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messrmoonyy · 6 months

Text

- The gilded cage

Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Request- how about some of the girls going along to the mayors party in Saint Denis. Have you seen the cut content of Molly when she was meant to be at the party? So Dutch takes Molly along, Arthur takes reader? And what if Arthur gets a a little jealous of reader mingling and then they sneak away for some smutty time together…

A/N- this is my first Arthur fic so he may be a lil out of character whilst I get to grips with writing him. I also have not written straight smut in like 2 years. But we vibe. Enjoy

Also shoutout to @devnmon for supporting and enabling my rdr2 brainrot. You’re a real one

Warnings- 18+ | smut: unprotected p in v, semi public sex ( wc - 7.7k )

Masterlist / AO3

Saint Denis was a little too rich for your blood. You’d only ventured into the city a handful of times, but the times you had you’d decided you didn’t really like it. You felt too… common. You never had liked the wealthy, flaunting their security and safety that was wrapped up in dollars and gold.

But. You loved money. God did you love money. And as much as you hated the residents of the city, you sure loved robbing them blind. You always had had a knack for making the rich mysteriously lose their dollars and their watches, it had been the sole reason you’d ended up in Dutch’s gang in the first place.

You’d even tried picking his pockets at first.

But you were on best behaviour tonight. Under Dutch’s orders. And you figured as boring as that sounded, you’d oblige. Simply because the men rarely let the girls get involved with any of the interesting stuff in camp. There was only so much laundry you could do before your brain truly went numb from boredom. Only so much listening to Miss Grimshaw nagging at you to do some work or Micah antagonising someone over something stupid.

So even with Dutch’s strict orders to behave and your dislike of the city, you had jumped at the chance to come along to the party.

“ i can practically smell the money “ you sighed as you took Arthur’s hand to step down from the coach, already hearing the bustle of the party happening somewhere out the back of the mansion in front of you “ you sure I can’t go pickin? Just a lil “ you were half joking, half not. On the times you had wandered into the city, the stuff you’d gathered picking your way around the saloons and back alleys had been a decent haul. The stuff some of these people carried around on the average day was enough to fund the food for the whole of camp for a couple days or more.

Who knew what kind of goodies they’d have on them in their finery.

“ no miss “ Dutch’s stern voice sounded, but he was sporting a small look of amusement “ keep those talented hands of yours to yourself. This is about business. We steal nothing. That goes for all of you. Steal. Nothing. Unless it’s information “

“ don’t worry. I’ll keep her in check “ Arthur spoke with a small chuckle, placing a hand lightly to your back.

“ this is why we shouldn’t have brought the women. They always cause trouble “ Bill complained, as he stepped out of the second coach with Hosea, making you scowl.

“ I hope you aren’t grouping me into that Mr Williamson “ Molly piped up with a disapproving scowl of her own as she stepped out of the coach, seemingly more mad at Dutch for not helping her out more than at Bill though. Arthur offered her his hand instead, helping her step onto the path without breaking her neck in her extravagant dress.

Always the gentleman.

She looked wonderful and you had begun to wonder if she had owned that dress all along or had gone out and got it special. Maybe Dutch had picked it up for her. It wouldn’t surprise you if she had been lugging it around from place to place, waiting for some perfect moment to pull it out. She always did look more put together than the majority of camp. Though you really didn’t understand how she could walk in the dress she was currently wearing, skirts full and you guessed pretty heavy too.

“ no need to bring you “ Bill continued.

“ I ain’t even causin’ trouble “ you piped in, throwing your own scowl Bills way again “ When did you last contribute to the box anyways huh Bill? I don’t see you doin’ nothin’ but sit around all damn day. No need to bring you I say. Jus’ cause you ain’t got no lady on your arm you’re complainin’ bout me and Molly “

“ what? A lady like you? I should be damn lucky I ain’t “

“ why you- “

“ Bill I suggest you leave it “ Arthur murmured lowly, planting himself between you and Bill before you did in fact cause some trouble. Bill grumbled something, spitting on the floor with a look of disgust and turning away from you.

Dutch sighed heavily, looking increasingly pissed off at the group in front of him and held his arm out to Molly.

“ Miss O’Shea “ It pained you a little to know he was probably only being nice to her tonight for appearances sake. He’d been practically ignoring her recently. And wasn’t doing Molly any good. You hoped a night out of camp would do her well “ now would you all just calm. Down. We, are simple distinguished gentleman, here for business. So start damn acting like it “ you scoffed at that, making a pointed look in Bills direction as you did

“ distinguished my ass “

“ play nice now “ Arthur said quietly, but you heard the smile in his tone as he did. He then offered you his arm as Dutch had done to Molly. But unlike Dutch the act didn’t feel performative, a way to blend in and appear far higher class than they actually were. Arthur actually was a gentleman. For the most part anyways.

“ why thank you mister “ you said in a cheery tone, throwing him a coy smile and slipping your gloved hands into the crook of his elbow.

It did feel a little funny to be walking beside him like that. All dressed up and in clothes that weren’t smeared with gun oil, dust or god knows what else. It made your mind drift a little to what life could’ve been like.

Your group crossed the street, promptly being stopped at the gates

“ gentleman “ the guard greeted, taking the invitation from Dutch’s hands “ the mayor doesn’t allow guns at official functions “ the way he looked at Dutch and the others was almost demeaning. Like he knew you were all riff raff and of course would be the sort to attend such an event armed “ Not after last years incident “ none of the boys seemed particularly thrilled to be handing over their firearms. Arthur in particular sighed heavily beside you as he handed his pistol over.

He didn’t like being unarmed. Especially when he was out with you. You usually also had your gun belt permanently fixed at your waist. But it wasn’t exactly fitting with your current attire.

Though you did note the guards didn’t even spare a glance to you or Molly, which in turn made you all the more smug knowing you had your knife tucked into your boot. Just in case of course.

“ Luca here will take you gentleman to Mr Bronte. I believe he is expecting you “

“ I know you got that knife in yer boot “ Arthur said lowly so that no one else would hear.

“ he ain’t said anythin’ about knifes. Only guns “ Arthur smiled and shook his head slightly, placing his hand over yours for a moment.

“ that’s my girl “

You walked up the neat cobbled path to the mayors house then, unable to do anything but look in awe at the huge house in front of you. You’d thought Shady Belle was something spectacular, had walked around every room imagining what it had looked like in all its glory. Amazed at the vastness of the place and all the rooms it had.

And yet it was nothing compared to this place. This was real money.

“ I look okay? “ you asked, suddenly feeling ever so slightly nervous, smoothing your hand over your skirts. Even in your attempts to look as clean and put together as you did, some part of you felt like everyone would see you were a walking sham.

All in all you knew you probably did look fine. The dress was the most lavish thing you’d ever owned, you didn’t even want to guess how much it had cost Arthur. It was still on the simpler side, skirts not quite as full as Mollys and not as detailed. But it was beautiful. Pale pink and ruffled shoulders and details on your skirts, gloves up to your elbows in a material so soft you’d sighed when you’d first pulled them on.

It all made a nice change from the usual simple clothes you wore, hips weighted by skirts rather than your gun belt. And skirts that didn’t have a million holes darned over.

And Arthur had picked it all out. Had picked it himself especially for you.

It did make you smile to imagine him in the tailors, completely out of his depth when it came to women’s fashion but determined to find you something nice. Your big, tough cowboy staring blankly at fabric swatches and fancy hats.

“ gonna be the prettiest girl here “ you smiled warmly at his words, hand smoothing over your dress again.

He’d turned up that morning into your shared room of shady Belle, finding you hiding away from Miss Grimshaw on the balcony, the dress draped over his arm along with some fancy suit and tie get up for himself. He’d looked almost sheepish as he’d shown you it, promising to go get you something else if you hated it. Which of course you hadn’t.

You’d practically jumped with joy at being able to go out on a job. The boys so rarely let the girls do anything meaningful other than tend to camp. Though this particular outing you knew Dutch had only brought you and Molly along because it would make your group seem a little more agreeable. Something about women making them look a little less intimidating. And of course Dutch and Arthur’s partners were the most obvious of choices.

Much to Mary-Beth and Karen’s dismay. Though they had very quickly changed their mind at the idea of having to hang off Bills arm all night.

It wasn’t exactly the reason you wanted to be brought along. But you took it.

The inside of the mansion was as glorious as the outside, it almost made you angry that people had such wealth. That these people could sleep in a new room each night of the week if they felt like it, when people were starving outside of their gates.

“ Hosea, Bill. Take the ladies out and enjoy the party. We’ll join you after we pay our respects to signor Bronte. Arthur, with me “ Arthur gave a curt nod

“ I won’t be long “ he assured, hand slipping down around your back and leaning down to your ear “ hands to yourself “ you scoffed as he said it, looking up at him as he stepped away from you.

“ I can’t promise “ you caught his smile as he walked over to Dutch and the staff. Disappearing up the stairs.

“ it’s just this way “ one of members of Lemieux’s staff spoke, gesturing the four of you in the direction of some doors leading out into the party.

“ let’s go ladies. You fancy a drink? “ Hosea said cheerfully, following closely behind you and Molly as you headed outside. You were ushered out into gardens, a mass of the rich and wealthy of Saint Denis all crowded around. Drinking and laughing at things you were sure were not as remotely funny as they were making it out to be.

Bill quickly made himself scarce, disappearing into the crowds to do lord knows what, much to your joy.

“ right. Champagne? “ Hosea excused himself to collect some drinks and you stood on the back porch looking down at the groups of people.

So far removed from what you were used to. You wondered how they’d react knowing you and your little group were currently sleeping in a barely standing plantation home, half of you out under the stars. That you were frauds. Not glamorous and wealthy like them.

In your experience the rich liked to pretend the poor didn’t exist. Unless they were hiring them as help.

“ oh I missed this “ Molly said beside you, almost dreamily in tone. And seemingly more to herself than to you. It was quite possibly the happiest you’d seen her look in days.

She fit right in. Her gorgeous dress rivalling that of some of the other woman down in the courtyard, her hair piled up on her head and her fancy jewellery that was actually hers. Not something stolen from an unsuspecting lady in town. This was Molly. Money and wealth. It still baffled you how she had ended up with Dutch, how she could leave that all behind for a life wandering.

“ you go to party’s like this a lot? Before Dutch I mean “ she gave a small shrug, searching in her small purse for a moment before placing a cigarette between her lips. You could imagine an even younger Molly, a bright eyed teenager done up all fancy and weaving her way through a party just like this one.

“ sometimes “ her eyes were scanning the crowds, practically sparkling at being surrounded by the upper class again “ wonder what kind of people are here “ she seemed to be talking more to herself than you again and very promptly dismissed herself, heading down the stairs and gliding between the guests. Like some true social butterfly, decked out in her finest.

Hosea returned with three glasses of champagne and a slightly confused look noticing Molly had vanished.

“ eh more for me “ he said with a smile, handing you your glass before promptly finishing his own and moving onto what would’ve been Mollys “ I’m going to do some snooping. You’ll be alright? “

“ I’ll be jus’ fine Hosea “ you said with a smile and watched him too disappear down into the crowds.

It was interesting to watch them, to see them behave as if this entire event was a normal evenings activity. Maybe for them it was. But it all felt so… false. People who appeared to be friends but didn’t seem to even really like each other, some silent competition between everyone to have the better dress. The better hat. The biggest house.

You’d take your creaky cot under the stars with Arthur any day, would much rather sit around the campfire getting tipsy and singing. Surrounded by real family. Real friends. Relationships built on loyalty and protection. Not on trying to out do each other.

You walked between the small crowds, eavesdropping on conversations in hopes to find something useful. Something to take back to Dutch to prove bringing you along wasn’t a useless endeavour. But it was mostly women discussing their elaborate hats, sharing stories of the terrible jobs their maids did, or complaining about their husbands poker habits. Or gossiping about how they had heard one of their friends was in delicate condition.

You heard mentions of Leviticus Cornwall, but nothing concrete enough to warrant telling anyone about.

You tried hunting down Molly, simply to have a friend to stand beside and not feel so…out of place. But she had vanished into the crowds somewhere. So you planted yourself on the side of an ornate water fountain, simply hoping Arthur would return soon. Maybe he’d dance with you, or take you walking around the vast garden laid out ahead of you.

You two never really got the chance to do things like that. Romantic things. Arthur had his ways, of course. He’d take you out riding or sit with you on his lap by the fire, telling you about whatever interesting thing he’d discovered that day. He’d bring you flowers he’d pick from time to time, find you interesting things when he went wandering, let you read aloud to him with the excuse he wanted you to get better at it. When in reality you had seen him confess to his journal that he simply just liked to listen to your voice.

He was far softer than he appeared. With you anyway. And as much as you didn’t like the kinds of people in attendance, you thought it might be nice to pretend for the night. To be two wealthy young oil tycoons, dancing and drinking champagne together, gushing about your money and your jewels.

You made your way through another flute of champagne before he returned, interrupting your frivolous daydreaming.

“ there she is “ you turned your head with a beaming smile at his voice, relief at a familiar face “ been lookin for ya “ he sat down beside you, looping an arm around your waist “ you behavin’? “

“ course I am. Ain’t took as much as a pearl “ you said quite proudly, though decided not to mention that the temptation had truly been hard to deny. Not only were these people rich, they were getting drunker by the second. They were practically begging to be robbed.

“ good girl “

“ it go okay with ugh.. what’s his name? “ you asked, turning to face him. He looked just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as you did. This wasn’t his scene. It never had been. He’d grown up just as poor as you had.

Arthur robbed the rich, he didn’t fraternise with them.

“ Bronte. Yeah. Fine. Dutch he’s tryna find the mayor or somethin “ he ran a finger between his neck and collar of his shirt, clearly growing uncomfortable with it. It made you laugh a little.

“ you ain’t cut out for the finer life “

“ no. I ain’t “ he was looking around at the guests in a similar way to you. With a mild sense of disgust “ saw some woman back there, hat so big she were topplin over “ you smiled and leant your head against his shoulder, he tucked you in closer to his side and dropped a kiss to the top of your head.

“ was daydreamin whilst you were with Dutch “ you mused.

“ yeah? About what? “

“ playin’ pretend. Bein’ fancy for the night. Y’know dancin’ and pretendin’ we got buckets of money “ the small sigh Arthur let out made you wonder if he thought that was a life you pined for. It wasn’t. Not really. Yeah, you liked money but.. you just wanted to be comfortable. Little ranch or a cabin some place quiet. Not poor. Not rich. Just. Existing happily “ ain’t us though “

“ you and me we… we ain’t like these people. We ain’t ever gonna be like these people “

“ we don’t gotta be. Me, you. Some pokey lil farm someplace out west? Now that’s the dream cowboy “ he chuckled and nodded, dropping another kiss to your head

“ that’s the dream darlin’ “ you both sat quietly for a short while longer, watching the rich get drunker and more foolish. The odd person acknowledged your presence, greeting you as they passed or tipping their hat. But mostly they left you alone. It was at the point that one man drunkenly stumbled into a bush a few feet away that made you speak up again.

“ never thought I’d miss that damn swamp. But lord above… these people “ Arthur scoffed as he too watched the fool try and right himself again, leaves sticking to the pomade in his hair

“ yeah. I think I need a drink “ he patted your side lightly so you’d stop leaning on him and stood up “ champagne? “

“ oh well ain’t you just so kind sir “ you said in your best attempt a dramatic upper class drawl “ and you gonna dance with me after mister? “ you asked with a teasing smile and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck for a moment looking almost sheepish. But he was smiling, the sweet genuine kind he only really seemed to show around you.

“ sure darlin’. But I’m definitely gonna need that drink for that “ he ventured back into the crowds then and you stayed put, continuing to watch the guests laugh and talk about how incredible their lives were.

“ I don’t recognise you “ an inquisitive voice spoke, tinged with that accent that the wealthy had started latching on to in some attempts to make themselves sound more superior. Smarter. Whatever. You thought it was quite ridiculous. You turned your head to look at the man, seeing if he was in fact talking to you.

“ talkin’ to me mister? “ he was eyeing you up and down like he was somewhat intrigued but amused by you at the same time. A stupid top hat on his head adored with plumes and the chain of a pocket watch hanging from his pocket. It almost made you laugh at how your brain immediately began thinking about how you could steal it and how much it was worth.

“ I am indeed miss “ he stepped closer, puffing on his cigar and not taking his eyes off of you for a second “ I have frequented many of the mayors parties but you… I do not remember you “ a small wave of panic flushed your skin but you remained calm. Not recognising you was far easier to work your way out of than if he had recognised your face.

“ I’m new in town. My… uncle. He’s friends with Mr Bronte “ the man hummed, sitting himself down beside you.

“ so you’re here with your uncle? “ you shifted slightly at his closeness but remembered you needed to keep up appearances so forced a smile onto your face

“ yeah. And my husband. He’s around here someplace “ the man’s eyes immediately darted down to your gloved hands, probably noting the lack of a ring on your finger. You and Arthur weren’t married. But you may as well have been. He often referred to you as his wife, and he as your husband.

He’d ask you one day.

“ a lucky man “ the man said, blowing smoke in your direction and still looking you up and down. You decided at that moment you very much wanted to steal his watch. Dutch be damned. Having to put up with the likes of slimy rich men for more than ten seconds… well you figured that warranted you at least getting something shiny in return.

“ oh well ain’t you just a charmer “ you said with a smile, placing a hand to his arm “ you here with your wife mister? “ the man laughed and shook his head, scooting a little closer to you.

“ I’m more of a… free spirit “ you gave a small laugh, trying not to crinkle your nose at the smoke blowing in your face again.

Arthur often smelt of fresh smoke, both cigarette and fire, and that fresh air smell that clung to your clothes after being out in the open air for hours. And you loved it on him, because it was well… him. The smoke from this man was far from appealing. But that watch…

“ ohh I see. You ain’t one to be tied down huh? “ your fingers inched closer to the man’s pocket, wrapping lightly around the chain.

“ everythin’ okay here? “ Arthur appeared behind you, a glass in each of his hands.

“ ah is this the fine man that brought you along? Well aren’t you lucky sir “ the man spoke and you noted he didn’t even glance in Arthur’s direction as he spoke, you were now looping the chain of his watch around your wrist. Just one small tug…

“ Mr Callahan “ Arthur murmured, handing you a glass and standing behind you with a hand to your shoulder

“ wonderful to meet you sir. Me and your wife were having a delightful conversation weren’t we dear? "The pressure of Arthur’s fingers increased as he spoke the sweet name, though you weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t because he’d noticed the man’s watch was now safely hidden in the fabric of your skirt.

“ oh yes. Wonderful mister “ the watch discreetly made its way into your boot and you were ready to get away

“ where’d you find a beautiful thing like this sir? I may need to frequent the place myself “ he placed a hand onto your arm and finally looked up at Arthur rather than at you. He made your skin crawl. You didn’t hold a single ounce of remorse for the stolen watch

“ oh no where you’d like “ his tone was a little snippy, the kind when someone was starting to piss him off but he was trying to keep his cool. And Arthur kicking off in the middle of the mayors party wasn’t exactly a part of Dutch’s plan.

“ now I am so sorry but i believe my husband did promise me a dance “ you rose to your feet, sipping your champagne before placing the glass down and taking Arthur’s from his hands “ ain’t that right my love? “

“ yeah… need ya to come with me “ he said lowly, offering you his arm. His face had gone slightly dark, not entirely able to read him, you frowned slightly. But let him lead you away from the man, completely bypassing the area with couples twirling to the music.

“ where we goin? “ you asked with a small laugh, latching onto his arm again and having to take quick steps to keep up with his purposeful strides “ Arthur?”

He didn’t answer immediately, simply led you away from the crowds and around the side of the mayor's house.

“ You mad cause I took that watch? Look he deserved it- “

“ ain’t mad “ he mumbled, still leading you along.

“ okay… so we stealin’ somethin’ else? “ you asked with excitement filtering into your words, already trying to figure out what it could be “ need me to act like a maid? I can do that real good y’know. Is it money? Papers? Oh, is it jewellery? Gold? “ Arthur chuckled at your excitement and shook his head, bringing you to a halt between some elaborately trimmed bushes and trees in planters.

“ we ain’t stealin’ a thing “ you pouted with a mild disappointment and he chuckled again, advancing on you and backing you up against the wall behind you “ don’t gimme that look “ he tucked his fingers under your chin, nudging your face upwards to look at him. He was a god few inches taller than you, but he always made you feel ten times smaller when he looked down at you like that.

“ what’s gotten into you? “ you asked with a giggle, hands slipping under his jacket to slide over his waist.

“ just wanted some time alone with you is all “

“ behind some trees? You are a strange man sometimes Arthur Morgan y’know that? “ he gave a heavy sigh and brushed his thumb across your cheek softly, watching you intently. He always looked at you like you like you were the only woman on the planet “ you sure you ain’t mad about the watch? “

“ no. I ain’t mad. Feller flirtin’ with my woman and only loses his watch sounds like a good deal to me “ he grumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips.

And a light bulb suddenly pinged on in your head.

“ are you jealous? “ you asked, unable to hide your complete utter joy and amusement as the realisation hit you. He grumbled some kind of an answer and tried to kiss you again but you turned your head to the side, so he settled for your neck instead “ why Arthur Morgan. You are jealous “

He didn’t answer you again, simply tilted your head so he could get at your neck more, his other hand splaying over your lower back to tug you close against him. A mischievous streak ran through you and you chewed on your lip for a moment deciding whether or not to push his buttons.

“ he was kinda nice to me y’know. He seemed a nice feller “ Arthur’s teeth grazed your skin at your words and your smile grew bigger “ kept me from bein’ so lonely with you gone “

“ he wanted to do more than keep you company “ your fingers ran through the long strands of his hair, sighing softly as he continued to kiss your neck

“ you think? You gonna keep me company now? “

“ oh I’ll keep you company “ you had said it only really to tease. Thinking that actually, a sordid little moment with your lover behind the bushes would be an incredible improvement on the evening.

But it was hard to simply just kiss Arthur. He had wandering hands, had lips as addictive as whiskey. Even when you assumed he wasn’t particularly trying to work you up, he did. But the way he was tugging at your body to keep you pressed against him, the way his lips were burning a trail along your neck and across your jaw…

“ Arthur… y’know anyone could come round here “

“ stay quiet then and they ain’t gonna be none the wiser “ your skin prickled with heat at his words and your hips involuntarily rolled against him. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe it was the fact that he was so… needy. Desperate to remind himself that you were his and not some stupid rich man in an equally as stupid hat.

He groaned against your hot skin as you pressed against him, the sound igniting something deep in your bones. Flaring up through your veins and cursing like lava through your veins.

Your hands found themselves back under his jacket, fingers tugging at his shirt to free it from where it has been neatly tucked into his pants. You knew you couldn’t get it off of him but you still wanted to feel.

You hummed softly when your fingertips met his skin, as hot as you knew yours must be. He loved to feel you touch him, loved when dragged your nails across his back, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to quiet your moans when you were dangerously close to other members of camp.

You wished you could do it in that moment. Wished you were back in your room, truly the only good thing to come out of Shady Belle was the fact that you had a room.

But Arthur didn’t seem keen on waiting. Seemingly having some point to prove to himself. And you were more than happy to let him.

His hands drifted down to the floaty material of your skirt, reluctantly pulling himself away from your neck to frown at the material in front of him.

“ why you gotta have so many damn skirts? “ he grumbled, fumbling with the layers of fabric hanging from your waist.

“ you picked the dress “ you reminded him with a smile, chasing after his lips again. Desperate to kiss him properly now that he had stopped his assault on your neck. He kissed you with a energy that demanded your attention, that drew you in and locked you in place. Hot. Wet. Addictive “ least it ain’t as big as Mollys “ you said when you let yourself pull away.

“ yeah well I weren’t plannin’ on keepin’ you in it when we- god damn there’s enough fabric here to dress the entire camp “ you couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips, watching him try to figure out how he was going to play out whatever sordid thoughts were running through his head.

Your own mind had quite ungracefully fallen into the gutter itself, realising exactly what Arthur wanted. And your constant desperation for the man in front of you overruling all your concerns at the location.

He seemed to be getting a little agitated with your dress and you held back the urge to giggle at him. Instead opting to try sooth the frown lines worrying at his forehead, reaching forward to palm at him through the material of his pants. In hopes it would be some kind of incentive for him to hurry up as well.

As much as you needed him as badly as you needed air, you were also still aware of exactly where you were. And how long it would take until Dutch came looking.

“ c’mon Arthur “ you whispered, desperation beginning to fill your words “ ‘fore they notice we’re gone “ it had been his idea to take you away, and yet you were seemingly the more desperate of the two of you now. But how could he or anyone else blame you? When he was all gussied up like he was. In truth you liked his normal attire a little more. Liked him a little more… rugged. But lord did he look handsome in his suit, his hair and beard all neat and tidy.

Arthur’s breath audibly caught in his throat from your touch and it seemed to effectively spur him on.

“ yes ma’am “ He spun you around with strong hands to your waist, your own hands bracing yourself against the wall. The next moments were a flurry of his hands hitching your skirts over your hips, grabbing at your undergarments before a strong arm looped around your waist to pull you back against him.

His hand disappeared under your bunched up skirts making you gasp softly as his fingers dipped into the warmth between your thighs.

“ this all for me darlin? “ you could hear the smirk in his words, feel it as he brushed his nose against your cheek. The short stands of his beard tickled at your skin, sending a shiver snaking along your spine.

“ course it is “ the sound of a lady drunkenly laughing a little too close by made you freeze, hand reaching around to grab at Arthur’s arm.

He didn’t seem discouraged by the idea of someone stumbling upon you both, simply moved his hand up to grasp gently at your jaw, turning your face towards his to kiss you. His other hand was still between your thighs, and you sighed softly against his lips as he drew a thick finger between the wetness of your folds “ oh Arthur…“

Your cunt clenched around nothing. As if silently begging for his fingers to just push inside of you, take you in a way you had always found so much more personal than just sitting on his cock. His fingers that held his guns, that he used to beat people to death more times than either of you could care to count. Those same fingers working you open, covered in the slick evidence of your desire for him instead of gun oil. Fingers that cause pain and damage, but also sent you spiralling into mind blowing pits of pleasure.

And paired with the current location? It just felt… dirty. Erotic. You felt no better than a common whore loitering in a saloon for custom. You wanted him so desperately, needed him.

“ Arthur “ you sighed, pushing your self against his hand as he toyed with your swollen clit.

“ tell me what y’need pretty girl “ he said softly, tickling your skin with his beard and dragging his tongue across your neck before sinking his teeth into the flesh, making you whimper.

“ you- Arthur. You. Please “ his hand continued its gentle movements as he worked at your neck. You pushed your hips back against him, grinding against the hardness still trapped by his pants in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. His breath shuddered against your skin as you did, holding you flush against him to let you wiggle your hips in a silent invitation to just take you already.

A smashing glass drew your attention briefly away from him again. And as much as you could let him do that all evening, you were still hyper aware of your surroundings.

You silently wished he’d just waited until you were back at camp, could take his time with you on that shitty little bed in the privacy of your room at Shady Belle.

But there you were. And there were hundreds of others only a few feet away too.

“ stop teasin we ain’t got the time “ at any other time he’d have worked you into a mess with his fingers, even dropped to his knees and disappeared under your skirts, have you coming on his tongue over and over again just because he wanted to. But he hadn’t planned the situation well at all, and you weren’t exactly in the best of locations. If anyone so much as peaked around the corner of the building a little too far you were certain you’d be spotted.

And wouldn’t that be a tale.

“ ain’t you bossy “ you opened your mouth to snip back at him, but your words evaporated into nothing but a soft whimper as Arthur followed your demands, pushing past his desires to take his time with you. Truly it was his own fault that he couldn’t though, as he withdrew his fingers and fumbled with the buttons on his pants.

“ Arthur “ you whimpered softly, breath stuttering at the feel of his swollen tip brushing between the wet folds of your cunt.

“ quiet now darlin’ “ He pushed in slowly, in the way he so often did. Making sure you felt every single devastating inch, your back arching against his chest as your body flushed with warmth. Even after so many times the stretch was still a lot, a deep burning ache that eventually melted away into a blinding hot pleasure that burnt its way through your veins.

He pressed on until he was flush against you, the material of his opened pants scratching against your soft skin as he held you there a moment. He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin.

It was never fucking with Arthur. Not very often anyways. It was love making. Soft. And slow. And a brutal pace that made sure you remembered he’d been there the next morning, but oh so drawn out. He was gentle. Tender. It had always shocked you how violent he could be and yet become so careful and soft with you. And even there, concealed by a few perfectly trimmed bushes and planters, he was taking his time. Reminding you that you were his. And maybe reminding himself of the fact too.

Reminding himself that maybe there were men only a few feet away that wanted you. That would pay for the pleasure of your company. But only Arthur could have it, that he was the only one you would ever offer it too.

That this deep rooted instinct to protect what was his wasn’t entirely necessary but god was it wanted. That his desire made your blood boil with lust, skin burn under his touch.

“ That’s my girl “ he whispered, tone low and steady as he set himself into a bruising pace, still tightly holding onto you as he did. His face had fallen to your neck again, lips latching onto every inch of exposed skin they could.

You were certain you were going to walk back into the party looking like you’d taken a dip with some leeches.

You tried your best to be quiet, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in some hopes that mixed with the sounds of the party happening only a few feet away you wouldn’t be heard. But it was so hard to be silent when he was fucking you like that. So determined, so strong, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in hard.

Your hand was still gripping at his arm, blunt fingernails digging at his skin through his jacket. His pace increased a little, settling into a steady rhythm that carved a devastating stretch inside of you.

“ y’know I think that feller- that feller back there. He wanted you like this “ you couldn’t help the smile that pulled its way onto your face, still flushing with joy at his jealousy. You knew Arthur desired you carnally. Always had done and always would. But a reminder like the present one was always nice.

“ y’think so? “

“ I know “ he grumbled, his pace increasing a little more, clearly attempting to take out his frustrations with the handsy man. But also maybe simply trying to assure himself in the process too.

Arthur didn’t like to admit it but he was a little self conscious. You’d heard him talk down to himself in the mirror countless times, had seen the way he spoke about himself when you peaked over his shoulder at his journal. Had an almost crippling fear of abandonment that sometimes he did need to be reminded that you wanted him.

“ poor feller “ you said with a small sigh before pushing lightly at Arthur’s arm so he’d let you go. You winced slightly as he pulled out, immediately missing the heavy feel of him there, and spun around tugging him back towards you by the lapels of his jacket “ ain’t got nothin on you “ you hitched your skirts up in your arm and wrapped your spare hand around the now slick length of his cock making him stutter a breath.

His face was flushed, bottom lip shiny from kissing you. You wanted to absolutely devour him, strip him of his fancy clothes and remind him just how much you wanted every part of him.

The look in his eyes was almost primal. Desire and lust burning so brightly it made your chest ache, to feel so wanted. To feel so desired.

To have a man so usually controlled and put together, be reduced to not being able to even wait until you got home. That he had to have you there. Right there in that moment. He couldn’t wait.

You needed him to pull you apart. To worship every inch of you in the way he so often did.

But the side of the mayor's house was truly not the place for such a thing.

“ no one could make me feel the way you do “ you whispered, stroking him softly in your hand as you tried to stoke the fire under his ego. Make him realise he truly had no reason to be jealous “ and him back there? He thought he could huh? Poor feller “

“ poor feller “ he echoed, sliding a hand over your leg and hitching it over his hip, sliding back into you with a welcome ease that made your head fall back against the wall.

“ Thinks he could fuck me better than this? Man must be damn crazy “ you said with a smile, breathless as he fucked into you. You were practically dripping around him, the lewd sounds between you enough to make your skin flush.

“ you’re mine darlin “ you nodded immediately. Not a single doubt in your mind on the matter. You were his. And he yours. That was how it would always be “ all mine, you hear? “

“ all yours Arthur. Ain’t no man in this whole damn country could replace you”

He moved with more determination, thrusting into you harder in a way you knew was going to bruise your back from rubbing against the wall. His all too familiar deep, hard pace. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, muffling your whimpers with his mouth cautious again that you were getting a little reckless.

“ that good? Makin me feel so good darlin’ such a good girl “ the entire thing felt almost animalistic. Desires so strong they couldn’t be withheld. Dirty. Filthy. Perfect.

“ God Arthur “ the look on his face alone made you clench around him, never wanting him to leave, needing to feel the heavy bruising sensation as he split you apart for the rest of your life. He hitched your leg higher, hitting some new devastating part inside of you that made you see stars. Eyes rolling to the back of your head and unable to contain the sounds escaping your throat any longer.

“ There she is, jus’ like that darlin I got ya” his grip on your leg grew restless, fingers dancing over your skin and trying to pull you as close to him as he could get you. He always wanted you close. Always wanted to feel your skin against his own. A moment later his thrusts became sloppier and you knew he wasn’t far off. Though quite frankly neither were you “ so pretty for me like this ain’t ya? My girl “ his words only pulled you closer to the edge, knot twisting tighter.

“ Arthur I- “

“ I know. I know darlin, can feel it “ he almost cooed, lifting a hand to cup your face gently “ that’s it look right at me. That’s a girl right at me “ with his gaze so intense you couldn’t hold it any longer, biting down on your lip as you attempted to conceal your sounds of ecstasy as you came over his cock.

He was barely a second behind you, a stuttered groan of a sound leaving him as he dropped his forehead against yours, painting your slick walls with rope after rope of come as you clenched around him. Holding him in place so that not a single drop of him would go to waste. It was a risky business letting him finish inside of you, truly it was. But in your sex drunk haze you didn’t care, couldn’t give a damn because it simply felt too good to give up.

He nudged his nose against yours, brushing his lips against your own and kissed you softly. So tender and gentle, his hand carefully lowering your leg back down, slipping his softening length out of you making you wince. He kissed the crinkles it caused to show at the corners of your eyes, whispering a gentle sorry. He soothed his hands over your waist with a care very few men had for women those days.

“ my girl “ he murmured, littering kisses across your cheeks and nose.

When he pulled back you couldn’t help but smile. The dopey, soft kind. He was looking far less put together than he had done when you’d arrived, the pomade in his hair no longer serving its purpose after your fingers had gotten to it. He’d broken a sweat too, his forehead shiny. His skin flushed.

The smugness was overwhelming though, could see it in his eyes. In the small smirk pulling at his lips. He seemed incredibly proud of himself.

“ you are somethin’ else “ he mumbled as he finished readjusting his clothes, reaching forward to slip the ruffled strap of your dress back up your shoulder from where it had slipped. Pressing a kiss to the skin there for good measure.

“ I ain’t the jealous one “ you teased as you combed your fingers through his hair in some attempt to tidy it.

