolls her eyes, but you could already see the corner of her lips twitching up into a small smile. “You did not just suggest that.”

“Oh yes I did.”

“I'm not dressing up as a rat with a chef's hat next year, that's for sure. And you're not going to make me dress up as a sponge either.”

You smirk. “Maybe not, but I'll still find a way to make you dress up as something ridi—”

Before you finish your sentence, Wednesday's lips are on yours once more, drowning out your words. Her fingers glide down your jaw as she draws you in closer.

“That's it,” she whispers between kisses. “You're stuck with me now.”

And you wouldn't want it any other way.

note: me

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday imagine #wedneday addams imagines #wednesday series #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x you #jenna ortega x you #wednesday netflix #wednesday x you #wednesday x fem!reader #jenna x reader #reader insert #female reader

824 notes · View notes

thenickgirl · 5 months

Text

FWB!Matt HeadCanons

matt x fem!reader

disclaimer: this is all fictional, and based on my own conclusions.

warnings: not proofread, suggestive, cursing

a/n: hi, so um i can’t promise how good this will be lmao. i realized half way through that i can really only write for nick 😭

a/n: hiii again, this was a fun lil collab with @nickypooh, she posted a chris version on her account. you should go check it out! ❤️‍🔥

✭ you and matt weren’t best friends but you were sorta close, and it was no doubt you found one another very attractive.

✭ it started one drunken night after a mutual friend’s party, you and matt were dancing then one thing led to another. that was months ago.

✭ you both agreed to not catch feelings, just wanting to keep things physical.

✭ nick finds out after catching you two in bed one morning, but after cursing you both out, he lets it go.

✭ matt is definitely the jealous type, even though you both have made it very clear you’re just friends.

✭ he’s so possessive, he could care less that you’re not actually his girl.

✭ when he’s upset, he loves to take his frustration out on you, and you definitely don’t mind that.

✭ ther’s lots of 3 am “hey u up?” or “wyd?” texts

✭ he hates when you go on dates with other guys, he’ll always try to find a way to keep you from going. just to tick him off more, you would send him your outfit, and after only minutes later your doorbell is ringing.

“you really thought i was gonna let you go out with that fucking loser? hm? no one can fuck you as good as i can, princess.”

✭ at parties, he keeps a close eye on you, watching you dance with some random guy. next thing you know, you’re being pushed against a bedroom wall, his ringed hand snaking it’s way around your throat.

“i told you, stop fuckin playin’ with me, you’re mine and mine only.”

✭ on the nights when you’re not over at his place, he’s constantly texting you, asking for you to come over.

✭ he likes to act dominant, but it’s hard for him not to sub a little when it comes to you.

✭ when you snap him nudes, he’s rushing over to your place, before you know it you’re on all fours, asking him to fuck you harder.

✭ he likes to leave hickies/marks all over you, and watch you struggle to explain where they came from.

✭ even though nick and chris know what’s going on between the two of you, you keep it a secret from your other friends.

✭ this little arrangement seems to work out very well for the both of you.

🏷️: @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @guccifrog @luverboychris @freshloveforthefit @sturniolossss @mybelovednick @imsosillygoofylol @ghostking4m @orangelala @matty-bear @moonk1ss3d @certifiednatelover

#stromboli hc #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #mega matty #fwb!matt hc #a headcanon

339 notes · View notes

ks-dreams-fantasies · 1 year

Text

CLOSER | TRAVIS KELCE

a/n: Two stories in the same day ? Why not. Here's a little fluff about meeting Donna for the first time. Hope you like it 🥰

Warning: None

Words: 822

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

Anon: I have a Travis request where reader meet his parents/family.

CLOSER | TRAVIS KELCE

As the autumn leaves painted the town in shades of gold and crimson, you prepared for a significant moment in your relationship with Travis.

Tonight, you would meet his mother, Donna, a woman he held in the highest regard. The anticipation tingled in the air, mixing with the aroma of roasted vegetables and simmering sauce. You were at Travis’s place, preparing dinner for his mom.

With each slice of the knife and stir of the pot, your thoughts wandered to Travis's stories of his mother. She was his everything - the rock that steadied him through life's turbulent moments, and the guiding light that inspired him to reach for the stars. You wanted to make a good impression, not just for the sake of a dinner, but to show her that you understood and valued the woman who had shaped the incredible man you loved.

You felt hands snaked around your waist and a fresh but musky scent filled your nose, leaning in, Travis’s warmth enveloped you.

‘’Smells amazing baby’’ he said resting his head on top of yours.

You got interrupted as the doorbell chimed, your heart skipping a beat. Travis released his grip and got to the door, inviting his mom inside. There she stood, a warm smile on her face, exuding a kindness that seemed to radiate from her very being.

"Hello, dear. You must be the lovely Y/N" she said, extending her hand.

"Yes, it's so wonderful to finally meet you," You replied, feeling instantly at ease.

The evening unfolded seamlessly. You guys chatted about family, hobbies, and life in general. Her eyes sparkled with laughter as she shared stories of Travis and Jason's childhood antics.

"Oh, you should've seen him trying to ride that old bicycle!" she chuckled. "He was determined, but it took him a few tumbles to get the hang of it. And don’t even get me started about him wanting to play football and follow in his brother’s footsteps.’’

You couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the glimpse into his past, a past that had paved the way for your future together.

As you gathered around the table, the spread before you was a feast fit for a queen. The clinking of cutlery and glasses was accompanied by an easy camaraderie.

"Oh, the time he tried to make pancakes by himself! I came home to find flour all over the kitchen." Laughter filled the room as Travis sheepishly admitted to the pancake disaster.

"This meal is exquisite, dear. You're quite the chef."

"Thank you. I wanted to make a special dinner for our first meeting."

"That is very sweet of you. This lasagna is absolutely delicious," Donna exclaimed. "You must share the recipe with me!"

With a smile, you replied, "Of course! I'd be happy to." You looked over to your boyfriend seeing the genuine smile placed on his lips.

As dessert arrived, Travis's eyes met yours with a silent thank you. He had been nervous about this meeting, anxious for his mother's approval. Seeing her laugh and converse with you, he knew that she was just as pleased with you as he was.

After dessert, you retired to the living room, where the crackling fire cast a cozy glow.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" You asked Donna "A cup of tea sounds lovely, thank you."

Wrapped in the warmth of conversation, you felt a sense of belonging that went beyond mere introductions.

"So Y/N, tell me more about your work," she inquired, her eyes filled with genuine interest. She reminded you of your own mother.

You eagerly shared your passions, and she listened with an attentiveness that made you feel truly valued.

As the evening drew to a close, Travis walked his mother to the door, leaving you a moment of quiet reflection.

"Thank you for tonight," she said, her voice warm and genuine. "You make my son so happy, and that's all a mother could ever ask for."

Touched by her words, you smiled. "Thank you for raising such an incredible man. He means the world to me."

With a final hug, she left, leaving behind a newfound sense of connection and acceptance. You watched Travis as he returned, his smile radiant.

"Thank you for being amazing," he murmured, pulling you close. You wrapped your arms around his rib cage, hugging him tight. "Your mom is awesome, Trav. I can see where you get your warmth and kindness."

"She really liked you, and that means the world to me. I'm so lucky to have you in my life." He said kissing the top of your head before leading you to the backyard.

That night, under a canopy of stars, you sat on the porch swing, wrapped in blankets, hands entwined. As the cool breeze danced around you, you couldn't help but feel immense gratitude for the evening that had brought you and Travis a little closer.

Taglist : @kkrenae @spencerreidisbootiful @nabiiturner @ilove-tswizzle @legit9thlunaticwarrior @evernova @kelcemenow @bellstwd @my-regrets @green-lxght

#travis kelce #travis kelce fic #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce nfl #travis kelce x reader #kelce x reader #nfl fic #nfl imagine #travis x reader

449 notes · View notes

onehundredflamingos · 8 months

Text

13 / street / 344 words

@jegulus-microfic

When Regulus saw the moving truck across the street, he wasn’t all that interested in who the new neighbor would be. His entire neighborhood was being taken over by families with small children, and while he enjoyed watching them all ride their bikes past his house in the evenings, he didn’t actually care to meet them all.

The new neighbor did, in fact, have a child, but he was clearly a single parent.

Every single day, the little boy would ask to cross the street to Regulus’ house. Every day, he would look for dandelions in Regulus’ yard as if he didn’t have his own lawn. Every day, he would search for little holes under the foundation to see if he could find lizards or garden snakes.

And every day, Regulus would sit by the open window and listen to him hunt, watching his — quite frankly — beautiful father trail behind him.

“Dad, do I have to look for lizards today?” The little boy sat down in Regulus’ walkway, hot and defeated.

“I thought you liked looking for lizards, Harry,” the dad replied quickly.

Harry shook his head. “You said you wanted to see if the pretty neighbor was home.”

Regulus choked on his drink, not sure if he should laugh at the brashness of the boy or blush at the brashness of his father.

“Okay, time to go,” the dad said, urgently tugging Harry up by his upper arm. Harry stood up on his own, but instead of walking back to his own house, he ran to Regulus’ front door, pressing the doorbell over and over while his dad tried to shrink in on himself.

Regulus pulled open the door, laughing. He looked down at Harry before letting his gaze move back up to find his father’s.

“Would you like to come in, uh…”

“James,” the dad supplied for him.

“James,” Regulus repeated. “I’m Regulus,” he added, stepping out of the way for his new neighbors to come inside.

“Finally,” Harry bemoaned, walking into the house and settling down onto the couch.

Regulus couldn’t help but agree.

#jegulus #james x regulus #jegulus microfic #starchaser #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #James raise Harry #jegulus raises Harry #domestic jegulus #jegulus neighbors

373 notes · View notes

your-averagewriter · 1 year

Note

Can you please write a steamy make out scene with Eggsy Unwin x fem!reader? Tysmm

Summary: Eggsy comes back early from a mission and neither of them are wasting any time together.

Word count: 1.0k

Warnings: Kissing, making out, mention of nakedness? steamy but not smut, suggestiveness.

My eyes struggle to focus on the TV screen in front of me, some movie playing but I couldn’t tell you which, I stopped watching a while ago, just thinking about when Eggsy is gonna come home. He’s been gone a few weeks now on some sort of mission that neither of us know when it’s gonna end, could be tomorrow or it could be another week.

I nearly drift off to sleep, my head perfectly resting against the pillow of the sofa as I watch the characters on the screen as they run around before the doorbell rings.

Sighing, I pull myself up off the sofa, wondering who it could be at this time, it’s not like I ordered any food or a package. I drag myself through the house, before placing my hand on the handle of the door, opening it, tiredly rubbing my eyes.

“Hello?” I ask tiredly, looking at the person at the door and seeing Eggsy standing there with a smile.

“Hey, darlin’.” He smiles brightly.

“Eggsy, you’re back!” I say, all signs of tiredness leaving my eyes as I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to my level and into a hug.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” He asks, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me up and placing a kiss to my cheek.

“No, I was just watching a movie.” I dismiss with an excited smile.

“What movie were you watching?” He asks and I roll my eyes.

“It doesn’t matter! You’re here now, I can’t believe you’re back.” I say quickly. “You should’ve told me, I would’ve dressed up or made dinner or something.” I smile, pressing my lips against his, pulling him closer to me and I can feel him smiling against my lips.

“You don’t need to dress up for me, love.” He reassures after pulling away with a grin. “I love you no matter what you wear, I especially love these PJs.” He says, smirking as he thumbs the fabric of my pajama shorts.

“Well, you don’t look too bad in a suit either.” I smile playfully, my hands pressed resting on his chest, playing with the lapel of his suit.

He leans down, placing his lips just in front of my ear. “You know, I think we’d both look better without them.” He whispers and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You sure? You look really good in a suit.” I tease.

“Oh I’m sure, darlin’.” He says with a smug grin before leaning back down, towards me, pressing his lips against mine, this time his hands are on my waist as my arms snake around his neck, both trying to pull the other impossibly closer.

After a few seconds, he nips at my lips but as my eyes flutter open I remember his glasses and pull back with a small smile.

Slowly, I reach up and carefully take off his spy glasses as he looks at me with an amused yet confused expression as I chuckle.

“I don’t want your little spy friends watching us.” I chuckle as I place them on the counter.

“I think I turned ‘em off.” He says and picks them up to check, putting them back on again for a moment. “Merlin?” He asks, looking off to the side.

“Aye, still here mate.” He says through the glasses, I can only hear because I’m so close.

“I’m switching off.” He says, pressing a button on his glasses.

“Enjoy yourself, lad.” I hear him chuckle through the glasses before they switch off.

“You should be more careful or next time we’ll have spectators.” I chuckle.

“Would that be so bad?” He grins, a playful glint in his eyes so I hit him gently as a joke.

“Yes.” I say like it’s obvious and he just laughs. “Now hurry up and kiss me.” I smile, looking up at him.

“Whatever m’lady wants, m’lady gets.” He jokes with a charming smile before leaning in and kissing me again, the warmth of his lips a welcomed feeling as they push against mine in a delightful harmony.

His hands find their place on the small of my back, pulling me closer with soft but dedicated movements. My hands move to the base of his head fiddling with the strands of his hair, teasing the gel out, revealing the small curls. Threading my finger through his hair, I tug gently on the brown strands, pulling him closer, forcing his lips against mine.

His tongue swipes against my bottom lip as he pushes me backwards against the wall of the hallway. The impact causes me to gasp, allowing his tongue to slip past my lips and mingle with my own.

His hands move to my hips and I wouldn’t be surprised if his grip leaves marks I’ll find tomorrow.

He hums against my lips before pulling away breathless, needing to catch his breath and I’m in no better state.

His cheeks are dusted pink despite his confident demeanor, strands of hair falling in front of his face, covering his eyes as he reaches out to fiddle with my top, his fingers quickly trying to undo the buttons.

“Let’s get this off.” He smirks, undoing the buttons, quickly pulling open my shirt, leaving it resting on my shoulder, covering only my back as his eyes trace over my chest. “You’re such a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” He asks with a prominent smirk, his eyes raking over my body despite it not being the first time he’s seen me naked.

Feeling my cheeks heat up at the attention and staring I quickly move my hands to his suit, gripping onto it and pulling it off his shoulder and throwing it onto the floor.

“Thought this was a little unfair.” I mumble, undoing the buttons of his shirt hastily and he certainly doesn’t complain.

“I agree, the less clothes the better.” He grins as I pull open his shirt, pressing my lips against his feverishly, my hands explore the lines of his torso, along his chest as I trace over his body.

“So handsome.” I mumble between breaths.

Pressing his lips against mine, I feel his hands run down the sides of my chest, thumb rubbing small circles on the soft skin.

“God, I missed you.” He whispers against my lips.

“Missed you too. Missed this.” I mumble, wanting to be close to him as long as possible.

AN: I've got a lot of requests at the moment so if you've requested something and I haven't written it yet I just haven't gotten to it. It's been a busy couple of weeks so just bear with me :)

I hope you enjoyed reading!

421 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 4 months

Text

in plain sight, chapter ii

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader | Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Word Count: 9.7k (idk what happened there)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Tommy invites you over to dinner and you meet a man you thought you'd never see again.

Notes: I know that no one updates stories as slowly as I do, considering I posted the first chapter all the way back in February. But this fic is on my mind constantly, and the one thing I'm always thinking about is Tess. So I hope I did her justice in this chapter - at least Dani @alexturner thinks so 🤭 and no spoilers, but the next chapter is going to be wild, so stick around ...

[Chapter I] [Masterlist] [Chapter III]

***

“When will you be back?”

