another jojo cocksleeve❦

You really should’ve gotten that headlight fixed. 

In the endless dark, with rain violently pounding on your windshield, you can’t see much of anything. Your wipers are moving as quickly as they can on their fastest setting, but the endless stream of rain keeps them from really being effective at all. It’s useless, with everything swallowed up by shadow and storm.

You’re really not one to drive through bad conditions. It’s just not worth it to you to take risks like this, so you slow down and ease your car to the side of the road, watching as the rain drums so loudly against it. You send a quick text to your friend, letting her know where you’re at and what’s going on, then turn on your hazards. 

It’s been raining a lot like this lately. But it’s April, so it figures, though it doesn’t help. It feels so…claustrophobic to be stuck in the rain like this, in the dark. You can barely see what’s in front of you. You can’t even hear your own thoughts. If you think too hard about it, it feels like it’s closing in on you. You’re staying calm.

But the downpour does slow, eventually. When the rain has slowed enough to be safe to leave, you put your car into drive and press on the gas, though you don’t move - the wheels just spin. You open your car door to check and yep - mud. You pulled off just enough to get caught in a patch of slick, cloying, slippery mud. And now you’re fucking stuck. 

Great. 

You’re about to Google a tow company to call when two lights appear in your rearview mirror, inching too close to your car. You’re on edge immediately, watching as the driver gets out and approaches you. The driver is a man, no taller than six feet. He walks with an umbrella in hand, then taps on your window. You roll it down just a few cautious inches. 

“Hey - hey there. Just checking to make sure everything’s okay.” 

You tap your overhead light, then squint at the man. He’s not in a uniform and he doesn’t have a badge, which makes you feel nervous. He’s just some guy. 

“Everything’s fine,” you say, smiling politely but remaining distant. 

The man - you’ll know him soon - looks around, noting your muddy wheels. “Doesn’t look fine,” he laughs, eyes twinkling at you. Even in the low light, you can see that they’re piercingly blue. The stranger is handsome, with his curly hair and sharp jawline. He wears a navy flannel, rolled up to his forearms. Veins spidering down to his hands. He’s maybe in his mid-forties.

“No, yeah. It’s fine, just - my car’s stuck, that’s all.” You smile kindly. The man smiles back at you. 

“Is there anyone coming to get you?”

“Um,” you hum, checking your phone’s screen to see no text back from your friend. “Not yet. I was about to call–” 

“Oh, don’t call. Yeah, don’t call.” The man laughs awkwardly, shifting on his feet. He seems a little nervous. Maybe not nervous, but…edged? Amped, even? “C’mon, look. Let me give you a ride, okay? The rain’s about to pick up again and—” 

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “No thank you, I’m gonna call my friend. I appreciate it anyway, sir.”

The man looks stunned when you interrupt him, when you go so far as to take out your phone in front of him. Already he thinks you’re a fucking bitch. A man is speaking to you. He hates the way you keep your window rolled only a quarter of the way down, fucking open it. He touches the glass and rests his fingers on the rounded edge of the window, wiggling them, itching…

His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare as he finds his composure. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out. 

“You’re not gonna get a signal out here. It’s a total dead zone,” the man says, watching as you scroll through your phone’s contact list.

“Thank you, but—”

The man interrupts next. “Go on, look. Look.” He uses a finger to gesture toward your screen, where a little SOS sign sits in place of the usual bars that indicate your phone’s connection. Stray rain drops splash onto your skin. “See?”

He’s right, unfortunately. When you check your messages, you see the text you sent earlier to your friend still hasn't been delivered. He swallows thickly, then speaks again,“And you’re very low on gas, too,” he adds, wiggling his finger toward your gauge cluster. “And that’s not great, considering.”

And he’s right about that, also. You didn’t notice you were close to empty, but you really don’t like that he did. You swallow nervously as you shut off your phone, heart beginning to beat a little harder. You feel a little sick inside about this. He’s just rubbing you the wrong way. 

“Why don’t you just come with me, yeah? It’s really—really no problem.”

“I really appreciate it, but I don’t know you, sir,” you tell him, and that should end it.

But of course, it doesn’t. It is smart, though. Very smart. He expects responses like this from young women like you. As he gets older, you girls get smarter. You’re not quite as…willing as you used to be. Not so compliant. It used to be that he could just tell you to come with and you would. But women nowadays, with your fucking safety classes and whatever. You’ve got no problem telling men like him when you don’t feel safe. Such bullshit.

“Oh, come on. Yes you do. You know me!” he says, smiling so big, whitened teeth on display. “It’s me, Dennis! From the other week? Paddy’s Pub, I was your bartender.”

You stare at Dennis blankly, then shake your head slowly. “No, I don’t think I do.” 

“No, no, see. You’re misremembering or something, sweetheart. Maybe in the dark you don’t recognize my face but just…come on. We’re really not far from your place at all, right?” Dennis rattles off your address then. “Short drive, right?” 

Your stomach drops then, and your gut begins to really churn. “You, uh…you know where I live?” you ask, feeling your palm perspire against the steering wheel. 

The man, Dennis, tilts his head, those blue eyes narrowed as he smirks at you. “Well, of course I do. I took you home when you were too drunk to drive, remember? God, you were a mess.”

You most certainly do not remember. You never, never drink to the point of being blackout. You stare at Dennis, trying so hard to place him. He does have a familiar face, or maybe it’s just that he’s handsome. Paddy’s, Paddy’s…

…it’s ringing a bell now. You remember some shitty, dingy bar, filled with strange people. Stopping inside to pee, maybe. Maybe having a drink? Yeah, maybe. You remember something tasting bitter…

The rain starts to pound harder on your windshield, startling you. Dennis waits impatiently, now with his hand on your car’s door handle. “I made sure you got inside,” he adds, “You said I was sweet.” He smiles at you in such a kind and disarming sort of way, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“So come on. Just a - just a quick ten minute drive, right?”

You pause, tapping your fingers along your steering wheel as you contemplate. You have that sticky, nagging, ugly feeling inside, but maybe it’s nothing. 

It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing. How many times have you worried yourself sick only to be completely wrong about whatever you thought was wrong, right? Countless. And Dennis, he’s charming. He looks, you know - clean…and gentlemanly.

Your windows roll up with a soft whir, startling Dennis as he quickly jerks his hand away. He opens your door for you, holding the umbrella over you as he takes your hand and helps you out of your car. He walks you quickly to his, a dark green Range Rover, and ushers you into your seat, then slams your door shut. Dennis quickly rounds the front of the vehicle and then joins you. 

He runs a hand through his wet curls, mumbling, “Okay, okay. Perfect. You’re there, good, good…” He adjusts his rearview mirror, quickly tilting it down to get a look at the tools he keeps in the back of his car. All the seats are down, good. There’s his blanket back there - Dennis eyes you quickly, sizing you up in his mind. You’d fit, all wrapped up in the fabric. If it got to that point. 

A beat passes then, and he takes off in the Rover. You watch your car in the side mirror, how it disappears into the dark and the rain as Dennis drives away. He touches his hair again nervously, throwing you a sideways glance. “So you really don’t remember me?” he asks, voice chipper and forced/

You shake your head. “I don’t. But…you said you were my bartender?” you ask, studying his face. He has a handsome profile, a sharp nose. 

“Yeah,” Dennis answers. “Made you a cocktail.”  

You try so hard to place him. That face, that voice. “What was it?”

“Oh, it was a…Moscow mule, if I remember correctly.” 

You nod slowly, rolling his answer around in your mind. It is something you’d drink, after all. “Okay. Um, what was in it, exactly?” you press.

“Ginger beer, vodka. Lime. The usual,” he rattles off. Rohypnol. “Ice. I know how to make a Moscow mule, if that’s what you’re asking. Been bartending since you were in diapers, sweetheart,” he jokes, clutching the wheel a little tighter.

“Was any ingredient like, I don’t know. Expired, maybe?” You hope your tone sounds casual still. 

“Alcohol doesn’t expire,” he says flatly. “Why?”

“And it was only the one?”

Dennis nods. “Yep. Just the one,” he confirms. “It was a normal drink, babe. I could make you another if you wanna go b–”

“Actually, you can turn up here–” you interrupt, pointing at a familiar road sign.

