#and slap that shit onto an ao3 comment)

[cheswirls]

no idea why ywr/iwf has gotten an influx of kudos over the past week but its been both a compliment and an irk tbh

[absurdthirst]

Greased Lightning {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Santiago Garcia}

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 13.1k

Warnings: Financial difficulties, technical prostitution, sex for services, propositioning, threesomes, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), dirty talk, degradation, anal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, cum play, explicit photos

Comments: Broken down and in need of a mechanic, you call Triple Frontier Repair. Finding out that the repairs are more expensive than you can afford, the men have an idea on how you can compensate them.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Shit.” You hiss when you hear the engine of your piece of shit car start knocking and the dashboard lights up like a Christmas tree. “No, no, don’t do this, please don’t do this.” You whine when the acceleration of the car suddenly depletes and you are obviously going to be moving off the road to the shoulder. Bucking slightly as you try to coax it a little farther so you can safely get off and you feel like crying. You’re in a bind financially and you can’t afford pricey car repairs. If you don’t have a car, you can’t go to work and if you can’t go to work, you won’t have a job. You slap the steering wheel and sigh, knowing that you will need to get the car towed. After cursing your bad luck, you open your phone and google the closest mechanics shop that has a towing service. Hopefully they will be able to fix it for cheap. 

“Frontier Repair Shop.” Santi answers the phone, about to leave early but your voice sounds distressed. 

“I need a tow and my car - it just stopped and I don’t know what happened.” You try not to cry down the phone and Santi sighs, knowing his mama would kick his ass if she knew he’d left a woman on the side of the road. He asks you for the mile marker you’re near and knows where you are. 

“Fish, I’ll be back in a bit.” He promises to his partner, heading out to the tow truck to go and get your vehicle. 

When the truck arrives, you almost cry with relief but compose yourself, knowing that this won’t be an easy or cheap fix. When the mechanic gets out of the truck, your mouth falls slightly. “You need a tow?” He asks and you nod, dumbstruck by the handsome man and you almost forget about the issue at hand.

His brows furrow when he slips behind the wheel and sees the array of lights when he turns the key. “It’s good that you turned it off.” He compliments and jams the brake to shift the car into neutral. He’s already put the chains on the frame and just needs to hoist it up onto the flatbed. 

“I just….was driving along and it went haywire.” You worry, biting your lip. “It’s gonna be expensive, isn’t it?” You can’t afford this, you are already destined to spend the rest of your rare day off in a mechanic’s shop. 

“Won’t know until we get it back to the shop.” Santi tells you, noting how pretty you are, even though you’re obviously distressed. “Don’t worry though, me and Fish are the best mechanics around. We’ll get you back on the road.” He promises before shutting the door. “You need a ride to the shop with me, or do you have someone coming?’ 

“I need a ride. I don’t have anyone coming to pick me up and I need to get this fixed today. I have to work tomorrow and I don’t have any other way to get there.” You tell him and he nods, opening the passenger door for you to get in. It’s a little messy, coffee cups and wrappers litter the floor but you don’t care, too distracted by your bad luck. 

“You from around here?” Santi asks as he starts the truck and makes his way back to the shop. 

“No. Moved here years ago for college and didn’t go home.” You sigh.

Santi nods and concentrates on the road. “I get that.” He tells you. “Fish and I opened this shop when we got out of the Army. Just far enough away from the base we didn’t have to deal with that bullshit, but close enough we could go raise hell if we wanted.” He throws you a grin, thinking about the nights they would go bar hopping and get into some good, old fashioned trouble. Plus it was always fun to pick up the women there. “College, huh? What did you major in? I’ve been thinking about taking a few classes, using my G.I. bill.” 

“It’s nothing exciting. I work in HR. Majored in Psych but didn’t get to put that degree to the test. But my student loans have been killing me since my rent was increased and I- sorry, you don’t wanna hear about my drama. How long were you in the army?” You ask, curious and trying to not notice the way his forearm muscles clench as he drives the truck.

Santiago snorts, glancing over at you and then back at the road. “Twenty years.” He admits, grinning ruefully. “Joined up when I was eighteen. Got out last year.” He shrugs. “Not too bad, but the retirement pay doesn’t go as far as it used to. And Fish and I were going stir crazy. Running ops wasn’t feasible, so we decided to start turning wrenches.” 

“Fish?” You ask and he nods, “my partner. His name is Frankie but we had nicknames in our team in the army. His was Catfish and mine was Pope- is Pope.” He says and you frown, “where did Pope come from?” You ask and Santi smirks a little as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Back in the day, the fellas would say that women knelt before me like Catholics kneel before the Pope.” 

You fluster at the thought, unable to deny his claim. Women would still kneel before him now. “I appreciate you coming out to help me so fast.” You say as he turns into the lot for the shop.

“Never leave a pretty lady on the side of the road.” Pope hums, watching as he turns the big wrecker around and he throws it park before looking over at you. “If you go into the waiting area, we have mediocre coffee and bottled water.” He shrugs and winks. “Down the hall to the right is a little break room. Fish has some Cokes stashed in the fridge for people we like.” He winks at you and juts his chin towards the building. “Go relax, we’ll take care of you.” 

You nod, grateful to him for being so kind, and you get out of the truck, adjusting your skirt as you make your way into the shop, walking past the open garage doors. Frankie is just wheeling out from under a Kia Soul when his eyes find your legs and trail up your form as you walk past. The bell rings as you open the door to the waiting area and Frankie whistles as Santi strides over. “Jesus, Pope. Where’d you find her?” He asks, smirking at his friend.

Pope grins and shrugs. “What can I say, women just flock to me.” He jokes, before pointing to the car that James is rolling off the flatbed. “She broke down on the side of the road. Needs it ASAP, but I can already tell it’s gonna be expensive.” He snorts. “I might have promised her that she would be driving home tonight.” 

Frankie rolls his eyes and sighs, aware that his friend often makes outrageous promises to pretty women, mostly at the expense of Frankie’s time. “Fuck, Pope.” He grumbles. “Kia’s done, go write it up and I’ll get started on the car.” 

Pope grins victoriously at his friend giving in to his whims when it comes to gorgeous women and he makes his way inside, calling out the owner of the Kia to give him the invoice and take his payment while Frankie backs the car out of the bay. “Thanks man. Always appreciate you guys fixing her up.” The guy says to Pope and shakes his hand. You watch as he exits the waiting room and figure he must be an army friend. You are anxious to find out how much this is gonna cost. You might have to ask him to fix it up enough to drive around without clunking out but you know you’d be back in the shop at a moment in the near future.

Under the hood of the car, Frankie is hissing a curse as he shoves his busted knuckle into his mouth. Not really minding the grease as he sucks at the broken skin. He was used to having greasy hands from the work he did, but he fucking hated whoever designed the engine compartment on this car. “Goddamn piece of shit.” He scowls when he pulls his hand away from his mouth and looks back down at the fuel injector. It’s shot to shit and he’s pretty sure that your head gasket is leaking. It won't be cheap, just like Pope predicted, but it can be fixed today. He sighs, wondering how you are going to react to the price tag that’s gonna be slapped on this repair. 

You sip the mediocre coffee, staring at the tv that has Judge Judy reruns on and you fidget, wondering what the cost of your car repair is going to run you. You’re there a while, other customers leaving. The young college kid who is helping out has gone home and you sigh, looking down at your now cold coffee.

Coming into the office, Frankie wipes his hands on a rag and looks over at you before shuffling towards the break room. “Car’s fixed.” He tells you. “Let me wash the grease off my hands and I’ll get you ready to go. Pope’s just closing her up now.”

You look up and nod, standing up from the plastic chair that’s stuck to the back of your thighs and you toss the coffee cup, wondering if the criteria to work here is to be a ridiculously hot guy. You bite your lip and lean against the counter when he comes back with clean hands. “You, uh, you didn’t even give me a quote.” You frown and Frankie sighs, “honestly, the car is on its last legs. I’m stretching its life as much as possible but you gotta look at getting a new car, sweetheart.” He explains, “I did what I could.” 

You sigh, nodding and knowing he’s right. “What’s the damage?” You ask, bracing yourself.

Frankie winces apologetically. “I’m only charging you for parts.” He promises. There had been more wrong with it than he had first realized and Pope had told him to fix it enough to make it safe. “$1600” he tells you, hating the way your eyes seem to bug out of your head. “I can show you the printout. I didn’t charge you for labor. Pope told me about your situation.”

“I- shit. I- I can’t - I don’t have that.” Your eyes start to water, “I didn’t know and you didn’t tell me so I - shit. I don’t have that kind of money.” You choke, unsure of what the hell you’re going to do. 

The bell rings above the door and Pope walks in, “we got her fixed up for you.” 

You shake your head, “yeah and I can’t afford to pay you because you guys didn’t consult me so it’s - I don’t know what to do.” You choke again.

Pope frowns and Frankie hisses. He had thought he had talked to you. “Pendejo.” He groans, throwing the towel in his hand at Pope. 

“Sweetheart, that’s what we had to do to get her running.” He tells you. “You could easily sink another two or three grand in that car. She’s honestly barely road worthy.” Pope explains and Frankie shakes his head. 

“Cabrón.” He huffs. “You should  have talked to her.”

You shake your head, “I don’t - I’m barely making my rent. I don’t have $1600 to pay you. Shit. I- I’m so sorry. I don't know what to do or say. Oh God, this is - this is a nightmare.” You close your eyes, almost willing yourself to wake up.

“Don’t cry.” Frankie hates when a woman cries and you are too pretty to cry over something like this. You shouldn’t have to worry about things like this at all. “We can work something out.” He promises. “A payment plan. I’m not going to unfix your car. It’ll be alright.”

Your eyes open, “really? You’d do that- I - thank you.” You offer him a grateful look and Pope clicks his tongue. 

“There’s another option too.” He says, his voice lowering as his eyes trail along your form. “I can give you a discount if you…if you let me fuck you.” He says, dragging his thumb along his lower lip as his eyes return to yours. You inhale sharply, knowing you should be slapping him for that but shit, you were attracted to him from the get go. 

“Santiago.” Frankie warns him and Santi shakes his head, “or for free…if you let both of us fuck you.” He says and your eyes widen, flicking to Frankie whose eyes are wide but not shocked. It’s not a secret that both men are handsome, something from a woman produced porno and you should say no, arrange a payment plan, and leave, but getting your car fixed for free is tempting. 

“Both of you? And the car is free?” You ask and Pope nods. You inhale deeply, taking another second before you nod, “where do you wanna do this?”

“Holy shit.” Frankie whispers, surprised that you are actually considering this. He won’t even deny that he’s hopeful that you will decide to fuck them both. He can write off the car parts and it’s been a long time since he’s fucked anyone, let alone someone as gorgeous as you. 

“Right here, in the break room.” Santiago tells you. “We lock the doors, everyone’s gone home and Frankie and I both fuck you silly.” He chuckles. “We’ll even go wash up before you suck our cocks.” Frankie nods, not wanting you to think you’re gonna be subjected to unwashed dick.

You should leave. Say no and tell them to fuck off but it’s been a while since you had sex. You’ve never had a threesome. You wonder if they have done this before. They seem to be comfortable with each other. “Uh, sure. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up myself.” You say, “do you have protection?” You don’t know them and you want to be safe, even if this is the least safe thing you’ve ever done.

“Condoms.” Frankie nods, knowing that Pope keeps a stash of them in the desk drawer for dates after work. “We’re both clean too.” He promises. “VA tests us and Pope’s had sex since but I haven’t.” He admits, feeling a little embarrassed about that.

You exhale shakily, “I’m clean too. Tested at my last gyno appointment. Uh, can I use the bathroom?” You ask and the boys nod, gesturing to the bathroom down the hall. You walk down to it, feeling their eyes on you and you shut the door behind you. Leaning over the sink, you inhale deeply and hate that you feel the churn of arousal in your stomach. It’s hard to deny that the idea of sex with two sexy men doesn’t have you wet already and you know you should be ashamed, you should say no but you can’t.

When you disappear into the bathroom, Frankie whirls on Pope. “Did you fucking set this up?” He hisses, impressed and slightly disgusted by what they are about to do. It’s almost taking advantage of you, even though you’re agreeing. Pope smirks and winks at his friend. “You won’t be upset when her pretty little mouth is sucking your soul out through your cock.” He predicts, arching a brow as if to challenge him. “Not like we haven’t double teamed a girl before. Although now I know she’s clean, I wish you hadn’t told her about the condoms. We could have filled her tank too.” Frankie rolls his eyes at the bad joke but his cock twitches under the mechanics suit at the thought of to high you. His friend has known him for far too long because he grins and slaps his back. “There’s the Fish I know. Go wash your cock and balls.” He orders and Frankie shuffles off to the employee shower room.

You wash your face and freshen up elsewhere before heading back into the hall and your name is called from the break room that Pope told you about earlier. You follow his voice and enter the room, taking note of the ratty sofa and chair in the space, the fridge in the corner and the ancient tv in the corner to match the one in the waiting room. Frankie isn’t back yet so you set your purse down and Santi sits on the sofa. “Come take a seat, relax.” He says, “you can say no at any point. Say the word and we stop.” He promises and you believe him. You sit down next to him, knee bouncing and his large hand stops it with a slight chuckle. “Nervous?” He asks and you nod, eying the condoms on the small coffee table. 

“Yeah. I haven’t done this before.” You confess, “threesome. Or sex in exchange for car parts.” You joke breathily and Santi chuckles. It dies down after a moment and he clears his throat, reaching up to cup your cheek. Your eyes burn into his and he leans closer, slowly pressing his lips against yours. The contact is soft and you don’t pull back, shyly kissing him back until the fire in your belly ignites and you grip his overalls, deepening the kiss until his tongue is sliding against yours.

Frankie comes back with just a towel wrapped around his waist. Deciding a full shower would be appropriate. It was a good thing to have in the shop and made it easy to get ready for a date after work. Or fucking a girl in exchange for getting her car fixed, like now. “Go bathe your ass, pendejo.” He huffs, watching as you pull away from Pope and fluster. “I’ll keep our girl entertained.” You’ve agreed to this, so he’s interested, imagining you while he was washing. His cock is already half hard under the towel and he smirks.

Your eyes take in the sight of the mechanic. It’s clear he’s middle aged, a slight stomach, but fuck if you don’t find that sexier than a six pack. The water droplets down his chest have you itching to lick his skin. Deciding to do just that, you stand up and walk over to him, leaning forward to run your tongue along his collarbone to gather the lingering droplets of water from his skin.

“Fuck.” Frankie groans, grabbing your waist and hissing at how good the first touch of you feels. He can hear Pope laugh as he walks out of the room but he’s too busy ducking his head down to press his lips to yours in a kiss that is more impatient and slightly rougher than his brother in arms.

His fingers dig into your waist and his lips press harshly against yours. You moan into his mouth, taken off guard by the fact that you’re enjoying this so far, and his tongue slides against yours. His hands slide down to your ass and he pulls you up against him, his hard cock pressing against your hip. You let him kiss you for another moment until you push him back and he frowns, worried that you’re upset and wanting to leave. He’d let you go but he’d be disappointed. You bite your lip and reach for the tuck of his towel, pulling on it until it falls and reveals his cock. “Shit.” You murmur and admire his thick length, twitching under your gaze and you seem to fall under a spell when you kneel down and wrap your fingers around him. Your tongue is peaking out to press against the leaking slit while your eyes focus on his.

“Shit.” Frankie hisses, taking off guard by the fact that you are almost eagerly getting on your knees for him. “Fuck- strip down.” He growls out. “I want to see your tits and I want your pussy to leak all over my floor.” His cock twitches in your hand, but he pulls his hips back and offers you a hand.

His words make you clench around nothing and you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bra. You push your shirt down and leave you in your underwear. “All of it, baby.” Frankie orders and you nod, undoing the clasp of your bra and you let the straps fall down your arms and expose your tits to the mechanic you barely know.

“Fuck, those are nice.” He groans, reaching out and cupping your tits while you hook your fingers into your panties. He squeezes them and then pinches your nipples and tugs on them. “You’re gonna suck my cock, right pretty girl?” He groans. “Get it all nice and wet to fuck you?”

Usually, dirty talk like that would make you cringe but coming from his mouth? Shit, it has you dripping. “Ye-yes. Gonna make sure you’re gonna be just right to fuck my little pussy.” You talk back just as dirty, thrilled by it when his cock jumps. You step out of your panties and Frankie groans, admiring you until you kneel down on the linoleum floor to wrap your fingers around his cock again.

“Fuck.” Frankie hisses, biting his lip as he looks down at you. “Do a good job and I’ll eat your pussy too.” Despite this being an arrangement so you don’t have to pay for your car being fixed, Frankie likes eating pussy and it’s been awhile since he’s had his head framed by a woman’s thighs. You moan quietly and nod before you lean forward and take the head of his cock into your mouth. “Fuuuck.” He hisses, chin dropping down to his chest as he watches you engulf his cock.

You close your eyes for a moment, wanting to compose yourself as the head of his cock presses against your throat and you inhale deeply through your nose just as Frankie says “eyes on me.” You open your eyes and look at him as you take him deeper, unaware that Pope is back and watching you and Frankie.

He sees Pope, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. He knows the other man locked the building down and they were the only ones with the keys. Groaning when you swallow around him, his calloused and work rough hand caresses your cheek. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he coos. “Spread your thighs, sweetheart. Is your little clit throbbing?” Pope smirks, aware that Frankie’s raspy voice manages to make women dripping wet when he talks dirty. Dropping his own towel and wrapping his hand around his hard cock to squeeze it as he walks closer. Keeping quiet until he is kneeling behind you and sliding his other hand between your thighs to touch your cunt while his cock presses against your ass. “Already soaked, Fish.” He moans in your year, kissing just below it. “I think she likes sucking your cock.”

You moan around Frankie’s cock, knowing you shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t like it this much, but you do. You work his cock deeper until you choke and saliva drips down your chin. You whimper when Pope rubs your clit and it’s been so long since someone else touched you, you grind down onto his hand while your fingers dig into Frankie’s ass to encourage him to rock his hips.

“Yeah she does.” Frankie grunts, moving his hand down so he can feel your throat work around him. It’s so sexy to see you on your knees, Pope behind you as he makes sure you’re ready to take both of them. “I say she swallows my load and I’ll eat her cunt like a good little girl while she sucks you off.”

Pope hums in agreement, kissing along your neck while his fingers work your clit. You whimper around Frankie's cock, nodding in pleasure and agreement. You can't believe how these two men have turned you into a wanton whore within moments but you desperately want to make them cum, to feel and see it.

Pope’s lips travel over your shoulders, up your neck. Kissing and licking, occasionally biting your skin as his fingers rub your clit. Eventually moving down and pressing two of his thick digits inside while twisting his wrist around to press his thumb back to your sensitive bundle of nerves. “She’s so tight, Fish.” He groans, loving how you clench around his fingers. “She’s gonna feel so good.”  

You clench around his fingers, lost in the sensations of his mouth and his hand caressing you. You choke on Frankie's cock as he pushes deep again and your jaw is starting to ache a little but you push through, wanting him to cum down your throat.

Frankie hisses, and rocks his hips forward again. Spit and pre-cum slide down your jaw and he loves how your eyes fill with tears and yet you don’t try to wipe them away. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans, “mouth like a fucking Hoover.” He can hear Pope’s fingers working in and out of your cunt over his grunts and the thick swallowing sounds and moaning around his cock. “Keep going, baby, want you to swallow my cum.” 

You want it too. Your throat swallows around him and your teary eyes flick up to meet his as he pushes deep enough to slide down your throat, the hairs at the base of his cock tickling your nose and that's when he falls apart. You close your eyes when he starts to cum, walls fluttering around Pope's fingers as you struggle to swallow the spurts of cum from Fish and his groan echoes in the break room.

“Shit….shiiiiiiiit.” He hisses, eyes nearly crossing in pleasure, handing tightening around your jaw as you swallow him down. Spurts of his cum push out of the corners of your mouth and he rubs his thumb in it to massage it into your skin. “That’s it, good girl.” 

You let him work himself dry and you swear you're dripping down Pope's wrist as you let Frankie use you until he is pulling his cock free of your mouth. He surges to lean down, pressing his lips against yours. Tongue pushing deep to taste himself on your tongue without care, and you whimper into his mouth.

Pope chuckles, biting down on your shoulder. “Frankie tastes good, sweetheart?” He asks as he curls his fingers deep inside you. “Let me have a taste.” He hums, not caring about tasting the other man’s spend. He’s done this before with him. Turning your head, he breaks the kiss with Frankie and captures your lips with his own as he pumps his finger inside you. 

You clench around Pope’s fingers as kisses you without care about the taste in your mouth. That makes you realize they’ve done this before and it makes you moan into his mouth as his fingers curl inside of you. You need more. You break the kiss and murmur against his chin, “wanna taste you next.”

Frankie chuckles, his cock shrinking back down and hanging flaccidly, but Pope is rock hard against your ass. “We should move this to the sofa.” He suggests, reaching for your arm. “Santi can lean back and I’ll bury my face in your cunt.” He’s eager to taste you, to see how you respond to his tongue. 

You nod and whine slightly as Santi removes his fingers from inside of you, and you let Frankie guide you to the sofa. “Kneel down, baby.” He demands and Santi sits on the end of the sofa, his cock hard and aching. You kiss his stomach that clenches before taking his cock in your hand and wrapping your fingers around him to guide him to your mouth.

Frankie groans, watching you take his friend’s cock into your mouth and he smirks. “She’s so fucking good, isn’t she?” He comments and Pope’s head bobbles in agreement. His own hands start to roam over your body, squeezing your ass and hips as he settles behind you and pulls your cheeks apart to get an up close look at your pulsing cunt. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.” He coos before leans in and buries his tongue inside your wet heat. 

You gasp around Santi’s cock. You didn’t expect them to go down on you, thought it was all just dirty talk. You expected a couple of blowjobs, both of them fucking you until they came but you never anticipated them making you cum once. You moan around Pope’s cock as Frankie ducks down so he can lick at your clit.

Frankie groans into your flesh, huffing when he can’t reach you like he wants to and he pulls away to flip onto his back. Sliding his head between your thighs and attacking your cunt from before, he lunges up latches onto your clit, wanting to hear you squeal. You’re sexy and you’re letting them fuck you so you should have just as much fun and pleasure as they do. 

You cry out, letting Pope’s cock drop from your mouth as you feel the pleasure tingle up your spine and you moan Frankie’s name. “That’s it baby. Let Frankie eat that tight pussy.” Santi coos, caressing your cheek and you shift to take him back into your mouth.

He squeezes your ass and encourages you to drop your hips, wanting your weight on his face. Pope chuckles and caresses your spine. “You’re so fucking pretty, can’t wait to see what you look like riding his cock, my cock. Maybe we’ll stuff you full at the same time.” He doubts that, considering he would have just cum, but it’s a nice thought. “Didn’t we tell you that we would take care of you?”

You lower your hips, a little self conscious but he makes you grind down onto him and you whine around Pope’s cock, eager to please him now that you realize they are going to look after you. You moan when Frankie’s tongue slides through your folds and you sloppily suck on Pope’s cock.

The breakroom sounds obscene. The sounds of sucking and swallowing, moans and grunts filthily filling the air. Frankie moans as your cunt gushes, coating his tongue in a fresh wave arousal and he slurps it down greedily. Rocking your hips to make you ride his face as he licks up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart, Fish is in heaven. His tongue buried in your sweet pussy. I bet he’s already getting hard thinking about fucking you.” Pope coos. “And after he gets done making you scream, I’ll fuck you so good you’ll see stars.” 

You swear you can hardly breathe as his filthy words make your pussy clench and you can’t handle it. You want these men. That’s become clear. You rock back onto Fish’s face, back arching as you try to take Pope’s cock deeper but he’s longer than Frankie, not as thick. You choke and saliva drips from your mouth as you try your best to make this blowjob one of the best he’s gotten.

“That’s it sweetheart.” Pope groans, “take it all. Fish, I swear I’m in fuckin’ love with her mouth.” He hisses, talking to Frankie underneath you. Fish grunts his agreement into your folds and is thankful that he had washed his hands, scrubbing them in the shower as he pushes two fingers inside you for you to clench around when you cum. “Cum for Frankie, sweetheart, soak his face.” 

You groan, rocking back onto Frankie’s face and you’re so close. So fucking close. His lips suck on your clit as his fingers curl inside of you. You moan around his cock as you cum, clamping down on Frankie’s fingers as he makes you orgasm.

Frankie’s spent cock twitches and he starts to harden again. Loving how you are soaking his face as he sucks on your clit. Your hips grinding down on his face and he moans happily. Working you through the orgasm with singular determination. 

You moan around Pope’s cock as Frankie works you through it and you want Pope to cum too. You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing him, and you hollow your cheeks, wanting him to spill down your throat.

It takes a long moment before Frankie is willing to pull away. Listening to Pope’s groans getting breathier and lighter as he gets closer to coming. Finally pulling his head away and twisting his body so he can watch you swallow his friend down. “That’s it baby,” He grunts. “Make Santi cum. Swallow him down too so I can fuck you.” 

It takes a couple more bobs of your head for Santi to cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing as Frankie withdraws his fingers and Pope starts to spill down your throat. His groan is low and loud, echoing in the room as he twitches while he spills down your throat, making you moan around him.

“Fuck….” Santi hisses, head dropping back against the sofa and moaning out as he throbs in your mouth. 

“Fuck, girl, you are so gorgeous like this.” Frankie groans, chuckling as he wraps his wet hand around his cock and starts to slowly pump himself completely hard. “Swallow him down like a good girl.” He orders. 

You obey, eagerly swallowing every drop of cum. Santi cums less than Frankie, none of it dripping down your chin as you let the salty seed spurt down your throat until he’s softening in your mouth. You pull off of him and open your mouth, displaying your tongue to him to show you’ve swallowed every drop.

“Good girl.” Pope pants, grinning as he leans in to press his lips to yours. 

“Don’t be greedy, cabrón.” Frankie huffs, pulling you back and scowling at his grinning friend. Taking over kissing you greedily and tasting him out of your mouth with no issue. 

You’ve never known two men so comfortable with each other and it’s intoxicating. You cup his cheek as his tongue slides against yours. “Baby, I need - I need you to fuck me.” You whine into Frankie’s mouth.

He hums happily, pleased that you are begging him although he knows if he had just cum, you would be begging Pope. “I’m going to fuck you.” He promises. Leaning over and grabbing a condom off the table. “How do you want to be fucked, pretty girl?” He demands. “Back, hands and knees?” He rips the packet open and starts to roll it down his length. Wanting you to decide how he fills you. 

“On my back.” You answer breathlessly and Frankie nods, shifting back so you can lay down on the sofa. Pope frames your shoulders, looking down at you, and his hands instantly grab your tits. You moan and Frankie kneels on the sofa, pushing your legs apart so he can settle between them.

Shuffling closer and pumping his cock, Frankie looks down at you. Watching you squirm and moan under Pope’s touch. “Gonna fuck you, baby.” He promises, notching himself at your entrance and pulling one leg up to drag across the back of the sofa for more access. “Right now.” He grunts as he starts pushing in.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he stretches you out. He’s thick and you haven’t had sex in a while. Not since your ex. You reach up to grip Pope’s forearms as he squeezes your tits and you close your eyes. “Oh I think she likes that already, Cat.” Santi chuckles and you nod, mouth falling open as he pushes deeper until he’s fully inside of you.

“She’s fucking tight.” Frankie growls, gritting his teeth together and trying to control himself. Your hot walls around him make him just want to destroy you, but he needs to let you adjust. “Tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked.” He hisses when you squeeze him in response to his twitching deep inside you.

You know he’s just lost in the moment but his words make you whine with need and Pope chuckles as he pinches your nipples. “God, she’s a cock hungry little whore, ain’t she?” He asks his best friend who nods and gives you another moment before he starts to move, pulling out of you almost all the way until he decides to push back in in a thrust that takes your breath away.

Frankie chuckles, loving the little squeak that gets cut off. “Let me hear you, baby.” He grunts, pulling back for another thrust. “No one here, you can scream my name as loud as you need to.” Snapping his hips forward, he drills into you again to start a harsh pace.

You can’t deny him. You cry out as he punches deep, feeling like he’s splitting you in two but you fucking love it. Your nails dig into Santi’s forearms as you take what Frankie gives you, moaning his name and you’re soaking him with wave after wave of arousal until your pussy starts to squelch with each thrust.

Luckily the sofa is leather and can be wiped off, otherwise you would be soaking it. Every time you gush around him. Making him groan as he rocks into you. “Is it worth it?” He grunts. “Letting us fuck you? Being our little slut for the night?”

You nod, “so- so worth it. Oh God. I- keep talking.” You beg, loving to hear his deep voice saying such filthy things. Pope chuckles, “keep going, Fish. She loves hearing you talk dirty. Had her soaking my fingers earlier.”

He chuckles and twitches inside you again. “She’s such a dirty slut.” He tells Pope. “I should just take off the condom and fill her cunt up with my cum, make a mess of her.” He hums. “Or I’ll pull out and cum all over her. Covering her like the little cum whore she is.” 

“Oh fuck yessss.” You moan out, lost in the haze of lust, “want you to fill me up. Please, baby. Please. I need - I want - oh God.” You pant as he rocks into you, his jaw clenched and you whine out as he pushes you up the sofa and into Pope’s lap.

He smirks, enjoying how much you are begging for it but he would never make that change while everyone is caught up in the moment. “Good girl.” He groans, “Maybe I’ll wait until Pope is hard again and we’ll both take a hole. Really fill you up. Would you like that, baby?” 

Your responding nod nearly makes your neck cramp. “Yes. Fuck. I- I want both of you. Want to feel both of you. I want - oh God. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, reaching up when you see Santi’s cock starting to get hard and you wrap your fingers around him while Frankie fucks you even harder. “Frank- I - oh shit.” You pant, getting closer and closer.

“That’s it, that’s it, pretty girl.” He pants out, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he fills you again and again. “Want you to cum for me. Want you to soak my cock. Scream my name.” He is practically begging but his hand snakes down between your bodies so he can rub your clit. “Cum for me.” 

His thumb on your clit is exactly what you need. You practically squeal as you break, clamping down on his cock and soaking him as you cry out his name. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your grip on Santi’s cock tightens as you experience your second orgasm.

Pope hisses, and his cock throbs in your hand. “Beautiful.” He groans, watching you with heavy lidded eyes as Frankie works you through your orgasm and pushes for his own. “Cum, hermano.” He urges. “I want to be inside her the next time she squeals.

Frankie grunts, grabbing your leg to push it back further and you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. “That’s it baby. Cum for me.” You demand, “wanna see you cum again.” You let go of Santi’s cock to grab the back of Frankie’s neck, dragging him down to press your lips to his.

Moaning in surprise at your ferocity, Frankie feels the tingling in the base of his spine. The rush of pleasure that happens right before his body starts to tighten. Thrusting haphazardly, he growls out your name, “gonna- fuck- gonna cum.” He warns you against your lips as he gives a short, half thrust before he is pushing deep and grinding his hips, cock pulsing deep inside your cunt as he feels the condom up with his release. Sliding his tongue into your mouth as he rides out the waves of bliss. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair and you kiss him back as he fills the condom up and slowly rocks into you, riding his orgasm. “Well goddamn.” Pope coos, enjoying the show and his cock throbs.

Frankie kisses you slowly until he is good and damn ready to pull out of you. Holding the base of the condom and rocking back to pull out gently. Caressing your thigh as he looks down at you. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, smirking at your exhausted expression. “You got one more in you for us, don’t you?”

You nod, feeling boneless but you want Santi to cum too. Not because he’s footing the bill for your car but because you want him to fuck you.

You look up at Frankie and you offer him a lazy smile, “I do. Want Santi to fuck me.” You say and look up at Santi.

Frankie smirks proudly. “Good girl.” He shuffles back and lets Santiago take his place between your thighs. Standing up with a groan and walking over to the trash can to throw away the condom. “How do you want to be fucked this time?” The other man hums as he strokes a finger through your sensitive folds.

You whimper at the sensation and shift to kneel. “I want to ride you.” You tell Pope and he chuckles, reaching to smack your ass before he grabs the condom. “Let me -” He works fast to follow the rubber onto his cock and he hisses when you move fast to straddle his thighs. “Wanna feel you in my stomach.” You coo at him as you grip his cock and shuffle forward until you are sinking down onto him.

Even though he’s already cum, Frankie watches as you take Santi’s cock with eagerness. Knowing the man is enjoying himself from the way his thighs clench and he moans, hands gripping your ass and squeezing it. Unable to stop himself, Frankie cups your tits and pinches your nipples, biting down on your shoulder sharply before soothing it with his tongue. “So, ride him, sweetheart.” He orders. “Bounce on his cock like a little slut and show us what you've got.” 

You clench around Santi’s cock at the filthy words and decide to follow orders. You grip Santi’s shoulders and start to move, lifting up until his cock nearly falls out of you before you sink back down. A moan escapes your lips and you squeeze his shoulders. “Fuck. You - it’s like you’re in my guts.” You confess, unable to to believe how long he is.

Pope chuckles and Frankie continues to tease and torment your nipples. “Want to be deep. So fucking deep you feel me for days.” He tells you, snapping his hips up.

You let out a noise that's half gasp, half moan, and your nails dig into his shoulders as Frankie kisses along your neck. It's overwhelming and incredible. "Shit. I will. I won't be able to - to walk tomorrow." You declare, loving the thought even if you need to work. "Fuck. I - oh God." You tilt your hips as you rock down and the change in angle has your head tilting back and a moan of Santi's name escaping your lips.

