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theemporium · 4 months

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[4.1k] when a last minute team meeting takes them to amsterdam, lando decides to take the opportunity to see what his teammate is like under the influence. (smut)

part two to this blurb that spiralled into landoscar smut somehow

It happened in Amsterdam.

With a new sponsor on the rise and the team desperate to lock down the deal before the new season started, Lando and Oscar were asked to fly out to the Netherlands a few weeks before the car launch. It put a small damper on both men’s winter break plans, the last few days of freedom they had before they dived into work mode for the new season—but ultimately, neither boy complained.

Oscar had felt bad for having to cancel your plans, knowing how excited you were about planning a few days for the two of you to spend some time alone together—away from the world, away from everyone. In all honesty, it was what he was looking forward to the most. He knew Formula One was different, that he would be busier than he ever had been in his life, but it never prepared him to be away from you for so long.

So yeah, he was pretty fucking bummed about having to cut the trip out of his plans but he invited you with him to Amsterdam in hopes the two of you could make the best out of a bad situation.

After all, Zak had only wanted them for a day or two, to just sit in meetings and play up some charm and confidence to give the sponsor the last push they needed to sign the deal with McLaren.

And, by some luck you swore was from a higher power, the deal had been negotiated and signed after a very long, tedious meeting.

But Oscar didn’t complain, he couldn’t complain when it meant that he would have more time alone with you in a country he never really had the chance to explore beyond the race tracks and most famous sites.

It just seemed like Lando had a similar idea.

“I got the perfect place to check out,” Lando insisted as they walked out of the busy office building they had been stuck in for the last few hours. “Martin recommended it, said it was insane and a necessity to check out when we were in the city.”

Oscar tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt, but the boy’s words had him intrigued. “And he’s never taken you before?”

“Said it was best to visit in the off-season,” Lando replied, and the smile spread across his face did little to reassure Oscar’s suspicions about the mysterious place. “Bring your girl too! She will love it, Oscar. You both will.”

He raised his brows. “And you’re not going to tell me?”

“Be a little adventurous, Piastri,” his teammate teased, lightly nudging his shoulder as they headed towards their team-appointed cars. “Dress nice. We leave at eight.”

“I haven’t even agreed to anything,” Oscar pointed out, but the Brit didn’t seem all too bothered as he waved his teammate off before climbing into his car.

Truthfully, it shouldn’t have surprised Oscar that you were up for the night out. Lando’s mysterious words intrigued you as much as they intrigued him, and you both trusted Lando enough that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to drag you somewhere dodgy. Hopefully.

So, Oscar tried to push away the voice in the back of his head that said he should have asked more questions. He was a Formula One driver, he was used to control, he was used to always being the one in charge of his own fate. It felt weird to leave everything in the hands of Lando, even if he trusted his teammate more than he did with most people in his life.

“Relax,” you murmured to him as you stepped between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders as he waited for Lando to message he was waiting downstairs. “It’s one night.”

“I know, I’m excited,” Oscar answered honestly as his hands rested on the back of your thighs, trying not to think about the pretty, little dress you had slipped on for the night. He could have sworn he had never seen it before. A part of him was tempted to cancel the whole night and stay in to truly appreciate the dress. “It’s just the idea of Lando being in charge of everything…”

“Hm, you say that as though you don’t worship the ground he walks on,” you teased, smiling in amusement at the way his cheeks burned pink.

“I do not!” Oscar grumbled, but he was smiling back. “Okay, I do a little. But it’s Lando…he’s my first teammate in Formula One. He is just—”

“I know,” you murmured with a smile, leaning down to peck his lips. “And he cares about you. So relax and trust the fact that he was excited to check this place out with you.”

The place in question—the one that Martin insisted Lando needed to check out—turned out to be something straight out of a Bond movie.

Oscar hadn’t even managed to catch the name when Lando had muttered it to their driver, a giddy smile on his face as he turned back to look at you and Osacr in the back seat. He was excited, buzzing in his seat as he rambled off about random topics could barely even keep up with as he watched the city pass by in a blink through the window.

It was an exclusive club, not very well-known but a local treasure to those who knew of it. One of those places in movies where you knocked on a steel door and grumbled out a password. The kind of places that you expected to feel dodgy and cautious and like you were making the biggest mistake for stepping into the establishment. One of those places that two high-profile athletes should definitely never be caught in.

But Lando just turned to him, that stupidly huge grin on his face as he threw an arm over his shoulder and dragged him inside.

“Relax, Piastri, nobody is gonna care who you are in here!”

And honestly, the thought shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was to him.

But despite the many warnings he received about stepping up as a Formula One driver, Oscar never really wrapped his head around how famous he was. He had his fair share of internet spotlight on him throughout his career, he was used to being recognised every once in a while. But being a Formula One driver—a McLaren one, nonetheless—was a whole new level.

People stopped him in the streets and asked for photos. His face was blasted on huge posters in airports and cities he hadn’t visited before. Every aspect of his life was constantly under a microscope now. He had fans and followers all around the world, not just from his home country. He had a level of fame he couldn’t even conceptualise.

He had a level of fame he wasn’t even sure he wanted.

His whole life he just wanted to drive. He just wanted to get behind the wheel and achieve the dream he had been chasing after since he was a young boy. He just wanted to do what he loved, what he had been passionate about since before he could even remember.

It just came in a package deal with having more attention that he preferred, so the very idea of stepping foot into this exclusive club and nobody caring he was Oscar Piastri? Yeah, that sounded really fucking good.

Your arm wrapped around his biceps as you followed the Brit deeper into the club. It was dark—darker than a usual club—with red-tinted lights surrounding the place, adding a soft hue that was just enough to see a few steps ahead of you. The music thumped through the building, like the bass lived in the walls as it sounded throughout the place.

There was no bar. And the dance floor wasn’t really a dance floor. It felt like a stage, placed right in the middle of the room for people to ogle and observe. The whole place was surrounded in these dimly lit booths, large enough that they almost felt like a room.

The whole place was fucking weird and nothing like he expected.

And maybe that was what thrilled Oscar about the whole situation.

“Where do we order our drinks?” He had asked as they made their way to the far left corner, the furthest place from the door. The surrounding booths were empty but Lando still chose the one right in the corner as he flopped down onto the large cushioned sofas.

He watched as you and Oscar took the seat across from him as he grinned.

Oscar raised his brows.

“We are in fucking Amsterdam,” Lando snorted, something glinting in his eyes that even the dim, red lights seemed to pick up. “You don’t come here to get shit-faced drunk, Oscar.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You brought us to your dodgy club to get stoned?”

“Best in the city, baby,” Lando said, the smile on his face widening as he leaned back against the cushions, comfortable and settled with his legs spread a little wider than he usually would. “A little birdie told me Oscar was the kind of man you wanted to smoke with.”

Oscar raised his brows. “You sound surprised by that.”

“Let’s just say there aren’t many sides to you that I don’t think I’ve already seen,” Lando answered with a simple shrug before he raised his hand, catching the attention of a waitress Oscar didn’t even notice was walking by.

And maybe it was immoral. Or sneaky. Or whatever you wanted to call it.

Maybe it wasn’t the most truthful way to experience it but Lando Norris was a fucking curious man and the opportunity fell right into the palm of his hand. Because Logan Sargeant’s words had been ringing in his head like a loop since that night in the club, his eyes being opened to a whole new side of his younger teammate and he wanted to see more.

He wanted to know who Oscar Piastri was under all the layers he seemed to put up when he was sober.

And with the team dragging them to Amsterdam and Martin having told him about this club with the assurance that it suddenly wouldn’t be plastered over the front page in the morning that they were indulging in recreational drugs before the season started…well, Lando couldn’t just ignore it, could he?

It wasn’t noticeable at first and, for a brief moment, Lando wondered if the American was just pulling his leg about the whole situation. He wondered if Logan had just seen his shock to clingy, touchy Oscar when he was drunk and needy and thought it would be hilarious to just add fuel to the fire that night for his own amusement.

Because one joint in and Oscar seemed like he had hours ago in the meeting room, dressed in a fancy suit and looking slightly out of his comfort zone.

But time passed and the edges of his own brain began to feel fuzzy, and Lando started noticing it. He noticed the way Oscar seemed to squirm in his seat, the way his eyes lingered on your mouth as you took a drag from the joint. He noticed the way Oscar’s arm had dropped from around your shoulder to his hand firmly being placed on the bare skin of your thigh instead. He watched as Oscar pressed his body close to yours until there wasn’t an inch of your side that wasn’t touching his.

And then, Oscar was leaning in, his lips skimming past your ear and instantly dropping to your neck like he didn’t even care Lando was there.

Lando couldn’t even bring himself to feel all that guilty as he watched the display, something deep in his gut twisting in desire.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the boy’s lips latched onto your neck, a small sigh leaving your lips as he began to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His hand squeezed your thigh, gripping onto it like it was a lifeline as he continued to kiss lower and lower until his lips were brushing against the fabric of your dress.

