this is where I'm gonna save fanfics I like, and post my own. Feel free to browse! stuff about my Bard, Celeana, will now be posted on @celeana-gueshoon mun is 29yr main blog is @trinswhimsys
A/N: stemming off my last post I thought I'd expand on it a little more hehe, vash x reader (reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used), quickie on the ship? yes. also my apologies for any spelling/grammar errors my eyes hurt from rereading it over and over again.
warnings: pwp, vash taking you from behind, he uses his cybernetic arm to stimulate you, anything else please let me know! and 18+ onlyyy pleaaase.
“M-mayfly, are you sure now is the time?” Vash stammered against your lips, fighting between the feeling of relishing in your touch or focusing on the given task at hand. “Won’t someone come–ah–” your lips dropped to his neck, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin of his nape, “looking for us?” he trailed on, though his question quickly lost its meaning. “That’s why we will be quick.” you hum, pulling him back in for another kiss. Vash fell back against the wall, your form pinning him against it, his hands stilled by his side in surrender before letting them naturally fall at your waist.
It’s been months since you had a moment alone with Vash, and even when you did find the time it was nothing but a fleeting moment. A chaste kiss, a tender hug, nothing more, nothing less. And from how he was reacting, you couldn’t tell who needed this more, you or him. Reeling yourself closer, the friction of your hips meeting his sent what felt like a jolt of electricity through his limbs, the sensation causing his hips to stutter abruptly against yours. The prominent heat of his arousal pressing firmly against your lower abdomen.
“Vash, you’re already hard?” he could feel the warmth of embarrassment and growing desire settle at the back of his neck, not knowing whether to apologize or confirm your observation. He instead let out a surprised breath, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal your hands below him, pulling up the hem of his shirt to rest at the base of his collarbone. He watched as you lowered yourself further, finding the metal buckle of his belt, hastily freeing its bind allowing your hand to continue even further, drifting past the waistband of his pants. His hips bucked forward, his body unconsciously reacting to your sudden movement.
“Easy Vash,” you warned playfully, curling your fingers around the base of his length. “So eager.” Vash whimpered at the sensation before turning his head to the side, staring down the empty hallway, still wary of any possible spectators. “No one will see us, I promise.” you reassured, laying your head against his neck. “You said that last ti–” he began, but found the words were now stuck in his throat, the pad of your thumb swirling over his leaking tip. Your strokes were cautious, maybe even slightly teasing, allowing yourself to admire how willingly he had come undone for you. Okay, maybe you were right this time. He thought to himself. With his judgement clouded, his head fell back against the wall, fully succumbing to the pleasure of your touch.
As his inhibitions lowered, so did his restraint, the breathy melody of his moans uncontrollably echoed through the steel corridor. In between every moan was a kiss, and in between every kiss was another firm stroke along his throbbing cock. His eyebrows furrowed, the peak of his orgasm nearing faster than he thought. “I-I’m close.” he confessed, you could feel his hands trembling at the small of your back. Almost ashamed to admit it. “I want you to come too.” Hearing the break of desperation in his voice, stoked at the burning fire inside of you. You knew you were pushing the limits of your escapade at this point, but you found it harder to deny his request.
Stripping yourself below the waist, you turned around. Vash took a deep breath, admiring the curve of your backside pressed against him. Biting the fabric bunched at his wrist, he pulled his sleeve up to rest at his forearm before lining himself up at your entrance from behind you, his other arm circling your abdomen. “Tell me if it’s too much.” he muttered, reeling you in closer, inching himself forward. His entrance was slow, methodical, thinking solely of your pleasure and your pleasure alone. A strangled gasp caught in his throat as he watched himself disappear further inside of you, the sound of your drawn out moan already putting him on edge. It took everything in him not to claim you right then. You were the first to move, guiding his movement to match your own. The thrusts languid, tantalizing, you smiled to yourself hearing how strained his breathing had become. He spoiled you, even if that meant suffering for your own pleasure. “M-mayfly, I’m not sure how much longer I can last like this–” he huffed beside you, his head nestled in the crook of your neck.
“I’m almost there Vash.” you sighed, verbally handing him the reigns of control. He nearly crumbled at the sound of your voice. Refocusing his attention on you, he took the initiative to change the pace. As much as he tried to steady himself, his thrusts soon became needy, desperately seeking your satisfaction. You reached toward him from behind, threading your hands through the blond tresses of his hair. “Vash–” you whimpered. He let out a satisfied hum at the contact, reaching his palm to lay flat against the mound of your chest. “You’re so beautiful mayfly.” he whispers, letting his hand drift between your legs. The cool metal of his fingers circles expertly at the hilt of your silt, making his showmanship for dexterity be known. He smiles, feeling your body shudder against his.
Your orgasm was overwhelming, you hadn’t even realized you had pulled Vash along with you until you had felt his warm breath fanning across the spine of your back, coaxing you back to reality. He pulled away slowly, his eyes lowered, eyeing the remnants of arousal left on his cock before carefully tucking it away, lowering his shirt. “You okay?” he asked, respectfully shifting his gaze away as you re-dressed in front of him. “Thought I lost you for a moment.” He laughed, a bead of sweat shining on top of his forehead. You smiled, “oh no, you definitely found me.” You took your own turn to laugh, watching a vibrant blush spread across his face. “I’m okay.” you reassured, Vash nodded, his eyes softening.
“You think the others are looking for us?” he asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He winced at your reaction to the written time on your watch, it was clear to him you both had taken much longer than you thought.
“I guess we could just tell them we both got lost along the way?”
description - billy reminds you how big his dick is
warnings - sex (p in v), not proofread!
“you okay, sweetheart?” billy, murmurs as he slowly eases his thick, hard cock into your hole. his thumb rubs over your clit, working as a distraction as his dick stretches you out.
your hands reach out to grip his biceps as his arms hold him up, either side of your head. your nails dig into his warm skin as he bottoms out, a small groan leaving his lips.
“there you go… you got it, baby, biiiig stretch…” he smiles, pushing your hair out of your face as he stays still inside you for a moment, letting you get used to his size again.
“fuck… i forgot how big you were…” you moan, shifting you’d hips up towards his.
“that’s not good… you gotta remember this dick, pretty girl…” he starts moving, thrusting in and out of you.
your head falls back and you moan, your legs bending and coming up to your chest. billy’s lips are parted as he pounds into you over and over.
“look at you…” he groans, “you look so good when i’m fucking you with this big dick, huh…”
you whine in response, eyes squeezed shut.
writers note - sorry this is short! just wanted to write what was in my mind :)
Warnings/Tags: 18+ mdni, smut with a sprinkle of plot, semi-public sex, thigh riding, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, soft dom!daryl, needy!reader, use of the term 'good girl', season 6, pre-established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 846 words
A/N: I cannot believe that this is my last kinktober post. This event was quite the challenge for me, but I'm so glad that I did it. It allowed me to experiment with writing Negan and Rick, which I was hesitant to experiment with. Thank you guys for all of the support!!
This is for kinktober day 31 - Thigh riding.
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
Daryl had only been on the supply run for twenty-four hours, but that was enough for you to get pent-up. You weren't always this needy, he'd just created a monster. It was borderline pathetic how much you missed him. It wasn't just your mind, though. Your whole body was aching with need.
After a few more hours of completing mindless chores as a vain distraction, you finally heard the sound of Daryl's motorcycle pull into the driveway. Part of you wanted to run out there and greet him, but you decided against it. You didn't want to look completely desperate. Instead, you waited inside on the couch.
More time passed, and he still wasn't coming inside. What was taking him so long? Unable to wait any longer, you went out on the porch and there he was. Your man was sitting on the porch swing smoking a cigarette. You knew it was juvenile, but you were frustrated that he hadn't come to check on you first. Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow and spoke up.
“Forgettin' somethin'?”
As if he didn't see you standing there, Daryl flinched slightly and looked up with a guilty expression. He hadn't even realized that you were home. Usually, he'd come give you a kiss before decompressing after a run. He blew smoke and looked apologetic.
“I'm sorry, darlin'. I thought you were asleep. Figured I'd have a smoke and then come see you.”
“You always come see me first, though.”
Your tone was whiny, and you kicked yourself for it. You were a grown woman, not a neglected puppy. Shifting on your feet, you looked slightly embarrassed, and you waited for his response.
“Oh, honey. I ain't forget 'bout you. Come sit with me.”
Daryl shifted on the porch swing and patted his lap. You lit up at the idea and hurried over to sit with him. God, you were pitiful. Climbing into his lap, you shifted to get comfortable on his thigh and realized that the friction hit a certain spot. You were still wearing your sleep shorts, so there was only a thin layer of fabric between your cunt and the denim of his jeans. He clocked what you were doing immediately.
“That feel good, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I really missed you.”
“Take what you need. Ain't goin' nowhere.”
Holding the cigarette in one hand, he wrapped his other arm around you and helped you get settled. He would've been worried about someone walking past the porch, but it was fairly dark out. Daryl had given you permission, so you wasted no time rocking back and forth on his denim-clad thigh. The corner of his mouth turned upward and he blew smoke. He loved seeing his girl all worked up like this.
Feeling how wet you were through the fabric of his jeans, Daryl felt himself getting hard, and his breathing grew shaky. His eyes tracked the way your breasts bounced as you ground against him. You were a fucking vision. His free hand was still wrapped around your waist, and he started tracing nonsensical patterns on your skin.
“That's it, baby. Keep goin'.”
It didn't take long for you to find a comfortable rhythm, rutting against Daryl's thigh. A damp spot was slowly spreading across the denim. You were soaking. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. Your whimpers were driving him crazy. The bulge in his pants was visible, and you made a mental note to take care of that later. For now, you kept rolling your hips and the pleasure pooled low in your belly.
Daryl could tell that you were getting closer by the way you were panting and your pace quickened. You were so desperate that it was almost adorable. Your boyfriend would never admit it, but seeing you like this was one of his guilty pleasures. He was tempted to go on longer runs just to see how wound up you'd get.
“You're gettin' close, huh? I can feel it, sweet girl. Let go whenever you're ready.”
Before you could respond, you were hit with a wave of pleasure, and you opened your mouth to cry out his name. A large hand clasped over your mouth before any sound came out, and Daryl gently shushed you.
“Shhh, don't wake the neighbors. Ain't nobody get to see you like this, but me. I've got you, darlin'.”
As you rode the wave of your ecstasy, Daryl rubbed soft circles on your back and held you against his chest. He'd also finished in his jeans and the material was sticky in multiple areas. This was going to be quite the cleanup. He focused on your pleasure, though.
The two of you caught your breaths, and you lifted your face from his shoulder. Daryl's cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were hazy. If that's how he looked, you could only imagine how wrecked your appearance was. You stood up on shaky legs and took his hand in yours.
“C'mon, let's go inside and get this mess cleaned up.”
Okay so…Reader rides Bucky’s thigh without even realizing she’s doing it (like during a movie night) and when she finally cums, Bucky’s like “sweetheart… i didn’t even TOUCH you” and then drags her to his room for the real thing
HELLO HELLO HELLO IM HERE
---------
Movie nights with Bucky were supposed to be harmless.
They always had been. A blanket, a bowl of popcorn, your legs draped across his lap or your head on his shoulder, his body heat a comfort rather than a threat. You’d done this a hundred times with him — letting his presence smooth the edges of a long week, letting the low rumble of his voice pull you out of your own head.
But tonight you’re wound tight.
Maybe it’s how long it’s been since you’ve been touched the way you really need to be. Maybe it’s the way Bucky isn’t paying attention to anything but the screen, all heavy warmth and steady breathing, broad thighs spread the way they always are.
You’re not trying to do anything. You’re not even thinking about it. You’re just shifting, adjusting the blanket, trying to get comfortable. He’s warm. He’s solid. Your hips naturally angle toward him.
And then there’s pressure.
Right between your legs. Firm. Reliable. Too good.
You freeze. But he doesn’t notice — his eyes are still on the TV, jaw ticking as he chews a piece of popcorn. He’s so relaxed you melt a little, letting your body lean in, leaning over his thigh just enough to—
Oh.
Oh god.
You should stop. You should. Because your clit is throbbing, and the seam of your shorts is dragging perfectly, painfully over the muscle of his thigh. Because your breath is catching and your lips are parting and you are very, very obviously using him.
But he hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t looked over. Hasn’t moved. And something about that — about the fact that he’s just there, big and quiet and easy to hide against — loosens every bit of sense in your body.
You shift again.
Your core pulses.
Your thighs tremble.
You keep watching the movie like nothing’s happening, like you’re not grinding yourself stupid against your best friend’s leg, like the heat isn’t building with every tiny unconscious roll of your hips.
Your breathing gets shallow. You try to hide it. Try to keep your movements small, subtle, something that could be mistaken for fidgeting. But every drag of friction lights you up a little more, makes your nerves spark, makes your vision blur around the edges.
Bucky clears his throat.
You nearly jump off him.
But he just shifts his weight, settling deeper into the couch. And in the process… his thigh flexes.
Sweet. Fucking. Relief.
The contact sends a shock through your whole body. Your hand flies to your mouth before you can swallow the sound, a pathetic little whine muffled against your palm.
You can’t stop now. It’s not even a choice anymore. Your body is already chasing, already trembling, already dripping through the thin cotton between you and him.
You rock a little harder.
His thigh is huge. Solid. Perfect. Heat rolls off him, straight into you, straight into the place you need it.
Your pussy clenches hard enough to make you dizzy.
Bucky shifts again.
His thigh tenses again.
You’re so close you can barely breathe.
“Just— just a second,” you whisper, not even sure who you’re talking to, pressing your forehead to the blanket, letting your hips find the exact angle you need to fall apart.
The movie keeps playing.
Bucky keeps breathing.
And you come.
Hard. Silently at first, then with a strangled gasp you try —and fail— to smother. Pleasure rips through you, your legs shaking, your whole body bowing over his thigh as heat floods your panties, your core spasms uncontrollably, your breath breaking on every exhale.
You ride out the wave helplessly, your fingers digging into the couch cushions, your thighs clenching around his, your cunt pulsing in the aftermath as wetness spreads warm and humiliating through your shorts.
You’re still catching your breath when the room goes quiet.
Too quiet.
You blink. Look up.
And Bucky is staring at you.
Not shocked.
Not confused.
Just… dark. Focused. A little wild around the edges.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low enough to vibrate through the couch cushions.
Your heart drops into your stomach.
You open your mouth, to apologize, to explain, to beg the earth to swallow you, but he tilts his head.
“You just came.”
Heat rushes up your neck, choking you. “Bucky, I—I didn’t realize I was—”
He lifts one finger.
You go silent immediately.
“Sweetheart,” he says again, more like a warning this time. “I didn’t even touch you.”
You swallow hard. Your thighs are still trembling around him.
His eyes drop to the mess between your legs — the damp patch you can’t hide, the way you’re still pressed against him like your body doesn’t want to let go.
Then he looks back up at you.
And you know you’re in trouble.
“Up,” he murmurs.
You barely process the word before he’s guiding you off his lap, his hands surprisingly gentle, helping you stand on shaky legs. He rises too, towering, close, heat radiating from him like a second skin, and he doesn’t break eye contact for a single second.
“Bucky—”
“Shh.”
He takes your hand.
Not roughly. Not sweetly.
Purposefully.
And then he’s walking you backward down the hall, slow enough to let your panic and your arousal twist together, fast enough to make your breath stutter.
When your back hits his bedroom door, he cages you in with one arm above your head, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear.
“You’re gonna tell me exactly what you were thinking,” he murmurs, “when you were grinding that pretty little pussy all over my thigh.”
You shiver violently. “I wasn’t— I didn’t mean— I just—”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“So desperate you didn’t even know you were doing it?” he asks softly.
Your face burns. “Bucky…”
He hooks a finger under your chin and lifts until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“You came,” he repeats, “without me. Without my mouth. Without my hands. Without my cock.”
Your knees nearly buckle.
“And now,” he whispers, brushing his lips over your jaw, “you’re going to come with me.”
The door clicks shut behind you.
He backs you toward the bed, one step at a time, his voice the only thing anchoring you.
“You’re gonna ride my thigh again,” he murmurs, “but this time you’re going to look at me while you do it.”
Your breath hitches.
“And after that?” He smirks, hands finding your hips, dragging you flush against him so you feel exactly how hard he is. “I’m going to make you come so many times you forget how you managed without me.”
You let out a broken sound — a plea, a surrender, something in between.
Bucky kisses you.
Hungry. Claiming. Like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.
And when he finally pulls back, he whispers against your lips,
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
After starting work at Signaler Wireless you develop a crush on your nerdy and timid boss.
Meanwhile, you're just the inspiration Arthur's been looking for..
<<🎶 Added for fun tone tags and a riff on opening/closing credit rolls. First of three chapters- will fix formatting later, so sorry!>>
.
.
“Man, I'm begging- please? I know, I know I'm not a model employee but I've had the hots for this girl for ages. She said she moved here because I made it sound fun- and, I could be the total hero if I get her a job. You'd be doing me a solid- and she's not some ditz, I swear.”
Arthur knew all the details already- because on top of being the worst employee at the store, one mistake away from being canned, the idiot was completely oblivious. It wasn’t even like he had to try to read all the texts over the guy's shoulder, and it certainly helped pass the time in the empty store. It was more fun than hearing about whatever shitty restaurant review he thought people cared about, sure that his channel ‘WorthYourBuck’ was going to be the next viral feel good phenom since he supported exclusively ‘mom and pop’ places.
Not one to give up the sick satisfaction from someone groveling- and over something so mundane intrigued him enough that Arthur was already going to say yes anyway.
Still.. leveraging as much as he can with a “I don’t know, Buck.. What’s in it for me?”
--
“Told you this job was sweet. It’s a small price to pay to help one or two grandmas learn how to use face ID for the all the free time you get paid for-”
“As long as you don’t mind running a register, there’s jobs like that out there. The real selling point is your boss doesn't seem like another egomaniac middle-manager on a power-trip..”
“Our boss now, remember? You're welcome- aand you can thank me by saying yes to a date. Finally. I know exactly the place-”
“Thank you by agreeing to a date? Where you drive and pay? So.. explain to me exactly what I’m thanking you with - I’ll wait…”
“Friday? Come on, I have to pay, your first day isn’t until next week - Saturday?”
“I’m busy - all weekend.”
--
“Well, do you take it back? Remember when you said he wasn’t an asshole?”
“He’s not- you’re just an idiot. Don’t you know how to count?! One, two, three-”
“Ugh, you jumping on that grenade is the only reason he didn’t fire my ass. Maybe I’m crazy but I think he likes you..”
“I’m likeable- sue me.”
“You don’t… you don’t think he’s a total creeper? Last girl that worked here quit because she said Arthur gave bad vibes. Swore he followed her home once--”
“Oh my god- or are you jealous? You really would say anything..”
-- Tag, You're It - Melanie Martinez 🎶
It had been the start of the end for the Hopeless Romeo the night that Arthur had scheduled the three of you for the ‘End of Month’ inventory count, mostly planning to listen in like he always did. You had been putting up a barrier all night, not even pity laughing at the terrible jokes while clinging to him like a liferaft. It wasn’t because you liked Arthur, he figured, more to be away from the asshole that hadn’t figured it out - rather, refused to accept it, but he’d appreciated you lingering at his side all the same.
“Alright, you two-” Arthur addressing his team in that chipper cadence of a go-getter. “Good job. We're out of here in record time. Go ahead and take off, I’ll finish these up.”
Snatching back your clipboard before he could fully remove it from your arms, you’re avoiding the expectant stare looming from the doorway as you lean in, your own kind of pleading gaze leveled up at Arthur. “Could I stay to see how to do the rest of the reports?”
He knows you’re getting out of a ride from hell, but can’t help but dangle the carrot, absently pushing his glasses up his nose as he matches the angle of your lean. “You know, you can’t get promoted until you’ve worked here for six months.”
“Saying I’m not gonna make it six months? You really that big of an asshole?” There’s a teasing lilt that had become so come easy. “Will you at least give me a glowing recommendation?”
“From a wireless store?” As masterfully layered all his interactions have become, he chuckles through the song and dance, agreeing to let you stay.
The moment there was the ding! of the bell over the door that meant you two were alone, you’re groaning out a thanks. But then you surprise him, “If that jackass lost count and had to start over one more time- I was going to suffocate him in that plastic cling stuff, I swear to god..”
It was fair to say you shared a certain morbid sense of humor.
“He, uh, bugging you? When I was making the schedules.. See, I just figured you would want to work with him, your friend. Eh- especially when you’re in a new city.. a-and don’t know anybody..” The words are measured to be anxious and disarming, as calculated as the click of the keyboard keys, drawing it out.
“On purpose? Oh- please, god no.” You tap his arm and lean back in the wheely chair, feet up on the desk as you definitely didn't watch the screen to learn reports. “If anything, schedule me opposite if you can - I’ll do any shift. I'll even wake up early every day and I fucking hate waking up early.” You begin wheeling a loop around the office before leaning back in over his shoulder to squint at the second monitor and the camera systems to see if Buck had taken the hint or was still lingering in the back lot.
Really putting on a show of tapping the pencil on the desk and scratching his head after scanning the schedules, “You know- uh, shoot.. At the end of the spring semester we always lose half the team. Lotta college kids ‘round here. You.. really wouldn't mind being stuck with me?”
“Shouldn’t I be saying that? I’m sure you were trying to avoid the newbie-”
“Aww, c'mon, you're not so bad..”
Arthur smirks a wolf's grin for himself as he flips back and forth between weeks, glancing sideways at the big calendar tacked to the wall. The gears were already turning. There was another plastic creak as he sat back now too, absently gnawing down on the yellow pencil as the brassy tone of the old reel played in his head: ‘A public execution to deter criminals--’
Though he'd say he's ‘dabbled in filmmaking’ before, this was a project he had been planning for some time. Taking up space in his head, and in his house, waiting for the moment, waiting for a spark- for inspiration.