“Good.” Frankie growls, kissing along your neck. “Don’t walk. Or if you do, feel us every time you move.” He slaps your ass while still fondling your tits with his other hand. Sliding it lower to rub the puckered hole that is so close to where you are taking Pope.

You gasp at the slight invasion until you moan, "God. Want you - want you both inside of me. Wanna feel you both cum inside of me at the same time." Your inhibitions are gone as they tear you apart with their words and their actions, making you desperate to please and desperate to feel more.

Frankie smirks and pulls his fingers away to spit on them. “My fingers are going to have to do, Princess.” He teases. “You’ve drained me dry. Milked me for every drop of cum with that perfect mouth and cunt.” He rubs your hole again and starts to slowly press his fingers into you.

The added pressure has you shaking above Pope who has to thrust up into you, his hands grabbing your ass to spread your cheeks for Frankie to push his fingers deeper. The stretch has you closing your eyes, feeling fuller than ever before with Santi's cock still inside of you. "Oh fuck. That's - you're gonna make me cum." You rush out, body shaking even harder as Frankie pushes his fingers deeper and starts to move them inside of you.

“That’s it, baby, cum for us.” Pope coos. “Come apart, want to see you, hear you scream.” He chuckles and leans in to bite at your bottom lip. “Cum.”

You practically scream into his chin as the two men work your body until you’re clamping down on Pope’s cock, soaking him and clenching around Frankie’s fingers as your orgasm hits you like a steam train.

You’re a stranger to them, they don’t know you, they don’t know your life - but they know what you look like when you cum. Watching you while they are holding their breaths, thinking that you are gorgeous as you shake and gasp for them.

You collapse forward onto Santi’s chest as he rocks up into your pussy, getting closer and closer until he freezes beneath you and lets out a groan as he spills into the condom. “Shit.” You pant into his skin while Frankie kisses along your spine.

Panting, Santiago grins as he tries to catch his breath. Squeezing your ass and rocking you languidly on his still stiff cock. “You’ve blown my mind, baby.” He hums, very pleased with the way this situation has turned out. “Definitely.”

You smile, “glad we could help each other out.” You thought you were fucked when you were told the cost of the repair or your car but you now acknowledge that it’s one of the best things to happen to you. “Might have to come back when she dies on me again.” You murmur as Frankie removes his fingers from inside of you and you shift off of Pope’s cock after he holds the condom.

Frankie smirks as he helps you off the sofa. “You can come back anytime, baby.” He promises with a wink. “You can use the bathroom in the breakroom, or go two doors down and use the shower.” He likes you, but you had done this so you could have your car, not for any other reason. He looks over at Pope and chuckles at the very satisfied look on his friend’s face.

You decide to use the shower, knowing that even if they hadn’t cum inside of you, you are sweaty and you want to wash off. “I’ll go shower.” You shift off of the sofa and stumble as you try to get your balance and the boys chuckle at their handiwork.

Completely at easy with his own nudity, Frankie walks over to the sink to wash his hands. Then going over to the fridge to pull out two beers, striding back over to the sofa to hand Pope one and then opening it as he flops down onto the couch beside him. “You actually had a good idea, asshole.” He huffs, smirking as he takes a sip of the beer.

Santiago smirks, “reckon she’ll be back?” He asks, “I hope she is. Does that sound bad? I don’t want her to get into an accident but Jesus, that pussy? Worth doing some free work and writing off parts for, huh?”

Frankie snorts and shrugs. “Not too bad. Not like you fucked with the timing belt so she has to come back.” He smirks to himself, thinking that it wasn’t too bad of an idea, but he hadn’t done that. He had fixed it the best he was able. “But that car’s a piece of shit, so who knows? She might become a regular.”

You wash off with their cheap 3-in-1 men’s body wash and kinda like how you smell like them after all the sex is washed from your body. You realized you need to get your clothes from the break room and walk in with the towel wrapped around you. “Decent water pressure you have in here.” You say as you reach for your panties and drop the towel, uncaring now they have seen every part of your body.

Pope chuckles and nods. “After showering in the shittiest places all over the world and having no water pressure, Fish demanded that we have a good shower.” His answer makes you tilt your head curiously and he shrugs. “Army, special forces.” He reminds you, “plenty of times we get ready to go out here, saves us a trip home.” 

You nod, understanding and hating that you feel a little jealous about them going on dates. You have zero reason to feel possessive. You don’t know them, yet you want them to yourself. You fasten your bra and redress fast, sliding your feet into your shoes. “So, uh, I guess if I have any issues I’ll come see you again?” You ask, biting your lip as you stand while they sit on the sofa.

Frankie smirks and nods. “Anytime, baby, but I guarantee you won’t have problems on the shit I worked on.” He promises. “I don’t do sloppy work.” He’s not boasting, even though it might sound that way. He’s reassuring you that your car is as fixed as he could get it with what he worked on. “We were serious though, you need to start looking for another car.” 

You nod, “I know. I, uh, I gotta save up some cash. I’ll see what I can do.” You sigh and Frankie stands up, still naked. “Thank you. For everything.” You say and hug him, breathing him in before you kiss him. Santi stands up a moment later, his hand on your waist and you switch to hug him, his lips eagerly finding yours.

While you kiss Pope, Frankie finds a pair of shorts to throw on so he can escort you to the door. He palms the keys to your car and when you pull away from Santi, he holds them up. “Let’s go get you back on the road so you can go to work tomorrow.” He hums. 

You step back from Santi and take your keys. "Thank you so much guys." You thank them, "seriously, thank you. You saved me." You look them both in the eyes, and Santi winks at you, "our pleasure...literally."

Frankie walks you to your car, waiting for you to slide into the driver’s seat before handing you the keys and closing the door to lean in the window. “Thank you for tonight.” He murmurs quietly and leans in to kiss your cheek. “Best pussy I’ve had.” He winks at you when he pulls back and taps the door. 

You fluster, fumbling with your keys to turn the ignition, and Frankie stands there until you put the car in drive and make your way down the gravel driveway to the road. When you are driving home, you process what just happened and you think you should be disgusted with yourself for essentially whoring your body out to get your car fixed for free but you loved every second of it. Your car cruises along and you smirk as you stop at a light. It would be a shame if something else happened to you and you had to go back to the shop.

****

A week has passed and even though Frankie has thought about that night, especially when he’s in the break room, neither man has heard from you. It’s a good thing, really. It means that your car is working properly and you’ve been living your life. Leaning on the engine of a Ford Taurus that needs new spark plugs, Frankie’s back is to the lot when he hears the crunch of tires on the gravel. Another customer. He hears them pull the car to a stop and the door opens. “Go inside.” he calls out over his shoulder as he carefully replaces the first plug. “Santiago can help you.”

“I was kinda hoping you’d get your hands on my engine and make her purr.” You declare and Frankie hisses as he hits his head on the hood. “You’re back.” He says, rubbing his head and you nod, “she’s having issues again.” You bite your lip, “was wondering if you and Santi could help me out.” You’ve spent all week thinking about the two men, almost wishing your car would crap out so you could call Santi again to pick you up and help you out.

“Yeah?” The engine sounded fine to him when you had pulled up but he smirks slightly as he holds out a hand for the keys. “Leave her with me.” He promises. “I’ll find out what's wrong just as soon as I’m done with this one.” He cocks his head. “Might take awhile though. ‘Til closing.” He teases, cock twitching and he wonders if there is something actually wrong or if his instinct is right and your back to get get fucked again. 

You hand him the keys and offer him a small smile, not wanting to give away what your intentions are. You bite your lip and walk into the waiting room to find Santi sitting behind the desk. “You’re back?” His eyes widen and you nod, feigning a sigh, “she’s making strange noises again.” You tell him and shift from one foot to the other, “Frankie said he’d be checking it out after the one he’s working on now.”

Santiago nods and motions towards the waiting area. “You can wait out here or you know where the break room is.” He smirks slightly and licks his lips as he remembers the last time you were in that room. “You know that we will take care of it, of you.” He drops his voice down and watches as your eyes swim with lust. 

You decide to make your intentions known and walk down to the break room. Exhaling shakily, you wait for someone to follow you and it doesn’t take long for Santi’s hands to find your waist as you look up at the tv in the corner. “You come in for another issue?” He asks, voice low in your ear. “She’s not purring like she should be. Figured I should get it checked out.”

“Hmmmm.” Santiago smirks, seeing through your weak story and he presses close, flattening his front against your back. “Frankie will fix her.” He promises, whispering the words into your ear and grinning when you shudder. “Question is, how expensive will it be? And how will you pay for it?” 

“I - I was thinking…maybe you could honor the last deal we had? Since it’s only been a week and it’s gone wrong already.” You say softly, feeling a little ashamed until his nose nudges your neck and his warm breath washes over your skin, making you shiver.

Since the customer wasn’t waiting for the car he had been working on, Frankie abandoned it as soon as you walked inside and started looking at yours. Quickly finding out that nothing is wrong with the car beyond what he knew about a week ago. He chuckles to himself as he wipes his hands as he walks over to the door. No one else is at the shop and once again, you are alone with the two men. He walks in to find you and Santiago looking very intimate and he hums. “Well, sweetheart, looks like you’re in another bind.” He lies, feigning concern. “Transmissions gone and it’s gonna be at least a thousand bucks.” 

You make sure you look a little distraught as you turn to face the other man. “I- you know I don’t have the money. Can we - can we honor the last deal we had?” You ask, sticking your lower lip out.

His eyes slide behind you to Pope and it’s obvious that he’s seen through your charade. Pretending to consider it, he bites his lip. “Depends on what you’ll let us do, baby.” he finally decides. “We’ve both fucked you, gotten our dicks sucked. What can you give us this time?” Your eyes widen and he smirks. “I’m thinking that you let us fuck you bare this time.” He growls. “No condom. Both holes.” 

You close your eyes, trying to refrain from your shiver of anticipation, and you pretend to consider it. “And you’ll do what it takes to fix my car?” You ask, “for free?” Frankie nods and you bite your lip, “deal.” You hold your hand out and he takes it, dragging you to him so he can press his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair as Santi comes up behind you to kiss your neck and work on the button of your jeans. It’s as overwhelming as it was before but you’re already drunk on them both.

They should stop and clean up. Shower, but somehow Frankie doesn’t think that you care how clean they are. Maybe you even prefer the idea of sweaty, hardworking men using you. His tongue slides into your mouth as he snakes a hand up your shirt to squeeze your tit over the lacy bra you are wearing. Something you obviously put on in anticipation of getting fucked. Frankie drags his lips away from yours to groan. “Do you want her ass?” He asks Pope, knowing the man loves anal.

The way he discusses you like you’re an object shouldn’t make you clench around nothing but it does and Santi’s fingers slide into your lace panties to find your clit and you moan, arching your chest into Frankie’s hand. “Of course, hermano. Her ass is mine. You take her pussy. She’s already wet for us.” He chuckles darkly as he twists his hand to slide his finger through your folds as Frankie pulls your shirt over your head.

“Of course she is.” Frankie scoffs. “We’re going to make her cum. Multiple times. How often does that happen?” He quickly unhooks your bra and ducks his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple and bites down on it. 

You pant, “not too often until - until I came here.” You confess, “ex didn’t make me - not like you do.” You admit breathlessly as Santi works on pulling down your jeans, helping you kick off your sneakers and he groans at the sight of the lacy thong. “Someone had high hopes.” He teases and you chuckle breathlessly, “don’t hear you complaining.”

Frankie pulls off your tit with a pop and chuckles. “Oh we aren’t complaining, baby” he promises. “I’m just trying to decide if Pope’s gonna lick your pussy while I’m balls deep or we’re gonna double team making you cum on our tongues before you get our cocks.”

“Shit.” You hiss, your body almost vibrating with need for them. You’ve spent every night since you came here to get your car fixed thinking about them with your hand between your thighs. “What - whatever you want. I’m yours. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh we’re going to.” His chuckle is bordering on mean and Pope smacks your ass. “Gotta get a thousand dollars worth of pussy.” Pope teases, sliding his hand back between your thighs and pushing two fingers inside you. Frankie hums and decides he can’t wait. “You’re going to sit on my cock while Pope eats you out.”

You nod, unable to deny the man a thing. He quickly strips out of his overalls and there’s something so sexy and raw about him as he strips down and Santi notices, chuckling as you clench around his fingers. When Fish sits down naked on the sofa, Pope withdraws his fingers and you shift to straddle Frankie but he shakes his head and turns you around. You nod and shuffle back, gripping his cock so you can sink down onto him, bare and thick. “Holy shit.” You moan, leaning back into his chest and Frankie spreads your legs a little wider.

Frankie groans and slides his hands up your thighs to cup both of your breasts. Pope is staring at your cunt, his cock pushing deep as he strips out of his own clothes. “Fuck, she’s even better without the condom.” Frankie pants as he rolls your nipples with his fingers and twists them slightly to hear you gasp.

You moan in agreement, “can feel all of you.” You reach back to run your fingers through his hair as Pope strips down. His cock bounces as he comes over to the sofa, kneeling down in front of you and you watch him as you start to work yourself on Frankie’s cock. On your tiptoes as you try to lift yourself enough to ride him.

Grunting, Frankie rocks his hips up to fill you again. Enjoying the squeal and he squeezes your breasts roughly again. “Couldn’t get enough of us, could you?” He grunts. “Too bad we aren’t your landlords. You could just pay rent in pussy.” He teases. “Be our personal cocksleeve.”

“Fuck.” You pant, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I fucking wish.” You declare and Santi runs his hands along your thighs, bringing your attention to him. You look down and his dark eyes meet yours as he leans forward to slide his tongue against your clit, just above where Frankie’s cock is disappearing inside of you. “Oh my God.” You whine at the added sensation.

“Eat her pussy good, Pope.” Frankie orders as he starts to nibble and lick on your neck. “She deserves to cum before we’re filling these little holes with our loads.” He groans when you clench down on him. “You like that, baby? You want to drip our cum? We can jerk off on you too.”

“Yes. Shit. I want - I want you to ruin me. Use me. Cum on me. In me. Do- do whatever you want.” You ramble, knowing that you’re completely drunk on them. You’ve never been treated like this and it has you begging for more. Pope’s tongue slides along your folds and you moan when he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Slapping your breast, Frankie bites down on your shoulder, hoping to leave teeth impressions. Leaving a mark on your skin. He rocks his hips up and hums. “We will. You’re such a willing little slut for us.” He hisses, loving how much you enjoy the dirty talk.

“I am. Only for you. Only ever like this for you two. Fuck, Frankie. I- shit.” You reach down to tangle your fingers in Santi’s hair, rocking your hips again to try and find the spot to make you cream. “Oh God.” You gasp when you find it, rocking frantically as you work yourself up to your orgasm.

“That’s it. Fuck you get so tight.” Frankie coos as you bounce on his dick. “Cum for us. Cum and Pope will slide into your ass and you can cum again. And again until we finally fill up your little holes and let you feel us for another week.”

His words combined with his cock and Pope’s mouth around your clit has you falling apart. You squeal, closing your legs around Pope’s head as you collapse back against Frankie while you convulse with your climax. “Oh oh ohhh.” You cry out, eyes clenched shut.

Frankie groans, twitching inside you and trying to bite his lip to control himself. Wanting to make sure that he doesn’t cum too early. He wants to fill you up when Pope is also inside you.

You relax, panting as you work through your orgasm, and Pope caresses your thighs while you recover. "Frank, lay down and let her sit on your cock while I get her ready." Pope says, slapping your thigh. The other man nods and you shift off of him so he can lay down on the sofa.

Frankie watches as you straddle him, smirking as he leans up and bites the top of your tit and smacks your thigh. “You ready to take both of us, baby?” He asks roughly, eager to stretch you out and hear you scream again. You’re addicting and so fucking eager for their touch.

You nod, a little apprehensive but eager. You have done anal before with your ex so you know what to expect but you've never had two men at the same time. You shiver as Pope straddles the sofa behind you, a bottle of lube in his hand. "You had that hanging around?" You tease breathlessly.

Pope chuckles and he shrugs. “Spit sucks when you’re jerking off.” He tells you easily, before he opens the bottle to squirt it onto his fingers. “Gonna work you open for a few minutes, baby. Want you to enjoy it.”

You gasp softly when his fingers prod at your puckered hole and you whimper when he pushes a finger into you. "Fuck baby." You murmur, clenching around Frankie's cock while his hands caress your waist and up to your tits.

“It’s okay, baby.” Frankie coos softly. “We aren’t going to wreck you until you’re ready.” He promises. He knows that Pope is eager to slide inside you, but the man is a trained operator, he has the patience to wait until it will be nothing but the sweetest pinch of pain for you. “Open up for him. Let us make you fly.”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed when Pope adds another finger, scissoring to try and open you up a little more. You gasp again, "God, it feels good." You confess, rocking slightly on Frankie's cock as Santi opens you up for him.

“Kiss me, pretty girl.” Frankie orders, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and dragging you down to his lips. You’re intoxicating and he wants to gorge himself on you while Pope works you open and slides inside your tight little hole.

You slide your tongue against his and you moan into his mouth as Pope adds a third finger, pumping them deep and you pant into Frankie’s mouth. “Oh God. I need - please. Need you both inside of me now.” You beg, needing to feel fuller than ever before.

Frankie and Pope both chuckle because of how desperate that you sound. Frankie kisses you again as Pope slowly withdraws his fingers and reaches for the luge again to generously coat his cock in the clear jelly. “Relax for me, sweetheart.” His hand caresses your spine as he shuffles closer and presses the head of his cock to your puckered hole as Frankie holds your hips steady.

You inhale deeply, preparing yourself to take his cock. You bite your lip as he pushes into you and you wince at the slight pinch but it disappears as soon as it comes, and you are moaning when Pope pushes into you and you feel fuller than you've ever felt in your life. "Holy shit." You hiss, body almost shaking from the sensation.

“That’s it, baby.” Frankie caresses your sides. “You’re doing so good. You look so fucking pretty split open by our cocks. Doesn’t she, Pope?”

"Fucking incredible, hermano." Pope says as he watches his cock disappear into your ass and you're so fucking tight. He thought your pussy was tight but this is - it's mind numbing. "I need you to move." You tell them, thighs shaking slightly.

“We’re gonna move.” Frankie promises, lifting his hips and slowly starting to scrub his cock along your walls. “You just hold still and let us do all the work, baby.”

You can’t move, sandwiched between the two men as their cocks push deep until they start to move. Frankie moves first then Pope, alternating so you’re always full of one cock and it’s overwhelming, more than you’ve ever felt before. Inhumane whines and cries escape your lips as you let them use your body.

Frankie can tell you love it, even if you can’t speak right now. Your tight little cunt is made even tighter by Pope and he can feel the other man through the thin wall. Sliding his hand around your hip as he rocks his own up, his thumb finds your clit and he presses against it to start rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves.

You squeal at the added stimulation. It’s too much and yet not enough at the same time. You shake as you let them use your body for their pleasure and the pleasure you receive back is making your eyes water. It’s so good. “Oh fuck.” You finally gasp out and Santi kisses along your neck, biting down your shoulder the opposite side of Frankie’s bite.

Frankie groans and slaps your thigh. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.” He hisses. “Gonna be even prettier filled with our cum. Wanna take a picture of those cum filled holes.”

"Yesss. Do it. I wanna - I wanna see." You confess and try to rock your hips but they have you trapped between them as they rock into you. 

Pope groans when you grip his cock unconsciously, "so fucking tight. Thought your pussy was tight but mierda, this is- shit." He hisses and rocks into you, over and over while Frankie rubs your clit, his thick cock pushing deep until you burst. "Oh I'm gonna - I'm gonna - oh fu-!" Your cry becomes a choke as you clamp down on Frankie's cock.

Both men have to stop moving because you are shaking so hard, your walls gripping them like a vice and they each moan. Frankie groans your name when you collapse forward and Pope grips your hips and immediately starts rocking into you frantically.

You are sweaty and overstimulated but you want them to fill you up. “Come on baby. Fill me up. Want to be dripping both of you. Want you to take - take a photo to keep. Want - shit - I need your cum.” You pant out, turning your head to press your lips to Santi’s jaw.

Pope chuckles and nods. “We will.” He promises before he kisses your mouth. Frankie grunts, watching the kiss as he starts to move again, falling into that alternating rhythm with Pope. “Fuck, you’re such a little slut. I fuckin’ love it.”

You pant, “yesss. For you. Only for you. Yours. This body belongs to you both.” You promise as Pope kisses your chin, his grunts get louder and more ragged. “Cum for me, fill me up.”

Santiago is the first one to tip over the edge. Gritting his teeth and hissing out your name as his hips slap against your ass once, twice more before he is letting out a strangle grown and grinding deep, cock pulsing as he fills your ass.

You love the way his fingers dig into your hips as he holds you close while he cums. "Cum for me, Frankie." You demand, wanting to feel the other man spill inside of you too.

Frankie pants out an acknowledgment of what you had moaned and rockets up the pace of his thrusts. Bracing his feet on the sofa and fucking up into you as hard as he can.

All you can do is hang on as Frankie fucks up into you a half dozen more times before he’s cumming, filling you up and making you shudder as the sensation of both men cumming inside of you gives you a small aftermath orgasm that makes your pussy milk Frankie for every drop.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” Frankie groans, pulling you close to kiss you again. His tongue is surprisingly gentle, intimate instead of demanding while he rides out his orgasm inside your perfect cunt.

You kiss him back just as eagerly, moaning into his mouth and Pope kisses along your shoulder, “so good.” He murmurs into your skin and you hum your agreement. 

“God, I definitely don’t think I can walk for a while.” You giggle and rest your weight on Frankie as he twitches inside of you.

Frankie chuckles. “It’s a good thing you don’t have to.” He tells you and smirks at Santiago. “Go get your phone.” He orders. “So we can take a picture of those cum filled holes.” He had meant it when he said he wanted a photo. His eyes slide over to you. “If you will let us take one.” He adds. “Not your face though. And it’s only for us.”

You nod, “no face. Only for you.” You tell them and Pope nods, slowly pulls out of you. “Clench baby. Keep it in.” He orders and you giggle, trying to stop his cum from pushing out of you. You frown slightly at knowing it’s gonna be a bitch to clean up but it was worth it.

Frankie smirks at the face you make as you clench down, twitching inside you even as he softens. Santiago goes to grab his phone out of his pocket and comes back over. “Pull off Fish’s cock, baby, and stick your ass out.” He orders as he opens the camera app and zooms in.

You follow his orders, lifting off of Frankie and you lean forward to display your ass and pussy to the camera. You reach behind you to spread your cheeks, giving him more of an eyeful as their cum starts to drip from inside of you.

"Fuck, you are so perfect." Pope groans, snapping several photos of the creamy mess they have made of you. "So fucking perfect." He repeats, smirking down at the screen when he gets done. Frankie hums his agreement as he watches you.

“I need to shower but I don’t think I can stand up.” You declare as you let go of your ass and shift to sit on the leather sofa, wincing at the aches already happening to your body.

Frowning slightly at your discomfort, Frankie swings his feet off the sofa and stands up, before he leans down and pulls you up into his arms with a soft grunt. He's carried grown men when he was in the Army, 300 pound packs of gear; and since getting out - hauled around heavy engine parts. Carrying you to the shower is not a big deal. "Then I'll just carry you." He tells you with a smirk.

Your eyes widen and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you to the shower. It’s incredibly sexy and you almost want him to fuck you again but you can’t take anymore sex right now. He sets you against the wall as he turns on the water and you bite your lip, watching him and Santi enters the shower a few seconds later. “How the hell are you two single? Holy shit. You are single?” Your eyes widen as you realize you never had that conversation with them.

Frankie snorts and Santi chuckles. "Baby, if we weren't single, we wouldn't be fucking you." He assures you quietly as Frankie reaches for the 3-in-1 body wash and the loofa that is hanging from the shower knob. 

"We aren't that sleazy." Frankie adds, lathering up the loofa and kneeling down to start washing you. "Although I'm wondering when you're going to admit there was nothing wrong with your car."

You fluster, watching Frankie as he washes you, his hand tenderly sliding through your folds to wash you. “I, uh, I was going to…eventually.” You confess bashfully. “I thought - well, I didn’t want you to think I was easy or- or desperate by coming back to say I needed you to fuck me.” You admit, biting your lip.

"Don't think either one." He makes sure he cleans you gently, knowing you have to be sore and he doesn't miss the way that your hands are holding onto Pope as he leans you against him. "The sex is amazing and I'd be lying if I wasn't thrilled when you came back."

You smile, “I’m glad you think so. I- fuck. Do you think I could get regular tune ups at home? Would be nice to get a service in a bed.” You smirk, “saves me having to drive to the shop.”

Pope looks over your shoulder and down at Frankie. The other man smirks as he pushes to his feet, the loofa abandoned and his soapy hands cup your tits. "We are mechanics." Frankie teases, "we can make anything purr." He loves the way you gasp when he pinches your nipples. "Especially you."

You moan and Pope kisses your cheek, “we can make house calls.” You kiss his lips and grin, “perfect. I can’t wait to see what else you can do.” You giggle and Santi caresses your sides, “oh baby, we are just getting started.” You smirk and enjoy the way the men sandwich you between them. 

“We can set you up for regular maintenance.” Frankie promises and kisses you softly. You all wash up and dry off, redressing and soon the boys are walking you to your car. “She’s good to go but we will need to check on her this weekend. Saturday?” They ask and you nod, “you have my number and address from my file. I’ll see you then boys.” You wink and gingerly get into your car. You pull out of the garage parking lot and the men watch you go. 

“Best fucking tow pick up ever.” Santi slaps Frankie on the back and Catfish nods, “and we are only getting started.” The men smirk as your car makes its way down the road, several problems that need fixing soon orchestrated by the mechanics to guarantee they see you again. Even if it wasn’t necessary after all.

[ki-yomii]

hit it/forget it | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 6.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!jk, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), enemies to lovers, orgasm control/denial, drinking, slight college au ig??➥ summary | finally able to unwind for the first time in forever, you go to a friend’s party. only somewhere along the way you find yourself in bed with someone you swore you’d never sleep with. it’s too bad he’s not in any hurry to let you hit it, and forget it. ➥ notes | i’m v new to this fandom, and it has started to consume me lol ✌️🥲 ❤️ series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 ❤️

... Shit, what time is it?

Beams of sunlight pour in through the crooked blinds, stretching across the cluttered floor to flood the rumpled bed with golden light.

It’s so bright it hurts, your eyes watering with the effort it takes to open them as you roll onto your back with a quiet hiss.

Sore and still buzzed, it takes you several minutes to process your unfamiliar surroundings. Your mouth is stale and arid, the unpleasant taste of dehydration heavy on your tongue.

Needle sharp pain lances through your skull, and it’s hard to think let alone focus when it feels like someone’s shoving an icepick through your brain every time you so much as breathe wrong.

So much for a relaxing night hanging out with the guys, you think bitterly, pinching the bridge of your nose. There goes my last day off.

Spent curled up in bed fighting back nausea instead of out enjoying the last little bit of freedom your PTO offered.

If only the rest of the night had gone as well as the beginning...

Most of the group were camped around a game of beer pong when you arrived, already blitzed off their faces from pre-gaming while a few randos loitered around.

You didn’t pay them too much mind, more focused on catching up with your boys. It had been forever and a day since you’d talked to them, let alone seen them in person.

For a blissful moment it was just like old times; the floor sticky with spilled beer, wrestling matches followed by good-natured ribbing, and rowdy trash talk.

It reminded you so much of the shitty college parties they’d throw, you almost cried from the nostalgia alone.

The happiest you’d been in weeks.

Now you had adult bills and an adult life. Your schedules didn’t align like this very often. Getting to catch up and hang out with everyone again was a precious gift, one you didn’t realize how much you needed until you sunk back into the oversized couch, and took what felt like your first breath in months.

Your head was swimming, your heart bursting for fondness - only to choke on your tongue not even five minutes later when the front door slammed open to a round of hyped up chants, “JK, JK, JK!”

All the tranquility evaporated as Jeon Jungkook - the bane of your existence - waltzed over the threshold without a care in the world.

Meanwhile your heart was in your throat as he stood there in all his stupidly attractive glory while the rest of the gang surged forth. They swarmed him with friendly slaps on the back, a 12 pack of beer in one hand, and a bottle of tequila in the other.

He wasn’t supposed to be here - they said... He was supposed to be out of town for the weekend. If you’d have known -- fuck.

You wouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. And now you were stuck with him for however long it took you to sober up.

God, you hated him.

Not that you knew why, really.

There was just something about him that got under your skin. Maybe it was the cocky way he held himself, his confidence sometimes bordering on arrogance.

Or maybe it was the constant teasing. (You refused to admit it might be because of how attractive you found him, and how angry that made you.)

Whatever the case, ever since he met you all those years ago, Jungkook’s made it his life’s mission to be as insufferable as possible. Always waiting in the wings with a flirty comment and that self-satisfied smirk of his.

Dealing with him was like dealing with an overgrown - competitive - toddler. It got exhausting after a while.

Far easier to avoid him altogether, even though that mentality came at the expense of your friendships.

You stopped going to events if you knew he’d be there, ducking out of get togethers last minute if you so much as caught a glimpse of his car. Eventually, your absence became accepted - expected even - which further fueled your inherent dislike of him.

As if all the reasons you don’t like him weren’t enough, you were tipsy, and that was always a recipe for disaster. Without your inhibitions halting your tongue, you had no qualms about calling him out on all his petty bullshit.

The particulars are too fuzzy to remember, but you’d been avoiding him by hiding out in the kitchen when he decided to come bother you.

One thing led to another, and he must have said something insulting enough because the next thing you knew, you’d crowded him against the counter.

He smirked while you snarled with distaste, a shot in one hand with the other balled in the open collar of his fancy button up. You thought about how nice it would be to smack that look off his face, and thoughtlessly agreed to a one v one drink off - winner takes all - just to one up him.

Damnit.

You should have left as soon as his ass showed up. And you should never have agreed to his stupid little competition in the first place. You know better than to fall prey to his schemes... yet here you are, so joke’s on you.

This has to be some kind of divine punishment.

All you wanted was to knock him down a peg (or ten). Then his stupidly handsome face, and low, mocking voice egged you on past your limits. Now, you’re in someone else’s bed, naked and sticky, nursing a hangover from hell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

God, you hope it’s not Jin.

Any of the others aren’t much better, but he’s your bro at heart, and there are some things you can’t ever come back from. If only last night wasn’t a hazy, distant fever dream pockmarked with fitful moments of clarity...

Memories curl through your mind like tendrils of smoke, opaque and sinister. The harder you grasp at them, the more confusing they become; coalescing into a tangled blur of swollen lips, and naked, sweat-slick skin.

Salty-sweet bursting across your tongue as the burning stretch of a fat cock sinks deep, a whiskey rough voice groaning low and heavy in your ear, “Fuck, you’ve always been such a little cock tease, haven’t you, baby? Mm, yeah, just like that. Knew you always wanted me, wanted this. Hhng, shit, I’ve wanted to do this for-fuckin-ever, princess…”

Goddamn Jeon Jungkook, and whatever horse he rode in on.

Of course, you’d get laid after a dry spell, and the only thing you have to show for it is the tender ache of your thighs, the tacky sensation of dried cum clinging to the swollen lips of your pussy, and the vaguest daydream of toe-curling pleasure.

At least the sheets are soft, the mattress plush, the bedspread muted, dark colours; altogether masculine but chic.

The fluffy pillows are to die for, something like expensive cologne threaded through the fabric; citrusy and bright with notes of mellow sweetness that fill your lungs, and cloud your senses with every deep inhale.

A familiar thread in an otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Whoever it is certainly has impeccable taste... which doesn’t help narrow down your list of suspects, at all. They’re all stupidly fashionable in everything they do, meanwhile you feel like a half-decent hobgoblin half the time.

You can’t decide what’s worse: the fact you slept with someone who’s a friend of yours - not many people outside of the core group came last night - or that you can’t remember who it is.

No lie, the temptation to slip out before they wake is hard to resist. But it’ll only delay the inevitable, and you honestly don’t want to do that to someone you care about.

It’s better to face the situation head-on, no matter how much you’re dreading it.

Over and done, quick and easy like a Band-Aid.

The conversation’s going to be awkward as hell but it was a drunken mistake. You’re adults and in a few years’ time, who knows, maybe you’ll be able to look back and laugh. No reason to let it ruin years of hard-earned friendship.

“Aah,” you groan mid-stretch, “...what a fucking mess.”

“Look who’s finally awake.”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

The world screeches to an almighty halt, crashing and burning as all the breath in your lungs catches in your chest. Your heavy eyes pop open so fast you see stars, a field of grey sheets filling your line of sight.

A wave of disbelief threatens to drown you, hysteria following in the aftermath as your mind stutters to a stop.

Stomach turning, your heart slams into your ribs so hard you’re convinced you’ll break a bone. The thought of sleeping with a friend is bad enough, but the truth? So much worse. You wish the bed would swallow you whole. 

Why, you lament, why him?

That low, sleep rough tone dripping with arrogance.

It raises your hackles, sets your teeth on edge until you shake with the urge to punt his ass across the room. Never in a million years would you expect to hear that voice beside you in bed.

You wish with everything there is that it’s just a hallucination - but there’s no mistaking who that voice belongs to.

The knowledge sits bitterly in the back of your throat.