“I know where to fucking turn,” Dennis snaps before you finish. In the silence, he shakes himself out of it quickly, then apologizes, voice a little softer now. “Sorry, god. I just know where to turn, is all. You…just relax, okay? That road’s closed.” Dennis turns the AC on cold and blasts it. He needs to cool off.

You’re really starting to feel sick now, because you know that’s a lie. Dennis drives past the next road too, and the next one. You’re on the endless, winding road for a long time, now thinking about that one episode of The Sopranos. Sil had Adriana in the car. And the road never seemed to end. 

Fuck, what do you even do here? If he…if he locked you in the trunk you’d at least be able to knock a tail light out and wave your hand, maybe scream for help. But who’s around on this road? You look at the floor, the dashboard, anywhere in the car to find…anything. You clutch your car keys - dammit. You were given a pepper spray keychain that’s nowhere to be found. It had fallen off a while back and you never replaced it. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Dennis keeps looking at you. Not just your face, but your body, too. Your nipples are hard, peeking through your shirt. No bra, hm? The image sends a rush of arousal through his body, cock twitching in his jeans as his eyes linger too long. “Are you cold?” he asks.

“A-a little,” you murmur.

You flinch when Dennis reaches for a knob on the dashboard. His hand is so big, so veiny. Strong. With his sleeves rolled up, you can see the muscles twitching in his forearms. How easy it’d be for him to–

“What, did I spook ya?” Dennis smirks.

Your mouth is dry as sandpaper as you search for a way to answer him. And how awful that feels. Like being picked on in class when you don’t know the answer or you weren’t paying attention. 

“I think I did. But you seem nervous, sweetheart, not really…spooked. Maybe - maybe you’re scared?” Dennis chuckles quietly, keeping his eyes on the road, acting like he’s not rock hard from your anxiety. He grips the steering wheel tighter, skin stretched out thin over his knuckles. “What, am I - am I scaring you or something? Are you scared of me?”

You force out an awkward laugh, feeling around or the car’s door handle. Dennis notices this. His lips twitch and he exhales, shaking his head a little. “You’re scared or you’re not, honey. Can’t be both.” 

“I’m uh - honestly, I am a little scared, yes.”

Dennis clicks his tongue. Not disappointed, but not surprised. Like he expected that answer, or maybe…maybe he even hoped for it. “Mm. I mean, that makes sense, though. The right setting can make anyone feel…well, vulnerable.” Dennis throws you a sideways look, eyes tired and dead as he does his best to smile warmly. The mask is slipping. It always does around this point. “And in a storm, well. That’ll do it, huh?”

A flicker of lightning and a booming clap of thunder has you jumping hard enough to make the seat belt lock against you.  “No, it’s good that this happened,” Dennis continues. “I’ve been following you around, you know - in a good way, of course. And I knew there was something wrong with your tires. They’re bald, so - so that’s why they’re spinning in the mud back there. And I recognized your license plates.” 

“How did you–” 

“Don’t worry about it.” There’s another bolt of lightning, long and windy and spindling, lighting up the sky. “God, how about this weather? You’re lucky that I found you tonight. Wouldn’t wanna - wouldn’t wanna leave you stranded out there in the thunder and the lightning.” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, watching the speedometer’s needle rise and fall, heart pounding so hard you can feel it behind your ribs and in your throat. Your voice is starting to wobble, too.

“I love storms like these, honestly. We’re out in the middle of this quiet road. Nobody could see us, or hear - hear much of anything, really.”

His words hang heavily in the air as he waits for you to speak, tilting his head. “Right?”

Your throat feels dry. “...Right…” 

Dennis grins. “You know, I think we should pull over,” he says, checking the rear view and side mirrors of the car. “Yeah. Yeah, we should pull over. Before something…happens. The rain…”

His fingers flex against the wheel, and you swallow hard as Dennis applies the brakes, and the car starts to slow. He knows where he’s going, like he’s done this before. You can make out two parallel lines in the grass, worn deeply down to dirt. He has done this before.

“Where are we going?” you ask. Dennis doesn’t answer. You try again, and he still ignores you. “Are you–” you swallow hard, “Are you gonna hurt me?”

Dennis laughs loudly, awkwardly. “No, I am not gonna hurt you!” he chuckles, his voice a little higher now. “Why would I want to hurt you? I mean, I could. I could. Anyone could, really. But that’s just - well, that’s just human nature, right, honey?” 

Dennis puts the car into park, then exhales heavily and unclicks his seatbelt. He turns to you, eyes all dark and lidded. “I am going to fuck you,” he tells you, unblinking. “I mean, I would like to. I want to fuck you. You’re very beautiful, you know. Very clean.”

Desperately, you pull on the door handle, though it doesn’t open. “Been meaning to get that fixed,” Dennis lies softly, watching you desperately search for a way out of this. What can you do, though? He’s thought this through. He’s so practiced, perfected his craft.

“And you’re not going to say no, are you?” he adds, taking in your terrified expression. “No, of course not. Because - I mean, look around, right? All these woods. Do you think you know your way out?” he asks.

“I’d follow the tire tracks,” you whisper.

Dennis laughs. “Oh, sure. But with what lighting?” He sniffles then, and twists his neck to crack it. 

 This is usually the part where girls like you start to scream. Not all, though. Some freeze up and go quiet, and that’s nice too.

“Do you think anyone would hear you?” Dennis asks. “You know, if you screamed? Because I don’t think they would.” 

You stammer some incoherent answer, voice so wobbly and terrified. Dennis opens his window and yells then, screaming as loud as he can. When he’s done, he smiles calmly and shrugs. Your ears are ringing. “See?”

You jump when Dennis reaches for your seatbelt and unclicks it. “So with all of that in mind, why don’t you head back there?” Dennis nods toward the back of his car. “And take your clothes off, hm?” he adds, touching your thigh, feeling the fabric damp from the rain. “You’re all wet. That can’t be comfortable.” 

Dennis licks his lips, watching you tremble as you slide out of your seat and crawl into the back. Only one bulb lights up when he presses the dome light, and tilts his rearview mirror to get a nice look at you as you slowly peel off your clothes. “All of them,” he reminds you. “Underwear too.” 

“You know,” Dennis says, meeting your eyes through the mirror. “I think this is romantic. The storm, the trees…it’s kind of nice, huh?” 

“Y-yeah,” you whisper. “It’s very romantic. Um - I really, I like the woods,” you tell him nervously, voice shaking. “My dad and I used to go on h-hikes in the woods, and bike rides. He named me after–”

Dennis chuckles. Humanizing yourself. Smart. He grunts then, swinging his body around the driver’s seat to meet you in the back. He looks like an animal as he crawls toward you, sitting on his heels as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing a toned chest, his hair neatly trimmed. His body is slightly muscular, and so fucking attractive for as awful as he is. Isn’t that just something. And he’s got a pretty cock, even at half-mast. Long, a little on the slender side, with a perfectly pink tip. Trimmed, just like his chest is. 

You look around yourself, seeing a plethora of items he keeps back here. There’s duct tape, rope, a case full of what you can assume are a variety of blades. Very Dexter of him. Your breaths turn short as your heart pounds loudly in your ears. Is he gonna cover the car in plastic wrap, too? 

“Don’t - don’t look at that shit. It’s nothing, alright? Just lay.” Dennis says with a wave of his hand. “Lay on your back,” he repeats impatiently.

When you do, Dennis pulls you back by your hips. You gasp at the feeling of his strong hands on your body, angrily grabbing at your flesh. He spreads your legs wide and pushes your knees toward your chest, your cunt now on display for him. You hiss when he drags two of his long fingers up and down your seam. Dennis clicks his tongue, “You always this fucking dry?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he spits onto your clit and watches his saliva drip down, lips twitching. Dennis dips his head lower then, and licks you from bottom to top, humming at the way you taste. Somehow, girls like you always taste better when you’re scared. 

He kisses you a little, then begins lapping at your cunt, savoring all of that sensitive flesh, where you’re growing wetter just for him. There’s no art to it, no special technique beyond simply using his tongue to get you wet enough to fuck. And not only that, but he eats you for himself and his pleasure, not yours. 