“Woah- you're a biter? Stay away, monster-” crossing a finger with your nice pencil to form a cross for only a second before doing the appraising head-tilt thing, adding a last few shading lines where you noticed it needed them. The sticky note turned art installation is smoothed down with a thumb on the corner of the office monitor. A stylized, if grim, doodle for ‘What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger’ with a skeleton sporting a dagger out of the eyesocket giving a hopeful thumbs-up.
“If you report me to HR I'm going to say it's just a motivational poster..”
“Say-” An amused chuff accompanied by the shuffling of papers he throws aside as a clear sign that it's tomorrow's problem. “You need a ride? I heard you walk home sometimes- In this part of town? Pretty girl like you? Oh- it’s a terrible thought but- hurts my heart just thinkin’ about it--” resting a palm across his chest like it really did ache.
“Artie-” you interrupt with a light shove to his arm, “You sound like my mom. There are not serial killers around every corner- Although.. I have been shocked to find out that ‘Florida Guy’ is a one-hundred percent, very real phenomenon...”
“Oh, very real..” In on the joke that he’s one too, you two share a laugh and a smile that you somehow miss the true intention behind.
Only a short trip down the road in his very nice luxury car before you're thumbing at the run-down apartment building. “Well, this is me.” Arhur had already been slowing, because it's only the ‘first’ time he's been here - with you. “Thanks again, you're a real lifesaver..”
“Oh, don't mention it,” he dismisses with a coy wave, leaning over from the driver's seat to hold onto the eye contact as long as possible while you slip out onto the sidewalk. “First of many, I'm sure- Now, I mean it, don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything..”
Clucking your tongue before miming the laying a hand across your chest motion he had done back in the office. “Aww - Can't spell sweetheart, without Art.” You'd thrummed your hand on the frame before closing the door, waving as you walked off and calling a singsong goodnight.
Not even circling the block he flips into the lot of a closed business, a few minutes of patience as he's rewarded for it, noting the window that flicks to life with lamplight.
---
It was funny that at one point you actually thought he was trying to avoid you? Avoid detection maybe.
When he’d left after his day shift, one of your last on the schedule where you stuck with your ball and chain, the soon-to-be late Mr Buck Shaw. You caught Arthur’s eye on his way out the door, as Buck muttered an irritated good riddance to the boss, you mimed doing the Psycho stab with a ball point pen to his back before mouthing ‘Save Me’ - Neither of which was part of his plans but it had kept the smile on his face until he caught you coming around the corner, pulling the brim of the ball cap further down over his face as he slid down in the seat. His silver Cadillac parked inconspicuously in a line of other vehicles and taking up the shoulder along the industrial stretch where you insisted saved you fifteen whole minutes cutting through it instead of sticking to the main roads.
“Girl, seriously? You're relentless! No, no way! I already felt like a total stalker sneaking pictures-”
Zero situational awareness as you walk and talk, you don't even look both ways as you stroll right across the side street. The whole place looks deserted in those old orange-shifted buzzing street lights, but obviously it wasn't. Too busy catching up with your now long-distance best friend.
“You can totally see his face. It's called zoom - ever heard of it? Or take my word for it, damn! I'm not saying- No. No, I'm not.”
The heavily tinted windows were cracked just enough to let in your voice. Loud in the still night air, spilling right in.
“Yeah, like I said- He’s kinda got this whole Clark Kent quiet nerd thing. Oh, he’s definitely not a virgin. No way. I get a real freak in the sheets vibe..” Words clear as your footfalls take you right past him.
Oh, he wasn’t and .. oh, you had no idea.
“Hah! Get out of here with that corruption kink bullshit. If he was.. yeah, I’d take good care of him. God! Why’d you have to even say anything - Now I want him to be just so I can pop his cherry. He looks like he fucks like he's desperate for it-”
Well, he had liked what he'd been hearing until that little fucking tidbit, angrily pinching the bridge of his nose and seething a breath as you continued past some old strip mall storefront before taking the next corner. He had planned on popping out and trailing behind you, but he bided his time as the conversation drifted into the distance.
“Uh? Have to guess? I'm saying ..curved. Yeah- the G-finder,” the conversation pausing for a cackle. “Yes I saw the one you sent. That your new guy? No! I don’t want more unsolicited dick pics from anybody, and that includes you! Why do you think I deleted all that shit?”
Though that had been a bonus, not the reason.
“Well, doesn't matter how it looks.. can he use it?”
Arthur waited to start the engine and peeling out with a sharp u-turn once you were down the block.
---
The next shift you two worked together, a couple days later, you had come in with a much more intricate makeup look than he’d ever seen on you - and you were sitting there kicking your legs at a stool crammed next to him at the raised desk. Phone buzzing urgently against the surface before you picked it up, and tipping it his way as some kind of proof that “Ugh, my bestie keeps bugging me - I sent her a morning mirror selfie and she has been shittalking my look all day saying it’s going to be destroyed before five..”
“Mmh?” It’s barely an acknowledgement as he flicks to the next video, then quickly past two more.
“Well, see - I guess I’m rusty, not that I ever was one of those selfie girls anyway, so like-”
He sighs, letting a video loop as he glances over to ask. “What? Want me to take a picture of you?”
There was kind of a bored harshness in his voice that was unusual, and all day you'd been getting the ‘woke up on the wrong side of the bed’ bad juju from him and it had messed up your whole plan with the tense atmosphere, having to scheme up a way to placate your very insistent friend.
“Actually.. I was wondering if you would-” You were trying to butter him up, and you had landed on exactly the perfect amount of vulnerability in your stare and supplication in your voice. “Take one with me?” Pulling it back so quickly it feels like one of those tablecloth tricks and he can't help but want more as you shrug dismissively. “I don’t know, kind of help take the pressure off.”
There is a shift that comes with the double eyebrow raise, you can even hear it in the way he explains, that shy nervousness rounding the edges of any harshness of an hour ago. “Oh, I don’t really do pictures either-”
“I wouldn't post it or anything! Promise! Here, see-” Swiping through your apps, you're showing how you don’t even have any of the big culprits - He's all too eager to lean in to actually pry, but he does it in the goofy good-humor that has become the go to repertoire with you, making you giggle and bump shoulders when he over-exaggerates the dubious stare of judgement.
“All shitty mobile games and stuff. I'm an anomaly with grandma hobbies and books. I swear.”
Really acting like you were twisting his arm, he gives in, but is quickly giving direction, even if it still comes out almost timidly. “Don’t do that duck lip thing, you’re too pretty.”
Smiling from the easy laughing, joking as you tried a few shots. “Sorry Dr Rolland, I never did wear my retainer.”
It wasn’t the only correction Arthur had made, getting the two of you posed and framed just so, it had ended up on a silly side after he’d played devil’s advocate that you were mad at your friend right? Ultimately deciding on you scowling and flipping off the camera, and he’s sporting a sheepishly wry soft smile and giving you bunny ears. “Oh, see,” giggling as you type up the message and send it off, “That’s cute.”
“Hey, send that to me too, would ya?” He urges, pointing with his own phone as he picks it back up and unlocks it. “Might as well set it as your contact-”
“Not the one where I’m flipping off the camera, no way. I am not some fucking edgelord.”
It falls into light bickering, choosing which image to use. Arthur is pointing at your screen, saying “Well, then.. That one. Otherwise I’m using the other- even though I know it’s not work appropriate,” he whispers it like you aren't the only ones in the building. “But no other co-worker ever asked to take a selfie with me before.”
“Really? This one, where you were moving- you’re like, totally Picasso.” Part blur, you do a slight pinch to enlarge where his eye is looming over your shoulder while he was caught leaning back in a stretch behind you.
“It’s kinda arthouse.. I like it..”
Shaking your head and giving a ‘if you say so’ roll of your eyes, smirking in delight the whole while as you pull up the Bossman📡 contact to send something other than updates about the bus running late, or requesting days off, or that one time you got food poisoning.. And he scoffs, hurt, next to you. Showing his contact for you and asking “What’s wrong with using someone’s name? It shows respect.”
“No.. If I have you as ‘Arthur Spevak’ in my phone while everyone else is ridiculous shit,” you'd backed out of the message to give a cursory up and down of your contact list to show there wasn't a single normal name on it. “They're going to think you’re a Fed - Then they’ll see you, and know you are with those adorkable frames.”
He laughs, pushing the mild-mannered glasses back into place afterward. You were really going to do him in with that, crinkling your nose so cutely- and of course dorky had been exactly the look he'd been going for so it stokes the fuel of his ego rather than feeling like any kind of insult. Then he as to downright bite his lip to hold in the noise as your friend suddenly sends a barrage:
FUCK HIM IMMEDIATELY
HES JUST YOUR TYPE ASNKJDNGKS
Then a notification as she sends it to the group chat with BARKBARKBARKBARK
Which is why you hadn’t noticed any bit of his body language as you make your own muffled noise, yours is pure panic while shifting to keep a poker player’s ‘close to the chest’ hand and steely face as your thumbs furiously typed a reply.
BITCH HE SAW THATAKJGDNK
The whole saved as a contact thing had been rehashed later, where his polite name usage and your Bossman remained in a boring chat about bus delays and customer incidents - with a new number saved for Artie Mc🪰 in your phone. It was almost like you worked at a phone store so it wasn't that crazy to have a second line. You had insisted being saved under something goofy in his as fair trade, and when he ‘couldn’t think of anything’ you had suggested New🐝 - which he had teased was not the case anymore, therefore he had to choose something else, but insisting on keeping the pair of bugs, he settled on Honey🐝 turning it around for your inspection.
“You.. don’t have a girlfriend? Don’t want you getting in trouble over lil ole me..” As if the whole thing didn’t stink to high heaven already. Not to mention the bigger worry here was how the boss-employee lines that had long since blurred while alone, were now all mixed up while you were on the clock.
“Me? Oh.. no. N-not me.” Which was the first of many comments he planted, but it wasn’t sewing seeds for a garden - more like a bonsai with utmost care poured into one subject, mindfully pruned and watered.
---
Everyone called him Arthur, he made a point of it. Everyone, with the sole exception of you. He'd only accepted it initially that night, and then let it slide a few times before it grated his nerves enough that it sprung out of him all at once to correct you.
“Arthur. I-I don't like it shortened.” He licks his lips, and this time the anxiety isn't all feigned.
Your face pulls from the easy smile you tend to wear around him, into a worried grimace, retreating at the feeling of making one of the true friends you had here uncomfortable. That skin crawling feeling of not being wanted, like you always fucked everything up started to swallow you whole - so you focused more on the task he'd given you instead: clearing out all the inappropriate shit people do to the display phones.
Now he's not able to read those surface level emotions, he’s still been.. studying your mannerisms, and your moods. Learning them. Basking in them like sunsets.
“Oh.” Definitely a sad note weighing down the uttered sound. “I'm sorry, Arthur. Won't happen again.”
“I mean-” A gravel adding exaggeration to ease the blow. Crossing the store to be able to explain while he cards a hand through his hair. “It wouldn’t be fair- i-if only one person does, and I’d.. I’ll blow a fuse if one of the guys ever called me that.”
Dropping it after a terse nod that you understood.
--
For one agonizing week that’s what Arthur thought he wanted. The respect and control. But then each day he could swear he felt a bit more warmth melting out of your words, pulling away. Not that you seemed to have a smile for anyone today when Arthur showed up for his shift and you were glowering in a corner as you scribbled darkly while Buck prodded endless questions on a rainy weekday.
Buck was excited for a fresh victim, calling to Arthur as he walked past, “Hey, did you ever end up following me?”
Stopping with a swish of khakis as Arthur spins, hunching in to make sure he heard that right. “Hm?”
“Gotta see my new video, dude- It was good enough the city reached out to me to promote a food truck thing coming up..”
“Uh.. Maybe later..” As solidly polite and non-committal as his classic Arthur genteel smile.
“Whatever,” Buck sighs, hunching over dejected and ignored as he taps out of Kino and exclaims at the memory that pops up at the top load in as he changes apps. Smacking the counter before shaking his long hair out of his face, you’re being honed in on again. “That’s why you’re mad! Hah! I guess I knew it was a shitty ass month but I forgot about your exhibit-”
Arthur had already doubled back at the exclamation, but Buck makes it even easier, openly motioning with his phone and holding it out to share. “Wanna see what gets someone kicked out of art school- quite an infamous club to join.”
“Will you fuck off! Don’t show my boss pictures-” You had started across the room to intervene since Arthur was already craning to get a better look of the screen.
“Pictures? I have video of the blood spray--”
“Blood-spray?” Arthur is beaming, pulling the Buck’s phone out of his fingers now. “From our wilting flower? Why - a kid tripped and skinned his knee and that was all the more it took before she hit the floor. Gave me quite the scare.” He’d never met anyone who fainted at the sight of blood before.
Now you’re the one snatching it, stretching to play keep away from Buck though it’s Arthur standing there with the vacant palm where the phone had been moments before. He didn’t get a good look, but he had a new piece to the puzzle.
“Because it wasn’t blood, it was oil - they were robots.”
“Arthur’s not gonna care- He already sees the fucked up shit you draw. You let him flip through your sketchbook.” Knowing he wasn't getting anywhere with this, he decides to go full on torment your crush the way schoolboys pull hair, by being cruel with words alone as Buck turned to the audience of one. “That piece was a tribute to--” There is a heavy ka-thunk as you lob it into the trashcan, and he starts screaming. “Woah! What the fuck?!”
“No - I should be asking you that! You know--” The argument dies in your throat as a minivan parks in the closest spot to the front doors, that's not one giant puddle. Spinning on a heel before either guy could say anything or stop you, yelling an explanation vaguely into the air while throwing your arms up as well. “I never took my lunch break!”
As soon as Arthur had gotten your application he had meticulously poured through searches. A natural internet sleuth he found every tidbit and morsel he could about your life. You were one of those people that claimed to be off social media, and true to your word he had only been able to find inactive accounts. At least he could still scrape up the pictures. The last few posts were photo-dumps of you and the brother that had killed himself. Arthur had celebrated when he’d found the article put out as press for a book. A Best Seller about supporting your family through the mental health crisis post-pandemic, written by -of all people- your parents. He’d skipped the self-help mumbo jumbo but already had a heavily annotated copy of one of their previous books- the one where they left their tenured professor positions to join a cult and raise their kids. He’d love to know if they had secured the book deal before, or if they had truly done it for the love of the game.
That was how you knew Buck, whose parents had been more of the green movement hippie type. The way it had been creatively explained when the coworkers had asked how long you knew each other, calling it a ‘commune’ that you grew up in. Arthur had figured it was the only reason you tolerated him, the shared trauma, desperately clinging to a childhood friendship you’ve long outgrown. His armchair therapist opinion was the misplaced anger is the reason why Buck had been so viscously trapped in the friendzone. You kept him around but hated him for it.
And, even if cults and tell-all books weren’t exactly in the zeitgeist right now- that stuff never really goes out of fashion.
“Yo! You’re supposed to be the boss, isn’t that like harassment or something..” Buck dug an arm deep into the trash can as he felt for the lost device.
“Assault,” Arthur corrected in a huff. Harassment was a series of behaviours while snatching his phone would have been a simple assault, if it was anything at all.
“Are you going to-”
“Are you going to tell her that you’ve been getting ten times more views if you frame her tits in the shot?”
“I knew you watched my page!” Buck gloats. “Like how I've started filming her walking into each restaurant at the start of the video? Profile click-throughs are way up.”
It’s not that Arthur could always keep up the chipper act at work, god knows the job is miserable enough as it is, but the friendly nature that Arthur was synonymous with had been replaced by a stormy disposition. It'd already been slipping the second you'd blustered off but in that moment Buck felt it like a lightning strike.
Suddenly his phone doesn’t matter anymore as he bristles to stand to his full height, and about to fix his hair before he remembers he was elbow deep in trash. The guy he’d never thought of being a threat to anything more than his shitty job was suddenly throwing him for a loop with a downright predatory sharpness in his words and the way he stands. The gleam in his eye though? That one is familiar, that’s one that Arthur has the hardest time hiding and he knows Buck had caught him truly staring before..This confrontation was shadowboxing, but when he stared at you it was downright primal.
“Yeah, and your editing is shit. I’ve seen toddlers with better camerawork.” The banter could almost be friendly if it wasn’t dripping with derision.
“Look, if she’s not putting out, I have to make it ‘Worth my Buck’ somehow.. ”
A crazed burst almost takes over Arthur but nothing more than a single harsh bark of laughter makes it out. Buck mistakenly takes this as retreat, sensing that trepidation as Arthur reigns it in - ‘it’ being the unfortunate path Buck has now chosen on this create-your-own-adventure. Flicking a nod towards the front door and the frantic mom that had only now finished wrestling two leashed children out of carseats Buck is the one bossing Arthur around with a dismissive, “You got this one, right?” Already diving in past the elbow as he could feel the jittery withdrawals of being away from his screen.
--
More pushing your food around than actually eating it, you were watching the minutes tick by while existing in a state of limbo where you felt more ghost than human. You're hunched over an easily replayed cozy crafting video with an outwardly stoney silent treatment.
Arthur joins you at the table, saying something as he scoots in the chair. Removing an earbud to catch, “-takes a lot to make something like that happen.”
“Sorry- say again? I was-” The device pinched in your fingers as you dropped it back into the charging case.
“Right, right. Sorry.” Arthur holds up his hands with a self-depricating chuckle as he quickly begins to stand back up. “No one needs the boss bugging them when they're on break.”
Nearly cutting out the world again, but mumbling at the last second before you disappear into yourself. Explaining with a half-hearted wave towards the front. “ I'm sorry for..” - ‘making a scene’ is the rest but you let the words hang open ended.
“Nothing to apologize about.”
The easy smile is like a breath of fresh air and it feels wrong to not try your best to force one in return. There is something tender in the moment of your brave smile faltering the second your eyes meet, and something about this time in particular after hours and hours together - quantifiably stamped on federal documents- feels like it’s the first true time it happened somehow. A vulnerability of being seen, really seen, that makes you crumble in an instant. Sudden unbidden tears bubble out of your eyes, one streaming like a trailing gasoline fire off the silver screen down each cheek faster than you can slap your hands over your face and curse, “Shit! If this couldn't get any more embarrassing..”
Arthur folds in with faux concern and real greed. “Oh, gosh- Did I do something wrong? I shouldn't have looked. You even said-” A self critical hiss of breath and shake of his head. “I'm sorry, I'd never want to make you cry..” Hurriedly pulling out tissues from the box in the middle of the table to hand you, and he turns his head to hide the flash of enraptured delight. You sure were pretty when you cried.
“It's not your fault-” voice a high pitched whine as you fought off the tears and the swell of everything you'd been holding in.
After an extremely awkward pat on the shoulder while you blubbered, he tries for a cheesy line that works like a charm. “I may not know much about what's going on, or whatever art school he’s talking about- but if it counts for anything, this Art thinks you're pretty great.”
The growing spread of realization dawns on you with a sniffle. “Did you.. just call yourself Art?” you ask, while dabbing the edge of an eye.
He shrugs. “Maybe- if it's just the two of us- Art could be okay..”
The tears had already been drying up at the distraction, clawing them deep back within you, but now you're doing one of those half laugh - half sob things before pulling yourself together to nod.
“I would still prefer Arthur though..”
“Wait,” you pause like you'd obeyed your own command, taking a rattling inhale like drawing the tide, desperately trying to steady yourself before finishing the question. “Wanna hear my perfect joke?”
“Perfect?” Arthur wished he'd gotten your perfect pout on camera because- sweet mercy, there was even a quiver to your lips- and while he would take the security footage he already knew it wouldn't compare.
He usually teases you about those literal idiosyncrasies- like using ‘literal’ for anything but- so you roll your eyes, giving your own teasing quip but in a luring drawl that's only a little shaky. “It'll change your mind..”
Arthur didn't know what he was expecting but he figured it was going to be a doozy when you avoided looking at him like the sun and absently kept folding and refolding the tissue with anxious fingertips.
“If you're single- does that make you a Bachelor of Fine Art?”
Flabbergasted but delighted, it's a rare moment that he's not choosing exactly how much to smile at you. He can't help it, now beaming like he is the sun at the praise. He sports a smug toothy grin while leaning in like he might even catch the words midair akin to a hand-blown kiss. About to ask you to repeat it, pretending for the whole ‘did I hear that right?’ while of course simply needing to hear it again- but then you ruin the moment with the metallic clunk of your energy drink set in the space between you.
“Here, this is for you-” You're holding in a snicker as he slides from debonair to befuddled looking down at the open can. You were only using it as a prop, already knowing Arthur didn't share food on principle.
“I don't want--”
“It's Art Appreciation.”
The punchline coming out rushed because you're too excited to say it, and then bursting into a cackle at your own joke, moreso when you get a disappointed, or rather a ‘should I be concerned at your wild swing in mood?’, glance from Arthur. He does chuckle though, almost relieved as you promise “It'd be better if I had an actual gift. Next time there's a ‘Manager's Day’ or something. Promise.”
“Next time you need a day off, you mean?” he prods with words and a wry grin.
Not that you planned to take advantage of his good will, especially not the ways the guys - the other coworkers did. You hoped he knew that as you mock-agreed with a finger-gun and “Bingo.”
“Which.. is too bad..” his own mischief brewing. “See, if you were back here crying- I was going to send you home.”
“I was!” Suddenly offended at the implication you weren't sad enough, holding up balled tissues in angry fists. “If I started crying again would it count? I think I can still cry on cue..”
--
Sniffling and wiping away the remnants of a crocodile tear, your bag slung over your shoulder as you stride toward the door, Buck is yelling a classic “Where do you think you're going?!” in indignation.
“Home. Thanks for being an asshole so I can reap the rewards-”
“Arthur, man, what the fuck?”
He shrugged sheepishly with a downcast gaze. “You're the one that made her cry..” his tone implying there was some unwritten rule and his hands were tied, figuratively.
In a panic Buck is trying to walk all of it back. “Wuh- Well, wait- Are we gonna like, still go to that Mediterranean place later? I can come get you at-”
“No.”