“ ain’t jealous. No idea what you talkin about girl “ he said with a small clear of his throat in some attempt to hide the obvious lie, you simply smiled again and pressed a kiss to his cheek

“ mhm sure “

There was something about having to go back out into the party with the light ache between your legs, with the evidence of Arthur’s jealousy slowly dripping down your thighs. And Arthur seemed to think so too

“ now. I believe you wanted to dance? “

#Amy in the kindest possible way. keep scrolling #I know I’m posting late but I want i didn’t wanna wait until tomorrow sooo #ANYWAYS. FIRST ARTHUR UPLOAD WHOO #crippling fear or writing for a new character and fandom starts now!#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #Arthur Morgan smut #x you #Dutch van der linde #van der linde gang

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starrystevie · 11 months

Text

hurt/comfort | mentions of anxiety and trauma | crossposted to twitter

"what's that?" eddie murmurs into the quiet darkness of their bedroom.

dread piles into steve's stomach. he wants to tug his sleeve over his hands so eddie can't see the writing on his palm anymore. wants to hide the pen marks by holding onto his hips instead.

"it's nothing," he whispers back, attaching his lips to the underside of eddie's jaw. he knows his boyfriend melts at the kisses he puts there. knows it will distract him from asking any more prying questions.

the ink is smudged, hardly legible anymore after a day at work. between washing his hands and shuffling papers and rubbing subconsciously at his palm when that certain type of anxiety knots into his gut, the pen marks from earlier are halfway to disappearing until he starts it all over again the next morning.

steve can't help it. he thought that moving in with eddie, having his support, would make it easier to cope with it all. thought that having someone else to help hold him accountable was the answer.

yet here he is, writing a list on his hand every morning, just to help him remember simple things.

he turns on the coffee pot in the morning, makes a note of it on his palm, crosses it out when he turns the pot off and tells himself over and over that it's actually off and he's not imagining it.

he locks the door and writes "LOCKED" in all caps so he doesn't come home halfway through the day to check and make sure it's actually locked.

he brushes his teeth, he feeds the dog, he puts his wallet in his briefcase, he closes the refrigerator door after breakfast and writes reminder after reminder on his palm in sticky black ink.

it helps, really it does, when steve's mind starts to wander in a boring meeting and he gets that hot rush of guilt of forgetting something burning through his veins. he'll look at his hand under the table and scan over the notes, find what's looking for, and try to breathe.

he'll read it over and over, the crossed out "coffee pot" or the "wallet in bag" or the "fed duke", until he feels like it sinks in, blinking back into real time to focus.

it's some strange mix of anxiety and lack of control and head trauma, robin thinks.

steve can't talk to a lot of people about it, embarrassed that he can't remember doing simple fucking tasks, but robin gets it. gets him. robin lets him swing his legs into her lap and pulls his hand up to her face so she can inspect the notes from the day to piece them all together.

it was her idea in the first place to write on his hand. she had suggested paper first but that was too easy to lose especially if he couldn't remember setting it down. she traces over the ink and lets him vent about feeling like a failure or stupid or some type of broken, reminding him gently that none of them got out hawkins without scars.

but steve hasn't let eddie see that yet, too afraid of breaking whatever they've made together, too afraid of scaring him off with his cracked brain and clenched jaw. too afraid of being built so wrong that he'll look like a once shiny penny covered in rust-colored problems.

so he digs his fingers into his palm, nails slicing into flesh & ink, and presses his lips fiercely into eddie's jaw to stop him from spilling any secrets. lets his tongue sneak out as an apology for not showing him his jagged edges. lets his teeth bite against the words he wants to say.

"baby," eddie whispers, his gentle callused hands trailing over steve's arms to settle on his clenched fist. he shakes his head against eddie's chin, bites at his neck again, ignores the way the love of his fucking life is trying to peel his fingers open to see it. see him.

steve feels raw, a live wire, one second away from snapping into sparks of electricity. he shakes his hand free and curls it around the small of eddie's back, tugging him closer, hiding his shame.

"it's nothing," he repeats, voice shaky and rough against eddie's skin.

if he just slots his leg right, if he just presses into eddie right, if he just tips his head and rolls his hips and plays his cards right, he can avoid all of this all together. he can take eddie's mind away from the writing on his hand and convince them both everything is okay.

but it's not that easy, it never is, because there fingers wrapping around his wrist at an awkward angle to pull his hand back and heat flares up in his cheeks. eddie's going to see, going to ask, going to figure out that steve is broken beyond repair and it's all thanks to one too many blows to the head & one too many times of fucking up & one too many times of leaving the goddamn door unlocked.

"i just-" he bites out, trying and failing to pull his arm out from eddie's grasp. maybe some part of him wants to come clean and get the inevitable over and done with. "-they're just some notes okay?"

and now eddie's looking between him and his palm with those eyes that hold love and the pity that he hates, so he blinks away, jolts to get his arm free again. he doesn't want pity, he doesn't want puppy dog eyes, he doesn't want the reminder that he can't-

but then there's lips pressing oh so gently to the hand he rubbed raw earlier when he could have sworn he didn't triple check that he paid the water bill. there's the flutter of eyelashes against his fingertips as eddie trails kisses over the thing that makes him feel less than.

steve doesn't fight to pull his arm back anymore. his shoulders drop, his muscles relax, and that ball of dread in the pit of his stomach eases away into something that feels more like acceptance.

"that's smart," eddie mutters against his palm. "to help you remember?"

and just like that, it isn't secret anymore. just like that eddie's peeled back the layers of bravado and nonchalance and seen steve for the mess he is.

he kisses the notes like it's the easiest thing to do and maybe for eddie it is. maybe taking a piece of steve's hurt is what they found each other for. maybe eddie was made to understand every inch of steve from the inside out like the way a vine instinctually knows to follow the sun.

steve resettles his face in eddie's neck, nods and breathes him in so he has him deep in his lungs. "it was robin's idea."

"she's smart too, then." eddie hums and drops steve's hand gently, letting it wind back around him so he can tangle his in steve's hair. "does it help?"

"yep," steve mumbles.

"how have i never noticed you scribbling on your hand everyday?" eddie asks with his lips pressed into the crown of steve's head.

"i didn't want you to see. i'm pretty good at hiding."

he can feel when eddie takes in a deep breath. feel when his chest expands and collapses before whispering "start adding 'eddie loves me' on there."

steve shakes his head with a small grin, his heart beat slowing from an anxious jack-rabbiting speed to something more eddie paced. "i never need a reminder of that one."

#this headcanon is brought to you by my own head trauma and anxiety causing me to forget literally everything!!!#zoom in on the 4 photos i took of my curling iron this morning to prove it was off #steddie #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie hurt/comfort

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g1rld1ary · 3 months

Note

lifeguard!James Potter but its just him shamelessly flirting with reader whilst she stands there stunned.

lifeguard!james potter x reader 4

wc: 1874

cw: horny again

anon i love you ur a genius. this kinda ran away from me lol but i will def be using this again so look out for future parts of flustered r if this isn't quite what u meant!!

the next time you saw james wasn't for a few days. there'd been a few days of colder wind coming from the north -- not enough to be cold necessarily, but unpleasant enough you didn't particularly fancy sitting by the pool.

after two days of mediocre, sunless weather, a real storm came in. rain beating down from the time you woke up, you spent breakfast pondering how to spend the day. you didn't particularly want to spend the whole day rotting away in bed doing nothing and so called up marlene, begging her to pick you up in her parent's car to drive everyone to the shopping village. she was easy to convince, and soon enough you were all packed into the much too small car, singing loudly to the songs on the radio.

the village wasn't anything special, most of the stores were uninteresting, but it was all undercover which was ideal for a rainy day.

the group of you had already wasted an hour in the oxfam, trying on the most ridiculous outfits you could put together. sirius had even managed to turn a truly hideous cheetah print belt into something that looked honestly cool on him, much to the annoyance of everyone else. he tended to do that, though, it meant you had to work even harder to give him awful clothing items. the only one he truly couldn't pull off was a horrendous orange hand-knitted cardigan.

that easily became boring though, and you could tell the cashier was getting annoyed that clearly none of you intended to buy anything. so you left, wandering aimlessly until lily pulled you all into the bookstore. it was warm inside so no one put up much of a fight, splitting up to find their preferred genre. peter went to the historical fiction, lily to literary fiction, remus dragged sirius with him to the classics, marlene to science fiction and mary to fantasy. that left you to wander over to the romances. you weren't much of a reader, preferring the lighter subjects to lily's more serious.

finding the brightly coloured covers you began browsing before catching a glimpse of a mop of dark curls over the next shelf and narrowed your eyes suspiciously. there was no way...

"are you following me?" you asked, no edge in your tone. james looked up with a start, breaking into one of his golden retriever smiles.

"you're the one approaching me," he said, closing the book he'd been checking out.

"touché." you grinned, looking around for the first time to observe what section you were in -- plays. "i didn't know you were a shakespeare nerd under all that muscle. doesn't seem fair you get brains and brawn."

"graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." james looked much too pleased with himself and his shakespeare quotes, and you couldn't deny it was having some effect on your own 'pleasant fountain'. you stammered for a moment, lost for a response. no boy had ever quoted shakespeare to you before, and certainly not of such explicit content. truthfully, you didn't realise the world's most revered playwright wrote like that.

"what's that from?" you asked, desperate to get away from his innuendos before you did something you'd regret. plus, you really were curious, the only shakespeare you knew was from when you studied romeo and juliet in year nine and clearly that was becoming insufficient.

"venus and adonis, one of his poems. doesn't continue as happily, but i thought the line was nice enough."

"yeah," you managed through gritted teeth, "really nice." james only laughed at you, evidently enjoying having the upper hand in your banter. it was a testament to his goodness, though, that he didn't continue to hold it against you. instead, he settled down, going back to browsing and letting you hover next to him, answering whatever questions you had about the plays patiently. it was nice, you realised, looking over at him fondly before you caught yourself. you barely knew james, and just because he was a pretty face and a decent brain didn't mean you had to go boy crazy.

you stayed there for what felt like ages, quietly looking at the books until sirius came strutting around the corner.

"since when have you ever read a play in your life -- oh," he said, catching sight of james next to you. "who's this?" you could have sworn sirius gave him a flirty once over, but maybe you were just projecting.

"this is--"

"james," he finished, sticking out an enthusiastic hand. sirius raised an eyebrow, a flicker of recognition in his eye that made your stomach drop.

"james the lifeguard? the one you thought was, and i quote, 'hotter than robert plant i swear to god' and who you would 'pay to suck his dick'? nice to meet you mate!" you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole as the boys shook hands, james looking significantly more confused than sirius (though not displeased).

"i hope you sleep with one eye open, black," you muttered, trying desperately not to make eye contact with either or let your blush show. you had an inkling you were failing.

"so james, you doing anything today?" sirius asked, and you could only feel the dread spreading throughout your body. james shook his head, quickly slotting the book he was holding back onto the shelf. when sirius invited him to spend the rest of the day with your friends your body had a physical reaction, an embarrassing half-flinch-half-jump that had both boys laughing at you.

you all reconvened outside the bookshop, only a few new books bought between you all. james had been introduced to remus and peter and the girls were all pleased to see him. it seemed like it was only you who was flustered, which seemed to be more common each time you saw him. you missed the first time you spoke when you had all the power.

sirius was the one who dragged you all to the record store, begging to check out their new stock.

"you know," james said as the two of you fell behind, "if you wanted to suck my dick you could've just asked, no payment required." this had to be the worst day of your life. you couldn't bear to look at james, already knowing the shit-eating grin you'd be met with.

"shut up," you mumbled weakly, "sirius is a dreadful dramatic."

he thankfully gave you a bit of a rest in the record store, taking the opportunity to talk to the boys as they perused the albums on offer. you definitely heard james and remus bonding over a love of bowie (not that it was a particularly niche interest) which made you smile.

while you were sure peter was being kind to james to his face, every time he turned away to look at something peter was quick to tease you, fanning his face like james was a supermodel or imitating a crude makeout. you responded with a firm middle finger, but it held no effect.

"i love that album," you said, pointing at the one james had picked up. it was bruce springsteen's born to run, a record you played in your room on repeat.

"i'm stupidly uneducated, i think i've only heard the singles. maybe we can listen to it together sometime, you can teach me his ways." you grinned, honest james was much easier to handle than flirty james.

"only if you're ready to listen to me fantasise about bruce," you said, "his eyes really do something for me."

"i have eyes," james said, pulling a giggle from both you and mary.

"guess so." it wasn't one of his better attempts at flirting, but it still drew a smile from you, so james didn't look too upset.

you didn't really talk to him again until you'd retired to the food court, all desperate for lunch. sirius had made sure you two were seated together, and you were suspicious of how much of a matchmaker he was being. you only wanted to jump his bones, you weren't looking to get married.

you'd just told an impeccable pun -- you knew it was good as the whole table began berating you -- and had caught james' eye by accident. he'd smiled at you in his lopsided way and rolled his eyes light-heartedly.

"i didn't picture you to have such terrible taste in jokes," he said, and you exaggerated a frown.

"and yet you're still talking to me," you countered, "so what does that say about you?"

"that i'm lucky." your mouth dropped open without your brain consenting. james had well and truly caught you off guard, an irritatingly perfect combination of earnestness and shameless flirting all rolled into one. you could feel yourself floundering, mouth opening and closing as you searched for anything to say. james was clearly enjoying his victory, cocky grin on display for anyone to witness. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, flushed with embarrassment (and lust) and not a single inkling of thought in your head.

you'd ended up on james' lap. it started with marlene offering james a lift home, not wanting to leave him walking in the rain. that led to the realisation you had far too many friends for seats; five available in the car and eight people. sirius had dibs-d remus' lap before the rest of you had even caught up to his train of thought, and lily and mary teamed up together shortly after. you were consequently assigned to james by the others, marlene obviously driving and peter refusing to even take part. you had sympathy for james, only an hour or two into meeting half the group and already pushed into doing their bidding because of remus' easy "you don't mind, do you, mate?"

and so you were sitting on his lap, not uncomfortable but definitely nervous. you'd imagined your first time being in his lap being slightly more sexy and autonomous.

"i'm not too heavy, am i?" you asked, hating how insecure you sounded. james just laughed softly.

"weren't you the one pining after my muscles? have a little faith in me!" james was unbelievably confident today, even more so than you remember him being in your previous meetings. you were the opposite, never having felt so meek around him.

you figured you couldn't be the only one experiencing the torture and so rolled the window down, pushing your upper half out and into the wind, laughing as you felt the rain on your skin. whilst enjoyable for yourself, it also required you to shift your position on james' lap and stretch out your torso, giving james a good view of your bra from under your sloppily done, homemade crop top. the combination was clearly effective if the development in his crotch was anything to go off. plus the way he held your hips to keep you concealing his little problem was telling you all you needed to know. another little wiggle from you and his grip tightened to almost bruising, but far from unpleasant. maybe james could flirt, but you had tricks you weren't above using.

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#love #fluff #james potter #james potter x y/n #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #dead gay wizards #james potter fluff #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #lifeguard!james #lifeguard james #lifeguard!james potter #harry potter

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nyashykyunnie · 2 months

Text

˗ˏˋ Self Aware Sylus vs Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕆𝕟𝕪𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕤 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, yandere Sylus au ]

・┆✦ Entry : 041 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ So You Think You Are the Darkness? ] ¡! ❞

Sylus was enjoying himself a glass of wine after fixing up his new toy before suddenly feeling a sharp pain originate from the back of his head. He groaned, gripping his silver hair and stumbling before ultimately being plunged into total darkness.

The next time he opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar chair, plopped down with legs crossed on a white chair spouting nonesense he didnt want to say.

A flash of white would appear, and Sylus finds himself standing up towards a large screen in front of him. His body was moving on it's own, smirking, flashing a mischievous glint in his eyes, his eyebrows cocked up curiously as he once again spouted whatever.

Beyond that large screen in front of him is a person he is not familiar with,... Wait, why are you smirking?

Is there something so funny about his face? What is that stupid grin on your lips? What the hell?

Sylus's brain ringed as he hears your voice squeal in his head, watching your features contort into a lovely smile. He can tell you were kicking your feet and rolling on the bed like some sort of 13 year old girl having her first ever crush.

He snarls, clicking his tongue as he attempted to move— But nothing ame of his efforts.

The man elt like he was a hollow doll being puppeteered by some strings.

Oh and he hated that feeling.

The feeling of being underneath someone, the disgust he feels as he has to spout out words he doesnt ever want to say. Not to mention he is forced to stand like an awkward sack of potatoes as you tap and stroke around—

....

Did you Just?...

No way.

Sylus wanted to die right then and there.

You did not just rub his big fella.

You. Did. Not.

He felt like dying, he really did as he feels the gentle strokes— God.

He, the almighty lord of the N109 zone, the king who rules Onychinus at his fingertips, he who controls unimaginable power— Is helplessly screaming inside his head as he is humiliated over and over by having to stand still and look pretty as this wild person he doesn't even know poked at the trophy of his masculinity.

Was this punishment?

What has he ever done to offend the gods?

He cant even bring a finger up to flip off the person, or to even yell.

Sylus screamed out profanities in his head, wanting to so badly to just drop dead and disappear. If Luke and Kieran heard of this, he bets his soul to the devil they will never shut up about it.

He had to endure this torture for a number of days, but instead of resenting you more and more— He slowly found himself growing fond of you.

Turns out, hanging out in a sea of code is way more boring than whatever he does back home. Seeing you however? That was a different story.

At first, he found your admiration stupid and shallow. But as he sees the way you excitedly light up whenever he appears and working oh so hard to level up his affinity— Perhaps it tugged in his heartstrings

Just a little really.

Slowly, you were starting to grow cute in his eyes— Minus the fact you keep making rookie mistakes that send him over the edge facepalming at the mistakes.

But hey, at least you're trying.

...Hahah.

What?

He's atleast giving you credit for something, no?

Heh.

The fact that he is a game character didn't seem to bother Sylus at all. It was rather amusing even, the fact the he himself is just a product of someone's imagination in a different world is quite frankly a curious thing.

He could tell with how healthy and happy you are that wanderers do not exist in this world of yours.

Sylus could tell that in your world, you aren;t concerned of surviving the next day and calculating the people around you— Rather, you spend most of your time plucking your hair out over studies while he himself is sat down and cleaning a gun.

This game at least give shim something comfortable to do despite the fact that he has no control over his body in any shape or form.

The more time passes, the more Sylus started to see the errors in the system.

And nothing hurts to have a little... Fun.

He hacked into your phone system succesfully, roaming about and curiously poking here and there.

You awfully consume a lot of media pertaining to him. Sylus would only cock up an eyebrow and shake his head before stalking around a little more until—

...

"Who is this?" Sylus's voice grew a little annoyed as he saw the album containing another man.

The man was tall, not taller than him of course— Dressed in black, an asian guy who appears to be like a grim reaper with the way he carries himself. At least 3000 pictures of this same guy over and over in a single album, hundred times more than your album of him,

Sylus click his tongue and furiously started researching.

Ah.

His name is Jinwoo.

What a fascinating fellow.

Some fancy titles he has, the shadow monarch, the tenth s-ranker of south korea, the strongest hunter, and quite the charming powers. An ability over the undead?

It made him feel fury.

Oh he's so glad this bastard is just another fictional character just as himself in your little world.

Sylus disliked every bit of it, the fact that he shares a space in your heart with that lousy man.

Sure, he's impressive and all.

But oh darling he can do much,... Much more for you.

You think such a pathetic man is worthy of your affections? Darling he's all your.

Sweetie, why are you being so ridiculous about this?

No.

He cannot allow it.

That space in your delicate heart must only be his.

He must be the only person in this precious heart of yours, kitten.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

It was a long day of university, your head is throbbing and your legs are about to give out. Walking all day has placed a number on your poor body and you wanted nothing more than to laze around and admire your men.

Sylus had been taking over your time so you decided to compensate your other hubby and reread Solo Leveling.

It's been a while after all, surely there are more panels to screenshot despite the fact that you already have hundreds of pictures of that oh-so-wonderful man.

So you open the app and—

...

Pitch Black.

Your phone just shut off out of nowhere?

You panic, holding the power button and smacking it around. Even tried to reach for the charger until you scream and drop your phone to the floor.

Inside your phone was a wide, bloodshot red eye like a crimson moon.

You stumble on your feet, falling down on the floor as you scrambled away from the device.

This cant be happening, right?

This is just a dream, isn't it?

No.

"Awe, kitten, are you scared?"

A familiar voice break through the silence, your head darting around to find the source but to no avail— The fact that you cant see anything made you all the more frightened.

You tremble, hyperventilating as your heart hammered against your chest.

"Now, now, sweetie" A low rumble hums in the air, "You'll get a heart attack if you continue like that, kitten. I can't have that."

Footsteps would start echoing on the floor, making you all the more frightened as you sobbed frantically.

"Mn, how cute."

You feel a hand roughly grab your chin, yanking it in front of you where a pair of crimson red eyes glowed and a face appearing.

Silver hair dancing in the air, illuminated by the blood moon outside the window. Black, and a neatly tailored suit over his shoulders.

Sylus.

"There, we go, kitten." Sylus hums, smirking coyly as he sees your flabbergasted expression. "I'm much, much more handsome up close, aren't I?"

His free hand teases your inner wrist; making you shiver in reponse, sliding it up sensously before ultimately intertwining your fingers. His palms were much much more larger than yours. Warm even.

"So cute," He whispers, before leaning down and capturing your lips in a blazing kiss.

It felt like your throat was on fire as Sylus prevented you from gasping for any air.

The more you struggled, the more your conciousness started slipping away.

And the next thing you knew— You were being dragged into the abyss.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

You wake up, groaning as you tousled over, your body aching and heavy.

"Sweetie, you woke up so early" A deep voice says, and you look up to find Sylus dressed in his robes— His chest and abdomen open for you to see. "Your body is still adjusting to your new reality, kitten. Sleep more."

He sat on the edge of the bed, amused red orbs gleaming as he lightly pushes you down on his sheets and pulls the blanket over your chest.

"There's a good girl," Sylus praises you, leaning down to kiss your forehead as a reward. "Don't worry, my sweet angel, all you need to do is sit still and look pretty. I'll take care of the rest.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Call me the speedrun master<33. Yw @sylusjinwoon I fr had a field day making a fic abt your hubby teehhee<33. Grampa is so silly I just wanna kick him on his gyatt all day xD!! Pretty fun writing for him ngl. It's amusing<3!! I hope I did ur man justice bestie and that u enjoy this silly impulsive fic hahah!!! Now time to crawl back to my hubby wubby Zayne and Jinwoonie ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

#lads sylus #l&ds headcanons #lads sylus x reader #sylus x reader #l&ds #sylus x you #jin woon x reader #lds x reader #jin woon x you #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace fics #sylus fanfics #sylus headcanons #love and deepspace #lads fanfics #love and deepspace sylus #lads x reader #love and deepspace headcanons

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star-wrote · 7 months

Text

Need

ao3 link

Character: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader | Prison Era

Summary: After somehow convincing Daryl to let you go on a hunt with him, you stop to admire a pretty flower. Little did you know, the pollen would have an… interesting effect on you.

Warnings: smut, swearing, sexual details, sex pollen??, insecurity on daryl’s part, a little fluffy, a little angsty, apparently no threat of walkers bc they get it on in the woods.

Word Count: 2,500 ish

18+

Convincing Daryl to let you tag along on a hunt was a task in itself. He was the closest thing you had to a best friend these days, so he knew how antsy you got when being behind the prison gates for too long. He felt the same way. That didn’t mean he was going to let you go out into possible danger any easier though. You practically had to drop to your knees and beg him to let you join, swearing you’d bring extra luck for him to catch a deer. Muttering something like “ain’t need no luck” under his breath, he eventually agreed to let you join. You pretended not to see his cheeks redden when you wrapped your arms around his neck in an excited hug.

That was about two hours ago. Now, you were following him through the forest as he tracked some animal. You were doing your best to keep quiet, given the fact that he had scolded you just about five minutes ago for walking too carelessly (whatever that means). You started to grow bored. Sure it was nice being away from the prison, but you figured your best friend would entertain you in at least some conversation. You should’ve known better, this was Daryl Dixon.

You were about to suggest playing a silly game of truth or truth when you saw something pink out of the corner of your eye. You paused and walked over, observing a beautiful flower that looked like it belonged to a storybook. Your internal battle of deciding whether or not to pick it was fast as you assumed a walker would just trample it anyway. So you picked it.

Daryl knew right away that you weren’t following him anymore, so he paused for a drink of water while he watched you get distracted by a flower. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the smile as he noticed you pick it and immediately bring it to your nose to inhale the scent. As you pulled it away from your face, he saw it left pink specks of pollen on your nose.

“Ya got a lil somethin’ on yer nose.”

Instead of a reply, he was met with a series of four loud sneezes.

“Jeez woman, gonna draw all the walkers in.”

You giggled, wiped your nose, and finally replied with a small, “sorry.”

“If yer done pickin’ flowers, let’s get back to trackin’ this deer,” he said as he grabbed his bag from where he placed it on the forest floor.

You gasped, “You didn’t tell me we were tracking a deer! I told you I would bring good luck.”

He rolled his eyes at you for the second time that day and muttered “stop.”

It started as an ache in between your legs. It wasn’t particularly unpleasant, but it was surprising how strong it was.

You weren’t unfamiliar with the feeling of arousal. You were a girl who knew her own body. At least before the end of the world. There wasn’t enough time, safety, or privacy to bring yourself pleasure. Not to mention the lack of people throwing themselves at you.

Still, it was unfamiliar for you to feel so much arousal on a hunt with Daryl.

Daryl.

You found your gaze wandering to the archer taking sure steps in front of you. His shoulders seemed to be broader than normal… no, he was always this large. Your eyes went lower as you found yourself thinking about what else had to be large, accidentally letting out a whimper.

Daryl didn’t stop walking, just tossed a “ya okay?” over his shoulder.

You shook your head, as if it would cleanse your brain of the impure thoughts you had for your best friend, and answered.

“Yeah, sorry, just tripped over my feet. You know me, super clumsy haha.” Stop talking!

He just grunted in response. Phew.

You wondered if he would grunt like that while he was deep inside of you…

This time you actually did trip, bumping into the firm man in front of you. He whipped around and grabbed you by your shoulders.

“Tha’ hell? What’s gotten into ya?”

Not you, sadly.

He looked at you more deeply and noticed your face was flushed pink like the flower you still held in your hand, and your chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“Are ya okay? Ya bit?” He asked with a worried look as his eyes ran down your frame.

It wouldn’t make sense for you to have gotten bit, he was with you the entire time. No, it was something else.

You looked up at him with a glazed look in your eyes and got out the words “so hot.” You weren’t sure if you were talking about your body temperature or him at this point. His big hands on your shoulders felt as if they were burning holes through your skin. The ache between your legs had turned into a stabbing pain, and your lower stomach felt a different kind of hunger. Lust.

Daryl was beyond worried when he saw you drop your flower to clutch at your stomach. His eyes looked to the flower and recognition finally crossed his brain. Oh no.

He scooped you up bridal style, and you all but moaned. Now that he knew what was happening, a blush reached his face. He carried you to a nearby willow tree next to a lake and sat you down under the shade. You whined when he let go, so he made sure to at least grab your hands with his.

“Sunshine? I need ya to listen to me.”

You met his eyes and nodded, but still had a glazed over expression.

He sighed, knowing this was the best it would get. “I think tha’ flower ya smelled was one of those aphrodisiacs. A really strong one too. I remember reading about it in that unique plants of Georgia book ya found for me.”

Your eyes widened and you let out another whine. “It hurts so bad. I- I need. Ugh.”

“Ya need to just wait it out. Could be a couple of hours.”

“No Daryl I can’t. I need you to fix it. Please fix it.”

He wasn’t sure what you were asking for, but he knew he’d give you anything if you asked him with those big, round eyes.

“Honey, I’m not sure what yer askin’.

“Need you to fuck me.”

That stopped his breath where it was in his chest. His eyes widened as he looked anywhere but your desperate face. He knew you weren’t in your right mind. You didn’t actually want him, you just wanted to act on the arousal you felt. He wasn’t sure he could handle your touch if it wasn’t genuine.

He was drawn out of his thoughts as he saw you strip your shirt off out of the corner of his eye. Somehow, his face grew even more red.

“Nah, you don’t wanna do this. You don’t want me.”

“Daryl please, I only want you. I’ve only wanted you for so long. Since the farm. Not just your body, but your soul and mind and thoughts and oh my god please I just need you to fuck me. Make it go away please.” You cried.

His heart stopped at your confession. Was this true or was it just the drug from the flower talking?

He brought his hands up to your cheeks and looked into your eyes as you nuzzled into his warm palms.

“Need ya to look at me.” He waited until your eyes met his. “Need ya to tell me that you really want this, want me. And that ya wont regret it.”

You brought your hands to his on your face. “I promise. I want you. I want you so bad. Only you.”

With that, he roughly pushed his lips to yours in a heated kiss. You could’ve melted then and there. Especially when you moved your hand to wrap around the back of his hair and heard the sound he let out. A kind of grunt that you had only heard in your dreams until then.

“Imma take care of ya. Don’t worry baby.” He panted.

Clothes were off in an instant, but Daryl’s shirt stayed on. You knew about the scars and had seen them a few times, but you didn’t want to push him. Plus, you weren’t in the state to reassure him much anyway.

He currently had you on your back on the soft moss next to the willow tree, his mouth sucking your clit and fingers deep in your pussy. He said he needed to warm you up, even after you tried to convince him you were warmed up enough. You had a feeling it was more for him to prepare himself anyway.

It was heavenly, his eyes closed and arms wrapped around your thighs. His tongue never stopping at lapping up your wetness. His fingers gently but firmly hooking into you at a steady pace. It was perfect.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Daryl, please, I need more. I need you, please.” You gasped out.

He released your clit with a wet pop and pulled his fingers out of you, licking them clean of your juices. Your eyes could’ve rolled back in your head at the sight.

“Alright,” he rasped out, “quit yer whinin’ girl.”

You grinned up at him as he pumped his cock in his hands. You knew he was big.

He must’ve seen you drooling over his dick because he smirked and gently caressed your cheek before popping his thumb into your mouth for you to suck.

You weren’t sure where this newfound confidence came from, but god you loved it.

He took his thumb out and shushed you as you whined in protest.

“Ya ready for me baby?”

You could’ve nodded until your head fell off. His “warming you up” took the edge off, but the ache was back in full force, begging for you to just jump on him.

“Please Daryl. Need you so bad.”

“Alright, alright. Tell me if anythin’ hurts. I’ll try and be gentle baby.”

Your heart swooned but your lust clouded brain wanted you to yell at him to not be gentle. Instead, you settled on nodding at him.

Daryl placed his tip at your entrance and looked into your eyes as he pushed inside. Any amount of hesitance he felt dissipated as soon as he felt your wet, warm walls squeezing him.

The stretch you felt was the relief you needed. You felt your thoughts clear, as well as your clouded eyes.

Daryl noticed the change immediately and kissed your nose, then your forehead.

“Ya okay? Want me to stop?” He asked with a hint of embarrassment. Now that he solved your “problem” he was worried that you’d suddenly find him less appealing and grow disgusted with him. He tried to push the thoughts away, but his brain has always been programmed to doubt himself. He felt your arms snake up his back and hold on tight to him as your legs wrapped around him to keep him inside of you.

“Don’t you dare stop.” You breathed out, still accommodating to the stretch you felt between your legs. “I still want you. Still need you.”

Even though the effects of the pollen were sated as soon as he entered you, that didn’t stop you from being turned on by the archer. You always knew you wanted something more with him, and now you were finally getting it. So you bucked your hips up further on his length with a moan.

He closed his eyes tight to prevent himself from thrusting the rest of the way into you. He knew he was big, and now that you were thinking more clearly, he knew that he had to be more gentle. When he opened his eyes, he saw you looking at him with wide eyes and your teeth tugging on your lower lip. God, you were beautiful.

He brought your hands above your head and locked your fingers with his. Then he slowly and finally filled you up the rest of the way. You both gasped and squeezed each other’s hands.

You let out a whine when he pulled out again, but sighed as he thrusted back in.

“Harder, you won’t break me.” You pleaded with him.

“I gotcha.” His next thrust was hard enough for you to release his hands and clutch onto his back. He leaned on one of his arms above you and brought the other to press into your lower stomach. “You feel me right here, baby? So deep huh?”

“Oh my god!” You moaned out for him. “Daryl… feels so good.”

He just thrusted faster and harder in response, desperate to make you feel good like you deserve.

He felt you tighten around him and he read your body signs with ease, as if you two had done this a million times before. He brought the hand was pressing on your lower stomach down to find and circle your puffy clit, getting a reaction immediately. You gasped and scratched your nails down his covered back as you somehow got out the word, “gonna-“

“I know, let go for me baby, c’mon.” He felt himself getting closer, wishing so bad that he could stay inside your cunt and finish there, but he knew the risks.

You tugged his body into yours as you finished around him, squeezing him in more ways than one.

Daryl let you ride out your pleasure before pulling out of the sweet cunt that kept sucking him in. It only took two pumps for him to release all over your inner thighs with a raspy grunt. He sat back on his knees and watched as his cum trickled down the puffy wetness between your legs and fell into the moss below him. He wished he has a camera in a moment like this, but he decided to settle on a mental snapshot for later.

He grabbed his handkerchief from his pants on the forest floor and wiped his cum from your thighs. You smiled up at him even though he wouldn’t meet your eyes. You grabbed his hand when he finished and brought it up to your lips to kiss his knuckles.

You could’ve laughed at the blush that crossed his features. This man just said the dirtiest things to you without shame, but got so shy over a small kiss to his hand.

When Daryl finally met your eyes, a look of relief showed on his face as he saw the smile that graced your lips. He suddenly collapsed onto his back next to you and brought your face to his in the sweetest kiss ever experienced between you two.

“This wasn’t a one time thing, right?” You asked, furrowing a brow at him.

He pecked your pouted lips again. “Nah, now that I have ya, I ain’t lettin’ ya go.”

As you and Daryl enjoyed the blissful silence together, tracing fingers along each other’s frames, you both jumped when you heard sticks cracking a couple of feet away.

You both relaxed when you saw that it was the deer that brought you both out here in the first place. You started giggling uncontrollably, scaring the deer away.

Daryl scoffed. “Last time I take ya on a hunt with me, woman.”

You just continued giggling into his chest with the smile that he adored.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon twd #twd #the walking dead #smut #pollen #fanfic #fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #twd daryl #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

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girls-alias · 7 months

Text

Those Eyes - Dean Winchester

Title: Those Eyes - Dean Winchester

Words: 3,082

Relationship: Dean Winchester X Reader

TW: Strong language. Angst, sexual tension, masturbation talk, Dom-Sub.

Taglist: @qinnroki @deans-baby-momma @creative-writing92 @lokischickadee @take_it_on_the_run @daisy-the-quake @ilikw @selfdestructionandrhum @globetrotter28

(⬇️ I want this GIF tattooed into my brain 🥵)

God. Dean fucking Winchester has me in a chokehold. I practically drooled over him; all he did was listen to a cop. I need to get ahold of myself. I need some sexual release, there are not enough hours in the day to masturbate enough to be able to function around Dean. When someone asks what my type is, I just start describing Dean. I can't handle being around him and yet I stay with the Winchesters, hunt with them, travel with them. The only time I'm away from Dean is when I'm sleeping but even then he infects my dreams like a parasite, eating away at me and getting me so sexually frustrated I'm in a constant cycle of irritable and submissive for him.