“Oscar,” you murmured as you raised your hand, fingers threaded through his hair but the boy didn’t stop as he nosed the edge of your dress, his lips dangerously close to your cleavage.

“Want you,” the Aussie murmured, something like a whine sounding from the back of his throat as he nipped the fabric with his teeth. “Please.”

“Baby,” you choked out a noise, your eyes snapping open like you finally seemed to remember Lando was there. You felt breathless as your eyes met his, the dim light making it difficult to read the expression on his face but you could have sworn you saw something quite like desire in his gaze. “Lando is—”

“Not complaining,” the Brit finished for you, his voice a little rougher and even he wasn’t sure if it was from the smoking or the sight in front of him.

Oscar blinked as he lifted his head, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little red. He looked at you before he shifted his eyes to Lando, his gaze dragging over his teammate. He should have removed himself from you, should have pulled his hand away and slid away—but he remained exactly where he was.

“Don’t be shy, Oscar,” Lando murmured, and something in the Aussie’s chest sparked. “You wanna touch your girl, then who am I to stop you from making her feel good.”

“You gonna watch?” Oscar asked.

“Do you want me to leave?” Lando retorted.

“No.”

Lando’s smirk slowly widened. “Yeah? You two gonna put on a little show for me?”

Oscar blinked before he turned to look at you. His whole body felt like it was on fire, like there were flames coursing through his veins and burning him alight and he never wanted to stop. But as he looked at you, eyes glossy or not, one word from you and he would stop this whole thing, regardless of his own feelings on the matter.

You were his first priority. You were always his first priority.

“You wanna, baby?” He murmured, just low enough for it to only be heard by the two of you.

“I think,” you swallowed thickly as your eyes traced over your boyfriend’s face, as the bubbling desire and strong urge to clench your legs together washed over you with the heat of Lando’s gaze on you. “It would be the polite thing to do.”

Oscar tucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Show him how good you make me feel,” you murmured as his grip on your thigh tightened in response.

And when you couldn’t resist anymore, your eyes snapped over to where Lando was sitting. There was something thrilling about the sight, something your fuzzy brain couldn’t begin to comprehend but your body sure as hell did. There was something about him sitting across from you both, legs spread and eyes focused on the two of you as he watched in silent appreciation.

It felt dirty. It felt wrong. It felt like the last thing the three of you should be doing in a random club in Amsterdam. And yet, none of you wanted to stop.

Lando watched in delight the way a choked gasp left your lips as Oscar tugged the neckline of your dress down, as his lips attached to the newly exposed skin. Your hand moved back to thread through his hair, tugging softly as he pulled your dress down until your tits were exposed.

He watched as Oscar let out a groan at the sight, as his lips wrapped around your nipple. He watched as your head fell back, your boyfriend’s name a breathy moan past your lips as he continued to nuzzle himself between your tits.

“Would’ve never taken you as a tits man, Oscar.” Lando’s voice was rough and low, something that shouldn’t have made the whole situation hotter but it did. “Can’t blame you though, can I? Your girl has such pretty tits, would be a crime to ignore them.”

A whine sounded from the back of Oscar’s throat.

Lando’s eyes fell from your flushed face to the hand on your thigh. He watched as Oscar continued to push the hem of your dress further up until he got impatient and allowed his hand to slip beneath the skirt. He watched as Oscar groaned something incoherent against your skin, as you shifted your hips enough for him to pull your panties down your legs with a speed that was almost impressive.

He hardly had time to blink before he felt the soft thump against his leg, as he looked down to see your panties balled up and now resting on his lap after Oscar had thrown them.

Lando let out a dark chuckle, his head falling back. “You little shit.”

But Oscar didn’t pay him any attention. Oscar didn’t pay attention to anything but you and the feeling of you beneath his lips and touch. His brain was fuzzy, his thoughts were muddled and all he knew was that he really, really fucking wanted to taste you.

Yet, you didn’t seem to share Oscar’s one-track mind.

“Not fair that we’re the only ones who get to have fun,” you murmured, your eyes watching him closely as Lando eyed the pair of panties, seeming to contemplate so many racing thoughts in his head before he reached for them. “Maybe I want a show too.”

Lando’s eyes found yours in the dark. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” it was a little high-pitched as Oscar’s thumb pressed against your clit. “Yeah. Please.”

He let out a groan. “Still so fucking polite when he is all over you.”

You weren’t even sure where the spark of confidence came from—maybe from the way he was watching you and Oscar so eagerly—but your mouth opened before you could stop yourself. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.”

You swallowed thickly, your fingers tugging on Oscar’s hair as you watched Lando’s hand drop to the obvious bulge in his pants. “Of who?”

His smirk widened. “Both.”

“Shit,” you whispered, an embarrassingly high-pitched noise leaving your lips as you tore your eyes away from the older driver before your whole body burned up.

“Look what a good boy he is,” Lando commented, watching as Oscar littered soft kisses all over your chest and collarbone as his fingers pressed small circles against your clit. “Barely even touched you and he’s humping the sofa.”

Oscar’s cheeks burned hot.

“Bet he’s obedient,” Lando continued as the sound of a zipper echoed through the booth, as the rustling made it clear to both of you what he was doing. “Such a good listener, aren’t you, Oscar? Just wanna make everyone happy, hm? A team player.”��

Oscar finally lifted his head, his eyes glossed over like he was drunk off lust and desire alone.

“You gonna listen to me, baby?”

He nodded.

“Gonna do what I say?”

He nodded again, his eyes locked on the way Lando palmed himself over his boxers with one hand as he held your panties in the other.

A slow smirk spread across his face. “Get between her legs, baby, I know you’ve been dying for a taste of her probably since she put on that lil’ number.”

And Lando was right. He was obedient. It was almost like his body was moving under a spell as he shifted, as he slid off the couch and settled on his knees on the carpeted floor instead. It should have felt wrong to have his back to Lando, but instead the idea that the boy’s eyes were locked on him whilst he touched himself (even if Oscar couldn’t see) thrilled him more than it should have.

His hands palmed your thighs before he slowly spread your legs, as he pushed the fabric of your dress until it pooled at your hips and exposed you. A whimper left Oscar’s lips as he tugged you closer to the edge, as one hand pushed your thigh back whilst the other guided your leg over his shoulder.

He looked up at you, his cock twitching in his pants at the silent plea in your eyes for him to do something, to give you what you wanted just as bad as him. And his eyes never left your as he leaned down, tongue pressed against your soaked cunt as he licked upwards in one thick, broad stroke.

“Fuck!”

Lando couldn’t help himself as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, as he squeezed the length of himself before pulling his cock free of any restraints.

Lando couldn’t help himself as the hand fisting your panties wrapped around his cock, as he let the lacy fabric run against his sensitive tip and resisted the urge to buck his hips.

Lando couldn’t fucking help himself as he stroked his cock, his eyes locked on the way you panted and moaned and grasped the cushions around you as Oscar worked between your legs.

A part of him wanted to get up, to close the distance between him and you both. He wanted to walk over, he wanted to thread his fingers through Oscar’s hair like you had done before and guide him. He wanted to watch the boy lick and kiss and suck your needy cunt until his face was dripping. He wanted to whisper just what a good fucking boy Oscar really was as he made you come, as Lando watched you come.

But the other part of him liked this—this twisted sense of power. He liked the fact he could sit back and watch, like it really was a show you two were putting on for him. He liked the idea that this went beyond something any of you understood, the way the two of you were so eager and pliant and obedient for him.

He liked that he could sit back, your wet panties fisted around his cock as he watched the two of you moan and squirm and desperately try and look pretty for him.

And you did. You both looked so, so pretty for him.

And you sounded so pretty too when you moaned out his name instead of your boyfriend’s. The way your back arched off the couch, your face scrunched up in pleasure as Oscar held your hips down. The way Lando could hear the way his teammate was groaning against your pussy, see the way his hips shifted like he desperately needed some friction against his aching cock.

It was the prettiest fucking sight Lando had ever seen.

“That’s it, baby,” Lando groaned. “Come for Oscar, let him taste you, yeah?”

You nodded dumbly, far too lost in your own pleasure to even understand what he was saying.

“Bet you’re so fucking hard,” Lando continued, his eyes locked on the way the muscles in his back shifted through his shirt. “Bet you could come just from hearing her moan, huh?”

The whine Oscar let out told Lando everything he needed to know.

“That’s it,” Lando groaned, his fist tightening around his cock as he felt his stomach clench as he neared the edge, as he neared his own orgasm. “Gotta finish the show f’me, hm? Gonna be good for me, yeah?”

You chanted out Oscar’s name as you finally came, shaking and squirming as he held your body against the cushions and continued to suck on your sensitive clit. And when you couldn’t take any more, you lightly pushed his head away to see his expression: flushed cheeks, hooded eyes and glossy lips that you wanted to kiss so bad. But a shifting movement caught your eyes, your gaze moving down to look at the dark patch spread across the front of his boxers.

“Just tasted so good,” Oscar murmured, not even ashamed or embarrassed at the mess he made.