“This is a nightmare.”

No fucking way you’re turning around.

You inch to the edge of the mattress, grateful for the distance. The very idea of touching him repulses, repels.

You’re already too aware of how the bed dips beneath his weight, the shared space warmed by the sleep soft heat radiating from his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jungkook scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

A hot palm, rough with callouses, grabs your shoulder. The steel grip tugs you close, unyielding as it guides you onto your back.

As soon as you glimpse the sunlight caught in the tangled briar of his hair, your eyes slam shut.

If you can’t see him, you can pretend he’s not there and if he’s not there, well then you won’t have to face your colossal mistake.

It might be petty and childish but all things considered, you think you’re allowed to be. Waking up next to Jeon Jungkook is earth-shattering. And altogether mortifying when you consider all the thoughts you had before you knew you fucked him.

Of all the people…

He’s made passes for years, and you always blew them off. Now? You groan. They’re never going to let you live this down. You take back every kind thought. This asshole doesn’t deserve your praise.

Before you tell him where to shove it, fingertips skim the jut of your cheekbone. The action effectively shuts you up, your brain stuttering to a resounding halt. Soft and light like butterfly kisses, they trace over the sweep of your flickering eyelashes.

It’s a ticklish reminder that you’re not alone.

You jerk away.

The click he makes with his teeth does N-O-T make you throb. Neither does his persistence, the effort to force you into acknowledging his presence redoubled. He’s stubborn, and altogether not unlike a boy pulling pigtails.

The comparison unbidden and unwelcome, you bat him away with a sharp, “Quit it.”

His voice is far too smug for your liking when he says, “Why don’t you try to make me.”

“Oh, my god.”

This asshole…

Your fingers claw into the sheets instead of his chest, nails cutting into your palms as rage lurks just beneath the surface of your skin. Your breath shoves from your lungs fast and hard. It’s a struggle to reign in the urge to pummel him bloody.

Meanwhile, Jungkook redirects his attention, his hand dipping down to dance over the front of your throat. A rough thumb maps the curve of your jaw, a shiver rolling through your body at the touch.

His low chuckle is the only warning you get before he’s leaning over, the shift in position causing the hard, compact muscles of his torso to brush your side. The fission of awareness that follows in its wake crackles down your spine, steals your breath.

Senses fixated on the sensual glide of skin on skin while pulses of arousal kindle to life behind your navel. Slick gushes from between your folds, wetting the insides of your thighs. Heart in your throat, you steady your voice long enough to say, “Seriously, just leave me alone so I can wallow in peace.”

Warm breath tickles the side of your face, the cool metal of Jungkook’s lip piercing brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs the syllables of your name. “Come on,” he says, “I dare you.”

The hell, is he being serious right now? What does he think this is?

“What are you,” you ask. “Five?”

“Would you stop being so dramatic?”

The first hint of genuine annoyance threads through the words growled against your cheek. His tone low, a warning buried in its depths. Fire and smoke, grit and gravel. You hate how you clench at the sound. Hate how confused he’s making you.

Why is he acting like this is a normal occurrence? You expect him to lord it over you, not act so...playful?

The uncertainty rankles, and your shoulders hike up around your ears. If he thinks he can jerk you around like this, he better step up and out because you’re out of fucks to give.

This is humiliating enough, and you’re not about to relinquish what’s left of your pride. 

“Do you ever stop talking,” you continue, ignoring the pulse between your thighs, the crack in your voice, “Or do you like the sound of your own voice that much?”

Your heart pounds in the ensuing silence, Jungkook all but ignoring you as he sinks his nose into your hair. The pleased rumble that vibrates from his chest into yours follows a deep inhale.

“Mm, you smell,” his lips tickle the side of your neck, “really good.”

A whimper works its way up your throat, your teeth barely catching it in time. Fissions of sensation shoot down to your stomach, hot and shivery.

“Shut up. Just stop - stop talking.”

It’s not what you mean to say - you have full intentions of cussing him out, reaching out to touch smack him - but by then, it’s too late. He’s already on the move, a mocking chuckle falling from his lips.

The sound shoots through you, stokes your rage and desire in equal measure until you’re shaking.

He tugs at the plush, tender flesh of your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Y’know,” he muses, “I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you. You might not like what happens.”

Surrounded as you are, it’s getting harder to think.

To breathe.

To be.

Sweat and sex cling to Jungkook, the scent filling your lungs with ash and burning through your bloodstream until he’s all that remains. Surrounding, smothering, swallowing you whole. “Look at me.”

Shit, he’s close - too close.

There’s a scant amount of space between your bodies, pressed stem to stern. Your tits crush against the hard plane of his chest, nipples stiffening with every drag of his skin, every shift of his body against yours.

His half-hard cock digs into the softness of your abdomen, wet and sticky as it drools into the dip of your belly button which shouldn’t get you as hot as it does. This is so not good.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.”

I can’t.

This is unacceptable. 

Fucking him once is bad enough, the only saving grace is that you barely remember the taste of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into yours, the stretch of him filling you to the brim.

If you give in now, even if it’s only an inch…

Well, he’ll take a mile and you don’t have an excuse for why you’ll let him. You’re already struggling with the urge to succumb, to inch closer. There’s no telling what’ll happen if you actually look into those burning eyes of his.

Of course, he doesn’t accept your refusal.

You never expected him to.

“I said look at me.” The thumb that was gently stroking along your face hooks around your jaw, digging into the soft spot on the underside. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You grit your teeth, channel the rising lust into rage. Anything to put some much-needed distance between you before you do something you’ll regret. Like, sleep with him a second time while stone-cold sober.

“Just fuck off, Jeon. This is embarrassing enough, you don’t need to rub it in. You won, okay? Congratulations.”

You refuse to let him have his cake and eat it too. Damned if he gets to hold this over your head. That drinking competition was all his idea, anyway. The victory blooming in your chest is short-lived, thoroughly blown to pieces.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Fast as lightning, the hand on your jaw disappears only to reappear between your thighs to shove your legs open. He doesn’t waste time, runs his knuckles along the length of your slit without hesitation.

Teasing, testing, humming in approval at what he finds.

The sudden rough touch has you jumping, gasping, eyes snapping open, fixating on his blown pupils. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth is more a snarl, downright predatory. The metal of his lip ring glints in the light, his teeth bared while he spears you with a hooded, hungry stare.

“That’s it, show me those pretty eyes of yours.” 

Breathless, your hips twitch and you clench at the praise, liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

Traitor.

“Jeon - Jungkook, knock it off.”

But you know he’s not going to stop. The ravenous look in his eyes says everything his mouth doesn’t.

“See,” he says conversationally, pausing long enough to thrust two fingers deep into you without warning. Pain sparks, flickers down your spine only to melt into a warm flush of pleasure as he twists his wrist. “That mouth of yours says one thing, but this pussy’s soaked. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?”

“I-”

Any response you have breaks off into a wounded moan, your brows furrowing as he flicks the tip of his finger against your g-spot.

“S-Shit!”

“Hm, what was that?”

A sharp smack stings across your wrist when you reach down to pull his hand away.

“Jeon - I - please…”

“Come on, use your words like a good little slut.”

“I - I can’t - shit!”

It’s impossible to think, let alone form sentences when the heel of his palm grinds against your swollen clit like that. Thick fingers curl deep, stroke, stretch until you mewl.

Every skilled thrust drives you higher, wrings pleasure from you so expertly you’ve half a mind to be pissed. Now you can see why all those girls were tripping over themselves to get with him back in college. As much as it pains you to admit it, he’s got game.

But even then, it shouldn’t be this easy to get you going.

To get your thighs clamping around his flexing forearm while uncontrollable shudders wrack your frame, finger fucked stupid by the sworn enemy.

“Hah.”

If you weren’t half out of your mind, you’d be more offended by the condescending smirk. All you do is half-heartedly smack his side, his free hand darting up to cover yours and keep it pressed against his skin.

You clench down with a whine at the feel of rippling muscle, the sight of his tatted fingers resting over your hand so delicately.

“Looks like I’m doing something right. Fuck, can you hear that, baby?” His movements slow to a crawl, the thrust of his fingers languid and deep. “Listen to how wet your tight little pussy is for me.”

Warmth creeps up your neck and sinks into the apples of your cheeks. It’s as mortifying as it is a turn on, the sloppy sounds of your needy cunt echoing back at you. Sticky arousal coats your puffy folds, every slick, squelching slide heard over stilted moans.

Without a doubt, you’re making a mess of his sheets. Judging by the husky growl of his voice, anything less wouldn’t satisfy him. “Gotta make up your mind, baby.”

He couldn’t sound any more indifferent, but the rough thrust of his fingers, the burning heat smouldering in the depths of his eyes says he’s anything but unaffected.

You whine, writhe, arch your hips to grind down on the hand working between your thighs.

It’s no use.

You get him right where you want him, only for him to flash a devilish grin and pull away. The desperation to get off builds and builds and builds until you’re half mad with it.

This asshole’s gotten you to the edge of cumming several times, only to watch with sick delight as he yanks you back, dangling you over the edge without letting you fall. You don’t even want to think about what this is doing for his already over-inflated sense of ego.

“You’ve been sending me all kinds of mixed signals for years.” He nips the tip of your nose, spreading his fingers wide open where they’re buried inside of you just to hear you squeal. “So what’s it gonna be?”

He’s playing dirty, and he knows it. It’s infuriating that smug looks so good on him. Are you really going to do this?

Ghosting his lips over yours in the barest of kisses, he whispers, slow and purposeful, “All you gotta do is say it. Be a good girl for me, and say: ‘Jungkook, please fuck me.’”

... Yes, yes, you are. But you’re never, ever going to admit that you want him.

Not when there’s nothing you can blame the impatient rise of your hips on, the grind against his palm, the unwavering eye contact that pins you in place. As unbelievable as this is, it all comes down to how horny you are and how good he looks above you.

You admit that he’s an asshole, but jesus, he’s attractive.

Jungkook chuckles, rolls his eyes. “So you’re gonna keep being a brat.”

He doesn’t look put out in the least. In fact, he’s downright feral with the anticipation of breaking you down and fucking you back together.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you begging for my cock one way or another.”

The you wish dissolves into thin air, all your focus narrowing on the flex and shift of muscle as he crawls down the length of your body. Shouldering his way between your thighs, he settles on his belly and rubs his hands along your hips. 

Flinching at the first touch of his broad palms, you watch with rapt attention as his strong fingers inch closer and closer to your heat.

Every touch, every slide of skin calculated. Precise. Intent on getting your blood pumping and your pussy throbbing until you’re squirming against the sheets.

That ferocious stare, glittering like onyx in the light, tracks every movement, every twitch; catalogues what strokes get you mewling, what drag of fingers has you shuddering, shivering until you’re a downright mess.

Longtime lovers never paid half as much attention to what got you going, and a one-off mistake is doing a better job than all of them combined. Shit, he hasn’t even really done anything yet.

Jungkook’s as focused between your thighs as he is during training, a singular intent that’s intense and overwhelming. Frankly, it’s unnerving being so seen by someone you’ve considered an enemy for the longest time.

When did he start paying so much attention to you - and how did you miss it?

“Just…” you say, voice a quiet thing that sits in the space between your bodies, “Just get on with it already.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Jungkook uses his fingers to spread open your sticky folds. Cool air dances across your core, teasing at your swollen clit as every bit of your pussy is exposed to him.

There’s no hiding the embarrassing amount of slick wetting your thighs or how you pulse and twitch in desire.

He hums in approval at what he sees, your thighs trembling around his shoulders. “Thanks for the meal,” he says, brushing his thumb across the hood of your clit before he ducks down with his tongue out.

The firm, full contact lick has supernovas bursting behind your eyelids. He groans at the taste of you, grinds his face deeper into the apex of your thighs. The sound rumbles through your sensitive flesh, your thighs clenching around his ears.

A sigh escapes your throat, and you rest a hand on the top of his head.

Oh yes, a much better use for that mouth of his.

Your fingers delve into the thickness of his hair, inky black wrapped around your knuckles. For a moment you lose yourself in the sensation, senses so high. Every swipe of his tongue, every roll of cool metal along your heated slit as his lips pull at your folds sets you aflame.

The peace doesn’t last, overtaken by the smouldering antagonism that simmers beneath every one of your interactions. A ticking time bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.

His face between your thighs inspires a dizzying mix of disgust and desire, that he’s even in this position pisses you off beyond belief.

In retaliation for every wrong he’s ever done (the specifics hazy when he sucks on your clit hard enough to curl your toes, the barest hint of teeth), you yank on his hair with as much strength as you’re able to muster.

His neck wrenches back, and he winces. You luxuriate in the petty revenge of it all as spite blooms warm in your chest. Serves him right. Though you gotta hand it to him, he sure knows how to use his tongue.

“You bitch,” Jungkook groans, smothering the vibrations in your slick folds. You keen, bow your back so far you’re afraid you’ll slip a disc. “That hurt.”

For all his complaining, he doesn’t stop.

Quite the opposite.

He dips his head, so you tug at the roots harder while his hands wrap around your thighs, pinning your hips to the bed while his tongue flicks and teases, licks and fucks you open slowly.

The messy sounds of your cunt as Jungkook eats you out to within an inch of your life broken by soft sighs, moans of pleasure, and the occasional masculine grunt. Previous partners have gone down on you before but never seemed to care for it.

Jungkook on the other hand? He’s loving it, eating you out with single-minded ferocity, seeking his own relief by rutting against the bed.

It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen; the wild briar of his hair in utter disarray, sweat slick strands falling over his forehead while he buries his face in you, the muscles of his back bunching and releasing with every slow rock of his hips, his quiet, muffled moans of satisfaction, the ripple of tattoos as he pets at your flank.

He’s not shy - not that you expected him to be in this regard. You’ve heard all the stories about his prowess in bed from classmates and strangers alike.

All his movements are rough and desperate, wet and messy. The careful, slow teasing from before disappearing within the blink of an eye as he becomes consumed with a frantic desire to feel you cum on his face.

It’s not surprising that you don’t last long, orgasming embarrassingly fast, stuffed full of his tongue and fingers.

“Jungkook,” you choke out his name, a broken sound that fades into open-mouthed silence.

The ball of heat in your belly bursts, rushes over you like a tidal wave. You shake apart, pussy clenching so hard your womb aches as a gush of fluid dribbles out of you, soaking the lower half of your body and the bed.

Stars dance in the darkness behind your lids. You’re strung out and weak, incapable of movement, of thought, of anything besides the actual possibility that your bones dissolved when you came.

“Shit, that’s hot.”

Jungkook shifts.

Your lashes flutter. Breathing is difficult. You can’t feel your hands, the tips of your fingers tingling.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, cum soaking the lower half of his face. His lips red and swollen, his eyes hooded, dark and lusting. Pupils blown so wide the iris is nothing more than a thin ring of brown.

His cock juts from his body in a proud line, curved towards his belly. Smears of pre-cum glitter along the valley of his abs, and you have the strangest urge to lick him clean.

Seeing him look so debauched shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you want to kick your own ass for thinking about Jungkook like this.

Fucking him is one thing, actively appreciating him something else.

But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the sight of him kneeling and lusting is a sucker punch to the gut. Breathless and yearning, you’re at war with yourself, contemplating round three when he opens mouth.

Again.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

The jut of his chest, the arrogance in his gaze ruins everything. Anyone halfway decent with their tongue who knows what a clit is can get a woman off. Jungkook’s nothing special - contrary to all those co-ed’s.

Just another run-of-the-mill asshole who thinks he’s a god. You’re reminded of this now that you’re not cum-dumb, brain dribbling out your ears. And just when you forgot why you dislike him.

“You know what, Jeon?”

If you could move, you’d shove him off the bed and get out of dodge. As it is, you’re in no such position; knees weak, thighs shaky as phantom waves of pleasure shoot from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes.

You settle for a nasty scowl. Half as satisfying, but getting your point across all the same. “I’m still not fucking impressed.”

His expression drops into a bitchy sneer.

You want to smack him, wipe that look off his face with your palm. It would be like all your birthdays rolled into one.

“The fuck you mean?” Jungkook asks, brimming with gruff impatience. Good. Arrogant prick. “I made you squirt.”

Ignoring the pounding of your heart, you scoff and dismiss his words, no matter how true they ring. He doesn’t need to know you’ve NEVER done that before. “So? Even I can do that, you’re no better than my vibrator.”

The muscles in his jaw clench, bunching and releasing as his stormy gaze sears you to the bone. For the first time since he started this little - whatever it is - he seems genuinely pissed, shoulders tense and mouth a thin line.

You swoon, the empty ache inside of you pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“I’ll fucking show you who’s better.”

“Sure you will,” you simper with a nasty grin, tone dripping with sarcasm.

As soon as you prop yourself up on an elbow with full intentions of hopping out of bed, a set of large hands stops you in your tracks. Panic shoots through you, and any residual anger you harbored fizzles away.

He can’t expect you to — oh, but of course, he does.

“No, not like this,” you say while you squirm, attempting to roll onto your belly. “I can’t.”

Fucking face to face is too intimate.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so, baby,” he croons, tone a mocking lilt as he cages you beneath him. “I wanna see your pretty little face when you cream all over my cock.”

Any response gets lost in a weak moan when he rubs himself against your slick folds, the fat head catching on the hood of your abused clit. You whimper, a sharp spike of arousal slicing through you, almost painful when it follows so swiftly on the tail end of your last orgasm.

You try one last time, voice reedy and thin when you say, “Jeon, please, I can’t - fuck.”

The tip slides into you without preamble, just far enough to feel it but not deep enough to get you off. The smug bastard thrusts gently, your tender, swollen walls suckling his cockhead, trying to pull him deeper.

Pure torture.

Mind wiped clean, embarrassment and protests all but forgotten, all your focus narrows down on how to get him inside you as soon as possible.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks. “Got something to say? You’re squeezing down so hard. Want me deeper, don’t you? What a needy little slut you are for me.”

“Shit, Jeon, come on.” You pant, biting down on a whine. “Just put it in already.”

“Whatever you say.”

He keeps it slow, languidly works his cock deeper into you, inch by agonizing inch. Your muscles flutter, milk his thick shaft. It takes forever and a day before he bottoms out.

And then your eyes roll into the back of your head, hands flying up to anchor your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

He’s right there, cockhead snug against your crevice. Every ridge, every throb; it stokes the embers of your desire higher and higher, stretched so wide around him you ache; he’s the biggest you’ve had. You’ve never felt so stuffed full of cock before, it’s almost scary how good it is.

The taut skin of his belly grinds against your clit when he gets as deep as possible, pelvis flush with yours. “F-Fuck, Jeon.”

Above you, he shoots a cocky albeit weak grin.

You can’t decide if you want to slap him or have him fuck you into the mattress. Probably a bit of both. He boils your blood, but you’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Fucking hell.

“See, what’d I say? I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

You groan, breathing deep and slow. “Are you always such a prick?”

He hasn’t moved, but you’re on the edge, and far from ready for this to be over. The asshole hasn’t delivered. You haven’t been fucked raw, and you’re not leaving this bed until he gives it up. Now if only he could shut his mouth long enough to get the show on the road.

“Bitch.” He rolls his eyes, his broad palms firm on your hips while he shifts until your thighs rest over his. “Ready?”

You snort, shoot a comment about his dick not being that special and more than ready to tack on another scathing retort when he decides he’s had enough of your lip, pulling back and snapping his hips forward in one smooth movement.

It punches the air from your lungs.

Your mouth drops open in a near-silent gasp when the head nudges the spongy tissue of your g-spot. The sudden flood of warmth spreads out to all your limbs, pussy throbbing around him.

Your voice is shaky, spread thin, “A-Ah!”

Jungkook isn’t faring any better.

Hot palms tremble against your skin, the furrow to his brow pulling at his piercing, his mouth slack and glossy. His abdominal muscles tense with every stutter of his hips, flexing and resisting the urge to plow into you at max speed.

“Shit, baby, I forgot how tight and soft you are.”

Incapable of speech, reduced to mindless rutting. His broken moan shatters something between the two of you, and then it’s nothing but bruising kisses, sharp keens, rough hands, and frantic fucking.

He slams into you so hard the bed rattles against the wall, punctuating his filthy murmur of, “Perfect fucking fit, just like I knew you’d be.”

You appreciate his rippling muscles with your hands, caressing the firm lines of his body as you do your best to keep pace. Every other thrust has his cock slamming into your g-spot, your toes curling in the sheets.

It’s too much and not enough.

“Jungkook, I’m - I’m,” you sound wrecked, unable to even finish your sentence. “Please.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he growls, voice full of gravel and hips never missing a beat, “I got you. Now do it, cum, wanna feel you squirt on my cock.”

A fingertip finds your clit.

Rubs once, twice, three times, and then you see galaxies.

Crying out, you clutch him close as the bubbling pool of heat overflows, crashes into you like a tsunami. Helpless against the rushing tide. Your body spasms, your cunt gushing around Jungkook’s pistoning cock.

The slick slap of your skin almost as obscene as his groan, low and lewd, when you clench and clamp down on his shaft. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

Boneless and panting, you sink back into the pillows and stare up at Jungkook with glassy eyes. The early afternoon light highlights the lines of his body, the curves of his muscles, the splashes of color etched into his skin. Tremors wrack your body as you lay there while he chases after his own pleasure.

“Shit, I’m gonna — fffu-ck!”

One last thrust buries him to the hilt, his cum flooding, filling you to the brim. Face slack with pleasure, his head drops into the cradle of your shoulder. He pets your sides with gentle hands, his breath puffing across the sensitive skin of your neck while his body twitches with aftershocks.

The both of you are weak, fucked out.

You lay under him for a long time, silent except for your shuddering breaths. Your bodies coming down from unimaginable heights. When your arms aren’t so useless anymore, you push at his chest and grunt.

“Get off.”

A flood of cum follows his swift exit, thick seed dribbling down your folds and pooling on the sheets beneath your ass. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, a primal sort of appreciation curling through your belly.

Well, that’s new. And something you refuse to unpack now.

Flopping down beside you, Jungkook stretches, his expression far too self-satisfied for your liking. “For being such a bitch, you’re a good lay.”

Leave it to him and his goddamn mouth to ruin the afterglow.

You shoot him a sour look, dragging yourself to your feet.

There’s a moment where you almost fall, wobbly and off-kilter, before you regain your balance. You clean yourself gingerly with a towel hanging half out of the hamper.

Sore, tender, and vindictively pleased to see the white streak of his cum stain the dark terrycloth.

The asshole laughs at your disgruntled look, lounging on the bed like a lazy jungle cat. His thick arms cross behind his head and he watches you with dark eyes as you bend to get your panties.

Try as you might, you can’t help sneaking peeks at his barred chest. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s noticed the covert looks. You scowl. The smug bastard.

“Don’t be like that, baby. We had a great time.”

Scoffing, you refuse to dignify that with a response, and tug your shirt over your head.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

He ignores your sarcasm and continues, nonplussed, “I think you’ve never cum so hard in your life. I think you’re gagging for another ride.”

You pick something up off the floor, chuck it at his head and pivot on your heel. Anger pulses, white-hot and only partially satisfied by the pained groan from behind you as the object makes contact.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You know what that was for. God, are you always such a fucking dickhead?”

“I think you like it,” he says. “I think you like me - I think you’ve always liked me.”

You ignore the burn of your cheeks, and scoff.

The man’s ego is big enough without you adding fuel to the fire. He doesn’t need to know that was the best sex you’ve ever had. That you came so hard your toes curled, and your hands went numb.

“In your dreams, Jeon.”

Keeping your back to him, you’re about to put on your pants when an iron grip shackles itself around your wrist. You tug, testing the hold. He’s unyielding, spearing you with an intense, depthless look.

“...Jeon?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You blink, swallow and flounder for a response. “Um, I - home?”

He frowns, and tugs you back towards the bed with a huffy sneer, “Get back in bed.”

Wait, what.

You blink, and blink again at the blush stealing its way across his face, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks a soft pink, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours. Can’t help asking, “...What?”

“S-Shut up!”

“I didn’t even-”

“Just come back to bed.”

Still in disbelief of what’s happening, you let Jungkook rearrange you to his liking. You find yourself tucked into the curve of his chest, your nose pressed against his collarbone with his buried in your hair. His lips rest against your forehead, dropping the faintest of kisses to your brow.

“...We’ll talk when you wake up.”

You can’t tell if you’re curious or horrified, but for now, getting a few more hours of sleep sounds like an excellent idea. And, you suppose, it could be worse.

Shacking up with Jungkook isn’t all that bad, so long as he keeps his mouth shut. 

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 51

part 1 | part 50 | ao3

Knowing the weirdness is coming doesn't make it less weird.

Steve clings to Jeff's warning like a lifeline in the days after the attack, as Eddie swings wildly from withdrawn and paranoid to brash and itching for a fight. One second he's tackling Steve in a public park, sweeping him off his feet and swinging in a wide, reckless circle, the next he's shooting dodgy glances over his shoulder and suggesting they come up with some kind of tapping code when they want to communicate the urge to kiss or hug in public.

His face is a mess for weeks.

He doesn’t want to talk about it.

Hardly wants to look at it — takes to avoiding mirrors and fucking Steve from behind, or turning off all the lights, or hiding his face behind his hair when he gets between Steve’s legs. Plays it off like he’s just being sexy, trying something new, ‘isn’t this exciting?’ But Steve’s pretty sure he just doesn’t want to see the worry in Steve’s eyes when their kisses hurt his face.

So Valentine's Day comes and goes, and Steve doesn't say it; doesn't say 'I love you,' because he's never sure he's going to get the version of Eddie who’s brave enough to say it back. They don't even do anything for the holiday, really, which kind of kills Steve, even if he won't admit it.

He can't help it; he's a sap.

They do share a heart-shaped box of chocolates in Eddie’s bed the day after, though. Led Zeppelin crooning softly from the record player, and Steve plays it off like he only bought them because they were half off, and Eddie gives him a gooey look and pushes him into the pillows. Blows him within an inch of his young life; smiles up at him at the end, lips slick and full and pretty. Steve thinks, maybe they're okay.

They’ll be okay.

Eddie may still be a little off, a little wobbly, but he’s laughing again, he’s silly and animated again, he’s playing guitar and making jokes, and—

And who is Steve to judge how a person, like, processes or whatever? At least Eddie’s not doing any late night demolition.

They’re gonna be just fine.

The last of the sickly yellow bruising slips away from Eddie's eye as the month comes to a close, so Steve decides to risk it. Asks Eddie out. A movie night, a proper date where Steve can pay for the milkshakes and let their thighs brush against each other when the theater lights go down.

And sure, they'll have to pretend it’s just two straight guys hanging out — do their tapping thing and keep a healthy distance, two bros being pals being buds being dudes — and that shit sucks, but it’s better than nothing.

Steve's never had to worry about PDA before. One more thing he won't admit is kind of slowly killing him; rope burn around his heart when he thinks about it too hard.

"What do you say?" he asks Eddie. They’re lounging on his couch, propped on opposite ends with their legs tangled in the middle. "You want to let me take you out to the city?"

Brookhaven isn't exactly the city so much as the closest suburb whose mall didn't get torpedoed by the commies, but there's a theater and some decent diners, and it's far enough away that they shouldn't run into any classmates looking to cause trouble.

Eddie gives him a wary look. “I don’t know,” he hedges, fingers coming up to worry the thin sliver of a scar under his chin.

Steve swallows the hurt. The twine chafing behind his ribs. "It's okay," he starts to say, but Eddie's eyes flare with defiance.

“Actually, fuck it,” he declares, slapping his knees as he stands up. Gets up onto the couch cushion, spreads his feet wide and puts his hands on his hips; Steve’s little metalhead superhero. Steve can't help his grin when Eddie shakes his hair out big and says, "Take me out and woo me, baby!"

—

part 52

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[brotherblaze]

double black² —wednesday addams

▹ wednesday addams/gn!gorgon!reader

▹ synopsis: Wednesday witnesses exactly how the fights you get into usually start out, and the aching consequences.

▹ content warnings: violence, angst

▹ word count: ~2,2k

▹ part 1 | navi / AO3

"The movie was shit, by the way; pure torture. At least I was alone 'cause normal people don't go to the movies on a fucking Tuesday."

You cradle the flame from your lighter in the palm of your free hand as you bring it to the end of your cigarette. The sweet smell of mint washes over you as it ignites and the lighter snaps shut with a resounding click. You inhale and the tip glows bright red.

"That's a horrible habit," Wednesday comments, sitting next to you on the stone railing surrounding the front lawn of the school. She eyes the cigarette with a look of contempt.

"It's supposed to start tasting more and more disgusting as time goes on." You pluck the cigarette from your mouth and balance it between your pointer and middle fingers. "Like soap, I think. Guess I'll quit when I get there." You take another drag and tilt your face up. Smoke rings float into the air. Gray soot falls off the burnt end and lands on the stone you're sitting on. Wednesday brushes it off with a frown.

She opens her mouth to respond with a biting retort but a sharp whistle cuts her off. It's painfully loud and she whirls around to tell whoever it is to fuck off. You beat her to it, shoulders turning and body following until you're sitting so you're facing the school. The man grins and says something in a foreign language.

You reply, tone sharp and biting, and extinguish the red-hot end of your cigarette against the stone railing. "Stay here," you tell her before you push yourself off the railing. Your boots thud dully when you land, scraping along the cobblestone-paved road to the stranger as you approach. Whatever you tell him next is drawn out.

Your voice has a lower pitch in this language. Rougher. Throaty.

(Wednesday finds herself liking it.)

Whatever you talk about, it leaves you agitated. There's a straightness in your shoulders she doesn't usually see, hands curled into fists at your sides. The man raises his hand to jab you in the shoulder and you slap his hand away. When his eyes meet Wednesday's, you immediately step into his line of sight. She watches a grin curl onto his lips. He leans down slightly to whisper something to you.

Your answer to whatever he said is a mouthful of spittle in his face.

He moves fast, too fast for him to be just human. The speed leaves her dizzy from just watching, and her heartbeat leaps into her throat when he suddenly has his arm wrapped around your throat from the back. You only hold a hand out, pointing a finger at Wednesday. "Don't." You wheeze loudly when he tightens his grip around your windpipe but your gaze stays on Wednesday like you're ordering her to stay where she is. "Don't."

The stranger says something. She sees his mouth move, but can't decipher what he's saying. The letters in his words don't make sense and the shapes his mouth makes when he speaks are odd. She can't focus, her gaze pinned to your face, the way your teeth grit together.

His hand is suddenly in your hair, arm around your throat loosening just enough to force your head forward and down to meet the brunt of his knee. Your teeth snap together as the world tilts on its axis and you fall onto your side, palms scraping along the gravel lodged between the cobblestones.

The spring air is cool and you welcome the burn in your lungs when you inhale. It doesn't last.

The hard nose of his boot strikes your ribs. It rips a pathetic wail from your lips as the pain rushes through your torso. Your eyes are watering. You attempt to roll away from him and your efforts are met with another hard kick.

The burn in your lungs becomes unpleasant all at once as you attempt to breathe. Every muscle in your torso is screaming when you attempt to pull yourself onto your knees to stand. Another kick to the ribs, another screeching wail of a banshee. This time, something crunches.

You roll onto your back, chest heaving. There's a lump in your throat you force back down.

Wednesday is rooted to the spot. Her feet feel like lead and she can't will them to move, to step forward and drag you away from the confrontation by the lapels of your jacket—maybe whack your assailant over the head with a thick branch.

She can't even startle when a new figure pulls the man off you, can't focus on the way coach Vladimir presses his knee against the stranger's throat. She just stares at your slowly moving figure, curling up with a wet gasp, shielding your head with your arms. The snakes in your hair are lying limp on the ground.

Larissa Weems arrives moments later, crouching next to your curled-up body. Her hair is in disarray, large strands of white falling out of their neat updo, curling around her face. Her fingers curl around your wrist, her mouth forming words to say something in a language Wednesday can't understand. You only curl further into yourself with a choked sob.

Wednesday's feet finally move and her boots scrape against the gravel. Weems' head snaps up and her eyes narrow on Wednesday.

"Ms. Addams, return to your room." Weems brushes a particularly annoying loose lock of hair behind her ear. Her gaze is hard, scrutinizing—like she's planning a murder and willing to commit it right in front of everyone's eyes. "Now, Ms. Addams."

Wednesday doesn't argue, can't even find her voice to argue. She places one unsteady foot in front of the other, knees weak, and heads towards the dormitories.

Your body aches.

It's dull, but it's everywhere.

Pain tingles in your ribs when you breathe and you almost want to growl out a swear but your jaw aches, too. Your tongue feels like dead weight in your mouth.

The muscles in your neck are tense, erupting in searing hot pain when you let your head tip to the side. The pillowcase against your cheek feels scratchy and you make a mental note to buy a new set of bedsheets once you're able to stand.

Wednesday is sitting in the beanbag chair next to your bed. Her textbooks are placed on the edge of your bed and she's furiously scribbling something into the notebook in her lap with a fancy fountain pen. She's wearing your sunglasses.

"Good evening." She continues her hasty scribbling, not bothering to look up as she greets you.

"I feel like I got into a fight with a bear. And lost." Your voice is hoarse and your throat dry. It's like you've swallowed sand.

"Something like that."

She caps her fancy pen and finally looks up. Her lips are pulled into a tight line but you can't see her eyes. She gently adjusts your sunglasses but doesn't remove them. Yet you can still feel the intensity of her gaze. So, you turn your head to stare at the other side of your bed.