Dean isn't shy about wanting to fuck me, he only seems to look at me like he's undressing me. He controls my breathing and knows it. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I tried to gain control of my own mind. I looked at the cop, trying to listen to him as I crossed my legs over each other to rest my elbow on the chair arm beside me. I gulped as I felt the familiar burning deep in my stomach, I used the only willpower left inside my body to keep my eyes on the cop. I know Dean has his eyes on me, I can always feel it. My breath quickened as my eyes finally wandered to Dean. He was watching me intently. His eyes were slightly hooded, he released his bottom lip from between his teeth as he mischievously smirked at me. I gulped, eyes struggling to return to the cop.

I just need to stay strong just a little longer. Dean's moving caught my eye, he sat back in his seat, his hand pushing on the crotch of his jeans slightly as he widened his legs. I gulped, watching his strong thighs begging me to sit on him. I clenched my jaw, gulping to try and gain some control. I blinked to try to clear my mind. I could still feel Dean's eyes on me. I could feel every atom of my body. I cleared my throat, adjusting my seating position a little nervously. He has so much control over me. To anyone else in the room, he looks innocent, he's just sitting in a chair but Dean and I know his intentions with every movement. His favourite thing in the world seems to be getting a reaction out of me. He does it probably a hundred times a day. I switched my legs so my left leg was now crossed over the right. I chewed on my bottom lip, finally looking at Dean, I could never look away for long. His eyes showed his hunger. His plain expression as his eyes bore into me quickened my breath. His hand sat high on his thigh, and my eyes were magnitised to his tightening grip turning his knuckles white. I gulped as I looked back to his eyes, my breath hitched in my throat as he licked his lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to bite down on it. I gulped as he raised his eyebrows before looking down at his crotch, my eyes following as I knew the look was his way of tempting me to sit on his lap.

I clenched my legs together as wetness pooled in between my thighs. Fuck sake. I cleared my throat as I stood. Everyone's eyes were on me but only Dean's gaze made me quiver. "If you'll excuse me," I commented politely, stealing one last glance at Dean as he smirked watching me intently. I could still feel his eyes on me as I walked out. Finally breathing as soon as I left the room. I'm struggling to even be in a room with him, it's getting out of hand. I'm sick of lying to myself and thinking that maybe this will be the month that he doesn't affect me anymore but 7 months of knowing him later and I'm still waiting for the day he doesn't have control over me. I headed straight for the bathroom. My mission only turned to cleaning myself up and splashing cold water on myself to calm down. Hell, if I find ice on the way there then even better.

Dean's POV:

I held a sigh back as I continued to pretend to be listening for what felt like an hour. I rubbed my eye, adjusting my head to steal a glance at Y/N. I tightened my lips to stop myself from smiling. God, she's perfect. I looked back at the cop, offering a fake smile and nodding. I stared blankly at the cop as my mind wandered to Y/N. Remembering what she looked like from my quick glance. I swear you could look at her from any angle and she'd look fuckable. I turn animalistic when I look at her.

When we first met I thought she was beautiful and dreamed of the cute little life we could have as a couple. I fell in love with her but from a little distance. It was all innocent thoughts, cute things we'd do as a couple and the dates we'd have but one frightful night I figured something out that had bothered me for 3 months. I noticed that any night I masturbated she would always seem a little happier the next day. For 3 months, I thought that it was some "Post-nut clarity" and I was falling deeper in love with her but... The second I heard her moan my name on a random night I was masturbating I realised that we were both masturbating after a day we were alone together. I knew in an instant that you felt the sexual tension too and she also masturbated at the thought of me.

The next morning was the first time I looked at Y/N with hungry eyes the whole day. My only thoughts were all the sexual things we'd probably both already imagined. I could never stop looking at her like that, especially when it was so obvious she was enjoying it. She always clenches her thighs and breaths heavily enough that I can watch her chest and see clearly how heavy she is breathing. I often wonder why I ever wasted time watching TV when all the entertainment I need is her, I just have to sit in this chair and watching her get flustered would be something I could watch for hours.

I glanced over as movement caught my eye. My eyes landed on Y/N's gorgeous legs as she crossed them. From the tightness of her jaw and slightly quick breathing, I know she's starting to get flustered. I smirked as I licked my lips, bringing my bottom lip between my teeth.

I need to be a man to my word, I said I could watch her get flustered just from sitting and staring at her so why not test it out... I turned my shoulders back and stared directly at Y/N. I bit down on my lip, smirking to myself as I noticed her gulp. I feel like a stalker being able to read her so well but she gets flustered in a room with me multiple times a day, of course I have subconsciously memorised it by now. I know she can feel me watching her, she always knows. I continued to stare at her, I could practically predict what was going through her mind, she wanted to look at me.

I dropped my bottom lip from between my teeth, smirking as she finally looked at me and proved me right. I only grew more confident in my ways when she struggled to look back at the cop. It's too easy. God, what I would give just to march up to her right now and kiss her with the force I've been holding back for months. I didn't think I would mess with her this long, normally I mess with a woman for a few hours and then sleep with her but with Y/N, it drives me crazy knowing how much I mess with her, it also drives me crazy knowing that she's masturbating practically every night now because of me. I took a deep breath realising that I had made the mistake of thinking of her masturbating, the small moans I would hear when I was listening carefully, hoping the sound would carry between motel room walls. It's pornographic.

I sat deeper in my seat, pushing down on the crotch of my jeans, my semi-erect penis feeling uncomfortable in the growingly tightening jeans. I continued to study her, watching as her eyes absorbed my movement and new position, I couldn't hold back my smirk as her flustered state became more obvious. I felt my eyes darken as she switched her crossed legs, most likely clenching them, clearly getting wet. God, I don't even need to do anything and she's ready for me. I licked my lips, surveying every inch of her perfect body. What I wouldn't give to have her in arms reach right now. I gripped my thigh, something to stabilise myself while my eyes tore off her clothes.

She found the courage to look at me again, I suggestively looked down into my lap. Something her eyes followed and from the clenching of her thighs I knew without a shadow of a doubt she was wet. I would do anything to feel just how wet I make her. I smirked as she cleared her throat, standing from her seat. She still looked flustered as I bit my lip, watching her. She tried avoiding my eyes but she couldn't for long.

"If you'll excuse me," She stated politely. Glancing at me one last time before turning. I watched as she walked out, her ass being my only focus as she walked. Her body is perfect. What I wouldn't give to feel her sitting on my lap right now.

I should probably bring my attention back to the cop but I just can't take my mind off Y/N, my sweet, horny Y/N. Lost deep in thought, I imagined what she could be doing right now, a huge part of me wondering if she was horny enough to wait until she was back at the motel to relieve herself or if she was "Destressing" in the bathrooms. My mind imagined how she could look right now, picturing her perfect face contorting to the pleasure she was giving herself all because of me, probably thinking about me and what we both hoped I would do to her. God, I need to see her.

I rose from my seat, mind and eyes completely focusing on the task of seeing my Y/N, to know if she was horny enough to do it in the bathroom of a police station. "Dean?" Sam's voice pulled me from my trance. I shook myself out of it, turning back to look at him expectantly. "Where are you going?" He asked, giving me warning eyes towards the cop. I looked over at him curiously, the cop seemed suspicious of me, his eyes showing his uneasiness.

"Bathroom, shouldn't have eaten at the garage on the way," I chuckled, the cop seemed to exhale a chuckle.

"Been there before, it's down the hall and to the left," The cop explained, smiling as he nodded. I forced a smile, turning back to the door and heading out in the directions he had given me.

I stopped outside the bathrooms. The ladies on the right, men on the left and disabled toilets right in the centre. I smirked as rested my weight against the wall just outside the women's bathroom, smirking as I anticipated Y/N coming out soon.

Y/N's POV:

I looked in the mirror, using the paper towels to dry myself off. The cold water seemed to really help, I might actually be able to function at least until I can get back to the motel. I gave myself some motivating words before heading out of the bathroom. I jumped slightly as I rounded the corner of the door frame. Hands instantly on my arms as I walked into someone. I was about to apologise and move aside but as I looked at Dean I knew he was messing with me even more. The smirk on his face made it as clear as day. I took a deep breath, rolling my eyes slightly. I stepped out of his grasp.

"You're waiting for me outside of the bathrooms now?" I asked, my tone showing annoyance but my insides giddy to be close to him.

"Don't get too cocky, I wasn't waiting for you," He tried but I scoffed.

"Oh, okay," I sarcastically commented. "So, you were just waiting for the fun of it?" I asked, internally trying to stay brave as he looked at me with those eyes, the perfectly green eyes that always look at me with the deepest desire to get me naked. His smirk and wandering eyes were only confirmation in my mind that he had somehow worked out how to see through my clothes, I've never known anyone to have so much expression in just their eyes, it drives me crazy and he seems to know it.

"I'm waiting for the bathroom, sweetheart." He started, his lips momentarily hypnotizing me. His lips begged to be kissed but his smirk begged to be slapped off his face. "But since you're waiting here with me, you might as well join me," He tempted. My breath caught in my throat as he took a small but intentional step closer to me. I gulped as I took a step back, anything to try and hide how much he affects me. His widening smirk confirmed that my act was compromised.

"You want me to believe you're just waiting for-" I started but bit my tongue when a lock clicked behind me. I froze in place as Dean smirked cockily at me. His eyes never deviated from mine. I internally sighed as the guy coming out of the bathroom passed us. "Whatever," I commented, I stepped around Dean to pass him but his hand found my waist as he pulled me into the bathroom. I stumbled to stay standing. The second we were both in the bathroom he held me against the wall and clicked the lock shut. I breathed heavily, adrenaline cursing my veins as I looked up into his hungry eyes. Gulping as he licked his lips.

He stared at my lips as he bit his own, Is he finally going to kiss me? Kiss me! I stood frozen, my back against the wall and Dean's hand still on my waist. He moved closer, his body practically touching mine. His smirk grew as he looked into my eyes. He lifted his chin, lips moving even closer to mine as my chest rose and fell quickly.

"You're practically begging me to kiss you," His voice was low and dowsed in desire. I gasped as his free hand moved to my face, softly touching my cheek as his thumb moved over my lip, folding my bottom lip down as he watched intently. I held my breath, unable to function. He's moved from messing with me to actually touching me. "You-" Dean sighed as his phone ringing interrupted him. He pulled his hands from me to answer his phone, and I took the time to finally breathe again. He hadn't moved away from me, I'm still pinned to the wall.

"Yeah," Dean answered, his eyes instantly on me again. I gulped as he studied me closely. His hand came back up to my face. My breath quivered as he grabbed my chin and lifted my face to look at me closer. His lips are an inch from mine. "I don't know where she is, probably still in the bathroom," He commented, clearly talking to Sam. "Yeah, if I see her, I'll tell her," He added before hanging up. He licked his lips, barely missing mine with his tongue as he did it. He put his phone in his pocket, his eyes peering into mine. "Sam's waiting at the Impala," He added, his tone showing his disinterest. He smirked as I remained frozen, my eyes travelling to the lips an inch from mine, the lips I wished would kiss me. I bit my lip, my mind filling with imagining the kiss, the taste and the passion. He smirked as he watched me bite my lip. "Get out," He stated simply as he dropped my chin from his grasp. I looked at him confused, baffled at the sudden change in mood. He moved aside, unlocking the door but not opening it. He stood behind the door watching me expectantly.

I scoffed, shaking my head as I grabbed the handle ready to storm out annoyed. Fucking Dean, he's always messing with me and he doesn't even want me. I jumped as the door now slightly open door slammed in my face, his hands instantly pushing me back to the wall. He pinned me between his body and the wall. His hand on the side of my neck and the other on my lower back pulling me into his body. Breathing right now wasn't an option. "Don't lock your motel room later," He instructed, his intentions clear. "Got it?" He asked the look in his eyes making me quiver. I nodded quickly, and he smirked as he admired me. "Good," He stated simply before slapping my ass. I gasped at the unexpected action. His smirk turned to a grin at my reaction. "See you in the car," He added, his hand moving from my neck to open the door for me, his other hand still holding me close.

I gulped, my brain fighting my body. I need to move but I don't know if I have the willpower to walk out of his grasp. His grin was mischievous as he seemed to read my mind but didn't move. He looked deep into my eyes. He knows exactly what he's doing to me. I took a deep breath, establishing myself before prying myself away from him. I walked out, mentally reminding myself not to look back at him. I sighed as I couldn't help but look back just before he was out of view. His smirk and studying eyes made my legs weak.

What the fuck? What just happened?

Part 2

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justatypicalwizard · 10 months

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A scrap from your book

Bakugo x reader, aged up, college! au, quirks don't matter, no warnings, just heartwarming

Roommate Bakugo who is forced to share a room with you for about three months due to unexpected construction works in the college apartment he occupied. The whole Bakusquad was moved to random rooms. To make it worse they were all shared ones. You agreed to take in a male occupant.

Roommate Bakugo who tries to spend as much time outside of the cramped college room as possible. He feels like he's kinda invading your privacy as well as just finding the whole situation uneasy.

Roommate Bakugo who has to complete a bunch of assignments but the library is packed in the late afternoon hours, the air thick with gossip, stress, sweat and annoyance. Bakugo finally wandered off to the dorm room to find some peace for his work.

Roommate Bakugo who spotts you always turn off your lamp and tune down the brightness on your laptop when he tells you he's going to sleep.

"You don't have to do that." He grunts, already wrapped up in heavy covers.

"I don't mind, you do the same." Because he does.

Roommate Bakugo who walks on you watching a film he loves. At first he just circles the small room mindlessly, more interested in the unwrapping dialogue between his two favourite characters than the laundry he's picking up.

"You wanna watch?" You ask, pausing the movie.

"No. I was going to do my laundry."

"I can wait, I can buy some snacks in the meantime, I was looking for an excuse to do it anyway."

So the two of you ended up finishing the film together, sitting on your bed.

Roommate Bakugo who talks to you more, geting used to the situation faster than he thought he would. You both sit by your desks working on the boring college stuff. He spotted you were trying hard, not slacking around and keeping most of your deadlines. Even if he didn't want to admitt it, he was impressed. Not that he didn't do the same, it's just rare to find a person who actually cares.

Roommate Bakugo who didn't know how to phrase a sentence. He was working on a piece of paper for the last two hours after an intense day of workout and his brain refused to cooperate anymore.

"Can I ask you for a favour?" Your face appeared from behind your laptop screen.

"Depends on what is it."

"I finished a short essay and I wanted to ask if you could read it and tell me if it makes sense."

Might as well take a break to refresh his mind. Bakugo read through the text and came to the conclusion that you were a good writer. A very good writer in fact.

"How would you say that in other words?" He asked after you were happy with your work, your laptop tossed aside as you lay on your bed scrolling through your phone.

You skipped to him, read through the sentence and gave him a paraphrase, one that he wouldn't think of himself.

"Thanks."

Roommate Bakugo who was eying you book collection for some time. You had a bunch. When he asked the two of you started talking and in went on and on and on. Finally, you stood up on your bed, the sheets dipping in where you stretched out to reach the highest shelve. Picking out a book you handed it to him.

"My favourite."

So he started to read it.

Roommate Bakugo who got a text from you that you wouldn't be back in the dorms for the night. After a shower he laid down in his bed, shirtless, with your book in hand. It was definitely worth it and he was way past the half already. Suddednly the doors opened only to reveal you, eying him up and down.

"The fuck you doing here?" Suddenly Bakugo felt a tad bit embarassed about his bare chest and lose sweatpants.

"My friend cancelled, sorry, you have someone over?" A small sly grin appeared on yoru lips.

"Jeez no, I'm just half naked."

"I don't mind." You shrugged, throwing your bag on the bed.

And what was that supposed to mean?

Nevermind. Bakugo wanted to get back to the story when he spotted something horrific. His hand gripped a nice chunk of the page, torn out of the book. He must have done it when you startled him with the grand entrance. It was readable as he only torn the cream white but it still looked nasty.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He didn't even look at you, opting on eying the damage, embarassement creaping up his cheeks for destroying someone's else belonging. One of yoru favourite belongings.

You came over, looked at the book and started to laugh.

"What's so fucking funny?" From embarassed Bakugo quickly merged into defensive.

"You look as if you killed my grandma. It's just a book." You saw that it didn't make him feel better, in fact the frown in his brows deepened. "I like my books being used. Lets treat it as a memory of you reading it. Give me the torn piece, please." Your hand reached out and he put the scrap into your open palm.

You skribbled something down on it using a pen fished out of your drawer. When you gave it back to him, the paper read 'Don't stress so much, dummy.'

"You can keep it." A smile brightened your face as you turned around to do other things.

Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that he kept that scrap in the back of his phonecase at all times.

Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that it took you roughly two months to steal his rock-like heart away.

#bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #katsuki bakugo #mha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #mha

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intheorangebedroom · 5 months

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 4

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Christmas on a Friday means you won't be meeting Frankie this week. This break away from each other might be just what the two of you need to consider if you should carry on with whatever this is…

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey you mean more to me than you will ever know 🧡

Word count: 14.3k

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Chapter 4: Frankie

Frankie scratches the stubble on his jaw. Behind the green screen of his aviators, under his creased brow, his eyes are riveted to the red light in front of him. His grip on the steering wheel too tight for safety.

Something has to be wrong with this light because he’s been waiting at this intersection for ten minutes at least.

He takes in an angry breath. Loud, but constricted. Yet it’s enough for your scent to fill his lungs.

It might be a trick of the mind, because it’s been six days since you’ve been in here, and it’s still everywhere around him. It floats in the cab of the truck. It clings to the fabric of the seat. It’s woven into the suede leather of his jacket.

It’s probably what it is, just a trick of his brain, but he’d like to know for sure. If your presence has pervaded the whole space, or if he’s losing his goddamn sanity.

The light changes to green. His head rolls back on the headrest, eyes drifting close.

It’s a light fragrance. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green. Orange blossom, citrus, honeysuckle. It’s the very last days of spring, when the air is still chill, but the sunbeams are warm and blinding. Before summer sets everything ablaze, the southern wind, the asphalt, the concrete walls and the bodies. It’s the first sunny day on a pale winter skin.

And there’s the sweet musk you exude, mixed with his own, when he’s fucked you hard and thorough.

The car behind him honks and he jolts up in his seat, knees knocking against the wheel. He puts the pedal down to the floor in less than a millisecond, tires screeching, engine revving up.

What the fuck is wrong with him? What is happening to him?

The route to Will’s place is a familiar one. He drives absentmindedly down streets and avenues lined with palm trees, his mind wandering. To Lua’s shot, that’s due next week; to his Thursday shift he has to swap with Felix. To the gutters that need cleaning, and the front door he should repaint. To the overnight diapers he has to restock soon.

To the feel of your smaller hands cupping his face, and the coolness of your touch. To that tiny pink wound on your forehead and the weariness in your eyes. To that scar on your knee in the shape of a grid, and that other one on your inner thigh you try not to let him see. To those two dimples above your ass and your scent, fuck, your scent, it does something to him. Something he didn’t ask for. Something he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

When he turned around, back in that dive, and his eyes met yours, he didn’t feel anything. Or rather, he felt everything, all at once. The end and the beginning. The sweetness and the pain. Blood and honey. It was all there, contained in your luminous, telling eyes. He saw something in them. Something frightened, but brazen. A hunger. A madness. A longing. Something he recognized, and wanted himself.

He took in your general appearance, the expensive clothes, the even more expensive bag, and he turned back around. Tried to convince himself you were just some corporate executive, bored with your life, looking for a cheap thrill and a quick fuck.

He could sense your gaze, burning holes through his shirt into the muscles of his back, those damn eyes, wide, exhausted. And they kept boring into him. Strong, determined. They wouldn’t let go. You wouldn’t let go.

So he left. He got up and stormed out. Went home to the guest room sofa, and his sleeping baby, and tried to forget about you.

Your eyes kept haunting his nights. And his waking hours too. And since he’s been clean, his days have gotten considerably longer.

No more drugs meant sleepless nights, followed by never-ending stretches of daytime, with nothing to sustain his focus but stress and coffee. It means going to work, and flying on three hours of nonconsecutive sleep, while his thoughts swirl in his overwrought brain. Nothing to take the edge off.

He hadn’t realized the weight he was carrying until Lua was born.

As long as he was in the military, he had kept his head straight. So many guys he served with were using; all kinds of shit. A genuine feel good hit of the summer. It was disconcerting, the ease with which they could score pretty much anything, in just about any country where they were deployed. As if it were made accessible to them purposefully.

But not him. He had never needed it. His focus was sharp, his mood even and leveled, his mind clear. Every fiber of his being striven towards one goal: to watch over his brothers. To leave no one behind.

Things started going south after he’d retired. They followed him. The ones he had left behind. Those times he’d been too quick on the trigger. All of them, soldiers and civilians. Faces without eyes. Deep, bleeding cavities, and dark gaping holes where their mouths should have been. Brothers and enemies merging into one big shapeless and viscous mass of casualties.

They came to him at night, and soon, he stopped sleeping. Exhaustion exacerbated his temper. His control became tenuous. But somehow, he still kept going.

When he met Lupe, he had told her everything. Five days a week, she was the voice in his headset, steady, constant, as she dispatched him and the crew of paramedics to wherever the emergency was located. She sent him to brutal, deadly pile-ups on the highway, burning high schools or heart attacks on remote hiking trails with an even tone that aroused his curiosity and inspired his trust.

When they’d started dating, he confided in her. The nightmares, the difficulty focusing. She understood, but she also didn’t want anything to do with it. She’d answered with a blunt warning. I have my own shit to deal with, Morales, I’m not in this to save you. He didn’t want her to, anyway. He wasn’t her responsibility.

He had stayed. And so did she. Things were good enough. They were in love. She was already well into her thirties, with a job that didn’t leave much time for dating, and even less for starting a family. She wanted a kid more than anything, and he thought normalcy would do it. That it would ground him enough to fix him.

After Lua was born, he resorted to drugs to numb out and function. At the time, he had considered it to be a momentary solution. He needed the energy to care for her, not to keep it together.

The drugs helped at first. It helped with the nightmares. It helped with the realization that flying had, for most of his life, been his sole purpose, main goal and greatest talent, and that he’d used it to destroy, ravage and kill. It helped with the guilt. Even as it generated more of it.

The benzos put him to sleep for dreamless hours, and then the coke kept him awake throughout the workday. He thought he’d find some sort of footing.

It didn’t help long, though. He got caught fast. Almost as if he wanted to be. And then it was all burning shame, and disintegrating self-esteem, with no means left to escape any of his feelings.

Lupe gave him hell, rightfully so. His sister said nothing, which nearly killed him. She wired him money so he could hire a good lawyer. She’d been the one to advise him in the first place to think twice about bringing a baby into his mess. He still hated himself for not listening to her.

What hit him the hardest was the suspension of his pilot license. Who was he, if not a pilot?

After the bust, he invested everything into being a good father. Lupe found it in her to forgive him, and things were pretty good for a couple of months.

Until Pope came back with his bullshit idea. Frankie watched his friends buckle and fold, one after the other. Ben, Ironhead and Redfly. Until he had no other choice but to follow suit. Watch over his brothers. Leave no one behind.

Flashes after that: Redfly coming back in a plastic bag, to join the mass of eyeless, gaping holes that kept him awake at night.

The cruel irony of his suspension being lifted within a mere two weeks after he’d crashed that fucking Mi-8. Pope going into hiding, perhaps dead himself. The rest of them left here to slowly fragment, standing amongst all the things they broke beyond repair, with nothing to show for it.

And then that one day, you collided into him.

When he came back to the bar two weeks after your first encounter, it was with the firm intention of giving you what he thought you wanted. Scratch your itch, and his. Fuck you once, use you as an outlet, same way you probably wanted to use him.

The very moment he saw you step inside the bar, he understood how wrong he’d been.

You were not out for a cheap thrill or a quick fuck; you were not a bored, cynical executive looking to mix with the very working-class you exploited.

You were in pain. Numbed out. Withdrawn. Absent.

For some reason, that fucked him up hard. He tried running away from you, but you came after him, headstrong. You sought him out. Without hesitation, or fear. And something held him back, prevented him from running away too fast or too far. He let you catch up with him.

You wanted him. You want him still.

The sounds you make when you come, that breathless moan, full chest, empty mind, he knew he was in trouble when he pulled it out of you that very first night in the parking lot, against his truck. You clung to him, cold hands with a feverish touch. He was greedy and you thrashed before you went slack in his hold and right away he had wanted more. He risked a taste, licked his fingers, and you were heaven. You were unreal.

He wanted to know so much more: what did you feel like from the inside when you came? How much of him could you take? What your voice would sound like after he’d fuck your throat?

How much of you really existed? How much of you had he made up?

He soon found out. About the sensation of your soft skin under his rougher hands. About your patience. About your scent. A pale shade of yellow and celadon green. Intoxicating.

At the beginning, he thought you were coming to him for degradation, as much as for pleasure. There wasn’t a single debasing act he could come up with that you didn’t let him do to you.

You’d take anything he gave you.

Week after week, you let him fuck you numb, fuck you rough, fuck you raw. Tie you up, fold you down. Cover you in come, choke you on his cock, spit in your mouth.

Friday after Friday, you kept looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was still here, pounding you blind into that shitty mattress. Not grateful. Surprised. Or relieved. He didn’t know what to make of it, of that dignity you forfeited when you crossed the threshold of that room that very first night. Of your surrendering.

In retrospect, you understood your dynamic much faster than he did. Back then, he was still struggling with the idea that you were real.

He grew wary, and in his head, a refrain started playing. Tonight’s the last night. There won’t be a next week.

He couldn’t stop, though. One last night, that turned into two, then three, then four. He finally started getting decent nights of sleep, a restful slumber of which he felt undeserving.

He had to put a stop to this. Just one last night, and there wouldn’t be a next week.

He knew even more when his curiosity started to drift elsewhere. To your life outside the room with the brown rug and the yellow curtains. To that inner island of yours, the contour of which he was only starting to make out through the fog of his blunt desire.

You kissed him like you knew he’d never be yours, so you’d be his instead. Like his breath was yours. Like your heart only beat under his hand. And yet, you kept eluding him, silent and slippery. The paradox drove him insane.

He grew restless in between Friday evenings, booking the room earlier each week. He forbade himself any other kinds of relief, and instead turned to books. Browsing, flipping pages impatiently, searching for words and concepts. Intellectual tools to rationalize the feeling of you, to understand your presence and describe your scent, because you wouldn’t let him name you, and probably never would.

He thought that if he didn’t come inside you, perhaps you’d keep coming back to him.

It only made him want you more. The relinquishing drop in your shoulders, every time he asked you to stop him. He became obsessed with the thought of giving you what you knew better than to want. And in his head, the refrain kept playing.

One last night. One last fuck. One last fix.

In comparison, it had been easier to quit coke.

He can’t explain your pull. The way his body gravitates towards yours. He can’t explain the visceral craving.

Aloof and soothing, with a will so hard and unbending it scares him, you take, everything that festers ugly inside him, and absorb it, making it disappear. You turn it into something beautiful, something that blooms and purrs and breathes. Orange blossom and honeysuckle.

What do you do with all his rage? How do you cope with it? Where do you get this strength from?

Your strength. He’s only beginning to fathom the magnitude and depth of it.

It’s hidden beneath the surface of you, dormant, nestled in your quiet resilience, your accidental resistance. The remoteness of your gaze. It’s in your plea for him to take, until he knows he’ll stop breathing if he stops giving in.

That place within yourself, where you retreat not to get hurt. That’s where he wants to find you. That’s where he wants to live.

When you didn’t show up two weeks ago, he should have been relieved. He’d got out easy. You’d taken the decision for him. Inside his chest, however, anxiety chewed up his heart and set his nerves on fucking fire. The possibility that your absence was unwilling. That something might have prevented you from coming. Something, or someone.

He had your plates written down in the little spiral notebook he kept in the glove compartment of his truck. He could’ve pull some strings, found out your address. Fuck, he could’ve found out your name. But it felt like a violation even thinking about it, no matter how sickly worried he was. Like a step too far into madness. Something he wouldn’t come back from.

And then, you did show up. Exhausted, wounded. Twice as determined. He felt the overwhelming urge to get you into his truck and drive away with you, and never come back.

He felt the familiar grip of wrath, a blinding surge of hatred for this man who’s not quite your husband.

Pulling in front of Will’s building, Frankie puts the truck in park. He grazes a palm over his face, eyes falling on the ugly condo to his left. The teal-colored, budget paint peeling off the sunburned walls in large flecks.

He sighs, remembering Will’s former house. The one he shared with his fiancée before she left him. Two stories, bow windows on the top floor, a white porch with a swing. Lilac trees in the front lawn. Conversations about having kids.

He readjusts his hat, fingers deftly combing through his hair, takes the six-pack next to him on the seat bench, and exits his truck, dark eyes quickly scanning the block for Ben’s car. The beat-up Camaro is nowhere in sight. He didn’t expect Ben to be on time anyway, but he’s hoping he won’t take too long to join them.

In the narrow corridor leading to Will’s apartment, a neon lamp goes off and on in a spasmodic, irritating blink. The damp stench of molded wood cloaks his tense frame. He knows that if he tilts his head down to his shoulder and inhales deeply enough, he’ll find you there.

He doesn’t.

Before he brings down his knuckles to the door, Frankie exhales long and slow. With closed eyes, pursed lips. It’s useless. His shoulders won’t relax.

When Will opens the door, Frankie’s taken aback by how good he looks. How normal. Thick blond hair kept short, with a carefully trimmed beard. Brawny shoulders, creaseless shirt, alert gaze. Seemingly unchanged, incomprehensibly constant.

Frankie leans a little longer than necessary into his friend’s full-body hug. When he lets go, the tall man briefly narrows his eyes at him, a steel-blue, surgical stare from behind long blond lashes.

“How are you doing, man?” Will asks in his lazy drawl.

The dim hallway feels too small for the two of them. Frankie’s skin is pulled taut under Will’s unblinking scrutiny. He lowers his head, tucking his face into the protective shadow of his hat.

“Good. Same,” he mumbles.

Benny’s buoyant entrance saves him, and it’s more hugs, bulky shoulders colliding, hands clasping and eruptive greetings as they slowly make their way inside the apartment.

“How’s my goddaughter?” Benny asks.

Frankie smiles at the question. A genuine smile, crinkled eyes and dimpled cheeks. The warmth of the younger man’s baritone spreads in his chest. It’s the care in his words.

“She’s good. Growing up fast. I think it’s just a matter of days before she walks, now.”

“The minute she walks, I’m gonna teach her how to throw a punch,” Benny grins.

Every time he visits, it takes Frankie a minute to adjust to the contrast between the exterior of Will’s building and the interior of his apartment, and tonight is no exception. The small, one-bedroom’s white walls look like they’ve been freshly painted. The sofa’s cushions are puffed as if no one has ever sat on it. Every surface is spotless, not a dust particle flying. The coffee table is bare, no glass of water, not even the remote control lying on it.

Matching frames lined methodically on the living-room walls display family pictures, chronologically arranged, as well as a couple of shots from their time together in the Army. Frankie catches a glimpse of his younger self, cropped curls, sharper jaw, smoother grin. His arm is wrapped around Pope’s shoulders. He averts his gaze.

In the kitchen, the stainless-steel sink is shiny and empty, clean dishes neatly stored away in the overhead glass cabinets. The stove looks like it was just delivered.

Frankie knows himself to be tidier than most. When they started dating, Lupe would often tell him it was one of her favorite traits of his.

But Will’s ability to inhabit a seemingly unlived place is unsettling.

They take their usual seats around the small, round kitchen table. The two brothers fill up the room. Benny’s presence is bright, cheerful, in complementary contrast with his brother’s density and observing silence. Frankie lands somewhere in the middle. Like a bridge. Like a common ground.

The conversation flows between them, effortless. It would be easy to believe nothing has changed. Up until nine months ago, they used to meet at least once a week. Fight nights, bar nights, gym nights... Pope was rarely in town, Tom busy trying to make ends meet, so it was often just the three of them.

Now, Frankie seldom sees the Millers more than once a month. But after thirteen years, ten of which they’ve spent serving side by side, he knows them well enough to notice the invisible changes.

There’s a new sort of gravity to Benny’s demeanor. His laughter isn’t as loud, not as immediate. A loss in spontaneity. There’s Will's unusual patience and leniency toward the young man. The nervous glances at his watch whenever his brother’s late.

Lately, Frankie has caught himself envying the two men’s bond. The many quiet ways in which they look out for one another. A tightly packed unit. Blood tied.

He could call his sister. Hell, he could even hop on a plane with Lua and fly across the country to visit her, Lupe could probably use the break. His sister would listen. She already has. And she never judged.

Will places three more cans of beer on the table. Frankie hesitates. He doesn’t need a DIU in his Christmas stocking.

“What are you guys doing for Christmas? Going back to Colorado?” he asks, stalling.

“Yeah, we’re flying tomorrow,” Benny answers with a slow nod. “Can’t leave mom alone.”

Frankie finds himself trapped under Will’s gaze again. It’s charged, with what, he cannot tell yet, but he’s ready to bet he’ll find out before the evening ends. That fourth beer is really tempting. Instead, his thumb finds the target tattooed on his left hand, blunt nail worrying at it.

“Say, Fish,” Will starts.

Here it comes.

“I met Lupe the other day at the grocery store.”

Frankie nods, steeling himself. Chin up, to meet his friend’s eyes. There’s the metallic crunch of a tall boy cracked open, followed by the bubbly, high-pitched hiss of the beer.

“Wanna tell me why she’s under the impression that we see each other every Friday evening?”

A second pair of storm-blue eyes dart to his face. If he wasn’t caught in the middle of it, Frankie could find the scene almost comical.

“Wait,” Benny cuts in, “you guys are back together?”

Frankie shakes his head. “No. No, we’re not.”

“But you still live together,” Will states, impassive, carrying on with his interrogation.

“For Lua,” Frankie says flatly.

Those two words have come out of his mouth for what feels like a thousand times in the past nine months, to family, close friends, colleagues, and acquaintances alike. Today, for the first time, he realizes how incomprehensible, how irrational it might have sounded to all of them.

“Why are you lying to her, then?” Will leans in closer, his face contrasted in harsh shadows under the overhead suspension.

“Look Will,” Frankie starts, his tone a notch too defensive, “I appreciate your concern, I know this comes from a good place, but I’m not on anything, ok? So you can– you can drop it.”

The request is rhetorical. Desperate, really. Ironhead is not known for letting go, once he has latched onto something. Across from Frankie, Benny drinks up in silence, eyes flickering between the two men and the growing tension that hangs like smoke between them.

An ugly apprehension creeps up along Frankie’s nape.

“I know you’re not using. I can tell. You look better than I’ve seen you looking in a while, aside from the fact that you’re wound up pretty tight. But we’re in this fucking aftermath together, Fish, so I gotta ask: what the fuck is it that you do every Friday evening?”