And then your eyes shifted to look at the boy across the room.

He leaned back against the cushions, his chest moving up and down with soft pants. His trousers were pushed down to pool mid-thigh, his boxers just above them and his cock was still fisted in his hand, covered by your panties and his own come. It shouldn’t have been so attractive.

“I think I prefer this Oscar much better than drunk Oscar,” Lando eventually commented, something quite like a smug grin on his face as he looked between you both.

There was a tension in the room, one that none of your fuzzy brains could really grasp onto just yet. But it was there and it was overwhelming and suffocating and you each had half the mind to hope this night never ended.

You didn’t know what would happen after tonight, but you knew until then, the hidden club in the depths of Amsterdam would keep your secret—the secret that maybe all three of you wanted something more than a night fuelled by lust and weed.

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vivwritescrappythings · 3 months

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Yours

joel miller x fem!reader

Finally finishing the request for a Joel Miller fic inspired by "Jealous" by Nick Jonas for @prettyinpunk85 (I hope you like it)

You get new neighbors in Jackson, Joel doesn't like how much attention they pay to you so he decides to teach them a lesson.

tw: afab and fem reader, p in v sex, alludes to curvy reader, age gap (twenty years), exhibitionism, some dubcon, dirty talk, no use of y/n, unsafe sex (do as i say not as fanfic writes), oral (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking, jealous joel, written from joel's perspective (may be bad)

Word Count: 4.8k

MDNI

masterlist

—

Joel didn’t know what to do with himself when you’d happily announced that you had new neighbors. The house next to his in Jackson had been empty for some time, it was yours until you decided to move in with him and Ellie. He was hoping the neighbors would be a family, or maybe some older survivors. Really, someone you could be friends with, he knew you were way too extroverted for just his company.

But instead the new neighbors were his nightmare: two guys–in their twenties.

You were young for Joel, he knew that. Part of him had always attributed your interest in him to the fact that choices were limited in the zombie apocalypse. He hadn’t even known how to flirt with you, awkwardly leaving tattered books he had found during supply runs on your front porch, sometimes accompanied by wilted wildflowers. One day he had left you a bookshelf he’d built, endless hours spent in his studio sanding the wood to perfection and carving flowers into the border. You had to ask him to come over to help you move it inside.

That was over two years ago, and he still had no clue why a pretty thing like you had decided to even talk to him, let alone be with him. To be honest, no one else in Jackson understood it, either. You worked at the small bakery on Main Street and wanted to convert one of the buildings into a library. You liked to sew pretty dresses and planted superficial flowers outside of the house in the summertime.

Joel was nothing of the sort, keeping everyone at an arm’s length aside from Tommy and Ellie. He stayed on the fringes of community events, always present but never participating. Ellie was loud enough for the both of them, boisterous and friendly and everything he wasn’t. He was happy to watch her thrive.

So the first time she asked him to go to the bakery so she could hang out with a friend, he reluctantly agreed. He’d introduced himself to you like a complete idiot, blushing when you laughed and informed him that you were neighbors. Joel had become enamored with you from the second he saw your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the edges and your cheeks lifted. He could’ve died a happy man right there at the counter.

From then on, he claimed that bakery visits were firmly his responsibility.

He sucked up every piece of information you gave him, starting with your favorite items at the shop and spiraling until he knew that you loved wildflowers and what books you liked to read. Joel was greedy, he wanted to know everything about you–he wanted to be the only person that knew everything about you.

That was when he started leaving you gifts at your door, and the rest was history.

So when you swatted his hand away from the cooling cookies on the rack in the kitchen, his brown eyes regarded you with betrayal. “They’re for the neighbors,” you informed him, untying your cute, frilly little apron and hanging it on the hook he’d installed.

The neighbors.

They had already become adversaries in a war that only he knew existed. Joel sighed, heavy boots plodding against the floor until he could wrap his arms around your waist and pull your back to his chest. “Now why are you giving the neighbors my cookies?” he asked, nuzzling the tip of his nose against your temple.

“To be friendly, Joel,” you said with a giggle, turning in his arms to look up at him. His big, scarred hands were on the small of your back, fingertips rubbing gentle circles through your shirt. He swore his heart stopped every time you looked up at him, your thick eyelashes fluttering as your lips quirked into a smile. “Something that you are unfamiliar with.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “M’friendly,” he protested, pecking you on the lips as though it would prove his point.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, leaning up and kissing the corner of his lip once before squirming out of his grip. You retrieved one of the few plates that didn’t have a chip missing from the cabinet, transferring the cookies onto it with care. “It took you how many months to talk to me?”

Even if the question wasn’t rhetorical, he decided to treat it that way. He moved closer to you, a possessive hand curling around your waist and lips meeting your shoulder. “To prove you wrong, I’ll come with you to introduce ourselves to the neighbors.” He wanted to keep an eye on them, let them know that his pretty girlfriend was in fact taken before they got any wrong ideas.

Your brow furrowed, immediately suspicious of his motives. “Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He smiled, trying to be sweet and smooth like he used to be when he was younger. Before everything. “Maybe I just want to be nice, wildflower. Ever thought of that?”

Your eyes dragging across him let him know that you weren’t convinced. The two of you stared at one another, waiting to see who would cave first. Apparently it was you. “Fine, but I know you’re up to something.”

Joel’s hand was firmly planted on the small of your back as you stepped out into the afternoon sun, the whole world looking like it was dipped in gold. You went up the rickety porch stairs first, Joel only a half step behind you as you adjusted the plate to one hand to knock on the door.

He was staring at the way the blue paint was starting to peel, thinking about how no self-respecting man would let his house fall into disrepair like that. No mind that they had only moved in a few days ago, they should’ve repainted the front door by now–it was people’s first impression whenever they walked up to the house.

It took a moment after you knocked for the door to swing open, two blonde idiots who looked like they were straight out of a magazine advertisement standing on the other side. Their blue eyes lit up when they saw you, easy smiles gracing their features like they hadn’t been battle-hardened by the outbreak.

Not like Joel was.

Joel’s fingers dug into your back, his expression hardening. They tempered their excitement when they saw him, standing so close to you that he could practically be your shadow.

He loathed the way they were looking at you, his jaw set tight and flexing beneath his beard. You were talking, he could hear the notes of your voice like you were speaking underwater–he was too focused on the dopey smiles in front of you to even pay attention to what was being said. You made them laugh, they said something back to you. Probably their names if he had to guess.

Before he even realized, you were tugging him back down their porch steps and into your shared home, flitting away to make Joel his own personal batch of cookies like nothing had happened.

–

Three times that week he had come home to find them loitering outside the front door or talking to you along the edge of the freshly painted picket fence. They were always showering you with compliments, be it about your cookies or the flowers you’d carefully planted in the boxes Joel had built you. They scattered whenever Joel was there, making excuses about chores that needed to get done or errands that needed to be finished.

But he knew better.

Of course, you talked about the nice boys next door over dinner, it took everything in him to not immediately scowl at the mention of them. The fact that you referred to them as boys was laughable, they were closer to your age than he was—maybe a few years difference between you at most. Nothing compared to his whopping couple decades. He tried to brush the thought away as quickly as it sprouted.

He humored you, knowing that you just thought that everyone was kind and friendly and honest because you were. That was what he loved about you.

–

The last straw was when he was out in the back installing a porch swing for you to read on. They were doing something, near enough to the tall fence splitting the yards that he could hear them talking as clear as day.

Joel almost went over there to give them a piece of his mind, listening to them speculate about why you were with him. They were laughing as they bet that he couldn’t even get it up anymore, that there was no way he was taking care of you like a man was supposed to.

He was old, angry. And you… you weren’t.

He was seething by the time they finished up and went into their house, his hands nearly shaking when he finished screwing the brackets into the roof. Back in the QZ, Joel would have probably fought them—killed them, if he was honest with himself.

It would be easy to bust down their door and give them his retribution, he wasn’t always the domesticated beast he’d become for you. But nevertheless, he sucked it up. You would be devastated if he fought with them, as much as he would love to feel their skin split under his knuckles. He couldn’t do that to you.

—

It was a few evenings later that he got what he wanted: an opportunity for his revenge. You were on the porch swing with him, the two of you nestled together in the orange rays of the sunset. You both were reading, Joel’s arm tucked around your shoulders so your chin was pressed against his bicep.

You always were fully immersed in your books, an earthquake could happen and you would have no clue. So you didn’t hear your neighbors’ back door slide open, but Joel did.

He barely moved, didn’t bother to say a word as his broad hand moved from cupping your shoulder to gently graze around the side of your breast. It was a lazy day for the two of you, you were only dressed in one of Joel’s flannels and pajama shorts that were so loose around your thighs you may as well have never put them on.

You immediately shivered at his touch, your thumb slipping between the pages of your book to hold your place. “Joel, the neighbors,” you whispered, twisting so you could look up at him.

“Went on a hunting trip, they’re not home,” he said loud enough for them to hear. Hopefully they would have the good sense to shut up. His thumb circled your already stiff nipple, a smirk stretching across his features conspiratorially. “C’mon, Ellie’s at a friend’s house and no one’s here—let’s test out the porch swing.”