The question makes you roll your eyes. “I don’t know,” you answer with a sigh. “He’s making dinner … I don’t know what he has planned.”

Your sister glances at the tidy front lawn, the grass neatly cut and dark green in the evening light, and beyond it at the bungalow with its cream-colored façade and dark gray roof. Behind the windows, light is burning, but you don’t see any movement.

“If you’re going to be later than ten, don’t count on me to pick you up.”

“I’m sure Tommy will drive me,” you reassure her. Those logistics aren’t even on your mind – you’re not counting on going back home tonight.

“Well, have fun,” your sister says, the look on her face telling you she thinks you’ll have anything but.

“Thanks,” you reply, checking your makeup in the tiny mirror in the sun visor before climbing out of the car.

Your high heels clack loudly against the driveway as you make your way past Tommy’s red pickup and a black one that probably belongs to his brother up to the front door. You’re very aware of your sister’s gaze on you – at least she didn’t comment on your outfit this time, but you know she wanted to. The dress you’re wearing is longer than the one you had on the last time you met Tommy, but it’s still tight, even though the skirt is slightly flared. You went for an innocent, floral pattern, hoping it would keep your sister from commenting, and it did. Still, you were anxious the whole drive that she would turn the car around and make you get changed.

Before you ring Tommy’s doorbell, you turn around and wave at your sister, a broad smile on your face. The last thing you need is for her to see Tommy sticking his tongue down your throat because you wouldn’t hear the end of it. But she’s set on staying until you’re safely inside. With a small sigh, you ring the doorbell and await your fate.

“Wow,” is the first thing Tommy says when he opens the door. He’s wearing jeans and a checkered shirt, a big belt buckle with a snake on it, and he’s holding a dishtowel in one hand. As soon as he’s standing in front of you, nothing else matters. “You’re …,” you see him swallow hard. “You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re very –,” you start, but he interrupts you by grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. As soon as the door closes behind you, he presses you up against it and claims your mouth like a starved man. You’re dimly aware of a car speeding off.

It’s so easy to get lost in him for a while. One of your hands finds his chest, the other the back of his head. This is such a new experience for you, that things between the two of you are never awkward. There is no, “Hi”, no, “How have you been?”, no hesitation as you’re trying to figure out if Tommy missed you as much as you missed him. Every single time you see him it feels like a lightning strike, and every single time he sees you he treats you like you’re the most important person in his life. It takes some getting used to that this summer fling feels like the most grown-up relationship you’ve ever had.

“I missed you too,” you tease once he lets go of you, and you watch a flush creep onto his cheeks.

Tommy takes your hand and leads you toward the kitchen. It’s only then that you notice the smell of a charcoal grill. “Do you want somethin’ to drink?” he asks you. “Beer? Wine? Water? Juice? I have some sodas too.”

You laugh. “I’ll have a beer,” you answer, then kiss his cheek. “Don’t be so nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he protests with a huff but hides his face behind the refrigerator door.

You walk to the kitchen window and glance outside at the tidy backyard framed by a low, brown picket fence. There’s an unlit firepit in one corner, a smoking charcoal grill in the other, and in the middle there’s a table, already set for four people. You thought you’d have Tommy all to yourself tonight.

“My brother Joel is havin’ dinner with us,” Tommy says, handing you an ice-cold beer bottle. “He’s bringin’ his girlfriend Tess along. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” you answer with a shake of your head, but the truth is you do. Well, some warning would have been nice, at least. Maybe you wouldn’t have worn a dress that displays quite so much of your back. Maybe you would have worn more sensible shoes. Maybe you would have told your sister to pick you up at ten. And maybe you wouldn’t have counted on a romantic dinner followed by mind-blowing sex.

“Joel’s older than you, right?” you ask, swallowing your disappointment.

“That’s right.” Tommy laughs. “Don’t call him older to his face though.” He lowers his voice. “I’m not older, I’m more mature.”

Just like that your disappointment vanishes into thin air. “It has to be quite a few years. I don’t remember him from high school.”

Tommy takes a swig from a half empty beer bottle on the counter. “That’s because he graduated before I started. He’s five years older.”

You nod, quickly doing the math in your head. He has to be almost thirty then. “And you work together?” you ask next, but the last two words get drowned out by the sound of an engine growling like a pack of wolves.

“That’s them!” Tommy quickly empties his beer bottle. “Let me check on dinner real quick.”

You stand there, watching him hurry off into the backyard. Should you follow? Should you pretend to be busy in the kitchen? Does he expect you to greet Joel and his girlfriend (Tina, was it?) on your own? In the end, you find yourself walking back toward the living room, straightening your dress, tightly clutching your beer bottle. Meeting Tommy’s big brother … it sounds so official, like you’re taking the next step in this relationship.

Outside the living room window, a motorbike has pulled up in the driveway. It’s big and black and chrome, long enough for two people to sit behind each other, loud enough to alert the whole neighborhood. A man and a woman sit astride it, he in front, she holding onto him. They’re both wearing dark leather jackets and dark helmets, and big heavy boots, and you never felt so overdressed and like a fish out of water. They’re going to take one look at you and think you’re a silly little girl.

No! You straighten your back. This goes both ways. They probably want to make a good first impression just as much as you want to.

The woman takes off her helmet first and undoes her low ponytail that kept her long, auburn hair out of her face during the drive. She’s … you wouldn’t call her “pretty” but she’s stunning in a way that makes your mouth go dry. When she runs her fingers through her hair and laughs at something Joel says you wish you could just disappear. No matter what you do, you could never compete with someone like her. But when Joel takes off his helmet you know wishing you could disappear won’t be enough. You’ll have to find a way to actually do it. Because you know this man, there’s no doubt about that. You could never forget those eyes and the way his gaze pierced into yours while he was fucking a woman you couldn’t see. This is going to be the worst night of your life.

Joel unzips his jacket, exposing a tight, white shirt underneath it, while his girlfriend waves to a neighbor on the opposite side of the street. Then she holds out her hand for Joel to take and they walk toward the front door; she’s chatting away while he watches her, a neutral expression on his face.

It’s like that one time you were eight years old and your mom picked you up early from school because lunch had made you throw up. She was driving home along the freeway, switching radio stations and checking your temperature with the back of her hand pressed against your forehead. The car in front of you suddenly swerved to the left and into another car. It lifted into the air, spun around, and crashed down on its roof. Your mom screamed and veered off to the right, avoiding the wreck but almost landing in the guard rail.

The funny thing was you could see it all happening in slow motion, convinced that if you just focused enough, you could skip forward and backward in time, maybe even prevent the accident altogether. You weren’t scared, you didn’t cry; you thought your mom was overreacting when she stopped the car on the side of the freeway, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Later, you found out you were in shock, and later still you couldn’t stop crying until you threw up for the second time that day.

You’re convinced now that if you just focus enough, you could make those two people outside Tommy’s front door walk back to the motorbike and drive off. All you need to do is close your eyes and …

The front door opens and heavy footfalls make the ground beneath you shake. “Tommy?” a deep voice shouts and you flinch. “Tommy?” it repeats and then, in a softer tone, Joel says, “Oh, hey.”

You open your eyes. Joel has taken off his jacket and discarded it over the back of the couch. He has placed his helmet on the windowsill and is now looking at you with mild surprise on his face. “Hey,” he repeats, and you’re not sure whether it’s a greeting or a complaint. Then he closes the distance between you, easily wrangles the beer from your grip with a, “Thanks, sweetheart,” and then walks off into the kitchen.

He doesn’t remember. You’re not sure if you should feel relieved or disappointed.

“Hi, I’m Tess.” His girlfriend kisses you twice, once on each cheek. You heard about people greeting each other like that in Europe, but still your face heats up. “Don’t mind him, he’s annoyed because he just lost a bet.”

“What kind of bet?” you ask, the sound of your breathy voice foreign in your ears.

Tess takes off her jacket and places it on top of Joel’s before answering. “I bet him ten dollars you’d be pretty,” she says with a big smile. “He lost because he thinks no pretty girl in her right mind would go out with his brother.”

Then she takes your arm and leads you toward the backyard and the two men waiting for you.

*******

He doesn’t remember … but how could he not? How could last Friday not have meant anything to him? Shit! Does it mean something to you? It shouldn’t, should it? No, it definitely shouldn’t. But still, you wish he’d give you just one sign that he remembers.

Or maybe you’ve got it wrong. Maybe Joel isn’t the man from the other pick-up truck at all. Maybe Tommy has another brother, maybe he’s Joel’s identical twin. No, that’s ridiculous, this isn’t one of those soap operas your mom loves to watch. No one in real life has an evil twin.

“What are you smirkin’ at?” Tommy asks, handing you a bowl of potato salad.

Your cheeks heat up. “Nothing.”

Joel is the man from the other car, you’re certain about that. You keep coming back to how his eyes looked that night, how they look fixed on you now. It has to be him. Even though he’s relaxed and there’s an easy smile on his face, Joel looks at you as if he wants to see inside of you, right to your very core, and figure you out. And if he isn’t the man from the car, why would he be doing that?

And if he is, why did he brush you aside earlier?

You slump back in your chair. What were you expecting? Did you want him to say, “Oh, it’s you! Tess, it’s the girl who watched us fuck last week, do you remember?” Of course not. You want to forget the whole thing, pretend it never happened. It’s bad enough you let it happen in the first place, but it’s even worse now you know who that stranger is … he’s no stranger at all, he’s your boyfriend’s brother.

Boyfriend? Where did that come from?

“You okay?” Tommy squeezes your hand. “You barely touched your food.”

“I know what’s the matter,” Joel announces, and your entire body freezes up. You hear the blood rushing in your ears. “Now that she’s seen my bike, she’s realized she’s dating the wrong Miller brother.”

“Joel!” Tess protests, but laughs. Is she mocking you? She is, isn’t she?

Tommy rolls his eyes. “A man needs more than a bike to make him interestin’.”

“Like what?” Joel challenges. When Tommy opens his mouth, he quickly adds, “No, never mind, whatever it is you ain’t got it.”

Tommy lets go of your hand (you hadn’t even realized he was still holding it) and turns to Tess, who is sitting opposite you. She’s trying to hide a smirk, but she’s failing miserably. “Tess, please control my brother.”

“I’m sorry they’re like that,” Tess says, ignoring Tommy. “You’ll get used to it though.”

Joel turns to you. “Do you have siblings?”

You sit up so fast you bump your knee into the table and topple over your beer bottle. “Shit!” you swear. “Sorry. Let me –,” but Tess stands up.

“Don’t worry about it.” And she’s off to the kitchen.

You don’t want her to clean up your mess so you make to follow her, but Joel pins you in place with a glare. “Well? Do you?”

“Do I what?” you ask, watching Tess come back with a roll of paper towels.

“Siblings,” Tommy says with a laugh. Then he turns to Joel. “Yes, she has an older sister. She’s even less of a people person than you.”

“Well, this one could do with a little loosening up herself.” Joel nods toward you.

Your stomach curls tight with annoyance, but before you can say anything, Tommy replies, “She’s pretty loose, thank you.”

Tess, mopping up your spilled beer, throws you a pitying glance. “Guys, stop embarrassing her.”

“They’re not,” you say quickly, but it gets swallowed by Tommy shouting, “I’m embarrassin’ her?”

Joel winks at you and you wish the ground beneath your chair would open up and swallow you whole. He has to remember, right? And he’s tormenting you to test you or to get you to crack. You just can’t figure out why.

You clear your throat. “I have two older sisters,” you say, and when Tommy raises his eyebrows in surprise, you quickly add, “One lives in Europe, and I never get to see her. My parents … they had a falling out, and she doesn’t talk to any of us.”

Tess squeezes your shoulder sympathetically before going back to the kitchen to discard the used paper towels. Tommy and Joel glance at each other, unsure of what to say. You didn’t mean to make them feel uncomfortable with your complicated family dynamics, but you do feel some subdued glee at their speechlessness.

When Tess comes back, none of you have said anything yet. “I think every good family should have drama,” she says, sitting down in Joel’s lap instead of her chair. “There’s no point in surrounding yourself with boring people.”

Joel tickles her and she squeals. “Says the only child whose parents would do anything for her.”

You look at Tommy, a question on your lips, one you haven’t asked yet because it didn’t seem important in the whirlwind of the last few weeks. But before you can ask it, Tess changes the subject.

“So, how’s college?”

This time, you manage not to jump out of your skin when being addressed. “How do you know I’m in college?”

“Because Tommy boy can’t shut up about you,” Joel answers, flicking a potato wedge at his brother.

“Hey!” Tommy protests loudly, but to you it sounds like he’s far away, maybe somewhere below water. You try to focus on something solid, like the plate in front of you, but everything is blurry. You’re feeling about a million feelings at once, and yet your inside is an empty void that is longing for something to fill it. Tommy has been talking about you to Joel and Tess. A lot, apparently. And yet here you are, your head spinning from the cocky way Joel teases his brother, the protective way he holds onto Tess, longing for his attention on you. This is wrong.

“It’s good,” you answer Tess’ question, taking a sip from a fresh bottle of beer that makes you cough.

“That’s it?” Tess asks. “What are you studying? Where do you live? Do you have a college boyfriend who dreams about you raising his babies?”

You laugh loudly and Tess beams. “I don’t know what Tommy told you about me, but one man is about as much as I can handle.” You smile at Tommy. “He’s all I need.” Tommy’s chest swells with pride. “But I live in a dorm, and I want to go on to law school.”

“Wow.” Tess sounds genuinely impressed, but there’s a strange glint in her eyes. “We have to watch what we say around you then.”

“As if the law has ever kept you from doing what you want,” Joel teases.

“Oh, shut up.” Tess laughs and kisses him, hard, a hand in his dark curls. Joel’s eyes flutter shut, and your stomach flutters in response.

Tommy clears his throat and you jump. “We have company.”

Tess bites Joel’s bottom lip and you think you hear him growl. “What are you, my mom?”

For some reason, Tommy’s comment rubbed you the wrong way. You’re not a child. You can handle two people kissing in front of you. “I’ve been to frat parties,” you laugh. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Tess lets go of Joel’s hair. “Really? What was it like? I always wanted to go to one.”

“They can be fun,” you answer cautiously, glancing at Tommy. “But they’re also … if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

“So they’re not like in the movies?” Tess presses. “You know, strippers and booze and then someone draws a gun?”

Joel turns to her, one eyebrow cocked. “What kind of movies are you watching?”

“Never you mind.” She pats his cheek.

“There are no strippers and no guns,” you answer seriously as if you’re used to answering questions like that. “But there’s a lot of alcohol. That’s why they’re all the same. People get drunk, punch each other, and then throw up.”

“Sounds like a typical Tuesday night for us, doesn’t it, Joel?” Tommy winks at his big brother.

“Can you take me to a frat party?” Tess asks suddenly. You’re not sure if she’s mocking you, but her face is serious.

“I …,” you start slowly, not sure what to say.

“Oh, come on.” Tess laughs. “You’ll be the most popular girl, bringing a cool older woman like me.”

Now that you know she’s mocking you, it’s easy for you to play along. “I don’t think those frat boys are into older women,” you say with an apologetic smile.

Tess’ mouth falls open. “You’re just gonna let her talk to me like that?” she asks, turning to Joel.

Joel shrugs, then looks directly at you. The hairs at the back of your neck stand up. “I like her. I think she’s funny.”

*******

“Sorry about my brother,” Tommy says, a crooked smile on his lips. “And Tess.”