Frankie sits up straight, folding his arms over his chest, blood simmering.

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” he asks, keeping his voice even.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Will cocks his chin toward Benny as he adds, “I trust you with mine and my brother’s life.”

“But not with mine,” Frankie whispers, comprehension finally dawning on him, and somehow, his friend’s concern hits him harder than an unlikely lack of trust. Something snaps and goes slack between his shoulders.

Benny moves suddenly, his massive frame leaning forward. Propping his forearms on the table, he lets out a long, low whistle.

“Holy shit, man,” he says, “Fish got himself a new girl.”

Will frowns. His eyes do a quick back and forth between his brother and Frankie, who hangs his head, hiding under the brim of his hat, hissing an angered fuck.

Benny erupts in thundering laughter. Around them, the tension bursts open, the entire atmosphere dripping with it, the air moving again.

“No. No, I don’t,” Frankie mutters, shaking his head.

His denial is drowned under Benny’s booming voice.

“Come on! Look at yourself, old man, you’re fucking blushing! You got yourself some pussy!”

“Do you? Did you meet someone?” Will presses, trying to lock eyes with him.

Frankie gives it to him. Raises his head and looks him dead in the eyes, shaking his head still, a vein ready to pop in his corded neck.

“I didn’t meet anyone. She’s not a girl. I’m not talking about her here,” he grits.

Will leans back in his chair. It creaks loud and tired under his weight. He lets out a heavy sigh, of relief perhaps, or deepened worry.

“Come on, Fish! Give us something. At least tell us what she looks like,” Benny teases.

He opens another beer and slides it over to Frankie across the table.

Will’s eyes have yet to leave his face.

“Why don’t you tell Lupe about it? She’s the one who broke up with you,” he remarks.

“Less than nine months ago. After I fucked up, yet again. She’s the mother of my kid, Will, she’s been through enough on my account.”

Will nods in silence, apparently satisfied with this explanation.

“Anyway, it’s nothing. There’s nothing to tell,” Frankie adds, swallowing the bitter taste that sits at the back of his tongue.

Silence settles over the three of them. Frankie grabs the can and brings it to his lips, downing half of its content in long gulps.

Your scent is there, right there, meshed into the fabric of his jacket. It takes all of his willpower not to turn his head and breathe you in.

“She’s married, is she?” Benny asks with a shit-eating grin.

Will’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in sheer horror.

“Is she?” he asks, plunging forward to look at him.

Frankie grinds his teeth, jaw flexing, eyes clenching shut.

“Fish, is she married?” Will repeats, a shrill undertone in his usual low drawl.

“Well, I, for one, am not judging you,” Benny declares, giving his brother a pointed look and raising his can as if to toast Frankie.

Frankie sighs.

He’s never going back to that motel.

—

You don’t like champagne, but that’s all Adrian’s parents ever serve you. It’s fine. For once, you don’t mind. You’ll be driving later today, so you need your mind clear and your reflexes sharp.

You cradle the tall glass in your hand. The taste has long gone stale, the liquid lukewarm in the warmth of your palm. The bubbles are flat. On your lap, your phone buzzes quietly with a new message. Across the table, Adrian’s eyes dart in your direction, annoyance darkening them.

You swipe your thumb across the screen, and a smile plays on your lips at the sight of Ava and Polly grinning for the camera. They’re sitting in the middle of a large group of women, you quickly count twelve of them, wearing a rainbow of paper crowns.

They’re gathered in front of a festive table. A small living-room, brightly lit, cluttered with art, lamps, and plants. A Christmas tree stands in the left corner. In front of them, the plates are loaded with what looks like turkey and roasted vegetables. Napkins, cutlery, candles, and decorative pine tree branches scattered on the table. There’s a large cake dish at the center, on top of which sits the highest lemon meringue cake you’ve ever seen, the topping at least three inches high, clearly homemade.

Some of the women are holding wine glasses, white or red, half full, lipstick smeared on the rim. The photograph has captured them mid-cheers, their lips pursed around a word that’s not yet a smile. The picture is all crinkling eyes, ringing laughter, colorful clothes and flushed cheeks.

You tap your thumb on the screen in fast motions.

Gorgeous! All of you!

Wait, is that turkey vegan?

You add a winking emoji to clarify your tone before pressing send.

The three dots blink briefly and the dark-haired, shrugging emoji pops up on the screen.

You chuckle.

It’s Xmas!!!!! Lexi’s filling is fkg delicious!!!!!

What abt u? U holding up????

The little round yellow face, with its mouth turned downward, stirs guilt in your gut.

Ava was tearing up again, when you dropped her at the airport two days ago, despite your many reassurances that you would be perfectly alright. It’s not your first Christmas apart, but it’s the first one with over a thousand miles between you. You want to put her mind at ease. For her to remain carefree as long as life allows her to be.

I’m good, pup ♥ But I’d be even better if I was about to eat that meringue cake, OMG!

It’s not a lie, not exactly. Of course, it’s the first time in decades you’re completely sober to face the ordeal that is Christmas diner at Adrian’s parents. It’s almost an outer body experience. But strangely, not the nerve-racking one you feared. You anticipated worse. For every sensation to be impossibly loud, blinding, sharp. For your mind to spiral downward at the first uncomfortable interaction.

It hasn’t. You’re nervous, but also focused. And that grip provides you with just enough balance. This year, you’ve got a clear course of action. At least for the upcoming couple of days. One step at a time.

Pinching the screen, you zoom in on Ava’s face, before your eyes flicker up to the dining table you’re sitting at and the people around it.

Everything’s beige. From the tablecloth linen to the leftovers growing cold on the plates. From the Christmas tree and the guests’ clothing to Adrian’s mother’s hair.

Beige, bland, boring. Ashen.

The only touch of color is on Adrian’s face. Those ruby-colored specks spreading to his cheeks from the neck, standing out in his pale carnation. A reaction you only seem to arouse when he’s furious with you.

His mother announces dessert will be served in the jardin d’hiver, which is how Beatrice insists on calling the back porch.

Your phone vibrates, signaling another text from Ava. You slide it in the pocket of your jumpsuit without opening it. Adrian glowers at you a second longer before walking over to the end of the table to assist his grandmother.

His brother nearly races him to it. You watch the grown-up man in his bespoke Armani suit get up so fast he nearly trips over the legs of his chair.

Their motivation is not honorable. Affection doesn’t play into their eagerness. There isn’t a member of the Mountcastle family who harbors love or respect for the 92 year old, acrimonious matriarch. In their defense, she’s a dried-up, nasty piece of bigotry, built on pure, solid hatred, even by their conservative standards and values.

But she owns the estate and she holds the money. And so the two Mountcastle spawns scramble to their feet to make a show of their devotion.

The whole clan gets up to form a procession behind the old woman’s frail, hunched silhouette. Parents, aunts and uncles, in-laws and cousins, children in ruffled dresses and short dress pants flittering around them. Your so-called family. You can barely tell them apart.

Detached, you stride slowly behind, toward the back of the house. You haven't worn heels in two weeks. It’s quite surprising how fast you got unused to them. Your slick, black pumps press uncomfortably on your little toes, rubbing your skin raw. But you won’t be wearing them much longer. So you suck in the pain. You let it ground you.

Your choice of outfit elicited a stern glance from Adrian when you slipped it on this morning. He hovered behind you, disapproving and silent, still riled up from your earlier confrontation when you had announced you’d be driving your car to his parents’ house, so you could leave early.

You stood in front of the mirror, rigid and hesitant, sliding up the side zipper. A sleeveless black jumpsuit with a V-cut cleavage in the front, and a deeper one exposing your back, bought in a thrift store ages ago, when you were still in college. You exhumed it from the depth of your closet, in hopes it would convoke the boldness you had briefly experienced during this short period of your life. You’re done dressing to please anyone but yourself.

The help walks briskly past you through the double, ornate-glass doors leading to the porch. She lays a porcelain tray on the console near the railing.

“La bûche de Noël!” Beatrice declares triumphantly, opening her arms to gesture theatrically at the brown mass on the tray.

A wave of blond heads undulates toward the console, blue eyes in every nuance darting at the dish where a log-shaped lump of a cake sits.

“What is this monstrosity?” her mother-in-law croaks.

The entire family falls silent. Your eyes grow wide and you bite down on your grin.

Beatrice instantly loses her carefully crafted composure. It’s never been obvious to you until now, how vacant her gaze turns whenever something upsets her. You briefly wonder what’s her drug of choice to escape. You sure hope she has one.

“Oh but it’s French, Abigail,” she murmurs. “It’s a delicacy. I bought it from Sucré Table, on Kennedy Boulevard.”

“What’s wrong with an American pecan pie?” the matriarch spits out without so much as a look for her daughter-in-law.

Beatrice smiles her empty smile, sharp yellowed teeth, hardened gray eyes. You can’t bear to look at her any longer. You turn your head, and your gaze meets Agatha’s.

The young girl instantly lightens up, straightening her back in her baby-blue seersucker dress, smiling at you with something you can only describe as relief. She raises a little hand and wriggles her thin fingers. The ten year old is your favorite. You love her dearly. Her bubbly personality and burgeoning sense of humor have seen you through many family gatherings.

Today, it hurts you to admit, you’ve kept her at arm’s length, selfishly preserving yourself from Beatrice’s favorite question: when will you have a child of your own?

With a slight wince, you blink away the vision of Frankie holding his little girl in the photo booth picture. Their full heads of curls. Their dimpled grins.

Charles, Adrian’s father, is the first to break the uneasy silence, with a playful albeit daring remark on his mother’s failing sense of adventure. The assembly lets out a collective breath. Beatrice takes a seat on one of the cushioned wicker chairs, curtly signaling the help to cut the bûche and serve it.

You exhale slowly through parted lips. If you wait any longer, courage will fail you.

Smoothing your palms over your belly, you make your way to Adrian, where he’s leaning against the railing at the rear end of the porch.

“I’ll be going, now,” you whisper, eyes not quite meeting his.

He sighs, something constrained and hostile, facing away toward the sprawling, lush garden, hydrangeas, willow trees. Tension rolls off his lanky frame. Your stomach turns, your mind swivels, grasping for words of reassurance.

Incomprehensibly, you want him to talk to you, even though you’re terrified of what he might say. The poisoned words he’s capable of, somehow preferable to his irate silence.

“I’ll excuse myself to your mother before leaving. I’ll be discreet. I promise. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your–”

He turns to face you so fast it startles you.

“You could at least tell me where you’re going.”

You look up at him, taken aback by his pained expression. Under his pinched brow, his features are twisted in an unfamiliar expression. He slithers a hand around your waist, drawing you close, and it strikes you: he’s pleading.

A breath hitches inside your chest. From this close, you can see the flecks of green in his pale blue irises. You had forgotten their complexity. Their refined beauty. He tightens his grip on you, fingers curling into your tender flesh. The lie tumbles out of you before you can hold it.

“I’m just going to check in on Ava. It’s her first Christmas on her own.”

You catch a glimpse of his mother in your peripheral, handing out Bone China dessert plates. The heady perfume of the hydrangea bushes is going to your head. The day is swirling inside your brain, around you, jardin d’hiver, French dessert, delicacy. Agatha’s desperate little wave, her loneliness, your cowardice. Adrian’s eyes of green and their angry plea.

Your lungs constrict, not letting you breathe.

Adrian tilts down his face, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath skates your skin when he speaks.

“What happened to us, babe?”

His lips brush against the edge of your jaw. Static scrambles your brain; your hand motions upward of its own volition to rest on his back. The pain, the remorse in his voice sits like a razor blade inside your throat. You have to talk around the taste of your blood, voice unrecognizable.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

It’s not a lie. You will be back tomorrow. Facing a blank page, the rest of your life to figure out, to navigate with what you’ve learned about yourself.

His hand moves, sliding down to rest in the small of your back, the muscles of his back flexing under your light touch, and your palm, your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth.

“I miss you,” he whispers against your lips.

—

The car stereo plays a classical rendition of Let it snow. Ten minutes into driving, you gave up trying to find a station that would broadcast something other than Christmas tunes.

The traffic is fluid, the roads eerily deserted. The windows on both sides are cracked open, and the warm, late afternoon air that wafts in soothes your sore rib cage.

Your mind keeps wandering to the previous Friday, when you sat nestled into Frankie’s side as he drove aimlessly. To the smooth fabric of his jacket under your cheek, to the heat of his chest, to his solid breadth.

You stop it.

The memory is always a thought away. But it shouldn’t be summoned at random. You can’t risk its erosion. There won’t be another one.

You’re disappointed to find a lanky young man sitting in Raul’s place behind the counter of the motel’s office. His blond hair is tied in a bun on top of his head, and his phone blasts pop tunes in audio slices of fifteen seconds through revolving TikTok videos. You want to cover your ears. Or smash up his phone.

He hands you the key, and you all but rush out of the office, only slowing once you’ve reached the front door of your room.

Before stepping inside, you halt under the porch.

Beyond the parking lot, beyond the road, over the horizon, dusk descends in dark tangerine over the canopy of trees. Slowly, the sky turns saffron in seamless gradations. The air feels textured, grainy like an old photograph, like long-gone, sunny vacations, like faded memories. The evening breeze is pleasant. The night envelops you, violet-blue, regrets and losses.

Inside room number 2, you draw the yellow curtains. You stand still for a few moments, confused, your routine disrupted, since you’re not expecting him.

It’s too early to sleep, but the tension that has run through you throughout the week, culminating with Adrian’s kiss, is now flowing out of your body, leaving you limp.

Adrian hadn’t held you like that in years. With passion and intent. Perhaps even sincerity. He’d never done that, attempted to use your nostalgic heart to his benefit. Intimidation had usually sufficed.

Toeing off your shoes, you slowly undress. You fold your clothes in a neat little pile, similar to the one you found on the desk last Saturday. Military-like.

The questions you never asked Frankie flood your brain. All the things about him you will never have the time to learn. They form a lump in the dip of your collarbone. They prickle under your eyelids.

You clench your eyes shut, and invoke the image of his daughter’s face, trying to picture their Christmas celebration to strengthen your resolve. Pecan pies and half-nibbled, minute portions of roasted turkey. Red boxes wrapped in white ribbons under the blinking tree. A teddy bear. Jigsaw puzzles with large pieces. Plastic toys with pushing buttons and synthetic lullabies. A rocking horse, maybe.

The image of him with that little girl has plagued you, continuously, throughout the week. Pain cloaking you like mist, seeping inside you, breaching the molecular structure of your flesh. Redefining it. Until you woke up one night, drenched in cold sweat, with a certitude ringing out inside your head: you had to give him up. Give him back, back to his wife and daughter.

You’d go to the motel one last time, one last indulgence, to say goodbye to the idea of him, and you’d give him back to his family.

When your heart rate has slowed down, you walk over to the bathroom to wash your face clean. You’ll miss your reflection in that black-edged mirror. You don’t smile and say, “Stop me.”

The bedspread is gross. The polyester fabric, once a peach shade of orange, is darkened in multiple places by stains of various shapes and consistencies. You’re probably responsible for most of it.

Grabbing a corner of the heavy quilt, you slide it off the bed entirely. The white linen underneath seems clean enough.

You climb into bed, and repress a shiver. You switch off the lights and pull up the sheet to your chin. The fabric is threadbare, starchy.

How can you be so cold, in the mild evening?

Lying curled up on your side, eyes strained on the curtains, you don’t feel yourself falling asleep.

Soon, you’re miles away from the motel, your naked body drifting into the Pacific Ocean. You’re half-immersed, but afloat. The undercurrent is strong underneath the white crests of the violent waves, but you’re not scared. As long as you lie in the water, as long as you don’t try to resist, you’ll be fine. Ears beneath the surface, you’re isolated by the silence of the dark abyss, eyes staring up into the immensity above you.

It’s a different kind of sunset. Flamboyant, carmine, and the whole sky is ablaze with it. The horizon is on fire, but you’re safe in the water.

A vague intuition roils your peace. You’re supposed to look for something. How, you don’t know, because you cannot shift from your position, or you’ll sink.

Suddenly, something tailspins across the sky in a fast downward fall. Too small to be a bird, too slow for a shooting star. Thick streaks of ominous gray fumes trail behind it in its descent.

Should you be scared? Should you try to get away from it? It’s so far in the distance, it can’t be much of a threat. It’s too late, now, anyway, you tilt your head to the side in time to watch it collide with the surface of the ocean.

You feel the impact in the undertow. Something too big stirs between your lungs, and you gasp as the muted sound of the collision reaches you in a vibrating shockwave.

The ripples of the impact are crawling fast over the surface, in your direction. A sense of dread, of impending doom, scrambles your brain. You jolt upward to a vertical position, legs and hands beating against the current, pushing against the water.

The balance is fractured. You’re pulled under.

You’re sinking fast, as fast as that thing fell into the ocean, and above the surface, the crimson sky is turning dim.

Instinctually, you rebel against it, screaming for help but it’s water, not air, that fills your lungs. Salty, cold, abrading your throat when you choke on it.

You’re dying, or you’re dead already, because something firm and soft radiates heat against your back.

“Shhh, it’s ok.”

A strong arm bands firmly around your chest, warm palm, splayed fingers, pulling you flush against warm skin.

“I got you, baby.”

Your eyes shoot open. The dark bedroom materializes in your blurred vision, the silhouette of the bedside table and the lamp, the pale square of the window. Its shape detached from the wall, dancing in the darkness.

“Frankie?”

Frankie presses you into him, a short, strong squeeze of an answer.

But your dream is clinging to the edges of your consciousness, salty water sloshing at the bottom of your lungs.

“‘S that really you?” you ask again, words slurred through sleep, panic in the inflection of your question.

His hand wraps around your breast. He slots his face into the curve of your neck, the scruff of his jaw a tickle against your bare skin.

“Why, you were expecting someone else?”

You close your eyes, tears rising, sudden, like the tide of the Pacific Ocean.

“I’m not still dreaming?” you breathe out.

His response is immediate. His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder. The bite is shallow, but firm, and you let out a little sound, between a surprised gasp and a relieved exhale.

“See? Not dreaming. Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of you in the morning,” he mouths against your skin before kissing it better. A pointed kiss, plush, parted lips. A promise.

The impact of that thing on the surface of the ocean is still pulsating through you. Ricocheting around your rib cage. You wiggle into his hold to turn around and face him, your palms finding the plane of his broad chest.

Your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth.

In the semidarkness, you can only make out the outline of his sharp features. You scoot closer, tucking your face into his neck, taming the vibration with his scent.

“Will you still be here in the morning?”

You feel the thick swallow in his throat against your temple. It’s a beat before he moves, tilting his head to rest his chin on the crown of your head, both arms circling your waist. Engulfing you in his hold.

“I will.”

—

Frankie knew you’d be at the motel. Instinctually so. A gut feeling, unnerving in its clarity.

He hadn’t planned on going when he headed out. He had decided never to set a foot there ever again, and he was going to stand by his decision. After he’d put his daughter to bed, he just needed to get out of the house. Escape the charged atmosphere.

It was Lua’s second Christmas, and he hadn't even managed to keep his family together that long.

Lupe was watching a movie in the living-room. He’d leaned against the door frame, already in his hat and jacket. She hated his hat. She had forbidden him to wear it inside the house when they started dating, and he still abided by that rule. A belated mark of respect.

“I’m heading out,” he announced, as neutral as possible. “Not sure when I’ll be back, don’t worry, ok?”

She was done being worried about him. He knew this much. He understood. He accepted.

They still shared a roof, however. Bills, deadlines, and most importantly, responsibilities regarding the child they had brought into this world. He owed her basic information on his whereabouts. He may have lied about where he went, but he had always been back home before Lua woke up, as agreed between them.

“Yeah, ok,” she answered, without lifting her eyes from the TV screen.

As he pushed away from the lintel, she turned to face him, as if remembering something.

“Wait, Francisco?”

She hadn’t called him Frankie since she’d broken up with him.

“Yea?” he said, backtracking to stand on the threshold.

Her dark eyes glimmered, lit up by the TV screen’s flickering light. She was beautiful. A superior kind of beauty. Like gilded age Hollywood nobility. Dolores Del Rio, Linda Darnell. Even when tired, even with a bare face, and sitting in her pajamas with a bowl of chips between her crossed legs. Frankie hoped Lua would grow up to look like her. To be like her. And not take from him and his rough features. And his fucked up brain.

“Could you stay in to take care of Lua next weekend? I know Friday’s your night, but I— I’ve got an opportunity to get away for the weekend. I might not be back until the 2nd.”

He recognized it in her demeanor. In the way she tried facing him without being able to look straight at him. The discreet, unconscious fiddling of the hem of her t-shirt. The concealment. Handing out a part, but not all the truth. Only what’s convenient.

He briefly wondered if he’d been this obvious when he was running around on drugs. Probably even more so. How she didn’t kick him in the jaw was still a mystery to him. He owed her so much for her patience alone.

“No problem, I’ll be here. Happy to do it for you,” he said in earnest, hoping it didn’t sound too awkward. Hoping she’d get the meaning behind it: she deserved someone else. Someone better.

“Ok. Cool.” She paused before she added, “Appreciate it.”

He nodded in silence and turned around, walking toward the front door.

Originally, the plan had been to drive without a goal. Pop an old Jefferson Airplane album into the truck’s stereo and listen to the music, drifting into the night. Slowly ease down from the day’s tensions.

Your scent had eventually dissipated from the cab. It’d been eight days. He was never going back to that motel, and with her request, Lupe had just made his resolution easier to translate into action.

The words formed inside his mind. He pronounced them out loud.

I’m never going back to that motel.

And he knew. You were there, at this very moment. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew. You’d said you couldn’t come, but it was Christmas evening, not Christmas Eve. Most families were done with the celebrations, heading home, cleaning up, storing away the china until next Thanksgiving.

He pictured you sitting on the edge of the bed, a lonely silhouette peering out into the twilight beyond the yellow curtains, and a violent pain shot through his chest. He thought he was having a heart attack, the way his heart squeezed and sank.

It hadn’t been more than a split second between his vision and his decision. He hit the brakes, ignoring the white SUV honking and swerving behind him, and U-turned on Ocean to head toward the 589 northbound.

When he pulled into the parking lot, the night was pitch dark. Your gray sedan appeared in his headlights. He let out a sigh of relief as he parked behind it. The pain inside his chest was only starting to ebb.

He got out fast and climbed onto the porch in front of room number 2. You hadn’t even locked the door.

—

Dawn wakes you. The light gently tugging at your consciousness, little by little. Pale but insistent, nudging your eyes open.

The room looks so different in the daylight. A miracle you have yet to tire of. Dust particles dancing in the grazing sunbeams of an early winter morning. Quiet and peace.

It’s been a long while since you last slept this well. You sigh at the cliché. A good-hearted, full-chested sigh.

Frankie’s heat behind you is nearly too much. His chest pressed against your back, his left arm, limp and heavy, resting across your waist.

His breathing is deep. Slow, and steady. With each rise and fall of his chest, a thin sheen of sweat glides between your two bodies. His breath ruffles the thin hair on your nape in a gentle tickle.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you try peeling his arm off you. You’ve almost made it when he suddenly brings it back down.

“Nope,” he mumbles with closed eyes. The word is sleep-heavy, but the corner of his lips are twitching.

You stifle a delighted giggle.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Mmh.”

There’s a pause as he considers it, as you vainly try to bite down on your childlike grin.

“Ok,” he finally says, with exaggerated reluctance.

He doesn’t move his arm, though. You have to wiggle yourself out of his hold.

When you exit the bathroom, he’s still in the same position. The room is flooded with light. The sun darts its rays into his sleep-mussed hair. From golden strands to darker depth, his curls are pointing in every direction.

You tiptoe in silence, doing your very best to climb back on the bed without disturbing his slumber. You want this. More than anything you’ve ever wanted. This tranquil moment to yourself, alone with his sleeping body.

Kneeled behind him on the mattress, you take in his breadth, impressive even in this position as he lies on his side. You breathe in his scent, leather, cedar wood, and the musk of his skin, warm from sleep, from the morning sun, from your own body.

There’s a larger freckle on the left side of his neck. Your fingers hover over it, curious, tempted. Drifting higher, your gaze uncovers a faded tattoo behind his ear. You can’t make out what it represents. The green ink is blurred, as if smeared underneath his skin. You doubt it was professionally done. It tugs at your heart with a sharp little pang of a pain to imagine him as a teenager. Tall and lean, smooth cheeks, smooth skin, a friend hunched over him with a needle and an ink pen.

There’s another one on his left hand. This one, you know well. You’ve kissed it. Licked it. Held on to it. It’s nestled on the muscle between his thumb and index finger. Two circles and a dot in their center. A target, you assume, but you can’t be certain. The pile of clothes folded in military fashion springs to mind.

Your eyes continue their exploration, flicking to his other wrist, with its inked arabesque, but it’s over in a second.

You let out a sharp gasp, and he moves so fast you can’t deflect. His arm seizes you by the waist, strong and unyielding. He drags you over his body, and you stumble onto the mattress in front of him.

“What are you doing, back there?” he husks, a smile in his tone, and you giggle, again.

He pulls you in close to him.

“I’m looking at my Christmas present,” you answer.

He lets out a low chuckle. You made him laugh. Pride flares up in your chest. He smiles a dimpled smile, and you suck in a shaky breath, more pain blooming inside your rib cage.

“You’re so pretty in this light,” you whisper in wonderment.

“You’re pretty in every light.”

“How would you know, you haven’t opened your eyes yet,” you tease.

You tease. Your levity makes you dizzy.

His eyebrows disappear in his soft curls. He lifts one eyelid, pursing his lips. The morning sun catches at the mahogany of his iris.

“You questioning my judgment here?”

Smiling, you move your hips closer to his, to where you want to feel him. The low rasp of his voice is dripping down inside you, slowly, surely. Swirling like honey. Thick, rich trickles of amber, sticky and sweet. Like the light playing on his freckled skin. Like his warmth under your hands. Too much and not enough, pooling down between your legs.

Reaching up, you scratch your nails in his beard, tracing the heart-shaped, bare patch on his jaw with your fingertips.

“Is it ok that you’re still here? At this hour?” you ask, focusing on the tip of your finger.

“I don’t know. I hope my truck is not gonna turn into a pumpkin,” he answers, giving your waist a little pinch.

“I hope not. I like your truck.”

Your fingers travel down along his strong neck.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

The bobbing of his throat is mesmerizing. It’s a minute before you’re able to answer.

“You still don’t believe I fell, do you?”

“I believe you. It’s him I don’t trust.”

You’re brought back, violently so, under Beatrice’s porch, into Adrian’s arms and his lips pressed to yours, prying them open. To his taste on your tongue, bitter like stale champagne. Yesterday afternoon. Forever ago.

Perhaps he sees the memory clouding your gaze, because his leg wedges between yours, his body curling around your body. Protective, possessive. He nuzzles into the curve of your shoulder, taking in a deep, full breath. His lips trail open-mouth kisses, tickling and wet, along the line of your throat. You burrow into his chest, into his hold, into his world.

The words bubble up from the depth of your chest, from where they formed between your lungs, where the creature is purring, lapping honey, warm and content.

“My name is Lee.”

Frankie pulls back immediately with a wide-eyed stare. You see, more than you hear, the name rolling around the tip of his tongue, as he tastes it on his palate.

“Lee. Lee. Lee.”

On the third occurrence, his hand circles your hip and slides down to the round of your ass, grasping your flesh as if to hold you down. Make sure you won’t vanish. There’s that perpetual crease between his brow. His heart is thrumming hard and fast against yours. You grow restless between his arms.

“I hate it,” you say.

“What?”

You swallow thickly, mouth cardboard dry.

“My name.”

He props himself up on his elbow to better face your scowling expression, eyes piercing you under his deep frown.

“Why?”

“They gave me my grandfather’s name. Lee Abbott. Lee Abbott & Son, import export,” you recite. “It’s not even mine.”

Your eyes flicker, scanning his face, trying to read the ticking of his jaw, the widening of his pupils.

“I think it’s perfect. Lee’s perfect.”

His voice is breathy, like he just took a punch to the gut, and it sends your mind reeling. Is this what he sounds like when he’s lying?

“How?” You wrestle the question out of your throat, and it’s still barely audible.

“It’s fearless. It’s fucking badass,” he answers without missing a beat, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“What?” you scoff incredulously. You shake your head on the starched pillowcase. “I’m not badass. I’m not fearless, Frankie, I can guarantee you that.”

The pink tip of his tongue darts between his lips as he narrows his gaze on you. His hand leaves your hip. He brings it up to your face, and he pauses. An inch from your skin, like he’s taming an animal, scared, wild or wounded, or all three, before brushing his knuckles to your cheek.

It’s overwhelming, his body hunched over yours. Crowding your senses. Filling your vision. His rhythmic strokes, rough hand, gentle touch. It’s something you had foreseen but weren’t quite ready to experience: his ability for tenderness.

You’re cornered. Entirely. You should probably be scared. To some extent, you are. But you know you’re safe, the feeling instinctive. You must trust the waves, trust the tide of this deep dark ocean. It’ll keep you afloat. Embrace the impact. Embrace its concentric ripples.

“Ok,” he starts. “Here’s how I see it. Marion… Marion, she’s hiding. She’s running away with something that’s not hers, right? Something she stole. Whereas Lee… Lee got out there and she took chances. She got what she wanted. She made it hers.”

Your heart beats inside your throat, blood flushing your face and rushing through your ears with a deafening roar.

“Did she?”

He nods.

“Yea. Yea, she did.”

He leans down, slowly lowering his lips to yours. His kiss is patient, reverent, slow-building. Plush lips wrapped around yours, tongue gently prodding, softly coaxing you open. Between your arms, his shoulders tremble under the force of his restraint.

When you ease into it with a quiet whimper, he draws you in closer. You arch up in his embrace, fingers threading through his curls, right leg brushing up along his.

His mouth crushes yours with a groan. He licks inside you, tongues entwined, swirling. Honey dripping down your spine, fire licking up your core, electricity tingling along your limbs.

Kisses that are more teeth than lips, when he trails the line of your jaw, the coarse hair of his beard scrapping your cheeks. Calloused hands spamming the expanse of your smooth skin, cupping your breasts, rough and needy, and you feel the hot press of his hard length against your belly as he rocks against you.

Your heart is impossibly light. Like it’s going to rip through your rib cage and fly away. Like you’ll be left without one, and the wild creature, always demanding more, will take its place. Because that’s what it’s been waiting for, since the very beginning.

Forgotten, your good will and resolutions, weak promises you made to yourself. Pushed back, pushed down, guilt and photo booth pictures of his dimpled baby girl. Drowned, intrusive memories, blue eyes, white porch, French delicacy.

He’s yours, he said so himself, didn’t he? For the first time ever, something’s yours, wholly. You got him, because of everything you surrendered.

And it matters not that you’re lying to yourself. That, really, he belongs to somebody else. It matters not when his mouth is all over you, greedy, taking. Devouring you. When his fingers are gliding through your soaked folds, breaching your entrance. When they’re buried inside you, thick and curled and pumping.

When you’re blooming sticky and wet, pretty and dazed, bursting open under his touch, moaning his name.

He’s yours now. In this room. In the gift of your name. In your heart that’s flying away from you as you clench and shatter on his hand.

He pulls up, blown out pupils, damp wild curls falling on his forehead. He drags his fingers out of you and the emptiness prickles at the corner of your eyelids. His eyes are trained on you as he licks them. As he smiles, a cocky grin stretches his gorgeous lips and dimples his pretty face, and perhaps this is as close as you’ll ever get to see him looking like his teenage self. That smug smile. All pride and confidence.

You’re sinking into that shitty mattress, weighed down by melancholy and pleasure and regrets. And something else. Something more stubborn than you, that you still cannot name.

Frankie fastens his mouth to yours, sharing your taste with you, wedging his body between your legs, spreading your hips with his waist.

Your emptiness is throbbing at the center of you.

“Frankie please, please.”

“Yes, baby. Told you I was gonna take care of you.”

Flexing his hips, he rubs his length against your scorching heat, coating himself in your slick. Anticipation tingles through the blunt edges of your previous release. You squirm under the weight of him, knees touching the mattress, cracked open, vibrating.

He lines up at your entrance, dark eyes focused on your face, and oh god, the fucking size of him. The fucking stretch. The burn as he inches in, excruciatingly slow. It has you blinking away tears of pain and gratitude, it has you whining his name.

He’s all blown-out pupils, taut muscles, and slack jaw, as he sheathes his cock inside your heat, all the way in. Round head nudging at your cervix. The sight of him, nearly wrecked, control waning, as he makes room for himself inside you rips through you.

“You feel so damn good, Lee,” he says, impossibly soft, and you feel it inside your chest, with the way he’s lying on you.

It’s a stretching glide, when he starts moving. A spreading grind. You can feel every vein, every ridge of him. He hooks an arm under your knee and folds you around him. He’s not fully pulling out, he can’t, he needs you wrapped around him, this much you understand, clearly, through the annihilation of his deep strokes.

Forehead to forehead, chest to chest, you can’t breathe and your body’s a thinning envelope between your heart and Frankie’s. It’s too much, his weight inside and over you, his breath in your mouth, his smell everywhere.

You’re overwhelmed, forced to surrender to the fire coiling inside you. With the coarse hair at his base scraping against the sensitive bud of your clit, with his cock, hot and heavy, dragging against your walls.

Your body jerks underneath him, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulder to draw him closer, your other hand pushing him away and he moves fast, strong fingers circling your wrist and sliding your hand above your head, twining your fingers. You’re pinned down. Helpless. Willing. Unmoored by the intensity of the building impact.

He feels it, feels your frantic flutter around his cock and the frenzied racing of your pulse and he drives in deeper, faster, harder. The room fills up with the sound of his sweat-damp skin slapping against yours. Louder than the creaking bed, louder than the headboard’s thud on the wall.

“Oh god!” you cry.

“Come on, baby, give it to me,” he grunts into your mouth.

—

Frankie sees the plea in your eyes, shiny with tears, too wide, too glassy. Come with me, you’re begging him, come inside. He’s never fucked you like that, not you, not anyone, he’s never bared himself so fully. He’s gonna lose himself for good, this time.

You’re breaking up under his rolling hips, bucking hard against the press of his body. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, clenching cunt, clenched eyelids.

Something blares up in the back of his head. A signal. An alarm.

He can’t even fuck you through it. You let out a broken cry when he pulls out, spurting dense ropes of come on your mound with a tense “fuck.”

A dry little sob rattles through your chest. Muffled, apologetic.

He untangles his fingers from yours, unhooks your leg from his arm. Pushes away from you on the rumpled sheets, and it’s etched on your face, in your pinched brow, in your quivering lip. The disillusion. The void he’s failed to fill.

That fucking heart attack of a pain squeezes at his chest again.

He rolls onto his back, freeing you, and you gulp in a large breath.

In the room, the air is stifling. Charged with the coppery smell of sex. The daylight is unforgiving with the chipped furniture and the moth-eaten curtains. With that ugly painting of the Appalachian.