Dennis adjusts and pushes his ring and middle fingers into you, curling them repeatedly. God, he loves this. Being inside a person this way. Feeling the heat of their warm, wet guts. It’s beyond satisfying to him. He growls against your cunt, sending vibrations through your core. Scruffy cheeks and jaw scratching your inner thighs. 

You find yourself rocking against his tongue - when’d that happen? Dennis snaps his fingers and points at you with the hand wrapped around your thigh, “Sit still,” he commands, then continues licking you. “Sorry, just - I need to do this my way. Okay? You’re fucking with my rhythm when you do that shit.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Oh, of course not,” Dennis mumbles in between kissing you. He licks you a little more, then sucks your clit between his lips and teases you that way. It makes you shake and tense up, then Dennis releases you with a chuckle.

He pulls back and rests against the door of the Range rover, eyes half-lidded and heavy as he lazily pumps his cock, head tilted. Dennis pats his thigh twice, urging you to come straddle him.

You crawl over, putting your hands on his broad shoulders as you hover above him. From this position, you can get a closer look at every one of his tools - maybe you can even grab one. You measure the distance in your mind, considering the move you’d have to make. “Hey, what did I fucking tell you?” Dennis snaps, reaching for your jaw to pull your attention back to him.

“I was just looking for condoms. Don’t you have condoms in here?”

Dennis laughs, putting one of his hands on your hip, and with the other, lines his cock up with your entrance. He notches the head inside you quickly, then pulls you down, bottoming out with a moan. “Oh, you’re cute,” he says. You whimper at the stretch, squirming away from him and the way his cock bruises your cervix. “No, I don’t use condoms, babe. Gonna have to take my load.”

Dennis palms your ass cheeks, slowly moving you up and down his length. “Birth control is a woman’s problem, anyway. I hope you’re on the pill. It’s just…well, irresponsible not to be. Anything could happen to you,” he says.

He thrusts up into you, guiding your hips to match his pace until Dennis has found something that works for him. Him, not you. If it were up to you, you’d slow it down a little more, have him roll his hips. But this isn’t about you, is it?

“Touch me,” Dennis rasps as you ride him. You slide your hands up his neck and touch his jaw, where Dennis then sucks on your thumb. He could bite you. He could.

He notices your eyes are closed. Bitch. You should be so lucky to be in his presence, fucking look at him. “No, no, no. Eyes open. Yeah, look at me. Look at Daddy,” he tells you, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “You’re very pretty, aren’t you? Not the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but…close.” You should thank him, he thinks. You mumble out a moan that could be interpreted as such.

Dennis fucks you from beneath, his once measured thrusts turning a little sloppy now as he pushes himself into you over and over again. He’s so warm, with beads of sweat rolling down his temples and neck, pooling at the dip between his collarbones. 

He’s annoyed at how quiet you are. “Louder, sweetheart. I said louder. I need to hear you, right?”

Dennis smiles when you moan for him, too deluded to hear how fake it is. Or - is it? Maybe not. Could be real, could be a vocalization of your fear. Of your upset. He licks his fingertips and wriggles them between your bodies, searching for your swollen clit. He rubs it in circles as you fuck yourself on his dick, coaxing along your orgasm. 

And he recognizes the way you try to stave it off. You dread your release - they always do. But it has to happen. “Hey, hey - c’mere and listen for a second. No, don’t stop. We’re not done here,” he pants. “You need to cum for me. And if you do not cum for me, I am going to hurt you. Okay? And I mean it - I will hurt you, with - with all of my tools in here. Okay?”

Dennis watches your brows knit together in worry, your bottom lip wobbling a little. 

“Shit, sorry. I mean - I don’t want to, of course. Yeah, I don’t - don’t want that at all, do I? I know you certainly don’t.”

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t.”

“So do the smart thing and fucking cum,” Dennis says.

The threat works almost immediately. You change the rhythm, fucking yourself on his cock in a way you find most pleasureable. His tip reaches all those places inside you that you can never seem to find on your own, and kisses against your cervix just how you like it. With the pressure of his fingers on your clit, you cum on Dennis’ cock in seconds, whimpering his name. 

With the rapid pulsing of your cunt around his cock, Dennis cums too. He blushes the most delicate shade of pink and moans your name loudly, clutching you against his chest as he spills into you, rope after rope of his spend. 

When he’s done, he settles against the car door once more and smiles, all self-satisfied and sleepy and blissed out. It’s so eerily quiet, save for the sounds of your shared breaths. “Sounds like the storm blew right past us” he laughs. “Well, let’s get you home.” 

You were a promoter/recruiter for clubs all around Philly. More specifically strip clubs. Meaning you were always out at night, dressed like you were ready to party. Trying to get drunk men to visit one of these clubs or girls looking for a job. Now you never stayed inside the clubs long enough to mingle with the customers or anything, but since you of course knew the owners and some workers you'd hear stories. Stories of a group of guys coming around every so often just to hookup, or rich assholes just throwing money around. Stuff to make you glad that we're on the other side of those doors.

One night while you were lingering outside one of your slower business clubs, smoking a cigarette you bummed off of one of the bouncers, you noticed someone. A tall skinny grungy blonde girl. She looked a little older than you but that wouldn't be a problem. And it didn't seem like she had such a high paying job so it wouldn't hurt to try to recruit her.

Well despite your efforts of trying to persuade her, the two of you ended up becoming friends. Learning she went by Sweet Dee? She said she worked at a bar her brother and his stupid friends owned so where's the harm in turning down a cool new friend and the possibility of free drinks?

That was months ago.

By now you've met the gang, sometimes even getting involved with their shenanigans. But for the most part you just lounge around the bar to drink before getting to work. And it'd be inevitable not to say that Dennis and Mac(even Frank on occasion) have tried to trick their way into your pants. Or even just hook em up with some girl at one of the clubs. How could they not when you always wore some sort of short skirt or tight shorts, that went with whatever tight top you had on. But every time they tried you always turned them down.

That was until one of your nights off. Not having to go out meant you were free to get as drunk as possible. Except tonight you didn't.

It was just Dennis and Sweet Dee working the bar tonight, Dennis on the counter and Dee walking drinks and food out to people. Occasionally she'd come and keep you company but for the most part, you sat in a booth nursing your drink as you looked around the bar. Here and there you'd glance over towards the counter, watching Dennis work. And half of those times you'd catch him looking your way, and seeing how each time you caught him his eyes shot off somewhere else.

Eventually closing time rolls around and the last drunk finally stumbles out. Dee locking the door behind him, Dennis cleaning the counter and you now leaning against the counter. Moving around the melted ice in your cup with the small straw it came with.

Nobody says anything until Dee starts grabbing her things. "I'm gonna head out, you good to close Den?" Looking over at her brother who only nodded in response. Then looking towards you, "Will you get home ok?" You hummed in response and let the straw go from between your teeth. Not noticing the intense look from Dennis as he intently watched. "Mhm, I'm not far or that drunk so I'm good." Dee nodded in response and left saying goodnight to both of you.

Now it was just the two of you. In comfortable silence as Dennis slowly wiped the same spot on the counter over and over, stealing glances at your manicured finger that ran across the rim of your empty glass. It wasn't a secret that you were high maintenance. Your job pretty much called for it. It wasn't long before he broke the silence, walking over to where you were leaning against the counter. Pretending to still be wiping it down.

"You're off tonight, you didn't want more to drink?" Looking up at him through your lashes, wearing a small smile. "Didn't wanna blame any bad decisions on the alcohol." He looked at you confused. I mean he had been watching you all night, and as far as he was aware you hadn't done anything except look like sex itself. "Bad decisions? You just sat there all night, what do you mean?" Sighing as you pushed off the counter, you made your way behind the bar. Getting close enough to stand in front of him, you brought a hand to his that still held the towel and ran a finger up and down his arm.

"I wanna have sex with you Dennis." It was almost whispered as if you were worried someone was still in the bar. Not that you would have cared. But it didn't take long for him to react. Already hangrly kissing you, his left hand snaked to the back of your head. Gripping your hair to tilt your head so he could kiss you better. His right hand gripped at your bare waist that the shirt you wore didn't cover. Pushing you into the counter as he groaned against your lips. While your right hand rested behind you on the counter to hold yourself up, your left gripped at his shirt near his shoulder. Hiking a leg up to wrap around his waist. Your skirt rising in doing so.