You're met with a pile of colorful decorative pillows, fuzzy blankets, stuffed animals of all colors and breeds, with weird, bulging acrylic eyes. Even Enid's pink-and-orange sweater is resting next to your pillow, neatly folded. It's a size too small but you appreciate the sentiment.

"Enid thought you'd be more comfortable this way," Wednesday says from her spot in your beanbag chair. She doesn't move. You clear your throat and grumble something under your breath.

"Lotsa colors."

You have an accent, Wednesday realizes. It's faint, but it's there. English makes your voice softer—higher. She misses the roughness it had the night before.

She abruptly stands, straightening her sweater and pants. You turn to look at her with wide eyes, lips turned into a small frown like you're afraid she's leaving for good. Ask me to stay, she thinks.

But you don't.

"You missed dinner," she says. Her voice has the same lilt but for a moment the intrusive thought that maybe it's too harsh for your current condition flashes through. But you make no deal of it, only hum like you've resigned yourself to accepting any bad news she might announce. In a move that surprises even herself, she speaks, "I'll go get it."

You stare at her with wide eyes, mouth moving like you're about to tell her not to, to tell her you can do it yourself. Her reply is the most venomous look she can muster and a curt, "Don't move."

She's out the door before you can argue.

And she returns with a large tray in hand, holding not only your dinner but every single vegetable she could stand the sight of. Something about five different colors of vegetables.

Instead of where she left you, Wednesday finds you lying face-down on the edge of your bed. You groan, voice muffled.

"I take back what I said. I feel like I got run over by an 18-wheeler."

"Why are you out of bed?"

"I had to pee, like, really bad." Your arms are shaking when you push yourself onto all fours to climb back into the still-warm spot. You move slowly, every single fiber of every muscle in your body is screaming at the slightest movement. Wednesday watches from the side.

She places the tray on the edge of your bed once you've settled in and you bristle when you see that's plated.

"I hate mashed potatoes."

Wednesday ignores your comment as she sits next to the tray. She digs the spoon into the mashed potatoes on the plate and stirs it with the diced meat and gravy. She picks up a spoonful and holds it out to your lips.

"Eating like a poor 18th century eastern European peasant—my ancestors are rolling in their graves." Yet you lean forward to accept what she's offering. "They didn't survive the treat of gulags for me to eat bland mashed potatoes in the 21st century."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

You lift your hand in front of your mouth and swallow. "Tastes like cardboard." But she doesn't give in to your complaints, only hums and lifts another spoonful to your mouth. You accept it. "The texture's horrible." You accept the next spoonful, too. "I can keep going."

"I have a lot of mashed potato left."

That shuts you up. Instead of arguing, you let her feed you. It's silent, only the sound of the metal spoon scraping against the ceramic plate when she reaches for another spoonful, accompanied by your grumbles when you discover an unmashed potato chunk in your mouth. She hands you a baby carrot once the plate is empty.

You pat the empty space next to you on the bed and shimmy slightly to the side to make more room for her. Your ribs strain and you clamp down on your tongue to keep a pained hiss in your mouth.

Wednesday places the empty plate onto your nightstand and climbs onto your bed. She tentatively lies down, like she's waiting for you to change your mind and reject her, to tell her to get out. You don't, you just break the baby carrot in half and shove both pieces into your mouth at once.

"How come you have a two-person bed?"

That sounds like a safe enough topic to start out on.

You look at her with a raised brow and hand her one of Enid's gaudy pink pillows to rest her head on. You clearly find joy in the face she pulls at it.

"I work in Jericho in the summer. Everyone else goes home and Larissa doesn't want me to sit around for three months, so she said she'd let me get new furniture if I made the money myself. I guess my constant begging was getting annoying."

Wednesday's eyes flicker to your lips. She reluctantly drags her gaze up again.

"What did he say?"

Your face drops. The crease between your eyebrows appears and she wants to reach out to smooth her thumb over it. Instead, her hand tangles into the sheet.

"Doesn't matter."

She sits up, leaning her weight on her hand still tangled with your bedsheet. "So he was just a douche whose girlfriend you flirted with? Another one of your conquests like everyone in school keeps talking about?"

"I think you should leave."

You turn onto your side with a string of swears under your breath and pull the blanket up to your chin. For good measure, you grab one of the stuffed animals Enid had left and bury your face into its soft fur.

Wednesday doesn't move for a few long moments. The seconds tick by on the alarm clock on your nightstand. Finally, she stands, straightening out her sweater, and quietly packs her things. On her way out, she grabs the empty plate.

The door clicks shut behind her and she stands in the hallway. She takes a moment to collect herself, a breath in, a breath out, and adjusts her backpack before she takes the first step towards the stairs at the end of the hall.

Something in her chest aches.

taglist: @stupendousbananajudgeshark @vaeeeel @eclipsesmoonshine14

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirty-Five

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

writer's notes: hi guys! i know, super late post. i've been super busy with things so it's been hard to juggle everything right now! but i'm still here - very much alive and still writing. i hope you enjoy this next chapter :p as always, would love to read your comments on this one!

Chapter Thirty-Five: A Surly Monster

A pair of long, large obsidian nails curve around the ship with an ear-shattering creak. Impatiently, the dragon snarls out, its dark wings tensely billowing outwards like a sparkling parachute, increasingly building its strong momentum to lift off.

Law stumbles out of the boys' quarters—if you can even call it that anymore, what with the Hearts pirates having to bunk beds with the Strawhats in an incredibly undersized room—his bare feet slapping against the wooden deck in alarm.

"What," he seethes, whilst the little nightcap on the top of his head trembles against the dragon's slapping wind, "the fuck have you gotten into now!?"

Zoro turns, eyebrow raised, and when his eyes land on the Surgeon of Death donning a dress robe that billows out dramatically in front of him—and not to mention that ridiculous little hat—he instantly shouts out in laughter.

Law's piercing eyes slink onto the swordsman. "You got something to say, asshole?"

Zoro keeps barking out like an animal out of control, which makes Raya snap her head around and gape at him as if she's never met this man before. Zoro shakes his head, a tear glistening in his eye. "Nice outfit, princess."

Law's face burns, his jaw tensing into a boulder of stone. "I'm going to kill you, you piece of—"

In a startling and teetering tilt to the ship, the dragon bellows out thunderously, its snout producing smoke that threatens to spill into fire. It retracts its claws—only one remaining hooked on the side of the Sunny—as its wet eyes tilt downwards to the two men who begin flailing off the ship. 

Silence them, or I shall do it myself, the dragon grumbles hotly. 

Raya shivers as she hears the voice in her skull again – deep, shattering and quite…. unsurprisingly, ill-tempered. She tilts her head back up at the heavy-shouldered force, and without even thinking of her own hot temper, she narrows her eyes back at him. 

Quit talking through me, Raya bites out, ignoring the distant cries of the two men hanging onto the ship by a rotten, stray rope. You have no right to invade my mind like this.

The dragon bristles, blasting air from its snout. I am not your enemy, Human.

"Room!" Law forcefully cries out, his inked fingers stretching out, his feet flapping against nothing but air. "Sha—"

But before Law utters that one life-saving word, his hand, with no doing of his own, slams right into his face.

Control their tempers, the dragon repeats, his large eyeballs gleaming at Law, or I'll do more than place his hand in his mouth. 

"Ugh, fuck!" Raya hisses, her knuckles turning white over the wooden railing. "Fine! Just hold the ship up properly!"

The dragon huffs out a cloud of smoke in response to Raya's demand, but it complies, adjusting its grip on the ship to stabilise it. Law and Zoro, now dangling precariously from the rope, exchange glares before scrambling back onto the deck.

Raya clenches her fists, still seething with frustration at the intrusion into her mind. "You better keep your end of the bargain," she warns the dragon, her voice laced with venom.

Deal with your companions, and I shall refrain from further interference.

With a heavy sigh, Raya turns her attention to Law and Zoro; standing sheepishly on the deck, they try to regain their composure through manly coughs and throat clearing. 

Raya raises a finger at them. "You two," she begins, her voice tight with irritation, "need to get your shit together. I'm in the middle of figuring out what these bloody beasts want with me, and you're both itching for a stupid fight."

Law bristles and takes an accusatory step forward. "But he's the one who started—"

"Boohoo, now go kiss and make up," Raya snaps. She sighs and takes a moment to compose herself, softly leaning her hips against the wooden rail. "Look, these dragons have some sort of business with me. The only reason you guys are here right now with me - and not stranded in Gods knows where - is because— Oh, for fuck's sake, Roronoa, put your swords away."

"We're heading to their den, aren't we?" Zoro mutters. "We gotta be prepared."

"If you don't slide those swords back into their pretty little sheathes, I will eviscerate them again," Raya calmly says, narrowing her eyes. "And this time, Roronoa, I won't fix them."

Silence. 

Law silently gives Zoro a curious side-eye, waiting with Raya for his next move.

The shink! of steel brushing against leather slides in slow, reluctant, movements, following with a tight snap, as the swords burrow themselves securely into their respective homes. 

Raya smirks, sarcastically pouting back at Zoro's grumpy frown. "Good talk."

She looks over to the portholes behind Zoro and Law, realising that Nami, Usopp and Bepo's bewildered faces are staring out from the safety of their sleeping quarters. Raya sighs, stretching her fingers out by her sides. "Alright, let's go and fill the others in."

☆

 

"THIS IS SOOOOOO COOOOL!" Luffy yells, his voice echoing off into the depths of the cavern. 

"Shut up, Luffy! Don't wake them up," Usopp quickly hisses as his legs shakingly clamber down the ship's ladder. 

"But they're already awake?" Bepo mentions, staring wide-eyed at a colossal dragon that flies past their eyes.

"Shut up," Usopp panickily repeats, slamming his eyes shut as he feels the heavy breath of the dragon hit his face. "You're lying. You're lying. I can't see anything."

"I mean, I guess I won't be needing a lighter anymore." Sanji grins, reaching his cigarette out to a random sprout of fire that dances across the surface of a rock. "It's not too bad, Usopp. You could be the Strawhat's dessert, if you wanted to," he taunts with an evil grin plastered on his face.

Usopp pales. “Des… Dessert?” 

"Hold on..." Brook looks around, his jaw dropping. "Where did Luffy go?"

"Don't worry," Robin smiles, waving her hand. "Franky's babysitting."

"This…This is incredible," Raya dazedly mutters to herself, entranced by the vast expanse of rock and fire.

The cavern is enormous – fit to house five hundred dragons, to be exact. It's so big that Raya can see a few dragons soar through as little specks of shimmering colour. 

As Raya steps into the stomach-dropping view, her senses are immediately overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of its grandeur. The cavern stretches before her like the yawning mouth of some ancient titan, its walls jagged and imposing, veined with veins of glimmering minerals that catch the flickering light from the fiery pits below.

Above, the ceiling disappears into darkness, lost to the depths of the earth, while below, the floor is a chaotic mosaic of molten rock and glowing embers, casting an eerie orange glow that dances across the cavern walls. The air is thick with the acrid scent of sulphur, punctuated by the occasional roar of a passing dragon and the crackling of flames.

Clusters of stalactites hang like icicles from the ceiling, their tips glistening with droplets of molten rock that drip into the fiery chasms below. Columns of stone rise up from the depths, their surfaces scarred and pitted from centuries of exposure to the elements.

But what truly captures Raya's attention are the dragons themselves. Massive beasts of every size and colour, their scales gleaming like jewels in the dim light, their wings spanning the length of several ships as they soar effortlessly through the cavern. Some lounge lazily on rocky outcrops, their eyes gleaming with a predatory intelligence, while others dart through the air with lightning speed, their forms blurred by the heat haze rising from the molten rock below.

Human, the familiar voice rumbles out, spinning Raya's head back into reality. Look at me, Human.

Suddenly, the colossal obsidian dragon reappears again, making Chopper and Brook screech out in surprise. It hovers in front of Raya with a slightly tilted head, almost as if he's offering some sort of respect. His wet eyes lock onto hers, his wings flapping in rhythmic movements, and silence fills Raya's ears as if a melody is playing that she is forbidden to listen to. 

Raya holds her breath, feeling the warmth of his snout blow her hair backwards. She doesn't respond to his telepathic intrusion; she only stares.

The black dragon breathes out again, an odd similarity to a tired, human sigh.

Get on my back, he says. We have much to discuss.

[rogueddie]

NSFW Steddie Fic Rec, Part 2: Bottom / Sub Eddie

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 💦

And for this one too, heavy emphasis on 'read the tags'. 🔞

Screw Todd, Steve's Her (His) Daddy Now

ArtaxLivs

Steve keeps calling himself Daddy "unintentionally" and Eddie...well, Eddie's about to lose it and do something he might (probably won't) regret.

Words : 5,087 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Light BDSM

AO3 : x

When You Sweat That Toxic Haze, I Love Your Smell

astromirage

“I’m sorry, shit ‘m sorry,” he whines, desperately needing to rabidly thrust into Steve’s cunt, to hold him down, fuck him until he’s cock stupid, drooling, only being able to beg for release, and Eddie’s dick.

“You better fucking be, don’t do it again,” he begins moving, propping himself up, just to work back onto his dick, doing this a few times, each drawing delicious noises from both of them.

Steve settles in, rocking against Eddie, the most pornographic sounds tumbling from his lips as he arches his back, burying Eddie’s cock in him deeper. His thighs burn as he fucks himself on Eddie, clenching around him, causing Eddie to groan, faltering in the stance he had sitting up. Their sweaty skin slaps together softly as Steve methodically uses Eddie, slowly working Eddie up.

Words : 3,661 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : FTM Steve

AO3 : x

In My Boxers, Half Stoned

Eddywow

"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

Words : 12,338 Chapters : 2/2 ❗

AO3 : x

Melt Me On Your Tongue

indelicate

“This okay?”

“Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.”

“… you’re crying, Eds.”

Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob.

“No one’s ever done this to me before.”

He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really.

Eddie's never had a Steve before.

Words : 5,879 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Mild Painplay

AO3 : x

Done Deal

morningberries

“I’m sorry, your royal highness, but I don’t accept trades, or favours, or IOUs, or promises, or anything relating. I accept cash. That’s it. End of story.”

“Are you sure?” Steve stepped forward into Eddie’s personal space and was pleased to see the other man’s round eyes grow impossibly larger. “I feel like I could offer you something that you want, that isn’t cash.”

Words : 3,644 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : D/S

AO3 : x

The Bartender Was A Trap

MixAddams

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Steve was just naturally amazing at DND?

Like he can see the strategy clear as day and can’t understand why the other players are taking so long to decide on their next move. He’s never caught by surprise by the story. He built his nearly flawless absolute weapon of a character in less than twenty minutes.

Eddie fucking hates it but oh boy does it turn him on

Words : 2,889 Chapters : 1/1 ❗

AO3 : x

Ozzy sucks

dirtyvalentine

And the pièce de résistance comes when Eddie tells him, "You could cover my mouth."

That one scares him most.

Because, well, "How are you going to use your safeword?"

"I'm not."

"What if you need to?"

"I won't."

"How do you know?"

"I'll never need to. Just trust me."

Words : 14,465 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Non-Con

AO3 : x

Emphasis: Major Trigger Warning for Rape Obviously I'm recommending this fic, but I do want to be clear; the content, what actually happens, in this fic? It's tagged Dead Dove for a reason. Heed the tags!

Open Up Baby

murdertrashbabyrat

Eddie calls him mommy one time, one fucking time, as a joke, he swears just a joke but then Steve looks at him, expression stern, hands on his fucking hips of course, and says, “Behave,” before snapping at Robin that she wasn’t putting this album on again and if she puts it on again he’s gonna destroy her and then she puts it on and he’s chasing her across the house and it’s funny and he should be laughing but instead he’s a little bit stricken over the fact that he’s fucking hard.

Words : 5,008 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Mommy Kink

AO3 : x

Whatever you want, Birthday Boy.

FluffyChicken

The club is fucking crowded when they arrive. Robin announces to the security man at the door that it's his best friend's birthday, and to Steve's dismay, she starts telling everyone who's listening that it's actually Steve's twentieth five birthday.

Fuck. Steve wishes to have twenty five years again.

"There you are, birthday boy!" He announces with a pretty smile that makes Steve go hot all over. Maybe he should take off his jacket.

Steve looks at his drink, the glass decorated with a silly pink umbrella, and smiles, reaching for his wallet and opening over the bar to pay.

“This one it’s on the house, handsome!” The bartender yells at him, putting his hand over Steve’s, stopping him. "Happy birthday!"

Words : 15,783 Chapters : 4/4 ❗

AO3 : x

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

I need attention, I don't care who its from... Baby, you know, I don't like to be alone.

Love me or Hate me, I just don't care

Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Max Mayfield, Neil Hargrove Rating: Explicit- Violence TW: Child abusive, homophobic language, violence Tags: Billy Hargrove centered, numb Billy, fighting, unhealthy ways of dealing with stress, the homoeroticism of Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, enemies to friends?, Not really a slash because I wasn't planning on continuing this but meh I might, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove Preview:

“Yo! Harrington! What the fuck are you doing!?” “Back the fuck off Hargrove,” Steve growls, not even casting a look Billy’s way as he hurtles another. It explodes instantly upon impact.   “Dude, stop!” Billy charges forward, hand up to protect his eyes from the shrapnel about to be projected his way. “Fuck, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Or me. Billy’s able to smack the next bottle out of Steve’s hands and onto the grass before it can shatter.   “That’s the point dipshit!” Steve shouts in his face, so loud and with so much anger Steve loses his footing and falls hard onto the pile of broken shards. Instead of screaming in agony like any sane person would, he just lets out a pleased laugh that is borderline hysterical. “Just leave me the fuck alone man…” “You’re upset, fine. But don’t do this shit. You’re gonna get someone else hurt.” Billy huffs. He pulls Steve off the manufactured landmine and moving them into the grass. By the time they reach it Steve is slapping Billy’s hands off of him.  “Since when do you give a fuck about anyone but yourself?” And the comment stings worse than Neils slurs. Because fuck you Harrington.  “Eat shit. You don’t know me.” “Yeah? And whose fault is that?” He fires back hotly.  Billy’s eyebrows pull together trying to figure out what he’s talking about.  Steve huffs in frustration.  “Just leave me alone.”

*AN and with this little one shot we have officially posted 100 works on ao3!!!!!!!

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 9

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 9: Dearly Departed

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter use the psychomanteum again, then go out on a date.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.3k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, psychomanteum, talk about addiction, grief, homophobia, infertility, suicide, violence, fluff, sexual tension in public, cigarettes & smoking, river, restaurant, praise kink, fingering, the driver deserved that tip and more, disaster bisexuals

Notes: Chapter title from "Dearly Departed" by Shaky Graves. Just a heads up, since we're going back into the psychomanteum, there's a lot of heavy shit in here. Also I will definitely be releasing a little mini not-really-a-chapter with Lua and Dee's sex toy play that takes place between this chapter and the next because I think that's fun even though it's not super relevant to the story lol.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

“Ok how the fuck did we do this last time?” you mutter as you drop two folded black top sheets onto the floor of your closet and squint up at the popcorn ceiling. 

“I think we tacked them up,” Dieter answers, his brown tootsie pop eyes sticking to the tall chest of drawers against the westernmost wall. His fingers thrum against the mahogany and he raises an eyebrow at you, “Is this where you keep your sex toys?” 

You plant your hands on your hips and tilt your head, an amused smile creeping across your face, “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” 

A wide grin dimples his cheeks and he swings his head around to meet your gaze, “Look, I’ve always wanted to meet them in person.” 

You start to feel flushed and tingly when you recall the dozens of times you’ve lined the collection up across your comforter, letting him select one or more. The video calls where you’re splayed out on your bed, headphones whispering his instructions right into your ears, what he wants you to do to yourself for his viewing pleasure. The wet slap of him getting off on it from his bedroom almost three thousand miles away. His own private cam girl. 

“Don’t run off on me this time, I’ll let you play with them ‘til your heart’s content,” you smirk and drop your eyes to his lips, watching his pink bubblegum tongue dart out and coat them with saliva. The shiny, eau natural gloss gains your undivided attention. 

It’s maddening how two pillowy pieces of flesh fill you to the brim with desire. But after six weeks apart, you’re obsessed. In his absence, you’ve been starved for his touch. All you want to do is kiss him. Hold him. Fuck him. The heat of his skin against yours has become a necessity as basic as shelter, food, water, oxygen. 

By the way Dieter has been worshiping every square inch of your body, responding to each needy affection with enthusiasm. You can tell that he’s been famished, too. 

Yesterday afternoon, Dieter pushed the door to your apartment open the second you flipped the lock and threw down his suitcase, grabbing your face and kissing you like he just returned from war. He pinned you against the wall and groaned against your mouth, “Oh my fucking god I missed you.”

This morning, his warm brown eyes followed his fingertips as they traveled the roads of scar tissue on your leg and arm, lips curved in a serene smile. So content learning each intimate detail of your body. Like if he memorizes every scar, every tic, every spot that makes you putty in his hands, he’ll never have to be apart from you. 

You watched him practice this reverence while combing your fingers through his unruly locks. He was nestled into the softness of your belly, using it as a pillow. Tiny, heated flutters like hungry fireflies chittered away in your chest cavity as you told him, “I think I’m ready to do it again.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled up at you, “You are insatiable, doll.” 

Despite the teasing comment, you could see his flaccid cock surge with want. Your face flushed and you giggled, “I’m not talking about that.”

He looked up at you with those sweet puppy dog eyes and waited for you to elaborate. 

“I want to try the psychomanteum again,” you explained timidly, resisting the urge to break eye contact, “I think I’m ready.” 

His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, then he asked, “Today?” 

“Sure,” you brought your hand to his face and rubbed your thumb against the scratchy gray patch in his beard, “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, though.” 

He scooted closer to you, scooping you up in a warm embrace. His lips pressed gentle against yours. A hot, fuzzy tightness knit itself around your heart. When he drew back, you pushed your fingers through his mop of curly brown hair. His eyes softened into a ganache as he watched you do this. 

“I’ll do it,” he finally responded. Hesitancy quivered the edges of his voice. 

“You don’t have to,” you assured him. 

“I know, love,” he mumbled and grabbed ahold of your hand, then laid a kiss on your wrist and held your palm against the heat of his cheek, “But think I’m ready, too.” 

Now, as he plops down in the tangerine armchair and squints into the mirror, dipping and tilting his head to test different angles, he tells you, “I think we’re ready to roll.” 

“Oh yeah?” your thumb turns white with pressure as you pierce a clear thumbtack through the black bedsheet, driving it into the popcorn ceiling. You look down at him from your perch on the highest flat of your step stool and ask, “Wanna flip a coin to see who goes first?” 

Dieter gets to his feet and offers up a hand to you, which you take and descend the step stool. 

“I’ll go first,” he tells you, interlacing his fingers with yours, leading the way out of the closet, “And I swear to god I’ll scream if you tell me I don’t have to do that.” 

“I was not going to say that,” you protest, but have to clamp down on your smile that would tell him otherwise. 

He turns around and raises both eyebrows at you, grinning, “Wow, you’re fucking terrible at lying.” 

“I… am a great liar,” you push his chest playfully, making him smile wider as he pulls you into a hug. 

“I’m just kidding, you’re an excellent liar,” he mumbles against your hair. 

“Really?” 

“And gullible? Wow,” he teases, then starts giggling when you scoff in faux indignation and poke at his belly. 

You pull back to search his face as your giddy smiles soften and sober. Worst case scenarios swim around your head and make you dizzy. 

“For real, you’re gonna be ok?” you whisper, grazing his cheek with the back of your hand. 

He leans into the touch and his shoulders relax, a pleased smile spreading across his face, “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart, seriously.” 

“Ok,” you breathe. 

The nerves must be rolling off of you in waves, because his dark eyes dart around your face and he sighs. He cups your cheeks with his hands, leveling his gaze with yours, “Lua. Do you know what we have planned for tonight?” 

You blink and nod. 

“I’m taking you on a real date. Like a fancy-schmancy date where I have to wear a tie and underwear.”

“Dee, underwear is an everyday-“ 

“Then we’re gonna come back here and play with your sex toys.”

“Oh, and I made a cheesecake!” you tell him. 

“You… made a cheesecake for us?” he raises his eyebrows and searches your face. When you nod, he throws his head back and smothers you in a hug, groaning as he rocks you from side to side, “Louella, you’re fucking amazing holy shit.” 

You hug him back. A spring of joy bubbles up inside you and you laugh at his infectious enthusiasm. 

Dieter pulls back and meets your eyes, “I’m not gonna bail on you. Do you believe me?” 

“Yes,” you smile. And you mean it. And you can tell that he knows it’s the truth. 

In an attempt to vent the thick black cloud that collects soot in his chimney throat and makes him choke, he reminds himself that things are different now. He’s been practicing. Rationing his grief in manageable chunks. Allowing James to come out of the lockbox in his head for short periods of time to stretch his legs with little incident.

He intakes a sharp breath through his nose, the exhale whooshing out his exhaust pipe lips, allowing him to breathe just a little easier.

Dieter imagines a pack of Pall Malls. The maroon fliptop box that fits in the palm of his hand, the tobacco company’s name in Art Noveau over a silver seal.

When he sees the Pall Malls, he sees General Thompson plucking a cigarette from his tight, lipless scowl. Sees the gruff, soulless man grinding its glowing orange cherry into his son’s forearm. Smells the seared flesh. The howling from his lover’s throat echos in his skull.

It happens every time he spots a pack of this particular brand of cigarette. The memory an intruder in his brain. This is usually where Dieter tries to put an end to it, shoving James back into the depths of his brain in a desperate attempt to make it stop before it could show him what happened next.

Because what comes next is the wet smack of General Thompson’s swollen knuckles on his son’s face. His freckled, sunburnt cheeks an unnatural purple that puffed up under his skin. His delicate lips split and oozed a thick, deep red that Dieter wished he could kiss away.

But he couldn’t. His joints all seemed to be superglued in place.

After this, there’s the sound of James screaming. It filled his brain with TV static. It still does sometimes. He stood there, frozen in place, and wished the screaming would stop.

Until it did.

Then Dieter realized how much worse it was when James went silent. Just the thud of one body hitting another. In this dreadful muted thudding of flesh on flesh, a switch flipped and propelled Dieter forward, yanking General Thompson off of James.

He’ll never forget the horrifying realization that his limbs could move the whole time.

Dieter’s stomach twists and sours like it always does. He takes another deep, venting breath, exhaling the dense plume of guilt that builds up in his lungs. Pushes past the scent of burnt skin and the paralysis. He sees the Pall Malls again. He remembers better things.

A shed that was down by Lejeune High School’s beat-up outdoor track that he and James used to frequent. The tawny gravel littered with stomped out cigarette butts. Their daily ritual of going against the tides of their classmates rushing to the cafeteria for lunch to sneak behind the shed.

Every day, James leaned against the shed, red paint chips flaking on his shoulders like dandruff. He would fish out two mashed up Pall Malls from his pocket, then hand one to Dieter. A cigarette pinched between their index and middle fingers, the boys would cough and giggle from the tobacco high. They were hidden from sight except for two blue smoke stacks that rose from their side of the shed, which no one ever seemed to notice.

They had a similar ritual on Saturdays at The VIP Lounge.

Sharing cigarettes to stretch them out further. James seemed to lodge the filter deep into the wet of his mouth when he took a drag. It was always damp with his saliva when passed back to Dieter. He didn’t mind. In fact, for a long time, he thought that would be the closest they would get to kissing, the cigarette a surrogate for them to swap spit.

Dieter thinks about New River. How it would cool their heated skin on the hottest North Carolina days. The baptism of its current washing away smoke residue, traces of their teenage rebellion, before they had to return home and resume the roles they played for their families.

He remembers going there for the first time, when James told Dieter there was a place he liked to go to and write. A secluded beach. 

“Sounds exclusive,” Dieter smirked.

“Practically a dang VIP Lounge. You’ll see,” James responded as he heaved a backpack over his bony shoulders. 

Going there for the last time, after James was discharged from the hospital and Dieter’s family was packing their belongings. Moving once again. He waited until nighttime, when the house was silent and he was sure everyone was asleep, then snuck out the backdoor, tiptoeing through backyards to the Thompson residence. 

All the lights were off, but Dieter tapped on the window pane of James’s room until it slid up, revealing his still puffy and mangled face in the moonlight. 

“Can you sneak out?” Dieter whispered. 

James nodded solemnly and mumbled, “Gimme a sec,” then slid the window closed. 

A few minutes later the window slid back open. Out came James, backpack in hand as he landed on the grass with a quiet grunt. A worn baseball cap kept his face hidden in the shadows. He swung the backpack onto his shoulders and started off. 

Dieter followed, already knowing where James was headed. 

The forest they had traversed many times before was dewy and soft under his feet. Dieter became nocturnal. His ears seemed to dial up the chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs, the rustle of ferns and tree branches, the hard thudding of his aching heart, the buzzing of his frayed nerves. The rumble of the river grew louder and louder, until he breached the clearing to The VIP Lounge. 

By then, the rumble was a roar. 

James dropped his backpack on the damp sand with a muted thud and unzipped it. He pulled out a quilt and handed it to Dieter, who shook it open and spread it flat. Dieter sat down on the blanket, watching the way James kept his head tilted down, his battered face hidden by the bill of the baseball cap. He pulled out a baggie of cigarettes and a lighter, tossing them onto the quilt haphazardly before taking a seat next to Dieter. There was a metallic clinking from the backpack, and James handed Dieter an aluminum can of Busch Light. 

Neither of them spoke. 

New River’s roar was background to the tsch-hiss of their beer cans opening, the slurp of Dieter’s cautious sip, the glug-glug-glug of James chugging half of his in one go. The resulting belch was so loud in contrast to all the other hushed noises, it made Dieter snort a laugh. James laughed, too, a high-pitched giggle that stabbed Dieter’s ear drums in a way that he missed dearly. 

It seemed to cut the tension. Both boys relaxed and scooted closer to the other, and James asked, “You’re movin’, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dieter answered, glancing over at James, hoping to see his face. It was just a shadow. 

He turned his gaze back to the river, finding his vision sharpened in the night. The moon, a ripe, glowing cream-colored circle, hung in the sky above them among an infinite number of diamond-like stars that varied in size and purity. Moonbeams shone silver streaks across the thick, inky black water. Specks of sand glittered in the light. 

“I don’t wanna be here anymore,” James confessed in a hoarse whisper. 

“We could run away,” Dieter turned to James, finally catching a glimpse of his face in the moonlight. His heart pitter-pattered with hope. Immediately, his brain started working on a plan, and it flew from his mouth rapid-fire, “I- I have my chore money and could take some from Ma’s purse. We could go to New York, find places to work. We could write, we- we- could act-” 

James raised his beer can to his lips and tilted it back, taking big swallows until it was upside down and empty. He crushed it between his palms and tossed it next to his backpack, then pulled out another. 

As he cracked open his second beer, he shook his head, “S’not what I mean.”

The silence that followed was so heavy, it broke Dieter’s heart. The life he had just dreamed up for them on the spot was shattered into pieces. 

“What do you mean?” Dieter spat. 

“Nothin’, nevermind,” James murmured, then hugged his knees to his chest, dangling his beer in one hand while the other wrapped around his shin. 

Dieter stared at the boy, trying to control the heated flame of rejection in his chest from shooting from his mouth. Like he was some kind of ill-tempered fire-breathing dragon. 

“I jus’ mean… Maybe my story doesn’t go that far, y’know?” 

And if Dieter knew then what he knows now, that this was a cry for help and not a breakup, maybe things would have ended differently. Maybe he would have stayed next to James on that beach until the sun rose. Maybe he could have begged James to change his mind. Maybe they would have run away together. 

“So that’s it? You’re done with this?” Dieter bit off, his anguish disguised as rage.

And if Dieter knew then what he knows now, that rage was the only language his sadness knew how to speak, maybe things would have ended differently. Maybe he would have stayed and told James about how scared he was to lose him. Maybe he would have promised James that he didn’t deserve what happened to him. 

But that’s the thing about things. They’re exactly the way they are. No backsies. 

“Guess so,” James answered in a croak. 

“Fuck this,” Dieter muttered, then got to his feet and looked down at the baseball cap that covered James’s face and spat, “Fuck you, James.” 

He tore through the forest trail, fighting off branches, kicking blindly at ferns and bushes, trying to shove down the sorrow that felt like drowning. It quivered in his chest, trying desperately to claw its way out. When he arrived at his house, he snuck inside, back to his bedroom. 

There, with his face smothered against his pillow, a comforter tenting his head, Dieter released his anguish. His pillow absorbed the tears and the sobs. He cried until the springy fabric was sopping wet and his voice was hoarse. 

Dieter thinks about all of this now. About how much he wishes he could redo that last conversation. How he wishes James could have known that Dieter loved him. How he wishes James could have seen that there was so much more for life to give him. 

This heavy, midnight blue fills his chest with lead. Loads a backpack full of rocks. Sinks him to the bottom of New River. 

His eyes brim with tears when he looks up into the psychomanteum and sees the mirror reflecting those shiny silver streaks across the current of thick, inky black water. 

A chill ripples across his body and leaves his hairs standing in its wake. He stays there, up to his chin in the cold water, grounding himself from the pull of the undertow. He ignores the smoke signals clogging his throat, hazing his mind. 

Then, it’s warm. And calm. And sunlight is kissing his skin. 

James is there. 