It’s later. You’ve moved from the backyard into the living room. The heat of the June day still lingers in the slight headache you have, but it’s nice and cool inside. Still, your cheeks feel hot to the touch and you’re lightheaded, your heart hammering in your chest, even as your head is comfortably resting against Tommy’s shoulder. It’s the heat, you tell yourself. Nothing more. Certainly not Tommy’s brother who watched you come a week ago and doesn’t even remember it.

You laugh. “It’s alright. I like them.”

You do. It’s not important that your stomach curls tightly whenever Tess touches Joel. That’s an understandable, reasonable reaction, one no one could blame you for, one you can easily ignore. It’s not important. It doesn’t matter. What’s more important is the fact that you’ve survived the dinner without embarrassing yourself, that the panic you felt when recognizing Joel was completely unfounded. You did well, all things considered, and there is absolutely no reason why Tommy should ever find out about your little secret.

You lean in closer to him. “Do you think Tess likes me?” you ask.

He shifts against your cheek. “What makes you say that?”

“She was making fun of me, right? When she asked me to take her to a frat party?”

Now it’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. “No, she was completely serious. Tess has a very … direct way that makes her sound like she’s not being serious. But believe me, you’d notice if she wouldn’t like you. She’s also very direct with that.”

“And Joel?” you ask carefully.

Tommy slings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer. “Joel is … he’s … he’s very protective of me. It’s annoying, believe me, but it always takes him a while to warm up when I bring someone home.”

Your heart stutters. “Protective? How?”

“He doesn’t want me to get hurt. As if I can’t take care of myself.”

“Has that happened before?” you ask carefully, but you might as well have asked the wall. Tommy doesn’t reply, he doesn’t even shake his head or shrug his shoulders. Maybe that’s a conversation for another time.

“I think I’m gonna get myself another beer,” Tommy finally says, and shifts to get up.

“No,” you protest. “Let me. I wanted to get one for myself anyway.”

You stand, and Tommy smirks up at you. “I could get used to that.”

“Well, don’t.” You give him a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be right back.”

You make your way to the kitchen, taking pleasure in Tommy’s wistful sigh as you walk out of sight. He probably has been hurt in the past, you decide, but that doesn’t stop him from opening himself up to another person. Is that fun summer fling you wanted to have about to get much more serious than you had planned? At the threshold to the kitchen, you turn around to look back at Tommy lounging on the couch and return his soft smile. You’re not prepared for anything more serious between the two of you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do your best to treat Tommy right.

The kitchen isn’t empty. Tess is standing by the sink, taking care of the dishes. Maybe you should feel bad for not having offered to help her, but it’s obvious your help isn’t wanted. Behind Tess there’s Joel, pressing his chest into her back, holding her tightly against his body. Tess makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan when Joel nuzzles her neck and simultaneously moves an open palm downward against her stomach. You stop, your smile frozen on your lips, your hands cold and clammy, balled into fists against your sides. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before (and what is there to see, really?), but you should leave or make your presence known at the very least. You don’t.

Joel bites down onto Tess’ neck and she gasps. You almost do too, but the sound gets stuck in your throat. Joel’s other hand finds its way to Tess’ throat and he lightly closes his fingers around it, moving her head to the side so he has better access to her neck. Her neck disappears under his broad palm and big fingers and your chest tightens with adrenaline. You hadn’t noticed the size of his hands before but suddenly it’s all you can think about. That, and what it would feel like to have them around your neck, to feel the callouses on his fingers against your skin, to feel the heat radiating off of him.

With a low growl, Joel presses his crotch against Tess’ backside and she sighs. You feel both sounds all over your body; it’s as if Joel and Tess aren’t caressing each other but you. You wonder what it would feel like to … You take a step forward and bump your foot into a box that’s stowed against the wall. Its contents rattle insistently and Tess straightens her back, her head snapping in your direction.

You can’t read the look on her face but you know you’d feel embarrassed if someone caught you and Tommy in such an intimate situation.

“Joel,” she says. Is it a warning?

Maybe he doesn’t hear her, or maybe he doesn’t care, but he doesn’t stop. The hand that’s been resting against Tess’ stomach moves lower and lower, and you can’t really tell from where you’re standing but it looks like his fingers are disappearing inside her jeans. And she’s still looking at you, her green eyes sharp in the dim kitchen light. What should you do? Stay and watch? You almost laugh at the ridiculousness of that idea, pushing aside an ever-growing desire to do just that, but there’s also something else – an irritation bordering on jealousy that you have no right to be feeling. The smart thing to do here would be to avert your gaze, get the beers from the fridge, and leave.

But then two things happen at once and you can’t move a single muscle in your body.

The first one is that Joel’s fingers inside Tess’ pants must’ve reached their destination and she moans, her eyes still locked to yours. Then she nods at you and smiles and you think … you think she might be telling you to join them. That thought terrifies you. You won’t cheat on your boyfriend who’s waiting for you only a room away, but there is an insistent pressure between your legs that’s harder and harder to ignore.

The second thing that happens is that Joel whispers in Tess’ ear, loud enough for you to hear. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well. You’re drenched, do you know that?” The way he says drenched captures your attention much more than Tess’ presumed invitation ever could. He knows you’re there, he must know it, and yet he … A hungry, growling desire awakens in you and you realize that no matter how hard you try, you can’t play down the encounter in the parking lot; you can’t even walk away from this, even if it would be so easy.

“Joel …” Tess’ eyes flutter shut when he cups one of her breasts with his big hand.

You want to say his name too, want to make him look at you, but then Tess’ fingers go slack and she drops the cutlery she’s been holding into the sink. It hits the steel with loud clanks and shakes you out of your stupor. Hot shame rolls through your stomach and up into your throat, settling there in the form of a lump. You stumble toward the fridge on unsteady legs like a newborn fawn, ignoring Tess’ giggles and Joel’s breathless pants that could also be a chuckle. You grab two beer bottles and rush out of the kitchen without looking back.

The last thing you hear is Tess saying, “Shit, Joel. Do you think we scared her?” and Joel replying, “Who cares?”

*******

The joint between your lips helps you relax and you sink deeper into the couch, hoping it will swallow you up. Tommy takes it from you and takes a drag, sighing happily. It doesn’t matter, really, that Joel and Tess don’t like you, that they were trying to rile you up. Let them think you’re young and stupid and inexperienced. What does it matter to you? You giggle and pull Tommy, who was just trying to pass the joint to Joel, toward you. You take it back instead and inhale deeply.

“Careful, darlin’.” Tommy laughs. “Ain’t no need to impress me.”

You ignore him and kiss him instead, letting him taste the sweet aroma of the weed on your lips. He returns your kiss but takes the joint from you and finally passes it on to Joel who’s sitting on a chaise longue, legs spread widely, Tess on his lap. You don’t know what happened between them after you left the kitchen, but the flush on Tess’ cheeks when they finally emerged left no room for imagination. You feel a stab of jealousy.

“First time?” Joel asks you with a smirk.

You shake your head. “I’m not as innocent as you think.”

Joel’s eyes glide over your body, from your relaxed eyelids down to your exposed thighs where your dress has ridden up your legs. “Who said anything about innocent?”

“I know you think I’m young and stupid.” Under different circumstances, the words might have sounded like you were hurt but the big smile you can’t seem to turn off softens the blow.

Joel laughs, and it sounds real. At least the flutter in your stomach is real. “I don’t,” he says. “But it’s funny you should think that.” He places his hand possessively on Tess’ knee and Tess leans into him. “I’m just making sure you’re alright. And that you’re not getting yourself into a situation you can’t handle.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I can handle more than you think.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Joel teases.

Next to you, Tommy sighs. “Can you flirt with your own girlfriend, please?”

Your reaction to the weed dampens the feeling of shame that would have consumed you had you been sober. Joel tightens his hold on Tess and Tess closes her eyes, a happy smile on her lips. Is she saying, “He’s mine”? He is, that’s obvious. She doesn’t have to rub it in though. Wait. Why do you care? You’re with Tommy … you don’t care who Joel is fucking.

“If that’s flirting to you, I’m surprised you got her to agree to go out with you,” Joel retorts.

Her … why does your stomach flutter when he talks about you like you’re not in the room? You turn to Tommy, a seductive smile on your lips … or at least you hope it looks like that. “Tommy’s very good at flirting … he had me wrapped around his little finger in no time.”

Tommy kisses you and you close your eyes to focus on the glide of his lips against yours. He manages to sneak a hand between your shoulders and the backrest of the couch, and cups the back of your head, pressing you closer to him. You melt, forgetting why you felt so irritated and somewhat lost only a few seconds ago.

But then Joel’s voice bursts your warm and happy bubble. “That’s just because you’ve never dated a real man before.”

“Joel,” Tess warns, but you’re already confronting him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, your chin raised in defiance.

Joel’s eyes flicker with triumph at how easy it is to get a rise out of you, and you wish you had ignored him. But it’s too late to go back to making out with Tommy and pretending you haven’t heard him.

“You’re what … 19? How many boyfriends have you had? And they were probably kids like you.”

Your face heats up with anger but before you can say, “Why is everyone so obsessed with my dating history?” Tommy snaps, “That’s enough, Joel.”

You watch as Joel’s shoulders tense and for a moment you expect him to ignore his brother but then he laughs. “I’m just messing with her.”

For some reason, you focus on Tess’ confused face – not Tommy sinking back against the cushions or Joel’s raised palms. She looks as lost as you feel.

“Wouldn’t hurt you to be nice for a change,” Tommy grumbles.

Tess leans forward and extends her hand holding the joint out to you. You take it from her with a grateful smile, your hands briefly touching over the coffee table. “Thanks,” you whisper.

“Tommy’s right,” Tess says and looks down at her boyfriend. “Relax, Joel.” And before Joel can protest, her hand is on his jaw and she kisses him. Just like before, his eyes flutter shut, and just as before, your stomach flutters in response. You ignore it, the irritation you feel now palpable in a pressure on your chest.

“He ain’t always like that.” Tommy’s voice is low as he plucks the joint straight out from between your lips. “He’s –”

“Hey!” you protest. “I wasn’t done with that yet.”

Tommy only smirks at you, takes a drag, then passes it on to Joel. “He’s quite nice once you get to know him.”

Joel snorts. “You make me sound like a dog.”

“Well, you’re behaving like one,” you snap.

Everyone turns to you and you clap a hand over your mouth in shock. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud, hadn’t even meant to think it. It must be the weed talking. Or the alcohol. But you haven’t had much of either.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, bracing yourself for the inevitable cruel response.

Joel only laughs, his chest vibrating, head thrown back. “Please, you have nothing to apologize for,” he snorts between two laughing fits. Tess smiles, whether at your discomfort or his amusement you can’t tell. Tommy puts one possessive arm around your shoulders. Joel manages to catch his breath eventually. “Where did you find her, Tommy?”

When Tommy doesn’t respond, you turn to him. His face has gone dark, and you feel like you’re missing something. “Joel, that’s enough,” he repeats and you don’t quite understand what’s going on.

Joel sighs. “Oh, come on, Tommy.” He drags on the joint with practice movement, then passes it on to Tess without looking at her.

After that, everyone is quiet. Is it your fault? Is Joel angrier at you than he lets on? But why is Tommy staring at his older brother like he’s planning on slashing the tires of Joel’s truck later? You don’t quite know how to save the evening but you have to try.

“We went to high school together actually,” you answer Joel’s question. You lean into Tommy. “I had the biggest crush on him but he never noticed me.”

Joel smirks mockingly, but it’s over in a flash. “He can’t keep his eyes off you now.”

A warm tingling sensation crawls down your spine. “Well, he ain’t half bad to look at himself.”

“He has your full attention then?” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your blood run cold. And for the first time since Joel walked in through the front door this evening you wonder if he might remember after all.

“I enjoy every minute I spend with him, if that’s what you mean,” you answer.

Before Joel can make things worse, Tess climbs off his lap and stands. “I’m going to the bathroom.” Then she looks at you. “Are you coming?” she says with such authority you don’t even have time to think about it before you find yourself following her down the hallway.

Tess pulls you into the bathroom and closes the door behind you. “Listen to me,” she starts. “I love Joel but he can be an asshole. Especially where Tommy is concerned. I don’t know if Tommy has told you this, but their parents died young and Joel feels responsible for him. He thinks no girl is good enough for Tommy. Ignore him. I can see the way Tommy looks at you. Everyone can.”

You’re stunned into silence by Tess’ words, but the longer you wait to say something, the denser the tension between you grows. “We’re just having fun,” is what finally comes out of your mouth.

“And Tommy knows that?” Tess presses.

“We haven’t talked about it yet.” Or have you? You don’t remember everything you said to him in the heat of the moment. “But I’m going back to college in the fall.”

“No one is trying to keep you here,” Tess assures you. “And if Tommy is just after a summer romance, then that’s none of Joel’s business. Just be honest with him. And don’t hurt him.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” Then why does guilt gnaw at your conscience?

Tess smiles at you softly, unaware of the churning in your stomach. “I know you weren’t. Just don’t dump Tommy because his big brother was weird to you.” She grabs one of your hands and squeezes it. Then she opens the door and winks at you. “But I know you’re too smart for that anyway.”

You have a few seconds, no more, to try and make sense of it all. You fail. Your feelings are all over the place and you wish you could sit down somewhere quiet for a few hours and sort through them. Why does it feel like everyone expects certain things from you and you can’t seem to keep them in their place because you have no idea what you want yourself? When did this summer fling get so serious?

Before you can find an answer for just one of these questions, Tommy is calling for you, and you make your way back to the living room, your heart hammering in your chest.

*******

You wake up with a start. At first, you think you’re back in your college dorm, but your surroundings don’t make sense. The dresser is standing against the wrong wall, the window isn’t where it’s supposed to be, the bed is so big … and you’re not sleeping in it alone. You’re at Tommy’s place! The world rights itself as you regain your sense of direction. It’s so dark in Tommy’s bedroom that you can barely make out the shapes of the objects around you. It must still be the middle of the night or very early in the morning, but you can’t be certain.

Your head hurts, your mouth is sticky with thirst, and you have no memory of how you ended up in Tommy’s bed. You remember that dinner, you remember Tess asking you to be careful not to hurt Tommy, you remember Tommy’s hand under the hem of your dress, his hand climbing higher and higher, the way Joel looked at you … You inhale sharply, and Tommy stirs but doesn’t wake up.

You need to get some water. Once you’re not thirsty anymore, it’ll be easier to make sense of it all. Carefully, you climb out of the bed, your eyes glued to Tommy’s naked chest to make sure you don’t wake him. The last thing you need is some deep talk at 2 AM that has you making promises you can’t keep just because the late hour makes you feel closer to Tommy than ever before. Tommy sleeps on though, even when you open the bedroom door with a creak that makes you jump.

Outside, the dark hallway reminds you of how unfamiliar you are with Tommy’s house. Yes, this isn’t your first time sleeping here, but the last time you weren’t trying to find the kitchen in the middle of the night, sneaking around the house like a burglar. Maybe Tommy’s bathroom is the safer option if you don’t want to wake everyone. You remember it being on the right of Tommy’s bedroom.

You haven’t taken more than three steps before you hear it – the creaking of a bedframe. At first you think Tommy has woken up but he doesn’t call out for you. And then you realize the creaking is coming from the other bedroom – Joel’s bedroom.

No! It’s no business of yours to find out what’s going on behind that door, no business at all. You’re going to get some water and then you’re going back to bed. For once you’re going to follow your sensible brain and not …

There is a soft moan your body immediately responds to by setting butterflies loose in your stomach. The voice that says, “No,” is fighting, but it’s growing weaker. Your hand on the bathroom doorknob feels sweaty but you make no motion to turn it, listening into the quietness of the house. For a short while, everything remains quiet and you think maybe all you heard was someone moving in their sleep. You feel a hot wave of embarrassment when you realize you’re disappointed – what is wrong with you? You should feel relieved instead.