“We'll go tomorrow afterno--”
“No.”
Arthur had nearly gotten caught gloating fucking up Buck's filming plans, but just looks like he's finding more cleaning projects around the store with roaming eyes - Let's see how this next video does.. The metrics are taking a hit no matter what, breaking his posting streak and falling victim to the algorithm, or wasting time and effort on a video that will have the same effect long term without his eye candy. Buck glares over his shoulder with one of those looks to kill, he should be mad at himself and he wasn't capable of being upset with you, so he naturally was blaming Arthur for driving the wedge by being a knight in shining armor.
Desperate, Buck is ducking around a bank of display phones to grab your shoulders, forcing you to listen, one more chance for you to give in. “You're the one that loves saying ‘depression can't hit a moving target’ - are you really going home to bedrot? Do you really think that's a good idea? What would your therapist--”
“Yes- A fantastic idea. My plan is to not even leave my bed for the next twenty-four hours like it's a Mr Beast challenge. Gonna spend the whole time doing Art--” Able to catch the immediate snap of attention and wild stare from your vantage over Buck’s shoulder where Arthur was still standing in the doorway to the back. Brandishing your notebook, thumbing through the last few blank pages and sending a rude blast of dusty air into your unsuspectingly dumb friend's face.
“Finish this sketchbook out, so I can get a new one for a new week and leave all this shit behind- Speaking of: bye bye Bucky.” Thwapping Buck on the arm with it, part chummy gesture part stress relief, before tucking it safely into your bag. You're mentally preparing yourself for the rain that had come and gone in drizzling waves all morning, because outside the large glass windows framing the front of the store it looks like the faucet was left on - but that wasn't about to stop you from leaving work early.
“Actually-” you cut, spinning on a heel back to Buck, who had warned you this morning it was going to be raining and that you should grab- “Let me borrow your jacket?”
You were asking it as a question, one you knew the answer to so it was really more of a formality as you helped yourself to his. Which meant you craned around the doorframe to snatch it off the hook and Arthur had distinctly made the decision to not side step to make room, but did scrunch up in the same way as when one walks past an overhanging tree or bush as your shoulder brushes his back. Before sauntering off into the rain.
Moodily taking his frustrations out on inanimate objects, Buck is out of luck while trying to get the final word in this tiff. “You're pathetic man, she was obviously playing you-” ironically said by the longest-standing member of your team, captain and cheerleader all in one. Then, he dug his own grave. “Grow a spine. Stop being such a fucking simp.”
“I'm the simp?” Arthur seethed in a voice that was unfamiliar, unsettling.
--
Buck had been fired, and apparently had tried to take you down with him. Making up all kinds of insane shit about you. Probably hope you’d turn to him, hoping you guys could find a new job together and stay attached at the hip. He'd found something else quickly but had been spiraling out ever since you stopped being coworkers, because it had made it easy to cut him off with everything else. Especially helping with all his videos and that dream of being a full-time influencer, work he had shunted on you out of long time obligation.
Thankfully, he had disappeared off the face of the earth not long after- figuring Buck did the thing he does and how he'd ended up in Jacksonville in the first place, imploding his life and moving every three or four years since he ran away and showed up on your family's doorstep as a teen- after your parents experiment had been over and you'd returned to a normal life. Not that you'd miss him, if anything you wouldn’t have to keep scraping him away like gum off a shoe. It would probably be six months and then you'd get some vague message asking how you are and explaining this new town had a much better food scene, probably chosen with a dart on a map like he was Rhett or fucking Link.
You and Arthur grew closer. Well, you thought the two of you had. You thought he was about the only normal guy you’d met in Jacksonville now that you’d settled in more, tried dating a few guys. But, bullshitting with Arthur was always a highlight of the day.
Today was muggy and humid, and you couldn’t wait to get out of the torturous uniform. It was swimsuit weather and a weird holiday weekend, which is why it had been a particularly sporadic day - swinging between crazy busy and totally dead. Your plans included a beach day tomorrow, on your day off, since it had lined up with your roommate Katie's and a few of her friends as well - so you could hardly wait for this stupid shift to be over. That’s why you were passing the time watching Kino with Arthur, over his shoulder.
“That shit‘ll rot your brain..” Leaning in to swipe away from a particularly dumb video. “Another? This is the dumbest fucking trend.”
He bites back the pleased grunt at the squish of your chest against his back, almost losing that light quality, forcing it back into his voice before he drolled “Most people’s brains are already rotten.”
“Got that right,” you can easily agree. Since he doesn’t seem to mind you keep the arm looped over him, even leaning more into him as you get comfortable. To Arthur it seems you're practically hanging off of him.
--
A delicate imploring look on your face as you buckle into the passenger seat you were sure no one beside you had ever sat in. “I know I'm already a huge pain in your ass but since it saves me a trip later.. Can I bother you to-”
“I’m just relieved you actually believed me.” Arthur’s aloof charm pouring off him in waves, any worry was instantly replaced at the reassurance of his constant good mood.
“Believed you?”
“When I said to let me know if you needed anything.”
Breathing a lithe giggle, you remember he had told you that after the first ride home, and in a parallel you asked him to run you by the store on the way to your place after work. “Well, what’s one more favor owed.. I’m just being lazy..”
Since you’re still a proverbial fish out of water, you’d been given the grunt work, load the ice chests to pave your way for the beach day. Others were bringing food, and things you didn’t have like sun canopies or beach chairs. Back at your place as an orange sunset stretched into pink, it’s the first time he’s gotten out of the car in the couple odd months this had become a habit. You were going to unload everything onto the ground and wish him a good evening as you get it sorted but Arthur had insisted “That simply won’t do.” A gentleman as ever.
Calling your roommate to get her to pop the trunk on her car, where everything would be loaded up for the morning while saving you extra trips, you’re yelling directions. “No - It’s not. Bitch- I believe that you’re hitting the button but if it’s still closed then..”
“Here!” Katie finally screeches, hauling open the third story window to chuck the keys down at you. Which made you scream and cross your arms over your head, decrying her for being psycho but it's okay because Arthur snatched them right out of the air.
“Golly.. How many people did you say this was for again?” He asks, a case in each arm as they make the short trek from his vehicle to Katie's with an excessive amount of beer and hard seltzers.
“Don't ask me- I only bought what I was told..” you grunt, setting down the weight tearing at your shoulder to hold in the button. “Now, see Artie? This is what a normal person's trunk looks like-” Grunting, now you're doubled over as you twist and wrestle the ice chests out from a mountain of other shit.
He should have helped, offered a hand, but he's caught dead in his tracks. Standing there breathing heavily while you wiggle your ass right in front of him, until you snap him out of it by motioning with a ‘grabbie’ clawed hand for the case hanging in his fist - “Ope, haha.. Sorry, lost in space over here..”
As big on wheels within wheels planning as Arthur is, he didn't realize that part was all intentional until you do the relieved wipe of your brow now that the work is done, jaunting a playful elbow into his. “Can't make you do all that work and not offer you one- wanna come up for a beer?”
He'd been cultivating this moment, tended it with care- like growing crops you never knew when the sprouts were going to pop up - only a best guess, a time frame. This still catches him a bit by surprise, adding an extra air to the quiet look of bewilderment he was planning to give you over that suggestion anyway, leaning in as a confused plea for you to repeat it. He's flashing a look of nervous panic like he couldn't have heard that right while internally he felt the gratifying swell of a well laid plan all falling into place.
The elevator had been particularly rank today, it always was on hot days which were plentiful in Florida, and you'd warned Arthur who trusted you without needing more than the waft that you already get coming in the side door. Finally making it up the flights of stairs, you set down the bag, the one you'd had to fight to carry on principal while Arthur brought the couple others. Not that you had gotten a lot, but stairs didn't help as he's breathing heavily coming up behind you.
“You know.. It makes me feel a lot better if you're huffing and puffing like that. Maybe I'm not totally out of shape if a sleeper-build like you gets winded too.”
You're the one hiding a wolf's grin, and he can even see the thrill he knows all too well dancing barely contained below the surface. Electric with excitement, static in the air, even if he'd helped it along you had the delight of the predator whose prey had fallen into place. He was glad he could give this to you, it was endearing seeing it from the other side.
“Sleeper build?”
“I thought I was the one who's chronically offline. You work out..” a statement of fact, verified from times when you're practically laying on him like earlier. “Whatever your new routine is, it's been working, gonna have to go up a size on your work shirt if your arms get any bigger and you want to keep up the act.”
“Uh…Act?” Once again able to play up that genuine swell of worry as just being an anxious guy, but the already shallow breaths come a little faster.
But you don't answer him, knocking on the door as you crack it, calling in before pushing through “Are you decent?”
“One step ahead- heard you talking through the door-” Katie's voice muffled further by the sound of her bedroom door closing.
“As if the elevator wasn't bad enough, the AC has been out. We've become a lounge around in underwear kinda house- give her a second.”
Arthur was the reason it had been on the fritz and an afternoon of reading bullshit about HVAC had paid itself back in folds as he was very well aware of the sweat-clung tanks and panties that had been your evening wear.
Before a beer you force a cold water bottle at Arthur while half chugging one yourself. You would have excused yourself to get changed if you had planned to actually sit and bullshit over a beer, but standing shoulder to shoulder in work uniform in your kitchen had become the play for the next step. Katie joins the two of you shortly, a second of surprise before recognition on her face as she points to the stranger in her apartment. “Oh, hey. This is the--” virgin? Arthur can hear it anyway even if she stops herself and you'd harshly talked over her with deadly poised guillotine eyebrows.
“This is Arthur.”
“IIII've.. heard a lot about you.” The roommate settles on with a knowing smirk.
“Here's your keys back,” telling her to chill without saying it, and throwing them with the same brunt force they'd been lobbed at you.
Kaitie begins stringing excuses together after a hushed conversation where Arthur had been left to sip his water, something he wouldn't have done with that offered beer but knowing what was next he was a bit parched. Hearing that crack of the seal, he enjoyed the crisp cool water as he was left to his own devices in your kitchen.
“Hey, you know.. I was actually about to get ready to head out to see that new movie with Derek soon..” Shuffling items into a bag.
“Probably get drinks after..” Stopping to prim her reflection.
“If Sarah tags along you know we'll have to get pancakes after last call..” Grabbing her purse.
“Probably just stay over there before we leave tomorrow.” Very obviously getting out of Dodge so you can have the place to yourselves.
“Pick you up in the morning!” Katie can't stop the barely contained giggle as she and her keys jingle a goodbye out the door.
You're wearing a look of irritation at her antics but it doesn’t seem to have bothered Arthur, or scared him off - which is what you had been worried about. You knew he was a shy and terribly private person so you really had more or less told her to get lost.
“Soo..” you try to segue casually, “How about that beer?”
“Can I have the tour?” Arthur offers instead, with a knowing glint.
Most guys, certifiable geniuses even, could miss clues as obvious as a blinking neon sign that says ‘Come Fuck Me’- If Arthur was still a virgin looking like that, you had figured he wasn't going to get it until you hit him upside the head with your pussy. But, as always, Arthur surprised you.
“Oh, sure.. Well, this is the kitchen- obviously. The living room.. and, over here- is my bedroom.”
--
Pouncing as soon as you were close enough to push Arthur back onto your mattress, you wasted no time crawling over him and locking lips. The first kiss had been hesitant, him shrinking back into the covers, but that had only made you giggle as the grip cupping his face tightened before pressing a few more against his tight lips. You would have stopped if he'd stayed petrified, but as you figured it didn't take much for the ice to melt. Those tight lips now eager to chase yours when you pull back, even if the process starts again with each subsequent kiss, full of uncertainty. Stopping to give him plenty of chances to yell for help, or rather - say something. Not your quiet Arthur, who still laid rigid and splayed the way he caught himself. You’re grinning against his lips as you guide his palms off the sheets and up your legs to rest at your hips before looming over him, caging him in with your arms as you stare down into those bright, striking blue eyes.
He wasn’t a virgin. Wasn’t. It was just that.. He hadn’t done it with a nice girl, a girl that he actually liked. Definitely not in her bedroom when the sun was still up and neither of you had drank anything harder than water. One he’d been dreaming about kissing for months.
All thanks to the magic of the internet Arthur had paid for his first time, and subsequently toured a few places around the local kink scene. It.. wasn’t for him. He’d liked it, he’d had fun, it’d certainly unlocked a few things - thus the disinterest. Chasing pleasure and wanting to cum was what the brain-dead idiots devoted their time to. For him? It just didn’t scratch the itch. He was meant for more..
What was the phrase about riding a bike? Or old habits die hard.. There had been a plan, he’d been excited to put on a show and let you ravish him but as soon as he had a taste, the delectable taste of your lips - marred slightly by the lingering taste of your lunch and that afternoon energy drink you chug to recharge the customer service smile- But now he knew letting you have your way with him was not going to be good enough.
He might only get one shot, after all.
It could be a regular thing, but he doubted it, hadn’t the novelty been this.. A one time deal? Would you even want to sleep with him again? It would become the dirty little secret, the elephant in the room, growing each day until it forced you right out the window. In the same way he knew this was going to happen, he knew your days at Signaler with him were numbered. One way or another.
It was like a switch got flipped as you’re the one overwhelmed, clutching you by the face now to pull you deeper in, biting your bottom lip roughly and groaning at the sharp winced breath you're involuntarily gasping. Now bolstered by his rousing enthusiasm, feeling a stir from where you have him straddled, you roll your tongue over his while letting your palm travel down to rub at the chub in the work pants you will definitely not be looking at the same. Figuring you’d help this along you start nimbly unfastening his belt.
“Do you have a condom?” He pants the words into your mouth.
Drawing back slightly, you admittedly balk when you shouldn’t be surprised. “Uh, me? N-no.. but I can- I was gonna see what we were working with. My roommate has-”
“I think I have one in my car-” He offers hastily, rolling you off of him. Even if you were only going to suck him off, he’d enjoy it more in the condom, but he actually had some other things he wanted to grab..
The guys at the store made fun of him behind his back, joked he had OCD as organized as he is and the fact he’s always yelling at them to stop standing around and wipe something down - That’s why you got on so well, finally an employee who gave a damn about cleaning. So while being excessively worried about protected sex or being as prepared as a boy-scout was very on brand for Arthur for you, you caught him by the wrist before he could move across the room in a panicked urgency. “Wait!”
He glances down to your grip on him, then to your face, and it's a charged look to say the least but so is yours. There’s almost a crazed look in his eyes, pupils already blown wide, but there is a twitchy nervousness hanging over him like a shroud head to toe. Gentle, and oh so soft, you slowly let go like he was a scared animal caught in a trap. You stare up at him with sad doe eyes, the kind that see right through a person like the lasso of truth, as you ask “You’re not going to get in your car.. and leave, are you?”
It had been one consideration. There was no undoing it- this - so maybe it was better to leave plans as that. Regroup later, re-evaluate. He’d already changed his mind on what to do with you back and forth and back and forth. He had so many ideas of what to do with you. To you.
Chuffing with nervous laughter, he rubs the back of his head. “Would- would you hate me if I did?”
“I don't think I could ever hate a sweet boy like you..” Tangling your fingers in his to give a light tug, dragging him one half-step closer to your bed again, quite literally urging him to come back. “I would just be sad I had to be sweaty and trying to cum all by my lonesome. You wouldn't do that to me, would ya?”
“You just want to use me to cum?”
“Arthur..” All dark desire, you purr his name and keep the scolding seductiveness. “How many times have I asked about plans outside work? This is the first time you’ve said yes to any of them..”
Placing a kiss on his knuckles before giving them a friendly jostle, keeping it light and playful. “I would even invite you to join us tomorrow but I figure not inviting you is the kinder choice- since I already know you wouldn’t want to go.”
“I grew up around here- all beached out. Probably been before, uh.. which one they taking you to?” He would stop by after his shift like you would invite him to, but not to socialize or swim, but with his camera. A disarming, quaint, painfully normal conversation about sand and sun not being all it’s cracked up to be for a few seconds cuts the apprehension.
“It’s not about me cumming, by the way-” you gently circle back to a moment before. “Actually I want to put you in the spotlight - But.. I can’t do that if I don’t know what you like. I just want it to be good for you. The best.”
How could he turn that down?
“I prefer the director’s chair to the spotlight..”
Your lips had been accenting the punctuation of your thoughts, dancing across his knuckles in a tango of temptation. Now, he thumbs across your lips like an artist sighting proportions, your lips the slightest bit chapped from the warm weather. And a metaphorical dry spell. It’s not like you were going to use dating apps, and prospects were dismal enough as it is. The few potential prospects had fizzled and flaked pretty fast, leaving you high and dry.
Not that you knew the meaning of the word right now. Clenching your thighs as Arthur loomed over you, stepping back up to the bedside proper with a hungry look in his eye that made the hairs stand up on the back of your neck and turned your bones into jelly.
“Perfect-” you breath headily, the pad of his thumb snagging on an incisor amid the excited smirk- your doing or his is unclear. “Direct me, Arthur.”
---
There had been a discussion before he’d spirited off to his car, you busy with some tasks of your own. Sparked by you insistently rubbing him through his pants, he’d confessed he would prefer to stay dressed - which you had jokingly asked applied to you since you were planning to be splayed and waiting but in a surprising yet expected turn of events you followed through on a regular afterwork routine of a shower, and usually you would get into the lowest effort most comfortable thing possible but he’d also requested if he could choose an outfit for you, even if it was about to come right back off again.
All of the, say, design choices, had come out like clues in a treasure hunt or like following breadcrumbs on a trail. One step at a time deeper into a maze, leading you a little further along. He’d still been playing into that awkward aspect and you’d agreed to everything so enthusiastically as if to not hurt his feelings and when he’d asked if you would mind brushing your teeth again with a quick apology oozing worry, you’d reused his line of ‘Nothing to apologize about’.
Not wasting a single second of time he mad dashes to his car and back, giddy at the feeling of being able to let himself into your apartment. He thoughtfully hid the device, completely unnoticeably camouflaged, he’d been able to scope the perfect spot while digging through your closet - figuring he would be able to retrieve it easily tomorrow. Probably stop by on his lunchbreak, he had already made a copy of your key from one of the many times you had forgotten them behind at work and begged him to safeguard them for you- he'd just never had a chance to really need it before and now he knew the place would be empty all day.
You had emphatically explained the whole spotlight thing was purely figurative, and that even nudes were something reserved for dedicated boyfriend status - begging as a fellow private person to understand. To which, he had wholeheartedly agreed, imploring about how much he respected you.
Well, the angle wasn't perfect and the view was partially obscured but it would do. Nothing his editing skills couldn't clean up. Already keeping a mental mark in the back of his mind for where he wants you on your knees choking on his cock. While he's in your room and the water in the pipes is still rushing noisily through the thin walls, he can't help but appreciate the room. You have plastic dropcloth too, but it's under an easel shoved into a corner and draped over the oil painting to keep it fresh. Sitting amongst a few cluttered half finished projects laying like landmines on a desk, your laptop is left tantalizingly unprotected. Your pin is even the same one you use at work.
It's all too easy..
---
A house cat lounging in a sunbeam, you come out of the bathroom to find Arthur patiently waiting on the end of the couch in a serene way like he's meant to be there. And like a doting companion, his face lights up at your appearance, quickly setting down the screen upon which he'd been mindlessly doomscrolling to pass the time.
But maybe it hadn't been so mindless, as he perks up and offering cordially “Want to order food from somewhere? There's a couple places that look--”
“Is this because I love to throw around the phrase ‘Buy a girl dinner first'? Because you don't have to. It's just a joke..”
“I figure if it takes thirty.. forty minutes to get here..” he leads.
“Time for an intermission?”
“Before the second act.”
Crossing back over from your bedroom doorway in a huff, since you were eagerly about to beckon him to follow you, but you come to sit on the arm of the couch next to him instead- giving into even more of his grand ideas. As he settles on what he wants you scratch his scalp, something already so casual in the moment you don't think to ask but not only does he melt into it, he looks up at you with puppy dog eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you warn with a giggle. “Unless you want me to kiss you stupid- and by that I mean so hard I knock those glasses off like Velma.”
“I'm not that blind..” His sarcasm is easy and biting.
Booping the tip of his nose. “I know- be cute if you were though.”
It almost sounds like the stupid worm question as he asks, just to make sure, “What if I wore contacts?”
“You could rock a giant eighties perm and still be the most handsome man alive..”
“Stop,” he says in that soft shy way you're supposed to, the way that really means to keep going, but you don't, you kiss him instead. One doting, light kiss to the spot you'd poked as though it might need soothing before more forcefully yanking him by the collar of the constant drab gray shirt.
“Know how.. I said.. this shirt was.. borrowed?”
“Yeah?”
The conversation happened in panted breaths, but now you're sitting up straight, perched above him despite doing the opposite of taking the high road. “Want to be petty?” You'd kept a hand on his neck, not so much tipping his chin since his gaze is dutifully locked on you, so you're simply cupping his jaw as you feel the rumbled insistence to continue to explain. He needed more details to agree to anything.
“Well this is Katie's- and I just remembered how she ruined one of my pretty dresses. I think..” scheming aloud, truly devious when you walk your fingers along the ridge of his shoulders like the thought crossing your mind. “When she asks for it back in a month, I'm going to gaslight her and say I already gave it back- ‘Before the beach day, don’t you remember?’ - but really, you should come rip it off me..”
“R-rip it off you?” Hand involuntarily clenching into a fist where it rests beside his thigh on the couch.
“Well, sure- I mean, only if you want to. I know you said you enjoy the rough stuff when we were talking about porn- and we already had the whole safe word talk, but does it have to be: mannequin? They give me total uncanny valley..” You had been team ‘Alligator’ but it’s almost as obvious as pineapple.
“Isn’t it supposed to be a word you wouldn’t normally use??”
---
Wouldn’t you know it, there happened to be a roll of red electrical tape in his pocket when he was setting his keys and wallet aside purely for the sake of this charade, but that was how you ended up with your arms taped behind your back. Arthur roughly grabbing where your wrists were bound together, both pushing you down onto your bed while being prone-boned into oblivion and yanking you back against each thrust. Muffled whines and screams smothered face first into the mattress.