Dieter can’t see him, but his presence fills the space like a shimmering golden fog that makes him feel weightless and peaceful. A sense of total oneness. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dieter tells him, the message only a thought that’s absorbed into the ether. 

“Ain’t your fault,” is the response that comes, “None of it, y’hear?” 

A lump surfaces in Dieter’s throat, and he chokes out, “I could have-”

“Coulda woulda shoulda,” James chides. 

He smiles as a sob bubbles up his throat. 

“I’m happy, Yay-go. I’m at peace. I want you to know that.” 

A wave of relief washes over Dieter. Tears roll hot down his cheeks. The nickname rings in his ears and rolls off his tongue, “Yay-go. I forgot you called me that.” 

“I see you been makin’ it in Hollywood. Mighty prouda you.” 

“Thanks,” Dieter chokes out, “Couldn’t’ve done it without you.” 

“You gonna try writin’ again?” 

Dieter shakes his head again, “I literally can’t do that without you.” 

“Fuck you can’t,” James scoffs, “You were just as good as me, don’ you remember?” 

“That’s a goddamn lie.” 

“It’s the goddamn truth, brother, whether you believe in it er not.” 

“Fine,” Dieter concedes, “I’ll try.” 

“Alright, you take care now, y’hear?” 

“I love you,” Dieter tells him. 

“I love you, Yay-go.” 

When Dieter emerges from the closet, his eyes are puffy, red, and shrink-wrapped with tears. A jolt of panic surges through your body. You jump off the bed and rush over to him, holding a palm to his chest, “You ok?” 

He nods and sniffles, glancing around the room before locking his eyes on yours. As soon as they do, they overflow with tears. You cup his cheeks and whisper, “You did great, Dee.” 

His face crumples at this. An empathetic ache radiates across your chest. You envelop him in a hug, and he returns it, burying his face in your hair with shaky sobs.  

After a minute, he pulls back and sniffles, “Wow,” he shakes his head and throws a hand up, running it through his hair, “That was fucking crazy.” 

“It’s a lot to take in,” you press your eyebrows together and nod. 

His face crumples again, “God, it was just so good to hear his voice.” 

Your eyes start to tingle and your throat cramps up. You manage to croak out, “I’m so happy for you, Dee.” 

He pulls you back into an embrace that warms your insides, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, love,” you mumble back, closing your eyes as you hug him back. 

He hums and nuzzles against you, “Are you ready?” 

The question, although innocuous, sends your heart racing. A panic fills your chest and tightens the cords of your neck. You thought you were ready. You swore you were ready. But what if it doesn’t go well?  

“I’m scared,” you admit in a whisper. 

The wet gulp of his throat only incentivizes your nerves. He probes, “What are you afraid of?” 

You push the words from your knotted vocal chords, “He was just… fuck, so hard to talk to at the end, ya know?”

“Are you scared he’s going to be like he was then?” 

You nod. Tears burn behind your eyes. Thick phlegm coats your throat and makes it hard to breathe. You inhale a shattered breath, then whimper on the exhale, “What if that’s just who he really was?” 

“Come on, Lua, do you really think that’s true?” he pulls back and meets your shiny bloodshot eyes with his own. When you shrug, his shoulders deflate, “I promise it’s not.” 

Your panic starts to protest, “But he’s been bothering yo-”

“He’s doing it because I can see him. It’s the same with all of them,” Dieter searches your face, then tells you with conviction, “Speaking from experience, that thing he was when he was fucked up was not him.“

You know he’s right, really. 

But what if he’s not? What if I fell in love with a monster in disguise? And what if I’m doing it again? 

Then you see Dieter’s eyes, all doughy and sad. You see the fragile pieces of him, his softness and his warmth. There’s a darkness in there that’s dialed up when he’s on blow. 

You know Ethan was the same way. 

All the blackened parts of him floated to the surface when he was on a binge or coming down. Those hard edges, they were a part of him, but they didn’t define him. Everyone has those undesirable qualities they’re able to keep hidden until circumstances make it impossible, yourself included. 

You drop your gaze and nod, “You’re right.” 

“Lua, look at me, baby” he murmurs, and you meet his eyes again, “You can do this.” 

“I can do this,” you repeat, then take a deep breath. 

When you were a kid, you had this toy called a View-Master. 

It was a Christmas gift from your parents and came with 6 different reels that each had a theme, like Bugs Bunny, Wild Animals of Africa, Charlie Brown’s Summer Fun, etc. The reels were sturdy cardboard discs with 14 pieces of film spliced into squares around the circumference. When you loaded a reel into your View-Master, you brought the device to rest on the bridge of your nose like binoculars, pointed it towards the light, and voilà! A 3D image. 

Each image change was punctuated by the click-slide of your View-Master turning the reel and exposing two new splices of film to the light. Very analog. 

You used to sit in the bay window of your childhood bedroom in Ohio and go through each reel, yanking on the handle seven times to ensure you saw all seven pictures. You would load your reel for Wild Animals of Africa: 

Zebras

Click-slide

Lions

Click-slide

Giraffes 

Click-slide

Antelopes

Click-slide

Elephants 

Click-slide

Hyenas 

Click-slide

Crocodiles 

Click-slide

Zebras 

In the past year, you’ve been flooded with thousands of memories of Ethan. It’s as if each day, your grief would decide to set off into the dense forest of your mind with a little foraging basket. Throughout the day, your grief would dump the basket out at your feet and ask, “Can we make sense of it now?” 

And you would tell your grief, “No. None of it makes sense.”

So it would go out again, filling the wicker basket to the brim, emptying it at your feet. Again, you wouldn’t be able to derive anything from this mess. Grief would dump the memories again and again and again until they were piled above your head and you would say, “That’s enough! I’m fucking drowning!” 

But even then it wouldn’t stop. It would sift through the pile and shove them down your throat, “What about this? Is this something?” 

There you were, every single day, choking on the memories of your life with Ethan. Sometimes you thought it would kill you. Obviously, it never did. But there were some days you would have preferred death over this torture. 

The forest of your mind has become picked over. Grief has slowed its frantic collecting, tired of finding the same things over and over again. Most days, it’s manageable. You don’t feel like you’re drowning anymore. 

Every once in a while, it comes to you bearing something shiny and new, asking with hope, “Is this it?” 

And you clear your throat, testing its width and integrity, and you know it won’t choke you. Not actually. 

And, throughout the past year, where grief has replaced your husband as your primary partner, you’ve been able to reduce this tragedy to seven distinct 3-D images. Of course, nothing will make it make sense, not really, because tragedy is senseless. And nothing will make him come back, not really, because Ethan crossed the threshold of death where there’s no return to his body. 

You can’t say he stayed behind the thick membrane of the afterlife because he’s still here in some ways. Not in the memories that grief brings you or cheering from the sidelines, like how it is with your dad and grandparents. Ethan does exist in these ways, but also as a presence that clings to your skin and makes your hair stand on edge. Tangled in the thin veil between this life and the afterwards. 

But those seven images you’ve isolated into a View-Master reel… you know that there’s something significant held in those moments. 

The honeybees that crawled around your bridal bouquet. 

Click-slide

The fingerprint ink pad when you were booked for drug trafficking charges. 

Click-slide 

The infinite, tunneled reflection of the mirror maze. 

Click-slide

The IV drip of antibiotics being replaced with another as Ethan cried and held your hand. 

Click-slide

The pile of crescent moon fingernail clippings on your mother’s dining room table. 

Click-slide

The black ink stain on your carpet. 

Click-slide

The picture of him and his brother that you found on the floor of his room. 

Click-slide

The honeybees that crawled around your bridal bouquet. 

You’re in the psychomanteum, gripping the tangerine armchair so hard your knuckles are tinted white. You only allow yourself to glance at each image for a moment before yanking on the lever for the next. When you reach the beginning of the reel again, you study the mirror and only see opaque, unmoving blackness. What Dieter told you that day in his suite at the Plaza echos back into your mind:

“He tries to talk to you. But you’re closed off. That’s why he couldn’t come through the psychomanteum.”

The click-slide of the View-Master makes you flinch. You slow down this time. 

The fingerprint ink pad when you were booked for drug trafficking charges. Under arrest for selling controlled substances in the 4th degree, a Class C felony in the state of New York. The cops tried to plea bargain with you, offering to drop charges in exchange for testimony against your husband. Your assigned public defender urged you to take this deal, but you refused. 

“You should’ve taken it, Lou,” Ethan told you afterwards, “Don’t ever take the fall for me like that again, you hear me?” 

Click-slide

The infinite, tunneled reflection of the mirror maze. Where you and Ethan, stoned out of your fucking gourds, found a little boy crumpled on the floor crying. You consoled him and then the three of you found your way to the exit together and returned the boy to his mom. 

“We parented the shit out of that,” he told you later, “I think we’d make a pretty good team.” 

Click-slide

The IV drip of antibiotics being replaced with another as Ethan cried and held your hand. An OB/GYN just advised that the infection was so severe, your reproductive organs were damaged beyond repair. The scarring told the doctors that conception would be almost impossible. 

Ethan’s choked sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

Click-slide

The pile of crescent moon fingernail clippings on your mother’s dining room table. Ragged edges where they were just attached to you. Your mom screaming at Ethan, “You ruined her fucking life, you worthless piece of shit.”

You stop there. 

The memory settles in your body like you swallowed a quart of battery acid. Your throat burns and your eyes well up with tears. The caustic substance eats through the layers of your stomach and pools inside you, liquefying your guts. 

You look up at the mirror and all you see is the blackest ink in the city and a fucking abyss of darkness and nothing at all. 

Your grip on the chair tightens. More than anything in the world you want to leave. But you somehow know that he can hear you and you need to tell him. 

“Ethan-” 

A sob catches in your throat. You bury your head in your hands and squeeze your eyes closed, trying to calm the hysteria buzzing across your tightening skin. When your breath starts to even out, you continue in a shaky voice, “I- I know you’re here. And- and I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this right now. It’s too hard. I’m sorry. It’s-”

An unbearable ache radiates from your heart. You sag down further into your own lap, digging your fingers into your hair and tugging at it just to feel some kind of external pain, “It’s my fault. I know it is. I’m s-s-so sorry.”

It’s like your whole body is collapsing in on itself, dissolving cell by cell without mercy. Your heaving chest pulls your sobs so tight they just come out airy like a dog whistle.

“Lou, it’s not your fuckin’ fault,” Ethan’s coarse voice cuts through your mind like a machete. 

Your spine stiffens and you sit up, wiping the hot tears from your face, “Wh-what?”

Just when you think it was your imagination, some kind of an auditory hallucination your inflamed mind conjured up to make you feel better, you hear him again. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Christ’s sake, Lou, of course it’s not your fault.” 

You blink and sniffle, furrowing your brow when you see that you’re still in the psychomanteum, mirror unchanged. 

“I love you and I’m sorry,” he cuts through again, “But it’s not your fault and I couldn’t let you go on not knowing that, ok?”

And you feel him, like you used to. Before the coke deteriorated him into a stranger. His presence is a blanket around your shoulders, protecting you and keeping you warm. 

Your heart pounds so thick with love it’s like a miracle salve on your open wounds. The tissues and organs so putrid and rotted, a puddle at your feet just a moment ago, start to regenerate and reassemble. 

Your chest flutters and you nod, “Ok. I- I love you too.” 

“I know you do, baby.”

You whisper, “I miss you so much. Fuck, it sucks so much without you.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but you understand that he hears you. 

You swallow the thick saliva in your throat and ask him hesitantly, “How do you… feel about Dieter?”

“You know, I always liked him,” Ethan tells you, “Triangle guy. Know who else is a triangle guy?” 

Your stomach flips and you chuckle, dropping your gaze to your trembling hands “Me.”

“That’s right,” he says, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice, “Listen, Lou, I want you to be happy.”

“Ok,” you sniffle. The ache in your chest swells. You twist around the plain white gold wedding band on your ring finger. 

“Does he make you happy?” 

“Yeah,” you smile and your vision goes blurry with tears as you nod, “Yeah, he really does.” 

“Well, there you go.” 

You wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your sweater and chuckle, “You gotta let him be, though. Stop trying to scare him off.” 

“Hey now, I just needed to get your attention. You don’t have to worry about me any more, ok? I’m gonna get out of your hair.” 

“Can I visit with you this way? With the, um, psychomanteum?” 

“Anytime, babe,” his voice is warm and reassuring, “Hey, remember our first dance? That Everly Brothers song?”

“Yeah,” you grin, then sing softly, “Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream. Dream, dream, dream…”

His presence starts to wane.

Then he’s gone. 

You take a deep breath and fold your legs up underneath you, dwelling in the stillness. The ache in your body fades into a whisper. Your crying slows to a trickle. 

When you swing the closet door open and step into your bedroom, you find Dieter pacing back and forth at the foot of your bed. He strides up to you immediately, his brows pressed together and warm brown eyes wide with worry. His hands cup your cheeks as he searches your face with the silent question: Did it work?

Tears burn behind your eyes again, a fresh new wave. Residual sorrow. Relief. You manage a tight nod before the sobs start vibrating through your ribcage. 

“C’mere sweetheart,” he rumbles, presses a kiss into your forehead, and pulls you into a hug. 

As you let the heaviness inside your soul expel through your heaving chest, Dieter guides you to your bed. You follow his persuasion, curling up against him. He holds you close and pets your hair, assuring you in a hoarse whisper, “You did great, Lua. I’m so proud of you.” 

You wipe your face with the sleeve of your sweater and meet his gaze, “Thank you.” 

His lips twitch into a smile and his thumb grazes your cheek. You relax into his side again with a content sigh, feeling the emotional fatigue start to set in, “I’m so sleepy now.” 

“Take a nap, doll,” he murmurs, “I’ll wake you up in time to get ready.” 

His thumb works against your shoulder in a soothing back and forth rhythm. It works like hypnosis, lulling you into a deep seeded comfort, blooming in your chest with a yawn. Your bones feel heavy inside your body.

“Mmmm ok,” you manage to slur out before your eyelids flutter shut and the world goes dark. 

The main dining room of Gabriel Kreuther is lavish, but cozy. Wood beams stretch up the walls towards the curved ceiling, from which a flock of sparkling crystal storks hang. The table cloth and wide, upholstered chairs are a creamy white. Rosé cloth napkins and a gold lamp sit on the table and add a touch of soft romance to the atmosphere. 

Dieter sits perpendicular to you, grinning as he watches your sparkling eyes study the menu. His gaze drops down the black satin shoulder straps of your dress, following the plunging v neckline. He licks his lips. A wave of smooth, shiny fabric flares out from the cinched waist.  That fucking dress, Louella, holy shit. 

“Is it too boob-y?” you asked him after getting dressed, looking down into your own cleavage with a frown. Then you turned around and showed him the back, adding an addendum to your question, “Or too short?”

Most of your back was left exposed by the garment. The hem sat just below your ass, teasing his hungry eyes. To most people, the answer would probably be yes. But he fucking needed to take you out while wearing it. Needed to show you off and make spectators ripe with envy at this stunning woman he somehow managed to woo. 

He ached with lust and shook his head, practically drooling, “I refuse to let you leave in anything else.” 

Dieter drinks in your form now, thinking of all the things he wants to do to you. Imagines his cock smashed between your tits, thrusting slick along your sternum as you push your tender flesh together around him. Imagines your pink painted lips sealed around his girth, face shiny with spit, eyes watering as he fucks your mouth. Imagines your cunt, all swollen and begging for attention. Sliding his finger along the wet seam of you, watching the breath enter your lungs in a gasp. 

“Are we doing three courses or four?” you ask, pulling him from his depraved thoughts. 

He clears his throat and scoots his chair closer to the table, trying to conceal the erection that manifested while his mind ran rampant, “Fuck it, let’s do four.”

Or five, he thinks, imagining himself crawling under this table on his hands and knees just to taste you. 

“You ok?” you chuckle, raising an eyebrow at his lingering gaze. 

He looks around to make sure nobody is within earshot, then leans in and husks, “I want you so fucking bad right now.”

Your lips part and your tongue darts between them, then your eyelashes flutter, “Well, you’re gonna have to be patient, then, aren’t you?”

A hum emits from his throat involuntarily. He throbs against the seam of his pants. 

You react to this with a quick glance to his mouth as you purr, “You’re gonna be a good boy for me, right?” 

He swallows a moan. Your lips curl into a sultry, knowing smile. You press your eyebrows together, batting your lashes, pouting your lips, “Because good boys get rewarded. Is that what you want?” 

“Holy fuck-” he rasps, leaning towards you.

“Yes or no,” you’re so close he can feel the words against his lips. 

“Yes,” he croaks. His ears feel hot, pulse thudding hard against his neck, cock stiff and leaking against the constraints of his slacks. Pleasure tingles at his core and he wants desperately to bend you over the table and fuck you right here, right now. 

“Then you’ll be a good boy for me, right, Dee?” you whisper the words, and your lips stay apart from the utterance of his name, tongue poised at the entrance of your mouth. The restaurant fades into the distance. Nothing else in the world exists except your lips, your tongue, your hot gaze on him. 

“Yes,” he manages. 

You drag your finger along his jaw and coo, “Good.” 

“Hi, my name is Liz and I’ll be your server, how are we doing tonight?” a squeaky voice sounds from the opposite corner of the table. 

You jolt upright and smile politely up at her, “Hi, good, how are you?” 

The two of you go back and forth a little. He’s not sure what you’re talking about, because he’s still lost in a wanton haze, trying to catch his breath, staring at you with heat in his eyes. Eventually you blink at him, as if the faceless waitress asked him a question. 

He shakes his head back and forth, trying to snap out of it, clears his throat, and looks down at his menu with a frown, “I uh… I’ll have what she’s having.” 

The waitress, as it turns out, does have a face, and when he glances up at her, her bright blue eyes widen in recognition, “Oh wow, Dieter Bravo?”

He smiles and nods, extending his sweaty hand across the table, being sure not to stand up and present his tented crotch to the poor girl, “Yeah, what’s your name?” 

“Liz,” she reminds him and shakes his hand. 

“You already told us that, sorry,” Dieter chuckles at himself, “Nice to meet you, Liz. Hey, could we get a bottle of champagne?” 

“Nice to meet you, too,” she beams a wide, starstruck smile, “Oh, um, of course. Which one?”

“Well,” he sighs, glancing at you, then clasps his hands together and shrugs, “Most expensive one you have. We’re celebrating.” 

“Absolutely. If you don’t mind me asking, what are you two celebrating tonight?” 

He frowns and tilts his head towards you, not sure what to say. You take this as your cue to explain. 

“We exorcized my apartment,” you tell her, grinning from ear-to-ear. 

The waitress’s mouth gapes open in confusion, and she looks to Dieter for guidance on how to navigate the response, but he just bursts out laughing.

You wince and your face gets all flushed, “Sorry, I-” 

“No, you’re right,” Dieter assures you, his voice still quivering with laughter, then flashes a charming smile to the waitress, “Thank you so much, darling.” 

“Oh, um,” her cheeks tinge pink and she tucks her hair behind her ear, “You’re so very welcome, sir. I’ll be right back with the champagne.” 

After the waitress walks away, he swivels his gaze to you with an amused grin, “Woooow.” 

“I’m so sorry,“ you put your hand over your mouth and laugh, “Why did you take me out, again?” 

His smile stretches wide and he releases a content sigh, “Because I like you.” 

“Good,” you smirk, dropping your gaze to his lips, “Can I kiss you, or is that not allowed in public?” 

“God, please kiss me,” he murmurs, leaning in towards you. 

“Yeah?” you smile, your shining eyes meeting his before they flutter closed and you drift closer. 

Dieter hums in the affirmative, pressing his lips against yours. Your lips are so fucking soft and warm and he loses himself in the kiss. His throat rumbles with want and he brings his hand to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, kissing you deeper, savoring the taste of your saliva and the perfect way your tongue rolls against his, and the the huffy, barely audible little whines that squeak from your mouth. 

He could lose himself for hours like this. 

Liz interrupts again, gently placing a bucket of ice and two champagne flutes on the table. 

You pull back, clearing your throat before telling her, “Thank you so much.” 

“I apologize, I totally forgot to ask before, and- and my manager just reminded me,” Liz grimaces, “Can I take a peek at your IDs for the champagne? If I don’t I’ll get in trouble, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure her with a wave. Both of you pull out your wallets and hand your ID cards to Liz, who surveys them both, eyes lingering on yours for a bit longer than his. 

She hands them back and flashes a cheery smile, “Perfect, thank you. I’ll be right back with that bottle.” 

Once the driver puts the black SUV in drive and sets course for your apartment, Dieter rests his hand on your leg. An electric current buzzes under his skin, pulsing from his head to his toes. 

It’s a miracle he held it together in the restaurant. You didn’t make it easy. Gazing over at him with fuck-me-eyes. Wearing that goddamn dress. Purring in his ear between each course, “Look at you, being so patient.”

And:

“You’re doing so fucking good, Dee.” 

And, his personal favorite:

“Are you thinking of all the fun treats you’ll get if you keep it up, baby?”

He sets his thumb in motion and lightly grips the soft flesh of your thigh, leaning close to your ear to murmur, “So how’d I do? Was I a good boy?”

“Oh, Dee,” you coo and plug your index finger into his jugular notch, then drag your fingernail up the center of his throat. Over every ridge and valley. You split his adam’s apple in half. Your nail catches against the grain of every stubbled hair in its path. Curls up to the bottom of his chin. 

And he’s yours, all yours. 

“You were such a good boy,” you whisper, and it strikes your vocal chords just enough to gain a raspy edge, “I think you should get a reward, don’t you?”

Dieter nods, his fingers working further up your thigh, closer to your heat, “I think so.” 

“Go ahead, baby,” you breathe, letting your legs fall open for him, “You deserve it.” 

The closer his hand slides to your sex, the hotter it gets. You whine and arch your back against the seatbelt. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lua,” he chokes out, pulling your underwear to the side, “I can feel my fingers defrosting.” 

You giggle just as his knuckle grazes your clit, and your breath hitches. 

“Look at me, baby,” Dieter husks. You do, and your eyes are all glazed over and dark in the passing streetlights. He presses his forehead against yours and strokes the sensitive nub, slow and meticulous, and your eyelids flutter. 

“That’s perfect,” you whimper, nodding your head in approval. Each pant from your lips becomes more vocal than the last. He kicks himself for not getting a ride in something with a fucking privacy partition. 

Dieter turns towards the driver and asks, “Do you mind turning on the radio?”

The man mutters something to himself, then twists the volume knob on his stereo. An upbeat pop song fills the silence between your strained whimpers. 

Dieter brings his focus back to you. Your face, all twisted up with pleasure. Your swollen clit under the gentle strumming of his knuckle. Your lips, fuck, your goddamn lips. All pouty and wet from your own spit because you can’t stop licking and biting at them. 

“Faster, Dee,” you whine, knees falling further apart. 

He adjusts his touch, dragging his fingers through your slick before quickening his pace, drawing circles around the erogenous bud, “Like this?”

“Yes- oh, fuck. That’s it, baby,” you purr. 

Dieter rasps into your ear, “So fucking wet for me, Lua, oh my god-”

He glides his touch down your seam, and you’re so fucking gooey and hot, coating his fingertips. A whimper flutters from your lips when he traces your soaked entrance. Your tight cunt squeezes around him as he slides two fingers inside you. 

You gasp and cover your mouth. 

He stiffens his fingers into a hook, pulling up through the drenched silken fabric of your pussy to that rubbery plane that makes you muffle your own choked moan. His thumb finds your clit and starts to roll against it. Your back arches towards the roof of the car and you nod and whimper under his control. 

His heart starts pounding as he watches you start to lose yourself in his touch. Beads of sweat gathering on your forehead, muted moans against your trembling hand, the steady pressure of his fingers hooked into your g-spot, the incessant strumming of your clit. 

He brings his lips to your ear and whispers, “Wanna see you cum all over the seat of this fucking car, baby, can I do that? Can I make you soak this fucking seat?”

You nod frantically and withdraw your hand from your mouth, panting, “So fucking good, holy fuck, Dee, you’re such a good boy-“

And you’re getting frenzied and louder, so he kisses you, and he rubs you from the inside now, too, little movements he has to strain himself to control. You gasp against his mouth and pull back, grabbing your car seat head rest with one hand as the other clamps over your mouth, your eyes fluttering, limbs shaking, and he’s in fucking awe of how breathtakingly hot you are right now. 

The moans are barely dampened by your hand and he’s sure the driver can hear you but he doesn’t fucking care, all that matters is your shivering body and his hand all wrapped around your cunt as your breath hitches and the walls around his fingers spasm and you’re practically fucking howling he could just marry you right now jesus fucking christ. You cum hard, your delicious nectar marking everything between your pulsing pussy and the back of the driver’s seat. 

You collapse back into your seat, chest heaving, and look up at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes, smiling sweetly. He pulls his fingers out of you and brings them to his mouth, sucking your cum off each digit with reverence. You tug on his jacket and pull him into a gentle kiss. 

The driver clears his throat and Dieter looks around outside the vehicle, realizing it’s in park in front of your apartment, “Oh shit, we’re here.” 

“I didn’t want to… interrupt,” the driver tells him awkwardly, confirming his suspicion that your backseat activities were not discreet. 

Lua, you fucking angel, you burst out laughing, “I’m so sorry!” 

Dieter tips the man $200 and the two of you make your way up to your apartment. 

[ Next Chapter ]

[mittch22]

Listen up! Got a PSA here that STILL (unfortunately unsurprisingly) needs drilling into some people's thick-ass skulls. By God, shout it from the rooftops because I'm so SICK of seeing people getting shit on for the content they create.

TW: MANY SWEARS

I would like to draw attention to the fine individual who thought it was ok to distribute this comment on one of my works on AO3:

I consider myself a Joe Lycett wannabe (he is my lord and saviour) and I took it upon myself to distribute appropriate verbal retribution. I revel in being able to slap someone with a proverbial thesaurus. It feeds my soul:

You do NOT walk into my home (and the home of many others too) to belittle my craft and expect to strut right back out again without at least a spanking. If it was that awful an experience for you, then you should have walked the fuck away. Instead, you chose a battle you have ZERO chance of winning. That was a VERY clever move indeed, wasn't it?

Im incredibly lucky to exist in an incredible community with incredible people that I love with all my being. The weirdest of the weird, the best of the best, each one with a unique and beautiful mind. A small group of fantastically silly fuckers on the internet who have found solace within the world of antrhopomorphic vehicles. You think a small amount of verbal hate you vomit onto our platforms is gonna take that away from us and prevent our enjoyment? Guess again, motherfucker. Guess again.

Don't you EVER let me catch you doing this to another member of this community. Ill make you rue the day that you came into existence.

PS: DON'T fuck with Mittch.

[atonalginger]

Through Plasma and Flames, Chapter 3 update

Chapter 3, Sunshine so Far Away is now live on ao3. We join Vadim as he decides to do something about his missing Sunshine. You can read the chapter on ao3 by clicking Here!

To start from the beginning you can click here.

A sneak peek of chapter 3:

The sound of the small back office door being closed, Yefim once again fighting with the latch, the rattling of the loose knob and creaking of the rotting wood while cursing under his breath, held Vadim’s attention. It was a slow afternoon in the bar with Scarlet managing to handle all the orders, which was good for Vadim as his mind was many miles away to the north west. He watched the open archway for his twin to return to his usual stool against the wall, questions already locked and loaded for his return.

Yefim looked tired shuffling back to his spot, the lines of his face deepening when his eyes met Vadim’s, “don’t start.”

“Start what?” Vadim opened his arms wide, “I just have questions.”

“You know what I mean,” Yefim sat down with a huff, “you do this every time.”

“I do not.”

“She will come back when she’s able, Vadim,” Yefim brushed lint from his jacket, “she’s a busy woman. Lots of responsibilities. Things you have too, you know.”

Vadim waved off the last comment, “Bah, you speak like I do nothing.”

“And what are you doing right now?” Yefim asked, his head tilted slightly.

“Talking to my no good brother,” Vadim scowled, “it's like you enjoy my suffering.”

“I do no such thing,” Yefim sat taller, looking genuinely insulted, “Look, I’m not going to pester the radio operators about their General’s whereabouts every time we talk. The answer will always be ‘out in the field’. They aren’t going to say more. Think of the risks to her, Vadim.”

“I am! That’s why I want to know where she is, how she is…it’s been too long.” Vadim dropped his hands and leaned against the bar, his head hung low, “she’s never been this quiet.”

“Then you radio the Hills,” Yefim motioned to the back office, “they’ll tell you what I told you.”

“I will!” Vadim declared. 

He slapped the bar, causing several empty glasses to jump, and pushed away from the counter. He stormed through the archway for the tiny back office with heavy steps thumping through the hall. Yefim sighed wearily as he watched his twin stomp by, angering Vadim more. He did not need the pity that radiated off Yefim’s breath. 

The door knob came off in his hand as he turned it; something else for Yefim to scold him over. That was all his brother did, nag him like their mother, talk down to him like he didn’t know how to run his half of the business. The bar was doing well enough, bouncing each evening with regulars and newcomers alike looking for a stiff drink and place to relax, yet Yefim acted like all Vadim did was nap and laze about. He kicked the door, forcing it open with a crunch at the base where splinters littered the floor as it creaked open.

“Must you break everything?” Yefim called around the corner.

“Must you insist on keeping a shit door?” Vadim bit back. 

He tossed the knob toward the open archway and swung the rotting door closed behind him. The desk lamp was dim, the glow from the ham radio stronger than the bulb. The wooden desk chair creaked as he sat down, threatening to collapse under his weight as it did every time he sat down. One day it would actually give out, dumping him or Yefim onto the concrete floor, something else for his twin to blame on him when it was Yefim who insisted on hanging on to everything until it broke completely.

He checked the dial and pushed the button on the receiver, “Sanctuary Hills, this is the Dugout Inn, do you copy.”

The couple seconds felt like minutes as he waited in the quiet, dark office. Finally someone answered, a cheerful man he didn’t recognize, “Dugout Inn, this is the Hills. What can I do for you, Mr. Bobrov?”

“My brother forgot to ask after General Faulkner,” Vadim glared through the wall at Yefim, “she’s been out for a long while without word.”

“Oh, um…” the radio operator shuffled papers loudly near the mic, “I’m not cleared to talk about the General’s movements. I wish I could tell you more but that’s above me, you understand?”

“Then I want to speak to Garvey,” Vadim insisted, “he and I are old friends, I know he can tell me.”

“Mr. Garvey isn’t in the Hills at the moment,” the operator sounded nervous, turning Vadim’s stomach.

“Then put on Mallory…”

“He’s also out in the field at the moment,” the radio operator cleared his throat and dropped his voice, “I’m really not supposed to talk about this but I know you’re close with the General and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their position. If somehow its discovered you know this, you heard rumors from a caravaner, savvy?”

“Caravaners do love to talk,” Vadim agreed.

“The General is currently resting at Listening Post Bravo, an old pre-war military instillation near the old Ironworks plant.”

“That’s Forged territory,” Vadim said flatly.

“East of the Bravo, yes,” the operator cleared his throat again, “I don’t know the specifics. What I know is about two weeks back Garvey came back from the Red Rocket all sorts of flustered and he gave Emmett the order to pick out a squad in case they needed to move and keep his ears glued to the radio. Later that afternoon Garvey and a squad, Emmett included, left in a hurry. Word between Minutemen on the supply line is General had a run in with the Forged. That’s all I know.”

[plague-of-insomnia]

I got this comment on Synch a few days ago and I am STILL livid about it so I decided I would post about it here after all.

Listen. I get not everyone understands what chronic illness is like. It’s hard if you don’t have one or know someone close to you who does.

But Synch literally shows what life can be like for someone like me. It shows how sick you can be. How much you may have to give up, even things you love, like creating, because it’s physically or mentally impossible for you to do as a result of your disease.

I literally say in the A/N how I cannot make promises on update frequency bc of my health.

It has only been a month since my last update, when I haven’t been able to update most of my other works in a year or more.

And you come onto my fic and say this shit? “Hope it’s not dropped”???

Fuck you.

You have no idea how much of a slap in the face it is to get a comment like this on THIS story of all fics. The story that I wrote to cope with my frustration about my illness, which I explain in the notes so it’s not as if I didn’t say it clearly from the get-go.

The story I wrote partly because I hadn’t been able to write or create in months.

You comment on a chapter where you can clearly see I have not responded to any of the comments there, whereas I have on all the other previous ones on earlier chapters.

Maybe put two and two fucking together??

If I had gotten a “hope it’s not dropped” comment on any other fic I would not have been mad. Bc it’s been a long time, it’s a fair question to ask, not to mention none of those are about living with a chronic illness.

I cannot express how angry this comment makes me.

So much it ALMOST makes me wanna pull the entire fucking fic. Because if this is how people are gonna act when I take a risk and bare a little of my own experiences as hard as they’ve been, then I don’t think they deserve to read my shit.

I’m still tempted to block this person from my AO3 account completely.

Maybe that seems overly harsh, but I want to explain again what a slap in the fucking face something like this is.

It is akin to someone with cancer going to an event without a wig, finally feeling some confidence coming back despite all they’ve had to endure, perhaps having almost died, and people asking “why hasn’t your hair come back yet?”

Some people really need to learn to be fucking appreciative and not treat creators like some slot machine they pull a lever to get a treat.

Like if you really had read the story and paid attention you would understand what I’m dealing with and why I might not be able to update when you want me to.

You can show support for a fic that hasn’t been updated without being a jerk about it. Like “i still love this story and am excited for the next update!” Shows the author you’re excited even if it’s been a while without being an entitled asshole.