It’s the drugs and the alcohol that make you feel and think and act like this. Once you’ve sobered up, everything else will be fine. One hand pressed against the bathroom door to prevent any creaking when you open it, you finally turn the knob, suddenly missing the warmth and comfort of Tommy’s bed. Just a quick glass of water and then you’ll be back with him, falling asleep in an instant.

It’s not the creaking or the moaning that makes you halt in the doorframe, but it’s the deep rumble of Joel’s voice this time. You can’t make out the words, but they still make you freeze, dry up your throat and set your heart pounding. There is no way you will be able to ignore that, not with your mind still clouded and your body humming with a desire impossible to control.

The bathroom door quivers when you let go of the knob but doesn’t fall shut. Nothing seems to be moving in the house except you, as you carefully tiptoe to Joel’s bedroom door. You don’t know what it looks like, that room behind it. Tommy didn’t include it in the house tour and you’re not one to snoop. You giggle at how wrong you were about yourself, but there’s no merriment in it, just a dry realization. There is only so much you can blame on drugs and alcohol.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Joel’s voice hits you in the pit of your stomach like a bullet. Before you know what you’re doing, your ear is pressed against the thin plywood, eager to hear more.

Tess’ answer is an appreciative moan that rushes down your back in a pleasant shiver. The bedframe creaks again before she sighs, “Oh, Joel! Fuck!” and then gasps as if coming up for air.

You almost gasp too, but the sound gets stuck in your throat when you hear Joel chuckle. “You’re making this too easy for me.”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Tess begs, and in her eagerness makes it all sound like one long word.

What comes next is a series of wet sounds mixed in with Tess’ moans and pants. It’s only when Joel moans too, and it’s a muffled sound that you realize what it is they’re doing. You press and open palm against the door to steady yourself while your other hand hangs down at your side, your fingers flexing eagerly. Your core feels like it’s on fire and when Tess sighs, “Yes, yes,” and Joel growls like he’s too far gone for human sounds, you whimper desperately. But you won’t touch yourself, no matter what, you won’t …

“No, no, no, Joel, don’t stop,” Tess suddenly groans and Joel replies, “I don’t want you to come yet. You taste like heaven.”

Maybe a stronger woman would be able to walk away from this. Maybe a stronger woman wouldn’t press her fingers against her clothed clit and swallow a dry sob of relief. Maybe a stronger woman would feel guilt and shame. But you’re not that woman. And you have never felt this alive.

Tess whimpers and groans and the bedframe creaks and creaks. Joel is eerily quiet now except for the occasional sigh. And you don’t dare to move; only when you hear his voice do you press your fingers tighter against your clit. It makes you feel closer to him.

Tess’ moans are slowly but surely reaching another crescendo, the bedframe seems to be fighting for its life, and you exhale shakily when –

“Do you like what you hear?”

You twist around so fast your elbow bumps into Joel’s door, but they don’t hear the noise or they don’t care, because the sounds don’t die down.

“Tommy,” you whisper, your face burning with the shame and guilt you were supposed to feel earlier.

He’s leaning against the doorframe of his own bedroom door, arms crossed in front of his chest, hair rumpled from sleeping. He doesn’t look angry or disappointed or disgusted. Instead, there’s a cocksure grin on his face that you can’t read properly in the darkness of the hallway.

“Again, darlin’, do you like what you hear?” he repeats.

Your throat is completely dry and you don’t dare to move, afraid your legs might give way if you do. Tess’ moans fill the silence between Tommy and you; they heat up your cheeks and make it impossible for you to form a single, coherent thought. A single, coherent thought that would get you out of this situation unscathed that is.

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, as if you just climbed innumerable flights of stairs. Your heart beats as if you did, too.

The cocksure grin on Tommy’s face doesn’t flicker. “Thought so,” he says with a superior tone, as if he just proved a point. “Knew you weren’t as innocent as all that.”

You wish he would keep his voice down. “But it’s not what you think it is.”

“It’s exactly what I think it is.” He takes a few steps toward you until you feel trapped between his body in front of you and the lewd sounds behind you. “I’m sure they’d let you watch if you asked.”

That same terror you felt in the kitchen earlier grabs a hold of you again. “I don’t –” you start but Tommy interrupts you.

“You’re allowed to want that,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, breath hot. “Doesn’t mean I’m willing to share you.” His hand closes tightly around your wrist and when he pulls you toward his own bedroom with sure steps, you stumble after him. The moans have stopped and, with a slight irritation, you realize you miss them. When you pause to close the door behind you, Tommy takes your other hand in his and shakes his head. “Leave it.” Those two words send a bolt of excitement through you, the irritation forgotten.

Tommy pushes you onto the bed, not forcefully but not gently either, and you lie there, propped up on your elbows, watching him. His naked chest is heaving, and even though his words were nothing but steady, a storm is brewing inside of him. A shiver runs down your spine as he pushes back his hair with both hands, his eyes flickering lower to where you let your knees fall open for him.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he sighs, falling onto his knees at the foot of the bed.

You’ve been called other things before, more eloquent things, but never before have you actually believed those words. With Tommy it’s different. With Tommy, you feel like he means what he says and isn’t just using lines on you that he picked up from a bad porn movie. You take off your underwear without him having to ask.

His left hand lands on top of your right thigh, his skin warm against yours, the callouses on his thumb brushing against one of the most sensitive spots of your body. You flex your fingers, fighting hard to keep your hips steady. With his right thumb, Tommy brushes all the way from your opening through your drenched folds up to your clit in a slow pace, as if he’s cataloguing every inch along the way. Self-consciously, you trap a desperate groan in your chest by biting down hard on your bottom lip.

Tommy laughs incredulously. “You’re drenched, you know that?”

It’s not the first time tonight you hear those words, the memory making your hips twitch against Tommy’s grip. You nod.

“Should I be jealous?” he asks and you sit up so fast something in your neck cracks.

“No!” you blurt.

Tommy chuckles. “I’m just teasin’ you. Nothin’ wrong with a bit of healthy competition.”

Maybe your attraction to Joel isn’t all that bad, you think, lying back down, eyes firmly fixed on the dark ceiling. Maybe it’s something Tommy wants to encourage even.

Tommy’s thumb is circling your clit now, and you feel yourself clenching around nothing. With a soft moan, you try to relax against the mattress but can’t stop yourself from listening for sounds from the other bedroom.

“Relax, darlin’.” Tommy presses a soft kiss against the side of your knee, then rests his cheek against it. “Let me hear how much you’re enjoyin’ yourself.” Then he adds, under his breath, “Let them hear.”

When he pushes a finger into you, you groan loudly, but immediately bite down on your wrist to stifle that sound.

“Come now, none of that,” Tommy says. “Don’t you want to get back at them?”

There is something in the way he says it that makes you pause. For a few moments, you allow yourself to imagine Tess, lying in Joel’s arms, giggling at something funny he just said, the sounds dying in her throat when she hears you groan. Maybe she would tell Joel to be quiet, startled by your gall, maybe Joel would pretend not to care but secretly commit every single one of your sighs to memory, no matter how little. Maybe he’d even be impressed with you, telling Tess, “Sounds like Tommy finally has a fun girlfriend”.

What you want him to be, though, is jealous.

Tommy adds a second finger and this time you don’t try to stifle the sound that escapes you. You shift, so Tommy can reach deeper, transfixed by the wet sounds of his fingers moving between your legs. You meet Tommy’s thrusts with small rolls of your hips, eager for friction, panting under your breath. Your forehead feels clammy with sweat, the air in the room is stifling, but you don’t care about any of that when Tommy licks from where his fingers are buried inside of you up to your clit, the sensation of his mustache brushing against your most sensitive spots overwhelming.

Still, you’re not all there. Your ears keep straining to hear sounds from the room across the hall, any sounds. You’d be happy with a door creaking in its hinges. At the same time, you’re reluctant to give voice to the pleasure you’re feeling, no matter what Tommy told you, no matter how much you want to be that girlfriend. What if Tess isn’t impressed? What if Joel isn’t jealous? What if they’re over there, laughing at you? What if –

“Darlin’,” Tommy mumbles from between your legs, “you’re thinkin’ so loud I can barely focus.”

“Sorry.” You shift with a sigh, forcing your thoughts to focus on Tommy’s fingers in a way that usually makes you turn into an incoherent mess. Tommy kisses your thigh, the prickle of his mustache making you squirm. “Don’t you ever apologize to me. Just tell me what you need.”

To your annoyance, his kindness makes your eyes sting with tears. “I don’t know,” you whimper.

“Close your eyes,” Tommy orders.

You do as you’re told. The loss of one sense makes your others heighten immediately, especially your hearing. To both your relief and disappointment, you don’t hear any sounds from Joel’s room.

“Stop thinking.” Tommy chuckles. “Tell me how this feels.”

He changes the angle his fingers push into you, stretching you with each slow thrust. It feels amazing. You tell him so.

“Shhhh,” Tommy makes. “Don’t use your words. Tell me with your body.”

“I don’t –,” you start, but he interrupts you.

“Yes, you know how. Just give it a try.”

It’s only then that you realize how desperate you are for him to hold you in place and make you take whatever he gives you. That thought alone is enough to make you shiver.

“Good,” Tommy encourages you. “Now –”

It’s your turn to interrupt him. “Hold me down,” you say so fast it makes it sound like just one word.

Tommy obliges you immediately, pushing you down, palm planted firmly on your hip. You groan in response, your worries from earlier only a dim memory at the back of your mind.

“You like that, huh?” He gives you three vicious thrusts before slowing down again, leaving you gasping for breath.

You sigh in confirmation, but your voice breaks in the middle of the sound, making it come out like a sob. Your hips twitch against Tommy’s hold, eager to meet his thrusts halfway.

“Stop moving.” Tommy squeezes you hard. “You’ll take what I give you.”

Your responding moan is loud enough to make Tommy lose his rhythm, but not loud enough to satisfy him.

“We could do a bit better, don’t you think?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know.” You feel the pressure of a mounting orgasm brushing against the base of your spine. Your heart is beating so loudly, all the way up into your throat, that you couldn’t hear any sounds from the other bedroom even if you tried.

Suddenly, Tommy’s fingers are gone, and so is the hand on your hip. You sob with longing. “Tommy …”

“I’m here,” he mumbles, climbing onto the bed. “Just give me a sec.”

You watch as he rolls a condom onto his completely hard cock, and swallow hard. For some reason, the evidence of how much he’s enjoying this leaves you speechless. Still kneeling, he pulls you toward him and right onto his lap. He’s so much bigger than two of his fingers, but in your heightened state of arousal him pushing you down onto his cock barely scratches a superficial itch.

“It’s your turn now.” Tommy’s smile rekindles the prickling at the base of your spine.

You roll your hips tentatively and immediately feel the pressure mount. Tommy’s eyes flutter shut and he groans, a sound you can feel deep within your core.

“Fuck.” The word slips out from between your lips before you can stop it. And Tommy’s eyes fly open.

“What was that?” he growls.

Now it’s your turn to ask, “You like that?”

Tommy wraps his hand around your throat, framing your jaw with his thumb and forefinger. You roll your hips faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the bedroom. You don’t need him to reply; you know the answer already.

Tommy brushes his thumb along your bottom lip and then pushes it into your mouth, pressing it down against your tongue. Eagerly, you close your lips and suck on it, watching as Tommy’s eyes widen in surprise. The air between you is so heavy you can feel it weigh you down and you lose your rhythm, your hips stuttering.

With a jerk, Tommy pulls his thumb out of your mouth. “Look at you.” He tightens his hold on your throat, making you gasp for air, before pushing his index and middle finger back into your mouth. When you taste yourself on his skin, you moan, a sound that turns into a gag when he brushes his fingers against the back of your throat. “Joel is wrong. There’s nothin’ innocent about you.”

The mention of his brother catches you by surprise, as does that moan that rises out of your chest when you imagine Joel looking at you with condescension in his eyes. Luckily, Tommy flicks your clit with his thumb at the same time, giving you an excuse for the lewd sound you’re making.

Tommy eagerly licks his lips. “Louder,” he demands. “I don’t care that they’re in the other room.”

You wrap your hand around Tommy’s arm to steady yourself, your body screaming for release. All you manage is a soft moan, muffled by the fingers pressing down on your tongue.

“You can do better than that.” The note of condescension in his voice makes you clench around his cock. “Let them hear how well I’m fucking you.”

With a sob, your head falls forward, your forehead connecting to Tommy’s almost painfully. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth while rolling your clit under his thumb at the same time, and you lose yourself in whines and groans and pleas that don’t make any sense. You can’t even tell if you’re being loud enough for Tommy, if they hear you across the hall, but just the thought that they might, so daunting a short while ago, finally pushes you over the edge. All you know with absolute certainty is that you scream Tommy’s name when you come, loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood, and that he fucks you through it relentlessly, lowering you down with one smooth motion until your back is pressed into the mattress and he pounds into you with desperate thrusts.

“Tommy,” you groan, holding onto his hips. It’s too much; you want him to stop but you can’t form a single, coherent thought. “Tommy, I don’t …” You feel raw, coming down from the high of your orgasm, but he isn’t done with you yet.

“You’re mine,” he growls into your ear. “Say it.”

Despite your guardedness when it comes to this relationship between Tommy and you, and despite your refusal to apply a label to it, you catch yourself replying, “I’m yours, Tommy. Just yours.”

With that, he empties himself into the condom, twitching inside of you. He kisses you, you kiss him back, your muscles relaxing around him. And from somewhere in the house you think you hear bright laughter.

#tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #in plain sight

97 notes · View notes

builtbybrokenbells · 9 months

Text

CAPITAL VICES | SLOTH

Sloth: an excessive laziness or the failure to act and utilize one’s talents

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), face fucking, masturbation (f!receiving), mentions of female masturbation, mentions of sex toys, light bondage play, orgasm denial, impact play, sir kink, praise, degradation, name calling, dom/sub, bratty sub, choking, spanking, lots of dirty talk, mentions of blood, (this is just filthy for the most part tbh), crying, mentions of addiction, drinking, swearing, fluff, sorry if i miss any!!

Merry Christmas from me to you (if ya celebrate)! I sincerely hope you like this as much as I liked writing it. As always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes! (Very lightly edited) also, if you haven’t yet, check out the playlist i made linked on the Masterlist! Much love 🫶🏻

You cut the power to the element of your stove, giving the contents of the frying pan one last stir before moving it to the side. The sun outside was shining in through the windows, the golden rays powerful as a last ditch attempt to lighten the land before setting for the night. You took a sip from your wine glass as you grabbed the pot of pasta noodles and brought them to the sink to strain. Music was drifting through the air, and the candle burning on the countertop offset the strong smell of the pasta sauce you had just finished cooking. Your hair was still damp from your shower, and light makeup was dusted on your face. You were dressed comfortably, but still took the time to pick out a nice outfit for the occasion. All of the classic telltale signs of romance was lingering in the atmosphere, yet you still had yet to come to terms with the fact.

You were preparing for a date, even if you refused to admit to it.

You brought the pot back to the stove, adding the pasta to your sauce and combining the two. Just as you finished washing your hands to rid yourself from the mess you made, your doorbell rang. With a small sigh of approval, you looked over your work before running to answer the door. You nervously combed through your hair with your fingers, trying to contain your excitement as you flipped the lock and twisted the knob to reveal the body waiting on the other side. Jake stood with a smile on his lips, a bag slung over his shoulder, and a seemingly expensive bottle of wine held in his hand.