Your lips were already parted, the heat building on the back of your neck so intense Joel could feel it through his shirt. “Joel,” you whined in the way that made him get hard as a fucking rock in his pants.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly playing dumb as though he hadn’t started it.

You pouted, your brow furrowing and bottom lip jutting out as you arched your tit further into his hand. He acquiesced immediately—he always did—pinching your nipple through the well worn fabric of his flannel. His reward was a soft moan from you, your body both melting into and arching away from his.

“What’s my girl want?” Joel asked, his voice a deep rasp as he stamped his lips against your temple. The small of your back was pressed against his oblique, your cheek squishing into his collarbone as he watched your thick thighs press together. He kept toying with your nipple, his free hand setting his book aside and pulling yours from your clutch. “C’mon, you gotta tell me. Can’t read minds.”

You huffed, you always hated it when he made you ask for what you wanted. “Joel please,” you whined, pressing your heels against the cushion that covered the wooden seat and sitting up so you were flush against him.

“Please what?” His free hand skimmed down your side, snapping the stretched-out, elastic waistband of your shorts. It made you squeak, a quiet giggle coming from your throat.

“God, please just touch me,” you whined, your impatience making him chuckle darkly. His hand moved from your waist, tracing over the pudge of your stomach and dipping into your loose sleep shorts. There was nothing beneath, just your soft skin and the curly patch of hair on your pubic bone.

“No panties? You slut,” Joel teased, his fingers traveling even further down until they sunk into your cunt. You were wet and warm, almost scalding his skin as he parted the lips of your sex to find your swollen clit. “And already so soaked.”

You moaned, a hand winding around his bicep as your back arched. He kissed the crown of your head as he rubbed your clit between the pads of his pointer and middle fingers, slow and soft. He knew you’d complain, beg him for more. He just wondered how long it would take until you did.

Not long at all, it was maybe half a minute when you rocked your hips impatiently against his hand. “Joel, you’re being mean.” You were loud, louder than you would ever mean to be with the threat of someone possibly catching you.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Mean? Not true,” he countered, increasing the pressure he was putting on your clit. If he strained his ears he could hear how wet you were, a quiet squelching noise barely muffled by the fabric of your shorts. You pressed your hips further against his hand, your teeth digging into your lower lip to keep your noises to a minimum.

He dipped to gather more slick at your fluttering entrance, teasing it for a moment before returning to your clit. You were being so good for him, so sweet. His other hand unbuttoned the flannel you were wearing down to your navel, freeing your breast for him to knead and squeeze in his broad palm.

Your eyebrows bunched together, your lips parting as your gaze was stuck on where his hand disappeared beneath your shorts. “Feeling good?” he asked, relishing in your moan of agreement as you nodded.

Joel smirked, pulling his hand from your shorts. “No–oh my god,” you protested, nearly up in arms. If looks could kill, he would be struck dead. He stood, his dark eyes briefly looking over the fence to see the neighbors still on their porch, their jaws dropped to their chests.

His smile widened as he sank to his knees in front of you, your protests dropping off as you lifted your hips so he could take your shorts off. A wicked grin stretched on your features, you sucked your bottom lip back into your mouth as your gaze roved over him. You settled so your ass was almost hanging off the porch swing, spreading your legs without Joel having to direct you to do so.

“You want me to eat this pretty pussy of yours?” he asked, rough hands smoothing along the insides of your soft thighs. Joel wasn’t a man with a weakness for pretty things, but there was something about your slick and puffy pussy dripping for him that made his heart nearly stop.

“Fuck, please, Joel.” He loved the way you begged.

Joel pressed his mouth to the soaking mess of your sex, moaning at your salty-sweet taste on his tongue. He could never get enough of you, settling one leg over the curve of his shoulder as his other hand pressed your knee to your chest. The sun was shining in his eyes, but he didn’t let it stop him from looking up at your face. He lapped at your cunt with firm, long strokes, practically drinking from you.

In a moment of generosity, he pressed the middle and ring finger of his free hand knuckle-deep in your pussy, pulling a loud and broken moan from your chest. He was smiling into your pussy, suckling at your swollen clit as he pumped his fingers into you.

Your fingers tangled into his dark brown curls, grabbing at them in a way that sent shivers down his spine as you pulled his head flush against you. Joel loved the way your soft thighs pressed against his ears, almost muffling the sweet sounds falling from your pretty lips. Almost. Being outside had made you reckless, the promise of Ellie and the neighbors being gone letting you reach a volume that he hadn’t heard in a long time.

Of course, Joel knew better. He ate you like a starving man, proud that every sound you made was heard by the two men–boys–sitting on the other side of the fence.

His knees on the concrete ached, his back protesting being curled so he could keep his mouth pressed tightly against your weepy cunt. The pain was worth it, every second of it was worth it just to make you fall apart. Just to remind the world that you were his and his alone.

Your head had fallen back to rest on the bench, your eyes scrunched closed as you gasped. Joel’s fingers crooked inside of you, finding the spongy spot at the front of your cunt. It made you writhe, the hand keeping you spread apart for him pinning you down and forcing you to be somewhat still as he pressed at that spot mercilessly. His eyes remained on you as much as they could, taking in every heaving breath and the way your breasts moved under the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt.

It was only moments more until you were coming apart at the seams. You’d squirmed out of his hold, your heels digging into his broad back. Your legs clamped around his head, your back nearly broken with an arch. The sound you made was almost wounded, a desperate cry of his name as your legs spasmed and you practically gushed over his hand.

He worked you through the aftershocks, your pussy fluttering deliciously around his thick fingers. Your hold on his hair loosened just enough for him to pull away, mouthing at the crease between your thigh and your cunt. You came back to yourself, breathing again as your legs relaxed to rest on his shoulder. He peppered sticky, wet kisses on your inner thighs.

“Joel, oh my god,” you sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face as you panted. A laugh left your chest, making him grin like an idiot as he rested his facial-hair covered cheek against your leg and caught his breath.

“Clean these up for me,” he requested, his soaked fingertips now pressing at her bottom lip. They glistened in the afternoon sunlight, a sticky film coating the entirety of them. You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment, your bratty streak coming through before you submitted and opened your mouth to let his fingers slide against your warm tongue.

You sealed your lips around them, sucking your slick off earnestly and rolling your tongue along his digits. “What a good girl, sucking on my fingers like that,” Joel said as he stood, making eye contact with the neighbors before looking back down at you. His knees protested the movement, cracking a bit as he straightened.

He had to check to see if they were paying attention, the blush across their faces visible from across the yard.

A hum against his fingers brought Joel’s attention back to you. You watched him through your thick eyelashes, the sight alone making him feel like he was going to blow his load.

Your hands found the tie at his sweatpants, pulling the bow apart impatiently. You let go of his fingers with a pop, your soft lips shiny with a mix of your spit and slick as you started to pull his sweatpants down. “Wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you said, almost sounding drunk on it as your fingers hooked in the elastic waist.

He couldn’t help his smirk, his hand caressing your cheek and jaw as he looked down at you. He could feel two sets of eyes burning into him as he let the silence hang for a moment. You were being so perfect for him and you didn’t even know the extent of it.

“Nuh uh, not tonight,” Joel said, stooping down to press a wet kiss to your forehead. Your whine of protest made his chest puff up with pride.

He shook his head with a smirk, kneeling down on the cracked concrete again. His poor knees–he would certainly regret the entire escapade tomorrow. Really, he wanted to get you up on his lap and have you ride him until you were crying–but he didn’t want to risk you seeing the neighbors. Or the neighbors seeing any more of you than the back of your head.

Grabbing you by the waist, he pulled you so your entire ass was hanging off the porch swing. The only thing keeping you from falling was his hands and your legs hooking around him for some stability. You were already grabbing at him, fingers twisting in the shirt he still wore. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Uh huh,” you panted desperately, nodding with a frantic look in your eye. “Please, Joel.”

He smiled, pushing his sweatpants down around his thighs and taking his cock into his hand. You moaned as he rubbed the tip of it along the seam of your pussy and pressed it against your clit.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as the blunt head of his cock caught, Joel filled you with a quick slot of his hips.

Your head fell back, a whine pulling from your throat as you bore down around him. He almost lost his mind right there, no matter how many times you’d had sex you still were so tight. You both stilled, panting and gripping at one another as you become acquainted, blinking in the afternoon sun.

“God, I love this pussy,” Joel grunted, trying to talk you through it as he started thrusting gently. No matter how quiet he was in his normal life, as soon as he felt you squeezing around his cock he started running his mouth. The hinges of the swing creaked a little as it moved back and forth, his hands anchored to your hips.

He took you slow, wanting to savor the moment as much as possible. Bitten down grunts and grit teeth were met with your sweet mewls and dulcet moans as he split you apart. One of your hands reached for his, your fingers lacing with his before he pressed your knuckles onto the cushion of the swing. “Wanna hold my hand, sweet girl?” he asked, voice borderline condescending as he did.