Even if someone doesn’t have an illness, this is still something someone is doing in their free time and sharing with you out of their good will. You’re not owed shit.

So yeah. I sat on this but since I’m still absolutely livid days later I wanted to vent here about it. I’m really sick of shitty, insensitive comments on my posts and fics this week.

[absurdthirst]

The Irish Escape {Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.9k

Warnings: Rudeness, Pero being an asshole, prejudice against Americans, hypothermia, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex

Comments: Freshly arrived in Ireland to visit the cottage your estranged grandmother has willed you, you run into a rude Spaniard. Unsure of why he hates Americans and why you seemingly can't stop running into him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s raining when you arrive in Dingle, County Kerry. You curse your suitcase as you try to drag it along the garden path that leads up to the small cottage known as Fairy Lodge. You fumble to find the key under the mat and work quickly to unlock the door, shivering as you step into the entrance, dragging your case behind you. You shut the door and shrug off your coat, wiping your boots on the mat. The cottage - tiny and cute - was left to you by your grandmother. She recently passed but you hadn’t seen her since you were ten after she decided to follow her dream and buy a house in Ireland. She left it to you in her will with the note, “always follow your dreams” and you decided to take a vacation and check the place out. It’s beautiful, even in the rain, and you are looking forward to exploring the area your grandma loved so much. After drying off and opening up the cottage. It’s quaint in the best way and you check the cupboards to find nothing, not even a pack of cookies. With a sigh, you look out of the window to find the rain has stopped so you put your coat on and make your way out onto the damp streets. You aren’t sure where to go but you googled a small pub nearby so you make your way over to it, hungry and desperate for a drink after traveling.

“Come on, mate.” William rolls his eyes and shakes his head, putting his pint down to slap his friend on his shoulder. “You should stay and drink. The rain’s gonna start again and it’s not like you can work.” He chuckles, imagining how much the Spaniard would curse working out in the rain. When Pero had shown up at his door nearly a year ago, angry and adrift with no plan for his life, he had taken in his old friend. Let him live with him until he had purchased a cottage down the road from the Garin farm. “Nothin’ better to do than drink.” Pero grumbles, shaking his head as he stands up, pushing his chair back. “No.” He huffs, pulling his coat off the back of the chair and shrugging into it before jamming his flat billed hat onto his head. “I’m not paying for your beers.” He glares at the Irishman, knowing that if he stays, he will be left paying the tab. He turns and strides towards the door, not noticing the woman turning away from the counter with a hot coffee in her hands. 

You gasp as the man knocks into you and your coffee spills over his front, soaking his jeans, and you immediately bounce back. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I- shit.” You place the cup down on the counter and you reach for the napkins, turning back to try and help the man mop up the mess you made of him.

The accent makes him immediately seeth in rage, barely even paying attention to your remorseful expression as you shove the napkins at his crotch. Pero slaps your hands away, hissing at the heat of the coffee. “Fucking Americans.” He spits, shooting you a deadly glare. “Ruining fucking everything.” Shoving past you, he slams out of the door and out of sight. 

Your jaw drops and you stare at the door as he swings on the hinges. You can’t believe what he spat at you and you turn to look at the men gathered around the bar. “I- I didn’t see him behind me.” You choke and the blonde man shakes his head, “don’t mind the miserable Spanish bastard. He’s just not a fan of Yankees at the moment.” He chuckles and gulps down the rest of his pint. “Not your fault, lass.” He tells you and you sigh, “he made that crystal clear.” 

The bartender shakes his head, “Garin, that Spanish git needs to apologize to the lady.” 

William scoffs, “you tell him that.” 

You huff, “doesn’t matter. Can I get another cup?” You ask the bartender who nods. You sigh as you finally sit down in the corner, your annoyance at the rude Spaniard fading as you relax.

William decides that he needs to make up for his friend’s rude behavior. He stands up and groans, carrying his pint back to the bar for a refill. He nods to the bartender and slides it down to where he’s pouring you another coffee. “So.” He leans against the rubbed worn wood and shoots you what he knows is a charming grin. “Tourin’ Ireland, are ya?” He asks, making his accent slightly thicker. “Passin’ through, or will ya be stayin’ awhile?” 

“Actually, I - my grandma had a cottage down the road. Fairy Lodge? She left it to me after she recently died and I needed to get away so I came to check on the house.” You explain.

William nods, “oh that tiny little place on the corner? I remember the old lady who owned it.” He nods, “sweet old gal.” He takes the pint from the bartender and comes over, sitting down opposite you. “How long you plannin’ on being here?” He asks you and you shrug, “not sure. I can work remotely so I’ll probably be here a couple of weeks before I head home. I’m going to put the home on the market. I won’t be able to get out here to maintain the home so I think I’ll sell it.” You confess, setting your mug down.

“Oh, you should stay awhile for sure.” William advises. “Make sure the land doesn’t grow on you.” He has to admit, having a younger, attractive woman in the village would be a good thing. But he also doesn’t want the home sold to someone who would not respect the land, or the people. He can’t imagine your granny raising anyone who would disrespect the lady she had adopted as her own. “Besides, ye can always ask your neighbor to check on things. We take care of each other ‘round here.”

You offer him a soft smile, “yeah…except for ‘fucking Americans’” You scoff softly as you quote his companion. 

William shakes his head, “ignore Tovar. He’s a grumpy fucker.” 

You tap your fingers against the mug, “well, he clearly doesn’t like Americans so maybe it’s best that I sell up.” You hum and William sighs, “well, see how ya feel. You might turn out to love it here. I know I do. I served in Iraq and all I wanted to do was come home.” He confesses and you smile again, “it is a beautiful place. I’ll see how things go.”

He nods, reaching for the beer that has been put in front of him. “Well, if you’re needing anything, I’m at the Garin farm. Ask anyone and they’ll point you in my direction.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You offer William a smile and he makes his way back over to his friends. You settle in to continue reading your book and you thank the landlady for your meal as she brings it over to you. You eat and thankfully the rain has stopped when you decide to make your way back to Fairy Lodge. Tomorrow, you’ll get some groceries but for now, you’re exhausted. You quickly get ready for bed and settle in, falling asleep within minutes.

The next morning, Pero grumbles to himself as he walks up the lane towards the village. Needing some groceries, he wants to see if old man Sawyer had gotten in those wines that he had asked for. It was hard to make some of his dishes without the Spanish wines and he was looking forward to getting them.

You carry your basket around the small grocery store and you gasp when you walk around the corner to see the asshole from last night nearly walk into you again. "Do you make a habit of walking into people?" He growls and you huff, "only rude bastards who don't notice anyone in their peripheral." You hiss back, stomach twisting with annoyance at the man.

He purses his lips at you and narrows his eyes. “What’s an American like you doing in a grocery store like this?” He demands, annoyed that your mere presence makes him feel guilty for yesterday and it just irritates him more. “They don’t have all the fancy shit you would want here. Best go to Dublin and take your demanding, childish ways with you.” 

You narrow your eyes and grip the basket in your hand a little tighter. "Listen, I don't know what the fuck I did to you yesterday that makes you act like a rude prick but I accidentally spilled my coffee over you and you act like I just pissed in your cornflakes. I am here because my grandma left me her house so you'll be seeing more of me around the village. Get used to it, asshole." You growl, spinning on your heel to find the ground coffee.

The news that you will be here even longer than he would like puts Pero in a mood. “Hijo de puta.” He spits, his own basket handle nearly broken as he grips it tight in his fist. The last thing he needs is some stuck up, American bitch hanging around and causing trouble. Old man Sawyer comes into view and he stomps over to him to see if the wine came in. 

You don’t notice the man has left when you go to pay for your groceries and the old man starts to ring everything up. “I noticed there’s a bit of tension between you and Tovar.” He says softly and looks up at you. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in a small town - the gossiping and everyone knowing each other - but you sigh, holding your wallet. “I accidentally spilled my coffee over him in the pub last night and he seems to hate me without even knowing my name.” You huff, “I’m not the kind of woman that’s gonna bow over and beg for forgiveness when I already apologized.” You explain and Sawyer nods, “he’s a grumpy git. He, uh, has had a lot going on from what I have heard.” You snort, “haven’t we all? Still not enough of a reason for him to be a prick.” You say and Sawyer chuckles, “you’re fiery. You’ll fit in just fine around here.” He winks and hands you your change. “Thanks.” You say and make your way back to Fairy Lodge, wondering what happened to make Tovar such an asshole.

Pero is passing by the gate to William’s house, his own groceries in a bag on his arm and lost in his thoughts when his friend calls out to him. “Missed a bit of gossip after pouting off into the night.” He looks over at where William is pushing his best sheep, Nell, out of the way and walking towards the stone wall. He rolls his eyes. 

“What, did she manage to spill a beer on you?” He huffs, smirking slightly in amusement at the idea. 

“No, but she did tell me that she’s going to be in town.” 

His smirk slides away and he scowls. “Sí, I know that.” He grumbles, sighing as he walks off the road and towards the wall to talk. The lane was narrow and lorries love to careen around the corners recklessly. 

“How did you find out?” William is grinning, about to tease Pero for being interested in the American. “She nearly ran me over in Sawyer’s.” He snorts. “Woman - women - are menaces. Especially stuck-up, American bitches.” 

“Now mate, you and I both know that’s not fair. She’s not your ex wife.” William shakes his head, “not all Americans are stuck up bitches…or cheaters.” He raises his eyebrows at his Spanish friend who came to him years ago after finding his wife in bed with their neighbor. “Besides, you always told me you wanted to move from Seville. Said you felt trapped. So you came here to bother my ass.”

“I can always kill you so you aren’t bothered anymore.” Pero threatens, only making William laugh. He knows the Spaniard won’t actually kill him and therein lies the problem. They had been in the military together, serving on the same military bases in Iraq and somehow had become friends. Or as close to friends as Pero could have. Knowing the Irishman wouldn’t pity him like so many he had known would, he had decided to sulk in the Irishman’s home village and ended up staying. “She’s just like her.” He predicts. “All pretty smiles and batting eyelashes to get her way and then she shoves the knife in your ribs. She’ll sell the cottage to some developer who will want to put some god awful monstrosity where her granny’s cottage is. Only hope it's far away from my own.” 

William snorts, “she doesn’t seem money hungry to me, mate. She’s not like her. From what you’ve told me, she was charming and drew you in with a fake personality. This one seems real. She doesn’t seem to be faking anything.” William observes, “she’s not your ex wife. She just happens to be American.”

Pero rolls his eyes, knowing that William won’t understand. He’s not been betrayed like he has and had his heart ripped out. Even more to find that the baby she had just told him about wasn’t his. She had just been planning on using him. “I’ve got better things to do than to argue with you, amigo.” He grumbles, pushing away from the wall and walking towards the road. 

“All I’m saying is to just give her a chance.” William shouts at Pero’s retreating form and he sighs, looking down at Nell. “He really is a stubborn bastard.” 

**** 

You decide to spend the day in the cottage, checking out things that your grandma left here and cleaning it up. You look through the photos she left there of your family. You haven’t seen her for years but she had an album of photos your parents must have sent her over the years. You caress the book, wishing you’d known her more and you wonder why she left you the cottage. She didn’t even leave you a note in her will when you got the keys.

There’s movement in the Fairy Cottage. Pero had noticed it when he was moving some more kindling under the lean-to on the back of the cottage. The sweet older lady that had lived there had been an American, but he hadn’t held it against the feisty old woman. A light comes on and he narrows his eyes in anger. People need to respect that a house is empty without molesting it. He grabs the crowbar he had been pulling old boards off the interior walls to redo. Ready to go confront the thief and make sure they don’t walk away with anything. 

You hear the back door open with a creak and you inhale sharply, unable to believe that someone is breaking into the tiny cottage in the tiny village that you believed was as safe as could be. Everyone knows each other for fucks sake. You pick up the nearest thing - a book - and make your way down the stairs to confront the invader. When you get to the bottom step, you see the shadow and throw the book, a scream escaping your lips.

Pero curses when the book comes out of nowhere and hits him on the head. Turning and swinging the crowbar threateningly. “You had better make your peace with God if you think you are stealing anything from this house!” He shouts, lunging forward to grab the criminal who has broken into the cottage. “Got you!” 

You scream as he grabs the back of your sweater and you try to hit him. “Get the fuck off of me!” You tell, slapping anywhere you can reach. “Get off!”

He drops the crowbar just as soon as he hears that accent, immediately aware that he has a woman and despite everything, he couldn’t hurt one. “Ow! Ow!” He yelps, throwing his arm up to block the jarringly accurate slaps as they strike his skin. “Stop your hitting, woman!” He growls, finally grabbing your arm so you can stop slapping his face. 

You can’t believe it’s him. “Oh my God, it’s you. You bastard!” You growl, trying to wrench your arm from his grip. “What the hell are you breaking into my cottage?” You demand to know, “what the fuck, Tovar?”

He would be surprised you know his name, but that bastard William has a big mouth. “Your cottage?” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know it was your cottage. The old gal that lived here died just two months….” He trails off, remembering you had said you inherited a cottage from your grandmother. That sweet old woman was your granny? He lets go of your arm and grunts. “Thought you were a thief.” He tells you. “Wanted to run them off before they could steal anything.” 

You are slightly touched that he’d put himself in danger to protect your grandmother’s cottage but you are also annoyed that he broke in without any warning. “Well, it’s just me. Although I’m surprised you didn’t take the opportunity to whack me.” You scoff as he lets go of your arm and you reach up to rub it. 

He snorts, bending down to pick up the crowbar and glares at you. Hating that it was you that he had run into again. No doubt you will be telling everyone what a fool he is, or perhaps calling the police on him for entering your cottage. “Might should have.” He grunts at you. “How do I know you even own this property?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at you again. “Wouldn’t be the first con artist American I’ve run into.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Wow. You’re a grade A prick.” You scoff, “my grandma left it for me and you - I don’t have to explain anything to you.” You huff, staring at him and you get a proper look at him for the first time. He’s handsome, even with that scar on his eye, and you hate that he’s handsome. “Did you, uh, did you know my grandma well?” You ask softly after a moment. The curiosity gets the better of you.

Pero stares at you for a moment before nodding. “I fixed her roof the first year she was here.” He tells you. “Delivered her peat moss to burn and made sure that she was okay when bad weather rolled in.” He rocks his jaw, having to admit to himself that he could see the family resemblance and thinks that he had seen a picture of you when you were younger. “I-” he swallows. “I’m the one who- who found her.” Sadness fills his eyes as he remembers that day. At least she had passed peacefully in her sleep. 

You inhale sharply, tears stinging in your eyes for the grandmother you didn’t get to know properly. “I- I hadn’t seen her since I was ten. My parents divorced and my mom…she didn’t let my dad take me to see her when she moved here. I- I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, stepping back from Tovar. “Anyway…you must be sick of me by now. The ironic thing is you don’t even know my name.”

Pero recalls the stories she had told him about her family, producing your name with an ease that startled him. “She talked about you.” He tells you. “Never stopped loving you and talking about when you were young.” The least he can do is not let you think the old woman didn’t care about you. “Maybe that’s why she left you the cottage.” He offers. 

You nod, biting your lip as tears sting in your eyes when you think about your grandmother. “Thanks for telling me that.” You say, sniffing as you try to not cry. “I - I appreciate it. Do you, uh, I really am sorry about spilling my coffee over you.”

He can’t snap at you when your eyes are watering and you look like you are about to cry. “Don’t worry about it.” He tells you. “I’m sorry for breaking into your cottage.” He tells you as he shuffles uncomfortably. He’s never been good at apologies, but he owes you that. “I’ll leave you to your day then.” He tells you. 

You nod, uncrossing your arms as you escort Pero to the back door. “That - I’ll fix that.” You say, not even sure of where to start to fix the door he had broken when trying to protect the cottage from faux thieves.

Shaking his head, he opens the door and bends down to examine it. “I’ll have the door fixed in an hour.” He tells you. “Need to go get some things from my tool shed and I’ll have it sturdier than it’s ever been.” He looks up and shrugs. “My fault anyway.” 

You accept his offer, knowing you won’t be able to fix the door, especially not tonight, so you let him go grab his tool box and when he comes back, you’re preparing some tea. “You want some tea?” You ask, knowing the nights are turning colder here.

“Do you know how to make it?” He asks seriously. “American tea is very sweet….and cold.” He grimaces, remembering when his ex would try to make tea and he had to drink it in order to make her happy. He had hated it. 

You chuckle, “I can make hot tea. Iced tea is for hot days. Or I can make some coffee?” You offer, not sure what he wants and you wonder when he had iced tea. It’s not something you’ve encountered so far in Ireland.

“Hot tea.” Pero nods. “I don’t understand how someone drinks tea that is thick like syrup.” He chuckles and then thinks to add, “thank you. I’ll get your door fixed, I’ve got another one that will fit.” He promises, opening the door and examining the frame. He had been about to replace his own door but he could always go get another one. 

You nod, getting to work on boiling the water on the stove. Your hatred of Pero fades a little since you’ve managed to talk to him and you still don’t understand his apparent dislike of anyone and anything American. When he comes back, you are a little chilly and you pour the brewed tea. “Do you like milk or no?” You ask, wondering how the Spaniard likes his tea.

His nose curls and he shakes his head. “No milk.” He insists. “I cannot have it.” His sensitive stomach was something that made William laugh but milk curdled on him. It was not pleasant and he didn’t want to risk it. “Please.” He adds when he remembers that manners are important to Americans.

You nod, setting the cup of tea down on the kitchen counter for him. "It's not poisoned." You tease, "although it was tempting." Tovar scoffs and picks up the cup, taking a sip. "So...what brought you to Ireland?" You ask, curious and nosey despite knowing you risk him shutting down on you.

“My friend.” He shrugs, looking down at the cup and then back up at you. “You can actually make a cup of tea that's not shit.” He grunts, knowing that is a compliment from him. “He lived here and I wanted a change so I came and decided to stay.” 

You don't push him, sensing there's more to it and you don't want to risk your newfound ceasefire. "Fair enough. I wanted a change too." You confess and lean against the counter with your cup. "I got tired of the hustle bustle living in the city...it was exhausting."

“You won’t find that here.” Pero promises, pulling his hammer out to start prying the broken piece of wood off the frame. “Unless you count when Garvin’s sheep get out and run amok in your vegetable garden.” He snorts. “Nell, his favorite, never fails to end up walking into the pub like she’s gonna order a pint.” 

You chuckle, "she sounds like a riot." Pero snorts, "a handful." You watch him work, his broad back muscles moving and you bite your lip, suddenly attracted to him. He's been an asshole but you think he's sexy in a mysterious asshole way. "You like it here." You observe, a statement more than a question.

“It’s quiet.” He shrugs slightly, not willing to admit that he’s found more peace here than he had when he returned to his ‘home’ in Spain. “I like quiet. Most are bored to death by it, but there's a tranquility in a slower pace of life.” 

"Sounds like a little piece of heaven." You sigh, cradling the cup of tea in your palms. "Quiet is underrated. People want to live fast but I want to stop and smell the roses...take my time with life. Sorry...too many goddamn cliches." You scoff at yourself.

“People say that, but then they get pissed when there’s no new clubs to go to or activities that aren’t for ‘old people’.” He rolls his eyes and grunts as he measures the wood. “I should go get a piece to replace this and grab that door.” 

You nod, “sure.” You don’t question him anymore or ask anymore questions, deciding to focus on starting a fire to ward off the chilly fall air especially since the door is open. You’re bending over the fireplace when Pero comes back in but you don’t hear him as you remain bent over as you poke the kindling.

Pero frowns, watching you poke at the fire. “You-” He huffs and sets the wood down and walks over to the fireplace. “You’re smothering the fire.” He tells you, taking the poker out of your hand. “It’s not like a wood fire. Peat is finicky, but it burns longer.” 

You want to roll your eyes at him as he tries to tell you how to start the fire. Tired of men explaining shit to you at work, you stand up and let him take over with a huff. “I know how to start a fire. Did it enough times back home. God, you really can’t let people make mistakes, can you?” You ask, confused about why he’s so critical all the time.

Pero snorts and shakes his head. “If you want your cottage to be full of smoke, be my guest.” He snarks back at you, waiting to see if you will take over again. When you don’t, he kneels down and reaches into the fireplace. Pulling out the kindling and the hunks of peat to restack them and pulling his lighter out of his pocket. 

You watch him with intrigue, noticing his strong jawline as he clenches his jaw in concentration. You observe what he does and you take notes for when you start another fire. The hearth is soon full of warmth and Tovar stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Thank you.” You tell him, placing your hand on his arm, “sorry I- I’m not good at not being good at things.” You admit softly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He huffs out a small laugh. “Took your grandmother nearly a month of freezing to accept my offer to help her with the chimney.” He has to admit that you seem like you are self-sufficient. Strong-willed. 

You chuckle, “she was stubborn. My dad got that from her. Guess I did too.” You sigh and bite your lip as you lower your hand from his arm. “It’s too damn cold to mess around being that stubborn.” You confess, “even I can admit that.”

“Well, the new door will keep out the wind better and with a good peat fire, your cottage will be nice and cozy.” He promises. “Irish winters aren’t warm, but there is a beauty to them.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m not sure if I’ll be here long enough to see its full beauty. I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do.” You confess and cross your arms, watching as Tovar continues working on the door. “You’re from Spain?” You guess from his accent.

“Sí.” He frowns as he fits the wood in and marks it with the pencil he tucked behind his ear to trim a small sliver off. He grabs his hacksaw and looks up at you. “Seville originally.”

“I’ve never been to Spain. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous. And I think they used Seville for some Game of Thrones locations. There’s so many places I haven’t been that I want to go to.” You sigh, leaning back against the counter. “You must’ve been a lot of places, having such easy access to Europe.”

“It is not hard to travel.” He admits. “But your country is larger than all of Europe combined.” He had been amazed when he had come over to meet his ex’s family. “The flights are short if you want to go on a holiday.”

You shrug, “and expensive as hell. Two hundred bucks average for a flight to another state and nothing as old as what Europe has to offer. I am thinking I might travel to Germany or Austria. Check out the Christmas markets.” You admit, “I miss home but I needed a change.”

“Sounds like more than an inherited house brings you over the pond.” Pero finishes cutting the piece and fits it back into the frame, grunting happily when it fits snugly. He nails it in place as he waits for you to answer him.

You sigh, “I wasn’t happy. I was working twelve hour days. Going on endless first and second dates but couldn’t find a man ready to commit. I was working hard to pay my rent but had nothing left to enjoy myself and I- I got sick of the rat race. I needed to leave the city before it killed me. That kind of life…it gets to you eventually. The loneliness.” You mutter, glancing over at the fire.

He snorts, having no problem being alone himself, but that was after the betrayal. Before then, he had imagined spending the rest of his life with his ex. “If you're alone, only you can disappoint yourself.” He tells you, knocking the last nail in place and starting to take the door off the hinges.

You sense there’s more to his words than he’s letting on but you ignore it, sipping your tea while he works on the door. It doesn’t take him long to get the new one swinging and he adjusts the lock. “There you go, señorita. A new door.” He announces and you snort, “least you could do since you’re the one who tore it off its hinges.”

“It was a shit door.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck before he bends down and picks up his tool box. “Next time I’ll knock to scare away potential thieves.” He tells you before he nods. “Thanks for the tea.” He murmurs before stepping out and closing the door behind him. He had lost a few hours of work fixing your door and now he needs to get back to it.

You huff as he shuts the door behind him, not even saying goodbye and you glance over at the fire. Just when you thought he could be a decent person to talk to, he shuts up again. “Whatever.” You mutter to yourself and get ready to settle in on the sofa to read before you go to bed. You’re not here to be friends with Tovar. You’re here to find yourself.

****

Over the next few days, Pero keeps busy. His home is still a work in progress, the addition done poorly so he’s having to redo a lot of it. Helping William out on his farm when he needs. Keeping busy and keeping his mind off the neighbor. Sure, he’s checked on the cottage when he’s outside or looking out those windows, but he doesn’t make any effort to speak to you again, knowing that you’re nothing but trouble. 

Your days are filled with exploring the village and then working remotely in the afternoon. You’ve actually never felt so at peace. You don’t see Tovar, which is a blessing in disguise. The man still rubs you the wrong way but you find yourself thinking about those brown eyes…even when they are narrowed in hatred towards you. You close your laptop, glancing out at the beautiful sky. It’s cloudy today but still gorgeous so you decide to go for a walk, explore the area some more. After putting on your boots and coat, you lock up the cottage and get started on your exploration.

Pero grumbles at the sky, loading his truck to go help William with the roof of his barn. Wanting to get it done before the rains came again. He gets behind the wheel and starts down the road towards his farm. Traveling about a mile before he sees a figure walking along the wrong side of the road. He scoffs and shakes his head, knowing exactly who it is. Slowing down, he rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “You’re gonna get wet.” He shouts. “Go home.”

You turn your head to see Tovar and you shake your head, looking up at the sky. “Only woman to get wet around you in a while, huh?” You tease with a smirk and he huffs, gripping the steering wheel. “Fine. If you want to get rained on.” You nod, “all part of the experience.” You tell him, “the Irish way of life.”

Pero snorts. “Crazy Americans.” He huffs, handing his hand out the window as he drives past you. You’ll learn. Your coat isn’t enough for the rain that is coming and you will look like a drowned rat if you get caught out in it.

You are stubborn. Something your mother told you was just like your father. Much to her annoyance. You continue walking after Tovar drives off and the wind starts to pick up. You shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you and you look up at the sky as the rain clouds come in. "Bastard." You curse Tovar for being right as you decide to head back to the village.

The last piece of roofing was being nailed into place when the first splatters of rain hit Tovar’s back. “Mierda.” He hisses, glancing up and wincing when a droplet hits him in the eye. 

“Good thing we finished. It’s gonna be a blustery one for sure.” William agrees, wiping his forehead and shoving his hammer back into his tool belt. “You should go home. The sheep will come back and file into their barn quickly and I’m gonna shower and build my fire up.” He tells his friend. “You should do the same.”

You shiver as the rain comes down and you struggle to get back to cottage. The wind is strong and pushing you back as you try to get back as the rain pelts at your face. You curse Tovar for being right. You wish you had gotten a ride.

The rain is coming down in sheets, making it nearly impossible to see in front of the truck as Pero makes his way back to his cottage. He has to admit that he had gotten busy and didn’t look for you like he had thought to. Surely you had turned back and was cozy and warm in your cottage. He believes that until he damn near hits you. Swerving and nearly running off the road to keep from killing you because you’re walking in the damn middle. Cursing, Pero slams out of the truck, instantly drenched by the downpour. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He yells, running up and grabbing your arms.

Your teeth are chattering so hard you can barely speak as Tovar grabs you and drags you into his van. You shake so hard your vision is blurry as the windscreen wipers work overtime. He slams the door shut and drives towards the village, cursing that he's soaking wet and you know you're both going to get sick from this chill.

The heater in his little lorry barely works, but Tovar blasts it, pointing the vents towards you. “Idiot.” He hisses. “You should have your pants pulled down and your ass whipped until you cannot sit.” He wipes his face and presses the gas, needing to get you home and out of those soaked clothes. “I told you to go home, but you’re too fucking pig-headed to listen.”

Your teeth chatter but you manage to say “fu-fuck you. I- I was on the way home.” You tell him and place your hands closer to his air vents. You desperately want the heat to seep into your bones and you shiver as Tovar races to your cottage.

“You would have already been home if you had listened to me.” He reminds you, taking one hand off the wheel to start shrugging out of his coat. It’s damp, but it has to be warmer than what you have on. “Stubborn Americans who think they know it all.” 

You gasp, inhaling the warm air from the heater. "Wha- what th- the hell is wrong with - why the fu- fuck do you hate Am- Americans?" You ask him, still shaking. You watch as he hands his coat to you. "Put this on." He growls and you don't argue, wrapping his coat around you.

Pero whips his van into the small spot that is closest to your cottage and hisses a curse as he jumps out to run around to your door. Knowing that he needs to get you inside as quickly as possible. Get a fire started and get you stripped out of those clothes. Yanking your door open, he drags you out of the seat and tries to shield you from the rain as much as possible. You are shaking violently and he knows you’re close to, if not already, hypothermic. “Inside.” 

You nod, letting him take you inside. You didn’t lock the cottage - having heard from the villagers that nothing happens - so Pero shuffles you inside and immediately starts to strip off the coats. You should be embarrassed and angry that he’s stripping clothes off of you but you’re so freezing you don’t care. You shiver and he helps you out of your boots. “Wh-why are you doing this?” You ask, watching him as he leaves you in your soaking wet jeans to work on getting the fire going.

“You could die.” He spits, his hands working quick and steady as he stacks the peat and kindling to light. He needs to get you warm and dry as fast as he can. The damp chill could have you sick with pneumonia within a day if you aren’t careful. As soon as the tender starts to smoke, he turns towards you and unbuttons his flannel shirt. Body head is needed. Stomping off towards your bedroom, he strips the quilts and blankets off of it before coming back into the main room. “Can you take your clothes off, or do I need to do it?” 

Your eyes widen at his broad chest as he comes back into the living room with the blankets. You nod, teeth still shattering as you work on removing your wet clothes until you are in your underwear, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Sur-surprised you - you care so much.” You choke out, still freezing cold.

He grunts, rolling his eyes and nearly tells you that he doesn’t care but that wouldn’t be truthful. He doesn’t want to find another member of your family dead. He spreads a blanket on the floor in front of the fire and pushes you towards it. “Lay down.” He orders, immediately starting to strip off the rest of his clothes, including his underwear. He knows you might be prudish like most Americans, but when you are trying to warm up, you can't wear any wet clothes and your panties look soaked. He ignores your gasp and drops to his knees, gathering the rest of the blankets at his back and reaches for your panties, pulling at them to take them off and they shred apart in his hands. 

You gasp, knowing you should push him away but when he pulls you close, into his body, into his warmth, you shudder and inhale deeply. Feeling the sensations come back into your body as you give in and curl around him. Breathing him in, you lift your leg over his, trying to get even closer to him, seeking his warmth.

His hands start rubbing, massaging heat and feeling back into your body. He thinks about anything but the softness of your breasts pressed against him. Knowing that if it weren’t for this serious situation, you would not be naked in his arms. “You’ll get warm.” He promises, feeling you shake and your teeth chatter. Your body is like ice and he shudders slightly as he transfers his heat to you under the weight of the blankets. 

You breathe him in, thankful for him showing up to save you even if you’ve not gotten along so far. His hands rubbing all over your back and you eventually relax, the shivering stopping as you warm up. You kiss his chest, silently thanking him for finding you even if you can’t vocalize that right now as you curl around him, seeking his warmth.

He knows you will get sleepy, it’s your body’s way to try to recover from the energy it had expelled to try to keep you warm. “Go to sleep, espléndida.” He murmurs quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.” He knows that he can’t pull away right now. Even though you are warmer, you still need more of his body heat to fully warm up. 

You mumble into his chest, listening to his beating heart as you fall asleep in his grip, feeling safe despite the man curled around you being insufferable in every interaction you’ve had. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been asleep when you wake up alone, the blankets wrapped around you, the fire roaring and you hear noise coming from the tiny kitchen. “What - Tovar?” You croak, wondering where he went.

His boxers on his hips, Pero appears in the doorway as soon as you call him. “Wait.” He orders, not wanting you to get up. Disappearing again and within seconds, he is coming back into the room with a tray. It was one your grandmother had often served him tea on, so he was familiar with it. Your cup of tea is in addition to a mug of soup. You need something warm in you. The hearty stew was one that your grandmother had canned two years ago, so he knew the rich broth would be good. 

You sit up, keeping the blanket tight to your chest as he carries the tray over and he has his boxers on. Shit, he’s attractive. More than that…he’s hot. Really hot. You swallow harshly, throat dry as he sets the tray down in front of you. “Thank you.” You tell him, looking at him as he sits down next to you. “This is - you poison it?” You tease softly, voice a little raw from the cold wind you breathed in earlier.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Not poisoned.” He huffs. “I just saved your life, why would I poison you?” He asks, picking up the tea and handing it to you. “It’s got honey and lemon in it, your throat will be raw.” He murmurs, blowing on the steaming liquid slightly before he hands it off. 

You take it, your fingers brushing his, and you moan softly as the tea soothes your sore throat. “I- I don’t really know how to start saying thank you for saving my life. I would’ve frozen out there. I didn’t think the storm would come in so quick.” You confess, watching him as the flames and shadows flicker over his face. “I guess I can start by saying thank you.” You say after taking another sip.

“You’re welcome.” Pero is slightly surprised that there’s no sarcasm in your statement. “Almost ran to my house to get some whiskey to pour in it, but it’s still raining outside.” He tells you, the rain beating against the windows. “So, it’s not quite as good as it could be. But I made you some stew.” 

You set the tea down and pick up the mug of broth, taking a sip and you groan. “You made this?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Your grandmother. She made it. Canned it a couple of years ago. She gave me some jars.” He reveals and your eyes widen as you look down at the cup in your hands, “I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, “she seemed like a great woman. I- I’m writing a book about her. That’s why I came here. She fell in love with Ireland and I’m writing a romance novel based on her life.” You confess, “her grand escape to Ireland after divorcing her husband.”

He’s surprised by that, lifting his brows and humming. “A romance?” He should scoff, but he can’t manage the sound to come out of his throat. “I guess Ireland would be a romantic place to escape. If you’re looking for that.” 