Suddenly, with the same disorienting whiplash of a rollercoaster sharp turn, you're rolled over in an about face. It made you feel like a burger or a steak on the grill, done on that side- time to be flipped. His glasses, those barely-reader not quite Velma glasses, had fallen off at some point during the furious session and the doting, caring part of you wants to fold them up and set them by his wallet so they don't get broken but - well, your hands were tied. Completely at his mercy as his nose draws like a dagger across your throat, his voice is a raspy gravel that you'd come to associate with him being either dead tired or under the weather. So husky with lust it was a surprise he didn't have to chew the words rumbling against your windpipe.
“Gonna cum for me?”
“Together..” Panting, hardly even breathy, you're feathers to his gravel. “We gotta.. cum together.. “
“Tryin’ to milk it out of me? So greedy. I can feel it, how much you want it..”
“I want it,” you agree in a moan.
“Then I need you to cum for me. You can cry on cue, can you cum on cue? Be a good girl for me..”
“I can't. Not twice, not before y--” Trying to argue about fairness was moot to the infallible argument ending slam of his mouth onto yours, as final as a judge’s gavel. It’s intense, claustrophobic, and points for enthusiasm but you’d like to keep your tongue attached.
It’s short lived. When you feel Arthur thumb the bud of your clit you mewl into his mouth, bucking up against him and he remembers why he’d rolled you over in the first place was because he wanted to stare down into your eyes when you came apart. Watch on high as you shattered beneath him. A yelp escapes you as you’re once again manhandled, thrashed about like it’s Jaws, but he’s sat back on his knees and brought you along - holding your hips with bruising grip to be poised at the right angle as if you’re nothing more than one of those silicone fuckable torsos.
Things hadn’t started quite so heavy, the first while of touching each other, him exploring your body had been pretty soft and gentle. Undressing with such adoration and care- Can he take this off? Could he touch you there? Leaving you kissed breathless and down to just that short, tight pleather skirt he'd picked and a pair of over the knee stockings you'd managed to scare up- mentally noting that you'd have to get some pantyhose when he'd been so disappointed you didn't have any- but then you’d said something that had set him free.
‘Sounds hot..’ was how you’d initially agreed to being bound, taped up, when he’d been expecting to be cussed out instead. ‘But the hottest thing is that you know exactly what you want, Arthur - Let me turn my brain off, fuck me like your personal sex doll. Use me - nothing more than a toy.’
Better yet? One that took directions.
“Where are my pretty little noises? Sounded like a proper whore pressed into the mattress.”
“The neighbors.. Thin walls..” Offering weak explanations as your breathing is haggard - utterly destroyed, ecstasy contorting your face. No doubt that you were enjoying yourself but he needed to hear it.
“So?!” The reply is harsh, a viscous snap mirrored by his hips.
“The assholes yell.. if my music unh- too loud-”
Another, meaner “So?!”
Trying to placate him with soft whispered encouragement, you sing his praises as your nails scratched and scraped over the sheets desperate to find purchase while pinned useless beneath you. “Mmm, Art, feels so good. Feels like I was made for you. Just for you. So fucking g--”
Shifting once more, trapping you beneath his imposing form, Arthur’s hand slaps callous and cruel over your mouth. “Scream,” he commands in the deep, almost unrecognizable voice. When you let out a flesh-gagged moan of pleasure, his face scrunches in a flash of anger because that’s not what he said. As if demonstrating, there is even a pop of a vein distinct and strained on his forehead as he shouts in your face for you to “Scream for me! Now!”
You comply, and even as the coil of tension snaps and you're afloat in the sea of nothingness, where the rest of the world falls away during climax you scream and plead and cry as he keeps fucking you through the waves of euphoria his hand falling away and your noise complaint is guaranteed. Until his pace finally falters and breaks, forehead collapsing against your sternum as a deep shuddering spasm grips Arthur and he mutters indecipherable sweet nothings against your skin.
--
Maybe it was because the two of you already spent so much time comfortably existing together, the space that followed the intense session stretched into something that could be a regular hangout or perhaps it had morphed into somewhat of a reverse date after skipping ahead to the ending first. Granted, the order of operations had lent itself to you lounging around topless, sitting next to him on the couch in the three skant pieces of the skirt and pair of socks. You'd thrown a towel down because ‘I'm not an animal' and gleefully settled into a meal with engaged, idle chatter.
Giving him the choice of two films, since he'd made the mistake of mentioning the term arthouse before, you had offered:
Breathless- one of those pretentious Criterion Collection classics: A film critic’s critique on film, lauded but ultimately a mix of genres that lands mostly as a romantic noir when a man tries to get his girl to runaway with him after killing a cop.
Or, an editing masterpiece with no dialogue or actors: Koyaanisqatsi. Perfect to be played in the background or dutifully watched and picked apart scene by scene. A commentary on how humans moved away from a natural world and live our lives within technology.
“You know what? No, I'm not going to make you hate me by making you watch and old black and white foreign film. Forget I asked-” you'd decided for him while pulling the other up on the TV. “Besides, whatever you told Buck about his editing pissed him off so much I never heard the end of it- I'm sure you'll be able to appreciate this one. I think it's one of the first time a comparison is made of an overhead city shot transitioning to a computer chip- pretty cool..”
“Say.. Anyone ever hear from Buck? I remember you having all those problems with his roommate..”
“Well, when you up and disappear- leaving all your shit and stop paying rent- that tends to piss people off.” Tucking a leg underneath yourself as you tuck in over your food, Arthur’s hand rests easily on your thigh seeming to take advantage of every second of staring at your chest with a smug grin. “I don’t know why I wasted the time and money to move his shit into storage- I mean, usually he would bug out, go all nature-child again for a few months but..” You shrugged. “Guess he finally got it. Guess he didn’t want his shit. I dunno- got auctioned I guess, maybe it’s all on one of those cable network shows - that god awful old chair? I’d recognize it in a second. Kept all the best shit though..” You leaned to run your hand over the beaded curtain that was hung in the perfect spot to catch afternoon light and turn the apartment into a kaleidoscope, a clattering harmonic swell of beads slowly sway back into place as you flash Arthur a knowing smile. “You’re not still jealous, are you?”
“Jealous?” Whether he had grunted himself hoarse, you weren’t sure, but the Mr Hyde to his mannerly Dr Jekhyl had remained in his voice and in his smile - But it could be you reading too much into the dubious eyebrow quirk that paired so well, the combination had you looking away and clenching your thighs while trying to explain.
“Jealous of him always flirting with me..”
“I.. definitely don’t miss the asshole..” He ventured in an honest way that left enough hesitation to backtrack offending you in a cute sort of obvious way. Having to add the asterisk of “That’s not why I fired him though..”
“Oh, yeah, I know..” And it almost comes too close to talking about work and the after, too close to thinking about repercussions, so you're rushing to keep the hate on Buck. “I didn't say anything then. But, um, yeah he kinda sent me some really fucked up stuff before he left too so I don't really miss him either..”
“Ever.. get ahold of his parents?”
“Nah- don't know how to get a carrier pigeon from here to Sedona. And I think their tinfoil hats are too tight because everytime I try brainwaves and good vibrations the inbox is full.”
“One less thing to worry about. Right?” He offers with a reassuring grin, the positive spin accompanied by a bracing pat on your leg. Then, an olive branch. “Uh.. did you want to try a bite?”
“Hmm?” You ask, definitely not getting it at first before gesturing for your set of utensils, which gets an enthusiastic “Yes, absolutely!” before he feeds you a bite. Flashing a smile while you chew behind a hand, and beaming a happy, “Mmm, thanks!”
There’s something so perfectly domestic about it, you’re upset you don’t let it linger in the air longer before you try making another one of those ‘buy a girl dinner’ comments that are funny because they’re cliche. “Is this how it goes with all the other girls? I’m not too gross to kiss so we can be all cutesy now?”
Arthur scoffs. “All the other girls? Now who’s jealous?”
“Well..c’mon… That?” You’d let out a disbelieving snort, gesturing vaguely through the wall towards your bed. “That was not your first time. It’s okay.. I’m not mad.. It’s just.. A shitty thing to lie to me about..”
You could buy ‘inexperienced’, maybe. You could buy that it could be hard to find willing, up-front partners - it was definitely the most intense hook up you’d ever had, and it only worked because there was months-worth of trust of knowing the sweetheart Arthur actually was. Not that it wasn’t you that had opened the proverbial Pandora’s Box, insisting on bending over backwards to accommodate him - which is an instance you could use ‘literally’ and not be facetious.
“Is.. Isn’t that.. What you wanted?” he poses carefully.
“Jesus!” Feeling that distinct hide your head in shame moment, facepalming. “Did I really let that slip at work somehow? And worse- you overheard?” Groaning and wishing you phase into the couch to save you the embarrassment, you offer an obligatory “Sorry about that..”
“I’m sorry too,” he says quickly, too quickly, holding up a hand as a white flag handshake - ready to speed right past this little bump in the road. “Call it even? Water under the bridge?”
It’s your turn to scoff, but you find yourself warring with that incredulous feeling of unfairness, of offense and disbelief - and also an odd sense of a time-limited offer, ticking down like a clock. Personally, it’s not your finest moment, but it’s a photo finish as you hurriedly snatch up the hand and give Arthur a terse, cursory ‘lets move past this’ handshake. But you do get to throw your own tangle of barbed wire clause to the deal.
“Well, be more forthcoming next time - especially if you want to do more.” Uttered like a threat as you took a moody bite of your own food again, delicious and triumphant in the feeling of getting the last word.
“Next time?” Arthur blinks, vocal downshifting as he clarifies “More?”
You give an ambivalent shrug, like maybe you’re not sure despite the devious grin on your face - acting like the cut of mundane scenes and life flashing by on the screen was the most interesting thing against the intense stare leveled at your face.
“Like, tonight?” He’d been worried about scaring you, and you’d even said more. That hadn’t been enough, you wanted more depravity. “Or when you say next time..”
“Either.. Both.. Unless, you have plans..”
---
Arthur could, admittedly, go on a tangent. He’d already been trying to get you to sign up for Kino for a while now, especially once you’d given in and started watching videos with him. Explaining all about the algorithm and how you can tune it where it won’t show you gross stuff. You’d given in and it had been cute laying there on the couch against his chest both scrolling away on your own phones as your weird movie selection rolled on in the background, until it had intersected with another one of his tangents. Faces of Death.
It wasn’t the first time you'd heard about it from him and your old clipshow film really was tangential. You'd been able to explain how you hadn’t always been so sensitive to blood, and used to watch a ton of horror movies because the fake stuff on the screen never triggered it - until the last few years, leaving out any hint as to what exacerbated the issue.
“Yeah - It was almost like how phones read your mind. I was just talking to you about that movie and then this clip, like someone made it shot for shot, showed up on my feed- here this one wasn’t as bad- gory as another one I saw. You have to watch it. Here, I sent it to you.”
Sure enough you got the notification, clicking to open the link while he eagerly looks on, waiting for you too. “Woah, this kinda looks like those post-nine-eleven beheading videos..” you comment, a sword poised in the air and someone struggling, bound in stocks, already making you feel a little queasy but he’d even waited for you to be done eating.
The brassy narration talks about a public execution and you have to sit up, pulling a grimace. “I don’t know if I can..”
“You said we should try to watch horror movies together- exposure therapy.” He’d been so excited you’d suggested that, and well, he knew exactly where to start showing you some blood. There had been some spilled, special, just for you- you had to see it.
“Didn’t you say Kino gives me more of what I watch and engage with, I- I don’t think I want more of this stuff - when you say ‘not bad’ what should I be expe-”
Ssshhing! Plop!
“You didn’t even look! That was the best part!” he admonishes, because what you had done was scrunch your eyes followed very quickly by locking your screen to black, setting it aside.
“Here, I already get them on my account,” dismissing your least pressing worry as he opens the video, flipping it into widescreen and leaning in to hold it, forcibly including you. Giving a wary, almost angry side-eye, you think of how all the people that you do let in, the ones that stay close like Katie and your bff, and your brother, even Buck - you’re stubborn as hell and need someone who is willing to force you out of your comfort zone, sometimes at gunpoint, or else you’ll root in place like a barnacle. And it definitely lessens the blow when he’s the one tangling fingers in yours with a bolstering kiss to the knuckles, like when you’d stopped him from running off to his car, with a reminder to “Breathe.. And, hey, if Kino is leaving it up - it can’t be real, right?”
“Fine..” you groan, while focusing intently on the screen, Arthur watching you equally as intent whether to make sure you were really breathing, or that you didn’t chicken out again, but chuckling amused when you make the comment “They’ve got nice hair. Real shiny.” A good attempt to ground yourself, a distraction, and you figured it was amusement towards that and not the fact that you did used to always tell Buck that after wash days.
“This must be why you had mannequins on the brain..”
“Must be..” he laughs nervously while anticipating the big moment. “Still give you uncanny valley?”
“The whole thing is unsettling- but no, they're not so bad. It's kinda funny - Reminds me of Scooby-Doo or ya know, hand-drawn animation. I wonder which door they’re coming through, it can’t be the only one that looks different..”
It’s truly the shot of the blood on the knife that has your eyes rolling back, slumping limp against the couch. Only the second time he’s seen it, the first time Arthur had been too worried to truly be able to enjoy it - now though? Especially over his video, still playing on a loop as he gently says your name, asking if you’re alright with a rousing shake of your shoulder. He knows you’re out, just not for how long, wasting not even a second of it.
When you begin to come to, you feel the tell-tale jostle of being woken out of concern with Arthur softly calling your name before you even open your eyes. There is a clatter of his phone being set on the coffee table as he swaps it for a magazine to fan you. “This is what they always did in movies - I.. I don’t know if I trust Google..”
“Mmhm.. ‘m fine..” Rubbing your eyes, clearing your bleary vision. Last time, at work, Arthur had freaked out and treated you as delicate as glass the rest of the day, it totally scared him but this time you find yourself not feeling so bad since this time it was his damn fault.
You couldn't help but feel like it was proof, like he pushed because he hadn't really believed you, the same way a girl has to list albums and band-members for daring to wear a shirt. But to his credit, he does seem genuinely overflowing with concern as you push up to your elbows. “Well, okay, I said I wasn't going to believe Google but it does say you're supposed to lay down.”
“Told you I'm fine, just.. lightheaded.” The room certainly still felt like it was spinning but you're insisting. “Seems way more dramatic than it is. Promise.”
“No, see,” the phone had been left open, unlocked, now bringing it over near your face Arthur gives a cursory scroll on the Google page of ‘what to do fainting’ - “I’m supposed to elevate your legs, a-above your heart..” You always loved him best when he was nervous, timid Artie, so that’s what he gave you.
Loosely knocking his wrist with yours, clearly having enough of the screens, you do give an encouraging or at least inquisitive hum that said he should keep going. Scrambling to set it aside, he tacks on “It’s some-something about blood flow..”
A dazed, still woozy snicker escapes you as you agree, “Uh-huh, blood flow..”
“Heh, well, uhm- If we don’t wanna try that..” He shifted uncomfortably from how he was already half twisted over you, hopefully rightly ashamed by popping a boner over a half-naked girl losing consciousness. But you were in that state not only because of him in the first place, but also specifically to indulge him anyway, so it almost seemed more like a moral gray area- one that seemed further away when he cups your cheek, thumb ghosting lightly as he now exudes nothing but a smooth charm. “I figure it’s my fault, so I - I thought I should kiss it better.”
The gesture is so sweet you can’t help but mirror it, bringing a palm to his face, though you can’t imagine your eyes holding that same yearning as his. “That’s a good start..” But you make up for it with enthusiasm, being the one to draw him in, leading the charge. This time they were earnest kisses, not too shy, not overbearing, reaching an equilibrium just for you.
He really doesn’t waste time to crawl over you proper, but you don’t waste the chance to ask in the space of a breath. “Believe me? Do you believe that I faint now?”
“Yeah..” it’s almost a little sheepish, but there's not denying the little bit of smugness too, and he’s asking “Do you believe that I’m sorry?”
“No..” you tease with a slight laugh, “But I could be convinced..”
--
Admittedly, you had been told several times by now that Arthur wasn't big on being touched, and you had been being overly handsy in the pass-out became make-out became getting turned out. That’s how you got your hands pinned again, having his shirt all balled up and scratching ticklish nails dancing over his undershirt. Snapping one hand up in each of his they get lifted above your head and pressed into the couch cushions but doesn’t affect the rhythmic grinding, rocking deep into your core.
Which is funny, because he hadn’t asked about that and even straining against his grip there is no budging your hands free, but in a shaky breath against the nape of your neck Arthur is asking “Mind if I give you some hickeys?”
“Sure,” you breathe, moaning enthusiastically for the attention laved on you. Now that you’re not whimpering directly into his mouth, you tease about being expected to be “Loud enough for the neighbors in the back, right?”
“Mmm, need to.. Hear you..” Uttered like a promise, with the urgency of placing an order, the excitement of making a special request. You didn't even make it feel performative, so unreserved and responsive, just for him. Different categories he's already logging in his head, groans and breathy gasps. The surprised way a curse will tear out of you is his favorite, eliciting one as he nuzzles against your neck, scraping his teeth being rewarded with a shuddered ‘Fuck!’ as your body bucked against his.
“Good thing I told Katie to get lost.. Hey, uh.. you live alone.. Maybe next time- your place?”
He’d already overreacted to your ‘next time’ before, so he was ready this time, and you had waited for the perfect chance where he could give you a noncommittal hum against your flesh. Determined to make you pay, to decide who was really going to be the one that was desperate for it. It wasn’t going to be him, and it almost like you can feel the backslide, the shift.
“Y-y’know.. If.. If you want to. And my roommate has a boyfriend, I won’t feel too bad kicking her out to crash at his place again..”
Another, even more aloof tone playing like an automatic response, but you can feel the smile in his teeth and the curl of a grin in his lips, you can feel how the way he kisses your skin is purposeful like a form of worship. No doubt he’s enjoying himself, you’re not that insecure, but you can’t shake that sneaking feeling in the back of your mind that you’re being punished for something, an invisible wall of a grudge blocking a fork in the road like this is some fucking video game dialogue option. And its almost like he can hear you spinning out when the sharp pop of breaking the bruising grip his lips had on your collarbone. Well aware of exactly how the collar of the uniform sat on you it wouldn’t be super obvious, most people would never even notice, but he’d be able to watch it heal up day by day, shift by shift.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to turn your brain off?”
About to answer, you don’t get the opportunity as your hands get shifted, both wrists being grasped together in one hand but kept pushed into the plush cushion. This of course determines that it was time to swap to the other side of your neck as you let out a giddy squeal at the harsh nip on the new landclaim. This had all started with your legs thrown up over his shoulders, you know, elevating them and all, but now he’s yanking one leg up again, hooking your knee with his elbow and causing you to throw your head back in a torturous moan at the new, even deeper sensation.
“Still light-headed?” When you shake your head, that you didn't think so he tells you to “Get on top” and “Face that direction,” and that's what does it for him that time, thinking about getting to watch the footage back of you looking so pretty coming undone on his cock. Begging for it.
After a few breathless minutes of pure muscle exhaustion you slump yourself off the couch and take a second to take care of your own needs and comfort - getting changed, going to pee. It's kind of funny how instantly flighty Arthur gets, probably terrified you’ll ask him to stay and cuddle, you come around the doorway to find him by the front door looking like he’s about ready to claw his way out from anxiety.
Of course, he’s just excited to get home. He can’t believe he got away with it, he was even able to move it between rooms and follow the action- so to speak. The close-ups on his regular phone? Oh, he couldn’t wait to get home to pour through them all.
-- Yandere - Jazmine Bean 🎶
“Big things, we’re doing big things here Buck - Can’t you tell?!”
Buck couldn’t answer, of course, not with the gag in his mouth, but he struggled against the binds so that meant something. Arthur decided it meant support for his artistic vision, really selling the sympathy aspect for the audience, because it’s not like his scene partners were giving him anything to work with, a little rigid. Still, it would be a moving scene. Really separate itself from the rest. Get ahead in the game.
“I just have one last question before we move onto the principal photography: Was it worth it?!” Arthur is cackling behind the camera, having to contain it before calling the scene to “Action!” priming the rig and hitting the trigger from behind the lens- Director, tech, and crew. At least he didn’t do the stunts..
So when his friends start acting weird, you notice.
It happens slowly. Too slowly to ignore.
Tommy and Carol glance at you, then at Billy, then away too fast. Neil’s name never comes up around you anymore, but neither does anything real. The conversations stop when you walk into the room. Laughter cuts off like a switch flipped too hard.
Billy notices too.
He gets quieter.
Not distant. Not cold. Just careful in a way that makes your chest ache.
He walks you to class every day now. Waits for you outside your locker. Keeps a hand at the small of your back in crowded halls like he is anchoring himself.
You think it means something.
You think it means you are safe.
You find out the truth on a Thursday afternoon.
You forgot your notebook in the parking lot bleachers after lunch. You go back for it alone, annoyed at yourself, already planning how late you will be to class.
You hear voices before you see anyone.
Billy’s voice is tense. Not angry. Not joking.
“I told you to drop it.”
Tommy laughs. “Relax. It was just a bet. Nobody thought you would actually catch feelings.”
Your stomach drops.
You freeze behind the concrete wall, notebook forgotten, breath caught halfway in your lungs.
Carol says your name. Casually. Like it is nothing.
“She’s really into you, you know. Kinda pathetic how easy it was.”
Billy snaps. “Shut up.”
Tommy scoffs. “What. You gonna pretend this wasn’t about proving a point. You said it yourself. No way she would say yes.”
Your hands start shaking.
Someone laughs again. Someone mentions money. Twenty bucks. Thirty. You do not hear the exact number because your ears are ringing too loud.
Billy’s voice is rough. Desperate.