You nodded pathetically, gasping every time he rutted inside of you. He’d reduced you to mush, partially formed words dying against your lips as he hit home against the spot inside you that always made your breath lock up in your chest.

“Who do you belong to?” Joel asked, squeezing your hand to get you to come back down to earth. You looked a mess, completely fucked out as you blinked slowly and took a deep breath. It took you a minute to really focus on him, your hand weakly squeezing back.

“You, Joel,” you answered, teeth scraping along your plump lower lip as you fisted the open flannel still draped around your shoulders.

He chuckled darkly, leaning down toward you as he kept up his almost machine-like pace. “Louder, be a good girl,” he murmured, pressing a wet and sloppy kiss to your throat. You clenched around him at the praise, it had always been one of your weaknesses.

“Joel, m’yours,” you gasped, words broken up by the reverb of his thrusts and the slap of his heavy balls against your ass.

He never had reason to doubt that he was who you wanted to be with, but the reassurance helped ground him. The whole week he’d been wondering if he was holding you back, if you actually wanted something else from life. But with the way you were taking his cock? The way you moaned for him? Hell, the way you looked at him was more than enough. There was no mistaking it for anything other than love.

“That’s right, you’re mine.” You shifted under him, the angle of your spine letting him hit deeper inside of you. His hand left your waist to grab the soft cheek of your ass, keeping you steady and supported. “No one else’s, right?”

“Yeah, Joel. Just yours.” The assurance was breathy, your voice faltering in your throat as you started to go rigid. You were looking up at Joel so sweetly, tears starting to glisten in your eyes as you tugged against the fabric of his flannel that you wore on the porch swing that he built you at his house. He had a mean possessive streak, but look at you–so happy to be his.

He lost himself. He worked on pure instinct, pistoning into you as he became blind with the desire to pin you down and fill you. You whined as he slammed into you, his sweaty forehead pressing against your sternum and his hands gripping you tight. He could feel you draw up like a spring beneath him.

You lurched on a wail, your cunt clenching around him so tightly that it almost hurt as you came. Joel moaned in sympathy with you, greedily taking in every expression you made beneath him. You whimpered and mumbled unintelligibly, your grip tightening around the hand you still clasped as your limbs locked up.

Joel lost all semblance of coordination and control, hitching up one of your thighs and driving himself deep into you. Instinct dictated his every move, overriding common sense as he grunted above you like an animal.

He thought his jaw would crack in half from how hard he was clenching it, mumbling nonsense to you through his teeth. There was a lurch deep in his stomach, his abdomen starting to flex as he fell out of his rhythm. It was only a moment more before it felt like his skin was too tight and everything was too hot and he was spilling inside you while groaning your name.

You were so full that you were leaking around him, come dripping down his balls and splattering on the concrete. Both of you were shaking, breathing each other’s air as your foreheads pressed together. Love filled your expression, making him smile tiredly.

You felt for him, your fingertips caressing his jaw as you brought him in for a gentle kiss. You always brought him back, reminded him to be soft with you when he nearly forgot. His tongue licked into your mouth for a moment before he ducked his head and lazily sucked at your breasts, his hips grinding against yours. You both hissed.

“Want me to run a bath for us?” he asked, his voice thick as he mouthed at the skin of your sternum.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding weakly as your fingers skated up from his beard to curl into his hair. It was sweaty at the nape, curling more violently than before.

He hummed good-naturedly, pulling out of you with a groan before tucking himself back away in his sweatpants. Joel looked down at the mess he made of you, his come already running down the crack of your ass and dripping onto the concrete. He moaned at the sight, even the shitty porn magazines he’d found on supply runs didn’t compare to this.

He helped you back into your shorts, a fist closing your flannel around your chest as you both shakily stood. You were like a newborn fawn, knees knocking together as you leaned into Joel’s chest. He chuckled breathily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and holding you close. A soft I love you was whispered against your temple, a gentle reply following from you.

Joel glanced over the fence as he walked you to the sliding glass door, a proud glint in his eye as he met the shocked stares of your new neighbors. He winked at them, squeezing you tighter before bringing you inside with him.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fic #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us x reader #the last of us #my first request!!

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2kmps · 9 months

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vampire x reader one-shot | 16.1k

story summary; you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

story warnings; bloodplay, extreme dubcon, explicit noncon, cigarette burns, wounds inflicted on mc, implied masochism, extreme sexual sadism, hypnotism, graphic violence, gun violence, body gore, graphic details, heavy prose, unreliable narrator, religious themes, exploration of morality, obsessive + possessive behaviors, implied stalking, choking, murder, graphic depictions of crime scenes, manipulation/emotional manipulation, this entire oneshot is an allegory.

read the warnings! mdni under any circumstances! the events within this one-shot are not indicative of my personal viewpoints

thank you, @ceruleansol for the excellent proofreading.

this is a repost from my deleted blog, cardeneiv. please reblog/interact with this piece!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow.

No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight.

Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her?

Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood.

An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach.

A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you.

It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body.

The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom.

These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke.

You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself.

Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air.

The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do.

He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself.

A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering.

"Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon.

Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him.

"A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes.

Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway.

You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you.

The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough.

It wasn't loud enough.

He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips.

All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that.

"Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe.

You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing.

His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded.

Just once.

A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that."

Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in.

The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light.

A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead.

The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—

Just like Montague said you would be.

And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

a/n; I hope this scratched some awful itch for you. onto the story notes:

on montague: what he is exactly is open to interpretation. tell me your theories! his character has been around in my arsenal for a very long time, but as a human cannibal in those days. he's been resurrected into something worse imo. he exists in my vampire universe more as a side-character, and, surprisingly, is not the central antagonist. he is meant to more or less be the embodiment of depravity and the consequence of a being without internal moral compass.

on mc: represents the fallacy of man and how unreliable the narrative of morality actually is, and how we as people have tendencies to twist and turn the meaning of it for our own benefit. mc in this story is not meant to be a good person, but did they deserve condemnation to a personal purgatory?

so, while this is a monster story, I wanted to parallel the treatment mc endures + mindset to the horrors of trying to escape abuse. I wanted to explore this through the lens of a monster story, though. if you suspect you are in an abusive relationship, please reach out to people to help get you out.

what's funny is that this story was originally supposed to be a dark comedy that moved towards something a little darker, and eventually turned into this. montague was initially going to just be a nuisance to mc by inserting himself into friend hangouts because "it's my house".

divider by; @/anlian-aishang

dc divider by; @/benkei-bear

if you read and enjoyed it, please share your thoughts and reblog!!

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 6 months

Text

Exile.

a/n I cried so hard I had to write something so here we are. So,I guess I'm inviting you to come cry with me. 🫧

warning: just sadness

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The heaviest thing that weighed on Azriel's chest was that he couldn't find a turning point that changed it all. A breaking point that shattered a perfect picture. That started to pull apart the only thing he thought was unbreakable in this world.

You had been his everything ever since Rhys's mother had taken both Azriel and Cassian under her wing. He still remembered you peeking from behind your mother's dress. Big, purple eyes staring at him. As big and as scared as his. As skittish and nervous as him. You two had observed each other for weeks. Running away the moment your eyes met. Where Cassian and Rhys had been loud and obnoxious. You and Azriel had always been quiet and observant.

Then one evening, you showed up at Azriel's favorite corner of the cabin. One that he had claimed as his. Often sitting there all alone in the shadows. Legs up to his chest as he watched everyone else. And no one ever invaded that space. Until that evening, when you had rounded the corner with a bowl of freshly baked cookies and a glass of milk, you splashed some of it as you walked. Your tongue slightly poked out as you concentrated on your task. Then that bowl was on the floor, right in front of Azriel. Your chest heaved as you took short, labored breaths. For a moment, Azriel had been too stunned to even move because no one had ever brought him anything. If people came to him, it was to hurt him, not to be kind.

Like a beaten puppy, he slowly crawled out of the dark corner. His eyes never left you as you two stared each other down. His scared fingers reached for the cookies. The warmth of them settled into his palm. He felt his heart hammering against his ribcage, yet he still extended his left hand to you. Offering you one of the cookies to share. Your shaky finger followed Azriel's movements until you both stood there on the dim back side of the cabin.

Loving you after that came easy. When his mind spiraled, all Azriel needed was to see you. When he felt like he couldn't breathe, all he needed was to look at your purple eyes, which never failed to remind him of the pure irises that bloomed in late spring. He saw you everywhere and in everything. And you were his in so many ways. You had searched and put together every single broken piece of his soul. Rebuilding him into a man with your slow and gentle love.

The night when the carriage with you and your mother was attacked, Azriel thought that he was going to lay down and die alongside you. Rhys didn't ask for Azriel to come. But he didn't have to. The spymaster was driven by the force of need and fear that ran through him like venom. No matter how many interrogations and battles he had been in after that, nothing compared to the vicious slaughter he unleashed that night alongside Rhys and his father. Back then, it had been the first time Azriel had killed. But it didn't weigh on him like he thought it would. All he wanted was to bring them back so he could slaughter them once again.