"Fuck.." Moaning against your lips as your hips connected. He could feel how wet you were through his jeans, and it wasn't hard for you to feel just how hard he was. His grip in your hair tightened as he tilted your head back, letting him have easy access to kiss down your neck. Making you gasp as Dennis pulled your underwear down to sit at your heels. As soon as he felt one of your hands travel down to try and undo the buttons on his jean, he twirled you around and pressed you down against the counter. Holding you down by the shoulder as his free hand was quickly freeing his cock that had been throbbing all night, just at the thought of doing this with you. And now he finally was.

The bar was filled with groans and gasps from the both of you as he lined himself up. Not caring if he would fit or not. "Fuck Dennis..!" Grinning from your reaction, his hand on your shoulder made way to your neck. Pulling you up so his chest was pressed against your back as he started thrusting into you. Gripping the counter to keep yourself up. "Yk.. for a slut you're pretty tight. Mmh?"

Gasping every so often whenever he tightened his grip on your neck, his own sounds of pleasure filled your ear whenever he wasn't biting down on your neck or earlobe. It wasn't long before both of you were reaching your climax. "Shit baby.. I'm gonna cum.. gonna cum inside you yea? You'd like that right?" Looking at you as if he expected an answer other than your small gasps for air. Wearing a condescending grin, "Fuck, of course you would." And with that his thrusts got quicker, sloppier. You both came with a breathless gasp. Dennis started to slow down as he kept fucking his cum into you. Resting his sweaty forehead against your shoulder and letting go of your neck.

To his surprise this became a regular thing. Whether it was in the bars bathroom or back office. But for the most part it was mainly at his apartment. Late at night, or even during the day. If you were in the mood for a quick fuck you'd just show up to his place. Or if it was him, he'd text you to come over and you'd be there. And it shocked him. Not once had he ever slept with a girl more than once.

Which is why he'd record his sexual encounters. Plus he was not about to admit that to the others, and he was glad to see that you didn't seem to ever think about mentioning it. Who knows what the others, especially Dee would say. But it didn't take long for you to find out about his tapes thanks to a drunken Charlie, yet Dennis didn't know that you knew.

It wasn't until the 4th or so time you spent the night at his place that he realized it was always at his apartment. He had only noticed when you, once again, had woken up before him. Slipping one of his old tee shirts he had laying around over the bra he ripped off of you last night and whatever skirt or jeans you were wearing the night before. Stuffing what he thought was just your own shirt into your purse, before leaving without even a glance in his direction.

It was different. Normally he'd wake up before whoever he was with and leave without a sound. Hoping they'd just leave his place and never come back. Yet it was the other way around with you. And you always came back.

What made things worse though, there would be some nights where he'd text or call you to come over. And instead of agreeing he'd be hit with, "Sorry Denny baby I've got a date tonight. Maybe tomorrow." Or his least favorite was when you'd pick up in the middle of whoever it was you were doing. He could hear the asshole groaning under you, telling you to hang up. Though it kind of made him feel better, because you had never done that to him. No matter how many times your phone would ring, he made sure you were too tied up to even think about answering.

But it wasn't like he wasn't out there fucking other girls. He would keep telling himself there was no reason for him to get upset. But it bothered him so much that he didn't even realize he had stopped his recordings. It had been weeks since he had even opened that drawer. Weeks since he had last looked through them, he probably wouldn't even notice if some of them had gone missing.

You really should’ve gotten that headlight fixed. 

In the endless dark, with rain violently pounding on your windshield, you can’t see much of anything. Your wipers are moving as quickly as they can on their fastest setting, but the endless stream of rain keeps them from really being effective at all. It’s useless, with everything swallowed up by shadow and storm.

You’re really not one to drive through bad conditions. It’s just not worth it to you to take risks like this, so you slow down and ease your car to the side of the road, watching as the rain drums so loudly against it. You send a quick text to your friend, letting her know where you’re at and what’s going on, then turn on your hazards. 

It’s been raining a lot like this lately. But it’s April, so it figures, though it doesn’t help. It feels so…claustrophobic to be stuck in the rain like this, in the dark. You can barely see what’s in front of you. You can’t even hear your own thoughts. If you think too hard about it, it feels like it’s closing in on you. You’re staying calm.

But the downpour does slow, eventually. When the rain has slowed enough to be safe to leave, you put your car into drive and press on the gas, though you don’t move - the wheels just spin. You open your car door to check and yep - mud. You pulled off just enough to get caught in a patch of slick, cloying, slippery mud. And now you’re fucking stuck. 

Great. 

You’re about to Google a tow company to call when two lights appear in your rearview mirror, inching too close to your car. You’re on edge immediately, watching as the driver gets out and approaches you. The driver is a man, no taller than six feet. He walks with an umbrella in hand, then taps on your window. You roll it down just a few cautious inches. 

“Hey - hey there. Just checking to make sure everything’s okay.” 

You tap your overhead light, then squint at the man. He’s not in a uniform and he doesn’t have a badge, which makes you feel nervous. He’s just some guy. 

“Everything’s fine,” you say, smiling politely but remaining distant. 

The man - you’ll know him soon - looks around, noting your muddy wheels. “Doesn’t look fine,” he laughs, eyes twinkling at you. Even in the low light, you can see that they’re piercingly blue. The stranger is handsome, with his curly hair and sharp jawline. He wears a navy flannel, rolled up to his forearms. Veins spidering down to his hands. He’s maybe in his mid-forties.

“No, yeah. It’s fine, just - my car’s stuck, that’s all.” You smile kindly. The man smiles back at you. 

“Is there anyone coming to get you?”

“Um,” you hum, checking your phone’s screen to see no text back from your friend. “Not yet. I was about to call–” 

“Oh, don’t call. Yeah, don’t call.” The man laughs awkwardly, shifting on his feet. He seems a little nervous. Maybe not nervous, but…edged? Amped, even? “C’mon, look. Let me give you a ride, okay? The rain’s about to pick up again and—” 

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “No thank you, I’m gonna call my friend. I appreciate it anyway, sir.”

The man looks stunned when you interrupt him, when you go so far as to take out your phone in front of him. Already he thinks you’re a fucking bitch. A man is speaking to you. He hates the way you keep your window rolled only a quarter of the way down, fucking open it. He touches the glass and rests his fingers on the rounded edge of the window, wiggling them, itching…

His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare as he finds his composure. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out. 

“You’re not gonna get a signal out here. It’s a total dead zone,” the man says, watching as you scroll through your phone’s contact list.

“Thank you, but—”

The man interrupts next. “Go on, look. Look.” He uses a finger to gesture toward your screen, where a little SOS sign sits in place of the usual bars that indicate your phone’s connection. Stray rain drops splash onto your skin. “See?”

He’s right, unfortunately. When you check your messages, you see the text you sent earlier to your friend still hasn't been delivered. He swallows thickly, then speaks again,“And you’re very low on gas, too,” he adds, wiggling his finger toward your gauge cluster. “And that’s not great, considering.”

And he’s right about that, also. You didn’t notice you were close to empty, but you really don’t like that he did. You swallow nervously as you shut off your phone, heart beginning to beat a little harder. You feel a little sick inside about this. He’s just rubbing you the wrong way. 

“Why don’t you just come with me, yeah? It’s really—really no problem.”

“I really appreciate it, but I don’t know you, sir,” you tell him, and that should end it.

But of course, it doesn’t. It is smart, though. Very smart. He expects responses like this from young women like you. As he gets older, you girls get smarter. You’re not quite as…willing as you used to be. Not so compliant. It used to be that he could just tell you to come with and you would. But women nowadays, with your fucking safety classes and whatever. You’ve got no problem telling men like him when you don’t feel safe. Such bullshit.

“Oh, come on. Yes you do. You know me!” he says, smiling so big, whitened teeth on display. “It’s me, Dennis! From the other week? Paddy’s Pub, I was your bartender.”

You stare at Dennis blankly, then shake your head slowly. “No, I don’t think I do.” 

“No, no, see. You’re misremembering or something, sweetheart. Maybe in the dark you don’t recognize my face but just…come on. We’re really not far from your place at all, right?” Dennis rattles off your address then. “Short drive, right?” 