You sip your broth before you look at him. “I must admit I had my wild fantasies dreaming about meeting a handsome man in Ireland and shacking up in a cottage to love our lives away but I- I know that’s - it’s silly.” You shake your head, “especially when I literally bumped into you and you hate Americans.”

“You would hate Spaniards if your ex was one.” Pero tells you. “Especially if he had cheated on you. Even though he would be an idiot to cheat.” 

You frown, setting the broth mug down. “You think…your ex was American?” You ask, confused and curious. “And she - shit - she cheated on you?”

Pero sighs, looking out the window. “Sí.” He murmurs. “We were- I met her when we were both stationed on the same base in Iraq. She was with the Americans, I was with …anyway,” he shakes his head. “We got married. She was pregnant. They made her leave her military position and we went to Spain.” He blows out a sigh. “And I found out later that she was cheating on me and the baby wasn’t even mine.”

You inhale sharply, “shit. I- I'm so sorry. That's - Wow. What a shitty thing to do. It’s - that’s monstrous. I’m so sorry Tovar-” You ramble and he cuts you off. “Pero. My first name is Pero.” He says and you nod, “Pero.” You say softly, “I’m sorry that happened to you. No one deserves that. Is that why…why you hate me? Because of my accent? My homeland?”

“She was just as stubborn as you are. Always right and having to have her way.” He shrugs. “I guess that I just don’t like women right now.” He admits after a moment. “I gave my heart to that woman and she tried to pass off the proof of her infidelity as my child.” He growls.

You shake your head, shifting closer to him to reach for his hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Pero. No one deserves that. I - I can understand why I triggered that anger in you. That’s unforgivable and I’m sorry someone did that to you.”

That bastard William had told him that you weren’t his ex. Pero rubs his cheek. “It’s not your fault.” He admits quietly. “You aren’t her and I shouldn’t have been an asshole to you,”

You sigh, letting go of his hand, “and I shouldn’t have been a bitch but I’ve never been good at people not giving me a chance.” You confess and sip your tea. “Can we start again?” You ask and he stares at you so you set your cup down, holding out your name. You introduce yourself, “and you are?” You ask, offering him a playful smile.

He grunts, watching you for a moment. “Pero Tovar.” He tells you. “Grumpy asshole from Spain.”

You chuckle, “great to meet you, grumpy asshole from Spain who saved my life.” You add and he shakes your hand. You stare at him, your smile fading as his grip on your hand is tight, reluctant to let go. You keep holding his hand, your eyes searching his as you keep the blankets close to your chest to keep you covered up until you let it drop, exposing your skin to his eyes.

Pero’s eyes widen and drop down to your breasts for a moment before he jerks his gaze back up to your face. “Hermosa….” He grunts, confused as to why you are showing him your body. “You don’t owe me anything.” He promises.

You nod, "I know. I- I'm not saying thank you. Well, I am. But not like that. I - I think you're handsome." You confess, "...sexy." You add and he frowns softly. "If you don't..." You trail off and reach to pull the blankets up your body, standing up on shaky legs. "Do you want a drink? I think my grandma had a bottle of brandy." You make your way into the kitchen, blanket wrapped around your body.

He thinks he’s embarrassed you and he doesn’t want that. He can’t deny you’re beautiful and he had been fighting an erection the entire time you were asleep once you were warm. Standing up, Pero pulls off his boxers and follows you into the kitchen to find you standing at your grandmother’s drink cabinet. “Do you want me to touch you, hermosa?” He asks, bracing his arms on the counter and trapping you against it,  his lips close to your ear. “You are a beautiful woman, and I would enjoy finding out what makes you shake in pleasure.”

You whimper, unable to control the shiver that runs along your spine as he hovers behind you. You want him to touch you. He's been a bastard but you would be dead if it weren't for him. You understand now why he was antagonized by you and you forgive him for his barbs. You lean back against him after letting the blanket drop from your body. "I want you to touch me." You whisper, turning your head to look at him, your lips brushing his chin.

“I’m not gentle.” He warns, knowing that it’s been too long since he has touched anyone and he’s not a suave lover like Garin claims to be. He slides his hand up to grab your breast and squeezes the flesh.

“I don’t need gentle. I don’t want gentle.” You tell him, covering his hand over your breast and you squeeze a little harder. “I want you.” You add, kissing his jaw.

Pero growls, his hardening cock pressing against your ass. “Drop the blanket.”  He orders, pulling you away from the counter and dragging you towards the main room. If he’s going to touch you, it will be in front of that fire so you stay warm. 

You follow his order, nearly tripping over the blanket as he guides you into the living room and you whimper as he lays you down on the blankets you still have piled near the fire. You lay down, waiting for him to touch you as he kneels down near you. “Pero.” You whisper, biting your lip as you wait for him to make the first move.

He watches you for a moment before he lunges forward, his lips smashing against yours in a hard kiss. Covering your body with his and pushing your thighs apart with his knee to settle between them. Groaning into your mouth at the taste of you as his hands fill themselves with your breasts and hips.

You moan into his mouth, your hands caressing his back as he kneels over you, his hands squeezing your flesh. His tongue slides into your mouth and you eagerly grant him access with a low groan of his name muffled against your lips. Your hands slide down to his ass, squeezing and bringing him closer so his cock is pressing against your thigh.

Pero rocks against your thigh, groaning and pinching your nipple harshly. Kissing down your throat and biting down on your shoulder before he ducks his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth to bite.

"Fuck." You hiss in pleasure as he grinds against you and sucks on your nipple, paying it attention until you are swapping over to suck on the neglected one. "Shit baby." You pant, reaching between you to wrap your fingers around his thick cock.

Pero groans at the feel of your hand. It’s been so long since he’s felt any touch but his own. His cock twitches and his hips buck into your grip. He lavishes attention on you, loving the way you moan.

You twist your arm, trying to jerk him off as he surrounds you, the spicy scent of his skin combined with the smoke from the fire he started. Your free hand slides through his hair as he kisses the skin below your breast and you whimper, getting wetter with each kiss.

Pero is a harsh lover, he bites and scratches and fucks hard, but he’s also attentive. He wants his partner to feel good. To drown in him. Scattering bites over your skin, he works his way south, nipping your hip bone. “When was the last time you were devoured, hermosa?” He demands, cutting his dark gaze back up to your face.

Your chest heaves as you look into his dark eyes, hungry with desire for you and you don't remember the last time you were devoured. You shake your head, "I- too long ago. My ex...he didn't - he didn't do that." You confess breathlessly.

Pero snorts, shaking his head at your worthless ex. “Then you will remember this.” He promises. His tongue slides around your hip bone, dragging across your stomach as he settles his broad shoulders between your thighs and pushes them up to rest there. Making a show of settling in to look down at you glistening cunt. “Such a pretty cunt too.” He smirks, looking up at you again as he lowers his mouth to your folds and winking right before he dives in.

"Shit!" You squeak, thighs clenching against his head in surprise as he licks into you like a man starved. "Pero." You gasp as he flattens his tongue against your clit until he decides to suck it between his lips. Your hands tangle in his hair as you slump back to look up at the wooden beams on the ceiling.

He loves eating a woman out. Loves her taste and the way she responds to his touch and effort to make her scream. His fingers slide around your entrance for a moment and then he buries two down to the knuckle and curls up inside you.

You cry out as his thick fingers curl inside of you. Making you moan his name loud enough for the entire village to hear as you buck your hips into his face. His free hand slides up to squeeze your breast and your hand covers his, eyes squeezed shut as he laps at your clit.

Groaning into your cunt, he samples you. Tastes you like you are the finest whiskey or his precious Spanish wines. Pumping his fingers inside you to find the spot that makes your body spasm in pleasure and growling when he finds it

"Fuck. Oh shit!" You hiss, walls fluttering around his digits as he curls them to find that spot that makes you moan. Your chest heaving as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing him further into your cunt. "So- yes. There. Cl-close." You pant, stomach clenching.

He growls, sucking your clit in his mouth and pulling on it harshly, before he twirls his tongue around it and starts to flick his tongue over the little bundle of nerves. Pumping his fingers into you faster and harder, wanting to see how hard you break.

You fall apart within seconds. “Oh my fuck - fuck!” You squeal as you clamp down on his fingers, soaking them as you cum for the first time in a long time. Nearly pulling his hair out as you cry out.

He snarls, lapping at you faster and pushing his fingers deeper when you start to cum. Feeling you soak his face as his cock throbs against the blanket on the floor. Working and pushing you through your orgasm with the determination of a man possessed.

He pushes you higher until you have to push his head away, overstimulated, and you feel like your body is on fire from his attentions. “Fuck, I- Pero. I need you.” You beg, “let me - I need you inside of me.”

He grunts, smirking as he crawls up your body. Aching to push inside you and feel those tight walls squeezing his cock like they had his fingers.

You grab the back of his neck when he’s hovering over you to drag him down to kiss him. Your tongue slides against his to taste yourself on his mouth. You reach down to grip his cock again, pumping him as you kiss him.

Pero groans your name into your mouth, almost like a plea. Rocking his hips into your hand and lowering down so you can guide him in. When you notch him at your entrance, he bites your bottom lip as he drills his cock deep into your wet cunt.

You moan into each other’s mouth as he pushes deep in one thrust, making you cling to him as he stretches you out. He’s thick and you are certain you’ll feel him tomorrow if he’s as rough as he claims to be. You wrap your legs around him, the blankets crumpling up beneath you as he starts to move.

Pero doesn’t hesitate. Bracing his hands on the floor beside you, he starts pounding into you at a rough, hard pace. Feeling your walls giving with every deep thrust as he drives himself into you over and over, groaning over how well you are taking him. “Mierda.”

He’s rough and takes what he wants but fuck, you love it. You whine, throwing your head back and he wastes no time leaning in to bite down on the skin above your pulse. Your walls clench around him every time he pushes deep and hits something devastating inside you that no one else has found. “Pero. Shit. Oh God. I- it’s so good.” You almost vibrate as you speak, shaken by his thrusts.

Hissing, he tries to hang onto his control. Feeling it slip as he continues to rock into you. You're so fucking good and it has been the best sex he's had in ....ever. Not even his ex felt like you do. Dropping down to his elbows, he shoves his hands under your back and starts biting along your shoulder, leaving imprints of his teeth with every piercing thrust of his cock.

Each bite on your skin has you clenching around him and you struggle to maintain control until you give in. Whines escape your lips as his pelvis drops into just the right position that he’s grinding against your clit and your heels dig into his ass. “I’m gonna - oh fuck. Pero. Pero!” You cry out, clamping down on his cock and practically shaking beneath him as you soak him with your orgasm.

The shout Pero lets out is hoarse and rough, pushing deep and grinding even deeper for a split second before he is ripping free of your cunt. Panting as he realized he had not spoken with you about birth control and he could not risk filling you up. Coating your belly, breasts and thighs with ropes of his hot seed as he spits out another curse.

You pant, watching him as he pumps his cock to paint you with every drop of seed that drips from his body. His chest heaving and you stare up at him in awe. He’s incredible and you know that all your previous fighting means nothing compared to this perfect moment of bliss. “You- you could’ve cum inside me. I’m on birth control.” You tell him breathlessly, knowing it’s too late now.

“Shit.” Pero hisses, huffing slightly and dropping his head against your shoulder. “I didn’t- we hadn’t- fuck.” He grumbles, rolling off to the side and onto his back to reach off his undershirt to wipe your skin clean.

You watch him clean you up and you turn onto your side to look at him, “it’s okay. Maybe next time you could…?” You trail off, biting your lip as you wait for his reaction. Unsure if there will be a next time.

Pero smirks and nods. “Next time.” He agrees, tossing the shirt off to the side and rubs a hand down your side. “How are you feeling?”

You hum, closing your eyes with a smile on your face. “Better. A lot better. I’m warm and satisfied and - thank you again for rescuing me.” You say as you open one eye to look at him, “you’re not too bad for a grumpy asshole.” You smirk, closing your eyes again.

He snorts, rolling his eyes and sighing, “you’re not bad.” He admits. “For an American.” He adds, smirking himself as he moves his arm and nudges you slightly, seeing if you want to curl against him.

You take the hint, shifting to curl into his side and he quickly pulls the blanket over you. You sigh, breathing him in and kiss his chest, exhausted again after his rigorous fucking. You’ve turned a corner with the Spaniard and you’re interested to see how things go from now on. 

**** 

The sunlight starts to shine through the windows of the cottage, the gap in the curtains letting in light that makes you wince as you wake up. “Pero.” You murmur, shifting to sit up and you pat the space beside you only to find the man you fell asleep with is gone. You frown, calling his name again and when there’s no response, you huff. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, you stand on shaky legs and head upstairs to get ready for the day. Perhaps he had an early start.

“You slipped out of the house like a thief?” William shakes his head and frowns at his friend. “Why would you do that? She deserves better.” 

Pero huffs and rolls his eyes, shuffling guiltily as he looks up the road towards your cottage. “She’ll be going back to America.” He reminds the Irishman. “I don’t need to be getting myself involved in that mess.” 

William snorts, eyeing Pero suspiciously. “I’ve never known you to turn down pleasure. A fling of some kind. Unless you like her more than you are admitting.” Pero scowls again and shuffles, not answering.

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve seen him, which is an accomplishment in the tiny village. You are in the grocery store when old man Sawyer tells you about the village fete. “It’s the harvest festival. In the church hall. There’ll be food and booze of course.” He winks and you chuckle, wondering if Pero would be there. It’s unlikely as he doesn’t like people. “Maybe I’ll see you there.” You tell the older man as you pay for your groceries. “See you there.” He says with a chuckle and you take your bags, pondering if you’ll go to the fete. 

You decide later that you won’t hide away so you get dressed and make your way over to the church hall, shrugging off your coat once you’re inside and there’s music from the local band of teenagers and various tables with food and drinks. You immediately feel eager to mingle. That is until you look around to see Pero standing there with William, his dark eyes focused on you.

“Go talk to her.” William shoves at Pero’s arm, making him stumble. 

Turning, he glares at his best friend. “Amigo….” He growls, warning him not to mess with him tonight. He’s been busy trying to avoid you and here you are, looking prettier than ever. 

“If you don’t, someone else will.” William warns him.

You avert your eyes, pissed off he didn’t even come to see you after he slept with you. You walk over to the drinks table, greeting Gladys who lives down the road from you and she hands you a cup of hot cider. “How are you dearie?” She asks and you sigh, “confused.” You confess and she frowns, “what?” You shake your head, “I’m good, Gladys.” You tell her and she smiles at you, nodding until her gaze shifts to behind you. You turn your head to look and your eyes meet Pero’s. “Hi.” You murmur, fingers flexing around the cup.

Pero looks at you for a moment, studying the anger in your eyes and he feels guilty, guilty for avoiding you. “You’re still here.” That’s what he comes up with to answer you. Hating it the moment it comes out of his mouth, but he won’t take it back.

You stare at him for a second, “I’m still here.” You observe, glancing around the room until your eyes meet his again. “So…you've been busy?” You ask, a little sarcastic but you’ve never been known to be timid, especially when it comes to men who run away from your bed.

“Busy enough.” He grunts, not sure why he even came over. You don’t seem happy to see him at all, not that he can blame you. It’s not like he’s gone out of his way to check in after the other day. He had convinced himself that you still hated him, and had run with it.

You nod, "busy enough to not even stay for a cup of coffee?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him, "or was it just pity? You felt sorry that I nearly froze to death and you decided to fuck me...or was it so you could brag to William? Tell him you tamed the bitch in Fairy Lodge?" You snort, keeping your eyes on his, refusing to look away.

Eyes widening, he glances over at Gladys to see if she is listening. Shame making his face burn, and in turn, pissing him off. “Nothing could tame you.” He snorts. “I’m not a magician.”

You chuckle, “clearly you are since you made yourself disappear.” You huff, taking a sip of the cider. “If you regretted it, you could’ve just come to see me and tell me that instead of leaving me to think I did something wrong or…or I wasn’t good enough.” You finish quietly.

The sound of your voice is what makes his anger deflate. “I- you’re leaving.” He murmurs quietly. “I - I’m not a casual lover. I don’t sleep around anymore.”

“I’m not gonna stick around and be treated like shit.” You snort, “I could go back to America and deal with American men if I wanted that.” You tell him, setting down the cup of cider just as the band starts to play.

Pero narrows his eyes, hating that you are comparing him to American men. He’s not a boy who plays games, but apparently that’s what he’s been doing with you. “Fine.” He grunts, grabbing your hand. “Let’s dance.”

You let him drag you onto the makeshift dance floor and there's a few elderly couples dancing but everyone has their eyes on you and Pero. "Everyone is looking at us." You murmur and he stares at you, not looking around. 

"Let them." He says, pulling you closer and you don't push him away. 

"You don't care?" You ask, keeping your eyes on him.

“Why would I?” He asks. “People stare because of my scar. They stare because I’m a mean looking bastard.” He shrugs, used to the looks. “Or they stare because I’m holding the prettiest girl here.”

You offer him a soft smile as he looks at you and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. "Your scar makes you look dangerous...and sexy. And you look grumpy...not mean. And you think you are not good enough but you are...and I- I wish you would let people in to see that." You finish, cutting your gaze across the room to see Gladys smiling at you and Pero dancing.

“I'm not the man you think I am.” Pero grumbles. “I have done a lot of shitty things, even to you.” He reminds you. He doesn’t want you to think he’s some white knight when he’s not.

You look at him again, “no one is perfect. Hell, you know I’m not. I know you’re not. But…but I think you are good deep down. You’re just hurt.” You murmur, “and I know why but I didn’t - we started off on the wrong foot. We were both mean to the other.”

“We should not fight.” Pero agrees, nodding. Even if he doesn’t feel like you know him enough to make that judgment, it’s nice to have someone besides William believe in him.

“I- I’m supposed to go back to America on Monday.” You tell him quietly, wondering if he will pack your bags for you to get you out of Ireland and away from him, from his mistake of rescuing you…sleeping with you.

“Oh.” Pero frowns and swallows harshly. Knowing that he’s wasted time that he could have been spending with you and quite possibly made this better than it had been. “Big plans back there?” He asks.

“Just work and…and I don’t have to go back. I can change my return flight…or cancel it…” You trail off, “unless you don’t want an American living here full time?” You test him, wondering what his reaction will be.

“You still don’t know how to make a fire worth a damn.” Pero tells you, watching your brows pull together in confusion. “It would be hard for you to learn over there. Bet you don’t even have a fireplace.”

You shake your head as he rocks you both to the beat. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be able to make a fire…I’d definitely forget. So…I think I need to stay to make sure I learn properly. Perhaps you could teach me?” You ask him quietly, preparing yourself for him to practically escort you back to the airport.

“It’ll take a long time.” He cautions, pulling you closer to him. “I’d probably need to check on the fires during the night. Make sure you don’t burn down your granny’s cottage.”

“What a gentleman.” You smile, tilting your head towards his, “I definitely think you’d need to check on them nightly. I don’t think anyone in the village wants a fire. So…it looks like I’m staying - for fire starting purposes only.” You tease, taking a chance to kiss his neck as you lean closer.

Pero groans at the light contact of your lips, turning his head and capturing your mouth in a kiss for everyone here to see. Not caring if they do and telling them all that he wants you. Claiming you in front of them so that there are no misconceptions about what he wants. You.

You cup his cheek, responding to the kiss, and you let everyone see that you are with him. The parishioners all stare and you smile against his mouth. “Come home with me.” You murmur when he pulls back but keeps his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure, hermosa?” He asks quietly, knowing that he had hurt you the last time he had slept with you.

You nod, “I’m sure. I want you to come home with me and show me how to start a fire.” You murmur, stopping as the song comes to an end and you let go of Pero to clap your hands, waiting for his answer.

Pero smirks, willing to take a risk with you when you are also taking a risk on him. Nodding, he motions towards your cottage. “Let’s go, I need to show you a lot of things if you’re going to live in Ireland.” He grunts. “Starting with how to properly leave a party.” It’s all the warning he gives you before he bends down, scooping you over his shoulder before marching off the dance floor with you like a medieval mercenary carrying off his kidnapped bride.

You squeal, giggling as he carries you out of the hall and you cling to him as he strides down the hall. “Where are we going?” You ask as you tilt your head and notice he’s not carrying you to your cottage. “My place.” He says and you are surprised but let him continue his journey, the wind whipping cool on your skin.

You've never been to his cottage, he's well aware of that. Marching down the road and not slowing down a bit. "Best place to start teaching you is where I am comfortable." He admits, slapping your ass. "Kept expecting your granny to come out and catch me with my ass showing."

You chuckle as he sets you down so he can unlock his door. You lean against the wall as he fumbles with his keys, “she definitely would’ve told you to put some pants on.” You tease and he finally opens the door, “and what’s my next lesson?” You inquire as he guides you inside and you see the masculine but cozy cottage he lives in.

He hadn't really thought much beyond taking you home. Getting you here. He hums, his own fire slowly smoldering and the inside of the cottage warm. "Temperature control." He decides. "What to do when it's too hot."

You smirk, licking your lips as you look at him, “and what do you do when it’s too hot.” He smirks back at you, “get naked.” You nod, slipping off your shoes and you work on the buttons of your dress. “I think that’s a smart idea.”

"It is." He grunts, taking off his jacket and then lifting his shirt over his head. "Getting too hot is just as bad as being too cold." He rolls his eyes towards you. "And you know how that feels."

You glare at him playfully and you shrug your dress off, letting it fall to the floor and you move to push your tights down but Pero scoops you into his arms. “I’m still hot.” You tell him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

"Yes, you are." He won't deny that, arms coming around you and sliding down your sides to your hips. "Your panties and bra are what's keeping you hot." He murmurs.

You giggle, “yes. They are.” You let him reach behind you to unclasp your bra as you caress his chest and you lean in to kiss his clavicle as he slides the bra down your arms. You squeal when he grabs your ass, lifting you over to his sofa and he lays you down on it. “Fuck. These need to go.” He growls, pushing your legs apart so he can grab the thin material of your pantyhose and he rips them, making you gasp and wet your panties in arousal.

"Oops." Pero snorts, not even slightly sorry about ripping your pantyhose. He never understands why women wear them, although he can understand under your dress since you are unused to the chill of the Irish weather. He grins and pulls them off your feed and tosses them aside. "Need to teach you to quit wearing that shit." He grunts. "Harder to get to you."

You giggle as he drags your panties down your legs and you spread your legs further apart once he tosses them over his shoulder to expose you to his hungry eyes. “Need to see you too.” You tell him, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

"Yeah?" He lets you undo his belt, feeling like you want him and it's a thing to savor. It might be a fling, but the look in your eyes is telling him that he should trust that it will be more. "Taken with me?"

You scoff, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, Tovar.” You tell him, working on unbuttoning his pants after you toss the belt aside. You reach into his pants to pull his hard cock out, groaning as you get to see him properly. “I want to suck you off.” You tell him, meeting those dark eyes.

"You don't have to do that." Every blow job he's had in the last few years has been begrudgingly given. Complaints about sore jaws or him always wanting head. He had stopped asking for them, stopped her from giving them if she tried to initiate and it's almost like a reflex. Nothing that can be held over his head, until he takes your wrist and realizes what he's doing. "Uh...my ex..." he bites his lips. "She would always complain about it. Or use it to guilt me into something."

You scoff, “she sounds…wow. Lay down.” You order, pushing on his chest and he nods, shifting to lay down on the sofa and you straddle him. “Too Goddamn sexy for your own good. Definitely for my good.” You chuckle, leaning down to kiss him. You slide your tongue against his until you are kissing along his jaw, down his neck, and down his stomach until you reach his cock resting against his stomach. “I want to give you a blowjob. I want to make you feel good. For nothing in return.” You promise and take him into your hand, squeezing him as you look into his eyes as you press your tongue against the slit, tasting his pre-cum.

"Shit." Pero hisses, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he opens them again. Needing to see you touch him. To see how eagerly you want to touch him. It's not all Americans that are horrible, it was his ex. She was a bad apple. He reaches down and cups your cheek. "Fuck baby," he pants, "So fucking pretty and sweet."

You hum around him as you take him deeper. Loving the way he groans and reaches down to caress your cheek. You love the way his jaw clenches and his cock twitches inside of you as you widen your jaw to take more of his length until he’s hitting the back of your throat and you gag, unused to giving head to a long cock like his.

"Pull off, hermosa." He urges, pulling your cheek up but you shake your head and continue to bob up and down on him. Making him groan as he feels the exquisite bliss of your mouth around him.

You want to make him feel good, look after him like he did looking after you when you nearly froze to death. You moan around him, caressing his chest and you bob your head a little faster.

"Hermosa...." he groans, feeling you starting to pull his orgasm out of him and he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to make sure that you cum first. "Ride me." He begs quietly, twitching in your throat at the thought.

You won’t deny him. You pull off of his cock, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and you straddle him. His cock pressing between your folds and you are soaking wet. You look down at him and his hands immediately find your tits. You lift up to position him at your entrance and you slowly sink down onto his cock.

"Mierda." He hisses, rocking his hips up to thrust up into you. Bouncing you slightly and sinking deeper into your tight cunt. "You are so pretty sitting on my cock."

“Not bad for an American?” You tease, starting to rock your hips on top of him. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at him and you know you couldn’t leave. Not with this unspoken thing between you. It’s not quite love but it feels like it could easily evolve into it. You lean down to kiss him, bracing your hands on the arm of the sofa behind his head.

He doesn't answer because he wouldn't even know how to answer. It's not because you are an American, but because you are just you. His hands slide up your sides and he holds the back of your head, deepening the kiss as you start to slide your tongue against his.

You rock back onto his cock, your tongue sliding against his and your hands tangle in his hair, moaning into his mouth as you find an angle that makes the head of his cock rub against your g-spot.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” His moan is muffled and he throbs inside you. Loving how you clench down around him and he squeezes your hip with his free hand.

You moan into his mouth, rocking back onto him and he slips out of you. You whine at the loss of pleasure but he reaches down to push himself back into you and you swivel your hips to find the same angle. You soon find it and rock back onto him, getting closer and closer to cumming.

“That’s it, hermosa.” He grunts out, leaning in to bite your shoulder. He lets go of your head, reaching down to start rubbing your clit. Wanting you to cum for him before he spills inside of you,

You whine when his fingers rub your clit just right and you are close. Grinding back onto his cock, trapping his hand between you, you get closer and closer until you cry out his name. “Fuck!” You choke, clamping down on his cock as you soak him with your orgasm.

"Perfecto." He groans, rocking his hips up and driving his cock deeper into you as he takes over. Letting you collapse against his chest as he wraps both arms around you and fucks you through, chasing his own orgasm. Panting out your name as he thrusts one last time, burying his cock deep as he paints your walls with his cum.

You whimper, kissing his jaw as he pants into your ear. “Cum for me, Pero. Cum. Wan- wanna feel it.” You beg, grinding back to try and egg him on as his cock twitches inside of you.

You moan, loving how it feels to have him paint your walls with his hot seed, silently thanking your IUD as he pulses deep. You kiss along his jaw, “feels so good.” You pant, relaxing on top of him.

"Stay." He murmurs, panting as he tries to catch his breath. "I want you to stay, hermosa." He presses his lips to yours again. "I want to be grumpy to everyone else. Not you."

You nod, pressing your lips to his again. “I’ll stay. All you had to do was ask. I’ll stay and I want to see where this goes.” You tell him, kissing his chin. “You’re a grumpy bastard but you’re my grumpy bastard.” You tease, caressing his cheek. You never imagined you’d come to Ireland and find the man you spend the rest of your life with but you have and you don’t know it yet but you have a beautiful life ahead of you with Pero in Fairy Lodge.

​​

​​

[flywolfwriting]

Just Pretend - Prolog

“I could always rely on you and you could always rely on me.”

Crowley stared into the crowded pub, seeing nothing. He’d spent most of the day replaying the night, like running his finger over a blade just to see if it was still sharp. It cut every time, just how quickly everything had gone to shit.

The dance plan had gone so well; Nina and Maggie had realized they would work together, even if there may or may not be some delays to that development. Crowley had even felt like there might be something there with Aziraphale, like perhaps the angel was ready to move forward finally. Something Crowley hadn’t fully realized he wanted until Nina made the comment.

It wasn’t the first time someone had assumed he and Aziraphale were partners, and they’d always shut it down because they couldn’t be, not without risking total destruction. But things were different now. Now they could be them. The four years since Armageddon didn’t happen had been so promising. They didn’t have to hide. Sure, he lied to Shax about talking to Aziraphale, but that was because she was - obviously - a demon, and therefore unhinged.

As was proven last night.

Crowley wished Beelzebub had just told him why they wanted Gabriel in the first place. He probably wouldn’t have believed them, but maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe they could have avoided all of this… except for the Book of Life thing.

If only Gabriel hadn’t gotten off the elevator. He should have walked into Hell completely naked with a box, not Aziraphale’s book shop.

Satan but even thinking his name hurt.

Crowley threw back the rest of his drink. He’d chosen a cheap whiskey; he couldn’t bring himself to do what he was doing to anything worth drinking - and that was getting absolutely sloshed.

The bartender made last call, and Crowley slapped his glass back onto the table with a sour look. All day and all  night he’d been here, watching the door, hoping to see Aziraphale come through it with an apology on his lips, and Crowley would have forgiven him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to be disappointed. Aziraphale always came back, but this time felt different. It felt more permanent.

Crowley stood and made his wobbly way from the pub, dropping heavily into his car.

“Take me somewhere far away from here,” he said, and the Bentley listened.

------

AO3

Next Chapter

[lady-charinette]

The Beast in Her Home - Chapter 16

I’m BACK! I’m really excited to show you guys this chapter, hope you like it! (she says while writing a chapter full of pain). Comments and kudos are always appreciated :3

AO3

WARNING: This chapter may disturb some readers, caution is advised.

Content: police brutality, graphic descriptions of violence, ACAB discourse, injuries, misuse of power.

Chapter 16:

“There is no greater tyranny than that which is perpetrated under the shield of the law and in the name of justice. (Cambridge University Press, September 29, 1989)”

― Charles-Louis de Secondat, baron de la Brède et de Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws

Flickering lights of red and blue filled the screen, unsteady camera movements, people running and screaming. News reporters, civilians, cops. An ambulance. Chat Noir rushed to turn the volume up.

Breaking news titles filled the lower portion of the screen.

‘Minor hospitalized due to adverse effect of police arrest.’

‘Police arrest minor who suffers injury while resisting arrest.’

‘Six police officers surround violent criminal, criminal wounds himself during arrest.’

When desperate clicks on the remote finally revealed the sounds accompanying the chaos on TV, even the officers at the table stood up to witness the unfolding scenes.

A group of no less than six men in dark blue police uniforms, their badges displayed proudly on their breast pockets, their body cameras perched on their shoulders. And right there beneath their feet, a person.

No, not a person.

A child.

The unknown child, a still growing teenager, pinned by the cops reminded Chat Noir of Nino, the baseball cap turned in the wrong way, sitting low on his face, or the side of his face that was shown.

Chat Noir could hear his screams through the TV. “Stop! STOP! I-I’m unarmed! Stop! I-argh!!” One police officer’s knee pushed down harder on the boy’s shoulder blade, cutting his words off.

“We told you to keep quiet, boy! You’re under arrest!”

“I- huff – I said I won’t resist! Get- get off me! Please! Get off! Get OFF!” the teen struggled visibly, but the six cops surrounding him were too strong. It wasn’t until he heaved himself upwards that the camera managed to capture a clearer shot of his face.

He wasn’t a kitten, he wasn’t Chat Noirs kitten, but he was still a child.

Chat Noir dug his fingers into the soft texture of the couch, the furniture creaking in protest at the harsh treatment. His other hand held onto the remote for dear life.

The civilians circling the fray like a pack of cautious deer all had their phones out, recording the forceful arrest and sharing it on social media.

Chat Noir gripped the remote harder, the screws and hard plastic squeaking against each-other. He shot upwards like an arrow, moving to stand in front of the TV, both officers behind him on edge at his sudden movements.

“No.” Chat Noir’s voice came out broken, eyes glued to the screen, to the beaten-up teenager. A cop kicked at his head while another one held his thrashing body down. Screams of profanities were thrown around, their voices so loud it distorted their words.

Chat’s heaving was loud in the living room, the stillness in the air only making his nerves light on fire that much more. His body reacted to it, to the boy getting beaten by the police like he had been beaten. To the crowd only able to watch in horror and disgust at what was happening before their eyes.

Chat gripped his chest, nails digging into his shirt, his heart thumping so loudly against his ribcage he could feel it in his throat.

Just who the hell did those cops think they arrested? He was nothing but a child! Why couldn’t they have given him a slap on the wrist for whatever shit he pulled?!

More shouting. The news anchor tried to vocally overpower the loud chaos.

“It seems like this latest arrest was approved by Col. Couffaine of the Dupont Police Force in Bourgeoise Street. Either the Colonel or the precinct have yet to offer an official statement regarding the details of this arrest, follow us for the rest of the recorded footage. Viewer discretion is advised for depictions of violence against a minor.”

Chat Noir’s eyes widened when he saw one of the cops obviously losing his patience. If the footage hadn’t been slowed, he could’ve missed it. The cop had been fingering the handle of his baton while the boy struggled against the man that had previously kicked his head, until he finally grabbed it and swung at the teenager’s head.

A loud whack, a shrill, painful cry released from the depths of boy's stomach.

And then, silence.  

“He killed him!!”

“A cop killed a kid!”

“That guy was innocent! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“We’re recording all of this!”