“I didn’t know it would turn into this.”
Silence stretches.
Tommy sighs. “So what. You gonna tell her. Or just ride it out.”
Billy does not answer fast enough.
That is what breaks you.
You back away slowly, quietly, like you are sneaking out of a room where something precious is being smashed.
By the time you get to the bathroom, you are crying so hard you have to grip the sink to stay upright.
You replay everything.
The jacket on the seat. The way he watched your shoulder. The softness in his voice when he said your name like it mattered.
It was all a game.
Or it started as one.
That almost hurts worse.
Billy finds you after school.
He is smiling when he sees you, relief washing over his face like it always does when you are there. It vanishes the second he looks at you properly.
Your eyes are red. Your posture is closed. You do not step closer.
“Hey,” he says carefully. “What’s wrong.”
You laugh. It comes out sharp and ugly and nothing like you.
“How much?” you ask.
Billy blinks. “What.”
“How much did you win,” you repeat, voice steady even though your chest feels like it is collapsing. “Was I worth twenty. Or did you get more for dragging it out.”
His face drains of color.
“Who told you.”
That is answer enough.
You nod slowly. “So it was a bet.”
Billy steps forward. “It was. But it isn’t. Not anymore.”
You take a step back.
“Do not,” you say quietly. “Do not do that. Do not turn this into some redemption speech.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frantic now. “I never meant to hurt you. I swear to god. It started stupid. I was stupid.”
You look at him. Really look at him.
The boy who burns too hot. Who never thinks past the next second. Who did not expect to care and did anyway.
“That does not make it better,” you say. “That makes it worse.”
Billy’s voice cracks. “I fell in love with you.”
You flinch.
Not because you do not feel something back.
Because you do.
And now it is poisoned.
“You do not get to say that,” you whisper. “Not after lying to my face.”
“I was going to tell you,” he says. “I just needed time.”
“You had time,” you say. “Every ride. Every look. Every time you touched me and let me believe it was real.”
Billy’s eyes shine. He looks wrecked. Unmasked. Terrified.
“It is real,” he says. “I am real with you.”
You shake your head, tears finally spilling again.
“I do not know how to trust what is real anymore.”
The words hit him harder than anything else you have ever said.
You step around him, not running, not dramatic, just done.
Billy does not grab you.
He lets you walk away.
That night, the Camaro sits untouched in his driveway.
Billy stares at the ceiling, replaying every moment where he could have chosen differently.
For the first time in his life, he realizes something worse than losing a fight.
Part 1 https://www.tumblr.com/masterofmunson/801001994787667968/the-girl-he-wasnt-supposed-to-fall-for-the-bet?source=share
.”
Billy Hargrove is not gentle.
He’s loud, reckless, all heat and swagger. He burns too hot and too fast and leaves smoke behind him everywhere he goes.
But the next week, something shifts.
It starts small. Almost invisible.
Billy shows up to chem early. Not on time...early. He’s sitting in his seat, the lab manual open, pencil in hand. When you walk in, he doesn’t smirk. He just… looks at you.
Not like you’re a challenge or a joke.
Like he’s taking inventory.
“Morning,” you say, cautious but polite.
Billy grunts something that might be a greeting. His eyes flick to your shoulder, checking, making sure the bruise is gone. He looks away quickly when he catches himself.
You notice, but you don’t comment.
You’re used to Billy being a lot of things. Concerned isn’t one of them. You don’t know what to do with it.
Class starts. You half-expect him to slack off again, or flirt with some girl from across the room, or ignore the worksheet entirely.
But Billy is focused.
Actually focused.
When you explain a step in the procedure, he listens. When you hand him the beaker, he takes it carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll break something important.
At one point, your hands brush. You pull back quickly.
Billy doesn’t.
His fingers flex like he wants to reach for you. He stops himself.
You pretend not to notice the way his jaw clenches.
A Few Days Later
Rumors spread fast in Hawkins High.
Rumors about Billy spread faster.
By Wednesday, people have decided you’re either:
Billy’s new target
Billy’s new toy
Or someone Billy will chew up and spit out by Friday
You ignore it, because ignoring things is what you’re good at.
Billy pretends to ignore it.
He’s not good at it.
You’re grabbing books out of your locker when a group of girls passes by, ones who used to giggle whenever Billy walked near.
“Poor thing,” one says loudly. “She has no idea what he’s like.”
Another snickers. “He’ll get bored. He always does.”
You keep your eyes on your locker, refusing to react.
Billy hears everything.
He’s halfway down the hallway before he realizes he’s moving. He steps in, slamming his locker shut just a little too hard, the metal echoing like a threat.
The girls jump.
Billy doesn’t even look at them ... he looks at you.
“You ready?” he asks, like nothing happened.
You nod. “Yeah. Just need to grab a pencil.”
The girls scurry away.
Billy watches them until they’re gone, shoulders tense, breath uneven, the vein in his temple pulsing.
“Billy…” you say gently. “I can handle them.”
He scoffs. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean they get to talk.”
You pause.
“You don’t have to defend me.”
He looks at you, really looks at you, and something unguarded crosses his face before he masks it.
“Maybe I want to.”
You open your mouth, but he walks ahead before you can respond.
His ears are red.
The Ride
You shouldn’t get in Billy Hargrove’s car.
It’s a bad idea. Everyone knows it.
Your friends side-eye the Camaro like it’s a black hole. Steve hesitates every time he sees you heading that direction.
But Billy keeps offering.
And you keep saying yes.
Today, he waits for you leaning against the hood, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He looks like trouble wrapped in denim.
You can feel the eyes on you as you walk over.
“Rough day?” Billy asks.
You shrug. “Normal day.”
He opens the passenger door for you.
That’s new.
You blink. “Uh… thank you.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but he looks away too fast.
When you get in, you see a jacket folded on the seat — his — moved just for you.
Also new.
He drives with one hand on the wheel, rings glinting in the afternoon light. The radio hums low. It’s almost peaceful.
Almost.
“What happened to your shoulder?” he asks suddenly.
You turn to him. “I told you. I bumped into a shelf.”
“Yeah, but how hard were you walking? Jesus.”
You laugh softly. “Why do you care?”
He doesn’t answer.
Billy tightens his grip on the wheel until the leather creaks.
“Just… don’t like seeing you hurt,” he mutters.
You look out the window to hide the way your stomach flips.
He glances at you, barely, quickly, like he’s afraid the moment will bite him, then looks back at the road.
You’re closing up the store where you work, sweeping, counting registers, flipping off lights one by one.
You step outside into the cool air, tired and ready to go home.
Billy is leaning against the brick wall.
You jolt. “Billy? What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, but something is tight in his shoulders. “Picking you up.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You don’t have to ask.”
You should be annoyed. You should tell him you’re fine, that he doesn’t need to babysit you.
But something in his face stops you.
Billy looks… unsettled.
Not angry. Not cocky.
Lost.
“Is everything okay?” you ask.
Billy hesitates, and Billy never hesitates, then says quietly:
“My dad was home early.”
You don’t know everything about his father, but you know enough to understand.
And suddenly his presence outside your workplace makes sense.
He needed to get away.
He didn’t want to be alone.
And somehow, that meant coming to you.
“Do you want to sit in the car?” you ask, voice soft.
Billy nods once, sharp, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t move now, he won’t move at all.
You walk to the Camaro together.
Inside, the silence is different. Heavy, but not suffocating.
Billy rests his forehead against the steering wheel. His breath shakes once, quietly, like he’s ashamed of it.
You reach out before you can think and touch his arm.
He flinches, not away from you, just from the gentleness.
After a second, he exhales and leans back.
“You don’t have to deal with my shit,” he mutters.
“I don’t mind,” you say.
He looks at you then, eyes tired and raw in a way you’ve never seen.
“You should,” he whispers.
You hold his gaze. “I don’t.”
Billy swallows hard.
For the first time since he started this whole game, he isn’t smirking. He isn’t charming. He isn’t performing.
He’s just… Billy.
And he’s looking at you like he doesn’t understand why you haven’t run yet.
His voice breaks low. “I didn’t mean for this to—”
He stops himself.
You wait.
Billy shakes his head, frustrated with feelings he doesn’t have the language for.
“I don’t want to screw this up,” he finally admits.
“This?” you repeat, heart thudding.
Billy meets your eyes.
“This,” he says, voice rough but sincere. “You.”
The car is quiet.
Too quiet.
You don’t know what to say. Billy doesn’t either. He rubs his thumb over the steering wheel, tense and waiting, for rejection, for confusion, for anything.
You don’t reject him.
You just say, “Okay.”
Billy frowns. “…Okay?”
You smile softly. “Yeah. Okay.”
Something in his chest loosens, so suddenly, so visibly, that it almost hurts to watch.
Billy turns the key in the ignition, trying to hide the way relief washes over him.
“Good,” he says, softer than he intends. “’Cause I’m not done trying.”
Summary: Billy starts dating you to get under someone’s skin (maybe Steve, maybe Max), but you’re too kind—and he starts catching real feelings. When you pull away, thinking he never actually cared, he finally snaps.
PART 1
Hawkins High wasn’t big enough for Billy Hargrove’s ego.
Everyone knew it.
Billy strutted through the hallways like the school belonged to him, hair perfect, shirt half-unbuttoned like he didn’t own a button that could reach the top. Girls whispered about him the moment he stepped into view; guys whispered too, usually about whether they could take him in a fight. (They couldn’t.)
You were… not part of that.
You weren’t unpopular, but you didn’t orbit the same sun as Billy Hargrove. Your friends were normal, low-drama types. You had a job after school. You kept your grades decent. You didn’t look when Billy walked by.
And that is what started all of it.
It begins with a dare.
Billy was leaning against his locker, spinning his car keys around his finger while his friends talked shit about Steve Harrington. Who had just walked by with you beside him. You were laughing at something Steve said, not flirty but comfortable. Familiar.
“You know her?” one of Billy’s buddies asked.
Billy followed you with his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, because he hadn’t actually noticed you until last week. You were quiet, sure, but not in a fade-into-the-wall way. You listened. You paid attention. You were warm.
Too warm.
And Steve Harrington clearly enjoyed being around you.
Billy clicked his tongue. “Yeah. She’s friends with the little freaks Harrington babysits.”
“Heard she’s into guys who treat her right,” the guy teased. “So that rules you out.”
Billy grinned, sharp and practiced. “You think so?”
“Oh please, Hargrove,” another said. “You couldn’t get a girl like that if you tried.”
Billy’s jaw ticked.
He didn’t care about you, not personally, not then. But being told he couldn’t have something?
That was gasoline to a flame.
“Watch me,” he said.
Not one of them expected him to actually try.
You were at your locker, shoving textbooks inside when a shadow leaned over your shoulder.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You jumped, smacking your head on the metal above you. “Ow— what? Oh. Billy.”
He smirked like he’d trained for it. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yes you did,” you muttered, rubbing your head.
Billy blinked. Not many girls talked to him like that.
He leaned against the lockers, casual but calculated. “Harrington said you’re looking for a chem partner.”
You frowned. “I never said—”
“Good,” he interrupted. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“You did now.”
You stared at him. He stared right back like this was the most normal interaction in the world.
“Why me?” you finally asked.
Billy shrugged. “You’re smart. And I’m charming. Thought we’d make a good team.”
He left before you could argue, leaving you confused and slightly annoyed.
He didn’t expect the next thing:
You didn’t chase him. You didn’t blush.
You didn’t look back at him once he walked away.
That was new.
And infuriating.
He started showing up places you were.
At the store where you worked.
In the parking lot after school.
In the hallway during your free period.
It was subtle at first. If you were paying attention, he’d lean against something, looking bored until you passed by. If you said hi to someone else, he’d stare too long.
But you weren’t giving him anything.
You were polite, sure.
Nice.
But neutral.
And Billy didn’t know what to do with neutral.
One day he followed you out to the student lot.
“You avoiding me?” he asked.
“No,” you said honestly. “I just don’t really know you.”
Billy opened his mouth, ready to throw out the usual flirty line, but something stopped him. The way you looked at him. Clear-eyed, steady, not impressed or scared—took the words right out of his mouth.
“Huh,” he said, like he’d just discovered something unexpected. “Guess we’ll fix that.”
The next week, he actually works with you in chem. Not just showing up ... actually doing work. He doesn’t talk much; he watches.
He watches how you treat people.
How you help a kid who dropped their papers.
How you smile at the teacher when you hand in homework.
You are the opposite of everything in Billy’s house.
And he hates that he notices.
One day after class, you slide the finished lab report across the desk.
“Here. You should look it over before we turn it in.”
Billy blinks. “You’re letting me see it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Nobody trusts him like that. Ever.
He folds the paper slower than he needs to. “Thanks.”
You smile, small but real.
And just like that, Billy feels something he refuses to acknowledge tightening in his chest.
Someone sees you getting into his Camaro after school (you needed a ride home—he insisted, smirking, “don’t worry, I won’t bite unless you ask”).
People whisper.
Girls who wanted Billy glare at you.
Steve looks confused and a little worried.
You shrug it off, because you still think this is just… Billy being Billy.
Billy, meanwhile, can tell you don’t see what he’s doing.
And that bothers him more than it should.
His friends check in.
“Yo, Hargrove,” one of them calls. “So what’s the deal with that girl? You in yet?”
Billy smirks automatically—but it drops fast.
“No. Not yet.”
“You losing your touch?”
“Thought this was for fun.”
“Or was Harrington right about you going soft?”
Billy’s stomach twists. Not from the teasing—he can handle that. But because for the first time, he’s not sure this is “for fun” anymore.
He shoves the guy lightly. “Relax. She’ll fall for it.”
He says it loud enough for them to hear.
But quietly enough that he almost convinces himself too.
The next afternoon, you show up at school with a bruise on your shoulder from bumping into your shelf at home.
Billy sees it instantly.
“What happened?” he asks, voice too sharp.
“Oh—nothing. I just hit something.”
He steps closer. Too close. “Who?”
You blink at him. “I said it was nothing.”
Billy realizes what he looks like—angry, concerned, protective—and steps back fast. He clears his throat.
“Right. Whatever. Just… watch where you’re going.”
You walk away, confused.
Billy watches you leave with something heavy in his chest that feels nothing like a game.
And for the first time, he thinks:
Shit.
I’m in trouble.
Summary: Your coworker is a serial killer recreating tapes off an old snuff film. His reaction to you finding out isn't what it seems.
(If this does well I'll do part 2 with smut. Sorry if this was too short. I know it isnt 100 percent accurate to the film nd whatnot but oh well, decided to start writing again and start with Arthur since no ones written on him yet. Feedbacks are welcomed too!)
Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, kinks, etc.
"How is it like working for Kino?"
I hum looking at my best friend Margot who turns to glance at me as we sat outside the building since I passed by to leave her lunch since her shift would start soon.
"Umm…well its not for everyone"
She awkwardly laughs and nods her head,
"There's a lot of shitty content to watch all day that'll make you want to burn your eyes out after a while, stupid challenges, home made porn, people going to buy whatever is trending to make their miserable lives less miserable"
I nod going along with what she's saying. "Cool cool so…any interesting stuff?
She raised her brow looking at me, "interesting like?"
I shrug my shoulders, "like…gore?"
Margot hums and leans back, thinking for a moment before answering. "Honestly yeah, it's fucked up. Like, really fucked up. I mean, some of that shit is probably real. And the fact that people upload it and watch it… it's just sick…i genuinely don't think all of it is fake as people think"
"You truly think some may be fake?"
She sighs, running a hand through her hair.* "I don't want to believe it, but… yeah. Some of it has to be real. The stuff that looks too… professional. Like, it's not just some shaky phone video. It looks like… I don't know, like it was planned." She paused. "…Why are you so interested in this?"
Shit…I shake my head and chuckle lightly. "Just wanted some input on someone who works at Kino i suppose
Margot relaxed slightly, buying my casual response. She smiles, "Oh right, of course. Well, yeah… Kino gets some pretty heavy stuff too. But they have stricter rules than most platforms. Still see some fucked up shit though." She takes another sip of the coffee i brought to her.
I decide its best to not ask more about the whole gore ordeal or she'll think im insane, talking about live leak, ogrish, rotten.com or bestgore…normal people dont talk about that shit.
"Anyway..wanna hang out next week? We can watch one of those comedy films youve been wanting to catch up on?
She smiles wide, completely forgetting the dark turn the conversation took. "God yes, please. I need a laugh. Want me to bring popcorn?" She grins, setting her coffee aside. "You know what? Fuck yeah, let's do that. Next Saturday work?"
"Next Saturday" I nodded with a smile
She nods back, smiling happily. "Awesome. Okay, I gotta get back to work. Talk to you later!" She waves and grabs her bag leaving me alone. As she walks back to her office, she shakes her head slightly, wondering why I was so interested in the darker side of the internet.
"So anyway, do you think you can help me on this phone or what? Ive gone to other stores and they keep saying it won't work.*
I heard a customer rambling on as I listened to them from behind my desk, I fake a smile as I try help them calm down.
"O-Of course just let me have a look at your phone and I'll get it all done on my computer"
The things I have to do to help shitty people and their shitty problems…after around half an hour I fixed the issue and the customer left with everything fixed but my sanity.
I sigh relaxing back onto my seat, "I don't get paid enough for this shit"
A chuckle was heard from the other end of the room. "I agree…customers can be a real pain in the ass"
I turn my head and smile at my coworker, "You're the only one keeping me a bit sane in this shithole, Arthur"
Arthur chuckles as he walks over, leaning against the counter. "Tell me about it. These people can be so fucking annoying."
He glances at the clock. "Only a few more hours left in our shift though. You gonna stick around for our smoke break?"
"Fuck yes" I nod my head, since we have our usual smoke in the back where we hang out for a bit and get to know just a little about each other.
Around half an hour later we were out in the back smoking as we played a game to make it pass time, *"Alright then…truth or dare?
Arthur looks over, "Dare." He leans back against the wall.
"I dare you to sing for me..maybe some rock…something from Scorpions maybe?" *I smirk knowing he won't but I don't mind.
He awkwardly chuckles, "I'm a terrible singer, I don't do singing, so…truth or dare?" He asks me.
I scoff, "You could pass for someone from the 80's maybe..fine truth"
"Whats the most shocking thing you've ever seen?" Arthur keeps his eyes on me
Oh where to start, what happened to Margot's sister, a guy being gunned down by certain groups, peo0le taking advantage of innocent people and making their deaths horrible and playing with their lives. How nothing truly shocks me anymore, and podcasts don't do justice on how actually despicable humanity is.
I hum faking a smile at him, "Nothing"
Arthur raised an eyebrow and adjusted his glasses pushing them back on his face, "Nothing? I find it hard to believe"
Shrugging my shoulders I faked what I said. "Yeah, nothing"
He seems to think exactly on his next words as he taps a pen against the desk and whispers.
"You…have heard of these videos going around? People think they're fake, I think otherwise..those gore videos"
Arthur says almost sounding true to himself and not with his almost cheerful nerdy voice he uses, something seems the slightest different if paid close attention.
I stare at him and play along, "Oh really? I havent actually seen anything trending of that sorts" i lie again and add, "I actually think they're fake..they're always fake"
Arthur's blue eyes look to my pen before he shifts his eyes away and smiles a little, as he fixes his glasses again.
"You'll see soon"
The day went by and I had to close up shop this time since Arthur claimed he was getting sick and i noticed him a tiny bit anxious when he accidently cut his palm and saw the blood. So I was on my own locking up the store.
"Just great…" I scoff as i glare down at my flip phone seeing it ran out of battery, I curse under my breath and shoved it into my pocket before starting to walk back home.
The streets were empty and quiet. I quietly walk glancing over my surroundings as I quickened my pace, just wanting to be at home safe and sound, just when I was rounding up a corner I felt arms grabbing me from behind.
I began moving around trying to escape, I glanced bsck to quickly see a man dressed in black, wearing a creepy white but simple mask and eye contact lenses?
I quickly anded a punch on the guy and began running off forgetting my bag and running up ahead and going into hiding, panting as I hid and covered my mouth when I saw the man up ahead.
Keeping my mouth shut covered by my hands, my eyes followed as the man quietly looked his surroundings seeming calm as he walked away. Slowly I lowered my hands and peek my head out from where I was hidden.
Quietly I took a step out, one footstep, three then five more…
I hummed and felt a sharp pain on my neck, I touched my neck and suddenly felt…dizzy…I slowly turned back seeing the masked man behind me, I cursed and immediately fell onto my back, blacking out onto the pavement…
My head was aching a bit, ears buzzing as i slowly opened my eyes, remembering slowly what happened…I looked around seeing mannequins in a room with me.
A basement of sorts?
"Mmm"
I realized my mouth was taped, I was also tied to a chair, my legs taped and my hands also. I furrow my brows looking around and realizing something…
I'm in that scenario. The display of mannequins from those videos, the red colored tape on them, from the corner of my eye I can see blood splatter on a white door. I try moving my legs and hands.
"Now now don't get so worked up, you just arrived"
I slowly turn my head and squint to try and see behind the light, a camera right in front of me but not recording, but a man behind it. The footsteps got closer as the shakily breathed for a few long seconds and chuckled darkly.
"You are my guest..my videos are fake mmm? You think that is fake?* the masked man points with his gloved hand at a head by the corner all bloody with no face, blood now dried up.
Slowly I turn to look back at him.
"Such a naughty girl you are, and here I thought we were getting along" he hums and slowly takes the mask off, revealing him…Arthur.
"Surprise, (Y/N)?" He smiles tilting his head looking down at me and kneeling down.
I stare at him with many questions going through my head and he shakes his head and taps my forehead.
"So many thoughts going through that pretty head of yours, i know I know…people are loving me! And don't think I know you're been watching my content…"
He stands back up snd starts taking off the red contacts and setting them aside as he sighs snd runs a hand through his hair and glances back at me.
"People are loving my work and you are too, aren't you?
He steps back closer to me and takes off the tape off my mouth, he hums and tilts my chin up to look at him.