Your stomach drops then, and your gut begins to really churn. “You, uh…you know where I live?” you ask, feeling your palm perspire against the steering wheel. 

The man, Dennis, tilts his head, those blue eyes narrowed as he smirks at you. “Well, of course I do. I took you home when you were too drunk to drive, remember? God, you were a mess.”

You most certainly do not remember. You never, never drink to the point of being blackout. You stare at Dennis, trying so hard to place him. He does have a familiar face, or maybe it’s just that he’s handsome. Paddy’s, Paddy’s…

…it’s ringing a bell now. You remember some shitty, dingy bar, filled with strange people. Stopping inside to pee, maybe. Maybe having a drink? Yeah, maybe. You remember something tasting bitter…

The rain starts to pound harder on your windshield, startling you. Dennis waits impatiently, now with his hand on your car’s door handle. “I made sure you got inside,” he adds, “You said I was sweet.” He smiles at you in such a kind and disarming sort of way, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“So come on. Just a - just a quick ten minute drive, right?”

You pause, tapping your fingers along your steering wheel as you contemplate. You have that sticky, nagging, ugly feeling inside, but maybe it’s nothing. 

It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing. How many times have you worried yourself sick only to be completely wrong about whatever you thought was wrong, right? Countless. And Dennis, he’s charming. He looks, you know - clean…and gentlemanly.

Your windows roll up with a soft whir, startling Dennis as he quickly jerks his hand away. He opens your door for you, holding the umbrella over you as he takes your hand and helps you out of your car. He walks you quickly to his, a dark green Range Rover, and ushers you into your seat, then slams your door shut. Dennis quickly rounds the front of the vehicle and then joins you. 

He runs a hand through his wet curls, mumbling, “Okay, okay. Perfect. You’re there, good, good…” He adjusts his rearview mirror, quickly tilting it down to get a look at the tools he keeps in the back of his car. All the seats are down, good. There’s his blanket back there - Dennis eyes you quickly, sizing you up in his mind. You’d fit, all wrapped up in the fabric. If it got to that point. 

A beat passes then, and he takes off in the Rover. You watch your car in the side mirror, how it disappears into the dark and the rain as Dennis drives away. He touches his hair again nervously, throwing you a sideways glance. “So you really don’t remember me?” he asks, voice chipper and forced/

You shake your head. “I don’t. But…you said you were my bartender?” you ask, studying his face. He has a handsome profile, a sharp nose. 

“Yeah,” Dennis answers. “Made you a cocktail.”  

You try so hard to place him. That face, that voice. “What was it?”

“Oh, it was a…Moscow mule, if I remember correctly.” 

You nod slowly, rolling his answer around in your mind. It is something you’d drink, after all. “Okay. Um, what was in it, exactly?” you press.

“Ginger beer, vodka. Lime. The usual,” he rattles off. Rohypnol. “Ice. I know how to make a Moscow mule, if that’s what you’re asking. Been bartending since you were in diapers, sweetheart,” he jokes, clutching the wheel a little tighter.

“Was any ingredient like, I don’t know. Expired, maybe?” You hope your tone sounds casual still. 

“Alcohol doesn’t expire,” he says flatly. “Why?”

“And it was only the one?”

Dennis nods. “Yep. Just the one,” he confirms. “It was a normal drink, babe. I could make you another if you wanna go b–”

“Actually, you can turn up here–” you interrupt, pointing at a familiar road sign.

“I know where to fucking turn,” Dennis snaps before you finish. In the silence, he shakes himself out of it quickly, then apologizes, voice a little softer now. “Sorry, god. I just know where to turn, is all. You…just relax, okay? That road’s closed.” Dennis turns the AC on cold and blasts it. He needs to cool off.

You’re really starting to feel sick now, because you know that’s a lie. Dennis drives past the next road too, and the next one. You’re on the endless, winding road for a long time, now thinking about that one episode of The Sopranos. Sil had Adriana in the car. And the road never seemed to end. 

Fuck, what do you even do here? If he…if he locked you in the trunk you’d at least be able to knock a tail light out and wave your hand, maybe scream for help. But who’s around on this road? You look at the floor, the dashboard, anywhere in the car to find…anything. You clutch your car keys - dammit. You were given a pepper spray keychain that’s nowhere to be found. It had fallen off a while back and you never replaced it. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Dennis keeps looking at you. Not just your face, but your body, too. Your nipples are hard, peeking through your shirt. No bra, hm? The image sends a rush of arousal through his body, cock twitching in his jeans as his eyes linger too long. “Are you cold?” he asks.

“A-a little,” you murmur.

You flinch when Dennis reaches for a knob on the dashboard. His hand is so big, so veiny. Strong. With his sleeves rolled up, you can see the muscles twitching in his forearms. How easy it’d be for him to–

“What, did I spook ya?” Dennis smirks.

Your mouth is dry as sandpaper as you search for a way to answer him. And how awful that feels. Like being picked on in class when you don’t know the answer or you weren’t paying attention. 

“I think I did. But you seem nervous, sweetheart, not really…spooked. Maybe - maybe you’re scared?” Dennis chuckles quietly, keeping his eyes on the road, acting like he’s not rock hard from your anxiety. He grips the steering wheel tighter, skin stretched out thin over his knuckles. “What, am I - am I scaring you or something? Are you scared of me?”

You force out an awkward laugh, feeling around or the car’s door handle. Dennis notices this. His lips twitch and he exhales, shaking his head a little. “You’re scared or you’re not, honey. Can’t be both.” 

“I’m uh - honestly, I am a little scared, yes.”

Dennis clicks his tongue. Not disappointed, but not surprised. Like he expected that answer, or maybe…maybe he even hoped for it. “Mm. I mean, that makes sense, though. The right setting can make anyone feel…well, vulnerable.” Dennis throws you a sideways look, eyes tired and dead as he does his best to smile warmly. The mask is slipping. It always does around this point. “And in a storm, well. That’ll do it, huh?”

A flicker of lightning and a booming clap of thunder has you jumping hard enough to make the seat belt lock against you.  “No, it’s good that this happened,” Dennis continues. “I’ve been following you around, you know - in a good way, of course. And I knew there was something wrong with your tires. They’re bald, so - so that’s why they’re spinning in the mud back there. And I recognized your license plates.” 

“How did you–” 

“Don’t worry about it.” There’s another bolt of lightning, long and windy and spindling, lighting up the sky. “God, how about this weather? You’re lucky that I found you tonight. Wouldn’t wanna - wouldn’t wanna leave you stranded out there in the thunder and the lightning.” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, watching the speedometer’s needle rise and fall, heart pounding so hard you can feel it behind your ribs and in your throat. Your voice is starting to wobble, too.

“I love storms like these, honestly. We’re out in the middle of this quiet road. Nobody could see us, or hear - hear much of anything, really.”

His words hang heavily in the air as he waits for you to speak, tilting his head. “Right?”

Your throat feels dry. “...Right…” 

Dennis grins. “You know, I think we should pull over,” he says, checking the rear view and side mirrors of the car. “Yeah. Yeah, we should pull over. Before something…happens. The rain…”

His fingers flex against the wheel, and you swallow hard as Dennis applies the brakes, and the car starts to slow. He knows where he’s going, like he’s done this before. You can make out two parallel lines in the grass, worn deeply down to dirt. He has done this before.

“Where are we going?” you ask. Dennis doesn’t answer. You try again, and he still ignores you. “Are you–” you swallow hard, “Are you gonna hurt me?”

Dennis laughs loudly, awkwardly. “No, I am not gonna hurt you!” he chuckles, his voice a little higher now. “Why would I want to hurt you? I mean, I could. I could. Anyone could, really. But that’s just - well, that’s just human nature, right, honey?” 

Dennis puts the car into park, then exhales heavily and unclicks his seatbelt. He turns to you, eyes all dark and lidded. “I am going to fuck you,” he tells you, unblinking. “I mean, I would like to. I want to fuck you. You’re very beautiful, you know. Very clean.”

Desperately, you pull on the door handle, though it doesn’t open. “Been meaning to get that fixed,” Dennis lies softly, watching you desperately search for a way out of this. What can you do, though? He’s thought this through. He’s so practiced, perfected his craft.