“Let’s go clean you up,” he says, sitting up with a cinch. Unable to bear your silence.

“No,” you whisper. “I need a minute.”

You shut your eyes close. You retreat. He watches you disappear beyond the shore of your inner island. Where he cannot follow you.

There’s noise coming through the paper thin walls from next door. Several voices, a television, maybe. Further away, the low humming of a vacuum cleaner.

How long until room-service robs you from him?

He lies back down. Stares at your profile, still and absent, cut out in amber against the light from the window.

Lee.

The most beautiful name he’s ever heard. He briefly noted the similarities: three letters, starting with an L. Lee. Lua. A perfect balance.

It tastes like honey. You said, “My name is Lee” but what you meant was, “I trust you.”

What has he done with your trust?

How could he ever imagine himself capable of living without this? Without you? Without this room, even?

His mind drifts to his early morning routine, Lua curled up on his lap, drinking her bottle with those hungry, little grunting noises. Chubby little fingers wrapped around his thumb.

He was always an early riser. Which was practical during his time in the Army. The nightmares, the drugs, they disrupted that. He could be up, without being awake. Without being there.

But lately, he’s the first to rise again, no matter how late sleep finds him.

He loves that Lua seems to know he’s awake. She never cried in the morning. When she was just a newborn baby, she would make those quiet babbling noises. Now she calls his name. Papa.

He comes into her room with her bottle ready. Most mornings, she’s up, already, holding herself upright with the bars of her crib. That smile she gives him, when she sees him. That’s his morning sun.

He picks her up with one hand, she weighs so little, and yet so much. He covers her face in tickling smooches until she stops giggling and starts pushing him away, making grabby hand gestures at her bottle.

These moments of a peace he doesn’t deserve, in the early, blue hours, he owes them to you. You’ve smothered the nightmares. You’ve quietened his mind. Patiently chipped away at the walls he had erected between himself and happiness, with your quiet, determined strength.

Fuck.

You’re getting up. He watches you climb off the bed and saunter off to the bathroom. He doesn’t want to stay alone on this bed, in this room. Without you.

So he follows you, standing on the threshold, leaning on the door frame of the windowless bathroom, looking at you as you clean yourself with a towel.

The paint is coming off on the lintel. The small neon above the sink lights up shit. The shower head is crusty with limestone. Humidity speckles the ceiling in black, hairy dots above the bathtub.

He hates himself for taking you here.

Back in September, he had chosen the place because it seemed sufficiently remote. Because he hoped it would deter you. Scare you away.

He hates that you didn’t even flinch.

He hates that he’s grown fond of this shithole.

You turn and hand him a glass of water. He steps inside with you. You watch him drink up, head tilted and your big, searching eyes on him. The resolve that sharpens them, that he witnessed emerging, Friday night after Friday night, as resignation receded. That’s what guides him now.

There’s something intrinsically soft, a new kind of intimacy, about standing together in that bathroom. Soon, you’ll have to part. The imminent separation hangs heavy and silent between you. Tangible. He wants you again, already.

You’ve sensed the storm raging inside his head. He can tell, because it’s as though you’re trying to absorb it with your calm demeanor. He resents that. Doesn’t want you to. His moods are not your burden to carry.

You take the glass from him and run the water over it to clean it. As if the cleaning service won’t do it once you vacate the place.

His eyes flicker up to that mirror, to your dim reflection. Mussed hair, relaxed shoulders. Your face, solemn, illegible. And his, darker looking. A trick of the weak lighting. Pitch-black eyes, flexing jaw. Towering over you. Threatening.

The reflection is like an old photograph, a decayed daguerreotype that reveals a ghost. A girl and her demon.

He moves forward to crowd you, until your hips knock against the sink, his own pressing against your cheeks, his cock half-hard already. The glass falls into the sink with a clatter when he grasps the hinge of your jaw, twisting your head upward and to the side.

“You like it when I spit in your mouth, Lee?”

You nod. “I do.”

He gathers it inside his mouth, and you open yours, diligent, hungry, pulling your tongue out with a soft whimper, and his cock twitches in the small of your back. His spit rolls down his tongue to yours. You raise to your tiptoes with a needy little moan. He watches your reflection as you swallow.

His mouth crashes over your lips, sloppy kiss, scraping teeth. Hands kneading rough at your tits, rubbing their hardening peaks between his fingers.

“I want to fuck you in that shower,” he growls, teeth finding the edge of your jaw.

You arch back into him with a broken moan, but to his surprise, you say, “We can’t.”

His hand skates down your front, down the slope of your belly, fingers roughly parting your folds and fuck. You’re soaked. You’re dripping for him.

“Why?” he brushes against the shell of your ear. “There’s time. I want you again, Lee.”

“I want you too, Frankie, I—” you try to move away from the sink, your strength a poor match for his. “We can’t because we literally can’t, that shower is impossible.”

Your laughter startles him. Stepping back, he gives you room, and you move immediately, sitting on the edge of the tub to demonstrate. Smeared with your arousal, his fingers circle his cock, absentmindedly, brain fogged in a lustful haze as you run the tap.

“There’s no hot water. Well, there is, a little, but look, there’s only pressure with cold water. And…” you look up at him with a cheeky grin, “that’s kind of where I draw the line.”

There’s a glimmer of pride in your eyes as you deliver your joke.

His heart fucking sinks. He’ll get that heart-attack, eventually.

“You’ve showered in there, with that broken tap, all this time?”

You nod with a bemused smile before you shrug, comfortable, easy.

“Well, at the beginning. I haven’t in a while.” You pause before you add quietly, “I like to keep you on me.”

Frankie lets out a long sigh. His cock resting thick and heavy against his thigh. You make him so fucking hard. You make him stupidly soft. You drive him out of his goddamn mind.

The words come out of him before he gets the chance to think them over.

“I’ll bring my tools next time. I can probably fix it, if I can access the boiler.”

Getting up, you close the distance between you.

“You could fix it?” you ask, wide eyes gazing at him in amazement.

He chuckles, a velvety rumble from his chest, something assertive and low, the sound of which he had forgotten. He considers telling you about his engineering degree. Enumerating all the aircraft he can fly. Fucking boast about it. Because he wants you to know.

The memory of the crashed Mi-8 in the middle of the coca field invades his mind. Twisted rotor, broken hull. Smoking motor, shattered glass. He can smell the gasoline. Feel the sting of his own sweat and blood in his left eye.

You skim your hands up along his arms. Bring him back to you, to room number 2.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grits through a clenched jaw.

“Like what?” you ask, voice honey sweet.

You curl your fingers around his biceps.

“Like I can ask you anything.”

“Why not? You can.”

He has to tell you. Tell you he cannot come next week, but that he’ll be back the week after. And the following. As long as you’ll have him.

Only he catches it before he has a chance to speak. That shadow that plays across your face. The beginning of your retreat, behind the clouding of your eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, and he has to swallow down the taste of dirt in his mouth.

You let your hands drop to your sides. You can’t even look at him.

“Hey, what is it?” he presses, cupping your face.

“Can’t come next week.”

You’re so quiet, leaning into his palm, no more than a whisper, and it fucking breaks him.

“I’m going to that— stupid ski resort. Every year, I– I don’t even ski. I hate it. I just hate it. All I do is wait around all day.”

Eventually, you raise your eyes to his face as he flexes his jaw. He sees you police your expression for him.

“It’s not that bad. I get time to read,” you backtrack.

Like you triggered the fury his eyes are burning with, and not that piece of shit of a man who takes you to places where you don’t want to be, just to keep you around fucking waiting.

But his anger subsides abruptly. Everything falls into place. Your presence here last night, your sudden sadness. Like him, you had decided not to come here again.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, trying to suppress the resigned sorrow from his tone.

He doesn’t need you to answer. He knows the refrain. He’s never going back to this motel.

“I saw the picture in your wallet, Frankie. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. But I did.”

Three letters. Starting with an L. A perfect balance.

“And what does it change?”

His grip tightens, hands sliding through your hair to the back of your skull, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheeks. You’re cold to the touch. You grasp his wrists, hold on to him, like you did last week in the parking lot. Eyes glimmering, a first tear dangling from your lashes.

“Listen,” he starts, “if you want to stop… this, obviously, I won’t hold you back. But—”

He has to pause. Rake his brain for words, words that fail him, words to express the sadness and the loss and the fear.

He breathes deep, and your scent fills his lungs. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green.

“But I will miss you, Lee. I will miss you so fucking much.”

That tear breaks free. Rolls down your cheek, and he catches it on his thumb.

“I’ll miss you too,” you whisper.

“Then come back to me. Keep coming back to me, baby.”

There’s that pull. The violence of it like a blow. And you must feel it too, because you leap up to him as he leans into you, and your mouths collide. He’s crushing your lips, licking into you, cocking your head to deepen the kiss. Fingers digging into your waist, into your hips, down your thighs as they roam. A harsh, restless furrow. Looking to bruise, to leave a mark, an imprint of him.

Your arms fold around his shoulders, pulling him in, nails denting little red crescents into his skin, and he groans into it. A primal sound that rumbles around you and bounces off the dirty tiles.

His mouth drags wet and hard along your throat. Biting down, sucking in, teeth sinking into your pulse point. He follows it down to your heart. The beating thud, the flowing bloodstream. Hunched over you, lips trailing to your sternum, face burying between your breasts. He bites into the swell of it, pushing the flesh of it into his mouth, latching onto your nipple. A hard suck. Sharp. Painful.

You keen. Folding over him when he falls to his knees. Threading your fingers through his curls with a choked off moan when his teeth scrape the soft flesh of your belly, where you still taste of him. He can smell your sex, rubbed pink and raw from when he fucked you earlier, less than twenty minutes ago.

He bites into the tender skin of your inner thigh, around the long, thin scar you hide there, and you spread your legs wider.

“Good girl,” he grunts.

There’s a knock on the front door. Someone calling “room-service” from outside, and you gasp, hand flying to clasp over your mouth. He couldn’t care less.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls into your skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you answer, voice high and breezy, and it shoots straight to his cock.

He lifts your leg, slides it over his shoulder, and you grip the sink for balance with a little shriek as he dives between your folds, fingers curled around the swell of your ass. It’s not soft, it’s not tender, there’s no Stop me. It’s urgent and commanding. It’s messy, desperate, demanding.

His mouth is hard, wide open, cupping your cunt, his neck pulled taut. Tongue curling around your clit, flickering, plunging into your wet, hot center. Licking your slick straight from your walls, drinking you up. You buck into it, riding his tongue, your pleasure, his face, and he groans into your heat.

His face presses up into you until you nearly topple over. You’re all ragged breaths and wanton whimpers. He wants more, wants to feel you from the inside, and it’s a need, really. Your skin melding with his. Your sex scorching him raw.

It’s your louder cry, loud enough to cover the repeating knocking, when he pulls away.

“Gotta fuck you, baby,” he rasps, getting up, grabbing you by the waist to turn you around.

His voice sounds wrecked, as wrecked as he feels. Cock throbbing angrily between his legs.

“Fuck,” you pant, “I want— I want you to— want you to fuck me.”

He watches you, transfixed, as you face away from him, bracing your hands on the slippery porcelain of the sink. Back bowed, ass perked up. Offered. Waiting. Wanting.

“Oh shit,” he pants. “Fuck.”

He catches his reflection in the dark mirror. Black eyes, hungry. Lips shining with your arousal. A carnivorous expression. It scares him. Like he’s about to eat you whole, eat you raw. A girl and her demon. No one to stop him.

Circling his cock, he spits down on it, smearing the saliva down his length with a couple of strokes, and he’s at your entrance, hot like a fever, leaking wet and sticky for him.

Hand brushing up your arched back to curl around your nape, holding you still for him, he drives into you to the hilt with all his strength.

A broken cry rips through your chest. He pauses inside you, sweat breaking on his forehead, eyes trained on where he disappears inside you, forcing you open for him. Less to let you adjust than to revel into it, the feel of you from the inside, clenching around him. Gripping him, breathing heavily with the stretch of him.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he husks with an obscene smirk, something akin to pride at how well you take him.

Your head dips between your shoulders and he hears your breathless laughter.

He pulls out of you, cock catching thick and stiff at your entrance, glistening with your slick, and thrusts right back in. He keeps moving. Long, thorough strokes, fast and steady, dragging along your walls, bumping against your cervix. His other hand a bruising hold on your hip, and those little grunts tearing through your throat with every slap of his hips against your ass.

You’re standing on your tiptoes, legs trembling, but pushing back into him. Meeting him thrust for thrust, with your small hands braced around the edge of the sink in a white-knuckle grip, and he can’t take his eyes off it. Off that line pulled taut between your shoulders, your grip, your grit.

Your greed for him. Your fucking determination.

There’s that pull again, that hunger for more of you, all of you. He bands an arm between your breasts and draws your back flush to his chest. You’re always so pliant. His hand a careful wrap around your throat to hold you upright and fuck. You’re a sight to behold. In that black-edged mirror. You’re a fucking vision. The mess he’s made of you. Fucked out, flushed skin, cock drunk. Sweat-damp hair glued to your beautiful face.

You’re gripping his arms with both hands, holding on to him, and your eyes find his in the reflection, burning a hole through his soul like they did all those months ago, back in the bar. His heart trips. It swells furious and pounding inside him, how good you look together, how right this feels, your two bodies entwined, surrendering to each other.

“I feel so good, Frankie, so good when you’re moving inside me,” you tell him, eyes fluttering. Your voice trickling like honey inside him, your sweet slick dribbling around him, soaking the hair at his base. He can hear it with every one of his thrusts. Can taste it where it lingers on his tongue. Lick it from his lips.

It’s gonna fuck him up. How much he wants to be yours. Fuck up his sanity and everything he’s got that he hasn’t yet destroyed, just how fucking much he wants you to belong to him. Only him.

He will carve you into his shape if he can’t carve you out of him.

He skates his hand down to your mound, kneading your soft flesh along the way, the bone of your hip, the small slope of your belly. He finds the hardened peak of your clit, fingers gliding around it.

Driving into you in deep harsh strokes, he presses his lips against the shell of your ear, hot breath fanning your skin.

“Gonna fucking ruin you for him, baby. Won’t let you go until you’re fucked full of me.”

“Oh god yes!”

You clench around him, cunt impossibly tight when he shoves you down on it. He sees the tears streaking your cheeks. Feels the shallow bite of your nails into the tense muscles of his forearms when he grinds against your soft cheeks.

“Watch me, Lee. Watch me fuck you full of my come. Gonna fuck it so deep inside you, you’ll be leaking me for days.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Mouth gone slack, eyes locked on him in the mirror, wild and craving. Everything else disappears, the world fades around your two bodies. There’s nothing but your weight between his arms, the feel of you around him.

Hand wrapped around your neck, he angles up his hips, reaching deeper than he’s ever been, into that spot that makes you cry. His fingers rubbing at your clit, more slick gushing out of you.

There’s a fast coiling heat in his loins. A fire, licking up his spine, balls drawing tight, cock swelling.

“I’m coming,” you whine, “Frankie please—”

The words stretch out of you as you trash into his arms, crashing hard around him. He follows with a grunt, loud, primal, possessive. Pumping his come, thick and searing, deep inside your gripping cunt. His vision darkens.

There’s blinding pleasure. Your skin. Your scent.

The knowledge that you're his.

****

250 notes · View notes

featherandferns · 1 year

Text

angel (fic)

jj maybank x fem!shy!kook!reader | technically the sequel for fascinating new thing, but can be read as a stand-alone too

content warning: pure filth, to be honest; sex (f and m self-pleasure; protected, p in v)

word count: 3k

blurb: jj knows there's something hidden beneath all the layers of quiet and meek; he just has to coax it out of you.

Nobody expected JJ Maybank to end-up having a thing for you, including JJ himself. He couldn’t explain how it happened, or when exactly, but it went from him being somewhat wary of you to completely desperate to have your gaze on him. It seemed that one day you just had him: hook, line and sinker. JJ had sort of accepted that he didn’t have a chance, especially with a certain ginger haired boy lingering in the background. He’d admire from afar and settle for friendship if that’s all you could offer him. But then you kissed him, and everything seemed to fall into place. JJ was allowed privy to your thoughts and the different facets of yourself: watching you song write and waking you from a nightmare and indulging in the late-night baking. He liked every part of it. Everything that was you.

Well, almost everything.

“You can’t seriously enjoy this crap?”

“Be quiet, please,” you mumble.

JJ rolls his eyes. He has one arm under his head, propping it up so he can see the screen of your laptop, and the other on your stomach, resting atop your tee shirt. He’s spooning you, cosy under the sheets of your bed.

It’s the second time he’s been in your bedroom. It’s a nice room; perfectly encapsulates you. Vinyl records and CDs and a million and one potted plants and succulents. Fairly lights draped above your bed and around a pinboard of pictures and keepsakes, shining a delicate golden hue on your belongings. An acoustic guitar rests against the wall by your bedroom door. It’s wide open right now. No need to have it shut; your parents aren’t home.

Looking back to the screen, JJ tries and fails to hold in a sigh.

“Can you be quiet, please?” you repeat.

“Who is that? The guy?”

“George the third.”

“The third? Is that the one that murdered all his wives?”

“JJ, I can’t hear it,” you complain quietly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He barely pays attention to the drama on the screen, too busy foraging through his brains for the history of English royals. “Is he though?”

You sigh, annoyed. “No. That’s Henry the Eighth. And he didn’t murder all of them. Just two.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then,” JJ sarcastically replies.

For some reason, he feels as though you’ve rolled your eyes. He attempts to watch the show that you’ve become obsessed with lately. The characters don’t talk like normal people. Everything is so flowery and over-the-top that he hardly understands what they’re talking about. It’s boring and dull and overdramatic. He lets his mind wander.

“Baby?”

“JJ?”

“Just a quick question.”

“Yes?” you sigh, patience clearly dwindling.

“Is George the Third the one that got really fat?”

“No, that’s George the fourth,” you say.

“Which one’s George the third then?”

“George the third is the one that was ruler when America won its independence. I mean, do you listen to anything in history?” you chuckle. JJ feels the muscles in your belly tighten and loosen as you do.

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “When it’s interesting. Like, I don’t get how all of this—”

“Shush! I can’t hear what they’re saying!” you snap.

JJ can’t help but snigger. He likes when you lose your temper with him; let the good-girl side of you slip for a moment to put him in his place.

He nuzzles his face into your hair. It smells like cedarwood and salt water. Maybe he’ll just have a nap. You’re not coming away from the show anytime soon – not until the episode’s done, anyway. JJ closes his eyes and vaguely tunes into the droning of dialogue. Lady this and sire that. He’s just about to properly drift off (maybe it’s been five minutes or so) when he’s woken by the feel of you pushing back against his groin. His hold tightens on your stomach and he reluctantly inches his body away slightly.

“Baby don’t do that,” he mumbles sleepily into your hair.

“Do what?” you reply, absentmindedly.

You’re still watching the Goddamn show. He’s not sure if you’re playing dumb or not.

Then, you do it again.

JJ inhales sharply. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Rubbing up on me like that,” he tells you, half-laughing. “S’not fair.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

He opens his eyes and looks down at the laptop screen. The moment he makes out what’s happening in the show, it clicks. Oh.

Smirking, JJ can’t keep from taking the piss.

“You didn’t tell me that you’re into regency era porn.”

“Shut up,” you reply all too quickly.

“Is it like all royal era stuff or just Henry the third things?”

“George the third!”

“Tomata-tomato,” JJ mutters. Quiet. Then: “Does it have to be in a bathtub or…”

“JJ!” you whine, embarrassed. He laughs into your hair. “Stop it!”

“Alright, alright! I’m just messing around,” he sniggers.

You don’t reply, don’t even seem to be listening to him, with your eyes shamelessly fixated on the screen. JJ starts to watch too, half-curious as to what has you so entranced.

The lighting is dark. Who JJ has finally come to grasp as king George the third is fucking his wife in the bath. She’s riding him, grinding down on him, still in her dress. The music swells with sharp, dramatic violins. This time, when you push back reflexively against JJ, he doesn’t complain. Instead, he uses his hand that’s placed on your stomach to keep you there. He’s only half ashamed to admit that he’s turned on by the regency-era-sex-scene from your corny, cheesy TV show.

Half hard, he rubs against you, sighing into your hair as he does. You don’t shake him off. Instead, you push back against him.

And then, the scene stops. It’s daylight. Cutting to a scene in a conservatory.

JJ shifts his hand so it’s under your tee shirt, moving to stroke at the skin. He feels your stomach constrict underneath his touch, as if you’re holding your breath, and then relax. He places a kiss to your neck, then another, and begins to work on a hickey. You let out a shaking breath, eyes only half-focused on the show, now. One of your hands comes down to lay atop of his, though not in discouragement. JJ can’t help but rut against you again. In the haze of kissing at your throat, he finds himself wishing a silent prayer that you won’t pull away this time.

He doesn’t mind waiting. Really, he doesn’t. He’d probably wait forever for you (if he really had to). He knows how nervous you get; knows all of this is new to you. Understands. Doesn’t want you to feel pressured. But, God, JJ would be lying if he said that he didn’t want to fuck you. That he didn’t jack off almost every night to the thought of it. That seeing you, drenched head to toe, stood in nothing but a bikini after surfing didn’t have him shifting in his seat. That having you pressing up against him like you had been tonight didn’t make his mind shoot off to the darkest, dirtiest places. So, yes, he’ll stop if you ask, but he’s praying, borderline close to begging, that you don’t.

Your fingers loop into his hair, pulling him off your neck. He shifts enough back so you can turn your head, meeting his eyes. Your breathing heavier than usual, lips wet as if you’ve been licking at them. Your eyes are dancing over his face, back to his eyes, glancing at his lips. JJ’s hand on your stomach continues scratching softly at your skin. He gently rubs himself against you. Please.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whisper. There’s a tinge of nerves to your voice.

JJ nods. Swallows. “I know.”

“But…I want to,” you quietly say. A smile teasing at the corner of your lips as you nod. “If you do, that is.”

JJ leans down so his forehead bumps against yours. He exhales a chuckle against your lips. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the hammock.”

You giggle, perhaps a little stunned at the confession, and then your lips are on his.

JJ’s rolling onto his back, sighing into the kiss, pulling you atop of him. His hand that was under his head now reaches out to close the laptop, shoving it to the foot of the bed (hopefully where it won’t fall off). Then he’s kissing you with newfound hunger. Tongue slipping into your mouth lewdly, brushing against yours, swallowing your sighs and breaths. Whenever you break apart, it’s for less than a moment. Your hands have come up to cradle his face, fingers splayed across his cheek and jaw. One of his resides on your waist, squeezing at the skin, and his other has fallen onto your bare thigh; the pyjama shorts you’re wearing having ridden up.

When you lean back against him, rolling down on his crotch, JJ groans against your lips. The gasp you let out is small, startled, as you feel him, hard against you.

“We don’t have to,” JJ reminds you, though the id in him is crying out yes, we do. Please.

You shake your head, hands still on his face. “I want to.”

Thank fucking God.

As the two of begin to kiss again, JJ lets his hand creep up your stomach. His fingers gently trace up the soft skin. He feels the ripples of your breaths as he goes; they’re uneven. Bringing his hand up to your chest, cupping at the bare skin, you sigh against him. He begins to tenderly palm at your breast, running a finger back and forth over your nipple, grinning to himself as he feels it harden at his touch.

You’re grinding back on him now, making him uncomfortably hard under his boxers, sensitive as he rubs against the fabric. JJ opens his eyes to look up at you, your kiss naturally breaking as you begin to breath more and more heavy. Frowns as he sees you dig your teeth into your lower lip. He lifts his hand from off your thigh to bring his thumb to your lips, tugging it free.

“I wanna hear you,” JJ mumbles, tone only slightly demanding.

You open your eyes. They’re angel-like; innocent and shining under the fairy-light glow. Then, you do something that has him twitching, horny past the point of no return. You take his thumb into your mouth and suckle at his finger. JJ groans at the sight. Jesus Christ. Something in you seems to shine through and take control. You don’t say anything as you hold his hand in both of yours, guiding his thumb out your mouth only to begin sucking on his pointer finger. Your eyes slip shut as you do, as if you’re getting off on doing so, and you sigh out a quiet moan. JJ feels himself begin to smirk, taken aback somewhat. Okay…

Pulling his finger from out of your mouth tentatively, he lets his thumb pinch at your chin. The dampness of your spit streaks onto your skin, if only slightly. JJ suddenly knows what his new favourite thought of you is. Your chest is rising and falling, lips parted, cheeks warm as if there’s a part of you longing to be embarrassed. But you’re not. Not shying away from him, at least. JJ’s hands find the hem of your shirt and coax it over your head. As he goes, he guides you to lie down on your back – head at the foot of the bed – and crawls on top of you. One of your feet hesitantly rubs at the back of his calve. Then your fingers are tugging at the bottom of his top and he leans back to take it off. Easing back down to kiss at your chest, he can’t help but sigh against the sensitive skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your nails dig into the skin of his back. You don’t reply, but he feels as though you’re shaking your head. Glancing up, he frowns.

“You are,” he repeats.

“Can you not say things like that to me right now…” you mumble, retreating back into yourself.

JJ sighs, somewhat disappointed.

“Sorry,” you add. It makes JJ chuckle, his breath fanning against your chest.

“You don’t gotta be sorry, baby,” he replies, moving to kiss at one of your nipples. One of your hands creeps up to his face, fingers slipping into his hair. A small gasping exhale at the sensation. “Just wish you saw yourself the way I see you, sometimes.”

You’re sighing at the attention he’s giving your body. His hand comes up to grope at your neglected breast. More gasps, more breaths. You’re still so quiet. JJ knows it’s in there, could see it trying to break out when you were sucking on his fingers, he just has to coax it out of you.

Leaning back (a string of spit following), JJ sits back on his haunches and takes you in. Wonders what to do with you, as if you’re fully at his mercy. You’re looking at him, watching him. Laid out on your back, near bare and gorgeous, breathing heavy. You're half covering your chest, not used to being so exposed before someone.

Maybe he’ll just fuck you now. JJ's barely holding it together as it is. No, you’ll be too tight if he does. He has to remind himself that this is new to you. He wants it to be worth it. Wants it to be perfect. Not only that, but he also wants you to appreciate yourself and your body the way he does. Words clearly aren’t gonna cut it; you go squeamish at the faintest of compliments. But maybe…

JJ feels the shadow of a smirk grow on his face with an idea. Makes your lips twitch with a frown, as if confused where his mind might be. The he’s reaching for your spare hand that’s found purchase in the bed sheets. Taking it by the wrist, he guides it over your body, down to your shorts. Your eyes dart up from following it, meeting his eyes. Your lips move as if to say something, but you don’t. So quiet.

“I got an idea,” JJ tells you. He’s so hard it hurts, but he can’t pass up on this opportunity.

Your gaze doesn’t break apart from JJ’s as you let him guide your hand with his under the hem of your shorts. He manoeuvres your fingers easily (you pliant like a doll) and slides it through your folds. You’re soaking. The feel of it makes you gasp. Leaning down, using his other arm to prop himself above you, he guides your conjoined touch back and forth, skimming over your clit. The brief, fleeting touch makes you moan.

JJ smirks. There it is.

“Feel good, huh?” he breaths against your ear, teasingly. You don’t reply but he feels your hand gain more control, working to finger yourself. JJ chuckles. “Knew you were dirty underneath all the good-girl shit you put on.”

It seems that whatever strap was holding you together has snapped. Your honeyed voice is crying out, in moans and whines. Eyes shut, head tilted back, and JJ basks in the sight of you. He gradually lets his hand leave yours, slipping out of your shorts, and watches as you continue getting yourself off underneath your shorts. Chews on the inside of his cheek as he does, bucking against your leg desperately. He can’t help but pull himself out of his boxers, jacking off at the sight. At your sweet, hopeless sounds. Your spare hand is coming to his throat, pulling at his jaw, guiding his lips to yours in a lustful, messy kiss. You’re moaning into his mouth, gasping, voice high and desperate.

“Good girl,” JJ croons. It spurs you on. He’s smirking again, gasping through his own pleasure. Fuck. You’re perfect. How are you so Goddamn perfect?

“You close, baby? You gonna come?”

Your reply comes in a stammered, broken gasp. Yes.

JJ forces his hand from himself, quickly moving to grab at your wrist, pulling your fingers away. They’re drenched. You whine at the loss of contact, so close to the edge it seems, and he chuckles darkly against your jawline.

“Not yet,” he simply says.

As JJ moves to take off your shorts, shucking off his boxers in this process, he catches a glimpse of your hand moving back up your body. His eyes flick up just in time to see you slip your used fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean. Fuck. How JJ doesn’t come on the spot is beyond him. You open your eyes, catching his gaze, and meekly pull them from your mouth. Before you can form the inevitable apology you’re bound to give, JJ’s darting down to capture your mouth in a kiss. Then, he’s climbing atop of you, rubbing at your entrance. Has the both of you gasping against one another.

“Wait,” you mumble, pulling back. “We need a condom.”

“Shit, yeah,” JJ pants. He’d forgotten about that. You point vaguely to your bedside table.

“There should be one in there. Somewhere.”

JJ chuckles slightly and nods, leaning back to riffle through. He can’t help but notice the vibrator, making a mental note of that for another day. Finding one, he’s coming back to you, sliding it on, desperate to be inside of you.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he keeps his eyes on you.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

“I will,” you quietly reply, a hand coming up to cup at his jaw.

JJ nods and begins to slide in. His eyes reflexively shut; he can’t help it. It feels fucking amazing. Sex with feelings is better than any kegger hook-up he’s ever had.

But you’re tight, too tight, and it’s like your body is trying to push him out. Opening his eyes, he looks down to see your face twisted in pain, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, thumbing at your cheek. You force your eyes open, gazing up at him. “You gotta relax, alright? Just breath out for me.”

You take a moment then do as he asks. He feels your body soften. Nudging a bit further in, you actively try not to go tight again.

“It’s just me,” he reminds you. “You’re doing so good, alright?”

To keep you lax, he rubs gently at your clit. Eventually, your body opens up to him. Once JJ’s eased all the way in, you’re squeezing him like a vice.

“You can move, JayJ,” you say, almost anxious that he isn’t.

JJ laughs a little. He won’t last a second if he moves right now. Closing his eyes, composing himself, he replies, “I really can’t. Gimme a second.”

Soon enough, the two of you sink into a rhythm. JJ places a hand one side of your head, another on your hip, angling you up slightly. Your back begins to arch and you’re moaning again, and JJ decides that it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. Prettier than when you sing. The sounds echoing off the bedroom walls are filthy enough to make Satan himself blush.

"Fuck baby. Feel so fucking good."

Groaning against your shoulder, moaning into your ear, JJ feels his resolve begin to break. He’s close. The way your body is reacting to him has him thinking you are too. His hand leaves your hip to rub at your clit. Quick, firm circles. You start to gasp, high pitched and euphoric, and JJ know he can’t last much longer. It’s too good.

The moment you finish, JJ lets go. The two of you come almost together, riding it out, clinging to each other as if you’ll float away if not. JJ eventually let’s himself collapse on top of you, breathing shallow and frantic. You’re still clenching around him, body dealing with the aftershocks.

JJ’s not sure how he’s supposed to go about the rest of his life knowing what it’s like to have you in bed. How he’s meant to get anything done with the memory of how you sound, gasping out his name. The picture stained in his mind of you sucking your fingers clean.

He presses a kiss to your damp neck, then another and another until he somehow finds your mouth. You sigh as you kiss him back, a hand coming to cradle at his face yet again. He pulls back, opens his eyes into yours, and you give him the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. Bashful and blissed out and beautiful.

“I love you,” you tell him, still a little breathless.

JJ smiles back. Heart stammers.

You wanted him. You picked him.

Kissing you once more, tender and fleeting, JJ sighs. “I love you too.”

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader smut #jj maybank x reader smut #jj smut #jj maybank smut #jj x shy!reader #jj maybank x shy!reader #jj x kook!reader #jj maybank x kook!reader #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic #obx #obx fic

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echobx · 4 months

Text

It's... complicated?- Rafe Cameron × polyam!reader & JJ Maybank × polyam!reader

summary: you're in a relationship with Rafe, but a one night stand with JJ turns into more and suddenly you find yourself entangled in a relationship that you don't plan on getting out of any time soon

general warnings: cheating, angst, fluff, smut, swearing, lying, reader being a bitch, talk of marriage angst warnings: mention of death, downward spiral, self-doubt, fighting (verbally), fighting (physically), traumatized reader smut warnings: p in v (unprotected), oral (f & m receiving), 3 way, cnc, creampie/cumdump, spanking, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, (heavy) pda, subdrop adjacent, aftercare, foreplay, toy use (not primarily), overstimulation

word count: 19k

author's note: this started as a Rafe fic but immediately my brain fucked me over and then I was too deep to change it so I kept it and decided to explore the throuple idea. I wanted to not have it be cheating plot but I couldn't figure out how to do that while keeping the set dynamic, so I hope you're gentle with me on that :) I genuinely hope you enjoy it, it's the longest one part one shot I've ever written lol (p.s. I wanted to do dvp here but I couldn't find an appropriate place for it, but if you want it, I can write it separately)

“Can you maybe not do lines on my boobs tonight? Last time you got some on my vintage Chanel dress and I haven't managed to get it out yet,” you ask Rafe while leaning in the door of his room, watching him get ready. “I'll just buy you a new one,” he shrugs and buttons his shirt up. “That's not the point, babe, and you know it,” you shake your head, swaying your perfect curls. “It's also vintage, and you can't just buy a new one. Besides, I paid for it, not you.” “You mean your dad paid for it?” he eyes you with a smirk playing on his pink lips. “Nope, pretty sure that it counts for me now,” you smile, faking it as per usual when the topic of your dad comes up. “Dead people can't pay for shit.” He steps over to you, tilting your chin up and kissing you. “Let's not talk about him. Instead, we can go and have fun, all right?”

“Eugh, whose house is this?” you scoff as he stops the car in the driveway. The mansion isn't even half the size of your own, and it makes you feel a little disappointed. “Hey, be nice,” Rafe smiles and takes your hand up to kiss it before getting out and opening your door for you. “I am always nice,” you tell him, but he knows it's a lie. Your way of being nice is what other people would call bitchy or bossy. You aren't nice like people want you to be, not since your dad has died. He was the only one who you had tried your best for. “You know I love to see your claws out, but I have to sell shit tonight, so none of that, please,” Rafe begged, his arm tight around your waist. You roll your eyes and look up at him, “fine.”