You. It was you and nothing else for Azriel after that. No more whispers of secrets. No more sneaking around. No more late-night snacks on the rooftop, so no one would hear you. Azriel wanted to love you loudly. To know that there wasn't a part of you that didn't belong to him. That wasn't his. And as he spun you around in your white dress, with irises in your hair, as your laughter echoed and filled his chest, he was sure that he had found his forever.

But now here he was. On the same old balcony. On the longest night of the year, gripping the glass of whiskey in his hand. Watching as Lucien of all people spun you around. Pulling a laugh after a laugh from you. A sound Azriel hasn't heard for months. And that sound had always been his to claim; now all he got were scowls and angry head shakes.

"If looks could kill, brother..." Cassian tried to bump Azriel's shoulder gently, but the spymaster's eyes didn't leave you even for a second. "It's good to see her like that," Cassian sighed, throwing another dagger straight into Azriel's heart because the whole family had been aware that something wasn't right. After almost four hundred years together, you two had come crashing down the rocky shore. "You'll figure it out, Az. Don't beat yourself...", Cassian had started, but Azriel wasn't going to sit here like a fool. So, with a harsh slam of his glass, he pushed past Cassian without a second glance.

You're not my homeland anymore

So what am I defending now?

You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

I think I've seen this film before...

Oh, how easy it had been to love him. To do it all for him. You had built your world around his broken heart. Carefully helping him stand on his shaky feet. It was the hidden parts of Azriel that you loved the most. Azriel, who put notes in the books you were reading, so that at a certain point, with you flipping through it, you would come across a folded piece of paper that read, "Never loved anyone as much as I love you. Your smile alone leaves me defenseless, my little terror."

You had kept them all. You still had them in a wooden box at the bottom of the closet. Every letter that Azriel had even written. Every note. Every dried flower. You bathed in that soft side of him that was only for you. With him rushing home to you so you could eat your dinner together and talk. Talk for hours until a comfortable silence would fall, and you two would find yourself in bed together, cuddling against one another as you read books in silence. Or Azriel read parts of his book to you.

A lifetime with him seemed too short at one point. Until it didn't. You had an inkling that something was changing the moment your brother brought Feyre home. That same night, you had woken up, drenched in sweat. Gasping like a fish frown on shore, with Azriel grasping at your hands. "It's fading," you breathed out, clawing at your chest till you drew blood with your nails. "My love," Azriel breathed, pulling your trembling body closer, "Breath with me." But all you did was shake your head and say, "It's flickering away." You grasped at him for dear life back then. And maybe you should have held on tighter. Maybe you should have sunk your nails into him. But your mother had raised you differently, and you weren't going to settle for scraps.

You'd like to believe that you knew that she was going to take Azriel away before even they did. Because Azriel had always been a savior. A fixer. An answer to the cries of the wrong soul, and oh, did she cry... Helpless little lamb in disguise. So when Azriel started smelling of her, you didn't even hear your heartbreak. You had tried bringing it up. Tried to get him to see, but the prettiest of flowers were often poisonous.

"All I'm asking is for an evening with my mate, with my husband." Your voice bounced off the walls as yet another fight rippled through the house that always felt cold now. "We had dinner last week," Azriel said blandly, buttoning up one of your favorite shirts. "And to think we had date nights every other day," you chuckled bitterly. "We are not kids anymore, Y/N," Azriel bit back, making you glare at him even more. "Oh, so love is now for children. Good to know that you had put an expiration date on this, Azriel", you said, tossing the kitchen towel you were holding to the side, "It would have been nice if you had informed me about it."

"See, this is why I hate being here." His voice roared back, making you take a step back. You fought many times. But you were always the firecracker. The terror. Azriel's composure never let him cross a line. But this. "You and your nagging drilling," he tapped against his temple angrily. "Not everything is about you. For once, give some thought to other people's needs."You had only blinked at him then. Watched him slowly dress up before he walked out of the door with a loud bang.

"A dance?", you blinked, nearly knocking your glass over as you flinched, but the person in front of you was quick to catch the delicate glass. "Apologies; I had no intention to startle you so much; I didn't think you were that deep in your thoughts." A familiar gaze warmed your soul. "Drop the formalities, Lucien," you chuckled softly. "I will if you will come to dance with me; it's a crime to sit through Starfall," Lucien once again extended his hand to you, and with a light shake of your head, you let him pull you up.

The music was rather lively, one you would come across at the city fair during a festival. But Rhys had always liked his tunes wild when he was happy. And your brother was more than happy. "Eris is convinced that I have two left feet," Lucien muttered as his arm wrapped around your waist, "So if this ends in distress, please keep my shame with you." His words made the corners of your lips tug upward as you chuckled lightly. "I would never cause you such disgrace, emissary," Lucien simply smiled at you before twirling you around.

At first, it was a bitter dig to seek out Lucien. A venomous desire to sting Azriel with his poison. You had come back so proud that night, knowing that after a day of horse reading with Lucien, his smell would have been all over you. And it was. And Azriel had stalled the moment he stepped through the door. His eyes grew dark before he angrily undid his cloak, tossing it to the side.

"What was Lucien doing here?", his voice was low and bitter, but all it did was make you smile. "Who said he was here?", you muttered, continuing to flip through your book. You didn't need to see him to know that he was scowling at you. "Why is his scent all over you, Y/N?" You knew now that it was a desperate attempt to grasp the last bits of his love and attention for you and what you were doing was a pathetic desire to catch one more glimpse of his care. "I took your advice. Listened to others' needs", you said with a smirk. Azriel's hands were on you in an instant. Grasping your forearms as he pulled you up, your book clattered to the floor. "What fucking games are you playing?", Azriel said through gritted teeth as you pushed back against his chest, only to make his grip tighter. "You hypocritical bastard. So you can whore yourself out, and I'm just supposed to watch you!" You barked out, the magic you shared with your brother sizzling beneath your skin, roaring to explode around you if needed. "I'm helping her get settled," Azriel growled, letting go of your arms once the darkness around you two grew thicker. "On your dick is where you're settling her," you snarled. You wanted. Waited. For him to deny it. To explode with shouts about your accusations. But he simply shook his head before winnowing away. Oh, how you had ragged that night. Smashing every vase. Every frame that you could reach. Cursing him in all the languages you knew before collapsing to your knees in soul-ranching sobs.

"I've lost you once more," Lucien's soft voice brought you back. You had lost track of the time you two had been swaying. "I'm starting to believe that I'm an awful company," he chuckled under his breath. "No, no, Lucien, you couldn't be further away from that," you reassured him, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder. "Does this have something to do with your husband plotting my death the whole night?", your head instantly turned to Azriel. As if in second nature. You didn't even need to think about it. You always found him in the crowd. And sure enough, his deathly glare was pinned on you two.

It twisted your guts because there had been a time when that look would have sent you to your knees. To know that he was ready to fight for you. Ready to tear down cities. To get his knuckles bloody for you. Now it just left a bitter taste in your mouth. And it felt like a mockery at best. He had lost his claim to you months ago. "I'm sorry," you muttered, ready to apologize on Azriel's behalf, but suddenly your voice died down. Because all of these weeks it had been you, patching up that broken image of you two. Glossing over the flaws so that your family will not see anything. So that no one would need to worry. So that no one would see just how broken you had been.

A loud bang of glass hitting the table was the last straw for you. You flinched as your eyes shut. Angry tears fell on Lucien's deep green tunic. But you refused to let anyone else see you like this. "Y/n," Lucien muttered, "If this is because of my doing," but you quickly shook your head. Pleading eyes looked up at him, and for the first time, the shock on Lucien's face was enough to make a quiet sob escape past your lips. As the mask you had been wearing for weeks finally slipped. "Please," you breathed, "Help me; I can't do this anymore." Lucien's hand quickly cupped the back of your head as he pressed your trembling frame closer to his chest. You could feel his heart beating quickly beneath your ear. "I've got you. It'll be okay", he muttered quietly, looking around for anyone who had spotted the scene that had unfolded. "Come on," Lucien muttered after a moment, "Give me your hand."

It was way past the end of Starfall when Azriel walked through the front door. He was exhausted. That type of exhaustioned that seeped into your bones. That made your body ache. That made that permanent feeling of coldness linger deep within. One you couldn't chase away, no matter what. Undoing a couple of the buttons on his black shirt, Azriel stepped deeper into the house. Into a too quiet of a house.

"Y/n," Azriel's voice echoed through the living room. He knew it was way too late to be shouting like that, but this unsettling dread pulled at his chest. "Y/n," he called out once more, hoping to hear you angrily striding to yell back at him, but he heard nothing. Not a single rustle of the sheets. Not the sound of your feet tapping against the wooden floor.