"You are as sick as me…getting off of it" he hums licking his lips, as his thumbs brushes my lower lip.
I lean and lightly bite it and smirk a bit, my cheeks turning pink, my coworker being the one making those videos? How didnt I see figure it out before.
I smirk looking up into his blue eyes, as he kept looking down making a noise.
"So it was you all along…how fun"
Arthur hums a bit surprised to see me almost completely unfazed, he reaches for a knife undoing the tape on my legs
"You get off on this stuff huh...you're sick" he lowly chuckles and his hands slowly makes its way to my neck lightly holding me as his other hand holds a camera and leans down my ear.
Summary: Your friend’s suggestion for stress relief leads you to somewhere you’d never even thought of before, the sex shop on the outskirts of town, Lovecraft’s Pleasures. Billy’s the best employee they’ve got, and he’s always down to help his customers with a hands on experience with the merchandise, especially if they’re you.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fingering, use of toys(vibrator), seedy sex shop activities, use of pet names(sugar, angel, sweetheart, etc.), some religious guilt/religious themes, slight angst at the end, Billy’s a sex shop employee, feel like that’s all you need to know.
WC: 4000+
AN: Just wanted to post something special for our boys birthday, love that guy so much.
It was a usual day for Billy at Lovecraft’s Pleasures; flirting with customers, stocking the shelves, watching the same men and women of Hawkins who claimed to be holy and virtuous buy skimpy lingerie and fuzzy handcuffs in attempt to revive their dead bedrooms. He greeted some lonely housewife with a smirk and a wink, helped her find the lingerie section even though she clearly didn’t need help.
Thirty minutes until Billy can close and the shop is empty, he's almost tempted to close early and get the hell out of here, maybe head to the bar— that is until he hears the doorbell chime and he sees you. He can’t believe his widening eyes, his jaw slack. You, with your hoodie pulled over your face to hide your shame, your eyes big and doe-like as you take in the aisles of sex toys, fetish gear, lingerie, pleaser heels, etc.
You don't even register Billy, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of things that would make your mother faint if she knew you were in here, she’d call you a filthy sinner for even thinking about buying something from this store. After a moment of shock, you finally pull yourself together and walk further into the store with uneasy steps, eyes darting over the salacious items on the shelves like you’re expecting the dildos to jump out and bite you.
Billy smirked to himself as he watched you from behind the counter. He remembers you from high school, sweet little christian girl, went to church Sundays and Wednesdays, brought your bible with you everywhere like a shield, avoided guys like him like the plague. Too virtuous to give anyone the chance to even take you out on a date, and Billy least of all.
While you were busied looking over the selection of fetish gear with a mortified sort of fascination, he moved toward you casually, approaching from behind, eyes drawing lazily over your figure, those sexy fuckin’ legs on display in a mid-thigh length skirt with the cutest fucking lacy hem.
“You need any help there, sweetheart?” He drawled, hands shoved into his back pockets to stop himself from reaching for you and scaring you off for good.
"Tell me.... what's Hawkins resident church mouse doin' in a place like this? You get tired of being so uptight or something?" He teases lightly, watching your flustered state with an intense gaze, thinks it's adorable.
You huff, arms crossing over your chest like a barrier, attempting to save face. "I- um... I guess." You shrug, staring fiercely at the stained, dingy asbestos tiles that line the floor. "Just uh, I don't... know what any of this stuff…does.." You mutter out, feeling your heart pound against your chest, shame curling in your stomach as your face heats up.
Why were you even here? Stupid Nancy. She'd convinced you it was fine, it's for stress relief. Release some of that tension you always seemed to carry in your shoulders. And you knew your mother would have you repenting for this, for even being here, but you couldn't wait for marriage to feel that release. Besides, It's not wrong if you're technically not touching yourself... right?
At your words, Billy grinned like the cat who ate the canary, he couldn’t believe his luck. He leans in, taking half a step forward, his voice dropping lower into that sensual drawl. "I mean, I do work here, doll. Let's find you something fun, huh?" His hand hovers over your lower back as he jerks his chin toward the wall at the back, guiding you through the store.
He's got this patience that you don't remember from high school as he runs through the toys and what all they do, he's surprisingly good at his job, like he actually seems to enjoy it. He’s knowledgeable, takes his job more seriously than you would have ever thought considering he didn’t really take high school that seriously. And he definitely enjoys the way you blush and squirm when he gets too close, and you get a whiff of that musky, cedar cologne he’s been wearing for years.
"This one would be my recommendation." He murmurs from behind you, reaching to grab a box containing a vibrator, something simple and easy to use, "It's cheap, powerful, hits all the right spots for that.... 'stress relief'."
You blush hard, your face heating further at his suggestion, eyeing the box warily, the lewd pictures on the box were just the filthy cherry on top. You swallowed thickly, your breathing ragged at the feeling of his heat behind you.
“I—uh…I mean— i-it’s just a little…intimidating.”
You managed to squeak out your words, and his smirk grew unbeknownst to you. His hand just barely skimmed your hip, testing. "Y'know... I could always help you out. No issue for an old friend."
Your breath hitched audibly, eyes widening at the implications in his suggestion.
I mean, you knew Billy was a playboy back in school, but this... this felt way out of your comfort zone. You stammered for a response, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, until you just couldn't handle it. Billy stared, dumbfounded, as you turned away and all but ran out of the store like he'd just threatened your life. He watched through the display windows as you scurried to your car, hyperventilating.
"Well, shit." He huffed, smirking despite the situation. Who knew all it took was one dirty little suggestion for you to tuck tail and run? With your car screeching out of the parking lot, he set the vibrator back on the shelf with a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.
You'd be back. Sooner rather than later.
And true to his suspicions, three days later your car came rolling into the parking lot, this time 10 minutes before close. He smirked to himself, watching your hurried stride like someone might see you waltzing into the devious sex shop and cast you out of the church. Your dress was pure white linen, a stark contrast of the darkness of the night behind you.
You hated him. Hated how the idea of him...helping... made your stomach churn in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Actually, it invaded your mind so badly you couldn't focus on Sunday’s sermon. Your mother noticed, but you brushed it off as exhaustion. Which wasn’t necessarily a lie. You could hardly sleep, laying in bed would leave you alone with your thoughts, and they were far from pure.
The butterflies in your stomach flying unusually low as he greeted you with that sinful smirk, like he just knew that you'd come again. "You're back." He noted, hand sliding under the counter and pulling out the very same vibrator from last time, setting it on top of the counter as you took a few cautious steps closer.
"Y-Yeah..." You managed to breathe, fingers twisting in the skirt of your dress, the cash in your palm soaking up the sweat.
His smirk deepened as he braced his hand on the counter, the muscles of his arm flexing, catching the light just right. God, was he always so muscular? “You need help with that, sweetheart? Or are you gonna figure it out yourself like a big girl?”
You wanted to go for a scowl, for offended, but then your eyes flicked down to his arms again and it probably just looked pathetic to him. "Just—ring it up."
He chuckled as you slapped the cash on the counter, the sound low and deep, vibrating through your bones in a way that made your scalp tinge. "That's not a no." He sing-songed under his breath, ringing up the vibrator.
As you snatched the box off the counter, he noticed something. You could have just left. You gave exact change. And yet—
You hesitated.
You cursed yourself mentally, face flushed under his penetrating gaze, fingers tightening around the lewd, cardboard box as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, only to look away a second later, shifting on your feet.
The silence was heavy, charged. He found it just as amusing watching you squirm under his gaze as it was delicious. He knew he'd never get you to outright admit that you wanted it—wanted him—and he wasn't opposed to some... gentle guidance. So finally, he decided to grant you a little bit of mercy.
"How about this," He started, voice dropping to a low purr as he leaned over the counter, his face just too close to yours for comfort. "I'm gonna close up, and if you want some help with that, you can go wait in the back room for me."
Hypnotizing blue eyes flicked meaningfully down to your lips, his fat, pink tongue darting out to wet his own before dragging his gaze back to your eyes. "Sound good?"
The muscles in your jaw feathered, heart beating out of your chest at the proximity, he's close enough you can smell the musky, cedar-y cologne and cigarette scent that seemed to be his trademark, something distinctly Billy.
"Don't count on it." You muttered finally, finding your voice far too breathy for your own liking as you turned on your heel and unfortunately—made your way to the back of the store, toward the black curtain beneath the 'Video Arcade' neon sign.
He grinned at that, pushing off the counter to close up, an almost giddy anticipation buzzing in his system as he trailed the aisles with a casual gait, facing the shelves, taking his time just to make you squirm for longer.
Your eyes widened as you stepped through the curtain and slowly padded down the hall, your heart beat in your ears, until something else hit your ears. The hall was dimly lit, dingy, only neon lights and marquees lighting the room of booths, three on each side, and the cacophony of pornographic moans, grunts and screams echoed through your head. And a weird addition of a pinball machine in the corner. You read through the marquees, one on each booth— ‘Debbie Does Dallas’, ‘Flesh And Laces’, ‘Taboo’, ‘Bad Girls’—and it felt like you’d stepped into an entirely different world. One you didn’t feel the least prepared for.
But finally, finally he cuts the lights in the main store, locking the front door before he made his way to you. Fuck, you looked almost angelic—your pretty white summer dress shifting around your ankles as you stood with wide eyed mortification (and maybe a hint of fascination) the sounds of all the films echoing from the booths, the slight sheen of sweat forming on your skin glowing under the dim lights.
God, you fill out that dress perfectly.
"You see something you like, pretty girl?" He murmurs, making you whip around to find him face to face.
You swallow hard, fidgeting with the corners of the box as he makes his slow approach, feeling almost like a rabbit hunted by a wolf. The thickness of his thighs stretching the denim of his jeans taught, like one wrong move would rip them at the seam. His eyes solely focused on you as he closes the distance, close enough you take an instinctive step backward, only for your back to hit the wall of the booth behind you. The one playing ‘Flesh and Laces’.
The casual smirk is gone, replaced with an intense, almost pensive expression as his hand lifts, tugging at the little bow at the bust of your dress. "Didn't mention it earlier, but you look damn good in this little thing."
You blushed harder somehow, breathing shallow as you forced yourself to meet his gaze, and he swears he could have died—those same big, doe-like eyes looking up at him with a mixture of nerves and shameful desire... and yet you trusted him.
"So... you got two options." He continued, voice a low seductive purr as he casually planted a hand on the wall beside your head, caging you in as the other gently pulls the box from your death grip. "Either I put you in my lap in this here booth and make you scream with this thing," He wiggles the box, the toy inside jostling slightly, "or we can dive head first into debauchery and I bend you over the pinball machine. Your choice."
Your breath catches at the second option, lips parting to speak but with his proximity it feels nearly impossible.
"I-" You manage one—count em, one—syllable before it melts into a soft little whine. He's not even touching you and you feel like the seat of your panties might start dripping.
That little noise makes his pupils blow wider, a dark smirk on his lips. "C'mon, pretty girl...use your words."
You want to glare at him, but his hand slides off the wall, absently tracing the thin strap of your dress, stepping even closer until your chest brushes his. He's not playing fair, and he knows it.
"I— I want you to..." Your voice comes out a shaky whisper, and he's like a shark scenting blood in the water, rough fingertips trail over your collarbone as your voice tightens, looking away, "...want you to use it... o-on me..."
He grins like he's won the fucking lottery.
His fingers slide up your throat, touch gentle but firm as he takes your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze again. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"
And before you can retort, he's leaning in and you close the distance without a second thought.
He kisses you slow, filthy, like he's got all the time in the world to make you melt into a puddle of goo. He pressed forward, pinning you between him and the booth, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, under the sweat damp hair as his fat tongue presses into your mouth, deepening the kiss and the taste of him—cinnamon gum and cigarettes—sends a heady rush to your head.
When he pulls back with a gentle nip to your bottom lip, he's breathing hard, like he's trying to restrain himself, eyes half-lidded as he opens the door behind you, "In." He orders, slightly strained.
You're too dazed from the utter filth of how his tongue tangled with yours in a slow, painfully sensual dance to comprehend much until his hand squeezes the back of your neck, "In." Firmer this time.
You obey without a second thought then, climbing into the booth and right onto the vinyl padded bench as he stays planted outside for a moment. The screen in front of you plays a scene of a young nurse with her mouth on an older man’s…you know what, but then the sound of impatient hands tearing into thin cardboard and plastic takes your attention. The trash haphazardly thrown to the floor, batteries put in, and then he's in after you.
Once the door is shut, it feels almost claustrophobic. Billy might not be the tallest guy, but he's built like a brick shithouse, blocking the screen entirely. Thick body filling up the space without apology as he tugs your leg, hard enough to make you gasp and lean back against the wall behind you.
You let out a soft huff, something like nervous amusement as he moves to one knee between your legs, coming eye level with you, once blue eyes looking nearly black in the dim light. "You got no idea," He ducked down, speaking through a barrage of wet kisses along the line of your neck, "how fuckin' long I've wanted this."
That catches your attention, but you don't necessarily have time to dwell on it when he slips in a sharp nip at your jawline that draws a gasp from your lips. His hands sliding up the outside of your thighs, hiking the skirt of your dress up to your stomach before he pulls back to get a good look at you, pulling the wand from his back pocket.
"Last chance to back out, doll." He warns roughly, unable to keep his hands off of you for a second. Thick fingers tracing the edge of your panties, little white cotton things with a tiny pink bow below the navel and pink lace trimming.
Your chest heaving, eyes glued to his face, the pure desire written all over his features, it makes your stomach flip. Not just that, a whole floor routine across the mat. "N-no... I don't wanna— I don't wanna back out..."
"Atta girl." The smirk that crawls over his lips is dangerous as he shifts—pulling you up and in a flash he's the one sitting on the bench with your back to his chest. "Spread those pretty legs for me."
He could manhandle you into position, sure, but he wanted to see how well you'd obey, and you did—immediately. Your legs spreading over his thick, meaty thighs your dress hiked up.
His thumb brushed over the dampness of your panties, chuckling quietly as you shivered and gasped at the simple touch. "Damn, you're sensitive." He muses, almost to himself as he applies slightly more pressure, rubbing tight little circles over the damp cotton.
Your head spins at the barely there pleasure, sparks shooting up your spine. "Not sens— fuck!" The curse spilled from your lips too fast to catch it as the head of the vibrator is pressed to the saddle of your panties, right against the throbbing heat between your legs. No warning, just a gentle buzzing and a pleasure that shoots through your core.
His eyes darken as he watches your back arch off his chest, tongue sliding out to wet his lips. His smirk never fades, and that first little moan that slips out was heaven. "That's it, sweetheart. Lemme hear you."
And you did, very, very loudly.
"Oh, my God!" You gasped out, thighs already beginning to tremble as he held your legs open, leaning back to watch the way you crumbled with just a little vibrator.
"Shh, it ain't that bad, sugar. Just breathe." His words were simultaneously sweet and mocking, an undertone of condescension that made your cheeks redden further. Thankfully, he gave you a reprieve, pulling the vibrator away.
"Lift your hips for me, baby."
You panted, head spinning, but obliged with shaky nod, rough hands teasing their way under the waistband, dragging them down your thighs before he shoved them in his pocket. He shifts you again, manhandling you in the enclosed space until you're sitting across his lap instead, your back to the booth wall, legs still spread wide for him.
"Fuck..." He marveled at the sight of your slick folds, the light thatch of curly hair at the top of your mound. His calloused fingers slid through your slick, a slow, teasing up and down. "You get this wet just for me? And here I thought you were just an innocent little church mouse." His words were teasing, almost mocking, and somehow that was even hotter.
"Shut up..." You gasped out, fingers gripping at his shoulder, grounding yourself as he pressed one thick finger inside your tight cunt, his smirk growing at the mewling sounds he can pull out of you.
He outright ignores your request for him to shut up, just loves to hear himself talk apparently as he takes you apart. "So tight, sweetheart. Can feel you squeezin' me already." His murmuring voice rumbled against your skin as he presses his forehead to the side of your head, situating himself before the buzzing starts up again, making your breath hitch.
"Shhh, 's nothin' scary, baby... you can take it for me, can't you?"
You bit your lip, but nodded anyways, no matter how uncertain you were feeling. It wasn't a sin if he wasn't actually fucking you, right?
The moment the head of the vibrator pressed against your clit, set at a low level, but it was still enough to make your body lock up with pleasure, your eyelashes fluttering, pretty pink lips parted with soft, breathy moans.
Billy reveled in this, in being the one to bring you to the dark side, the one to make the innocent church girl lose herself to pleasure. He slowly added another finger, pumping them slowly as the vibrator worked its magic. You squirmed, but his free hand gripped your hip tight, voice coming out in a sensual growl.
"Didn't say you could move, sweetheart. Stay still for me, yeah?"
Your breath stutters in your chest, and yet you nod, willing your body to stay still as he keeps the vibrator pressing firm to your clit, fingers curling just so into the the spongy spot inside you, forcing a moan from your chest. He's not even paying attention to the porno on the screen, even if it is Shauna Grant, it's just you. Your pretty face twisting with pleasure as your thighs tremble, your soaked pussy clenching around his fingers like you're trying to suck them in further.
"Doing so good for me, angel. That feel good?" His voice is dark and gravely in your ear, and you couldn't help but nod dumbly, soft, breathy moans spilling from your parted lips.
The heat swirled in your belly, growing hotter and hotter with every thrust of his finger, every hitch of your breath when the head of the vibrator presses just right. And you could feel it, your eyes widening as your body felt as if it was ramping up to something explosive. A heady mix of bliss and nerves.
And Billy could tell you were about to cum, just from his touch, just from him. His lips grew into a dark grin, "You gonna cum for me, already? C'mon, soak my fuckin' fingers, angel..."
The words were like gasoline thrown onto the fire, he's always so fucking filthy with his words and right now, with his fingers curling to hit just the right spot, his palm pressing the vibrator against your sensitive clit—you break, and you break hard.
Your breath stutters in your chest as your back arches sharply, his arm immediately locks around your waist, keeping you trapped in his lap as your walls squeeze around his fingers like you're trying to keep him in there, you can't keep quiet anymore, not with the electricity shooting up your spine and through every nerve ending in your body. Billy groans at the sight of you coming apart on his thick fingers, his cock straining against his jeans at the sight of you—pure, innocent, gorgeous you—trembling and moaning in his arms.
He finally takes mercy, pulling the vibrator and his fingers away and turning it off before pulling your limp, trembling form against his chest. His glistening fingers rise to your lips, smelling your own release on his fingers before the pads press to your lips.
"Clean em up for me, sweetheart." His voice is gravel and even still, it sends a pulse of heat down between your legs. You obey without a second thought, eyes half-lidded and lips parting. Tongue swirling around his digits, tasting yourself on his skin with a soft moan.
He pulls them slowly from your lips, watching with dark fascination as your tongue chases them. "Did so good for me, sugar." His thumb brushes your cheek with surprising tenderness, fighting a grin when you lean into the touch. "You alright?"
You give a dazed nod, and that's all he needs. He chuckles low in his chest, a rumbling sound that vibrates against your ear, and you melt into the warm sound. "That's... that was— Jesus Christ..."
You stiffen, when the sudden realization and clarity of the situation hits you like a truck. You blink, your surroundings coming back to you—the sound of the video still playing on the other side of the booth, the hard length of him pressed to your hip, your dress riding up to expose...everything.
Billy's eyebrows furrow as you push yourself up to your feet without a word, the pretty little sundress falling back down around your ankles when you exit the booth. He’s usually the one that leaves like this—after he blows his load, he takes a breather then he’s gone. What the hell?
"Hey—" He's pushing himself up to his feet to follow, watching the way you support yourself on the walls before his hand catches your arm, firm but gentle, stopping you in your place right before you exit the video arcade. His voice is low as he says your name. "Where are you goin'?"
You clench your jaw, avoiding his eyes as you slowly pull from his grasp, guilt and shame and want swirling in your gut. You never should've let him do this, never should have listened to Nancy. Never should have come back. "I—I need to get home... my mother's probably getting anxious."
He exhales slowly, recognizing that he's probably not gonna convince you of anything anymore, so he doesn't push. His voice is gentle, surprisingly so. "Alright. Gotta go out the back door, just gimme a second."
He's gone the next second, out the curtain and grabbing his keys from the front counter and cursing under his breath at the way his cock presses against the cage of denim. Fuckin' blue balls. Gonna have to put those panties of yours in his back pocket to good use when he gets home.
When he leads you to the back door, he's got a new box he snagged from the shelves, this one smaller, fitting in his pocket. The walk around the building is silent and awkward after he locks up, hand hovering over the small of your back like he's afraid to spook you with the heat of his palm.
When you reach your cars under the single street light, he gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you to face him. Fuck, you look so pretty right now it hurts.
"You know where to find me, yeah?"
You swallow hard, hesitantly nodding before he reaches to his back pocket, pressing the box into your hand. His touch lingers just a second too long as he pulls away, leaving heat behind that has nothing to do with the muggy summer night.
"You get home safe, angel."
When he turns, your eyes dart to the way his ass fills out his jeans before you look down at the box in your hand, a small bullet vibrator with a considerably less graphic images on the box. When your gaze flicks back up, he’s shooting you a wink over his shoulder.
He slides into the drivers seat, watching as your taillights disappear down the empty road like you're being chased by the devil himself. And maybe you think you are. He smirks to himself, lighting a cigarette as he leans back in the drivers seat, trying to force his hard-on to fucking go away, but the scent of you clings to him.
You don't moan like a whore on his fingers and forget about him, he's almost too certain you'll be back.
Gambit being d1 cornballer lives in my head rent free. If he sees you’re tired or just down and feeling about yourself he’ll open his arms wide and offer to ‘charge you up’ while doing his eyebrow wiggle. He may or may not have lied about his abilities offering an energy boost -which you knew wasn’t true by the way- as a way to convince your stubborn self to ‘let Gambit make it better.’ You said something witty and rolled your eyes as you reluctantly hugged his sturdy waist. Remy smirked against the top of your head. He was much like you. Distrustful, reserved to the surprise of many, and that drew him in to you. Remy kissed your forehead, palm warm against your back as he rubbed up and down. What do you know…Gambit did make it better.