“Hi,” You breathed, stepping aside to allow him entry. It had been a few days since seeing him, and you hated to admit to the fact that you had genuinely missed him. The calls and texts were still plentiful, yet his presence in your home was more appreciated than you realized.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He chuckled at your expression, feeling the same way you were feeling. Being apart from you was similar to a withdrawal from substance, yet a million times more powerful. His bed felt so empty that sometimes, he thought that sleeping on the couch would be a better way to spend the night. “I brought wine. I thought if I brought flowers, you might punch me.”

“Good call.” You agreed, taking it from his hand so he could balance the rest of his belongings with ease. “You didn’t have to bring anything, you know.”

“I wanted to.” He said, following you as you walked back to the kitchen. “It’s our first dinner together. It’s a momentous occasion.” You rolled your eyes, placing the bottle next to the one you had already opened in the fridge.

“I told you not to make a big deal out of it. I was cooking already; you’re not special.” You closed the door to the refrigerator and straightened up. As soon as you did, you felt a pair of hands snake around your waist. You hated that your heart sped in reaction to the touch, and you what you hated even more was that you melted into the feeling, leaning back into him and closing your eyes to enjoy the moment.

“Not special?” He hummed, his fingers inching under your shirt and settling on the soft skin just below the fabric. “Don’t hurt my feelings, angel.”

“You’ll survive.” You assured him, turning around to face him. He caught your eye, giving you a smile. “Thanks for coming.” You felt guilty about your harshness, and upon catching sight of his face, your tough exterior seemed to melt away. He was used to your brashness, and it never seemed to phase him. When you turned to face him, his face held so much adoration that it almost seemed like you never insulted him at all.

“Thanks for inviting me.” He leaned down, capturing you in a small kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer in hopes of making up for the days of missing him. You were too stubborn to hug him, feeling that the innocent intimacy was too much, so you only allowed it when his lips were locked with your own. It was a cheat, your way of breaking your own rules, but he abided without argument. When he pulled away, he held you there for a moment, taking a long look over your face in hopes of familiarizing himself with your features again. Although, he did not have to try very hard; the picture of your face was the only thing his mind had been able to formulate since the last time he saw you.

Casual was becoming harder and harder with every day that passed, but neither of you felt the need to address it. You thought that by ignoring the growing feelings, they would die in the same place they blossomed. Your laziness in regards to discussing your relationship had not yet caused an issue, yet the longer you let it go, the more dangerous it became.

“You look nice.” You said, straightening out the collar of his shirt. “Didn’t need to dress up for me.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” he offered, raising a gentle hand to your cheek. His thumb drifted across the smooth skin, sending goosebumps across your whole body. Now that your past was out in the air and he knew more about you than you ever wanted him to, your comfortability had grown immeasurably stronger. Every time he touched you, he seemed to exude even more caution. It was his inconspicuous way of saying he would never touch you in any way other than loving, and you would have chastised him for it if you didn’t like it so much. His gentle hand was the reason you trusted him as much as you did, and it had been so long since you felt a touch so calming that you could not seem to turn him away. “Ever think of that?”

“I did, but I was hoping I wasn’t right.” You teased, feeling your walls of fear slowly crumbling to the ground the longer he looked into your eyes.

“Too bad.” He shrugged, his sympathy barely existing.

“You hungry?” You asked, changing topics so you did not have to focus on his need to impress you.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes flickering to the stove. “Food looks fantastic, but what would you say if I told you that I have something even better in mind?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna discredit all of my hard work just for sex?” You teased, but you weren’t completely disinterested in his idea.

“You’re right, how rude of me.” He chuckled. “Let’s eat, sweetheart.” He leaned down, giving you another quick kiss before parting from you. You took to the stove, grabbing the plates you had set out before he arrived. “Anything I can help with?” He watched as you prepared the food for both of you.

“You can sit at the table so you’re not in my way?” You offered, giving him a small smile as you looked back over your shoulder.

“My apologies; didn’t realize how strict your kitchen rules were.” He laughed, but adhered to your request and took a seat at the table. Within a few moments, you brought both plates over and sat them down in front of your respective seats. Then, you filled up a second wine glass and returned back to the table. You placed one in front of him before taking a seat yourself. “Would it be too much to say that I missed you?” He asked, now especially careful to tread lightly when it came to your boundaries. After your confessional in his car the night you met his brothers, he was even more terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing and in turn, driving you away. Although denial was your most favourite pastime, you failed to see that being so fearful of losing each other was the furthest thing from casual that you could get.

“I’ll allow it, but only because I missed you too.” You chuckled, sipping at your wine.

“This is delicious, by the way.” He noted.

“Thanks. You’ve been too busy to come and see me, so I figured I had to impress you to make sure you’re not forgetting about me.” You teased.

“Like I said before, angel, forgetting you has never been my intent. In truth, it’s never really been an option.” He assured you, catching your eye so you could see the sincerity in his gaze.

“Would it be selfish of me to say that I’m glad for that?” You phrased your question similar to how he asked you his own just minutes before.

“No,” he shook his head “I’d feel the same if it were the other way around.” You smiled at his words, burying your face in your wine glass to hide the rosiness of your cheeks. “And I wasn’t too busy for you; life just gets crazy sometimes.”

“I know, I’m only teasing.” You promised. “How’s work going?”

“Good, we just finished up writing the last touches on the album. Think next week we’re going to start recording.”

“Exciting.” You hummed. “I think maybe it’s time I listened to some of your music, since we’re friends and all.” You laughed nervously, embarrassed that you’d known him for weeks and had yet to hear him play. It was your way of keeping the barrier between you, ensuring that your lives didn’t intertwine too delicately, but it was long overdue. You were putting off the inevitable, and listening to a song he wrote did not equate to marriage, even if you previously thought so.

“Whenever you want.” He smiled. He didn’t want to push it on you, and he was more than willing to wait until you were ready. As much as he’d like to play all day for you, he would only enjoy it if you were enjoying it, too. “How’s work for you?”

“Oh, the same.” You shrugged. “Did another wedding, a maternity, and a first birthday party.” You listed. “I wasn’t going to do the birthday party, but babies are just too cute to refuse, especially when they get their hands on their little birthday cake.” You laughed. He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, watching you with curiosity. He didn't peg you for someone to go crazy over babies, yet he found it oddly fitting. “What?” You asked, noticing his change in expression. “I like kids, but it doesn’t mean I want any.”

“Never said there was anything wrong with it,” he defended “just took me by surprise is all.” You shifted in your seat, nervous that he was reading too much into the simple statement. “I’d like to see some of your work, if you’re ever willing.”

“Maybe.” You offered, both of you knowing that it was unlikely that you ever would. The rest of the meal was shared in silence, but it was not uncomfortable for either of you. You didn’t know how to carry on the conversation, and he was just happy to be with you. When you were both finished eating, you cleared the table and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. Before you could turn around, you felt the same familiar pair of hands on your hips, jumping at the suddenness of his actions. He leaned down, pressing his lips into the skin just below your ear with great caution. A shiver ran down your spine at the feeling, and your eyes fluttered closed at the bliss that came along with it.

“Thank you.” He whispered, his lips ghosting over any available inch of you.

“You’re welcome.” You responded, resting your hands over his which he had slid to your stomach. He pulled you in to him a little further, another subtle way of hugging you without making it into a grand show of affection.

“Interested in dessert, by any chance?” He purred, his teeth sinking into your earlobe. You couldn’t help but smile at him, knowing that dinner was nothing short of torture to him after going so long without you.

“Can’t wait to get me in bed?” You teased, but your body was betraying you. As his fingers danced over your skin, you let out a shaky breath. You missed him just as much as he missed you, and you were eager to get his clothes off, too.

“I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” His fingers dipped below the waistband of your leggings, settling on the elastic of your underwear but advancing no further until you gave him permission.

“I think you can wait a little longer,” you did not believe that either of you could, yet you couldn’t help but try your best to piss him off. “I have to do the dishes, Jacob.” There was something so compelling about the fire in his eye when you misbehaved, and you were searching for it like a lost child looking for a place to call home.

“I don’t think I can, angel.” His fingers slipped even further down, now resting contently underneath all layers of clothing. “I’ve been thinking about bending you over this countertop all fucking week.” He said, leaning forward slightly to lock you in place. You tried your best to cover it, but your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of the vulgarity. You couldn’t see him, but you knew there was a smirk on his lips from the reaction. “From the sound of it, you have been, too.” Your eyes fluttered closed, your mind focusing on the feeling of his fingers so close to your heat. You were aching for relief, and he’d barely even touched you. Your body needed him so desperately that not even you could comprehend it. “Right?” He pressed further, hoping for a verbal response.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, hoping he would continue on instead of teasing you. In truth, what he guessed did not even come close to the truth of how much you’d been thinking of him. It was more than just a passing thought of sex in the kitchen, or a night spent tangled up in each other. Every time you let your mind wander, it ended up in a grotesque picture of him taking you as he pleased, and it was not limited to the kitchen. Every time your eyes fell upon a surface in your house, you could picture the two of you together, cementing memories of sin until the end of time. He hadn’t left your mind once since the last time you were in his company, and dinner was a boring formality to bridge the gap between reuiniting and having him in every way you dreamed of in the passing days.

Your need for him was filthy, concupiscent and lacking any moral will. The devil had completely overtaken you, and you were so blind to his evil that you tricked yourself into believing you were happy to be chosen by him.

“Tell me how much you missed me, angel.” He ordered, finally moving his middle finger to your cunt. The touch was gentle, barely noticeable, yet it had enough strength to bring you to your knees. He ran the digit through your pooling arousal, trailing it up to your clit where he began tracing small, featherlight circles. His order was partially because he wanted to make you suffer, knowing that after so many days, it would be difficult for you to form any thoughts while he was touching you. A bigger part of him needed to hear it, because the desire to know he was needed by you was suffocating him.

“So much, Jake.” You whimpered, praying to a god that you were not even sure existed. If there was anything holy in the world, you were sure it would have stricken down any amount of evil, especially one as large as Jake possessed. Then again, you feared that he had too much power for any entity to control, feeding your fear of his devilish nature even further. “I thought about this every night.”

“You poor little thing,” he crooned, sympathy barely existing within him. “All alone with nobody here to take care of you.” His touch grew stronger, making your legs quiver underneath the weight of your body. “What did you do without me here?” His question, although seemingly simple, was opening the door to a lifetime of humiliation. He wanted to hear every dirty thing you got up to with only a picture of him in your mind. “I want to hear all about it, angel.” You could feel his erection pressing into your ass, noticing him growing more needy by the second.

As much as he loved to pretend he was in charge, he could never seem to harness enough strength to control his need for you.

Even if you didn’t know it, you were the sole holder of the power; you held the reins, and he was willing to go to the ends of the earth to please you.

“I bet you would.” You huffed, trying your best not to succumb to the pleasure his curious fingers were granting you. You lowered your shaking hands into the scalding water, feeling defeat fill you as you realized that not even the burn of the heat could overpower the godless man who was so keen on making you suffer. “I’m a little busy at the moment, though.”

“I would, and I will.” He corrected, unwilling to take any argument from you. “You can do your dishes, but I’m going to have my fun, sweetheart. You should know better by now.”

“I should,” you muttered, trying not to give in to the temptation of him. It was so much more fun to tease him, and you had committed yourself to the task since the very beginning. “Are you trying to show off? Upset that I’d rather do the dishes than have sex with you?” He’d grown so used to your antics that the insult did not even phase him. Instead, he let out a low chuckle as he pulled down the waistband of your pants with his free hand, settling it just below your ass.

“I don’t think you’re telling the truth, baby.” He called your bluff, his middle finger still focused intently on your clit. “She’s telling me everything I need to know.” A rush of emotion settled in the pit of your stomach, still finding his obscenity shocking, even if it was incredibly hot. “Now, answer the fucking question.” His tone was sharp, but not malicious. Yet, anyway. You knew if you played his game, you would reap the rewards. If you did what you so badly wanted to and mocked his authority, the consequences would be dire. You bit down on your lip, holding back a whimper begging to escape as you placed a clean plate on the rack to dry. The lack of clothing allowed for more freedom, and he was using it to his advantage. “Not talking tonight?” He questioned. “That’s new for you.”

“I was always told that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all.” You said through gritted teeth, your persistence prying another laugh from him.

“You’re such a brat, sometimes.” He let out a disapproving tsk, leaning in closer so his lips were resting on your ear. “Am I going to have to do all of the talking for you?” Instead of responding, you continued to wash the silverware as if you were completely alone in the home and the touch of his hand was not driving you to the brink of insanity. “Are you embarrassed, angel? Ashamed of all of the dirty things you did while wishing I was here with you?” You let out a scoff, but did not feed into his tyrant any further. “What was it, sweetheart? What did you use when you couldn’t get me out of your head? Your fingers?” He asked, his breath warm on your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Did you lay in bed, nestled between all of those pillows?” His tone grew stronger with every word he spoke, his own desperation clear despite his commitment to the facade. “You probably put some music on, just something to listen to while you closed your eyes and pretended it was my hands touching you, instead.” His voice was low, laced with desire at the thought of your fingers dancing through your arousal caused by the memory of him. “Classic, gets the job done, but I don't think that’s what you got up to.” He debated his own words, smiling ever so slightly against you.

His intent was to drive you mad, and if there was one thing you knew about Jake, it was that he would die before he would ever surrender.

“Or maybe you went digging around in that box underneath your bed,” he theorized “you know, the one you only let me bring out when you’re really feeling adventurous.” He reminded you as if you did not know exactly which box he was speaking of. “Is it because you’d rather use it when you’re alone? Is it just there to do all of the work when I can’t be here to do it myself?” Your breath caught in your throat as his lips landed on the sensitive skin just under your ear. “That sounds more like it…” he trailed off, losing himself in the picture of a vibrator clutched in your hand and his name woven so delicately on your lips. “I bet you start slow, wanting to draw it out as long as possible to pass the time until I can come over, but you get so needy so quickly. I know that vibrator spends most of its time on the highest setting, but you’re such a little whore that you just can’t get enough and it still doesn’t do it for you.”

You could not hide the moan that fought its way to the surface, breaking through the air and effectively proving his point. You wanted him more than even he knew, but you were just too damn stubborn to admit it.

“Or do you spend your time in the shower, the hot water keeping you warm and the detachable shower head doing more than that little toy could ever handle?” He slowly sunk to his knees, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting you again. “I notice, sweetheart, and I know you put that there for a reason.” Just before he was eye-level with your cunt, with a bit of force, he pushed your top half down towards the counter. “So what is it? How have you been taking care of yourself without me here to help?” You were so lost in the moment that you barely registered his question, already thinking of the euphoria he would give you with help from the unholy spirit that graced his tongue. “Or was it all three?” He asked, his tone telling you that the revelation brought him to a moment of enlightenment. “You tried it all, but you just couldn’t seem to find anything that could replace me. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, finally giving in to his power. It was too strong to resist, and you were surprised you’d made it so far.

“Yes, what?” He growled, happy to hear you speak, yet displeased with the time it took for you to answer.

“Yes, sir.” You let out a shaky breath. “I tried it all, but it didn’t even come close to how good you make me feel.”

“Now you want to be good for me, hmm?” He taunted, knowing how badly you wanted him. “I know you can listen, angel. I don’t know why you try so hard to be so disrespectful.”

“M’sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, almost regretful for your standoffish remarks. You were willing to give him anything he wanted in hopes he would be kind to you.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart.” He said, shaking his head. “If you want to do the dishes so bad, do them, but you better not stop or I will, too. And you better not cum until I say you can.” You gave a huff of annoyance, knowing that between your position and the things he was waiting to do to you, focusing on anything other than him would be nearly impossible. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You muttered, mildly irritated yet understanding that the consequences were solely because of your own actions.