“And you’re not going to say no, are you?” he adds, taking in your terrified expression. “No, of course not. Because - I mean, look around, right? All these woods. Do you think you know your way out?” he asks.

“I’d follow the tire tracks,” you whisper.

Dennis laughs. “Oh, sure. But with what lighting?” He sniffles then, and twists his neck to crack it. 

 This is usually the part where girls like you start to scream. Not all, though. Some freeze up and go quiet, and that’s nice too.

“Do you think anyone would hear you?” Dennis asks. “You know, if you screamed? Because I don’t think they would.” 

You stammer some incoherent answer, voice so wobbly and terrified. Dennis opens his window and yells then, screaming as loud as he can. When he’s done, he smiles calmly and shrugs. Your ears are ringing. “See?”

You jump when Dennis reaches for your seatbelt and unclicks it. “So with all of that in mind, why don’t you head back there?” Dennis nods toward the back of his car. “And take your clothes off, hm?” he adds, touching your thigh, feeling the fabric damp from the rain. “You’re all wet. That can’t be comfortable.” 

Dennis licks his lips, watching you tremble as you slide out of your seat and crawl into the back. Only one bulb lights up when he presses the dome light, and tilts his rearview mirror to get a nice look at you as you slowly peel off your clothes. “All of them,” he reminds you. “Underwear too.” 

“You know,” Dennis says, meeting your eyes through the mirror. “I think this is romantic. The storm, the trees…it’s kind of nice, huh?” 

“Y-yeah,” you whisper. “It’s very romantic. Um - I really, I like the woods,” you tell him nervously, voice shaking. “My dad and I used to go on h-hikes in the woods, and bike rides. He named me after–”

Dennis chuckles. Humanizing yourself. Smart. He grunts then, swinging his body around the driver’s seat to meet you in the back. He looks like an animal as he crawls toward you, sitting on his heels as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing a toned chest, his hair neatly trimmed. His body is slightly muscular, and so fucking attractive for as awful as he is. Isn’t that just something. And he’s got a pretty cock, even at half-mast. Long, a little on the slender side, with a perfectly pink tip. Trimmed, just like his chest is. 

You look around yourself, seeing a plethora of items he keeps back here. There’s duct tape, rope, a case full of what you can assume are a variety of blades. Very Dexter of him. Your breaths turn short as your heart pounds loudly in your ears. Is he gonna cover the car in plastic wrap, too? 

“Don’t - don’t look at that shit. It’s nothing, alright? Just lay.” Dennis says with a wave of his hand. “Lay on your back,” he repeats impatiently.

When you do, Dennis pulls you back by your hips. You gasp at the feeling of his strong hands on your body, angrily grabbing at your flesh. He spreads your legs wide and pushes your knees toward your chest, your cunt now on display for him. You hiss when he drags two of his long fingers up and down your seam. Dennis clicks his tongue, “You always this fucking dry?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he spits onto your clit and watches his saliva drip down, lips twitching. Dennis dips his head lower then, and licks you from bottom to top, humming at the way you taste. Somehow, girls like you always taste better when you’re scared. 

He kisses you a little, then begins lapping at your cunt, savoring all of that sensitive flesh, where you’re growing wetter just for him. There’s no art to it, no special technique beyond simply using his tongue to get you wet enough to fuck. And not only that, but he eats you for himself and his pleasure, not yours. 

Dennis adjusts and pushes his ring and middle fingers into you, curling them repeatedly. God, he loves this. Being inside a person this way. Feeling the heat of their warm, wet guts. It’s beyond satisfying to him. He growls against your cunt, sending vibrations through your core. Scruffy cheeks and jaw scratching your inner thighs. 

You find yourself rocking against his tongue - when’d that happen? Dennis snaps his fingers and points at you with the hand wrapped around your thigh, “Sit still,” he commands, then continues licking you. “Sorry, just - I need to do this my way. Okay? You’re fucking with my rhythm when you do that shit.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Oh, of course not,” Dennis mumbles in between kissing you. He licks you a little more, then sucks your clit between his lips and teases you that way. It makes you shake and tense up, then Dennis releases you with a chuckle.

He pulls back and rests against the door of the Range rover, eyes half-lidded and heavy as he lazily pumps his cock, head tilted. Dennis pats his thigh twice, urging you to come straddle him.

You crawl over, putting your hands on his broad shoulders as you hover above him. From this position, you can get a closer look at every one of his tools - maybe you can even grab one. You measure the distance in your mind, considering the move you’d have to make. “Hey, what did I fucking tell you?” Dennis snaps, reaching for your jaw to pull your attention back to him.

“I was just looking for condoms. Don’t you have condoms in here?”

Dennis laughs, putting one of his hands on your hip, and with the other, lines his cock up with your entrance. He notches the head inside you quickly, then pulls you down, bottoming out with a moan. “Oh, you’re cute,” he says. You whimper at the stretch, squirming away from him and the way his cock bruises your cervix. “No, I don’t use condoms, babe. Gonna have to take my load.”

Dennis palms your ass cheeks, slowly moving you up and down his length. “Birth control is a woman’s problem, anyway. I hope you’re on the pill. It’s just…well, irresponsible not to be. Anything could happen to you,” he says.

He thrusts up into you, guiding your hips to match his pace until Dennis has found something that works for him. Him, not you. If it were up to you, you’d slow it down a little more, have him roll his hips. But this isn’t about you, is it?

“Touch me,” Dennis rasps as you ride him. You slide your hands up his neck and touch his jaw, where Dennis then sucks on your thumb. He could bite you. He could.

He notices your eyes are closed. Bitch. You should be so lucky to be in his presence, fucking look at him. “No, no, no. Eyes open. Yeah, look at me. Look at Daddy,” he tells you, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “You’re very pretty, aren’t you? Not the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but…close.” You should thank him, he thinks. You mumble out a moan that could be interpreted as such.

Dennis fucks you from beneath, his once measured thrusts turning a little sloppy now as he pushes himself into you over and over again. He’s so warm, with beads of sweat rolling down his temples and neck, pooling at the dip between his collarbones. 

He’s annoyed at how quiet you are. “Louder, sweetheart. I said louder. I need to hear you, right?”

Dennis smiles when you moan for him, too deluded to hear how fake it is. Or - is it? Maybe not. Could be real, could be a vocalization of your fear. Of your upset. He licks his fingertips and wriggles them between your bodies, searching for your swollen clit. He rubs it in circles as you fuck yourself on his dick, coaxing along your orgasm. 

And he recognizes the way you try to stave it off. You dread your release - they always do. But it has to happen. “Hey, hey - c’mere and listen for a second. No, don’t stop. We’re not done here,” he pants. “You need to cum for me. And if you do not cum for me, I am going to hurt you. Okay? And I mean it - I will hurt you, with - with all of my tools in here. Okay?”

Dennis watches your brows knit together in worry, your bottom lip wobbling a little. 

“Shit, sorry. I mean - I don’t want to, of course. Yeah, I don’t - don’t want that at all, do I? I know you certainly don’t.”

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t.”

“So do the smart thing and fucking cum,” Dennis says.

The threat works almost immediately. You change the rhythm, fucking yourself on his cock in a way you find most pleasureable. His tip reaches all those places inside you that you can never seem to find on your own, and kisses against your cervix just how you like it. With the pressure of his fingers on your clit, you cum on Dennis’ cock in seconds, whimpering his name. 

With the rapid pulsing of your cunt around his cock, Dennis cums too. He blushes the most delicate shade of pink and moans your name loudly, clutching you against his chest as he spills into you, rope after rope of his spend. 