More specifically, watching him knead beignet dough. you can feel the heat pool in your stomach. Strong, well worked hands taking up a large portion of the soft dough, flour making mess up to his elbows, soft grunts as he kneads the dough into the hard surface of the table. You shamelessly ogle, not that he minds. Large, firm muscle in his forearms moving with each knead of the dough, shadows moving over the dips and curves. Thank god for short sleeved shirts. Why couldn’t he handle you like that? legs over his shoulders, hands kneading into your thighs. You knew he would it you asked, but just thinking about it made your mind wander and thighs clench.
“can feel you starin’ petit.” he says smoothly. Rough voice breaking the silence as he looked up from the dough. “Gambit knows that look. lemme take care of this first then i’ll give you all the lovin’ you need.”
Tw: Shane is a piece of shit, if you watched the Shield or just some of it you'll know. Abusing his Power as a cop. Rough Sex. Rough Oral.
Dub Con kinda stuff guys.
Slapping each other around a bit...Beware. Mention of a bloody kiss. Creampie (Shanes favorite item on the menu)
And minors do not read please.
⚠️⚠️ ❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥 ⚠️⚠️
Interview time with one of Shanes favorite P.I's.
"I don't know okay.. I swear I didn't hear anything" you sigh, Shane has you pressed between him and his station car, he's always been like that, since you met him, pushy and grabby and overall way too much in your space. He might have squeezed your ass a few times or your breasts... and yeah there was that one time where he made you give him a blow job in the back of his private truck. But other than that? He never took it to actual Sex. And he might be a bit off and uncomfortable but he's never been too rough with you.
He doesn't slap you around or degrade you too much. Sometimes you even think he really likes talking to you.
"Give me something, anything Baby, you don't want me to bust you for hookin' now do you?" He teases.
"I'm not a fucking hooker?!" You try to get away from him but no way, no chance.
"Good luck tryin' to proof that to the Departement darlin' " The evil tease in his voice, the smirk on his face. He makes you sick and at the same time... blowing him wasn't the worst thing you've ever done.
"I really don't have anything Shane! I swear, not a peep at the moment. Not between me and my girls or the idiots we hook up with, alright, I can't help you on this one! Now...let me go" You try to squeeze past him again but he doesn't let you. His hands grab your hips, you can feel his fingers digging into your bones.
"If I find out your lying to me..." Shane warns. He leans in closer, you can feel his breath against your cheek. "I'm going to shove my 9 inches into every fucking hole you got" He pushes you away almost so hard that you go stumbling. But you manage to catch yourself in time. Watching him get in the car and drive off.
Fuck.
You hope that wasn't a real threat because..you just lied to him.
❤️🔥
"SHIT" You try to push the door shut again but no chance, Shane already has his boot and then the rest of his leg in the door. He's not alone either, feeling two strong arms wrap around you from behind. "You lied to me Angel! Im so..- heartbroken! You didn't tell me that TJ came to your fucking house to what..? Get a quickie in and hide his god damn coke?" He asks.
"Really hoping he didn't shove it up your ass but I might have to do a little search just to be sure" He grabs your face to force you to look at him.
"No...no- please I swear it wasn't like that. He didn't hide anything! I promise...Shane.. I promise. I tell you where, I tell you" You beg and thank god he nods, the arms release you, fuck, Vic.
"I got this." Shane tells him and you watch Vic slowly leave. That's either good or really bad.
"So? He fucked you and stashed his shit somewhere. Where?" He huffs.
"He didn't fuck me..." You groan. "He forced me to let him in, cried like a little bitch and told me he put the damn powder into a flour jar in the youth Center...-" You sigh. Thank god that Center is on summer break. "Oh, really? Cause he told me a different Story!" Shit. He found TJ before coming here. "What's his Version?" You ask when he looks around your place, not exactly treating your things kindly.
"His story was that he hid it here after he fucked you from behind sweetie, now I don't care which tale is true here. I just gotta know where the blow is at" He points out. After knocking some of your stuff over he walks back towards you, taking a fistful of your hair and throwing you onto your knees.
"THE YOUTH CENTER! Shane I swear! Flour Box in the kitchen cabinet." You look up at him with pleading eyes. Watching him make a phone call and moments later you hear a car leaving your driveway.
"They are going to check that out but darlin' if that is another lie...." he tugs on your hair as a warning. Sitting down on your couch with a loud sigh, he lets go of your hair to light up a cigarette. "Why did you lie, your blowing this whole god damn thing for me, you ain't gonna get any more paychecks i hope you fucking know that" He huffs.
"Because he was crying...like a Baby....I felt bad but I told him there is no way in hell he's gonna leave this shit here..So he took it over there. That's all there is to it, I didn't know you guys cared so damn much for a brick of coke" You frown. "Hey!" His foot kicks into your side "You got no idea what this is about so shut it" He uses your coffee mug as ashtray at least. This whole waiting and sitting around, him on your couch and you on the floor thing is more than nervewrecking. What if TJ moved it and it's not there? Would he...- would Shane kill you?
When he gets a call you prey a little, not being religous at all, but it can't hurt right?
When he gets off the phone you shake...hands trembling, looking up at him with big eyes. "You got lucky this time, Vic found it." Shane mumbles.
Oh thank fucking god.
"That doesn't mean your off the hook, you lied to me." Shane reminds, you watch him stand up again, grabbing a hold of your shirt and then he draws back his right arm, turns his hand into a fist.
"Please don't..- don't hurt me. I'm sorry, god so so sorry!" You claw at his jeans. "Shane. Let me Show you how sorry, please." You open his belt with a nervous smile, dragging down his zipper. He's simple like that, it will work.
His arm lowers itself and in a matter of seconds he's shoving his cock into your mouth, down your throat. Making you Violently choke on it, sob around it, gag on it, all the things you know he likes. It's better than a beating, and even though you hate his fucking guts you can't help but to moan around him. Show him how good you can be, useful, that you suck cock a lot better without a busted lip.
Shane slowly breaks it off to sit down on the couch, watching you follow and lift your arms onto his lap before your head leans back down.
He is simple like that. Which is great for you, works in your favor. Might mean you will get out of this one smoothly. He tugs on your hair but gently this time, hearing a deep rumble and moan coming out of him turns you on. Oh he's been desperate for this, he didn't get off in a while. You can tell.
But to Shane a blowjob won't be enough, not tonight. He lets you treat his dick like a candy cane for a little while longer before he grabs your head with both hand, lifting it off of his hard and aching actual 9 inch cock. You lick your lips and wipe your mouth when you look up at him, he loves this shit.
"He really didn't screw you? TJ.." He asks.
You wonder why he's so strangely curious about it. But when his hand holds your chin and his thumb wipes softly over your lips you smile genuinely up at him.
"No, fuck no, crying piece of shit like that? Im not that desperate." You huff. Licking along his cock from the base to his tip and watching him throw his head back. "Maybe he said it cause he knew it would get to you?" You suggest.
"Get to me? Why would that get to me? I don't give a shit about you or who you spread your god damn legs for" Shane huffs, he seems really annoyed at that. Botherd. So much so that he shoves you off, pulling his pants back on. Why is he always so weird?
"So the idea of him bending me over and fucking me in the ass doesn't bother you?" You ask curiously. He scoffs at you, getting up from the couch and grabbing his jacket. "No" He huffs loudly.
He's lying.
It totally does bother him. Fuck, but he's been so...ugh. That can't be how he behaves around a woman he actually likes right?
"Are you...jealous?" You get up, a teasing look on your face. "You totally are! But that would mean that you like me and- there is no way because you treat me like dogshit" You point out.
He moves to the door but his hand stays on the handle, not twisting it. You can see how he's breathing faster, the anger on his face, how he seems as if he's aruging mentally with himself right now.
"I'm not, and your right, there is no way. You mean nothin' to me darlin' nothin' . But..- you are into that, you love it when I treat you like that, when I press myself against you, when I grab at you, when I pull your hair and throw you around like some 20$ whore from the street corner." He points out. Hanging his jacket at the door before he takes a step towards you again.
"The more you squirm against me, the stronger that urge in you gets to spit in my face or clock me one the harder you make me baby. That's what you know, that's why you do it" Shane does it again, pushing you into the wall and pressing himself against you.
"Your into women spitting on you?" You question with a laugh. Then the back of his hand connects with your face, not hard enough to leave a bruise but hard enough to make you try and squirm away from him again. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't like that" He huffs back.
And then you spit into his face.
You watch him slowly wipe it off with the back of his hand, and then his tongue licks up your spit from his hand. Fucking god.
Whoever breaks first now admits to what the other accused them of. If he kisses you he's gonna admit that he actually likes you, if you kiss him first you admit that you like being smacked around a little.
Shane kisses you first.
Which is surprising considering you had his dick in your mouth not too long ago. The way he's kissing is so demanding, needy, he wants to possess all of you, your mouth, your body, every fucking inch of you. You push yourself harder against him, moaning softly into his mouth when your tongues press roughly into each other.
When the air thins in your lungs you pull back slowly, searching his eyes. "Jesus Shane, really?" You question. He looks guilty, he looks broken that he admitted to liking you. "Vic wanted me to rough you up, not a whole lot, just enough to make you understand that you can't lie to me, to us." He frowns. "He's gonna be so pissed when he finds out I screwed you instead.." He sighs deeply.
"What would that have done? Just because you are scared of someone doesn't mean you magically start yappin' the truth. It would have done nothing to me except for giving me a Black eye or a busted lip." Your hands stroke over his chest, toying with the buttons on his shirt.
"Your right and I'm sorry that I almost.. -" his hand touches your cheek. He almost did it. That's how much Power Vic and the guys have over him.
"But you didn't Shane, and that little backhanded smack-" You shrug. Feeling his hands tickle your sides "I knew it!" He laughs. "You totally liked it, I'm never wrong about my women" He says proudly.
"Can you just fuck me now, Shane? Mark what's yours? Cause I don't want..TJ or some other fucking gang banger. I want you, I want the Cop that had his hands all over me from the day we met" You kiss his jaw.
"Promised you 9 inches in every hole for that lie of yours didn't I? Let's get to work then" He grabs your pants and practically tears them down, doing the same with your panties but being as gross as he is... He takes them and brings them to his nose and mouth. Taking a deep breath.
"God darlin' how do you manage that scent, that's the greatest smelling pussy I've ever known" He comments, you take Note on how he stuffs your panties into the back pocket of his jeans..fuck.
"Remember that Collin guy? You wanted to know so so badly where he was, you pinned me to the car, I was squirming against you, you didn't leave off me and then you took a hold of my crotch. Pressed two fingers between my legs while I started talking about where he's hiding out at?" You huff.
"Mhm?" His hand moves there again, cupping you and pushing two fingers into you.
"Those are the same panties I wore that day. Washed of course but, I think it's a bit funny." You point out. "If I remember that correctly too.. you were beggin' me to stop, wanna repeat that?" He asks.
You bite your lip, rolling your hips slowly into his touch to simulate squirming against him again. "Shane stop...-" You try to squeeze your legs together but his big hand is in the way.
"STOP...- stop stop..- please I told you where he is, that's all I know" You mimic your voice from back then. The expression on his face is adoreable, he really is an asshole but god he's so fucking hot. The way he moves his fingers into you, so deep and steady.
His other hand lifts your leg up, he starts moving against you as if he's fucking you against the wall but it's still only his two fingers. "You better be honest with me from now on, I can only convince Vic that it was a mistake and you will never do it again one exact time. It won't work a second time..." and suddenly the play pretend turns into the Real Deal again.
"Don't care who's sobbing into your ear, you hear me?" His fingers move harder, rough now, Drilling into you at a not so comfortable angle.
"What's he gonna do if it happens again?" You ask with genuine fear on your face and his silence makes your stomach turn. "I vouch for you, for this one, I'd forgive you a second time, he wouldn't. I don't know how he would handle it. Bust you for hookin' somehow." He takes his hand away from your wet core. Licking his fingers with a loud 'pop' before he undoes his belt and zipper, dropping it all onto the floor.
"Turn around" He nods towards the wall.
"No" You huff, not after what he just said?! That Vic would throw you in jail for something you didn't do if you ever forget to tell the whole truth again?
He scoffs at you, hands grabbing your hips, turning you around and pressing you into the wall. "Shane! Shane don't! Im not done talking about this..." You squirm for Real this time. His ego is sickening.
"Well I am" He grobes your behind roughly, spreading your cheeks apart. When he lets go you can feel his tip at your hole. The wrong fucking hole. "No...no no! Shane! I'm serious this time, no. It's gonna hurt so bad, please don't" You hear him sigh loudly, and then he pushes into your soaked pussy. "FUCK" But a whole lot better than the other option.
The snaps of his hips are brutal, but god it's so good. You hate knowing that a piece of shit like him is so damn good at fucking, but most are, aren't they? You moan loud, hands trying to reach back to make his hips go a tiny bit slower but he simply grabs hold of both of your wrists. "God damn Baby, I should have done this so much sooner" He groans. His other hand smacks your cheeks roughly, spreading you open to watch his cock move in and almost out of you over and over.
"You don't ever fucking lie to me again or im gonna have you like this for a few friends of mine, they ain't gonna make it this good though" He huffs. And this time you really want to push him off, but he Hits the spot. He just does. His tip is thick and heated and you can feel it drag over a spot that just feels incredible deep inside of you. And with that speed? You knew he was fit but that's some Athlete kind of shit.
Your shoulder and face softly ache from being forced into the wall, you'd ask him to move it somewhere else but your pretty sure he doesn't give a shit about it.
"So good, so fucking good Shane" You moan a bit extra intense just for him, even though he really is doing a good job.
"Yeah I knew you'd like that." He grabs your hips with both hands thrusting so hard that you suddenly slam with your face first against the wall. You knew you'd end up with a busted lip somehow.
"Ow!" You groan, holding you chin not wanting to touch your lip.
Shane at least is nice enough to stop fucking you raw for a moment, he pulls out and turns you around, gentle hands holding your face. "Shit im sorry..." He seems like he does feel bad about it, but not for long. "Hold on, Hold that pose" He looks through his pants on the floor and takes out his flip phone. Snapping a pic of your face with his hand holding it. Getting a good shot of your busted lip.
"Sending that to Vic! So he thinks I taught you a lesson" He smirks wide.
"Your unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable Shane." You curse his Name, turning away from him.
"Hey im sorry, but it works doesn't it, I didn't see how close your face was to that edge there im really sorry" He turns your face to look at him. Kissing your busted lip gently, feeling his hard cock press against your hip.
You nod while he apologizes. Smiling up at him when he kisses it better. Only to smack him one back as hard as you can. You can see a look in his eyes, it's burning, you've never seen such a psycho look in someone's eyes before.
Before you know it he grabs you, lifts you and carries you to your bed. He throws you onto it, hovering above you before he forces his body between your spread legs. A hand wraps around your throat when he pushes inside of you again he picks up the exact same speed of his hips like before.
Your legs wrap around his waist and all you can do is moan, that's all he can do apparently too.
Your moans, your movements, everything is in perfect sync. His hand lets go of your throat to squeeze your breast, rubbing his thumb over your already hard nipple while he slams his fucking hips into yours. "Shane....Shane...stop!" You bite your lip with a smirk when he looks at you to confirm if you really meant it or if you were teasing again.
It's nice that he checked, you didn't really expect him to.
"Think you can just lie to me you stupid bitch huh? I fucking own you. You'd be a broke whore without me" He looks into your eyes and you can tell, for the first time, that he doesn't mean it. It's not how he really feels but it turns you on either way.
"Please...stop, please Shane" You make your voice Sound as desperate as possible and he fucking cums. He moans so loud that your shitty neighbours start banging against the wall. You can feel his cock throbbing and leaking his cum deep inside of you, shoving it in deeper with every thrust that still follows until you cum too. Your raw fucked core clenches around him while your whole body lifts off the bed with your hand and leg strenght only.
Hand in his hair roughly pulling until your done and your body falls back onto the mattress. His on top of yours.
"Shit.." You breathe out, feeling a drop of blood on your lip but before you can wipe it away he kisses it away. Licking his lips and kissing you deeply again.. a kiss tasting of your blood and he's almost ready to fucking go again. Christ.
Your breathing barely turned back to normal when his phone suddenly rings and he pulls himself out of you.
"Oh good fucking god darlin' wish you could see that, my favorite kinda pie" He chuckles, staring at the mess he made of you when he stumbles around to grab his phone. When he returns he keeps you from closing your legs with a hand. Pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder...moving between your legs. "Ya?" He's on the phone while his tongue drags over your soaked and cum leaking core.
He really is a piece of work.
Your so overstimulated but you don't know who he's on the phone with so you stay quiet.
Your hand strokes through his hair when your hips squirm once more because of Shane.
"Oh yeah she uh, she learned her lesson" Shane looks up at you, silently asking if you did.
You smirk wide and give him a thumbs up before his tongue rolls over your sensitive clit.
You could swear a finger of his is toying around with the mess he made while just casually chatting up Vic on the phone.
"Yeah I'll be there in 10" He mumbles.
But you pull roughly on his hair.
"15..Sorry" He tells Vic and you do it again.
"Imma be there in 30 alright? Gotta take care of something, okay, later" He hangs up and tosses the phone next to you.
"Got 15 more minutes out of this deal Baby, how do you wanna spend it?" He's going to need 5 minutes to get dressed and going and 10 for the ride back to the station.
"Well, 15 isn't enough to get me ready for anal so we might have to do that some other time. So, honestly?" You look down on him placing soft kisses onto your lower stomach.
"You can make it up to me now, how you've been treating me since we met." You tug on his hair again and you don't even have to tell him twice, he's so eager. "Yes Mam." He lowers his head.
And for the next 15 minutes you let him work his tongue, you make him clean up the mess he made inside of you. And give you as many extra orgasms as you desire...
You could get used to that, but god he's a dick!
❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
EYY Thank you for reading, I really really hope you liked it!!! (I did not spellcheck this. Apologies)
⋆˚꩜｡ Remy Lebeau / gambit x reader (comfort/fluff)
You have been feeling down in the past few days, who is he to NOT help you through it?
CW: suggestive, gambit picks your lock, possibly ooc, rushed, not proofread at all, fem reader
requested by @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger :p
He knew something was wrong the past few days. The way you grunted a “morning”, the way you didn’t kiss him, you didn’t show any affection towards him…what gives?!
You’re his partner…therefore he has to cheer you up, no?
Laying in your bed, you bundled yourself in the duvet, drowning in the luxury provided by Xavier. You couldn’t tell what it was but your energy was at an all time low and you were just droning out everything: the show on your laptop, the birds outside, the wind chimes outside that suddenly feel too loud at that moment.
The haze of your mind was then mildly defogged by the knock on the door, and the click of your lock being picked. You would have been scared were it not for a grunt coming from behind the door, you recognised that it was Gambit, no problem at all!
But he’s gonna see you.
Yeah he’s seen you. But now he’s gonna see you at your lowest.
What the fuck do you do about that?
As you continued to ponder and think, your door creaked open to the view of your boyfriend in all his glory. However his usual confidence is dimmed by the look of concern, the upturned brows and his mouth naturally parted, “chère?”
You sit up, “Gambit—Remy, uh.. what are you doing here?” The shudder in your voice, brought on by embarrassment was clear as you brought your hands up, you tried to smooth your hair from its disheveled state—however it just put the finicky actions of your hands on display.
“You haven’t been yourself, mon chère. Gambit gettin’ worried about you.”
As he speaks he takes gentle steps towards you, wearing slippers instead of his normal boots, knowing your distaste for shoes in your room. “Cmon, Chère, you wanna tell Gambit what happened? Who hurt mon trésor, hm?” The question was so kindly asked as he perched himself upon the edge of your bed, not minding the disheveled state you’re in; in fact, he takes a hand and brings it to his lips, a gesture suited for royalty despite you only feeling like some royal shit the past few days.
You gave the man an explanation—an explanation littered with apology after apology with what felt like every word because of a ‘this sounds stupid’ and the blatant ‘sorry’.
He shot down every attempt of yours to dismiss it, slowly shifting closer, getting to a point where he’s now pressed up next to you, shoulder to shoulder; and despite any attempt you make to pull away, you melted into him when his firm arm wrapped over your shoulder.
“Mon coeur shouldn’t be feeling’ even a pinch o’ distress,” he starts with a low but kind register as he looks down as you, kissing you right at your hairline, he then grins widely and you could see the lightbulb practically illuminate above him as he reaches into his pocket.
Pulling away from you but remaining close he asks, “Say, ya know I can guess the card you pick if you just kiss it?”
Your brow raised.
“Uh huh, I’ve been saving this trick just for a pretty amoureuse (lover) o’ mine.” He declares, withdrawing the deck from his pocket.
The crisp and somehow continuously pristine deck is fanned over his palm as he holds it out to you, “go on, pick a card, then press a little nice kiss you always give to it.”
And you did, plucking one. The queen of hearts was what settled onto your gaze and you hesitantly smooched the card, the faded yet still glossy material feeling weird against your bare lips.
Giving him back the card, he starts shuffling them in his hands confidently. With the waft of the cards in the background, he continued to observe your facial expressions. You’re happier, sure, but still clearly you had the linger of the depressing past few days on your face.
“Perhaps this was a bad idea (Name), j’étais vraiment jalouse (I was really jealous))—just from you kissing’ my cards,” He jokes with you, and his smirk grows when you huff a laugh, “mais non—chère you can’t laugh at my distress!”
That segment of chatter had cut short when Remy halted his shuffling, then he picked up the card right at the top of the deck.
There he displayed proudly in his fingers, caged between his index and middle. The queen of hearts that you had picked and kissed. Your eyes blew up wide, much more energy clearly displayed within you as you leaned forward, “how did you do that?!”
“Suppose I just like those sweet kisses that much, huh chère?” He teases, “good thing ya pick the queen o’ hearts. I say you’re most definitely the queen o’ my heart.”