The party is already going, and a few people greet you while walking in. You find Topper and Kelce rather quickly, taking your seat next to Rafe you let your eyes wander as they talk. “You know, you guys are boring as fuck,” you groan after having had to listen to them talk about golfing for twenty minutes straight. “Since when are we here for your entertainment, y/n,” Kelce scoffs, but he gulps as you get up and lean over him. “Maybe you should suck a dick to fix your fucking attitude,” you snarl and walk away towards the kitchen. You never cared what Rafe's friends thought of you, you never cared what anybody thought of you.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” you roll your eyes at the blonde boy, who's leaning against the counter. His ring clad fingers are holding onto the solo cup, but the flirtatious smile is just for you. You had gathered as much over time. “One day, you'll beg, y/l/n,” he says and takes a sip. “Not if I make you beg first, Maybank,” you smirk and take the bottle of tequila to fill two shot glasses. “I never beg,” he counters, and you laugh. “Oh, I'd bet my BMW you do.” “Does Rafe?” “I won't tell you that, you'd just go runnin’round tellin’ people,” you poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue and hold the shot out for him to take. “Be happy that I'm keeping him on a leash. He'd have ripped your head off by now if I didn't.” You watch him take the shot, and follow. The slight burn in your throat wakes you up, and the warmth in your stomach is familiarly cozy. “And why would he do that?” JJ asks, tilting his head to the side. “‘Cause you won't stop staring at my tits, Maybank,” you bite your lip and take the step over to him, leaning in and whispering into his ear. “I know how you look at me, as if I'm the ultimate price. But you wouldn't even be able to handle me on your best days, pretty boy.” “You underestimate me, princess,” he whispers, and you pull away to look at him fully. “Maybe in another life, Maybank,” you wink at him, grabbing the bottle of tequila and making your way back to the couch.

“What he want?” Rafe asks as soon as you get back and take your seat by his side. “Nothing,” you sigh and kiss Rafe's cheek, leaving a lipstick mark behind. He doesn't need to know how much it riles you up when JJ flirts with you. How much you have to suppress the need to kiss him whenever you see him. It doesn't even make sense why it is like that. JJ and you have nothing in common, and you are happy about that. You love being in a relationship with Rafe. You don't care much about love anyway, so why would you need to love the person you are in a relationship with if they are perfect on paper? Rafe is everything your dad had wanted in a future son-in-law. He comes from good money, takes care of the people close to him, and knows how to act around money. You don't need to love him to build a good future with him. After all, your grandparents had done it the same way. And when you look at your own parents' life together, you keep wondering if it had really been the wisest decision to marry for love. No, love was overrated, and so was whatever you felt when JJ looked at you.

“You sell any yet?” you ask straight out, and Rafe clears his throat and gives you a look that doesn't really make sense to you. “What?” “You know they won't buy shit when you're here, unless you act it,” he whispers to you and you roll your eyes. “Fine, but only one,” you cave, and for the next few hours you play the dumb girlfriend. For some reason, all of his buyers are some type of misogynistic asshole, and the only one who you could talk to without feeling looked down on is Barry. But Barry never gets invited to the parties, because he doesn't fit in. To you, he's not much different than the businessmen your dad had worked with, the same ones you would have to deal with once you were officially taking over the company.

“Baby, c’mere,” Rafe claps on his thighs, and you turn to straddle him, giving him a single warning glance to not fuck up. “Love when you use my tits for it, babe,” you giggle stupidly, but internally you feel like throwing up. And it just gets worse when he puts a little line of the fine powder on your skin and dips his head down to snort it off. Your eyes cross with JJ's as soon as Rafe's head is down, and he vanishes from your vision the moment Rafe comes back up, wiping his nose. “Thank you, baby,” he smiles and kisses you. It's a show. When you moan into him and buck your hips; and for once you're not sure if the show is for his clients, or for the blonde Pogue who can't keep his eyes off of you. “I wanna go upstairs,” you whisper to Rafe and he nods. “Just gimme ten and I'll meet you there.”

You get up and walk off, towards the stairs. A quick glance back to Rafe, who's focused on counting money, before you take the stairs, downstairs instead of up. You decide to take a look around. The pool is a perfect 80 °F and if you had swimming stuff with you, you'd consider swimming for a while. Training a little to clear up your mind. “Didn't you tell him you'd be upstairs, waiting?” You hear JJ behind you and turn around. “And? I changed my mind. He doesn't care if he fucks me here or at home,” you shrug and JJ shakes his head. “God, you really are something.” “What do you want, Maybank?” you sneer, walking around the pool towards the sauna at the end of the room. The sound of your heels on the concrete floor echoes through the huge room. “Why are you with him if you hate him so much?” he asks and starts walking closer, following you. “I don't hate him. I hate his friends, anyone but Barry, basically. I hate how he acts around them. But I don't hate him,” you clarify, and JJ nods. “But you don't love him.” “Who needs love anyway,” you smile. The picture-perfect smile you had practiced in front of the mirror since you were 12, the same one you had to relearn when your dad had died. It was an ironclad mask. “I forgot, you don't have a heart,” JJ smiles but drops it instantly. “Tell me what you want, or leave,” you roll your eyes at him and he steps closer. Your heart starts racing as he leans over you, brushing a curl from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “What do you want?” he rasps quietly and your eyes flutter, it's a reflex, and you don't know why. You don't understand why he has this effect on you. “Nothing,” you press out, and his thumb ghosts your lips. “I don't like when you lie to me, y/n,” JJ whispers, and you can't stop yourself from getting lost in his blue eyes. They are so different from Rafe's. JJ's eyes are bright and hopeful, they feel like happiness entrapped to you. And you can't stand it, because this isn't how it's supposed to be. “Tell me what you want,” he demands, leaning down to smell your neck, his nose brushing against your skin and giving you goosebumps. “It’s neither appropriate nor allowed,” you hush, and he chuckles. "Since when do you care about any of that? You make the rules on this side of the island, don't you, princess?”

You blame it on the tequila when your lips find his. You blame it on the daiquiri when he leads you into the cold supply closet, without pulling out of your kiss. You would blame it on the coke, when he pushes your dress up and sinks into you; but you hadn't had any coke that night.

“Fuck, you're so wet for me, baby,” JJ groans, he had sat you down on a lower shelf, and you did your best to hold onto the metal structure that was pressing into your back. “Shut up and kiss me, asshole,” you gasp, and he does just that. His kisses are wet and sloppy, just like his fast thrusts. But you can't stop kissing him, not only because it feels like heaven and hell combined. But mainly because you know you'd be screaming by the way his cock keeps kissing your cervix. “You're so good at taking it, princess. Fuck, you feel so good,” JJ moans, and you can't help but feel pride in how much he seems to love it. “Look at it,” you demand, and he dips his head, focusing on where you are connected. Your slip tucked to the side, but it's ruined anyway, it had been from the moment on he had started to flirt with you. “What's that say,” JJ asks, his thumb rubbing over your tattoo, making you smirk. “Eat me, Maybank. It says, eat me,” you moan, and he grins. “Next time, princess,” he growls and starts rubbing your clit in harsh circles. You don't understand how he does it, but he has you moaning even louder, and clenching around his cock in the matter of minutes. The band in your stomach is ready to burst, and you don't think you've felt this good ever before. It feels like he's made for you, but you know that can't be the case. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Soak my dick,” JJ breathes into your ear, and as soon as you come undone, he pulls his hand from your clit and shoves his fingers down your throat to shut you up. You feel afloat and completely dazed when he pulls his fingers out and clasps his hand over your mouth.

“Shh, quiet,” JJ whispers, and you hear footsteps outside the closet. If someone finds you, you're screwed. “No, she's not down here either. Check upstairs again, man,” Rafe's annoyed voice carries through the door, and you stare at JJ. You're not scared of what might happen to you if Rafe found out, but more so that he'd finally snap and actually hurt JJ like he had threatened so many times before. Rafe is still outside the door when JJ decides to start fucking you again, and your eyes roll back uncontrollably. He knows how badly you want to make a sound for him, but you can't let yourself. As soon as his footsteps carry Rafe back upstairs, you let out a loud groan, pulling JJ into a kiss and purposely squeezing his dick just to prove to him that you're the one in charge. And when his hips stutter, and he spills out inside of you, you don't even mind it. You like the feeling, especially when he keeps fucking it into you, muttering incoherently about how good he fucked you.

“Do you always praise yourself after?” you ask him after having pulled your dress back down. “Do you always cheat on your boyfriend with Pogues?” he smirks, and you push him back against the shelf. “If anyone finds out about this, you are dead, you understand? Either you shut up, and hope for a second time, or I can ruin your life. I don't need Rafe to do it for me, I can do it all by myself. Do you understand?” You poke into his chest and he nods. “Good,” you take a step back again, and he grabs for your chin, pulling you close again. “I have one question, princess. Has he ever fucked you raw?” “I don't trust him enough for that,” you reply, and JJ snorts. “Why'd you let me, then?” “You don't sleep around as much as you pride yourself, Maybank. I mean, you're not bad, but- Well, it all comes down to the circles you run in and the ones you don't,” you give him a mean smile and open the door to go look for a bathroom.

“How do you plan on not letting him find out if he never-” “I told you, he does what I say. If I say no, he's not getting any,” you tell him and turn a corner towards the bathroom. “You really got him wrapped around your finger,” JJ laughs. “You too,” you grin before sitting down to pee, you don't care that he is standing right next to you. “Didn't you literally call Cally R. disgusting for insinuating that she doesn't mind peeing in her boyfriend's presence?” JJ laughs. “First of all,” you say while finishing up and standing. “Cally R. is a lying slut, the only reason why she keeps having to piss in front of her boyfriend is because she can't get rid of her std. And why doesn't it go away? Well, because little miss piss queen keeps on fucking Tyler Folly on the side. Calling her disgusting was the kindest thing I could do to her.” “And the second reason?” JJ cocks his brow up. “You're not my boyfriend, Maybank. And getting rid of your shit inside me, is kinda necessary unless you want me ending up like Cally,” you give him a threatening smile, and he holds his hands up in defense. “Good.” “I'm just wondering if it's not hypocritical, with the whole fucking on the side and all,” he mumbles before wetting a towel and trying to remove the red lipstick marks from his face. “I don't claim to love my boyfriend, and Rafe never claimed to love me. He thinks we have an open relationship on his side. I don't see why it can't be open on both,” you shrug and pull the lipstick from your bra to reapply it. “Was I- was I better?” JJ mumbles, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck. “Could you choose between your two favorite types of food?” you ask, and he starts to grin. “You know, that's a weird metaphor.” “Simile,” you correct him, and he exhales a laugh. “You're a real smartass, y/l/n.” “And you can be glad you're pretty.” “Pretty enough to fuck your brains out,” JJ turns you towards him and leans over, his lips ghosting yours and when he pulls back you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. “See,” he smirks. “If you want to do it again you can't fuck around, and most importantly you won't tell a soul. But then again, who would even believe you,” you scoff and turn around to leave, taking the stairs and vanishing in the crowd before anyone had noticed where you had come from.

“Where were you? I was looking all over,” Rafe sounds concerned and hugs you, out of courtesy, surely. Rafe rarely hugs you unless you ask for it, or the social obligations call for it. “Just here and there, I went upstairs and forgot why. I'm sorry, babe,” you tell him, and he lets it go. “Hey, y/n, wanna play a game with us?” Topper asks, and you turn to look at the group of people gathered, your eyes get stuck on JJ for just a second before they snap back to Top. “Sure,” you smile and push Rafe into a chair, sitting down sideways on his lap.

It's a dumb drinking game, just like always. It stays rather boring until Topper's new girlfriend gets to speak, and you instantly regret your choice to take part. “Never have I ever had sex with someone in this room,” she giggles and falls back down into Top before they each take a sip of their drinks. You take a sip, focusing on Rafe, but Rafe is staring right across from where the two of you are sitting. “Why does Maybank keep staring at you,” he whispers in your ear and you shrug. “He's a creep, you know that, babe,” you try to calm your boyfriend down, but you know it's not gonna help much.

“Never have I ever cheated,” JJ says and takes a drink, but the chatter went mute as soon as the words left him. “I thought we were being honest, guys. God, you guys really are some Kooks,” he laughs and stands up to leave. His eyes are yet again fixed on you, but this time you can't force yourself to look away. “Maybe cheating is just a Pogue quality,” you say, and a few silent mumbles seem to agree with your lie. “You must know all about that, princess,” JJ smirks and tips his non-existent cap to you before turning and walking away, out of the house and into the darkness. “He’s so weird,” Topper's girlfriend lets out a disgusted grunt. “Was he even invited?” Topper asks and I roll my eyes. “They don't check invitations at the entrance, stupid,” you laugh it off. “He probably stole something,” someone out of the crowd suggested, and you stood up in a light fit of anger, before you realized that you couldn't act on it. “What would he steal here? Cheap candles from Target?” you scoff and walk off. “Rafe!” you call out, and he takes a moment before he meets you outside by the car.

“I didn't wanna go home yet,” he complains. “And? You have to drive me home. After that, you can do whatever the fuck you want,” you scoff at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “What's up with you?” he snorts, opening the door for you and letting you get in. “I'm tired and annoyed by these people who think they're better than anyone else, just because their dad's play golf and fuck their secretaries,” you mutter, and he stops asking, dropping you off at your house and driving off as soon as you are inside.

Weeks go by in which you don't even see a glimpse of JJ. You manage to push the memory so far back into your brain that you don't even dream of it, well, not as often. And when Rafe fucks you, it's good, it's great, but you don't feel as complete after as you had with JJ.

“Best pussy in the fucking world,” Rafe groans as he pounds into you from behind. Your face is pressed into the duvet and your ass is high up in the air. He had been stretching you out for what felt like hours. It was good, he hit every single spot inside of you perfectly, but you couldn't get yourself to cum. “Would be so much better without it, baby,” Rafe rasps, and you're not really listening, just nodding and groaning in response to whatever he's saying. Before you can actually register what is happening, he has pulled out and slammed into you again, but it feels different. You can feel him more clearly, every single vein on his thick cock, the soft tip that kept nudging your cervix as he went deeper. “Fuck, I love you, I love this pussy so much,” Rafe moans and without a single warning he cums inside you, filling you up and clouding your mind. You gasp, close to an orgasm but not yet there and if he'd just- but he pulls out and you all you can feel is used. “Shit, did you not,” he pulls you into him, having fallen into the sheets by your side, but you put on a smile. “It's okay. Next time,” you tell him and get up to clean yourself up. You curse yourself for losing yourself in your thoughts about JJ instead of paying attention to what your boyfriend had said to you. And now you had two guys thinking they could fuck you over anyway they wanted.

“Are you okay?” Rafe asks as you leave the bathroom wrapped in your robe. “Yeah, just next time, maybe warn me beforehand. Probably would've been better if we had both finished,” you say and roll your eyes while your back is turned to him. “Why are you getting dressed?” “I have to buy q tips, we don't have any left,” you lie and he scoffs. “You could just ask the help to go buy some, and I could make it up to you. Come on, baby,” he slaps the empty bed to his left, but you shake your head. “I just need some air, all right.” “Fine. But text me so I know you're okay,” he sighs and gets up to take a shower.

You basically run out of the house, jumping in your car and driving off towards the Cut before you realize you don't even know where to go. You pull out your phone and scroll down a long list of contacts before you find his number, saved under three Xs to remind you to never text him, but here you are, doing just that. “Where are you?” you type out and hit send, a second later a text appears on your screen. “why?” “Tattoo” is all you say, but the three small dots stay for a while and then they vanish. You are about to curse him out when a text pops up. “you know the Château?” “Routledge?” “yes” You put your phone away and start driving again. Maybe you'd have to thank Topper's weird obsession with Sarah for knowing where the house was, but you really couldn't.

As soon as you arrive, you kill the engine and jump out of your jeep, stomping towards the porch. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Kiara sneers at you, but you don't pay her any attention. You grab JJ's hand and drag him into the house. “That's the wrong way,” he chuckles and holds you back from going deeper into the house, pulling you to the side and into a small bedroom. “Tell me what's wrong,” he asks, wanting to hold onto you, but you brush him off. “He said he loved me,” you yell at JJ even though it's not his fault, nor can he do anything about it. “And that's bad?” he raises his eyebrows at you and you huff. “Yes. Yes, it is. You don't fuck someone, not let them fucking finish and then tell them you love them,” you hiss quietly, not wanting his friends to be able to hear it all. “I see. I can help with one of those,” JJ smirks and pulls you into a kiss. A kiss that makes you forget why you even came over. Like a snip of his finger, he had erased all the bad thoughts and feelings inside of you, replacing them with warmth and desire. “They didn't believe me,” he whispers against your lips before bringing them into another kiss. You pull on his shirt, and he takes it off. “Told you they wouldn't,” you smile and take your own shirt off before starting to fumble with his shorts. “Now they have to,” JJ chuckles and pushes his pants down, leaving the boxers on.

He pushes you onto the bed, kissing you all over, especially focusing on your tits, and you nearly cum just from that. His skilled tongue toys with your nipple while his hand squeezes the other tit mercilessly. “You have the best tits, baby,” JJ moans against your skin, squeezing them another time before trailing his lips down the valley of your breasts and over your stomach to the hem of your jeans shorts. “Are you sure?” he asks while looking up at you, but the way he's lying between your legs is godly. His unruly hair is hanging into his face, his lips slightly parted in a mischievous smile. “I'll go ask one of the others if you don't want to,” you tease him, and he nips at your hips. “Don't ever suggest that shit again, princess.” “Noted, but only if your tongue’s as good as your dick,” you smirk. JJ takes his time taking off your shorts, teasing you and edging you on, and you want to drown in the feelings he can so easily conjure in you. “You smell different,” he notes and presses his nose against your slip. “I'm not gonna do this when you smell like him.” “I told you,” you sit up on your elbows and look at his disgusted face. “You didn't say he fucked you raw. That's different, and you know it,” JJ complained and sat back up. “I don't see the problem. It's an easy fix,” you shrug and pull him closer by his neck. Your lips press against his until you have him lying underneath you.

“See, easy,” you grin down at him, pulling his boxers down just enough to let his hard cock spring free. “Aren't you pretty,” you whisper to his pink tip, placing a kiss on it and tasting his salty precum. “If you do that again, I'm busting a nut. You gotta warn a guy,” he laughs nervously. “Cute,” you giggle and lift yourself up, pulling your slip to the side and brushing his throbbing tip through your aching slit. You let out a sigh of relief as you sink down on him, the familiarity makes you feel better instantly. Fucking JJ is easy, it's messy, it's freeing. You don't mind that he can't keep himself from cumming when you do, because he's ready instantly as if it never had happened. You claw at his chest while you bounce on him, screaming of pleasure and not caring who can hear you. Your pussy sounds obscenely wet, and can feel the mix of your many releases spill out of you and onto him. But JJ doesn't care as long as you keep fucking yourself with his dick, he doesn't even mind having to take over when you get a cramp in your leg. He's moaning and cursing worse than you, calling you all kinds of dirty things, but mostly he's showering you with compliments, which turns you on even more than you had ever thought. And when he finally pulls out, your pussy is still clenching, pushing out all of his and your cum.

“Would you look at that, princess. We should definitely not clean you up and send you back home just like that, show him who's actually better at fucking this pretty pussy.” JJ says and takes two fingers to push his cum back into you. “J, please,” you beg him to stop. You are overstimulated and sore, so sore you feel like you might not be able to walk properly the next few days. “Oh, but we haven't even done what you promised me, princess. You wouldn't let a poor guy starve, would you?” JJ gives you a pout and moves back to kiss your swollen cunt. A jolt goes through your body as he does it another time. “You taste so sweet, baby,” he moans into you, his hands massaging your thighs; tongue dipping into your hole and nose brushing against your clit. You moan and mewl as he slowly kisses and licks you to your orgasm, you can't even remember how many you've had that day, but what you do know is that the last one was the best one.

“Where'd you learn to use your tongue like that?” you ask him out of breath as he's lying next to you. “Natural talent, y/l/n,” JJ boasts and turns his head to kiss you, twisting his tongue with yours and then pulling you closer. His hand is harshly gripping your thigh, pulling your leg over his own; while your own hands are entangled in his hair. There's a sense of security in the way he kisses you, like you know he won't leave even if you'd tell him to. “JJ-” you try to pull away, but his lips keep on chasing yours, even when you try to get his attention by biting him. So, you pull on his hair, holding his head in place and making him whine with it. “S’unfair,” he murmurs. “I have to go home, it's late,” you remind him. “You could stay, I could show you how much better I am at morning sex,” JJ tries to convince you, but you know it's impossible. You let go of his head and twirl a strand of his hair in between your fingers. “It's a charming proposal, but you know I can't. He'll come looking for me, and we don't want that to happen, do we?” “I’ll let you go if you answer me one question.” You roll your eyes at his antics, but agree to it anyway. “Deal, dumbass,” you smile. “Why’d you text me?” JJ whispers, and you sigh, turning around to look at the ceiling. “I don't know,” you lie. “I think you do, you're just lying to yourself if you say anything else. Because I wouldn't have told you to come by if I didn't feel the same,” he admits and nuzzles his face into your neck. “It's a polar opposite. And I never thought- It's difficult to know you want a specific thing when you never had it, and once it’s there, it's hard to forget about it. And he won't give me that, I know it,” you explain quietly and JJ kisses your neck in response. “I would never even consider not letting you cum, baby,” he hushes against your skin, and it gives you goosebumps all over. It's cozy and loving in a way, and it might just scare the life out of you when you realize that you crave this affection he's giving you. “I have to go,” you press out and jump up, leaving JJ groaning as he runs his hands over his face. You find your clothes pretty quickly and put them back on, while he stays in bed, lying there looking like a Greek god. “You look severely fuck out. I like it,” he grins, his head propped up on his hand. “Walk of shame material?” “Nah, nothing to be ashamed of.” “You know that's not what I meant,” you sigh and leave the room to go look for the bathroom. “Left,” JJ calls out, and you turn left, towards the end of the hallway and enter the small bathroom. You don't understand how they can live in such a narrow space, but you know mentioning it will not end well.

Your curls are standing up in every possible direction and your eyes look extremely tired. “See, not bad at all,” JJ smirks, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. “Do you have a hair tie or something?” you ask, and he steps behind you and pulls a drawer open. You pick out a simple black hair tie that could easily pass as one of your own, and wind your hair into a loose knot. “Tell me again why I should let you go back to that asshole?” JJ asks, laying his chin on your shoulder. “One, because he's not an asshole, and two, because he's gonna kill you. I don't want to see you dead, you're really good at what you do,” you say while looking at him through the mirror, and the smile on his face gets deeper as you speak. “The secret side piece,” JJ flashes his brows at you, and you can't stop the light chuckle that leaves you. Charming and sweet and all you should ever want and need- “I really have to go now,” you remind yourself, and he lets go of you.

When you walk out onto the porch, your eyes meet Sarah's and your heart stops, but you can't let yourself get caught up in it. You know, she hasn't spoken to Rafe in a whole year. She surely won't break that silence just to tell on you. Your feet quickly move you towards your car, but before you can open your door, you are harshly turned around and pushed against the metal. JJ kisses you so hard, you wish you could go back inside and do it all over again. His hand is holding onto your neck while the other is gripping your waist. It feels like the best kiss in your entire life, and it awakes something inside of you that you had long thought dead. The tiny flutter in your stomach is as faint as a gust of wind in spring, but you know it's there, and you know it'll just complicate everything else with it. When he pulls away, he does it slowly, leaving an abundance of small, soft kisses on your lips before running his thumb over them. “She won't tell. None of them will, I promise,” he whispers and you nod, believing him. “You should go. Didn't know kissing alone could turn a guy on like that.” You smirk innocently as your hand traces over his erection, and he can't even hide it because he hadn't thought about putting on anything more than underwear. “That's all you,” JJ whispers and kisses you one last time. “Text me,” he says before stepping back and letting you get into your car. As you drive off, you can see him flipping off his friends before going inside; and then the house, and all of them with it, vanish as you make your way back home.

“Where were you?” Rafe bludgeons as soon as you get through the door. “Out. You don't need to know everything, you know?” you snap at him. “You didn't text and were gone for hours, y/n.” “Shit, you sound more like my parents then my parents ever did,” you laugh and make your way into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and downing it in one go. “Excuse me for giving a fuck,” Rafe barks, and you roll your eyes. “If you hadn't been selfish, like fucking always, I wouldn't have walked out.” “I wanted to make it up to you. You left!” he counters and you gulp hard. “Tell me what you would've done. Something that puts me first for a change or no?” Your blood is boiling and there is nothing that can stop your fit of rage. It had been easier to look past Rafe's selfish tendencies when you hadn't known any better, but now that you do, you can't help but get annoyed at him for it. “Where's this coming from now?” he laughs, pacing along the room. “God, why can't you fucking open your eyes! You know, sometimes I fake it just so it's over quicker,” you spit out, but he knows it's a lie, it's the one thing you promised each other to never lie about. “You never tell me what you want either,” Rafe says, and you hate that it's true. “Would you do it if I did?” “I can try,” he raises his shoulders in what feels like defeat to you, but you can't be sure. “Good,” you glare, but you know it's unnecessary. “Now?” he asks, somewhat hopeful, but you shake your head. “Maybe tomorrow, or whenever. I'm tired right now,” you sigh and make your way upstairs to take a bath.

The hot water is soaking your body, and you close your eyes and let it play out again. How JJ kept kissing you as he fucked you senseless, how his praises worked way better for you than Rafe's degradations. How he had kept looking up at you with his head buried between your legs. Your hand travels down between your legs, rubbing soft circles on your clit, and it's not enough. Your fingers plunge into your pussy, curling perfectly, but it's not enough. You can't reach, and it frustrates you. You step out of the tub, dripping wet as you make your way into the bedroom and Rafe doesn't complain when you straddle him. And he complains even less you start to fuck yourself with his dick. It's not something you’ve ever done with him, but he wants to be better for you, and he doesn't mind as long as he gets to fuck you one way or the other. “Tell me how much you want me,” you moan softly while bouncing on his huge cock. The light stinging feeling his size always causes you just adds to your pleasure. “You're so fucking hot, fucking me like the slut you are,” Rafe rasps, holding onto your hips. “No, something nice. Tell me something nice.” You shake your head but keep going anyway. “Uhm, okay… You're fucking me so well, baby,” Rafe says, but his eyebrows are furrowed until you moan louder. “Yes, more.” “I love your tight pussy, baby,” he groans, and you fall down on top of him, kissing him, but it doesn't feel at all like you had hoped. He tastes like whiskey, but you craved the mix of weed and beer. Yet all of your thoughts about it fly out the window when he stops your hips and starts pounding into you from below. “Faster,” you gasp into him, biting his lip and digging your nails into his shoulders. It's mind-bending, they way he fucks you and his uncontrollable noises turn you on even more. Rafe grunts and moans like you've not heard it before, and you wish you had made him try it earlier.

“Fuck, baby, tell me you're close,” Rafe moans, and you press your face against his shoulder, feeling the band inside you tighten. “So close, babe, don't stop,” you cry out and snake a hand down to your clit rubbing harshly and suddenly JJ's words echo in your mind. “Cum for me, y/n. Be a good girl and let go.” You scream when your orgasm rips through you and Rafe follows just a second later, pushing in deeper and painting your walls in his pretty white. “Keep going, just a bit,” you instruct him, and he fucks his cum into you with a few more thrusts until you tell him to stop again. “That was probably the best sex we ever had,” you sigh, still not ready to get up and have him leave you. “Definitely top ten,” Rafe pants and runs his hand over your back. “No, definitely the best,” you argue with a smile and he caves. “All right, the best.”

After having cleaned up you're back in bed, and cuddled into his side, your head resting on his chest. “Why didn't you tell me all that earlier? We could've done this already,” he whispers, and you don't know how to come up with a good lie. “I don't know. Maybe I hoped you'd figure it out on your own one day.” “It's very different from what we usually do,” Rafe mumbles, brushing over your hair. “I like how you fuck me, but sometimes I need something for me. I need control too,” you whisper and he kisses your head. “We can do that.” “Good.” “I love you,” Rafe sighs, and you can hear his breath slow as he falls asleep.

Your dreams are haunted by JJ, always, and you wish you could turn it off. Sometimes Rafe gets to him, other times you see yourself living the Pogue life, as if that was ever something you'd even do as much as consider. But tonight it's different from any other time.

You are at home, Rafe is sitting at the kitchen island, and JJ is lying on the couch. They are both aware of each other and not actively trying to murder one another. The whole scene makes you incredibly suspicious, but it just gets worse when two blonde children come running in. “Dad!” one of them yells and both JJ and Rafe pick up their heads. “What's up?” Rafe asks and gets up from his seat, giving you a loving smile before leaning down to the child and talking to it. “Well, your friends are pretty fucking stupid for not getting it,” Rafe tells the child and JJ snorts. “Yeah, what's not to get? My wife has another guy, and we play daddy roulette every single time.” “Daddy roulette?” you ask and furrow your brows at the two. “You said it's better to not know. Removes the thing for fighting or whatever,” JJ explains. “This one, definitely mine,” Rafe points at your stomach, and you look down at yourself to see yourself severely pregnant. Your belly is bigger than you'd ever imagined and it feels even worse. “Why is it so big?” Your heart starts racing, and you feel like you're about to fall over. “That's because we're having twins. You got a Maybank and a Cameron in there, baby, just like you love it,” JJ grins and your vision goes blurry.

“Y/n, will you please stop screaming? I was trying to sleep!” Rafe groans after shaking you awake. “Sorry,” you mumble and turn away from him. “Bad dream or what?” he asks. “You don't have to pretend to care,” you whisper, and he snakes his arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “I do care, but I also really need to sleep, baby,” he mumbles and kisses your neck a single time. “We should just sleep,” you mutter and this time you are allowed to get your few hours of dreamless sleep instead of being haunted by your mistakes.

Weeks turn into months, and one hookup every other week turns to some every other day. The more Rafe tries to focus more on you, the more you seem to crave JJ and the lightness of what you have with him. Like the quick fucks in the Country Club restroom, or the “business meetings” you tell Rafe about. After all, you really don't have a choice, because where Rafe is still reluctant to go down on you, JJ is offering it every single time, even when you are really not capable of cumming another time. You know it would be technically easy to break up with Rafe, but you can't. You promised your dead father to marry a good man, someone from a good family. And Rafe is exactly what your dad had in mind. And even if that wasn't the case, you still couldn't, or just don't want to, really. You like that every girl on the island seems to want what you have, especially with both boys on your leash. You like that people are scared of you, because they know Rafe does what you tell him to, and not because he’s scared, no because he knows it's the best way to live his life. What most people don't know is that although still rich, the Camerons had suffered a dent in their savings, and not a small one. But you, you are secured by a long line of rich assholes. Old money. More than you could ever spend in a lifetime. Which just means that Rafe doesn't have the faintest idea why he should ever leave you. You are his perfect package deal.

“boat day?” The text from JJ rips you out of your thoughts, and you praise the fact that Rafe has the day packed with meetings. “sure” you reply quickly and get back to doing your hair. “I should come pick you up” “no, you really shouldn't.” You shake your head at his dangerously stupid idea. The boat thing is after all already risky, you don't need to up the chances of anyone finding out. “Will be there in 30.”

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Kiara scoffs as soon as you get out of your car. “I invited her,” JJ shrugs as if it's nothing special and keeps walking towards the pier. “You shouldn't get to invite anyone, especially not the Kook bitch who keeps fucking you on the side to get back at her even worse Kook boyfriend,” Kiara complains. “I'm not getting back at anyone,” you smile at her, knowing how much it must enrage her that you keep your cool and calm exterior. “Just, please be nice, Kie,” JJ yells from afar and you hide your grin. “John B!” Kiara hollers and walks back into the house, while you keep standing there, leaning against your car. As soon as JJ comes back they all gather on the porch, discussing the matter of your attendance.

“You know I can hear you, right?” you say loudly after Kiara had called you a slut the third time in a row. “Then why are you still here?” she snaps at you. You stroll towards the steps that lead up the porch and walk to where they are standing. It's not that you are particularly happy that they are all there too, but you at least have the decency to be nice to them, if not for anything but JJ’s sake. “I'm interested in what your issue is here,” you ask and Sarah scoffs. “Maybe that you're a horrible person. Using JJ? Cheating on my brother?” “Oh, a horse can only be that high,” you smile at her. JJ tugs on your hand and makes you look at him. “You said you'd be nice.” “I am nice. I'm not the one calling people slut and whore and what else y'all can come up with for me. But I'm not gonna stand here and hear these insults if they can't even take one back. And for the record that wasn't an insult, it was the truth and y'all know it,” you say and John B runs his hands through his hair, visibly on edge. “Are you kidding me? You literally insult us all the fucking time,” Kiara spits at you, and you can't help the tiny laugh that escapes you. “I don't insult Pogues, you guys have it hard enough as is, but… you're not a Pogue, Carrera. I guess that means you're fair game, because that one,” you point at Sarah, “is basically family, as much as I hate to say it, and you don't go against your own.” “You’re not my family. You'll never be,” Sarah shakes her head. “Okay,” you roll your eyes at her. “Can we just-” JJ tries to get control of the conversation, but Kiara stops him. “No, we can't. If she's here, I'm leaving.” “Y'all are the worst fucking friends in the world,” you laugh and take a step back, ready to leave. “Incredible.” You turn around and walk back to your car, JJ right behind you.

“Don't leave, please,” he asks, and you stop in your tracks, turning around on the dirt and looking straight at him. “I tried, you can't tell me to do more than that. I'm not gonna be called a whore and slut every five fucking minutes. It's appalling how your friends can't even pretend to like me for a few hours, but I'm supposed to do so while also being insulted. I'm not doing that. I'm sorry.” “I'll make it up to you, just don't go,” he begs and you shake your head. “No.” “What do you mean no?” “I mean, no, because you have nothing to make up to me. They are the ones constantly fucking up. Last time you told them beforehand, and suddenly they all had different plans. They hate me,” you tell him, but he didn't seem to wanna hear it. “Can we just try and-” “I did try. Don't force me to do this, J. I can't do this if they can't even manage to not call me names,” you say quietly, and he takes your face in his hands, warm and calloused. “Will you wait just another few minutes and if I can't fix it, we will go to my place. Sound all right?” His voice is low and raspy, and it's making you wet just a little bit. “You never invited me to your house before,” you whisper, blushing and pressing your thighs together to try to get rid of the growing desire between them. “It's an equally favorable outcome to the other thing then?” “More favorable to me,” you smile and lean up to peck his lips. “Use that magical charm of yours,” you whisper and push him back to go talk to his friends.

Half an hour later you're all sitting on the small boat somewhere in the marsh. “You want a beer?” JJ asks and hands you a can. “You know how to shotgun, right?” “I can pretend I don't so you can show me,” you smile at him and he laughs. “That would be cheating.” You grin at him before taking out your keys, plunging a hole in the can and chugging it in a matter of seconds. “Impressive,” JJ notes before shotgunning his own can and dropping some beer on his sun kissed skin. You don't even think about it when you lean in and kiss the droplets away. Your kisses trail upwards, along his neck until they connect to his mouth, and he kisses you like his life depends on it. His hands come up to hold your face, while yours are in his neck, twirling the hair at the nape of it. “I should shotgun a few more if this is the new process,” JJ smirks, his forehead leaning against yours. You blink slowly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and giving him a small nod. “M-hmm,” you hum, and he places another kiss on your lips.