When he’s done, he settles against the car door once more and smiles, all self-satisfied and sleepy and blissed out. It’s so eerily quiet, save for the sounds of your shared breaths. “Sounds like the storm blew right past us” he laughs. “Well, let’s get you home.” 

it was supposed to be the day of recording the second track of pretty odd - nine in the afternoon. so far everything was going smoothly - the mics were all set up, instruments were tuned, and the boys were ready to perform at their best in the studio.

but that plan instantly changed the minute everyone sat down. when everyone was ready to record, ryan and brendon began getting off track a little too quickly. one minute they were singing the wrong lyrics, and the next, brendon turned to ryan in a fit of giggles asking what the hell his any of this was supposed to mean.

not to mention the obvious glances towards you every once in a while. it wasn't like you were wearing anything revealing - just a simple t-shirt and jeans. however, you couldn't help but notice the occasional sneak of brendon's eyes on your chest or how ryan's eyes lingered for a minute too long on your lips. but you pretended to ignore it, like how you pretended to ignore them whispering loudly about what you could only assume to be you.

a half hour had passed and you hadn't been able to get any usable shots of them singing or playing. spencer and jon, being the only ones taking anything seriously, looked at eachother with discomfort every once in a while. picking up on all of this, you knew something was up. still, frustration flooded your mind as you took off your headphones.

"maybe we should just start over tomorrow. i don't think the boys are feeling so great," spencer muttered behind his drumset. jon put his bass down and shook his head. "yeah, let's pick back up from here later. we're sorry for your time."

"oh...sure. yeah, i think we all need a break. we'll meet here at the studio tomorrow then? same time?" you offered, trying to lighten the moment. both seemed understandably bothered at ryan and brendon for being so obnoxious. they were all for having fun, but it was only the second track on the album and they couldn't even put the blunt down? were they even allowed to smoke in here?

spencer and jon nodded simultaneously and began to stand up and gather their things. brendon and ryan were lost in conversation, but still noticed the guys leaving. "where are you going?" ryan perked up.

"we're starting over tomorrow, come on," jon scolded, motioning his hands toward the door. him and spencer walked out, leaving you, ryan and brendon in the studio alone. the two of them seemed extremely confused for a few moments before they burst out in yet another fit of laughter.

you weren't stupid. you saw what was going on. the smell of pot stuffed up the whole studio and was practically lingering on your clothes. you took a deep breath and sighed, feeling full of disappointment. you just wanted to get this over with - get paid and get the hell out of here. this was only the second song on the track - you were barely done with recording any of the album. why was this so hard for them?

you pack up your equipment, ryan and brendon still chatting it up in the corner, teasing eachother loudly. no kidding, they sure were as high as the moon. you secretly wished you were too, not just to join in on the fun but to lay back and get your mind off all this. but you weren't planning to smoke anything right now, especially not with them. although you guys were friendly, you were still their producer - it just seemed unprofessional.

you gathered up your things and turned around, standing by the door ready to walk out. but as you opened your mouth to say goodbye, ryan beat you to it.

"hey, pretty girl. can i call you pretty? you're very pretty, by the way," ryan mused.

brendon slapped his shoulder. "stop it man, she's not gonna wanna-"

"do you want a hit? just one, cmon. it'll make you feel good." ryan offered, holding his blunt up high. the tip burned red as he held it to his mouth and blew out a few rings. the smell of pot was practically suffocating...but enticing.

sure, getting high on the job was unprofessional...but you weren't exactly on the job now, right?

"only if you teach me how to do that trick," you said quietly, your grin lopsided. setting down your bag, you tramped over to them in the corner, standing infront of them anxiously.

you took in the sight below you - two men who were practically touching the sky. ryan's hair curled perfectly against his cheeks as he looked up at you like a red-eyed angel. meanwhile, brendon gazed up at you admiringly, pupils blown out from a mix of the weed and lust.

"trust me baby, we can show you lots of tricks," brendon breathed hungrily, eyes drifting from yours to your chest. he snatched the blunt from ryan, earning him a shove and an annoyed look. brendon didn't seem to care as he brought the joint up to your lips for you.

“mmm, how do i know this isn't laced with anything?” you murmured, brendon still holding the blunt poised against your lips.

“please. do you really think we’d give you that crappy garbage? just inhale, c’mon.” ryan urged, shifting impatiently.

you obliged, inhaling deeply. smoke enveloped you and drifted in the air, making you cough. to your surprise, it was pretty decent. you wouldn't mind having some of this for yourself at home.

“this isn't terrible,” you hummed. “do you think you guys could maybe hook me up?”

brendon and ryan looked at eachother, taken aback by your straightforwardness. you felt a wave of anxiety rise in your chest as they began to snicker to themselves yet again. maybe it was a stupid question that you shouldn't have asked.

“damn, baby, if you insist…right here?” ryan raised his eyebrows while brendon continued to laugh to himself. “we were gonna ask you, but…”

“pretty girl knew we wanted to hook up. you’re dirty,” brendon teased, hooking his fingers through one of your belt loops and pulling you closer toward him. ryan scoffed at the sight, mimicking brendon's actions and yanking you more towards him instead. “stop it, bren,” ryan whined, gripping your waist firmly with jealousy.

realization washed over you as you toyed with the joint in your hands. it seems as if they had misinterpreted your question, but still admitted to wanting to mess around with you.

at this point, you had two options. you could back up and leave, ratting them out. you could tell the other band members, tell the press…shit, you could even sue. this was sexual harassment.

or you could take another hit and let it happen. let them do whatever they wanted with you. if they exposed you, they’d also be exposing their lack of professionalism and that they were smoking on the job. you had already accepted a blunt after all. you held your head up a little higher knowing that you had an advantage here.

let's be honest - it would be stupid not to take the second option. what did you have to lose? at this point, the idea of being proper seemed nonexistent. you were already one hit in and had both of these handsome boys drooling below you - the least you could do was have a little fun with them while they were still in the clouds.

“sure, let's just go with that,” you purred, eyes shifting from brendon’s to ryan's. tipping the blunt to your lips, you inhaled deeply again. this time, you slowly let out smoke above their heads, watching it dance around them.

“it seems like that's what you wanted anyways, no?” you coo at ryan, holding your hand out to cup his face gently. “otherwise i wouldn’t be standing above these two pretty boys who are trying to get me high for a quick fuck.”

ryan’s confident demeanor switches, his cheeks turning almost as red as his eyes from your gentle touch. out of the corner of your eye, you noticed brendon sulking, reaching for the joint in your hands.

“poor babies, you couldn’t focus today…too distracted thinking about getting me high and using me, huh?” you turned your attention towards brendon now, taking one last inhale of the blunt before dropping it on the floor and putting it out with your sneaker. “don't worry. ill treat you right. help you relax more than that shit could ever do.”

ryan and brendon both exchanged looks as if they had won the lottery as you sunk down to your knees in front of them. you peeled off your tshirt, leaving your plump tits on display for both boys to oogle at.

turning your attention to brendon first, you made quick work with his belt, unzipping his jeans tantalizingly slow with your teeth. slightly pulling down his boxers, you slid his dick out and took a second to admire it. his dick was long, the tip flushed pink and precum already beading. maybe the weed was finally kicking in, or maybe he really was prettier than you imagined (not that you’d ever thought you’d be doing this in a million years). you gave brendon a few kitten licks on his tip before swirling your tongue and taking him in your mouth gradually.

ryan whimpered upon seeing his best friend like this, taking the opportunity to undo his own belt and zipper. truthfully, the sight of brendon’s dick got him hard no matter what - he didn’t even have to be high. but god, it was so much better when he was. slipping out his own cock, he began to stroke his length heavily to the rhythm of your head bobbing.

you took brendon in your mouth fully, making him throw his head back and scrunch his face in pleasure. “fuuuuck, sweetheart,” he groaned deeply as you placed your hand at the base of his cock and began to stroke gently. letting your teeth graze ever so lightly, you continued hollowing your cheeks and nodding your head up and down on his length.

you turned your head to glance at ryan, feeling a little sorry you weren't giving him much attention. but ryan didn’t seem to mind, absolutely engrossed in the show in front of him. he watched endearingly as your tits bounced with every bob of your head. ryan’s ears perked up, getting off on brendon's breathy mewls that filled the muggy air.

soon enough, ryan’s strokes became erratic and sloppy, the drugs mixing with his upcoming climax made his head seem dizzy with pleasure and pot. before he could help it, ryan whined embarrassingly loud, shooting his thick ropes of cum all over you from your flushed cheeks to your bare chest. you were caught off guard but tried not to pull away from working on brendon, humming in praise on his throbbing cock.

seeing your pretty face and delicate tits sticky with his best friend’s cum instantly made butterflies shoot through brendon’s core. his breath became jagged as he struggled to compose himself, shifting in his seat whimpering for any sort of relief. brendon was practically fucking your face now, absolutely lost in his own pleasure. you continued to take him deep into your mouth, stroking his base roughly now. with one flutter of your tongue, brendon was pushed over on the edge, spurting his cum messily to the back of your throat. throwing his head back, he groaned aggressively, forehead gleaming with sweat and aching from overstimulation.

you accidentally dribbled down your chin, mouth full of brendon’s cream. before you had the reflex to wipe your mouth or swallow, you sat up and gazed at both boys, breathless and blissed out. suddenly, you grabbed ryan by the jaw and kissed him impossibly deep and tender. you felt brendon’s finish on your tongue seep into ryan’s mouth as he swished spit with you. brushing up against him just barely, you finally physically felt how wet your panties had gotten.

mewling a little, you pulled away after a moment, leaving ryan out of breath and brendon absolutely crimson. silence fell over the studio as you sat back on your heels again. the air stunk of sex and weed, overwhelming you and making your head ache.