Azriel was about to angrily march up the stairs himself. To beg for you to scream at him if he had to because this silence that he sat in for hours in the house of wind had him running in loopholes that were near to suffering him. But his eyes fell on something glistening on the living room table. The only thing still shining in this dim place. The spymaster took a couple of quick steps toward it. A sick and sour feeling spread through his stomach. Almost sending him backward. There was no way. There absolutely could not be a way. Azriel's hand reached for a light blue diamond ring that had been a part of his heart for so long. But there was no way because you had it on your finger tonight. He had seen it tonight. And if you weren't here, and if the ring was. Azriel swallowed thickly, cold sweat coating his hands and face. You wouldn't have just taken it off here and forgotten it, unless...

I'm not your problem anymore

So who am I offending now?

You were my crown, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

I think I've seen this film before

So I'm leaving out the side door...

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x oc #lucien imagine #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra imagine #lucien vanserra

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s-coquette · 5 months

Text

Three’s a Crowd (1/2)

summary: Your loving boyfriend Johnny is trying to force Simon into your relationship without your consent.

word count: 2k

part two

———————

His electric blue eyes beamed at you, it was easy to get lost in them. You felt like you were swimming laps in the oceans that were his irises before you eventually drowned in them.

“I love ya, bonnie. You know that right?”

You couldn’t help but let the infectious grin spread to your face. Cradling his giant head in your hands before smushing your faces together in an ugly display of affection. Laying on your shared bed, facing each other and basking in your shared presence. Everything felt perfect.

“I love you too, Johnny.”

•

Johnny was an easy going man. You met him almost a year ago while you were walking your dog, she managed to jump onto him and get his pants wet with her dirty paws. You scolded her while trying to apologise, the embarrassment of your pups doings making you talk 100 an second.

Somehow that spiralled into him asking for your number, which you gladly gave. It’s not every day you meet an attractive guy with the most intoxicating personality you ever witnessed. Ever since then it’s been perfect, everything you could ask for and more. Johnny was the most attentive and honest man you’ve ever met in your life, when you admitted that you’ve never been in a relationship before his only answer was,

“I ought to show you the best then, hen.”

From what you could gather Johnny was ex-military, being with the strict routine and the regular nightmares, runs in the morning, going to the gym almost every day. He later told you he was discharged because he lost some of his hearing, especially in his right ear, explaining that he was a demolitions expert.

You felt bad for him, it’s obviously something he loved very much, he’d talk about his time in the service, about his squad. That’s when the name ‘Simon’ starts appearing a lot. Of course he told you about his Captain, John Price, and the same ranking sergeant Kyle or as he would call him ‘Gaz’. You weren’t well versed in the entire military thing, the most you knew were some rankings and that’s it. It never really mattered to you that much, but since it was your boyfriends favourite topic, you’d learn for him.

The name ‘Ghost’ or ‘Simon’ was brought up a lot. It made you uncomfortable sometimes, the extent on which he emphasised that man.

Johnny called him his best friend, he was a lieutenant if you understood him correctly. He said he was still in contact with him but that the bond they had while they were in the army was something else. The nights they spent together locked up in safe houses alone and injured, looking out for each other. He told you that Simon seemed like a big scary monster once you first see him, but when you crack down his walls a little he is comforting and relaxing.

The way he talked about this man made you slightly creeped out, the erotic undertones of some of the things he described were sounding more like love confessions than stories from their service.

•

“Simon’s in town for a bit, mind going out to the pub with us?”

Johnny had asked you excitedly, he was going wether you wanted to or not.

You sighed and decided that it was time to meet the man your boyfriend idolised so much. Getting dressed casually as it wasn’t a date.

The first time you approached him you had to do a double take, looking at Johnny ready to ask if you were going to the right person.

There, seated at the small stools on the pub was this mammoth of a man, absolutely gigantic and muscled everywhere. You almost broke out into a sweat from the way his brown gaze pierced through you. Gulping as Johnny hugged him, his stare directed at the man was so affectionate and loving that you kind of felt jealous.

The thing that creeped you out about him was the black balaclava that tightly hugged his head. What kind of people was Johnny considering close friends? The night was spent tense, Simon wouldn’t move his eyes off of you. It felt like he was dissecting you brain to see your inner thoughts with how hard he was staring you down.

You exchanged some words, awkwardly sitting next to Johnny while he had a blast talking his ass off. If he’s happy that’s all that matters you guess.

“Y’know, ye should come over sometime! The lass n’ I get quite bored without much company.”

The suggestion made you pause your obnoxious slurping with your straw, trying to scoop out any contents left of the barely alcoholic cocktail.

“I just might.”

The deep baritone voice paired with his Manchester accent made that sound like a threat. You sincerely hoped it was white lie.

After saying your goodbyes that night, Johnny continued to rave about the man. This made you slightly annoyed, you get that they shared way more vulnerable moments together than you two ever will but he’s been yapping about him non stop since you got home.

“Johnny, I don’t really think Simon is the type of person i’d like to be around. Next time you can go by yourself.”

The edge of your tone made him perk up, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why? Wha’s wrong, hen? Did he say somethin’ to you?”

“No- I just… Don’t feel like i belong in your friendship, and i don’t want to intrude on it.”

You forced out with almost gritted teeth. The look on Johnnys face almost made you feel guilty for saying that.

“Why would you think so, bonnie?”

He continues to question you, keeping probing for a real answer and you snap.

“I don’t know, Johnny. He’s creepy as shit to be honest and I felt like he was going to kill me with how hard he was staring at me the whole night, you can hang out with who you want to but seriously keep me

out of this one.”

That visibly made your boyfriend upset. His thin lips pressed into a line, almost looking like he was pouting, in any other context you would’ve gushed at how cute he looked but right now you were frustrated.

You sighed, you couldn’t be mad at him. He was your first boyfriend and you really didn’t want to fuck things up with him.

You put your knees on the edge of the bed where he was sitting and hugged his head to your chest, lightly caressing his slightly overgrown mohawk with your nails.

“You can..”

He perked up, his eyes suddenly losing their sadness. He stared at you like he was waiting for you to continue. Almost like a dog wagging its tail.

“You can invite him over, I guess. Just leave me out of it.”

“Will do!”

He enthusiastically pushed your face down and smashed your mouths together, basically licking the inside your mouth. The action making you giggle and push at his chest.

He only gripped you tighter, his calloused hands sliding down your shoulders and ribs, comfortably placing them on your waist. Johnny pushed you down onto his lap and you felt just how hard he was, his erection straining against his jeans.

A breathy whine escapes you as he pushes you down to feel his arousal.

“What’s got you so worked up?”

He only sends you a malicious grin in response before flipping you on your back, unceremoniously flopping on the bed. His pace was rabid as he teared your clothes off, making you gasp at his unusual behaviour.

When he discarded your soaked through panties, he made it a point to spread your legs as wide as he could to stare at your cunt. The embarrassment of being so closely analysed making you reach a hand down and cover yourself, the action was quickly shut down when he slapped your hand away resulting in a gasp.

“Why’re you hiding yer’ pretty little cunt from me, hen?”

The grin in his voice was so strong that you didn’t even need to look at him to see it.

“Jealous little thing, huh? Got all wet and angry because she thought Simon was gonna steal me away.”

Realisation dawned on you when you realised he wasn’t talking to you, but your cunt. You let out a warning whine for him to stop, leg pushing at his shoulder in protest.

“Why would I? Seems like she likes a little dirty talk. Maybe i should get Simon to watch me fuck her and see who really owns her, huh?”

The way he was talking about it as if it were a person was making you uncomfortably wet. The constant mentioning of Simon fuelled your nerves from before, making you shove at his shoulders with you feet.

You let out a whimper when you finally felt his thumb circling your clit in fast and right circles, just how you like it. Head falling back against the pillows and drowning in the sensation, anger melting away.

“Wha’s wrong? You don’t like hearing about Simon?”

You nodded, trying to prove your point but he just sped up, his index stroking your folds and making slick sounds while teasing to push in.

“Big bloke, yeah? You don’t find him attractive?”

You shake your head, letting out a loud moan when he pushes his finger in and curls it just the way you like, pressing directly on the spongy spot and swirling it around.

“With the way your little pussy is reacting, I don’t think that’s the whole truth, hen. Bet you want him to pound this tight little cunt until you can’t think. Big arms around your neck, hot cock inside your cunt.”

He added another finger, speeding up his movements.

The way he was describing it was making you wetter, the thought of the man you despised, felt jealousy over, was making you turned on. The guilty feeling was nagging at the back of your head but you couldn’t shake off the stimulation he was giving you, too focused on pleasure to stop him.

“Ah- That’s it, hen. You like that? Can’t say i haven’t thought about it myself either.”

That made you snap out of it, trying to sit up only to be pushed down again with a hand to your chest.

“Shhh, just enjoy it.”

He kept going, your climax way too close, you tried bucking your hips up to add onto the stimulation with little success.

“Say Simon while you’re cumming or i won’t fuck you for the rest of the month.”

That made you perk up, a pained whine escaping you, a little string of ‘no’ followed by a loud moan when he closed his mouth around your clit and sucked.

You felt the blinding hot pleasure peak as you gripped at his hair and tried to push him away.