“Should we, uh, play a game or?” Pope suggests, and you turn to shift your focus away from JJ and towards the people he calls his friends. “What type of game?” you ask with a genuine interest. “Truth or dare,” Kiara suggests with a mean smile on her face. “Who starts?” you ask and give her a polite smile, serving its intended purpose when she rolls her eyes. “Truth or dare, princess,” JJ asks and turns your head towards him with a simple nudge of his finger. “Truth,” you whisper. “Why did you come when I asked?” “Because I like you,” you gaze into his blue eyes, and he smiles, “for more than the incredible sex also. It's actually pretty fun with you.” “Definite win on my end,” he whispers. “Truth or dare… John B,” you say before turning your head to look at him. He gives you a confused look, his eyes jumping between JJ and you. “Truth,” he shrugs. “Do you actually hate me or do you just hate me because your girlfriend hates me?” Your smile is sugar sweet, but the glare you give Sarah could definitely make milk curdle. “I mean, you're a Kook and I don't understand what this is,” he gestures at JJ and you. “But I guess, I don't know you enough to hate you or like you.” His answer genuinely surprises you because you didn't think he'd be honest and not just say the thing Sarah wanted to hear.

The game goes back and forth with a few dares and a few harmless truths in between, until it's Sarah's turn, and she glares at you as if she wants to actually kill you. “Truth or Dare, y/l/n?” “Dare,” you reply quickly, and her mean smile grows wider. “Call Rafe and tell him where you are,” she demands. “It's 2:30pm, he's in a meeting. I'm not gonna call him during a meeting just because of a stupid game,” you scoff and laugh at her stupid dare. “How do you know he's in a meeting right this second?” she hits back at you, and you can't help but laugh even more, but you catch yourself and answer a bit more seriously. “I have his schedule memorized. That's what you do when you're a good girlfriend.” “A good girlfriend wouldn't cheat!” she screams at you. “You think he doesn't? That's a pretty narrow-minded way to look at it, sis.” You know the new nickname has her boiling, and the little sadistic part of your brain loves to see it. “And you don't get to talk about cheating, everyone is aware of your timeline errors.” “I never loved Topper,” she defends herself, as if it makes her morally superior to you. “And I don't love Rafe, but you at least had a fucking choice because your shitty life was never bound to you marrying whoever your parents pick so you ‘get to’ inherent what would rightfully be yours anyway. So don't fucking tell me what to do with my life, because everyone else has always done it too, and they had more legitimacy for it,” you yell at her, unintentionally spilling more of your secrets than you had initially wanted to, and they all go quiet. The only thing you can hear after you're done is a few frogs, the birds close by, the waves crashing against the boat and your heart pounding in your chest.

JJ pulls you in closer and hugs you while placing soft, calming kisses on your neck. “I wanna go home,” you whisper to him, tired of having had to pretend, even if it had just been for an hour. “Let me talk to them. I promise it's gonna get better,” he says and gets up. There's no doubt in your mind that it won't. Yet you don't understand why you keep giving him, and with it, them, one chance after the other, when you wouldn't usually give anyone even a second chance. You look out onto the water, your legs propped up, arms around them and your head lying on your knees. You think back to the last night you had with your dad, before he had died in a horrible car crash. T-boned by a drunk driver who hadn't seen a red light. You think about how you had tried to convince him to change his mind, that you could run the company without a man by your side, that you were good enough. But all your pleas had fallen on deaf ears. And your mom isn't any better. She decided to stay away, vacating in Palm Beach and only coming home every other month to make sure you are still alive. She deals with grief like that. By sunbathing and drinking and pretending like everything is fine and perfect and not at all in shambles. Instead, you decided to close off your heart, and that worked for nearly two years until JJ decided to charm his way into it. You don't like it, the thought of feeling all this pain again. Or worse, to know once you let yourself love, the pain will be inevitable. People leave one way or the other, that's how life has always been and how it always will be.

“Hey,” John B rips you out of your head, and you don't even turn to look at him as he sits down next to you. “What do you want?” you say in the meanest way you can conjure, but it still sounds pathetic. “I'm sorry about your dad, I know he died a few years back. I, uhm, I just wanted to say I understand how hard it can be to live up to their expectations, especially after they-” “I don't need your pity, Routledge,” you snap and look at him. “You don't know anything about me. You don't have to pretend to care.” “I was just trying to help,” he apologizes and gets up again.

Your mind wanders back to the night, to the pain. It's scarily easy to revisit that memory. Seeing yourself standing over the table in the morgue, having to identify that, “yes, that's my dad,” because your mother had broken down as soon as the message had come through. You were keeping yourself together for her, for everyone around you who came with their condolences and expected a consolation prize for caring the bare minimum. You remember taking the ring from his cold, stiff finger. You remember having to pick out the casket, the suit, the food, where and when and how and- You feel like your lungs are empty, like you had stopped breathing air, but pain and desperation instead. Tears are building in your eyes. You can't blink, can't let them run, can't let anyone see you cry, especially not these people. The only one who has gotten to see you cry ever, apart from your parents, is Rafe. And maybe you are aware that you can't leave him because he knows the part of you that you try so hard to keep hidden. Because he was the only one caring for you when everyone else was solely relying on you. And now you are hurting him, in a way you never thought you would, but you can't help it, you're too far in it now. You need to tell him, needed two months ago, but you hadn't, because you were scared of breaking his heart. Because you know telling him might mean losing the one good and secure thing you had going for yourself. Maybe you never considered it love, because it doesn't look like the love from the movies and books you basically inhaled in your early teens. Maybe you do have a childish outlook on love after all, because whatever connects you and Rafe goes deeper than that.

“You okay?” JJ asks, standing over you, and you muster a faint smile for him. “I just really wanna go home now, I'm sorry,” you apologize for it, although you know you're not the only one at fault for it. You're soft for him, because he needs it, because you need it in a way. But it's so different from Rafe and you don't know if you can survive without either of them. If you could, you'd put them in a blender and get the perfect boyfriend out of it. But life isn't a fairy tale. “It's okay,” he smiles and kisses your forehead before turning to the steering wheel and starting the engine.

As soon as you're back at the Château you get off the boat and basically run towards your car. If not for JJ, you wouldn't even think twice about ever coming back. But this was his second home, his happy place. “Hey, y/n, wait a sec,” JJ calls after you and you stop to turn around. “I don't care if they like me, J, but I'm not gonna be able to do this again. Not like this. I really want to, for you, but if they can't bring up the same amount of- They need to try too, all of them, and not when I accidentally tell them my whole life story so they can pity me. I'm not gonna do it that way,” you say softly and he nods. “I understand. Will you text me that you got home safe? Please,” he whispers and you nod. There's a moment of silence, insecure and heavy, as if he doesn't know what to do, so you do the only thing you can think of to stop the awkward moment from prolonging. In a quick motion you lean up and kiss his cheek.

As soon as you come home you text him a quick “am home” and turn back to wallowing in your sadness. It takes Rafe another two hours to get back home and as soon as he walks in, you jump into his arms, trying to find the little security you knew you could always hold onto. “Hey, baby, what's up? Huh? Missed me that much?” Rafe asks with a light chuckle while holding you up, with one arm around your waist and the other holding onto his bag. “Missed you,” you mumble into him, not wanting to actually tell him why you are feeling down, but you know you need to. Soon. Very soon.

He puts down his bag and carries you into the kitchen, sitting you down on the island and taking your puffy face in his hands. “What happened?” he asks softly, softer than you know him. “I don't want you to be angry with me,” you whisper, and he prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue before nodding. “I won't be, I promise.” “I, uh…,” the words get stuck in your throat, and you feel the tears well up again. “Whatever it is, you know I love you,” he says, and it makes your heart feel even heavier. “I've been seeing someone else,” you whisper, and he takes a step back, laughing and running his hands through his hair. There is no mistake in how mad he is, because this was a new level of mad, one you haven't seen before. “Who?” he barks and you flinch. “Who is it, y/n?” “No, you'll hurt him. I won't let you hurt him,” you shake your head, and he steps closer again. “Why should I give a fuck about how you feel right now? Huh?! For how long have you been cheating on me?” he screams into your face. “Rafe, please,” you beg softly, and he takes a step away again, and a second later his fist lands in a cabinet door. “How long, y/n?” he yells. “Four months,” you whisper and he laughs. “You gotta be kidding me.” “I didn't know- It's confusing and then today-” you stammer, and he interrupts you. “You were with him today? That's why you're crying? And you expect me to not go and kill that guy instantly?” “I love you,” you yell at him, and he stops, furrowing his brows and looking at you more confused than you have ever seen him.

“What?” “I think so, at least. It's very confusing,” you mumble, looking down at your hands. “Is that supposed to be an apology? You tell me you've been fucking some asshole on the side and think it'll all be made okay by finally telling me that you love me after two years?” His anger is back, but he's still confused, and you don't know what to do about it. All you know is that you need to be truthful about it, as much as you can, as much as he lets you. “I know it doesn't make sense and I know it's not an apology. I don't mean it like that. But today, things were said by other people, not him, he was trying to help- I don't know what I feel,” you shake your head. “None of that makes any sense, baby,” Rafe runs his hand over his face. “I didn't think that what I felt for you was love because no one ever told me it could be like that. But I do. I love you and I made a horrible mistake, but I would have never known- I can't survive on just one. I need both of you to be happy,” you say, and he steps closer, harshly taking your face in his hand. “Who!” “JJ,” you whisper and his hand slips down to your throat, holding you tight enough to restrict your blood flow, making you dizzy. “You let a dirty Pogue fuck you? And then you come back here and pretend like nothing happened?” “I love you,” you are practically begging him to not hurt JJ, your own well-being has become secondary the moment you decided to tell Rafe about it all. “Is that why you wanted to do all that new shit?” he laughs almost hysterically, squeezing a little tighter and your vision starts getting blurry. “Please,” you choke out, and he lets go again. “You know what the worst part is? That this started making more sense in the last few months, and now you're tellin’ me it's because you’re fucking Maybank on the side. That's fucked up, y/n,” Rafe shakes his head. “I never got mad at you for cheating on me,” you remind him quietly, it's a low blow, but you know it's gonna do the trick. His escapades early on in your relationship, and even a few slip ups in the first year after your dad hadn't bothered you much anyway back then. “No, but you never got mad at me for anything because you don't have a fucking heart. You were acting like a fucking robot until-,” he doesn't even finish the sentence, only shaking his head yet again. “I don't understand why, Rafe. You have to believe me. And I tried not to. I did. For months before. And then it happened once, and I tried to stay away but then you- you hurt my feelings and I had no one else-” you stammer, and he glares at you. “The best sex we ever had? Because you had just fucked him?” “I know you. You're not happy with all I need. And everything you can give me- It's not enough, and I hate myself for it. I wish it was but it isn't. And I can't keep on trying to change you. I won't do that to you. It's not fair to either of us,” you whisper. “You think you can have us both? Maybe we should call your little boy toy and ask him what he thinks, because apparently you value his fucking Pogue opinion more than me!” Rafe snaps and rips the phone from your back pocket. “Rafe, please don't,” you cry, and he smirks, but it's neither playful nor sweet, it's simply vicious. “Oh, I have a way worse idea, baby, and you won't say no because you love me, right?” he taunts, and you nod slowly, knowing whatever’s to happen next won't be the last punishment you receive for your crimes.

Rafe throws you over his shoulder and carries you upstairs and into the bedroom. Throwing you on the bed as if you weigh nothing. You know not to move when he's in a mood, he'll do it by himself or give you strict orders to follow. Doing anything on your own account will just make it worse for you. “Take off that horrible dress,” he barks while walking into the closet to pick out a tie and get his special box for you. You do as you are told, and he comes over to you, pulling on your arms and tying your wrists together behind your back so you can't use your hands anymore. Then he pulls on the strings of the tiny bikini you had on, having expected to go swimming before you had left for JJ’s. The flimsy piece comes undone and Rafe slaps your ass a single time, but it stings harsh enough for you to whine a little. “The more you cry, the worse it'll get,” he threatens, and you try to swallow the pain as he sits and pulls you to lie over his lap, spanking you for half an eternity. And even when he's done and goes over to softly massaging your butt, it's still stinging, and you don't know how much more you can take if this was the start of it.

“You think that was enough? Or do you deserve some more?” Rafe asks and you gulp before replying quietly. “I was a very bad girl,” you say, just like he always wanted to hear. It had only happened two times before that he had decided to play these games in such an extreme way. The first time you had drunkenly flirted with some Touron and Rafe had decided it was the best way to teach you a lesson. That was a month into your relationship. The second time was a week before your dad had died, and he keeps telling you that he regrets doing it, but you know he doesn't. You had made fun of his family that night, just a little bit, but it had been enough to grant a punishment. But neither of those come close to the pain you imagine he must be feeling right now. And you rather let him take his anger out on you than go and hurt JJ. That was the better option, surely. “Yes, you were, baby. That's why you're gonna do whatever I say now. You know the rules. And if you cum I'll hurt you some more,” Rafe pulls you back up and you nod. “Won't cum.” “Good. Now lay down and let me fuck your throat,” he says, and you hesitate for a second but do it anyway. He's aware that you don't like it, not because it's not fun, but because he's simply too big for you to be able to breathe properly while doing it on his terms.

Yet here you are, lying on the bed with your head hanging off the edge. But before he tells you to open up, he goes to his box, taking out a tiny device and smirking mischievously. “You know what, we're doing it differently tonight,” Rafe pulls you up to sit. Then he goes to bend you over and for a moment you think he's just gonna fuck you, but instead he shoves the toy into you, filling both holes without any prep, and you cry out at the unexpected intrusion and the low vibrations of the toy. “No. You're not gonna cum from that, and if there's anything on that when I pull it out, I'll make it hurt worse. Do you understand?” He warns and you nod. “I understand.” “Good. Kneel,” he orders and points at the rug in front of the bed and you follow diligently.

When he tells you to open up, you do it, and when he tells you to moan around him, you do it, and when he tells you to look into the camera, you do it, albeit reluctantly. Rafe doesn't care that you're close to choking on his cock, or that you can't stop the tears from streaming down your cheek. He doesn't care that your jaw will hurt for the two following days. He doesn't care because he knows it's still not enough punishment, and you know he's right. Once he's happy with his little video, he tells you to get up and lie down again, and once you do, he pulls you towards the edge of the bed again and goes back to fucking your throat. What you can't see, because his balls are in your face, is that he's gone back to filming you, especially the part where his dick goes so far down your throat that it's visible on your neck. Somehow you managed to blend out the vibrations in your pussy and ass, the low intensity was barely doing anything to you but edge you on more and more.

“You're a real slut, aren't you, baby,” he huffs after pulling out and manhandling you to be face down before him. Your legs are propped up and spread wide as he harshly pulls the toy out, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your throat. “Tell me you love me again, and I might stop,” he rasps, and you are about to say it, but just as you open your mouth to speak, he thrusts into you. An obscenely loud moan is all you can conjure before he starts ramming into you. “Tell me how much you love me!” “Love you, Rafe. Love you and your cock so much,” you cry out and a second later your phone lands on the bed right next to your head. “Look who called to check up on you, baby. Tell him how much you love when I take what's mine!” Rafe demands and your eyes fill with tears as you see the screen. “What the fuck is this?” JJ asks and you sob. “Rafe, no,” you cry. “You want him so bad, he has to know what it means to share you. Because I'm not letting you go, baby,” Rafe growls, fucking you harder and your tears keep on streaming. “Princess, it's okay. Focus,” JJ tells you through the phone, and you don't understand why he didn't hang up immediately. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Rafe, please,” you beg, but he won't stop, not until he's got what he wants. “Tell him how much you love me,” Rafe barks, pulling on your hair and yanking you towards him. “You don't get to make any demands tonight, baby. You know what you did to me!” He pushes you back down, and you land face first in the duvet, sobbing uncontrollably. “I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry,” you are close to hyperventilating. Your body is sore and tired, but he won't stop the attack on your poor pussy. “You hear that Maybank, she loves me!” Rafe says, jealousy drenching his voice, and picks up the phone. “But I still don't think she deserves to cum. Do you?” “You're sick, Rafe,” JJ hisses through the phone, but your mind is starting to go blank, the noise of his skin slapping against your own, and the quenching sound of your pussy is filling your ears. “No, she's sick. One dick isn't enough for the little bitch. Nah, she needs two fillings to feel better about herself,” Rafe laughs, and you're so far gone that you can barely hear him anymore. “Princess, focus on me. Come on, pretty girl,” JJ pleads and you nod absentmindedly. “Shit, stop,” Rafe moans, but you can't. JJ's soft, loving words of encouragement have triggered your release, and you really don't have any control over it. You moan so loud you think the whole island might hear, but you don't care, actually. And when you push your ass back into Rafe he loses his game and cums so hard that he collapses onto you almost instantly.

Panting you lie there, incapable of saying a single word, but at least JJ had disconnected the call. “I get it now,” Rafe pants and pulls you into him, hugging you and kissing the top of your head. “Maybe I can learn to live with it.” “Love you,” is all you manage to say before your exhaustion takes over, and you fall into a deep dreamless slumber.

You don't even feel like getting up the next morning, but you do it anyway. Pulling on one of Rafe's shirts to feel a tiny bit of familiar comfort you prod downstairs after having cleaned up the tiniest bit. “Good morning,” Rafe says as soon as you step into the kitchen. “Morning,” you walk past him, kissing his cheek just like any normal day. But unlike any normal day, Rafe isn't dressed yet, he's only got his shorts on and something tells you he had planned it. “I don't think you should get to wear my shirts right now. I'm still mad at you, remember?” he nods at you, and you sigh, wanting to turn back and go change, but his hand shoots out to hold you back. “Oh, no, no. You're gonna take it off here. And you're gonna eat without it on.” “But I don't have anything else on,” you complain quietly and he shrugs. “Not my problem.” You pull the shirt over your head and hand it to him. “Anything else?” “Actually, yeah,” Rafe gives you a lopsided grin before sitting you up on the island.

It stings when he pushes into you, stretching you to your limit without any prep. But it's a punishment, you shouldn't enjoy it anyway. His grunts and curses and intensely hard thrusts make you whimper, but at least he doesn't tell you off about it this time. Instead, he encourages you, wanting to see the tears and as soon as they start running his thrusts grow sloppier. “I brought waffles as a peace offering,” you hear JJ's voice and footsteps that are coming closer. Your head spins around, and you stare at him across the room. The shock on his face tells you that he had just as much been blindsided by this as you, and it takes him another moment to drag his eyes away from the scene. But Rafe just laughs and keeps fucking you. “Look at him, he can't even look at you while I fuck you. How the fuck is that supposed to work, baby?” “As if you'd like to see it the other way round,” JJ snaps back at him, his back still turned to you. But the pain is too much, you can't take it anymore. “J, please,” it's a mere whisper that leaves you, but he walks over to you anyway, avoiding looking at Rafe. “It's all right, I'm here,” JJ whispers to you while caressing your hair, and you look up at him, into his pretty blue eyes. “Make her cum,” Rafe demands and JJ rolls his eyes. “You know, if you were better at it, she would've never fucked me in the first place,” JJ glares at him, but you pull on his collar, kissing him and moaning into his mouth while Rafe keeps fucking you. “You're doing so great, princess. Such a good girl,” JJ praises you and your stomach starts filling with tiny butterflies. “More,” you moan and JJ looks up at Rafe. “Touch her,” he orders and for some reason Rafe does what he says and starts rubbing harsh circles on your clit. “Oh God!” you scream, so close to your release that you feel like bursting. Your back lifts off the cold marble and your lips tremble. “That's it. Look at me baby,” JJ whispers and when your eyes meet his you feel afloat, just like the first time. “Let go,” he hushes, and your eyes roll back. You scream and feel how hard it is for Rafe to keep fucking you, but he tries anyway until he can't hold back anymore and fills you up with his hot seed. “That was better than last night,” Rafe pants while tucking himself away and JJ comes around to pull you up and carry you upstairs.

“Is this what you want?” JJ asks quietly after sitting you down on the toilet. Your voice is strained, but you only manage to nod a yes. “We'll have to put down some ground rules, because I really don't wanna be in a situation where I find out what Rafe looks like when he finishes. That was way too close already,” JJ says while letting in a bath for you. “I'm sorry,” you rasp, but he shakes his head. “Don't apologize. If I hadn't told you to come by yesterday, this wouldn't be happening. And you should save your voice,” he smiles.

The hot water helps with the pain, but leaning back into JJ and being with him without having to think about what might happen if someone finds out is freeing. It's nice and good and feels a thousand times better than before. “I don't care if they get it or not. I know you can't help it,” he whispers to you, softly massaging your sore thighs under the water. “Stupid hearts,” he sighs. “You okay?” Rafe asks, standing in the door, and you turn to look at him and nod. “Good. I have to go to work,” he says and takes a few steps over to kiss you softly. “Love you,” he whispers and turns around to leave without waiting for you to say it back.

The following days are filled with planning and talking and fighting over phrasings, but in the end they manage to come to a conclusion that they can both live with. The easiest one at that. You get to choose, anything and everything when it comes to what happens between the three of you, in this weird new relationship you found yourself in.

Most nights you find yourself sleeping in JJ's bed instead of your own, but Rafe doesn't mind it much, never having been much of a cuddler himself. But when it gets to your darkest moments, you don't trust yourself enough to talk to JJ, maybe it's stupid, but somehow you can't change it. Yet you also don't think you'll ever regret your decision, especially when you're waking up to JJ plastering you with kisses before slowly fucking you awake. Or when he goes to eat you out while a boring movie is playing. Or when Rafe comes home frustrated from a meeting and uses you in any way you let him, and sometimes he even lets JJ join and not just sit there and please you mentally.

Your new favorite thing has to be sucking off JJ while Rafe is plowing into you. With every deep thrust of Rafe's hard cock into your clenching core, you moan louder around JJ, and it's even harder for him to not cum as soon as he sees your puffy lips wrapped around his dick. And you love to swirl your tongue and play with his balls a little, slapping your lips and cheeks with his pretty cock until he begs for you to suck him dry.

The days in between when you get time to recover properly are filled with surf lessons from JJ or going shopping with Rafe. It's passed the point where only the three of you and the people close to you know about the arrangement. Especially parties start to be a boiling pot for dramatics.

You're at the Boneyard, playing stupid drinking games with JJ, having fun the way teenagers are supposed to be. You're aware that the people around you talk, but you couldn't care less because you're on cloud nine, too happy to let anybody ruin it. But JJ is the complete opposite. The more people he hears, the more agitated he gets. “What’ya say?” he snaps at some guy, pushing him back. “Chill bro,” the boy tries to laugh it off. “No, repeat what you said, asshole,” JJ pushes. “Only the biggest of sluts need-” He doesn't get to finish the repetition of his words when JJ's fist lands in his face. You yell for him to stop, but it's like he's in a trance. It takes both John B and Pope, who storm over from the other side of the party, to pull JJ off the guy. “What the fuck, bro,” John B shoves JJ backwards but J just laughs. “He deserved it.” “Why ‘cause he said something mean?” Pope snaps, and you cross your arms in front of your chest. “You wouldn't get it, Pope,” JJ shakes his head and looks up at the night sky. “Y'all just don't get it.” “We don't, because it doesn't make sense,” Pope counters and you scoff. “Just because you don't understand something, doesn't mean it's shit or that we're horrible people for it.” “I didn't say that,” he shakes his head, but you're done with them, you have been for a long time. “C’mon, J,” you say and start walking towards where you had parked your car.

At home, you start by cleaning him up, kissing him all over in the shower until he pins you against the tiles. His kisses are forceful, and he's groping at your ass and thighs. Picking you up and fucking up into you while you moan and gasp. He doesn't give you time to cum when he finishes and puts you down on your feet. This is different from what you know of him, but it intrigues you too. JJ turns you around and snakes his arm around your thigh, pushing two fingers into your sore cunt to stop you from spilling out. “I know I should've asked, but it's gonna be great. I promise,” he whispers into your ear before leading you into the bedroom and making you lie down.

JJ is standing in front of you, your legs pressed to your chest, and he’s holding onto your hips as he fucks you. It's not loving and soft like any time before. It's harsh and fast, and you like it too much. You like the sound of his claves crashing into your ass, the way his balls slap against your skin. The wet noises your pussy makes when he drags his cock out of you just to slam right back in. And the way your tits jiggle with the movement. Your hands are clawing at the sheets when JJ starts playing with your clit, making you cum in a matter of seconds. You know you'll be there for hours when he shoots his cum into you and just keeps going. You haven't quite figured out which way you like it better; with JJ’s incredibly small refractory period, or Rafe's stamina to hold out for just how long he wants to.

“Who's gonna clean that up?” you hear Rafe ask and your head spins around to look at him. Your mind is blurry with pleasure, your mouth agape and JJ doesn't stop and rips another orgasm from you. Rafe has never actually watched him fuck you, but something about this is making him want to stay and watch. Your back arches up again, and JJ grunts and curses, filling you up for the fifth time that night, and you watch Rafe's face contort in a light confusion. “You just keep going? Maybe you should give her some time, dude,” Rafe says, and you shake your head at him. “She'll have time once I'm done,” JJ growls, and it sends shivers down your spine, making you roll your eyes back. “Isn't that right, baby?” “Yes, yes, yes-” you scream each time his cock pushes against your cervix as if he wants to pass through it. “Want your cum, JJ, all of it,” you babble, maybe you like giving Rafe a show too. “Good girl,” JJ moans and cums another time, making you clench around him with ease.

“You see that,” JJ smirks down at you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to see the tip of his dick poking against your stomach. “That's it, princess,” he praises you before pushing down on your stomach, and you fall back, moaning, incapable of holding yourself up with the intense pleasure he's giving you. “Give me my phone,” JJ orders and for a moment you have forgotten that Rafe is still there, still watching. He hands JJ his phone and J points the lense right at where you two are connected. His free hand is back to rubbing torturously harsh circles on your clit, making you mewl and cry out. “Cum for me, princess. Make me proud, baby,” JJ hums, and you let go of the tension. Screaming his name and squeezing his cock so hard that he cums almost instantly, pushing in farther and holding himself there until he's all done. And once he's pulled out, he goes down on his knees before you, pointing the camera right at your pussy, clenching around nothing and pushing all his cum out of you and letting it drip down onto the rug.

“What she do?” Rafe asks just as JJ comes back from the bathroom, a wet washcloth in his hand. “Nothing,” JJ mutters while cleaning you up, but you can't move, not yet. Your legs feel like they are made of rubber and your mind is empty, only having enough capacity to listen to their words. “Why'd you do this then?” Rafe points at your utterly fucked out state. “Do I ask you why you do what you do? No. Just let it go,” JJ snaps at him and leaves for his room. “You could at least change the fucking sheets!” Rafe yells after him, but it's no use.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Rafe whispers and picks you up, holding you in his arms while you regain your strength. “Frustrated,” you mumble and look at him with your glossy eyes. “Maybank? Why?” “Fight- Asshole-” you stammer, and he carries you out of the room and towards JJ’s. “What did you do?” Rafe barks at JJ, your body still tightly wrapped around him. “None of your fucking business,” JJ hisses. “It fucking is when it ends with her losing all bodily capabilities, you ass,” Rafe yells, and you try to cover your ears, but it doesn't really help. “He called her a whore, and he had to pay for it. I don't care what they say, but they don't get to insult her,” JJ explains harshly, and you start to slowly feel your toes again. “Doesn't explain why you nearly fucked her into subdrop,” Rafe shakes his head and caresses your back. “You can't just do shit like that, and you know it.” “She said she was okay with it.” “She's a fucking people pleaser, asshole,” Rafe snaps, and you lift your head from his shoulder. “Please stop,” you whisper, and he wipes a tear from your cheek. “It's okay, baby,” Rafe whispers to you before turning back to JJ. “Don't let your fucking anger out on her without making sure she's alright.” “Noted,” JJ says, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Good, because you gotta aftercare the shit out of her now. I'm not cleaning up your messes, Maybank,” Rafe tells him and basically hands you to him as if you were nothing more than a puppet.

“I'm sorry, love,” JJ whispers, placing you in the hot water and running his hand through his hair. “S’okay,” you mumble and look up at him with a droopy smile. “I'm gonna clean up, and then I'll be right with you, all right?” He kisses you gently and leaves again. You think back to it, the moment he snapped. He looked like a different person, more like his dad in a way, and although you never even saw Luke Maybank up close, you know it’s true. You know the rumors are true. He didn't tell you, but in your heart you know it. If his friends hadn't come, he wouldn't have stopped. If they hadn't showed up, the other guy would be dead. If it hadn't been for you, none of it would've happened. It’s a rather quick spiral that you go down, and you can't stop yourself from crying, not even when JJ comes back and looks at you rather confused. “Hey. Hey, pretty girl, don't cry. It's okay. You're okay. I'm here,” he tells you and pulls your head to his chest. But it doesn't help. You can't stop feeling like it was all your fault, all the pain in your life is your fault. “Rafe!” JJ shouts, and it only takes a minute for him to run in. “What you do now?” “Nothing, I came back, and she's crying, and she won't stop,” JJ defends himself. “Go. You seriously have no clue,” Rafe shakes his head and takes JJ's spot next to you.

“What's wrong, baby,” Rafe whispers to you, holding your face in his big hands. “It's my fault. I killed him. It's my fault,” you sob and he shakes his head. “No, it's not. You know it's not,” Rafe assures you, but you're too far gone for it to work. “I did it. I killed him,” you cry and he clenches his jaw. “Y/n, you didn't drive that car, it's not your fault. Please, listen to me,” Rafe pleads, but you shake your head, not wanting to believe him. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he orders, and you turn your eyes back on him. “Three things you feel, name them.” “Pain. Tired. Sad,” you answer slowly. “Four things you can touch.” “Water, you, me, bathtub,” you reply a little faster and he nods. “Five things you see,” Rafe whispers, and you look around in front of you. “Towel, shower, robe, painting-” your eyes get stuck on the blonde boy that is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, “JJ.” Rafe snaps around to look at him. “I told you to leave!” “What's wrong with her?” JJ asks quietly, and your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. “Leave!” Rafe yells, and it takes a moment for JJ to realize that it will have consequences if he doesn't. But Rafe had already turned back around to you, stroking your hair. “We should get you to bed, baby.” He dries you up and puts you in a shirt of his to sleep in, before laying you down in your bed and turning off the lights.

When you wake up, you're alone, and you decide to not get ready and just go downstairs the way you are. Before you can meet the boys in the kitchen you overhear them talking and stop in your tracks. “That doesn't make sense,” JJ says. “No shit. But that's just how it's been ever since. Your stupid fight triggered something, and the day is coming up in a week- It's a fucking minefield this time of year,” Rafe sighs. “So we distract her?” JJ asks and Rafe scoffs. “That's just delaying it. No, you just gotta stay with her and make sure she won't spiral. And when she does you have to keep telling her that it's not her fault, and pull her out of it. The naming thing always works,” Rafe replies. “And what if it doesn't?” “I don't know.”

You turn the corner and pretend like you had just come down the stairs, walking straight to the coffee machine. “How did you sleep?” Rafe asks with a smile. “Alone,” you say and take your mug, nearly burning your tongue as you take a sip. “I'm sorry, y/n, for yesterday and all,” JJ apologizes, but you just shrug. “Shit happens.” Pretending to not care was easy, too easy. “I’m gonna be at the office all day. You think you're gonna be all right?” Rafe asks and you nod. “I don't know why we shouldn't be.”

You spend your day training, not having done so in too long for your own liking. The water calms your mind and gives you enough time to reflect on your life choices. You know Rafe is right. You know that it's not your fault. But the guilt you feel around it doesn't just vanish because of it.

Later that day Rafe texts you that you're having dinner at the country club with his dad, meaning JJ isn't allowed to come. “I'll just enjoy the view right now,” JJ smiles and watches you get dressed. The underwear set is new, and you can tell by the way he's looking at you that he wants nothing more than to take it off again. “If it was my call,” you start, but he interjects. “I know, but it isn't. Besides, I don't really give a shit about family dinners and all that fancy bullshit.” “Sarah will be there, and John B,” you remind him, but he shrugs. “So what?” “Have you talked to them at all in the last few weeks?” you ask and JJ rubs over the light stubble on his chin. “They didn't reach out either.” “They are your family though. That's what you told me,” you whisper. “I have a new family now. I have you,” JJ smiles and takes your dress from the clothing hanger. “That's not enough, and you know it,” you say while stepping into the dress and letting him zip it up. “It's enough for you,” he says, and you sigh, looking at him through the mirror in your closet. “But I'm a heartless bitch with more money than anyone else on this island. I don't need anything more, and if I did, I could just buy it.” Your fingers fumble with the necklace until JJ takes it from you and places it around your neck. “I know there's a heart in there,” JJ says while holding you from behind, his right hand resting on top of your chest. “Horrible. We should go get a knife and cut it out,” you whisper with a smile and he kisses your shoulder. “You'd kill me if I said what I was thinking right now,” he mumbles against your skin and your heart stops for a moment, scared that he would say the dreaded words that you knew would definitely complicate your life even more. “Then you really shouldn't say it.” “I should, but I won't,” he looks back up, leaning his head against yours, smiling.

The dinner goes rather smoothly, although Sarah still gives you a side eye and once the Camerons are gone, John B asks how JJ is, but nothing more. “Boring as ever,” you complain on the drive home. “Glad he didn't ask when we're getting married,” Rafe exhales a laugh. “Hmmm, let me think,” you tap your finger against your chin in a joking manner. “We can fuck them all over and just fly to Vegas right now.” “Wouldn't be the worst idea we ever had,” he laughs and takes your hand up to kiss it just as he turns into your driveway. “My mom expects a huge white wedding. At least a hundred guests,” you sigh while getting out of the car. “We should start planning then,” Rafe grins at you, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head.

“What happens to that one, once we get married?” Rafe asks you, pointing at JJ who is standing in the kitchen with nothing more than his boxers on. “They should make this harem thing legal,” JJ says and shugs the rest of his drink. “A harem is one guy with many women, dumbass,” you laugh. “The opposite of that then,” JJ shrugs. “Sure,” Rafe rolls his eyes at him and JJ flips him off. “Sometimes I think you guys forget who's the boss around here,” you say and zip your dress open, letting it fall to the ground and walking upstairs. “First one up gets to start,” you call out and hear them arguing already.

“Just because you're first, doesn't mean you know what you're doing,” JJ complains. “Fine, you start then, genius,” Rafe scoffs, and you furrow your brows, it was unusual for Rafe to give in and let JJ do anything to you unless you specifically asked for it. “What's the plan here, boys?” you ask with an anticipating smile on your lips. JJ pulls you into his arms, kissing you deeply and pushing you against the bed. The backs of your knees hit the wood and you fall down. “Just relax, gorgeous,” he muses and drops down on his knees before you, taking off your heels and letting his hands run up to your thighs. You sigh into it, the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin and the kisses he leaves on the inside of your thighs before unclasping the lace body right on top of your pussy. JJ rolls the fabric up to reveal your stomach, kissing and nipping at your skin; biting your hip and making you jump in surprise. He loves to tease you, and you'd never tell him to stop, ever. He comes up to kiss you, pushing the lace up even farther and helping you take it off completely. Kissing your neck and leaving marks you hear him chuckle, then his lips meet your ear, and he whispers, “you think he's taking any notes?” Your eyes dart over to Rafe who has pulled a chair over and is watching you carefully. “Maybe,” you reply. JJ hums, picking up his head to smile at you. “Hopefully.”