“Hey, hey, he’s still moving! Hey you ambulance guys, grab him quick before the cops kill him! Hey!”

When the camera moved to the paramedics called on the scene, for what reason Chat Noir couldn’t know, they visibly hesitated approaching the still volatile situation. One senior paramedic approached the officer in charge and stated they had to treat the victim immediately for fear of a cerebral concussion and internal bleeding.

The officer in charge hesitated, before waving his men off in the same minute the boy beneath them ceased to struggle.

Ceased to move at all.

Chat Noir shivered at the icy hot pin prick of needles shooting up and down his arms and legs. His stomach felt like it was eating itself alive, the acid burning away all his organs to nothing, but even that fabricated pain was nothing in comparison to the hole in his chest when the boy stopped breathing.

“No…” nails dug deeply into his palms, fire burned through his body, but Chat didn’t care, he cared about the boy brutally arrested, now unmoving on the dirty street, hundreds of phones and cameras surrounding him and nobody to call for help, for protection.   

Finally, the paramedics rushed towards him, two checking his vital signs and trying to stabilize him with another one wheeled out the collapsible bed.

The officers which had previously beaten on him stood off to the side, two obviously fighting off smiles while their superior scanned the crowd to determine the mood.

It had gotten quiet, too quiet.

If it weren’t for the police sirens and the sounds of paramedics shouting instructions, one might’ve heard a pin drop.

Then, one of the police officers spoke. “Can’t blame us, if the kid hadn’t been under the influence, none of this would’ve happened. His parents should’ve taught him better than that.”

A scream.

A phone thrown into the officer’s face.

Chaos.

Chat Noir briefly registered officer Tweedledee and Tweedledum standing now next to him, both sporting very grim and visibly disgusted expressions on their faces.

In some small part inside of him, a coherent part of him, Chat felt slightly comforted by the fact that these guys didn’t seem to approve or like the actions of their fellow policemen, but a much bigger part of himself told him how little that mattered.

How little the opinions of the few mattered in the control of the many.

The crowd had erupted, almost like somebody had lighted them on fire. The person that had thrown the phone at one of the officer’s heads was the first to physically close the distance between himself and the officer before getting tased and thrown to the ground.

The people that followed all tried to physically stop the policemen from harming the civilian, some were throwing food or pieces of trash at them and Chat Noir couldn’t help but briefly admire the symbolism.

Throwing trash at trash.

Reinforcements had arrived to seal off the perimeter and control the wayward crowd, the reporters and media had frantically tried to capture the moments with dramatic, purposefully provocative commentary.

Chat Noir felt his own ire rise even further and he couldn’t help but poise the question he had been biting his tongue on ever since he got here: “Tell me officers, is this the police force you envisioned to protect innocent people from bad guys like me?”

For once, neither Kim nor Ivan had an answer.

-

“Mr. Couffaine!”

“Colonel!!”

“Is it true you approved the arrest of 15-year-old Lebrone Kent?”

“Lebron is currently in the hospital due to the actions of your police officers, h

“Col. Couffaine, we’re from the Daily News, when will you issue your statement?!”

The precinct was in uproar, the once spacious halls and office rooms filled with reporters and cops trying to control the media. Even Alya looked overwhelmed as her colleagues and rivals from other news outlets strong armed their way to the front.

Luka was still in his office behind closed doors and shut blinds, Marinette stared at his back as her dear friend and superior fixed his uniform.

The air was suffocating.

“Luka.” Her voice was quiet, her emotions still running high. “Did you approve the arrest for that boy? Is it true what the media said?”

When he didn’t answer, Marinette’s fear shifted into ire. “Well? How can you authorize the arrest without knowing for certain the boy was guilty? His mother is crying on the street because she doesn’t know if he’ll make it! Why did Carlson and Frederique have to be so rough on him? Was any of that necessary? Answer me, Luka!”

By the sudden rigidness of his shoulders, Marinette knew she’d stepped over a line.

A line she would cross again if it meant getting coherent answers.

Luka turned slowly, dressed in his formal uniform, his badges and medals of honor displayed proudly, his hat gripped in his hands at his sides.

The gaze he fixed her with could’ve set fire to the rain. “Let me make one thing clear, Lieut. Dupain-Cheng.” He took two long strides to stand directly in front of her, his normally kind blue eyes colder than ice. “I do not have to answer to you. Whether authorizing the arrest was my decision or not doesn’t concern you, I don’t have to run by every decision I make for this precinct by you. I expect you to behave according to your rank and your duties.”

His words were like a poison-dipped dagger slicing through her heart, a deep throbbing pain that constricted her breathing for a moment.

Until Marinette schooled her features into something she was familiar with: professional detachment. “Colonel Couffaine,” her friend and superior turned his head to glance at her, “If I were to behave according to my rank and duties, I would be the first one to get notified of Chat Noir's abuse while he was held captive.“

She took one step closer to him so they were almost chest to chest, her gaze never once straying from his cool blue eyes. “And I would've reported you for severe misconduct due to the physical mistreatment of a prisoner in my care.”

Luka’s shoulders visibly rose in ill-concealed anger and he angled his head down closer. “I acted in your best interest, Marinette.”

“So am I, colonel.” Marinette spat out his rank like a curse, to forever have the look of resentment she had on her face burned into his memory to haunt him at night.

Luka didn’t answer, he broke off their staring contest and turned his back, clutching at his hat tightly. With a deep breath, he finally spoke. “Tell them I’ll be out in two minutes.”

Marinette didn’t reply, only left his office with the door audibly closing shut behind her.

Luka exhaled loudly once the door shut, his white knuckled grip caused his hat to tremble.

After a heartbeat, Luka fixed his hat and turned to open the door.

Immediately, flashing lights assaulted him, hundreds of mics thrown into his face and notepads held in the air.

There was one sentence Luka spoke that pacified the ravenous crowd of reporters. “I’ll answer all your questions.”

-

“Marinette!” Alya spotted her friend rushing with impressive speed towards the backroom of the squadron, she knew there were bunk beds there for when the nights grew long in the precinct. It was away from the press.

Away from people.

Marinette didn’t stop, almost like she didn’t hear Alya at all, but Alya followed her, fighting her way through the torrent of reporters waiting to hear Colonel Couffaine’s press release.

Marinette had left the door slightly ajar, and when Alya fully opened it, a sight greeted her that broke her heart.

Her best friend’s uniform lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, Marinette herself was kneeling on the ground, her head in her hands.

Quiet sniffling filled the room and Alya immediately closed the door and dropped to her knees on the floor, pulling Marinette into a bone-crushing hug.

The two women held each other tightly, Alya whispering soothing words into Marinette’s ear and letting her cry, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

“Why….why, why, why!” Marinette cried into Alya’s shoulder, the fabric dampening rapidly.

Alya blinked, trying not to let the tears fall. “I…I don’t know…I wish I knew Marinette…”. She ran a hand along Marinette’s hair. “I’m so sorry…”

The sound of Marinette’s cries got drowned out by the ruckus of reporters trying to get their story, but as if Luka heard her amidst the commotion, he couldn’t help but glance at the closed door in guilt.

--

“Marinette is in bad shape.” Tikki spoke quietly into the room, far away from the bloodthirsty pack of reporters recording Luka’s statement.

Plagg hummed thoughtfully beside her. “Not just her, our pretty boy marine has to hold his neck out for those vultures.”

Tikki rose an eyebrow. “You think this was a set-up to sabotage him?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time, Luka’s predecessor had resigned for that very reason after all. It was no secret that different police departments were unwilling to cooperate or share information with each-other, so sabotaging unit captains or colonels wasn’t uncommon practice.

Especially if said colonel used to be a marine, not one of real blue blood.

Plagg scrunched his nose, fingers digging into his inner jacket pocket and plopping a slice of camembert into his mouth. “I think a lot of things when the day is long, sugar cube,” At Tikki’s steady glare, Plagg caved. “Things look just a little too convenient; the slander against the police, the growing protests, Luka ordering to lock up some innocent kid for possessing some weed? It doesn’t make sense, the guy rescued fucking war orphans during his service. Do you see him ordering a hit on that kid?”

Tikki frowned, watching the colonel adjust his uniform on the stage. “Weed? I thought the official statement was the boy got caught breaking into an old lady’s house.”

Plagg turned his head down to look at his longtime partner. “You believe that?”

Tikki allowed a small smile to grace her features. “Not a lick, but the weed story doesn’t check out either, Plagg.”

The man crossed his arms, still chewing on the soft stinky texture of his cheese. “Exactly, none of it makes sense.”

Tikki mirrored his stance, eyes zeroing in on Luka and the way his dress shirt darkened at the back of his neck with sweat. “What did the higher-ups threaten Luka with to take this risk? And who’s pulling the strings behind this puppet show?”

A moment of silence was all that passed before both Tikki and Plagg’s two-way radios buzzed with life.

“Come in….C&C…C&C….do you copy?”

Plagg lazily pressed the button on his walkie-talkie. “Cheese of C&C here, copy. What’s up?”

“Request-request for 129… we…we have a 135 and 123.” Ivan’s exhausted voice rumbled through the comms.

Tikki’s eyes widened and she quickly responded into Plagg’s walkie-talkie. “Cookie here, copy. Ivan, repeat the first thing you said.”

“135. We have a 135.”

Plagg and Tikki stared at their radios.

A 135 meant escape.

“135 means…” Plagg trailed off, his body moving on autopilot to elbow his way through the sea of reporters to get to Luka, whose gaze was already fixated on Plagg’s oddly pale face and his growing panic.

“…Chat Noir escaped…” Tikki finished the sentence for him and like a bad movie coming to its cinematic climax, the door to the backroom opened and Marinette slowly walked out, catching Tikki’s gaze.

“Tikki, what’s wrong?”

Thanks for reading! Hope to see you guys soon. :)

Yes, Plagg and Tikki's team name is Cookie&Cheese aka C&C :P

Police codes:

129 = Request back up

123 = sick or injured person (In this case both Ivan and Kim got injured)

135 = escape

[tsuki-tsuki-koi-koi]

A Couple Rounds (Ogata/Usami + Others)

Warnings: Under Negotiated K*nk, n$fw

AO3 LINK

This was the last time Ogata let Usami pick “the entertainment” for their night out drinking. 

What was the point of even going to a brothel full of women if he was the one that ended up bent over the table? How did he even agree to this? Not that it mattered now, cold oil was already being poured between his cheeks, making Ogata hiss and pull against where his belt was tied around his wrists.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Hyakunosuke~  Weren’t you shot in the war?” Usami scoffed, rubbing the oil in with his hand. “If it’s too cold I just won’t use it, hm? Would that be better?” As he spoke, he pushed two fingers inside Ogata who nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Fuck! You know, getting fucked by you is barely worth it at this point.” Ogata shot back over his shoulder at Usami who just laughed. 

Usami pumped his fingers in and out, squeezing Ogata’s ass with his other hand. “If you can beat me in a fight then we can use my ass next time.” He added more oil to his fingers. “My ass is way nicer anyways. You need to eat more.” He slapped Ogata’s ass as he spoke and breathed out hard through his nose. 

Ogata just rolled his eyes at that comment, ignoring the sting of the slap. “If I fucked you, I’d need to be hung like a horse for you to even feel it. You slut.” 

With another cackle, Usami didn’t deny it as he spread his fingers apart to see if Ogata was stretched, and gave a little shrug before lubing himself up. “Okay~ Don’t worry, gorgeous I’ll be nice and gentle.” His patronizing tone ghosted across Ogata’s skin as Usami leaned down over him. 

“W-wait-“ It was too late, Ogata flinched as Usami pushed the head of his cock in. “Damn it… bastard.” He breathed out weakly, arching his back a little so that at least it felt good for both of them. 

Usami just hummed, licking along Ogata’s spine as he thrust. He found a rhythm easily enough and worked Ogata open as he fucked him. “Mmmn~ Yeah that hits the spot.” Usami moaned loudly, not giving a shit if he was overheard. 

They went at it for a while, Ogata settling into the abuse Usami was giving him, gasping and muffling his moans in his arm whenever he was spanked or bitten. It wasn’t that often he found himself underneath Usami, but every time he felt like he needed to visit the infirmary afterwards just to make sure he hadn’t gotten rabies. 

“Ah! You feel so good Hyakunosuke. I could go all night~” Usami praised again with an exaggerated sigh, but started to slow his rough thrusts. Then after a minute, he pulled out, leaving Ogata empty and pretty on edge. “But I think that’s enough for me for now.” He hummed, admiring the view before bringing his hand down again to smack Ogata’s ass. 

Ogata lifted his head sluggishly to look back at Usami. “What? You’re done already… you already said I wouldn’t have to use my mouth to finish you off.” Ogata furrowed his brow, trying to move and lift his chest off the low table but was stopped by Usami’s hand on his lower back. 

“I’m not in the mood to break promises tonight, don’t worry.” Shaking his head, Usami pushed up off the ground and moved to sit on the table, pulling Ogata’s upper half onto his lap, his still-hard cock hitting Ogata in the face. “I said we would have a little fun didn’t I?” Usami mused, running his hand over Ogata’s short hair with an evil-looking grin on his face. “I was just getting you warmed up for our guests.” 

Confusion and a bit of panic coursed through Ogata’s body as Usami whistled towards the door to their private room. The clear sounds of heavy footsteps approaching sent ice through his veins. As the door slid open behind him, Ogata tried to look at who had just walked in but Usami just held Ogata’s head against his crotch, his other hand holding the end of the belt around Ogata’s wrists. 

“Oh wow.” A voice called behind Ogata, followed by a soft whistle under the person’s breath. 

Fuck, he recognized that voice.

“I should have had another beer.” Another lower voice joined in. “Thought we’d be easing into it.” 

Oh, Fuck

There was a quiet laugh of agreement then the door slid shut once again. 

Ogata was frozen still, his lubed, stretched ass and hard cock were bared for this whole group to see, and Usami was petting Ogata’s head like that would do anything to relax him. “B-Bastard…” Ogata mumbled, nose currently being held at the base of Usami’s cock in a very humiliating manner. He hated how much he was turned on by the way he was being held, but Ogata would much rather die than let Usami know that right now. 

“Corporal, welcome.” Usami sounded as pleased as could be. “Sorry to make you wait, I was just getting him warmed up~” With a hum, Usami smoothed his hand down to Ogata’s neck. “We’ve got some alcohol left over, so please, help yourselves.” 

The footsteps dispersed around the table, and out of the corner of his eye, Ogata saw Private Okada stripping out of his jacket and cap. The disbelieving little smile on the Private’s face made Ogata’s stomach flip flop around. Those assholes were already way too into this. 

Ogata turned his head and bit into the meat of Usami’s inner thigh. It didn’t even get much of a reaction out of the man holding him, other than a rush of air from his nose and the hand on the back of Ogata’s neck squeezing a bit more until Ogata relaxed his jaw. There was some idle chatting and beer bottles being clinked together but still, no one had dared to come up and touch Ogata. Maybe they weren’t as interested as he thought- 

“You haven’t taken your eyes off him, Mishima. Want to go first?” Usami offered and the other men in the room laughed, encouraging the private to go first as well. 

“I-I…” Mishima audibly gulped and then soon after there was the sound of a uniform being clumsily discarded. “I can just…do it?” 

Ogata would have scolded Mishima for asking that question after he had gotten undressed but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t feel like giving Usami a reason to shut him up with the cock still pressed against the outside of Ogata’s cheek, smearing the used oil along Ogata’s flushed skin. It was the one thing they had agreed on beforehand, no oral, and it would be a small miracle if it stayed that way.

“What’s the matter? Feeling shy?” Ogata heard Noma’s smug voice not too far off to the side of him. “You’ve already got your slacks off.” He laughed and Ogata appreciated that his private thoughts had been vocalized by someone else. 

Corporal Tamai’s voice sounded from the edge of the table where their beer was sitting farthest from Usami’s bare ass. “Nothing we haven’t seen before, Private.” He scoffed and then loudly chugged his drink, complaining off-handedly about it not being cold enough. 

Ogata jumped when he felt a hand on his hip, turning his head as much as Usami would allow him. Damn. Ogata didn’t want to admit to himself that he was… curious. But maybe... Fuck, Usami was a horrible influence, but Ogata at least appreciated this wasn’t happening in the middle of the barracks. He knew of too many virgins like Mishima who would be eagerly lined up behind him for a chance at sticking their dick in something other than each other's mouths. 

It sounded like it was just Tamai and his goons who had joined them, and he hoped Usami hadn’t let anyone else know of this get-together. No doubt it had been Noma’s idea to include Mishima, but well… in honesty, Ogata was the least upset about that addition. He knew no one present was likely to run their mouth or hurt him too much with their size. From what he had seen in the showers at least. Thinking of that, Ogata suddenly shivered at the idea of Usami managing to convince that beast Tanigaki to join this little depraved party. 

That line of thinking didn’t make him any less angry that he had been tricked into this situation. He was going to beat the shit out of Usami the first chance he got. Even if Ogata was actually excited at the prospect of being fucked into oblivion. That was separate from his current humiliation. 

Mishima’s surprisingly rough hands smoothing across his lower back brought Ogata back to the present. His back arched without even thinking and he heard one of the other men whistle in appreciation. Even the slightest thing would be putting on a show for them, and it made Ogata’s chest burn hot. 

“Is this really allowed?” Mishima’s voice betrayed all the eagerness he was feeling, and it made Usami chuckle. 

“Well of course it’s not, but you seem hard enough not to care either way.” Usami played with the shell of Ogata’s ear, his smile clear in his voice and Ogata just rolled his eyes. 

The hands-on Ogata’s back moved lower, and two slender fingers curiously pushed inside. Mishima poked and prodded, hesitating to put any pressure on the ring of oiled muscle. It was more than a little frustrating, at least when Usami did this earlier there was the shock and friction to stimulate Ogata in some way. Ogata huffed at how delicately he was being treated and tried to turn his head again. “Stick it in already, I’m not going to- '' Ogata barked out but Usami cut him off when he shoved a thumb into Ogata’s mouth and held down his tongue. 

“Take your time. He’s not going anywhere.” Usami corrected, a bright smile on his face, even as Ogata bit down on his finger. 

Ogata listened to Noma telling Mishima to hurry up so he could go next, making a genuine thrill rush through him. They were doing this. He was really doing this. Ogata slacked his jaw and let go of Usami’s thumb, which was pulled out of his mouth and wiped against his chin. It was hard not to seem too eager as Ogata spread his legs a bit more, clenching down on Mishima’s curious fingers. 

When he was done exploring, Mishima poured way too much oil on Ogata and himself before moving closer and pressing inside Ogata. It had been a long time since he had taken any cock that wasn’t Usami’s, but it wasn’t too difficult to adjust. Mishima reached about the same depth as Usami usually did, but he lacked the same girth or harsh upward curve and Ogata found himself actively squeezing down onto him to try and feel anything good. He was so slick there was barely any friction. Mishima seemed to like that, however, with how vocal he suddenly became.

Ogata huffed softly into Usami’s groin, his bound hands flexing as he focused on Mishima inside him. Lack of experience was clear in Mishima’s inability to find a rhythm for longer than five or six thrusts, so Ogata found himself pushing his hips back to make the most of it. He knew everyone could see him doing it, and tried to ignore the appreciative murmurs from his audience. 

“A-Ah, damn, this does feel incredible.” Mishima praised between sweet-sounding moans. He gripped Ogata’s hips tight and as he got close to his orgasm, he started to slam his hips erratically into Ogata who let out a surprised whine. “Do I… ha-ah- do I finish inside?” 

Ogata didn’t care, he would already have to take a bath or two… or three just to get the oil off himself. He managed to glance up at Usami who just gave a nod and looked to the other men in the room who also voiced their approval to fill Ogata up. 

Filthy perverts. Ogata thought to himself. He would need three baths.

“Go ahea-“ 

Mishima cut Usami off with a shaky groan, pressing his hips against Ogata’s ass as he came without further warning. It was hot in Ogata’s guts, but a feeling he was used to at this point since Usami seemed opposed to ever to pulling out even when Ogata asked. 

“Oh, well~ there you go.” Usami chuckled, petting the top of Ogata’s head. “One down.” He teased, as Mishima pulled out and moved away quickly. Mishima sounded embarrassed as he gathered his clothes, seemingly conscious of what he had just done to a superior officer, in front of two other superior officers in a shady brothel. 

“Come here- I’ll clean you up.” Okada’s voice was across the table from them. “You look like you’re going to pass out, Mishima.” Okada teased and Tamai agreed with a laugh, beer bottles getting moved about. 

Noma was next, just like he had said. He didn’t waste any time, and Ogata could feel that he hadn’t stripped fully as Mishima had, the cold metal of his dangling belt buckle sending goose bumps along Ogata’s flushed skin. “Fuck, Ogata. Did you even feel that? You’re literally dripping with oil.” Noma teased, lubing himself up by rubbing his length between Ogata’s cheeks. 

Ogata heard Mishima apologize, but the other men in the room just laughed. Noma groped Ogata’s ass and felt up his thighs before using one hand to guide himself in. Ogata winced, cursing under his breath when a shockingly thick head popped inside him. Bastard must have been a grower, there goes Ogata’s hope of still being able to walk without a noticeable limp tomorrow.

The hand on Ogata’s head patted him mockingly. “Hm? Did that one hurt?” Usami asked, but it was clear he didn’t care much about the answer so much as saying it to embarrass Ogata.

“No. Fuck off…” Ogata grumbled, trying to relax and take what was being given to him. “It’s just… ugh- bigger than yours…” A pleased sound was heard from Noma behind him, and Ogata just had to deal with giving Noma an ego boost if it made Usami grit his teeth and shut up in turn. 

It took Noma a bit to push fully into Ogata, but luckily he wasn’t too lengthy. Honestly, this already felt way better and Ogata was sure he’d be able to cum from this kind of stretch alone. As Noma started to move, it drew sounds out of Ogata that made the cock touching his face twitch. “Oh fuck…” Ogata breathed out with a moan, back fully arched as Noma found his pace. 

Noma’s thrusts were steady and confident, hitting Ogata right where he needed him to. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” Noma grunted, leaning down along Ogata’s back and kissing along his spine. It was surprisingly intimate and felt way better than being chewed on by Usami. Noma licked at those bite marks, clearly not caring if his face also ended up close to Usami’s junk. 

Ogata was being fucked so good, it genuinely felt amazing. All his shame and anger towards Usami were replaced with the unrelenting feeling of Noma’s cock in his ass. It was giving exactly what Ogata had wanted and as he spread his knees to ask for more. Noma pounded against his prostate which was quickly pushing Ogata toward his own orgasm. 

“H-Harder Noma…” Ogata whined, eyes shut tight. “Come on. I want it.” Only Usami and Noma heard him, but the message was received loud and clear. The hands on Ogata’s waist dug their fingers into his skin enough to bruise him, but the build-up of bliss in his guts blocked that pain out completely. Ogata started moaning, drooling against the base of Usami’s cock as he turned his head. Then when the pressure got too much, Ogata came untouched across the mats beneath them with a loud groan. 

Cumming made Ogata clench around Noma’s thick cock and it was painful being fucked so roughly through his orgasm like this but he didn’t tell Noma to stop. He didn’t even think Usami would let Noma listen if he tried. Ogata didn’t care though, he just laid there and took it and it felt so good. 

Noma kept going for a while before he grunted and came with a few more strong thrusts. Finally releasing his grip on Ogata’s sides, Noma pulled out as he sat back on his heels and shamelessly spread Ogata’s cheeks to admire what he had done before standing up. 

“Okada? Do you want to-“ Noma started, but when he looked across the table, he saw that Mishima was already helping the other private out, and just scoffed. “Couldn’t even wait for me to finish?” Noma moved away, buckling his pants back up. “Mishima should be drinking with us, not sucking you off.” 

Usami turned his head and loosened his grip on Ogata’s wrists, which now ached just as much as his poor knees did. “Corporal Tamai, sir? Still interested?” Usami used his buttery smooth tone to entice the other man who had just been sitting there watching and drinking the whole time. 

There was a rough throat clear at the end of the table. “Hmm? Well-“ Tamai put his beer down with a bit of a clatter, and Ogata could tell that he was drunk. “Noma’s already ruined his ass, it’s a shame. You told us his mouth was off limits, didn’t you?” 

Ogata suddenly tensed. As much as he didn’t like being spoken about as if he wasn’t right here, he was at the mercy of Usami’s will tonight especially since he was currently coming down from the high of his orgasm. 

“Unfortunately that’s right, sir. Our dear sweet Hyakunosuke only agreed to do this because I promised to only use one end.”Ogata hadn’t agreed to this at all, but that wasn’t a complete lie. 

“Besides, he’s incredibly bitey. I haven’t trained that out of him yet.” Usami jolted slightly when Ogata bit him right at the sensitive spot between his thigh and groin, pulling Ogata off him by the back of his neck with a sharp curse. 

Corporal Tamai got the hint and lazily got up to kneel behind Ogata. There was a quiet noise of disgust before Tamai shed his belt and pushed down his trousers. He moved aside his fundoshi and without any further commentary, pushed inside Ogata. 

Even if Tamai was putting zero effort into fucking him, Ogata moaned and shivered anyways, still incredibly sensitive from what Noma and his own orgasm. Any apprehensions Tamai had were gone quickly from his drunken mind when he felt Ogata around him. Arousal seemed to wash through him and Tamai tried to at least pick up his pace, but he was too drunk to last more than a few minutes before he was cursing Ogata out and cumming inside him. 

He expected to be done. He was completely spent and still trembling a little against Usami’s legs, so Ogata tried his best to regain his composure. He couldn’t feel his knees, and was sure his hips were very bruised and red from being grabbed so hard. Ogata shifted his weight around a little to try and get feeling back to his feet but it just reminded him how sore his ass was so he didn’t bother trying to move more than that.

Then there was a shift as Usami adjusted how he held Ogata. “Private Okada~ you haven’t taken your turn yet~” Usami spoke in that sing-songy voice again and began undoing the belt restraining Ogata’s wrists. 

Ogata heard a bottle get sat down on the table, then Mishima’s low moans went quiet. What were they even doing on that side of the table? Usami still wasn’t letting Ogata move his head enough to see but now having his hands free was a big improvement. 

“Ah I don’t know, he looks pretty spent to me-“ Okada cleared his throat, “I’m way too small to really feel anything after a guy like Noma’s had his way.” The bratty tone in his voice made Ogata’s eyebrow twitch.

Usami and Noma both laughed, then Usami grabbed Ogata by both shoulders and pushed him back so Ogata was kneeling upright. The sudden headrush from sitting up made Ogata’s vision unfocus and he closed his eyes from dizziness.

 “Why don’t you both take him.’ Usami gestured between both sides of the table. “Mishima clearly had no problem getting it up again.” 

There was a beat of silence, and when Ogata peeked open his eyes, they were already locked onto Mishima’s who was staring intently at Ogata as he wiped the corner of his mouth. Ogata then dragged his gaze up to Usami who was looking at him expectantly, so Ogata just shrugged and closed his eyes again, licking at his chapped lips. 

He had never taken two cocks at once before. Ogata didn’t know if he liked it or if he was just so overstimulated at this point that everything felt raw and intense. He was straddling Mishima’s lap, arms around his shoulders, as Okada slid in behind him. 

When they both started to move, Ogata’s eyes flew open with a pained groan. Mishima rubbed at Ogata’s inner thighs so Ogata kept his mouth shut other than a quiet “f-fuck…” as both cocks began to slide against each other inside him. It was strange at first, then just uncomfortable. The only real benefit from this position was that when he slouched forward against Mishima, the other soldier smelt good compared to the stink of sweat and sex in the  rest of the room. Not to mention there was nothing but rushed, breathy praise streaming out of Mishima’s mouth about how Ogata felt. 

Okada came first, and pulled out with a satisfied sigh, leaving Mishima to chase after his second orgasm of the night. “So hot-“ Mishima’s sweet voice was far from its usual even tone as it cracked under a whimper. “It feels amazing.” 

Usami nudged Ogata’s side with his foot. “Go on then, tell the Private how he’s doing. Since you two look so intimate.” Usami teased, and Ogata shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. “Is he doing better than his first time, Ogata?” 

At the teasing, Ogata felt Mishima’s needy thrusts falter out of the decent rhythm he had found, and he was back to the unsure half-thrusts from before. Fuck it. Ogata already felt feverish and a bit drunk from how sensitive he was. Might as well add more humiliation onto it. 

“You’re better than Usami was his first time,” Ogata spoke, voice low and scratchy from moaning all night. “He came after just three thrusts, you’re doing so good using me like this.” He was speaking right into Mishima’s ear but knew the other men in the room would still hear him. “Feels good.” Ogata let out a shaky sigh of pleasure. “Keep it up, Mishima.” Ogata shifted his head back to see Usami’s expression, but as he did so, Mishima’s mouth came crashing into his. 

Ogata had to hold on for dear life afterwards as Mishima fucked him senseless. The kissing was sloppy and their teeth clashed awkwardly, but honestly, Ogata was used to Usami being  a notoriously bad kisser, so he was just impressed at the level of enthusiasm. Ogata was sure Mishima had cum mid thrust, but the other just kept going until he was too soft and had to pull out with a weak hiss. 

It had set Ogata’s nerves alight again, and he whimpered openly when cum now leaked from  between his legs onto the floor. “Haha… way better than Usami-“ Ogata choked out before he was grabbed by the neck by Usami a second later. 

“Bastard. What did I just hear you say?” Usami was visibly mad but was furiously jerking off in front of Ogata from his seat on the table. “You’re liking this just as much as I knew you would, you cheap whore.” He scoffed, then with a grunt, Usami came, splattering cum across Ogata’s chest and face. “Hah… better. Been holding that in.” He whistled and stood up off the table, leaving Ogata alone. 

Without anyone else grabbing him, Mishima helped Ogata move back to lie on his side before excusing himself back to the table. At some point, while the other men drank, someone draped their shirt over Ogata’s shoulders, leaving Ogata to catch his breath. He didn’t mind not participating in the drinking and chatting, Ogata had had enough at this point. The cum cooling on his skin was getting itchy at this point, but all he managed to do was wipe it away from under his eyes. 

They weren’t completely done with him, however. 

Tamai had come back for another sloppy round a short while later, not moving Ogata from his position on the floor. He lasted a bit longer than last time, but Ogata was too tired to care about such a weak performance. Then Okada had come over to fuck between Ogata’s thighs, adding to the mess on Ogata’s chest. 

What broke him fully was Noma wanting him again. He was dragged from his resting spot and sat in Noma’s lap, facing the others at the table. Usami had gotten dressed at some point and now Ogata could see they had been playing cards and that some poor waitress had come in and brought them fresh drinks. 

As Noma pressed inside him, Ogata winced and moaned a curse, his ass was sore and the rest of his body just felt hot and sluggish. When Noma wasn’t handling his cards he moved Ogata up and down in his lap, fucking him where all the others could see. Ogata’s lewd reactions were on display just as much as his body. When it was Noma’s turn at the table, however, Ogata was just left to sit on his cock, unable to even squirm very much with how weak his legs were after everything. Ogata’s arms felt heavy, so all he could do was brace his hands against the edge of the table so he didn’t fall forward.

“Ah fuck, I could get used to this,” Noma said quietly, going back to thrusting up into Ogata. “Same time next week, Usami?” He breathed out with a long satisfied groan, stroking a hand along Ogata’s trembling outer thigh. 

“If he’s willing.” Usami hummed and leaned his elbow on the table to watch Ogata twitch and shiver. 

Ogata was moaning weakly, his head leaning back onto Noma’s shoulder, sweat beading down the back of his neck. He could see stars when his eyes were open, and all Ogata could think about at this point was how his guts felt twisted up and the pricks of pain bleeding through the intense pleasure inside him. Even if Noma was hitting his prostate, Ogata just whined and panted, unable to get hard. 

Noma came a few minutes after that. He held Ogata in his lap, letting his cock slowly soften and slip out on its own. He then helped Ogata slide back onto the floor on his side. Patting Ogata’s side affectionately before returning to the card game.  

Ogata was so overstimulated he didn’t even notice people leaving. Not hearing their drunken praise or thank you’s through the rushing of his pulse in his ears. All he knew was that he wasn’t being touched anymore so he melted into the floor with a groan, taking a much-needed nap.

—

When Ogata opened his eyes next, Usami was cleaning him up with a wet cloth. It felt cold, but it probably only felt like that due to Ogata’s feverish skin. Either way, the drops of water caused goosebumps to shoot across his arms and down his back while Usami worked. 

“There he is.” Usami hummed and patted Ogata on the stomach when he noticed the other coming to. “Did you have fun?” 

“Fuck… you…” Ogata breathed out, shutting his eyes again so he didn’t have to see Usami’s shit-eating grin. 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Usami rubbed the cloth over Ogata’s very tender hole which, much to Ogata’s immediate displeasure, was still full of cum. 

With a groan, Ogata tried and failed to push it all out. His stomach muscles were aching and he was sure he had a long bruise forming below his ribs where he had been pushed into the edge of the table over and over. 

“Next time… tell them to not do it inside…” Ogata mumbled, feeling defeated, but so deeply satisfied he was sure he wouldn’t need to jerk off for a month. 

Usami clapped his hands together before helping Ogata to sit up so they could try getting him dressed to leave. “Excellent. We can take turns next time.” He mused, wiping dry cum off Ogata’s cheek with his hand. 

“…can’t wait.” Ogata replied sarcastically but leaned into the touch to his face regardless.