“Good,” he said, nearly vibrating with excitement. From the minute he walked in the door, he’d been waiting to see you like this, and now that he had you just how he wanted you, he could not wait any longer. “Better get started, baby. Clocks ticking.” He reminded, pulling your leggings down just a little further. You bit your tongue, holding back any snide remarks as you continued on with your task. As soon as he noticed your hands moving, he sprung to action.

As soon as his tongue connected with your core, the bland household chore was the very last thing on your mind. The heat of his mouth and the precision of his movements made it nearly impossible to thing of anything else. He started slow, running his tongue through you to savour every bit of arousal that he’d been causing you. You let out a low groan, trying your best to keep your hands steady in the water as he tried his best to completely overtake your mind with pleasure. The two of you had been caught in a nasty battle of obstinacy since the very first moment you met, and it bled into every single interaction the two of you had together. He was desperate to prove a point, and you were eager to shoot him down.

“Fuck,” you hissed, your fingers tightening around the wine glass clutched in your hand as a sharp wave of pleasure took over. You used your other hand to support your weight on the counter, your legs already weak and the rest of your body beginning to feel just the same.

His tongue circled your clit, slowly but steadily tightening the knot in your belly. The pit of your stomach was ablaze with a fire that burned just for him, and you knew that he did not have to work very hard to send you over the edge. The days spent apart from him were equal to torture, and you had no idea how you survived before he showed up in your life and graced you with his touch.

Grace was a kind word, and nothing about his actions were graceful, nor were they anything close to kind. He was pure evil that took form in a human being, and every day that passed you were more convinced that you had fallen in lust with the devil reincarnate. He put up a great facade, always making you feel like his intent was coated with love and care, but he was a selfish being who just to happened to unintentionally form a soft spot for you. The devil knows no mercy, but somehow in the time the two of you spent together, it was a trait he had learned to accept.

Now, the devil still knows no mercy, except when it comes to you.

He loved to please himself, but over time, he had to face the harrowing reality that his survival was now dependent on your need for him above anything else. Although neither of you seemed able to shake the fear of connection, the situation you found yourselves in was not as simple or transparent as it once was. Casual sex was long gone, replaced with constant companionship disguised as a careless relationship with no strings attached. Your lives were intricately tied together, and you searched for each other even when you did not realize you were doing so. All you had feared seemed to come true, but you enjoyed Jake’s presence so much that you were yet to confront the truth.

Love surrounded you with every step you took. It was in the second dirty coffee cup that so often took post in your kitchen sink. It was in your dresser drawers, where Jake’s t-shirts lived on occasion when he forgot them, and especially when he neglected to bring them back to his own apartment upon realizing they were still at your house. It was in the longing glances at your phone screen, wondering when he would reply or if you would have to double text, and it was in the phone calls that lasted hours too long when the conversation started with a simple question that could be answered in seconds. It was right there in the room with you now, lingering at the dinner table after your shared meal and blatant in his desperation, his need for you so intense that he could not even wait until you finished cleaning. Although he loved to frame it as another way to torture you, the truth was that he knew he could not wait another second to have you. The position you found yourselves in was not because of his need to tease you, but because he thought he might succumb to death without you.

Love was everywhere, but two people who were so selfishly concerned with their own needs could not possibly fall without failing. Despite the emotion being spoken into every action, the two of you did not know how to love anymore, nor were you willing to try.

As said best by Dio: between the velvet lies, there’s a truth that’s hard as steel.

The lies the two of you were telling yourselves were so smooth and sweet that it made it so easy to ignore the obvious. When the comfort of your avoidance was no longer there to protect you, the blow from the truth would be so strong that it would take your life in an instant.

And just like that, the fourth capital vice took over, leaving your life bleeding with nothing but sinful energy and godless morals. Sloth had become you, only growing stronger as you showcased laziness in regards to your growing feelings. You thought that the longer you avoided the topic, the easier it would be to navigate it, yet as time passed, it only pushed you further into the devils hold. But, the slothful nature of your neglect was not even the worst infraction of your sin; the more pressing act had nothing to do with your lack of discussion of the obvious, but everything to do with your failure to utilize your own talent.

You were fantastic at loving Jake, and he was fantastic at loving you, yet neither of you harnessed the strength and instead pretended like love was your biggest weakness. The two of you loved each other so well that it was astounding, and everyone looking in on your relationship would never question the strength in which you felt or cared for each other. The two of you loved each other better than anyone ever had, but it was easier to pretend you didn’t. So, that’s what you did: you floated through life delicately intertwined with each other, yet refused to acknowledge that your feelings went any further than sexual. It was a dangerous little game, but the thrill was so good that it didn’t matter to you.

You were brough back to reality when a rush of pleasure took over, so strong that the glass in your hand slipped and plummeted back into the sink full of water. You could feel him smiling against you, happy his affect on you was so powerful. Instead of tantalizing you for it, he made it a point to work harder, his tongue moving so precisely that you did not even have the luxury of a single second to recover.

“Jake,” you gasped, your hands shaking as you tried to bargain with him. “I can’t do this.” You knew he was unlikely to give in, but you thought it was worth a try. Instead of a heeding your warning, he hummed against you and if it were even possible, seemed to put even more effort into pleasing you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you let out a shaky breath, now completely ignoring the dirty dishes still sitting in the sink.

He let you enjoy it for a moment, but when he did not hear any progress being made on the unimportant chore, he pulled back from you, slipping his thumb to your clit. “What? You don’t care about the dishes, now?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, but you had no energy to chastise him for his actions. The only thing you were focused on was the burning in your belly that was growing more rapidly than you could possibly imagine.

“I-please, Jake.” You pleaded, insanity knocking on the door and begging to invade your mind.

“Please, what? What do you want, angel?” His thumb grew heavier, his intent to punish you for your disobedience. Your legs quivered and your knees bucked in response to the change. You didn’t know what you wanted from him; stopping was worse than certain death, but you knew you could not continue on with what he was asking of you. “Answer me.” His tone was heavy, authority dripping from his words.

“I can’t do this anymore. I need to cum. I need you.” You gasped, another wave of pleasure shooting through you. There were tears in your eyes, and you were desperate for a release. You were terrified of disobeying him because you knew he would not be likely to give you what you wanted if you did, but you could not continue on with daily tasks as if he was not bestowing you with the utmost of evil with his tongue.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to be a brat.” His was less than sympathetic, even if he did wish to fuck your over the counter without any further delays. The only thing he loved more than fucking you was watching you quiver under his touch. “So stubborn that you couldn’t even tell me what you got up to while I was gone. I don’t think it’s fair that I have to answer my own questions, sweetheart. Do you?”

“N-no,” you whimpered, barely keeping yourself upright any more. Your body had been infiltrated with every single bit of evil he held in his own, and you no longer belonged to yourself. You were fully at his disposal, willing to tell him whatever he wanted and to do whatever he asked with hopes for a shred of kindness.

“Right,” he crooned, happy that you had both reached the same conclusion. “So you’re going to do as I fucking say, and I don’t want to hear another word from you.” His voice was strong and his words were harsh, yet all it did was turn you on further. You knew that Jake could speak nothing but insults in your direction and you would fall at his feet in response. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You choked out the words amidst a moan, knowing that if he continued on at the same pace, you would never be able to stop yourself from reaching an orgasm. With that, he returned his mouth to you, driving you even closer to the edge.

Your vision was blurred with amount pleasure he was bestowing upon you, and your limbs were separate from your mind, yet somehow you managed to continue on washing the last few dishes left in the sink. Despite your growing desperation, you knew Jake well enough to know that it was the only way to get what you wanted. Your fingers barely clasped around the cutlery, but slowly you managed to dwindle the pile down to only a single plate. With relief in sight but just out of reach, you clasped the dish tightly in your hand as you wiped it clean. As you set it in the dish rack, a cry of triumph left your lips. Your orgasm was threatening you further with every second that passed, and in a lapse of judgement, you figured you would not inform him of your intentions to climax until it was too late.

You gripped at the edge of the counter so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Your eyes were crossed with stars and not even a hint of a moan was stuck in your throat. You were too stunned by the pleasure to do anything other than enjoy it, and you feared if your tried to say something, he would catch on to your game with little mercy for you. You weren’t sure if you could handle him pulling away, but you failed to realize that Jake was the last person in the world you could lie to.

A particularly sharp intake of breath told him all he needed to know, and a flood of anger filled him. Instead of letting you know that he caught on to your game, he decided to push you until the very last second. He suctioned his lips around your clit, focusing solely on getting you to the absolute brink of a climax. An involuntary moan filled the air, and you felt the pressure in your belly reach the point of no return. As you braced yourself for the storm waiting to come, suddenly, it stopped.

“No, Jake, please!” The words tore through your chest like a bullet, and the shame that normally came from begging him no longer existed.

“Did you think you’d get away with that?” He chuckled, making a move to stand. Once he was steady on his feet, you turned your head to look up at him, your eyes showing utter devastation at the loss of contact. “I told you not to cum unless I said so, angel. Seems like you still haven’t learned how to listen to me.”

“Jake, please, I’m sorry.” You said, pushing yourself up off the counter. His eyes drifted towards the sink, pleased that you’d managed to do at least one thing he’d asked of you.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart.” He shook his head, helping you stand upright to join him. Your eyes studied his face, your heart yearning for him to move closer. He looked so angelic in the lowlight of the kitchen, but you knew it was untrue. He was not an angel, nor was he anything holy. The devil was in the details, and the details were something you’d grown incredibly aware of in the time you’d known him. Your arousal was glistening on his lips, which were so soft and inviting. There was a malicious glint in his eye, showcasing his displeasure with your actions, and the curl of his lips portrayed his anger as clear as day.

He was beautiful, and that much was true, but it was not beauty that would be splayed across a portrait hung on a church wall or carefully burned into stained glass; it was the kind of devastating beauty that the bible warns you about, once that’s so inviting and alluring but deadly once it’s within reach.

His hellish nature had become incredibly apparent, and although it was enough to scare the world away, it only seemed to pull you in further.

Perhaps it was not his charm that was drawing you in, but rather your likeness. You were not impressed by his otherworldly charm, but because you had a streak of evil coursing through your veins, too.

“If you’ve forgotten how to listen, maybe I’ve forgotten how to be nice.” He spoke slow, making sure every word hit you with an impact.

“As if you were ever nice in the first place.” You rolled your eyes, irritated and angry at him for denying you the pleasure. He cocked his head to the side, bringing his hand to your face and clasping his fingers around your chin in a tight hold. He guided your head upwards so you could not avoid looking him in the eyes.

“I think you know all about how nice I can be.” He corrected, his tone so dangerously soft that it made your skin crawl. “And you know that I’m only nice when it’s deserved. Do you think you deserve it, angel?” You watched him with a soft gaze, hoping that the lust shining so bright in your eyes would convince him to double back on his word. When he showed no sign of backing down, you shook your head against his hold.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?” He challenged, hoping to hear some sort of repentance in your answer.

Oh, how odd it is for the devil to expect repentance from someone when he has not even done it himself.

In your own devilish way, a spark of mischief flashed in your eyes as you responded with fake apologies.

“I’ve been so bad, sir.” You put on a dramatic display, mocking him as he stood before you with all the power in the world. “I’ve been such a bad girl for you, and bad girls don’t get what they want.” You gave an innocent smile, putting on your best show in hopes of making another clear display of disobedience. He gave you a pointed stare, showing his displeasure with your actions. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll do whatever you want to make up for it.” As you finished your sentence, his hand dropped from your chin and moved downwards to rest on your neck. You held his stare, neither of you willing to back down. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear, sir?” His fingers tightened around your neck, gradually growing more comfortable as the seconds passed.

“My god you talk a lot, sweetheart.” His calm voice sent a shiver down your spine, knowing that the buttons you were pressing could have an explosive reaction. “You really know how to piss me off.” He said it almost as if it was a compliment, and you took it as one, too. To know that you had so much power over him in any way was exhilarating. “Let me tell you how this is going to work, okay?” He watched your face, waiting for another hint of argument in your eye. When it never came, he continued on. “You’re going to do as I say, and if you decide to listen this time, I might let you cum. If want to keep being be a brat, you can get yourself off after I go home. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You choked out, finding it hard to fill your lungs with enough air to speak. You wanted to blame it on his fingers locked around your throat, but you knew it was because his aura was so powerful that it stole the air directly from your lungs. You were fearful that he would not find enough kindness to grant you an orgasm, but you were even more fearful that he would go home without you after the night’s excitement came to an end. You would never admit it to him, but your bed was too empty without him in it, sleeping soundly beside you.

“Good,” he said, tightening his hold just a little more. Your head was beginning to swim with the familiar airy feeling and your chest was burning for a hint of oxygen. “Now get in your fucking room and take your clothes off.” He let go with a little more force than intended, causing you to stumble backwards slightly. His first reaction was to reach out and steady you, and to apologize for the intensity of his actions, but he was trying to prove a point. It was much too easy for him to dote on you, and he had to use all of his willpower to hold back.

You could not ignore the incessant ache between your legs as you made your way to the bedroom, partially from the denial of your orgasm, but mostly because of his authoritative tone and actions. You were a fool for Jake, undeniably in lust with him and willing to do whatever he wanted as long as there was a promise for him to keep touching you. As much as you liked to piss him off, you knew that at the end of the day, you would bend to his will until your bones snapped and you were stuck there permanently. He could get you to do whatever he pleased with a snap of his fingers and only minuscule argument. He was the first man to ever walk the earth that held enough power to bend your own will, and you were not even upset at him for the fact.

Once the door was closed and the two of you were locked in seclusion together, he leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you undress. You caught his eye, the submissive nature fleeing you for a moment once again. He did so good at getting you there, and you did fantastically at pulling yourself out of it.

A match made in heaven was not even close to what the two of you had. In fact, it was better described as a match made in the deepest depths of hell.

You slowly brought your hands to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly to give him a small flash of skin. Carefully and with great ease, you pulled the shirt from your body and lifted it over your head, discarding it on the floor. You moved on to your pants, bending down and sliding them off completely. His jaw was hard set as his eyes stayed glued to your figure, wondering what he ever did to deserve the company of such an angel.

But, you were not an angel, and the evil that ran through you was the only match to his own devilish attitude.

You reached behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra. When you let it fall from your shoulders, you could see his eyes darken even further. You pulled it away from your skin, tossing it on the floor but this time, in the direction of where he was standing. His stare broke from you only for a moment to watch the fabric flutter to the ground.

“Is this your way of saying sorry?” He raised an eyebrow, needing to comment on your half-assed strip-tease.

“Is it working?” You cocked your head to the side, a small smile on your lips. He chuckled at your expression, taking a step towards you. Within seconds, he was in front of you and his hands were on you again, much gentler than they were moments before. He was showing you remorse for his harsh treatment, but he wasn’t willing to give you a verbal apology.

“I think you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.” He said, looking down at your face. You figured as much, but you could help but notice the disappointment weighing on your shoulders. “Any ideas?” He asked.

“I think I have one.” You offered, giving him a real smile. Although his form of punishment was delaying your orgasm, he did not realize just how much pleasing him pleased you. Slowly, you sunk to your knees, not needing to wait for a response. His head fell backwards, a cocky smile stuck on his lips as he looked towards the ceiling. He was thrilled about your idea, and he could not have thought of a better resolution if he tried.

You unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops and throwing it down on the floor. He was painfully hard, his zipper begging to bust at the seam from the strain. As if to taunt him, you made the process as slow as possible. He was patient, knowing your game better than you played it. When you freed him from his pants, he helped you pull them off of him. He kicked them to the side, uncaring for any grace, and fixed his gaze on your face.

“Would this show you how sorry I am, sir?” You looked up at him, catching him off guard with an innocent eye. He took in a shark breath, nearly feral from the sight of you on your knees for him.

“That depends on how good of a job you do, angel.” He had no fear about your performance, nor had he ever. He was well aware of the effect you had on him, and he was certain that you could punch him in the face and he would thank you with tears in his eyes. Without another word, you pulled down his boxers, your mouth watering at the thought of making him feel as good as he made you feel.

You moved forward, parting your lips slightly to take him into your mouth. As you did, you let your tongue glide across the tip of his cock, the small movement sending a wave of euphoria through him. His hand reach down, tangling in your hair as he balled it into his fist. You could feel him throbbing in your mouth, knowing immediately how pent up he was from the days spent away from you. Slowly, you took him further, focusing intently until you could feel him hit the back of your throat. He let out a hiss of pleasure, holding himself back from thrusting his hips in response to the feeling. He cared little about pushing you to any limit, and was more concerned with you working to make up for the attitude you had been giving him.

You bobbed your head down on him a few times, not giving him nearly enough relief from your slow pace. He fought the urge to take control, knowing that he could enjoy the moment without pushing you any further just yet. He wanted to see what you were capable of, and from there, he would decide if he could find enough kindness to get you off. He watched you carefully, noticing your eyes flicking towards his face every so often. You were making sure he was watching you, and he was making sure you were watching him. The two of you were intent on being the centre of attention, and there was nobody else in the world you wanted to be watched by.

You pulled back, already finding your face a mess with spit despite barely getting started. You withdrew a long breath, looking up at him with a hopeful expression. “Just like that?” You said, watching his eye twitch ever so slightly at the filthy question.

“Just like that, angel.” He agreed, pushing your head back towards his cock so it was resting on your lips. “Doing such a good job.” The praise sent anothe rush of arousal to your core; you were aching to be touched by him again, but touching him was doing just the same for you. You took him back into your mouth, speeding your movements just enough for him to notice the change. You would never tell him, but you were hoping for him to take control of the situation. Being used by Jake was one of the greatest pleasures you’d ever experienced.

Slowly, his hand applied more pressure on your head, guiding it down further with every move you made. You let out a moan against him, the vibration sending a whole new wave of pleasure through him. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth, angel.” He crooned, looking down at you as his chest heaved with his heavy breathing. “Do you like being my little whore?” The question struck you with the same intensity as a punch to the stomach. You thought you might fall over if not for his hand holding you in place. You locked eyes with him, unable to confirm the answer verbally, but hoping your expression would tell him enough. He took in a long breath, trying to keep his composure at the idea of you being so infatuated with him. He could tell he was right, and it was driving him to insanity.

With that, he gave an aggressive thrust of his hips, keeping your head in place so he didn’t stun you too much with the movement. The quick motion caused a gag to rise in your throat, constricting around him as he held himself there for a moment. Once you recovered from the shock, he began at a steady pace that was much faster than the one you had set. You tried to focus your breathing until he had pleased himself enough to pull away, but it was proving difficult. Once you thought you had caught up to his speed, he began moving your head down on him in time with his hips. Tears were threatening to spill onto your cheeks, and your desire for a breath of air was growing more dire by the second, but you persevered.

“You take it so fucking good.” He hissed, now completely lost in the pleasure he was feeling. The words were nearly too much for you, and you were desperate for relief. You figured that he would not notice if your hand slipped between your legs, or if he did, he would not care. As he fucked your face, you reached your hand between your legs and let your finger trace around your clit. The stimulation was not nearly as much as you needed, nor anything comparable to what he could do for you, but it was something. The small waves of pleasure that you were feeling allowed you to continue on with his brutal pace, distracting you from the roughness and satiating your need for him just a little longer.

You were a fool for thinking you could sneak anything past the devil.

His eyes drifted downwards towards you, taking a moment to fully understand the reality as the haze of sexual energy surrounded him. As his eyes came into focus, they first landed on your face, revelling in your beauty and moved by your likeness to an Angel. Then, his gaze caught your arm that was tucked neatly out of view. He moved his head to the side, a wicked smirk stuck on his lips as he noticed your fingers trying to relieve yourself of the ache that was bothering you so badly. You hadn’t noticed his stare lingering on you, and you did not know he had noticed and taken note of your disobedience yet again. Instead of punishing you, he decided to see how long it would take for you to realize.

Now crazed for a whole new reason, his movements remained steady as he watched you please yourself. He could see it in your face, even as you tried to keep up with his movements. The furrow of your eyebrow was familiar to him, as was the moans you were letting out when the situation permitted it. The expression and the sounds had nothing to do with his cock down your throat, and it had everything to do with the orgasm that was building steadily. He let you go until he knew you were just about to reach the peak, angry at you for not knowing how to listen, but also enthralled in the beauty of your euphoria. Knowing you were so willing to make him feel good, and knowing that it turned you into a mess in turn did the exact same to him.

You took a particularly sharp intake of breath, and he knew his tirade had to come to an end. With great reluctance, he pulled your head off of him, but not even that could distract you from the pleasure threatening to take hold. You were lost in your own world, but he couldn’t seem to find the generosity to allow it.

In a flash, his hand struck your cheek with enough force to shock you back to reality. It wasn’t nearly enough to harm you, nor cause any lasting pain, but it did exactly what he intended for it to do. You looked up at him, eyes wide in terror that you’d been caught in the act. “You were so close, sweetheart.” He gave a small shake of his head, his chest still heaving for a full breath of air. “You almost had me convinced that you could be good for me.”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You apologized, the words falling from your lips in a mess. This time, the apology was genuine, and you felt terrible about disobeying him. Although it was genuine, it was wholeheartedly for the sake of selfishness.

“I’m the one that should be sorry, angel.” He sighed, motioning with his hand for you stand. “I should know better. You’ll always be a brat,” he continued, making sure you were steady on your feet before he pushed you towards the bed. “But it doesn’t really mattter, because I know exactly how to handle you.”

“Jake please, I promise I’ll be so good for you.” You pleaded, feeling your legs hit the mattress as you tried to back away from him. The fire in his eye was dangerous, but it was enticing. As much as you tried to plead with him to change his mind, you knew you would enjoy whatever he had in store for punishment.

“For some strange reason, I don’t believe you sweetheart.” He chuckled, finding your empty promises comical. He leaned down, grabbing his belt from the floor and taking a long look at it as he straightened up again. “Since you don’t know how to behave, I’ll have to make sure your hands don’t go wandering again. We wouldn’t want you to cum without permission, right?”

“Right,” you muttered, knowing you were fighting a losing battle. Without any further argument, you extended your hands towards him.

“I’ll strike you a deal, just because you’re so damn pretty.” He sighed, unable to resist the urge to coddle you. “If you can be good for me, I’ll consider taking these off.” He looped the leather around your wrists, pulling it until it was tight enough to keep them in place. He didn’t push it any further, too nervous about making it too tight. “Does that sound alright?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded.

“You better be on your best behaviour angel, because this is your last chance. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You repeated. He let out a hum of appreciation at your obedient tone, happy to hear your change of heart.

“Now we can finish what we started with no interruptions.” He smiled down at you. “On the bed, on your hands and knees.” He ordered, watching as you scrambled to get into position. You knew you’d pushed him a little too far, and he was no longer willing to play nice. “Isn’t it so much easier when you do as your told? No punishments, no arguments… unless that’s what you’re hoping for?” He took a step towards you, watching as you looked up at him as you anticipated his next move. “Is that what you want, angel? You want me to treat you like a whore?” You averted your gaze from his face, instead looking down at his cock that was eye-level with you. It was painfully hard, the tip red and glistening with pre-cum from the excitement that came before your rude interruption. “Do you like it when I punish you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, eager to have him in your mouth again. He let out a low chuckle, amazed at the sight before him. When he first met you that night at the bar, he knew he had a slim chance at ending up in your bed at all. He never expected to have you on your knees for him, willing to do whatever was asked of you just to please him.

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong. I’m not hard enough on you. I let you get away with too much, and now you think you can do whatever you want.” He brought his hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb across the soft, blushed skin. “Do I have to remind you who’s in charge? Will that fix your little attitude problem?”

“No, sir.” You whispered, but it was weak and he knew that you wanted exactly what he said.

“You have to be a little more convincing than that, baby.” He said, the tip of his cock now practically resting on your lips. You were barely able to contain your excitement, thrilled at the idea of pleasing him again. “Maybe that’s what I’ll have to do then, since you don’t seem to have a better solution.”

“Whatever you want, sir.” You breathed, your eyes flickering up towards his face. The crazed look in his eye was paired dangerously with the tensed muscle in his jaw. He was feral for you, and he wasn’t afraid to show it anymore. You did something to him nobody else ever could, and he knew that when your clothes were back on and you were nestled under the covers for the night, that feeling would still be burning in his chest.

He had fallen for you beyond anything he ever believed he could feel, and with every minute that passed, he descended even further into the depths of loving you.

Without any further guidance, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue gently across the sensitive skin. He let out a sharp sigh, shuddering at the feeling. Slowly, you took the head of his cock in your mouth and suctioned your cheeks slightly, moving your head down on him. Worked up from the last time, the sensation was now even more intense and he could not hold back the moan that was stuck in his throat. The sound settled in the pit of your stomach, your arousal nearly too much to handle, now. With the loss of your hands, you feared you might die from your need for him if it was not taken care of soon enough.

“That’s my girl.” He said, his eyes fixated on your face. “I knew you could be good for me.” You hummed against him, showing your appreciation for the praise. Although part of your obedience came from your desire to orgasm, a bigger part was just because he was so hard to deny. Fighting and arguing was in your nature, but when it came down to it, you knew that you would always give him what he wanted. His sweet words and soft touch was better than any drug, and knowing he felt the same about you was exhilarating.

You had fallen just as hard, and you were both playing the devil’s advocate by denouncing love while feeling it so strongly. By reminding each other romance was out of the question, you were hoping that it would open a bigger discussion on the topic. Although actively trying to ignore the obvious, a deeper part of you was desperate to bring it up. You knew that there was no way you were the only one feeling that way, and you were aching to hear him say all of the words you had been too scared to speak.

Jakes hand tangled in your hair again, holding your head steady as he took control once again. His hips moved forward, his pace starting slow so he could work himself back up to the one you were engaging in previously. The ache between your legs was unbearable, but you had no other choice but to persevere. Tears were brimming your eyes again, and every time he moved a gag was begging to be had. He was much closer than he was the last time, and his movements were much sloppier. The moans falling from his lips were the most heavenly thing you’d ever heard, and that was the only thing keeping you going.

“It’s so much more peaceful when you can’t fucking talk.” He growled, the pleasure creeping up on him growing more intense by the second. “Now I know how to shut you up.” If he was not using your mouth for his own sexual pleasure, you would have laughed at his comment. He knew just as well as you did that it was in fact the only reason you weren’t slinging insults at him. You moaned against him, playing into his little power trip in hopes of speeding up the process. Every time his cock hit the back of your throat, you knew he was growing closer to a climax. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it angel?” You let out another noise, your enthusiasm driving him even closer to the edge. “Should just cum in your mouth and leave you here like this. That would teach you a lesson, wouldn’t it angel?” You let out another groan, but this one filled with discontent at his words. You both knew he would never even dream of doing such a thing, but you feared if you didn’t disagree, he might actually follow through with it.

You felt him twitch in your mouth as a slur of curses fell from his lips, but he pulled away with enough time to avoid an orgasm. You looked up at him, your face red and your eyes watering, but he still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the pleasure of looking at. The room was a mess of heavy breathing and sexual tension, and neither of you could withstand the pressure any longer. After one last look over your face, he took a step to the side and out of your line of vision. Now, the only thing you could see was your reflection in the mirror placed meticulously by the wall in front of your bed.

His hand drifted over your bare back with a delicate touch after he undressed himself completely. He climbed into bed behind you, looking at your face in the mirror. His fingers gripped your hips as a smile began blossoming on his lips. He’d been waiting for this all night, and now that the moment had arrived, he was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Do you want me to fuck you, angel?” He whispered, his voice barely breaking through the silence.

“Yes, please.” You pleaded, knowing that you were still completely at his mercy. You could not move from your position, nor could you change his mind if he decided to continue torturing you.

“How bad do you want it?” His hand drifted between your legs, his finger finding your clit with ease. You took in a sharp breath at the feeling, already overwhelmed and he had barely even touched you.

“So bad, Jake.” You whimpered, out of your mind with lust for him. You needed him so badly you were delirious at the thought. “Please, baby. I need you.” You watched him through the reflection, seeing his eyes close in bliss at your words.

“How can I say no to you when you say it like that?” He asked, his tone airy and completely clouded with desire for you. He no longer had the willpower to tease you, and it was becoming more apparent by the second. For a moment longer, he let his finger trace over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He moved forward, letting himself rest against your entrance. He listened to the sounds falling from your lips, your relief sending him into a whole new state of mind. He moved his hand away from you, but you didn’t have enough time to mourn the loss before he was pushing into you.

“Fuck,” you cried, the feeling immediately overwhelming you.

“Does that feel good, angel?”

“So good, baby.” You whined, biting down on your lip to hold back the obscenities begging to be heard. “I missed you so much.” You breathed, barely noticing the tone of voice it was spoken in. It made his hips stutter and his mind stop for a second. His heart swelled with affection at the statement, and all he could do was smile.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He crooned, delivering a sharp slam of his hips to follow the words. A gasp fell from your lips, and you arched your back upwards towards him, desperate for more. You let your top half lower to the mattress, closing your eyes so you could live in the pleasure momentarily. “Look at me.” He ordered, reaching down at knotting your hair in his fist once again. He pulled your head upwards with a rough motion of his hand, ensuring your eyes were locked on the reflection in the mirror. “Want to see that pretty face while I fuck you.” You let out a whimper, the power of his voice making you weak.

Convincing yourself that you weren’t in love with him was a foolish endeavour, but you were still trying your best despite your stomach tying in knots at the sight of his beauty in the mirror.

“Is this what you thought about while I was gone?” He asked, his tone strong and his hips moving with just the same strength. “Did you touch yourself right here in this bed, waiting for me to come and fuck you like this?”

“God yes, Jake.” You gasped, feeling the pressure rising in your belly. You couldn’t deny him the pleasure of hearing it anymore, even if you wanted to. He’d been waiting to hear the truth from the minute he walked inside, and now you were too far gone to fight the urge to submit to him. “I thought about you every night.”

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He hummed, thrilled at the sound. “You don’t have to worry any more, angel. I’ll take care of you, just like you deserve.” He brought his hand down on your ass, watching your face in the reflection as the sting of pain took over. “Let me hear all of those filthy fucking noises I missed out on.” His order was useless, because you were already doing just that. You couldn’t contain any of the moans, nor any curses. You were singing his name like a hymn, but it was the most sacrilegious song ever sung. There was nothing holy to worship, and you were praising the devil with pride.

“Jake,” you cried, his name burrowing into the walls and making home in the foundation of your house. His presence would live there forever, and you would never be able to run away from it. He was everything, and you were just the lucky soul who could be the recipient of his love. You no longer had fear of Jake taking over your life, because you knew it would be empty and lackluster without his presence.

“My name sounds so pretty when you say it like that.” He groaned, his fingers branding your hips with bruises for you to see in days to come. His fist was tight in your hair, ensuring your eyes would remain on the picture of sin you’d found yourselves in.