A meek little ‘Simon’ escaped you as your climax peaked, with his hard hearing you weren’t sure if he even heard you, you sure hoped he didn’t.

The grin on his slick covered face when he rose up was telling the truth.

“Why would you ask me to say that!?”

Your post orgasm emotions washing over you, wanting to cling onto him but feeling betrayed by him and your own body.

“I ken’ you think you don’t like him, but give him a chance, hen. I wanted to ask you If you’re ok with him watching us fuck.”

He’s got you nice and pliable, vulnerable to every word he says, perfect.

“Wha-“

“It’s normal, y’ ken? You’ve never been in an actual relationship so you wouldn’t know. Best friends do this all the time.”

The confused look on your face made him smile, he just laid down and pushed you into his chest, still fully erect under his clothes.

As you were about to open you mouth to protest, he gripped your cheeks and kissed you roughly.

“I ken you’d understand! My good girl. He’s coming over on Sunday.”

You couldn’t handle arguing right now and decided to leave it for tomorrow morning. Letting sleep engulf you while you rested on your boyfriends sturdy and warm chest.

#s writes 🎀#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #ghoap #soapghost #ghost x reader #soap x ghost #cod smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod mw2

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bbyobbyo · 7 days

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You don’t usually wake up at the same time as Jihoon, but he definitely makes sure that you wake up with him everyday.

content: fluff, established relationship, idol!Jihoon x non-idol!reader, domesticity, spotify as a plot point lol

wc: 1.6k

note: inspired by this reddit post which i thought was 100% something jihoon would do especially now that i know he uses spotify lol. i feel like im the only one who finds it hardest to write for their bias, i get really in my head about whether or not im portraying him in the way I want to. i’ve never written idol!au either (bc i think it’s easy to overdo) which only adds to me overthinking ahhhh but hope that you guys enjoy this one !! as always feedback or comments are appreciated 🥰 I read all of them and they make me so happy hehe

[read pt.2 here!]

Jihoon swears there's something magical about waking up to a calm and quiet morning. The sun is barely just rising, blanketing the world in a soft twilight that cuts the dark blues of the waning night. And in his bed, he finds something equally as magical: your soundly sleeping figure next to him. The world is silent except for your steady breaths, and he has to take extra caution to not fall asleep again if just to enjoy the brief moments of tranquility like this during his otherwise busy life. Eventually he gets up to start his schedule for the day, taking one last look at your peaceful slumber in fondness before he closes the door behind him.

Make no mistake, Jihoon loves his job. Having 13 members in his group is fantastic, except when you realize that 13 people requiring styling and wardrobe before every public appearance takes a lot of time. His mornings may start early, but in reality most of his time is spent listening to music in salon chairs and dozing off in waiting rooms.

In fact, it was in the middle of getting his makeup done when he discovered that around 8:20 am every day, his Spotify (which he uses to listen to his daily Bruno Mars Mix playlist) stops playing on his phone and switches to… the speaker at home? He bought a new speaker a few days ago because the last one you had was on its last legs from years of use, but if it’s malfunctioning already then he might have to look into getting a new speaker sooner than he thought.

Upon closer observation, Jihoon also notices that the song has changed — it’s playing one of his songs, your favorite one actually. Immediately he realizes what happened. He contemplates shooting you a text to tell you to disconnect him and just sync your own Spotify account to the speaker, you’re home more often than him anyway. That thought quickly disappears, however, as he imagines you getting ready for work listening to the sound of his voice and genuinely enjoying the music that he pours his heart and soul into, he can’t bring himself to disturb you even for a moment. His eyes soften as he stares blankly at the Spotify home screen, headphones now deafeningly silent. Surely, Jihoon decides, he can live without his Bruno Mars Mix for just a while longer.

You sometimes wonder if your boyfriend is magic. Although a good morning text has been standard in your relationship since the beginning, it's starting to concern you how perfectly timed it is.

Normally, your morning routine is simple. Wake up. Get out of bed. Bump some tunes. Check your notifications. Brush teeth. Wash face. Get dressed. Pack bag. Leave the house.

You’re usually the one to text him good morning given your later wake up time, yet he’s been beating you to it lately. Yes, he knows you set your alarm 8:15 everyday because it's “the perfect amount of time you need to get ready and still make it to work on the dot”. But that doesn't explain why “rise n shine babe :))” pops up on your phone as you brush your teeth on the days you wake up early, too.

[8:06 am] you have to tell me how you do it

[8:06 am] Do what????

[8:07 am] im onto you mister 👁👄👁

[8:07 am] 👍👍👍

You spiral through the possible scenarios in your head: he has your location, but that wouldn’t tell him when you woke up right? Does your icon move around on the map? No, the location data isn’t that accurate. Maybe when you open your phone, your Facebook status shows that you’re online? No, you know for a fact that you both haven’t opened that app in years. Hmm, did he plant cameras everywhere in the apartment? Sure, you get the security utility of it but if he did it without telling you, there would be some SERIOUS things to talk about, maybe it really is all just guesswork and coincidence?

Sigh… you’ll get to the bottom of this eventually.

Jihoon doesn’t plan on telling you, but rather wants you to figure it out yourself. After all, he’s been dropping so many hints already. Your chill hangouts at his studio have a gentle hum of your favorite songs as background noise. He purposely asks you about the new albums of your favorite artists that, surprise, he’s already listened to. He even makes it a point to remind you that the speaker at home is hooked to his account every now and then.

Sometimes, he swears that you’ve figured it out and were just messing with him when you make little comments about your his song choices like “Really babe, you listen to your own songs this often? Are you sure you’re not a narcissist or something?” But besides these moments, there was no indication that you knew about his secret morning routine as you questioned him regularly about his tactics.

He has to admit, it was kind of amusing to see you growing increasingly suspicious of how on earth he figures out when you wake up, being particularly fond of the cute annoyed face you make when he tells you “No babe, I did not put an Air Tag in your pajamas, you barely sleep in clothes anyway.” Even your pout is adorable as you pretend to give him the silent treatment, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. His little secret is safe for another day.

Jihoon has been working brutal hours lately. As deadlines for the upcoming albums drew near, his days start earlier than ever and end equally as late. However, the one thing he can always count on is coming home to you waiting for him.

It was the night of the new album release and you were more excited than usual, greeting him at the door like a lovesick puppy as soon as you heard the door handle turning. “Hi love, what are you doing up so late?” he pulls you into a quick kiss as he sets his stuff down.

“I wanted to wait to listen to the new album with you so you could see my reaction to it!” your eyes were beaming with enthusiasm. Jihoon’s heart swells at the sentiment, knowing that his partner supports him and his passions with such sincerity. You excitedly motion him to join you in your shared bedroom, full of anticipation to hear the fruits of your boyfriend’s labor for the past months. “Alright, you’re not allowed to be disappointed then” he jokes as he pulls out his phone, quickly finding the recently released album and making sure the volume is high enough before tapping the first track and handing it over to you.

Only a few seconds of the song passes before an idea flashes across your eyes. “Wait, let’s play it on the speaker!” you interrupt. You’re on your feet in seconds and before Jihoon could even reach over to press pause, you’ve already commanded your home speaker to play the track out loud. The music immediately ceases on his phone and switches over to the speaker.

Shit, he’s done for, he thinks to himself. He studies your face carefully for any indication that he’s been found out but surprisingly, your attention is laser focused on the melodies now reverberating around your apartment. You’re mostly quiet during the songs but the rhythmic nodding of your head and facial expressions are a tell all of how much you enjoy each track that plays, contorting in a myriad of impressed shapes as killing part after killing part reaches your ears.

As the album comes to an end you look like you’re about to burst at the seams. Your boyfriend can’t control his smile as compliments and detailed thoughts flow freely from your lips for the rest of the night, not ceasing even as the both of you walk through your unwinding routines together. God, you love comeback days. The elaborate music show stages that you will undoubtedly watch later that evening has already been pre-recorded, giving you precious time together in the morning before his schedule whisks him away from your arms once again.

As you get ready for bed, you drift off to sleep knowing that tomorrow, for the first time in what seems like forever, you can finally tell him good morning in person before he can.

Your alarm rings at 8:15 am. Jihoon doesn’t need to be up this early, but he would do anything in order to be the first thing you see when you wake. You roll around in his embrace and press a kiss to his cheek. “Good morning” you both whisper to each other at the same time, sending you both into a fit of giggles as you argue who said it first.

Jihoon watches in adoration from the bed as you so naturally go through your morning routine, one that he misses out on more often than he would like. Today, you forgo your usual morning songs as you queue up your personal favorites off the new album, much to his delight. He tries his best to burn this scene into his memory as you gather your things and prepare to head out, giving him one last kiss. You’re about to unlock the door when you pause in your tracks.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” he hums back from the bedroom.

“Enjoy the speaker, I can’t kick you off today.” you say with a smirk on your face as you exit the apartment, leaving Jihoon speechless.

#seventeen x reader #woozi x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #woozi fluff #lee jihoon x reader

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echobx · 29 days

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.

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