“Remy,” is all you could huff out in faux detachment, watching his hands dexterously shuffle the deck with a confident flow. Zoning out into his movements, however, had another connotation to your dear boyfriend, “You want these fingers workin’ on you? Could’ve just said, non?” he smirked as you perked up.
The joking tone flew over your head as you chided in a panic, “Hey don’t be a pervert about it!”
“Now now, Remy’s a gentleman. Won’t put these fingers anywhere funny ‘less you tell me.”
This was a better interaction than you expected to receive in a state like this. As the day passed, he allowed you to rest, to talk, to laugh with him up until you fell asleep. Even in your own realm of slumber, he didn’t leave.
After showing you a bunch of card tricks, he propped his upper body up on his elbow, continuously admiring you. How could he not look at you in such a way, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him after all! His own queen of hearts, and not the Alice in Wonderland kind—his kind of queen.
Summary: An argument. A broken elevator. Very bad timing from Lucy.
The argument starts halfway down the hallway.
It isn’t loud at first. Just sharp enough that Lucy, walking a few steps ahead of you, starts pretending to be very interested in the cracked tiles on the floor instead of the conversation happening behind her.
“You know exactly what I mean,” you say, your voice low but tight with irritation.
Cooper walks beside you like none of this concerns him, hat tilted slightly forward, coat brushing softly against the dusty walls of the abandoned building. “No,” he replies calmly, “I really don’t.”
You stop walking. He takes another step before noticing, then glances back at you over his shoulder.
“You talk to everyone like that,” you say.
His brow lifts slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you’re flirting.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “I talk to people.”
Lucy exhales loudly ahead of you, clearly hoping the conversation will simply end if she keeps walking.
“It’s not just talking,” you say, stepping forward again so you’re beside him. “You were leaning on the bar. Smiling at her.”
“She was a bartender.”
“You called her darlin’.”
He shrugs lightly.
“That’s a versatile word.”
Lucy finally reaches the elevator doors at the end of the hallway and presses the call button harder than necessary. The rusted metal doors grind open with a reluctant screech.
Behind her, the argument continues.
“So you just call everyone that?” you ask.
“If the mood strikes.”
“That’s not the point.”
Lucy steps inside the elevator quickly and turns around to face you both. Her eyes flick between the two of you like she’s watching a bomb tick down.
“You know what,” she says quickly, pressing the control panel, “I’m just going to check the next floor.”
Cooper glances at her. “Lucy—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupts, waving a hand toward the hallway. “You two finish your… discussion.”
The elevator begins to rise with a rattling hum. Lucy disappears upward. You cross your arms.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Cooper leans casually against the wall near the elevator shaft, completely unbothered. “Didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“You don’t talk to me any differently than you talk to everyone else.”
That finally makes him pause. The elevator hum fades as it reaches the next floor above you. A moment later the doors slide open again. Lucy peeks her head out.
“It’s clear,” she says. “No traps, no raiders. You can come up.”
You and Cooper step into the elevator together. The space is small, barely big enough for two people to stand comfortably without brushing shoulders. The metal walls are dented and scratched from decades of use.
The doors slide shut. The elevator jerks upward. For a few seconds the only sound is the grinding of old machinery pulling the platform along its track. Then the argument picks right back up.
“You still didn’t answer me,” you say.
Cooper rests a shoulder against the wall, arms loosely folded.
“Answer what?”
“Why you talk to everyone like that.”
He glances down at you.
“Like what?”
“Like they matter.”
The words slip out before you can stop them. His expression shifts slightly.
“That’s not what this is about,” you add quickly.
“Sure sounds like it.”
The elevator suddenly shudders. Then it stops. The lights flicker once. The hum of the motor dies. Silence settles heavily in the small metal box. You both look up instinctively.
“…that’s not good,” you mutter.
Above you, Lucy’s voice echoes faintly through the elevator shaft.
“Uh, guys?”
Cooper presses the control panel. Nothing happens. Lucy appears again at the open floor above, leaning over the railing.
“Oh no,” she says.
“What happened?” you call up.
“I think the elevator got stuck,” Lucy replies apologetically.
Cooper sighs quietly. “Great.”
Lucy bites her lip and looks around the hallway above.
“Okay! Don’t panic,” she says quickly. “I’m going to go find another way to get it moving.”
“You sure you know how to fix an elevator?” Cooper asks.
Lucy hesitates. “…probably.”
“Lucy.”
“It’s fine!” she insists. “Just… stay there.”
Then she disappears down the hallway. You stare up at the empty opening above. Then slowly turn back toward Cooper. The elevator is suddenly very quiet. And very small. He notices the look you’re giving him.
“What?” he asks.
You lean back against the wall, arms crossed again.
“Now you can answer my question.”
He exhales slowly.
“You really want to keep doin’ this while we’re stuck in here?”
“You started it.”
He tilts his head slightly.
“I started it?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
For a moment neither of you moves. The elevator light flickers faintly overhead, casting shifting shadows across the metal walls.
Cooper pushes himself away from the wall and takes a slow step toward the control panel again, pressing one of the buttons with deliberate patience. Nothing happens.
He sighs. Behind him, you’re still watching. Still waiting.
“You call everyone sweetheart,” you say.
He glances back over his shoulder. “Not everyone.”
“Sure seems like it.”
“You keep countin’?”
“That’s not the point.”
He turns fully now, leaning one shoulder against the elevator wall again. The space between you is barely a few feet.
“You’re jealous.”
The word lands lightly, but it still stings.
“I’m not jealous,” you snap.
A faint smirk pulls at his mouth.
“That so?”
“Yes.”
“Then why’re we havin’ this conversation?”
You hesitate. And he notices.
“You don’t like it,” he says calmly. “The way I talk to people.”
“I don’t like the way you talk to her.”
“And what way was that?”
“You know what way.”
His eyes narrow slightly, studying you in that quiet way he has when he’s trying to read something you’re not saying out loud.
“You think I was flirtin’.”
“You were.”
“And that bothers you.”
You push yourself away from the wall and step closer, frustration finally spilling over.
“Yes, it bothers me.”
The elevator suddenly feels even smaller.
“You leaned across the counter,” you continue, voice sharper now. “You smiled at her like she was the only person in the room. You called her darlin’.”
He watches you carefully.
“That word really gets to you, huh.”
“You know it does.”
He takes one slow step closer.
“Why?”
You stop moving. Because the answer is sitting right there. But saying it out loud is something else entirely.
“Because,” you start, then stop yourself.
He tilts his head slightly.
“Because?”
Your jaw tightens.
“Because you talk to me the exact same way.”
The words hang in the air between you. For once, Cooper doesn’t immediately have a response.
The elevator creaks again, the faint sway of the cables reminding you both that you’re still stuck in the same small metal box.
“You don’t talk to me any differently,” you say more quietly now. “You flirt with everyone like it doesn’t mean anything.”
His expression shifts slightly.
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You think I don’t mean anything when I talk to you?”
You shrug, but the motion feels tight. “How am I supposed to know the difference?”
The question sits there. Cooper studies your face for a long moment before pushing away from the wall entirely. He closes the distance between you in two slow steps until you’re standing barely a foot apart.
“You really don’t see the difference?” he murmurs.
Your breath catches slightly, though you try not to show it.
“You never told me there was one.”
The elevator light flickers again. For a moment neither of you speaks.
Then Cooper laughs quietly under his breath, though there’s no real humor in it.
“You’re somethin’ else,” he mutters.
“And you’re impossible.”
“You’re the one who started the argument.”
“You’re the one who flirts with strangers!”
He moves closer again, the last step leaving almost no space between you.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “if I talked to you the way I talk to everyone else, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.”
Your pulse jumps.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead he reaches past you, pressing his palm against the elevator wall beside your shoulder. The movement cages you in without quite touching you.
The proximity makes the air feel warmer.
“You really want me to explain it?” he asks.
Your heart is beating faster now, though you refuse to step back.
“Yes.”
He studies your face carefully.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
His gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.
“That bartender,” he says quietly, “I was bein’ polite.”
“Polite?”
“Mm.”
“You call people darlin’ when you’re being polite?”
“Sometimes.”
“And with me?”
A small pause.
“With you,” he says slowly, “it ain’t politeness.”
The words land like a spark. You swallow.
“Then what is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead his hand shifts slightly on the wall beside you, the movement bringing him just a fraction closer.
“You really don’t know?” he murmurs.
Your breath hitches despite yourself. The elevator suddenly feels far too small.
Above you, somewhere down the hallway, Lucy’s voice echoes faintly through the shaft.
“I think I found the breaker!”
Neither of you moves. Neither of you answers. And the argument hanging between you has turned into something else entirely.
The elevator remains still, suspended somewhere between floors, the faint hum of the building settling around you.
The space between you has disappeared completely.
Cooper’s hand is still braced against the wall beside your shoulder, the metal cool under his palm while the air between you feels suddenly much warmer. You can feel the heat of him now, the steady rise and fall of his breathing close enough to count.
“You really don’t know?” he murmurs again.
Your throat feels dry.
“If you know the answer,” you say quietly, “you could just say it.”
His mouth tilts slightly at the corner, but the usual teasing edge in his expression has softened into something else. Something heavier.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
You exhale slowly, shaking your head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Been called worse.”
You try to shift around him, but the elevator is too small for easy movement. The moment you step to the side, your shoulder brushes his chest.
Neither of you pulls away.
For a second you both pretend it didn’t happen.
Then you glance up. He’s already looking at you. The closeness suddenly feels impossible to ignore.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” you mutter.
“Doin’ what?”
“Standing too close.”
He glances briefly at the narrow elevator walls around you before looking back down at you.
“Not exactly a lot of room in here, sweetheart.”
The word lands differently now. You notice it. He notices that you noticed.
“You could move,” you say.
“I could.”
But he doesn’t. Instead he leans a little closer, not enough to trap you, but enough that the space between you disappears entirely.
“You still mad at me?” he asks quietly.
You hesitate.
“Yes.”
“About the bartender?”
“Among other things.”
He studies your face for a moment, then shakes his head slightly, like he can’t quite believe the situation you’ve dragged him into.
“You know that wasn’t the same.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Your arms are still crossed, though now they’re pressed lightly against his chest from how close he’s standing.
“Then prove it,” you say.
His brow lifts.
“Prove it?”
“You said there was a difference,” you continue, your voice quieter now. “So show me.”
The elevator light flickers once overhead. For a moment he just looks at you. Then he laughs softly under his breath.
“You really like makin’ things difficult, don’t you?”
“You started this.”
“Did I?”
You nod once. He tilts his head slightly, studying you the way he does when he’s thinking something through.
Then his hand finally moves. Not away from the wall. But closer.
His fingers brush lightly against your arm as he shifts his weight forward, the contact sending a small spark of warmth up your spine.
“That what you want?” he asks quietly.
You swallow.
“Yes.”
His gaze drops briefly to your lips again before returning to your eyes.
“Careful what you ask for.”
Your heart is beating harder now, though you refuse to step back.
“You’re the one who said there was a difference.”
Another small pause stretches between you. Then his hand slides from the wall to your wrist, gently uncrossing your arms where they’re folded defensively across your chest.
The touch is slow. Your breath catches slightly when his fingers settle around your wrist, guiding your hand down.
“Difference is,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, “I don’t look at strangers like this.”
He steps closer. If it were possible.
The elevator suddenly feels much smaller than it did a minute ago.
“Or talk to them like this.”
Your back touches the metal wall behind you as he closes the remaining space.
You don’t move away. Neither does he.
Somewhere above you, Lucy’s voice echoes again faintly through the shaft as she continues searching for the breaker.
But down here, the sound feels distant. Like it belongs to another room entirely. Your hand tightens slightly against the front of his coat.
“You still think that bartender got the same treatment?” he murmurs.
Your pulse jumps.
“No.”
“Good.”
His thumb brushes lightly across your wrist where he’s still holding it.
“You wanted proof,” he says quietly.
Your breath catches when he leans closer.
“So I’m givin’ it to you.”
The air between you feels charged now, the argument long forgotten somewhere behind the tension that’s built in its place.
The elevator creaks softly again above you. Neither of you pays it any attention.
And the moment hangs there, balanced right on the edge of something that’s about to break.
Your hand is still gripping the front of his coat, the fabric twisted slightly in your fingers. Cooper’s gaze drops briefly to your hand, then back to your face, like he’s noticing the moment the argument tipped into something else.
Your pulse is loud in your ears now, and for a second you consider stepping away, creating space, ending the moment before it turns into something you won’t be able to ignore.
But the elevator is too small. And you don’t move.
“Then prove it,” you say quietly.
For once, Cooper doesn’t answer with another teasing remark. Instead, his hand slides a little higher on your waist, steady and warm through the fabric of your clothes. His thumb shifts slightly, the small movement sending a quick spark of warmth through you that makes it harder to think clearly.
“You’re real persistent,” he mutters.
“You started this.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Reckon I did.”
There’s a brief pause, the kind where both people know something is about to happen but neither of them wants to be the first to move.
Then he leans in. The kiss is slower than you expected.
Not rushed, not careless like the argument that led to it. His hand tightens slightly at your waist as he closes the last inch of space between you, his mouth brushing yours in a brief test of the moment, like he’s giving you time to pull away if you want to.
You don’t.
Your grip on his coat tightens instead, pulling him closer.
That’s all the invitation he needs.
The second kiss is deeper, the frustration from earlier finally breaking through the restraint he’d been holding onto. His other hand slides up from the wall behind you to your shoulder, steadying you as your back presses lightly against the metal surface of the elevator.
The cool steel contrasts sharply with the warmth of him standing so close.
You can feel the shift in his breathing, the quiet exhale against your lips as the tension between you finally breaks. The argument, the jealousy, the cramped elevator, everything that built up over the last few minutes seems to fold into the moment.
Your fingers slide higher along his coat, gripping the collar as you pull him closer again.
When the kiss finally breaks, it’s only because you both need to breathe.
Foreheads nearly touching, Cooper lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
“Still think that bartender got the same treatment?” he murmurs.
You shake your head slightly, still catching your breath.
“Not even close.”
His hand moves again at your waist, pulling you a little closer, the movement slow and deliberate.
“Good,” he says softly.
Somewhere above you, faintly through the elevator shaft, Lucy’s voice echoes again.
“Okay! I think I almost fixed it!”
Neither of you moves. Neither of you answers.
Because in the small metal elevator, with the argument forgotten and the tension finally breaking, the last thing either of you is thinking about is the elevator moving again.
And the next kiss comes much quicker than the first. Hungrier. Deeper.
Your grip on his coat loosens as your arms slide around his neck instead, pulling him closer as you surrender fully to his touch.
One of his hands stays at the small of your back, while the other carefully tangles in the back of your hair, almost like he’s trying to hold himself back from what he really wants.
Almost forcefully, he breaks the kiss, though his gaze has softened. The two of you catch your breath once again. The tension in the metal box has shifted into something more heated, desperate and longing.
“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” he asks, glancing upward, hinting at the amount of time you might have left.
“You never know when she’ll find that fusion core.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. Needing confirmation of your approval, even though he already knew the answer. Youwhispers, “I’m sure cowboy.”
The nickname must have done something to him because the next second he’s attacking your neck, kissing you, almost biting you with a kind of restrained passion. A moan slips from your lips, only for his hand to quickly cover your mouth.
“Shh… we wouldn’t want anyone hearing you, darlin’.”
His hands roam up your body. One of your hands grips the metal behind you, while the other stays on his shoulder, more like clinging to him than simply holding on.
“Have I ever told you you’re so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart?” he says with a smirk as you almost struggle to get any proper words out. “You didn’t say that to the bartender, right?” you tease, biting his lip at the process.
His hand slowly creeps in through your belt, sliding past the fabric of your pants.
“I sure didn’t.”
Another moan slips through your lips as he slides his fingers carefully over your slit, not taking long before tracing small circles on your clit.
He lets out a small chuckle, then says “You’re already so wet for me. I didn’t know arguments could get you this riled up.”.
You groan, which quickly turns into a silent moan as you feel yourself getting closer. Your hands grip his arms tighter. He takes as a sign to move faster.
“You’re being such a good girl for me”, he says leaving kisses on your neck as he lets you drag him in. Another moan, this time louder, slips out as he works you through your climax.
The sensation is so overwhelming that your legs almost start shaking. Cooper keep you steady. He leans in to kiss you once more before murmuring, “Atta girl.”
“Please,” you beg.
“What sweetheart.” He teases.
“Please, I want..”
“Want what, darling?” He smirks. You groan slightly, face flushing warmly as blood reaches it.
“I want you.”
“Mm~ that’s my good girl,” he says, clearly amused.
In one smooth motion, he unbuckles your belt, skilled would be an understatement. Slowly, he drags your pants down while you’re both melted into another kiss.
Your hand moves to unbuckle his in return, though not quite as quickly.
“Are you ready for this darlin’?” He ask. “ I want you to be sure this is really what you want.”
“Yes, Cooper please!” Your response is louder, but not to loud enough for anyone to hear, unless they were just around the corner.
He smirks at your response. Amused with the sight infront of him. He picks you up. Your back pressed against the cold metal walls, slightly catching you off guard.
He slowly let his tip press into you, studying you for any signs of discomfort. When no such reaction could be seen, he slowly but determined pushed himself fully into you, making you moan in the process.
“Shh~ you don’t want anyone hearing what activities you’re up to.” He teases quietly. “Or maybe you do.”
He starts at a slow, passionate pace that quickly grows into a steadier, panting rhythm. Your nails dig into the fabric of his back as his name slips from your lips in soft whimpers instead of words.
You could get caught any second. At any moment Lucy might find the power engine, forcing the elevator, and the two of you, back up into the open.
The feeling of him slamming his dick in and out you, however, makes it difficult to think about the consequences.
“Gosh’, I might have to make you jealous more often Darlin’. You feel so good round me.” Cooper breathes.
His pace start to get sloppy, rythm unpredictable. Even Cooper is turning into a panting mess. “You’re the only one for me sweetheart.”.
In an attempt to respond you breathe back “You promise?”.
“I promise Darlin’.”
His grips around your thights tighten as you feel him getting close. His head rests at the crock of your neck as your hips meat over and over again.
Your hands finds his face as you drag him into one last deep kiss, this time more warm. He thrust hard into you one last time, never breaking the kiss. Maybe in an attempt to be more silent.
He stays like that for a moment, still deep inside you, his head resting in the crook of your neck again. The two of you simply breathe, trying to catch your breath.
———
Lucy skids to a stop in the dim hallway, crouching beside the half open maintenance panel by the elevator shaft. Dust coats everything inside, wires tangled together, a small breaker box, and a few labels so faded they’re almost unreadable.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Okay… this actually looks promising.”
Inside the elevator, the faint echo of her voice carries down through the shaft. You and Cooper both freeze.
“…that’s Lucy,” you whisper.
“No kidding.”
Above you, Lucy keeps talking to herself while she studies the panel.
“Well that seems important,” her voice drifts down. “Or at least… more important than the other ones.”
You glance up toward the ceiling, suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.
Cooper is still close. Very close.
His coat is half open, the collar slightly twisted where your hands had been gripping it moments ago. Your hair is definitely not how it looked before the elevator stopped.
“Lucy,” you hiss under your breath, trying to push yourself upright.
Cooper exhales quietly, running a hand back through his hair as he straightens slightly.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, reaching up to adjust the strap on your shoulder that had slipped out of place.
Your heart is still racing as you quickly smooth your hair with both hands.
Above you, Lucy’s voice continues.
“Come on… how hard can an elevator be?”
You and Cooper exchange a look.
“She’s going to fix it,” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s the part that worries me.”
You quickly try to straighten the front of his coat where it’s crooked. The movement makes him raise an eyebrow slightly.
“You’re the one who started this,” he murmurs.
“You were leaning on me.”
“You pulled me.”
Above you, something metallic scrapes.
Lucy grunts. “Okay… that definitely moved.”
Your eyes widen.
“Cooper,” you whisper urgently.
“I hear it.”
You swipe a hand across your neck instinctively, trying to smooth things down when your fingers brush over the faint warmth of skin that definitely wasn’t there earlier.
He notices immediately.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs under his breath, “you might want to—”
“I know.”
Above you, Lucy suddenly calls down the shaft.
“I think I found the breaker!”
Both of you look up instinctively. Then immediately back at each other.
“Great,” Cooper mutters.
You quickly fix the last crooked fold of his coat while he straightens his hat.
“Do I look normal?” you ask.
He studies you for a second.
“Mostly.”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“You’re fine,” he says quietly. Then, after a small pause, “Hair’s a little… dramatic.”
You attempt to flatten it again.
Above you, Lucy continues narrating her discovery.
“Okay, if this is the power line then this should—”
A loud metallic clunk echoes through the shaft. The elevator jerks suddenly.
“Oh no,” you breathe.
The motor sputters to life with a grinding hum as the cables tighten above you.
“You ready for this?” Cooper mutters.
You barely have time to answer before the elevator lurches upward.
The ride lasts only a few seconds.
Then the platform reaches the next floor with a heavy thud.
The doors slide open. Lucy is standing there. She starts to say something, then stops.
Her eyes flick between the two of you. Cooper’s coat is slightly crooked.
Your hair is still a little messy despite your efforts.
And the faint marks along your neck are… not subtle.
Lucy blinks.
“…good news,” she says after a moment, staring very deliberately past both of you into the hallway instead of directly at your faces. “The power works.”
A small silence follows.
Then she adds, a little too quickly, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t notice anything.”
Cooper tips his hat slightly as he steps out of the elevator.
“Smart choice.”
You follow, still trying to smooth your hair.
Lucy starts walking down the hallway ahead of you both, talking very loudly about something completely unrelated.
“So! The wiring system in this place is actually really fascinating if you think about it—”
Cooper glances down at you with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
“…that went well,” he murmurs.
You sigh.
“Next time,” you say quietly, “we argue somewhere without machinery.”
He chuckles softly.
“Next time,” he replies, “maybe don’t start the argument.”