JJ kisses down your neck, following along your collarbone and to your tits. He sucks on your nipple, grazing over it with his teeth before he pulls on it and your back arches up. “Would be neglectful to not give you the same attention,” JJ says to your other tit, and you would tell him off if he wasn't squeezing your sensitive nipple right in that second. His hand is playing with your sore tit while his mouth attacks the other. It's overwhelming and perfect, and you don't see any reason to hold back. Your moans and gasps fill the room, and they continue on even once he has let off your boobs and moved downward again. He sucks hickeys into the soft skin of your thighs, making you mewl and squirm. “Tell me what you want me to do to you, princess,” JJ demands, and you grasp into his hair to push his face into your clothed cunt. He blows a little against your wet slip, and you instinctively want to close your legs, but he holds them in place. “You should let me take this pretty thing off first,” JJ smirks and you lift your hips. The tiny slip is off faster than you can say your own name.

“Tastes so fucking sweet, baby,” JJ moans after licking over your wet pussy, his tongue dipping between your folds and torturing your clit a little. “Hold on, princess,” JJ smirks up at you and your hand finds his hair, tugging on the fine strands as he plunges his tongue into your pussy. His nose presses against your clit, and with every stroke of his tongue, he edges you closer. “More, JJ, please,” you moan, and he starts to suck on your clit while pushing his fingers into you. Curling them and sucking harsher, almost biting down on your clit, and you can't help but grind your hips against him. When his fingers come up to your face, and you lick them off, you already feel like you're about to explode. “Cum on my tongue, baby,” JJ hums into you, licking long strides up your pussy before pressing his tongue flat against your entrance and rubbing his nose on your clit. You keep rolling your hips and moaning his name as you come undone for him. His new technique isn't as good as the old one, but you're not one to complain about it. JJ gets up and wipes his face on a small towel that Rafe hands him, but you can't stop staring at the wet spot in his boxers. “Again?” you ask JJ with a smile and he shrugs. “Can't help it. You taste too good, baby.”

You hold your hand out for Rafe after sitting up, and he takes and intertwines your fingers. He's still in his suit pants and shirt, looking down at you with a lustrous smile. “You look really hot in this,” you whisper and nod, but your hands wander to the buttons, slowly opening the shirt until you can push it off his shoulders. His abs look so rideable to you, but you are still unsure if he'd let you once you ask. “You're way hotter, baby. Next time I get to take off the fancy shit,” Rafe growls, his hand cupping your tit, brushing his thumb over your tit, but his eyes shift towards JJ. “You understand?” But JJ just holds his hands up in defense and sits down on the chair. “Take the pants off, babe,” you pout at Rafe, and he slowly opens his belt, pulling it out and dropping it to the side. It was like he was doing a strip show for you, and you loved every second of it. Rafe pushes you to lie down, your hands pinned over your head as he kisses you aggressively. His free hand gropes at your tit, and you lift your hips to press your wet cunt against his hard cock. “Always so needy,” Rafe mocks you before going down on his knees between your legs. He's aggressive and fast, sucking on your clit with so much pressure building that you are scared he's gonna rip it off. But your screams just turn him on even more. His tongue thrusts into you with a harsh pace, and you try to get away from him, but he's holding you in place. “Curl it,” JJ says and Rafe listens, curling his tongue up and ripping an orgasm out of you in a matter of seconds.

“J,” you pant and Rafe wants to get up, but you close your thighs around his head. “No, you stay. J, come here,” you tap the bed right next to your head. They do as you say, and while Rafe is eating you out another time, JJ is fucking your throat and praising you. Before JJ can cum you pull him from your throat and pump his cock slower, trying to pace him just a bit. But when you look at the two boys, so helpless when it comes to your wants and needs, you can't help yourself. With a quick move you have J’s dick back in your warm and wet mouth, swirling your tongue and hollowing your cheeks. Your hand is massaging his balls, and he throws his head back and fills your mouth with his salty cum. It feels so good, you cum instantly, creaming all over Rafe's pretty face. “Definitely doing this again,” you sigh, falling flat into the bed and not planning on getting up anytime soon.

The engagement dinner is jarring and the only reason you can get through it is, because Rafe keeps reminding you that it'll be over soon, his hand resting on your thigh the whole night.

But the engagement party, the weekend after is fun, is actually fun. You invited everyone you knew, including JJ's friends and Barry, who you hadn't talked to in ages. You spend the first half of the night tightly wrapped in Rafe's arm, smiling and laughing at some things his friends say. Sitting on the couch on Rafe's lap you let your eyes wander, and they get stuck on JJ who is visibly uncomfortable while nipping on his beer. “Maybe a blowjob will lighten his mood,” you whisper to Rafe, but he shakes his head. “No, but honesty might.” “What do you mean?” you ask and look at your, now, fiancée. “I mean, he's been miserable and fighting it ever since we brought up that this would be happening. Not like you have much of a choice anyway,” Rafe shrugs lightly and runs his hand over your back. “How do you know he's miserable?” you wonder, eyeing your boyfriend across the room. “Because I use my eyes, and to be fair, I'd be pouting too if you wanted to marry him instead of me.” “And what am I supposed to tell him? He knows I don't have a choice if I wanna keep the company,” you sigh. “The truth. That you love him,” Rafe whispers and kisses your cheek. “You can't know that,” you shake your head and he laughs. “I see the way you two look at each other. I love you so much baby, but you've never looked at me like that.” “That doesn't mean anything,” you fight his words, not wanting him to be right about it. “I mean, you can try it with the blowjob, but I think the truth would be better,” Rafe smiles and slaps your ass, signaling you to get up.

You're dragging your feet walking over to JJ. “Look at that, a Pogue in a Kook mansion,” you tease with a smile. “Hey,” he mumbles without looking at you. “You okay?” you whisper and he nods, avoiding your eyes. “Why shouldn't I be?” “Because you've been avoiding me all day.” You reach out your hand to hold onto his and as soon as your delicate fingers close around his, he stares at you. Pain filled blue eyes and a merely unnoticeable tremble on his lip. “Do I have to be happy about it? You want me to be happy about the fact that you're leaving me?” he hisses at you, but you feel like a weight is lifted off you, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Come on, I need to tell you something,” you whisper and lead him upstairs to your bedroom, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

“Why did you bring me here?” JJ asks, his hand is holding onto the bottle for dear life. “Sit with me,” you say and place yourself at the edge of the bed. He follows reluctantly, yet again avoiding to even look at you. “JJ, I'm not leaving you,” you whisper and he scoffs. “Sure you aren't.” “I'm serious, J. Just because I have to marry Rafe, doesn't mean anything changes between us.” “Sure it won't, until you want to have kids, and then it's no longer appropriate,” he mutters, and you don't know how to convince him. Maybe Rafe was right with his assumption about him, about you. But the thought of it is debilitating. “When I have kids they will have my name, JJ. Do you not want kids?” you ask and he sighs. “I don't just want any kids, y/n, I want your kids,” he whispers and turns to look at you. “Why would you think I'll leave you then?” “Because you are marrying Rafe. Starting a family with Rafe. Just like the plan was. I'm nowhere close to being part of that picture,” he talks himself down, and you really have no more words left inside you.

You take his face into your hands and kiss him. Your heart is racing while looking at him and your throat feels dry, but you know you have to do it. And you know Rafe is right, you've known it ever since you let JJ compromise your thoughts from the very first time. “I love you, JJ,” you whisper, and his eyes go wide. “You sure?” he asks and as soon as you nod he pins you down onto the bed and starts kissing you. Your giggles and the soft attempts to get away from him are making it even better, until he has you pinned right where he wants you, and you are panting, looking up at him. “You're so beautiful, y/n,” JJ whispers, diving down to kiss you, sloppy and with a smile on both your lips. “We should go back down,” you whisper and he shakes his head. “Not yet.” “They might be looking for us and I don't-” You don't get to finish your sentence when his lips find yours again. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and entangles his tongue with yours until you moan into him. “I love you, y/n,” JJ whispers, and nuzzles his face into your neck.

And before you can think twice about it, your little make out session has turned into the best sex you've ever had with him. JJ is sitting under you as you softly roll your hips. He's buried so deep into you that every miniscule move is sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His hands are rubbing over your hips and ass in a perpetual motion, while yours play with his hair. You think you could stay like this forever, just you and him in perfect synchrony; in love. And the only time his eyes leave yours is when he dips his head to suck on your tits, or kiss your neck. When he turns you around to lie down and thrusts into you, it's like he's fucking you for the first time. A plethora of praises and a dozen more “I love you’s” fall from his lips while all you can do is moan and babble incoherently about how much you love him too.

When you find your way back downstairs, after what felt like an eternity, his arms are wrapped around you. JJ is himself again, flirty and always joking, and so incredibly more touchy than before. “I see you made up,” Rafe smiles and holds his hand out, for you to take your seat back on his lap. “Excuse me, you had her all night,” JJ complains and pulls you away, just to sit down right next to Rafe and let you kiss him like you had wanted to. “No more trouble in paradise?” Rafe whispers to you and you shake your head. “I love my boys,” you sigh. “And I thought you went with the blowjob,” Rafe teases you and you roll your eyes. “I could've gotten a blowjob?” JJ gasps quietly and softly pinches your thigh. “You get those all the time, dumbass,” you giggle, and he smiles at you, completely enamored by your whole being. “To think I get to be this lucky just because I couldn't stop staring at your tits, princess,” JJ whispers. “Pretty nice tits,” Rafe agrees with a mumble. “Pretty nice dicks,” you giggle and cuddle into JJ, bathing in the newfound closeness and in your mind you're already planning it all out; the kids, the dog, and the two loves of your life.

taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @drwstarkeyy @immyowndefender @julczimozart

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Steve doesn’t think anything of it when he says it.

He’s lying on Robin’s bed, squished between a diverse collection of childhood teddy bears. Robin’s sat opposite him up by the headboard, her feet knocking against his knees; she’s massaging Pond’s cream into her elbows, and the room smells of cocoa butter.

Steve breathes in leisurely.

He thinks back to just a few months ago, when he’d first gotten the job at Scoops Ahoy—when he’d found out that his only co-worker was going to be a Robin Buckley: who the hell is she? he’d thought with a familiar carelessness, an echo from his junior year. Before the monsters. Before…

“Hey, Robin,” Steve begins. The words come slowly, like he’s wandering through the thought. “Do you ever think that, like… that it’s kinda crazy, y’know, how we ended up here?”

Robin pauses in her massaging. She gives him a dry look. “This is a pretty standard Sunday evening for me.”

Steve snorts. “Not like that, dickhead.”

Although maybe it is like that actually.

Maybe it’s about how he now watches Murder, She Wrote in the Buckley’s living room without Robin’s parents batting an eye; how they said he could join them for dinner beforehand, and then he kept showing up earlier and earlier to the point where him and Robin just spend the whole day together, and it’s never awkward, there’s no quips or whatever from her dad about them secretly being together; and maybe it feels sorta like a fairytale in the best way; maybe he feels a little like Laurie except he doesn’t want to propose to Jo.

And maybe it’s that the whole thing is just insane: that the entire goddamn trajectory of his life somehow took this wild turn, has made him land here, of all places, and he doesn’t even mean it in an asshole kind of way.

He means…

“Guess I’m just… just thinking. Like, it all kinda worked out, y’know?” Even as he says it, he knows it’s a risk—because they’ve not talked about Starcourt, not really, they’ve just talked around it, but this hardly counts, right? It’s just a joke, it’s just… “Yeah, I, um, got my head knocked around, but, it, uh, it meant I ended up here, so.”

He wants Robin to laugh—or at least, he thinks he does.

She doesn’t. She just goes very still.

He feels something twist in his gut; she’s got this way of looking at him, like he’s accidentally said more than what he thought he did.

“Steve.”

Robin crawls forward, clumsy and urgent. She grabs hold of his wrist. He feels the grease of body lotion as her thumb moves in tiny circles against his skin.

“That didn’t need to happen,” she says so seriously, and for some reason that’s almost the thing that does it, the thing that almost gets him to break on a slow Sunday evening in October, because whenever his stupid brain brings him back to July, to blood and pain and a deep, unimagineable fear, he tries to remember how it felt: how he laughed through it with Robin in a bathroom stall, and it would almost be enough to soothe the sting, that he could endure it, could endure anything so long as he could have this, please just let me have—

“We could’ve had the most boring summer of our lives,” Robin says, with a smile that’s a little sad, a little wistful, but always kind. “And I still would’ve…”

He hears them again, those words he’s been clinging to.

Listen to me, Steve. It's shocked me to my core, but I like you. I really like you.

“It just would’ve taken longer,” Robin finishes. Her eyes dart all over his face, and he suspects that he knows part of what she’s seeing: the ghosts of bruises. “Okay?”

For a moment, Steve can’t speak. “Okay.”

Robin shuffles up next to him, sitting right on top of one of her bears—“You’re squishing him,” Steve points out, to which Robin just snorts—and then she’s hugging him, maybe tighter than he’s ever been hugged before.

He lets his head fall forward and breathes.

They break apart eventually. If there’s a wet patch on her shirt, Robin doesn’t point it out—just says there’s cake for dessert, and she doesn’t move back to her spot, so her elbows are practically always in danger of catching Steve in the ribs.

And God, Steve tries to believe it: that he could have all of this without… That he could’ve always had it.

He tries.

#sometimes love is looking someone in the eye and saying: you don’t need to hurt to have me #you never needed to hurt to have me #steve and robin #steve and robin ficlet #steve and robin fic #steve harrington #robin buckley

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moongreenlight · 11 months

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Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who despite his better judgement lets Soap talk him into picking up a girl for the night.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Apparently Soap knows a guy who knows a guy in the area they’re deployed. They’d been staying at some shithole inn in France for weeks. Driving into the city to stake out some mark day in and day out. Tedious, mind-numbing work. Sitting at cafes and on patios at pubs people watching. Looking for anyone that may or may not match the vague description that had been provided by some mole on the other side.

Simon could sit still and shut up. Johnny was a separate issue. He could dial in for a few hours at a time, but then he’d start to slip. Bored and antsy, he’d try and strike up conversation. Inevitably returning to what must have been his favorite topic, or the one thing plaguing his mind the most. He’s horny. Fucking hell, is he horny.

Bitching and whining about not being able to get any play here because he doesn’t speak a lick of French and even when he tries it comes out so muddied that nobody takes him seriously. And that the inn they’re set up at is years away from town. Paints him out to be a serial killer.

Simon would grind his teeth and endure yet another one-sided talk about how bored Johnny had been getting of his hand. Even the left one wasn’t doing the trick anymore. He’d resorted to calling in some favors he was apparently owed to get the help of some girls in his evenings off.

“Jesus. Lookit the legs on her.”

Johnny had almost fallen out of his chair swiveling his entire body to watch some girl in a short skirt and a long trench coat stride past their spot outside of a cafe.

“Mhm.”

Simon was in a better spot to watch her pass. Eyeing her frame from over the rim of his steaming mug of tea. Fucking dreadful day. Drizzling rain. Bordering on sleet because of how miserable the weather was. Cloudy with a breeze that felt bitterly cold even through his coat. Shit tea, too. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander.

Not like they’d made any progress. Not like they could make any progress being staked out on a side street with no traffic whatsoever. The girl had been the only person other than their server that they’d seen come by in the last half hour. And sure, she had good legs. Better than their server’s at least. Some cranky older woman who’d ignored his attempts to order in French and looked mugged off that she had to deal with them at all, especially sat outside in this weather.

“Hell’s bells. Almost forgot you had a brain in there somewhere.”

Johnny, of course, couldn’t resist making a dig.

“Don’t get carried away.”

Simon grunted.

“Naw. C’mon, L.T. You like girls? They’ve got girls.”

Should have predicted that he was going to run wild with this.

“M’warnin’ you.”

“Loads of girls. Fuckin’ customizable. Send you a preference sheet and everything. Real professional operation.”

Johnny snickered into his paper coffee cup. Given to him along with a nasty look when he’d fidgeted with the ceramic mug he’d first had a bit too much and sent it smashing into the pavement.

Simon wasn’t one to be jerked around cock-first like Johnny, but Jesus. He was wearing thin. Maybe the isolation was getting to him. Maybe a seed had been planted somewhere deep in his mind from Johnny’s moaning. Not to mention, it was impossible to get it up watching French cable porn on a twin bed. He was backed-up and pissed off with the work. And with no end in sight, it could push a man to do strange things.

He shifted his hips forward in his seat, taking a long drink of his tea as he scanned the empty street for the umteenth time.

“Haven’t used up all your favors?”

You would have thought he’d just backhanded Johnny the way his eyes bugged out of his head.

“Gie’s a break.”

“Jus’ a question.”

Simon shrugged, sighing like he was already regretting asking. He was.

“Don’t work me up over nothin’, L.T.”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows and leaning his forearms onto the table. Now completely distracted from the task at hand.

“Johnny.”

“Sure I could work somethin’ out. Only ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous. Ken yer a’right owing me a favor?”

Simon snorted.

“Sure I can manage.”

Johnny’s eyes were glinting something awful. More lively than he’d been in days. Practically laying over the table and kicking his feet. Thrilled to finally have the means to something Simon wanted.

“We’ll see about that’.”

Conversation moved on. Dragged back to the mission with instruction to change location. They spent a full ten hours out in the rain and the cold and the grey for absolutely no payout. Again. Still at square goddamn one. It was arguably worse than combat. Least on a real mission he’d get some release.

Johnny had stepped away in the early evening to make a call. Just before they were tapped out by Price and Gaz. Likely cashing in his favors owed, because he came back with a smug smile and two pints. Saying something about how Simon needed to quit taking himself so seriously. All work and no play or some stupid shit to that tune. Made a comment in passing on their drive back to the inn about how he should get his quarters decent by nine.

Honestly, Simon wasn’t expecting much. It was a bit of a ridiculous concept to him to begin with. He’d regretted saying anything straight after the words had left his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to entertain some two-bit whore, even if she just served to curb his boredom. He never sought out things like this. Never felt the need. He wasn’t like Johnny or Gaz where he had to sneak off during missions for a wank or a quick fuck when time allowed. Not like Price where he’d seek a willing nurse or secretary to grope or bend over his desk on a day off. Sure, he’d take the opportunity if it arose, but he was always more focused on the job while he was at work rather than chasing his next high.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken anyone home. Fucked into his hand as much was necessary to keep everything operational. Knew when it was time when he started lashing out on a hairpin trigger. Got lazy on missions. Lost one too many sparring matches during training because he couldn’t focus.

So when nine came and went, he just found himself agitated that he’d requested the woman at the front desk change the sheets on his bed again so late. Ducking out to the balcony for a cigarette when she came in and slipping her a few euros on her way out despite the way her lip curled distastefully. Fucking frogs.

He was sat on the armchair in the corner of his room. Halfway paying attention to whatever channel was on the TV across from him and nursing a tumbler of shit whiskey he’d picked up from the shops their first night in. Swapped his mission clothes for a black tee shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. Tugging his balaclava over his face out of pure habit. Strictly instructed not to wear it out for the sake of keeping a low profile. Though he wasn’t sure how much good that did. He stood out from the crowd with his scars and crooked nose and tattoos without the covering. Whatever. Wardrobe wasn’t his job for a reason he supposed.

The sharp knock on his door grated heavily on his last nerve. Eliciting a low growl, but no movement to answer. It was half ten at this point. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just another group of teenagers lost on their way to a friend’s room.

Another knock, and this time it didn’t stop. A muffled giggle through the door.

“Jesus Christ.”

He grumbled, shoving up and striding over to the door. Jerking the door open and using his hulking frame to cover the small opening he allowed.

Johnny’s fist nearly collided with Simon’s jaw. Distracted by the two girls stood behind him in the hall, giggling at him and batting their lashes. He was grinning like a goddamned devil. Chest puffed-out, shoulders rolled back. Entirely too comfortable.

Simon cocked a brow, giving the group a scornful once-over.

“Aye, L.T.! I come bearing gifts.”

Simon’s brow shot up further, eyes flicking from his friend to each of the girls behind him. Johnny immediately caught on to his confusion and barked a laugh, slinging his arm around the shoulder of the girl on the left. She sunk comfortably into position, leaning into him and giggling like it had been rehearsed.

She was pretty. Both of the girls were. The one tucked under Johnny’s arm had long auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. Bright green eyes. Great smile. Perfectly groomed. Both of them covered conservatively by long coats to protect from the rain that had gradually started to come down harder and colder through the day. Hard to tell they were hooking by looking at them.

They seemed more familiar with Johnny than what Simon could assume was normal. It made his stomach turn if he thought too much into it, so he didn’t. Instead he side stepped, allowing the second girl barely enough room to slip through the door, and jerked his head for her to move.

“S’pose I know better than to expect a thank you.”

Johnny grinned, entirely unbothered by Simon’s glare that was boring through his skull. Arm already wandering down the auburn haired girl’s back at an alarming speed.

“Not as dim as you look, Sargent.”

Simon sighed, snapping the door shut.

“You’re late.”

He said flatly before he’d even finished locking the door. Turning to face the girl who’d already made herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Leaned back on her hands, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Throwing off your schedule, am I?”

You said, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. This made Simon recoil slightly. He’d been expecting some trashy, mildly-disgusting woman to come stumbling through the door when Johnny had mentioned he was cashing in favors. Not you. Not by a long shot. You looked, for lack of a better word, spoiled. Expensive. Perfectly styled, glossy hair. A tasteful amount of makeup. Not so much that it marred your features, but enough to make you nearly unapproachably attractive. And relatively covered-up. Expensive looking fur-trimmed coat falling just above your ankle.

Noticeable lack of a French accent. And you weren’t cowering in his presence, which suggested that you’d dealt with worse than him. A thought that sent something strange down his spine. Jealousy maybe? Anger? Sympathy? He wasn’t in the mood to dig further into that.

He crossed the room, lowering himself back into the armchair he’d been stationed in before his night was interrupted.

“You’re an hour and a half late.”

His tone was clipped. His eyes cold and hard. Fixed directly on you in an almost invasive kind of eye-contact. He jerked up his balaclava to his nose to take a deep drink from his glass. Studying you from over the rim. Killing the contents and setting it back on the side table with a soft thud.

You pursed your lips for a fraction of a second, standing from the corner of the bed and pacing across the small room to stand in front of him. Threatening to encroach on his personal space. Smiling tightly in a way that seemed to come with a practiced nonchalance. That same feeling settled in the center of his stomach.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

Your soft, sweet tone did nothing to tame his irritation.

“They couldn’t even send a professional?”

He shot back tersely, folding his arms over his chest. You cocked your head slightly to the side. A fraction of genuine humor peeking through your smile.

“Plenty professional.”

You shrugged, letting the comment roll off of you. Water off a duck’s back. It irritated Simon to no end and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Trying to settle his mind by watching the way your perfectly manicured fingers began to work on slowly undoing the buttons of your coat with careful attention.

He snorted, tugging his balaclava back down over his jaw.

“That your thing, then?”

You gestured to his face covering. Shrugging off your coat to reveal a fucking scrap of a dress. Much more in-line with what he’d imagined a hooker to wear. A tiny, black, strapless thing that hugged your curves like it had been sewn directly onto you. Black lace garter pulled high on your thigh. Knee-height black boots that must have made you four inches taller than you were.

He cocked a brow, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair.

“Somethin’ like that.”

You cracked a true smile at that. Folding your coat neatly in your arms before setting it on the beat-up dresser to his right. Returning attentively to your spot in front of him.

He stiffened. Already perfect posture becoming rigid to the point of snapping. Keeping his hands firmly planted on either arm of the chair. Narrowing his eyes as he looked over your face in much closer detail.

“It’s late.”

Was all he managed. Voice rough as ever.

“And?”

You tilted your head like a confused dog.

“And you were an hour and a half late. It’s late.”

He shot back dryly. Nails digging into the chair.

“Let me make it up to you.“

You sank to your knees just between his legs surprisingly gracefully given how tight your dress was. Falling delicately onto the disgusting carpet. Faded and torn and fraying. Scratching at your bare knees. Didn’t even pull a face. Conditioned to understand that this was normal. Trained to grin and bear it. Another stone added to the weight anchoring him to his seat.

It was horribly cliche. Such a painfully tacky line, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth; so he shifted his hips forward and allowed your slender fingers to dance up his thighs and dip under the waistband of his sweatpants. Aided you in tugging them down to his ankles. Grit his teeth together when you began palming him through his underwear. Trying not to catch your eyes that were fixed up on him. Trying to push the nagging voice in the back of his mind away. Reminding him of just how dirty this was. Made him feel fucking pathetic. Calling in the aid of a hooker like he couldn’t bed a girl himself.

And the worst part. The part that brought up the most self-loathing; was how fucking fast the blood was racing to his cock under your touch. How much he truly enjoyed seeing you knelt down and blinking up at him with a look that could have been confused for adoration. Maybe you were a professional.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose when you finally sprung his aching cock free from his boxers. Forcing his head back to avoid your gaze. Pressing it hard against the wall to the point of giving himself a headache. Scarring the soft wood of the chair’s arms with his nails when you licked a hot stripe from his base to the tip.

All of his guilt and knotted up emotions seemed to dissolve themselves at least partially when you wrapped your lips around him. He’d almost forgotten just how warm a mouth was. Infinitely better than his hand. Jesus, was it.

He kept his hands to himself. Not needing to guide you like he had so many others. Tried to let himself relax under the feeling of your hand gripping his base and your mouth working his tip. And he nearly did get swept away when you removed your hand and tried to force his stiff cock to the back of your throat. Allowing you to work at choking and gagging around him for longer than was probably polite. But again, he just found himself irritated. Edging himself out of pure goddamn accident because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself from his mind.

He couldn’t understand why you were such a sticking point to him. He’d had one night stands before. Hell, that’s all he’d had. Never cared much about the quality or condition or history of the girls he slept with. Maybe he had a savior complex he was too stubborn to admit to. Maybe his mind had been so warped and addled over the years that he formed some kind of baseless connection with you for God knew what reason. He just couldn’t fucking stop thinking about you.

He would have liked to. Would have liked to screw his eyes shut and focus on how good you felt wrapped around him. Mouth hot and wet. Wanted to focus on the ecstasy of your throat struggling to fit him. Listen to your soft, choked whines. Let himself pretend you were no different to the others he’d bedded before, but it was fruitless. He made a low sound, a growl that lodged itself somewhere in his chest, before taking your jaw in his hand and pulling you off of him. Cock still throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

“You need to go.”

He made the mistake of glancing down. Saw the way your perfect makeup had begun smearing around your eyes and down your cheeks just barely. Big eyes rimmed with tears. Nose running, chin and lips glistening. Slick from your own spit. It nearly pushed him over the edge, but he knew inevitably he was prolonging his own torture.

“What?”

Your voice was hoarse because of how much strain your throat had been under. Softer than it had been. Less confident. You looked almost hurt. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and sniffing softly. Jaw held fixed in his hand.

“You need to go.”

He repeated, firmer this time. Sucking his teeth. Trying to ignore the way your gentle panting cooled the shining trails of spit running down his shaft and sent a chill up his spine.

Your face twisted in confusion, mouth falling open. Leaning back on your haunches to look him over like he’d suddenly grown another head.

“Is it not good?”

He groaned softly, finally letting go of your head. Not realizing just how much effort it had taken for him to pull you off until he saw the small red marks decorating the delicate skin of your jaw.

“S’fine.”

“Fine?”

You looked properly offended. A little confused. Like this had never happened before- and it probably hadn’t. Of course he’d be the one to stain your perfect record. Of course he’d be the one to warp your pretty face like that. Drove him up the fucking wall.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now he was backed-up, pissed off, and you wouldn’t leave as easily as he would’ve liked. If he was lucky, he’d still have half a hard-on by the time he got you out the door. Maybe coax out a less than satisfying orgasm that would at least put him to sleep.

“Gave myself lockjaw for fine?”

You spoke again, those same nimble fingers now gently massaging the hinge of your jaw. He tried to avoid looking at the way your dress bunched around your hips and revealed your panties. Black lace that matched the garter on your thigh.

“It’s late.”

He huffed a sigh. Leaning down to fumble in his sweatpants pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. Needing anything else to focus on. It brought him nearly nose to nose with you. Not realizing until he flicked his eyes up. And you didn’t recoil. Sat there half glaring at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing his through the balaclava. You were pretty even this close. Probably more so.

“You’ve said.”

You shot back cooly, brows knit together.

“Have I?”

He pulled back up, hooking his mask up over his nose once more and sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

“Few times.”

You looked wholly unamused. He flicked his lighter open. Lighting the tip and taking a deep drag.

“Meant it a few times.”

He shrugged, speaking through his exhale. Turning his chin up and away from you so the curling smoke didn’t wash over you.

You snorted, pushing up to your feet, putting your hands on your hips and giving him a once-over.

“You’re seriously asking me to leave?”

His teeth sunk into the butt of the cigarette just a fraction too hard. He felt the crunch of the filter bending under the force.

“S’not you, it’s me.”

He offered. A wisp of a dry smile tugging momentarily at the corner of his lips. This earned another smile from you. He caught it even through the way you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“You married?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He almost choked on the cloud of smoke he’d been drawing in.

“No.”

His voice was harsh. Like a string pulled taught to the point of snapping.

“So what is it? You don’t like me?”

You shifted your weight a bit, but he could tell it wasn’t because you were uncomfortable. You still held yourself confidently. Shoulders rolled back, posture straight but not stiff.

“Bloody hell.”

He groaned, rubbing his brow.

“Is that it, then?”

You prodded further.

“No.”

You seemed thoroughly dissatisfied with his answers. But he didn’t know what else he could say. You seemed fine. Pretty girl. Got him closer to an orgasm than he’d come in weeks. He just couldn’t get over the fact that you were hired out to do this. Made him feel too dirty. That and he’d already looked too far into the situation. You seemed like you’d been doing this longer than anyone should have to. Strangely enough he felt some obligation to protect you. Wanted to pull you away from whatever situation that had pushed you to this.

“So what’s the hang up?”

You huffed a sigh.

“Don’t usually do this.”

He grunted out, resigning to the fact that he’d have to drink himself to sleep at this point. Leaning down to jerk his sweatpants back up his legs.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You snarked back. He snorted a humorless chuckle from around the cigarette.

“Nothin’ against you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

You shook your head, a small smile curving your mouth. A mix of confusion and amusement. Like you couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

“I’m not in the business of I.O.U’s.”

You said, looking over your shoulder while you walked over to grab your coat from the dresser.

“S’at so?”

He ashed his cigarette into his empty glass. Trying not to snort when you flashed him a sour look.

“You’re sure? I’m supposed to be here all night.”

You were already fastening the buttons on your coat. Glancing past him to the window on the back wall of the small room. The curtains were drawn, but through the backlight of the street lamps outside you could see rain streaking the glass.

“Mhm”

He hummed his answer. Silently grateful that you were finally moving toward leaving. Least he’d be able to get a few hours of shut eye before having to go back out tomorrow. Hopefully sleep off the guilt and the slightly sick feeling that’d settled itself over him.

You left a few minutes later. After making absolutely certain he was sure. Then it was ‘cheers’ and he was dead bolting the door. He got a fresh glass and downed the rest of the bottle of whiskey. Not enough to even get him tipsy, but enough to lull him into a dreamless sleep for the few hours he allowed himself.

He should have been expecting that Johnny would give him a fucking earful in the days following. You must’ve said something to the auburn haired girl and it got around. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Gave him shit like he was getting paid to do it. Couldn’t believe that he’d pass up an opportunity like that.

They got shipped back to base about a week later. Simon was thankful for the short break. Slowly working on forgetting the entire mission. The whole ordeal with you. Focused his efforts on training and filling out the endless towers of paperwork that’d gathered on the edge of his desk in his absence.

And then it was months later. And he’d made good progress on forgetting France. Mission was a bust. Wasted time and money and effort for no payout. Turns out their mark had been in Germany the entire time. Tipped off that they were on the lookout for him. Johnny slowly stopped his teasing. Only occasionally bringing it up when Simon dismissed the efforts of an overly eager private. Things went back to normal.

After getting intel on a new assignment, Price had urged the boys to get together at some pub by base for drinks on him. Chat about next steps and do some more of the team bonding he was so keen on. Simon grudgingly obliged. The bar was full of people seeing as it was a Friday, so he was content people-watching and grunting a few words when prompted. Decent way to kill a few hours.

He’d excused himself to go outside for a smoke, pushing through the crowd until he finally reached the side alley next to the pub. Taking a few long moments to work his way through a cigarette and let his head stop pounding from the noise of the inside. He wasn’t focused on anything in particular, at least not until he heard some shouting on the street.

He furrowed his brow slightly, pushing off the brick he’d been leaned against and sidling out to see what was going on. Not usually interested in the commotion, but moving out of some deep-rooted obligation to supervise a situation.

He saw a car with dark tinted windows rolling slowly down the road. The driver leaning half-out his window and shouting something over to a girl who was walking by herself down the sidewalk. Her back was to Simon, but he could tell by how stiff she was that this wasn’t a friendly exchange.

He groaned under his breath, taking a moment to debate on if he should get involved before flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Starting down the street toward the girl.

It didn’t take him long to close the distance between them. The girl was walking slowly, he could see the way her head was on a swivel, searching for an escape. The driver of the car was shouting something crass at her and she was making a point of not engaging.

“Alright?”

He called out through the dim street, rolling his shoulders back and tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Puffing out his chest slightly in case his sheer size alone wasn’t enough to impress.

The driver faltered slightly, the girl did not stop to look back.

“Yeah, mate. Cheers.”

The man called back, trying to sound casual. Simon grunted and nodded, staying as friendly as he could. Moving a little closer to the curb to shield the girl from view. Thankfully, this was all the interaction the driver seemed to need to get the hint. Pulling off without much more prompting.

The girl’s posture immediately relaxed. Shoulders dropped, slowing her gait to a stop.

“Thanks. I owe you-“

Her voice cut off like someone had pressed mute when she turned to face Simon. He was stunned. Fucking shocked to see your face. This had to be some cruel trick played on him by the universe.

You looked great. Better than you had in France- if that was even possible. Even with the way your face paled, he could tell. Your eyes were brighter. Shining at him like headlights. He would have been able to convince himself he was hallucinating if you hadn’t had that same look of recognition painted over your face.

“Thought you weren’t in the business of I.O.U’s.”

He broke the silence after a few long moments. Both of you stood rooted to the pavement mere yards apart. Your breathless laugh broke the tension like a stone dropped in the middle of a stilled lake.

“I wasn’t.”

He nodded sharply.

“And now?”

You smiled. Brighter than you had before.

“I could be persuaded.”

He scoffed.

“S’at so?”

#cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader

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