“It feels so fucking good,” you whimpered, the pain bordering pleasure so divine that you could no longer think straight.

“Don’t cum yet, baby.” He warned, the look in his eye dangerous.

“Please Jake, I need it so bad.” You pleaded, desperate for a shred of sympathy.

“You’re being so good for me, sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer.” He promised pleasure as long as you listened, and the deal was the same every time. If you were good for him, he was phenomenal to you. You usually had no problem with the agreement, but it had been so long since you felt his hands on you that you weren’t sure you could hold back any longer. He’d pushed you to the edge already, and you thought it was impossible to deny yourself of the pleasure any longer.

“I can’t, Jake.” You cried, shaking your head against his tight hold on you.

“You can, angel. I know you can.” He encouraged you, knowing for certain that you could hold on a little while longer. You bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood in hopes that it would distract you from the incessant burn that was growing stronger in the pit of your stomach. The tip of his cock was slamming into your cervix, the intensity of the feeling making your legs shake below you and your mind cross with thoughts of nothing but filth. Tears stung your eyes and you felt like you were being pushed closer to insanity with every thrust of his hips.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut in anticipation. You were so close that there was no way you could slow it down. As you teetered on the edge, you felt yourself slowly descending into the euphoria. Just when you were about to fall, the feeling stopped completely. Your eyes snapped open, now realizing that his withdrawal was a million times worse than any punishment he could possibly give you for cumming without permission.

Now, the tears were real, and they were all due to your frustration with him for denying you any kind of help. Before you could even form a thought of protest against his withdrawal, he got off the bed and moved in front of you once again.

“Hey,” he whispered, crouching down so you were face to face. He brushed the tears away from your cheeks with his thumb, fearful he’d pushed you too far. “No need for tears, angel.” He leaned forward, capturing you in a small kiss. As he did so, his hands found your wrists, loosening the belt that was holding them together. The anxiety in your chest subsided, realizing quickly that he was no longer trying to punish you, but rather fulfill his promise that he’d given you earlier. “I told you that I’d take it off if you were good for me, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, nodding in bliss at the realization he was going to follow through with his promise. He let the belt fall to the floor before standing on his feet, letting his thumb brush across your cheek again.

“Come here, baby.” He prompted you to join him, giving you a soft smile to show you he was being serious. His dominance was gone, and he was ready to coddle you for the rest of the night. He’d pushed you far enough, and now he wanted you to enjoy whatever came next. Once you were on your feet, he led you back towards the head of the bed. He laid down, holding his arm out for you to join him. With a small smile stuck on your lips, you watched him settle himself amongst the pillows. He propped himself up slightly against the headboard as you got in the bed, too. You climbed atop of him, settling your legs on either side of him as you felt the excitement begin to take over again. “Is this better?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, unable to put it into words. You lined yourself up with him, melting into his hold. His hands were holding your hips, his touch soft and inviting, and his eyes no longer held the flame they did moments before. He’d completely softened at the sight of your face so close to his, and he was fighting every urge he had to love you.

You lowered yourself on him, both of you letting out a simultaneous sigh of relief. “God I missed this, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby.” You breathed, anchoring your hand on his shoulder as you began a slow motion with your hips.

“You feel so fucking good.” He sighed, using his own hands to help keep your movements steady. You leaned down, placing your lips on his in a heated kiss. You wanted him in every way you could have him, and even while he was intertwined with you in the most intimate ways possible, it still didn’t feel like enough.

He was the most beautiful thing this world had ever created, and you wanted to stay like that with him for the rest of your life. When he left, your home seemed too empty. When you couldn’t talk, you missed him more than you ever cared to admit. He had become the most important person in your life without even trying, and the line between casualness had been long crossed. As you worked yourself back up to an orgasm, love was surrounding you both completely. It was certain death, and you were a dead woman walking, but you didn’t care. The longer you avoided speaking the truth, the longer you could have him in the same way. You were terrified of disturbing the peace, but you feared that the longer you held it back, the more disastrous the situation would become.

“You want to cum, angel?” He mumbled against your lips, feeling your hips speed against him as he spoke.

“Yes, please.” You whined, already feeling the steady build of pleasure rising. Every touch was euphoric, and every glance was angelic. No matter what he was doing, you were a fool for thinking you could escape it. His web was spun too intricately to even strike a curiosity about a way out.

“You want it so bad, work for it.” His voice was low, husky and soft. It was filled with desire for you, and he was eager to watch you descend into bliss. As much as he loved the control, his favorite part of sex with you was watching you have a good time. The closeness was intoxicating, and he was completely immersed in you as you desperately tried to get yourself off.

“Can you help me? Please?” You begged, needing to feel the grace of his hands on you.

“You want me to touch you, angel?” He hummed, clenching his jaw as he held back his own orgasm. The thought of needing him was too much to bear.

“Please, sir.” You whimpered, looking down at him with a longing stare. His heavily hooded eyes were clouded with lust, and he no longer had enough willpower to deny you of anything. At the end of the day, he knew he would always give you exactly what you wanted.

“Since you asked so nicely, baby.” He agreed, moving his hand from your hip and slipping it between your legs. You leaned backwards slightly, allowing him easier access to you. The pad of his finger danced over your sensitive clit, the feeling immediately bringing you closer to the edge. You moved your hands and anchored them behind you, firmly on his thighs to keep yourself upright. You gyrated your hips faster, keeping in time with the circles his finger was tracing. “Just like that?”

“Fuck, yes.” You moaned, closing your eyes as you felt the knot begin to tighten in your belly.

“That’s it, angel.” He said, encouraging you to keep going. “Cum for me, baby.” The permissive statement was all you needed to keep going, and within seconds you descended into the most intense pleasure you’d ever felt in your entire life. You sang his name, the song sweet and beautiful, and he thought it was the most moving thing he’d ever heard.

He watched you closely, studying every detail of your face as it twisted into an expression of pleasure. The way your eyebrows furrowed, and the curl of your lip as you tried to silence yourself. He was in love with the way your skin tinged red and the glisten of sweat that formed on your face. He adored you and everything about you, and he was in no place to deny it any longer. His eyes drifted downwards, admiring the tensed muscles in your shoulders and the way your breasts moved in time with your hips. His gaze trailed down your stomach, tense with pleasure, and all the way down to his hand working at you as you rode out the high.

“That’s my girl,” his voice was weak, completely constrained by his own struggle to hold himself back. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” The waver in his words sent you into another wave of euphoria; knowing how intense his emotions were was sending you to a whole new level of pleasure.

“Fuck, Jake.” You croaked, completely exhausted and fucked out. You were so tired that you could barely hold yourself up, but he caught on to the fact and braced you with his own hand. As you came down, your head was spinning and your legs were trembling. He moved his fingers from your clit, grabbing your hips as he continued to move them for you. Within seconds, he reached his own orgasm with just as much force as your own. He managed your name through the mess of curses that fell from his lips. His head fell back on the pillow as he spilled his release into you, continuing moving your hips for you to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible.

When you both calmed from the excitement, you let out a long sigh of satisfaction. You practically collapsed on top of him, craving the warmth of his skin on your own. He wrapped a strong arm around you, holding you close in hopes that you knew how welcomed the moment was. He let his fingers trace small shapes into your skin as your heartbeats turned into one. You let your fingers run over his bicep, the touch light and tickling his skin. He placed a small kiss to the top of your head, not enough for you to chastise him for, but enough to let you know he cared.

“I don’t think we should spend that much time away from each other anymore.” He chuckled, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo. He’d missed so dearly that he was unsure if he could live without it again.

“I agree.” You smiled, placing a small kiss to his chest. “When we have sex this good, I think it’s a crime to go without it.” He hummed a sound of agreement, but he couldn’t deny the stab he felt at the thought of you only wanting him around for sex. Although that was the clear agreement, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be around for more than just a hookup. He daydreamed about innocent dinners and days spent browsing shops in the city, hand in hand with nothing but smiles on your faces. He wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up on the couch every night, pretending to be interested in whatever movie was playing on the television while knowing the most important thing in the world was the girl laying in his arms.

Instead of speaking his mind, he let a lock of your hair twist around his finger. It was easier to ignore it than face the consequences of rejection.

“We should get cleaned up.” You mumbled, but you regretted speaking at all. You wanted to stay in that bed with him until the end of time. The fear of age and death meant nothing when you were experiencing such intimacy at the hands of someone so fantastic.

“Sure, angel.” He agreed, but he prayed you would change your mind. After a moment, you made a move to sit up. He ignored the sinking disappointment and did the same. The two of you went to the bathroom in silence, washing away the sinful reminders of your night of reuinion. As you cleaned up your messy makeup in the mirror, you felt his hands drift over the marks beginning to form on your hips. He would never say it, but you knew he felt regret for being so rough with you. An animalistic nature took over the both of you in the bedroom, and you couldn’t help the volatile attraction the two of you felt. When the moment passed and you realized how you treated each other, guilt began to plague you both.

He placed a kiss on your shoulder, waiting until you were finished to return to the bedroom with you. When you felt as though you looked presentable, the two of you made the journey back. You threw his shirt on, wasting no time before climbing under the covers. When you didn’t notice him immediately behind you, you peeked around the room to see what he’d busied himself with.

He stood at your desk, only in his boxers as he looked over the items littering the surface. “What are you doing?” You asked, but you didn’t really care. You knew that whatever he was up to was harmless, and you had nothing to hide from him anymore. It was genuine curiosity over what had caught his attention.

“You have some expensive cameras.” He said, amazed at the quality of your things.

“Well, I take pictures for a living, so I kind of have to.” You chuckled, nestling your head into the pillows.

“You have a Polaroid camera?” He asked, looking back over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, peeking at him through one eye. “Some people like that style, especially younger clients. I bring it with me and I use it sometimes for a picture or two. I don’t love it because I can’t edit the pictures, and what you get is what you get, but it’s a cool part of photo shoots. A little personal memory to bring home right away.” You shrugged, smiling at his curiosity. He picked it up, looking it over for a moment. Normally, you would be unwilling to let someone else touch your equipment, but you had no fear when your camera was in his hands. If he handled them with even half as much care as he held you with, you knew that it was the safest place for them to be.

“Is there film in this?” He asked, looking back at you again.

“Should be, why?” You asked, watching him take a few steps towards you.

“Smile.” He said, a smile stuck on his own lips as he asked you to do so.

“No, Jake.” You covered your face. “I look like shit.” You laughed. Your hair was a mess and your cheeks were still rosy from the rushing blood moments before. Your eyes were tired, and you were only clad in his t-shirt. You were nowhere near picture-worthy, but he couldn’t disagree more. He thought that in that moment, the epitome of beauty was sat directly in front of him.

“Impossible,” he shook his head, crouching down at the end of the bed “because you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world.”

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes.

“Please?” He asked again. “I promise I won’t show anyone else.” You let out a sigh of defeat, but you lowered your hand.

“Fine. Just one, though.” You surrendered. “But I get to take one of you, too.”

“Of course.” He agreed. You sat up against the headboard slightly, fixing your hair as you did so. You put on a smile, one that was clearly fake and only for the pose. “Come on. Give me a real smile, angel.” He said.

“That is real!”

“Uh-huh,” he rolled his eyes. “A photographer can’t tell a real smile from a fake one?”

“I can, but clearly you can’t. Must be why I’m the photographer and you stick to writing songs.”

“Ouch,” he laughed, “you say that as if writing songs is a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” You defended. “But, I don’t know if your songs are any good.” You corrected him.

“Maybe if someone would get over herself and listen to them, she’d know that they’re pretty great, actually.” His pitch got higher as he spoke, clearly telling you it was a joke. He looked at you over the camera, smiling at your stunned expression. “What? Got nothing to argue about, now? That’s a first.”

“You’re an asshole.” You laughed, finding his confidence charming. Just as you did, he snapped a picture of you amidst a real laugh, finding the moment of joy too precious to pass up. He waited as the photo printed from the bottom, grabbing it as he walked towards your desk to let it develop. “Give it to me.” You extended your hand, moving towards him to grab it. He handed it to you, posing no argument as he did so.

He collapsed on the bed next to you, settling himself in the same position as you were in. You moved to the end of the bed, kneeling as you studied his position. Before you took the picture, you leaned forward and fixed the blanket draped over his waist. You reached up, brushing the hair away from his eyes and giving him a small smile as you did so.

“How do I look?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Beautiful.” You confirmed, but no hint of a joke was present. You leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before you returned to your earlier position. He didn’t have to fake his smile, because every one he’d ever had around you was the most genuine he’d ever felt. You took the picture, placing the Polaroid on the comforter before moving towards him. You settled beside him, turning the camera to face you both.

“You like me enough to take a picture with me?” He teased, surprised at your initiation of the moment.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You brushed him off, ignoring his intent to get under your skin. He chuckled, leaning in just in time to press a kiss to your cheek as you clicked the button. You watched as it printed, grabbing it and moving to collect the other one as well.

You sat the camera beside you, watching intently as the photograph developed. The one of him on his lonesome finished first, and it nearly stole the air from your lungs. You had no idea a person could be so ethereal, but there he was, and you were so lucky to be in his company. Sometimes it felt like you did not deserve the care and attention that Jake gave you, and you did not feel nearly special enough to be receiving it from someone so phenomenal. When the second one finished developing, you couldn’t help but feel an unfamiliar feeling rise in your chest. It wasn’t lust, or desire, which was something you so often felt around him. Instead, it was adoration, and further underneath that was the emotion you’d been working so hard to cover up. When you looked over at him, you could see in his eyes that he felt the same way.

Love was dancing on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken and furious with you for ignoring it. You bit back the word, instead leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. You swore he could taste the sweetness of your feelings for him from the small action alone, and he feared all the same things. As you moved to place the camera on your desk, you stopped and stuck the two pictures in the corner of your mirror, ensuring that you could see them every time you passed by. It was a second of sweetness that would brighten even the darkest of days. When you returned to his side, your body was heavy with the weight of your heart that now solely belonged to him. You were terrified, and you refused to speak it aloud, but there was a small part of you that knew it was safe with him. As fearful as you were, you knew that he would not do the same as others who came before him.

You nestled yourself into his arms, content in his hold and knowing that you had never missed anything more than you missed his comfort. You closed your eyes as the newest deadly sin filled the air around you, pushing out the love and replacing it with evil. Your laziness in regards to confessing your feelings would eat away at you, and your failure to utilize your talent would kill you. The two of you were better at loving each other than you were at anything else, but you were too busy denying it to realize that it was exactly what you’d been doing all along. You were descending further into the depths of hell with every day that passed, but the evil had become so comfortable that the flames no longer burned. Now, it was a soft tickle that reminded you of home, and you knew that you were here to stay.

In the moment, sloth seemed like the most innocent crime you had committed in your time spent knowing him so intimately, but in the long run, it simply wasn’t true. Sloth was the most deadly sin to date, because it would eventually cause the most disastrous consequences. By avoiding the truth, you were setting yourself up for catastrophic failure, and when the time came, there would be no chance for recovery. It was opening the door for a whole new world of possibilities, but none of them good; your comfortability with your own sinful actions was dangerous, and ignoring the love that was growing for him would hurt you more than the both of you confessing the truth. Now, you had chosen to suffer in silence, and any grounds of doubt or defense no longer existed. Remaining in a casual relationship while loving each other so deeply only allowed for you to hurt each other in the most brutal ways possible; causing harm without even realizing the damage you left behind.

Sloth left you vulnerable, and you were too blind to realize the dangers. After all, how can you hurt someone who has never admitted to the fact that they are able to be hurt by you at all?

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlove @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby

192 notes · View notes