“hey,” you wiped your mouth messily, swallowing a little. “teach me that trick next time, yeah?” you quipped, standing up and shuffling your shirt back on. ryan's eyes were screwed tight still, trying to catch his breath while nodding. brendon watched you passionately as ryan’s cum on your chest was seeping through the fabric, almost getting hard again.

you've always idolized pete, from the moment you discovered the joys of the emo trinity, crankthatfrank youtube videos, and wattpad. for most of your (somewhat cringeworthy) teenage years, he was a face on a screen, a poster on your wall, or a character in something you read self-indulgently under the covers late at night.

but if you think about it more deeply than that, he's the reason you started writing songs in the first place. when your head got scary, you thought about how he managed to channel all his pain into his words, and how those words saved so many people just like you. if he can do it, why can't you?

it takes practice. your first few songs sound like bad fall out boy parodies, but you keep writing until the words you put to music sound more like yourself. you meet some friends in high school who play instruments, and do a few shows in people's basements and backyards, but then your guitar player gets into an ivy league college and your drummer marries her boyfriend at 18 and has a baby less than a year later. you still write, but it seems like the dream of doing this forever is just that, a dream.

then, a year or two later, after doing karaoke in some bar you had to use a fake to get into, you meet another drummer. he asks you if you if you ever write your own songs. he knows a guitar player, and, oh yeah, your roommate plays bass. one thing leads to another, and it's not long before you're playing basement shows again. soon enough you're recording a demo too. you don't get your hopes up this time though. it's just a silly dream.

you send the demo to pete on a drunken dare. well not exactly, because you figure pete wentz himself isn't the one checking the dcd2 business email, but it's the thought that counts. your roommate cracks a joke about how you'd probably have to suck him off to actually get signed, and you laugh, but your mind swims at the thought of getting on your knees for him. you take another shot and press send, deciding to keep drinking until you won't remember this enough to be embarrassed about it in the morning.

it's all fun and games until you get a reply. it's not from him directly, of course it isn't. but no matter how many times you pinch yourself, the message still reads the same thing: "We get a lot of demos, but yours caught our attention. When would you be free to set up a meeting?"

you bite the hell out of your nails waiting for the meeting to start. the intern that you've been emailing with is the first person to join. the two of you are about the same age, and you compliment her neon green braids. conversation flows easily between the two of you, easing you out of the anxious spiral you'd been falling into.

unfortunately, all the nerves return when another square appears on your screen. it buffers, but the face inside of it is unmistakable. long blonde hair tied into a bun, and that yellow dotted sweater you've seen in a handful of recent photos. this isn't a photo, though. he's right here, live on your screen, introducing himself totally clueless to the fact that you wrote his name on your desk in 7th grade history with a heart around it and had to go to the principal's office over it.

but once you get over the initial instinct to freak out, the meeting is...professional. you weren't expecting anything else, really, but that joke your roommate made the night you sent in the demo, and the guilty fantasy it sparked, linger at the back of your mind while he talks about the logistics of when and where you can play for him in person. you're not sure if the webcam hides your blush or if he's just too nice to point anything out.

you're beginning to let go of the fantasy of pete as a total sleaze. he's nothing but polite in your emails, asking questions about your lyrics and complimenting (appropriately) the way your voice sounds on the demo. the reality finally sets in that he's going to be your boss, and there's probably nothing sexy about that. you two plan to meet up in a recording studio between your two cities. he's flying you out, and although you're excited, you can't help but feel a little bad for your friends who are (at least for now) being replaced by session musicians that pete knows.

then again, that degenerate part of your brain nags at you. he wants you alone. he wants to hear you sing in a room filled with only people in his network. the kind of people who would turn a blind eye to anything less-than-squeaky clean that he might try. you lay in your hotel room the night before the studio session with your hand between your legs, trying to replace the face in your fantasy with anyone else's so that you can look him in the eye tomorrow. when you hit your peak, though, it's his voice you imagine in your ear talking you through it.

you're right about it being difficult to look him in the eye. on top of all of the nerves of finally singing in front of the man who is the entire reason you started making music in the first place, you have to deal with the fact that you've also gotten off to the thought of him far too many times throughout your life, and even as recently as yesterday. plus, it doesn't help that he's wearing a tight tee shirt that shows off his strong forearms. he keeps them crossed over his chest while he watches you intently.

before you can even process it, you're done singing. somehow, you survived. pete keeps staring though. he's smiling as the musicians start to pack up and leave. you adjust your jacket a little and approach.

"you've got it, you know. it's hard to take my eyes off you," he tells you, and even though he says it so casually, you can't help but nearly choke on air. he tugs the hairtie out of his hair and it falls around his shoulders. you think it's funny that he's calling you eye-catching when he looks like that.

"is this the part where you tell me to get on my knees?"

fuck. you slap your hand over your mouth cartoonishly and squeeze your eyes shut. why the hell did you say that? your face burns bright red. not only did you embarrass yourself, you probably just threw away a career. finally, you dare to open your eyes and face the consequences, only to find that pete's...laughing?

he's definitely laughing, wrinkles around his eyes from smiling and shoulders bobbing up and down gently. there isn't even a trace of anger there. instead, he reaches out to place a steady hand on your shoulder and give it a squeeze, before moving it up to cup your cheek. your insides feel like they're in a pressure cooker, and the only way to release the steam is to get his cock down your throat.

"i mean, i wasn't going to ask, but if you're offering..." he drags his thumb over your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to reach the soft wet part and drag the dampness down the rest of your lip. you fight the urge to suck on it like a pacifier. you'd rather save that for a different part of his body.

your mind is short-circuting, but you find the words to answer after you swallow dryly and let his thumb rest on your chin. "i'm offering," you promise him, and it's the last phrase that leaves your lips before you're lowering yourself down right there on the studio floor and undoing the button of his jeans.

you work on freeing his stiffening cock as he works his hands into your hair. for a guy on the shorter side, he's got big hands. they feel so steadying against your scalp. but before you take him into your mouth, you let yourself have one indulgence.

"can i see your tattoo?"

he pets your hair with one hand and lifts his shirt with the other, leaving the beautiful ink right there on display in front of you. you've imagined this moment so many times, told yourself it's just a silly dream, but here you are, getting everything you want all at once.

you take him in until your nose presses right up against the tattoo, and then get to work.

every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.

he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.

then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.

nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.

your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.

you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.

you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.

“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.

nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.

you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.

his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.

fuck.

he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.

“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.

he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.

every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.

he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.

he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.

he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.

“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.

his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.

“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.

“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.

he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.

he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.

nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.

the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.

he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.

you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.

your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.

“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.

“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.

nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.

and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.

+

a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.

nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.

it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.

it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.

he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.

you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.

each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.

he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.

tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.

the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.

nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.

you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.

“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”

he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.

he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.

you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.

the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.

nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.

he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.

“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”

you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.

your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.

the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.

his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.

you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.

he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.

you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.

nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.

he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.

you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”

“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”

you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”

caught him red handed. fuck you.

he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”

the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”

his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.

“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”

you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”

the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.

he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.

nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.

he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.

his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.

his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.

he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.

the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.

nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.

he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.

he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.

he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.

the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.

he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.

only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.

he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.

nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.

when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.

your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.

he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.

you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.

the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.

“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.

he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.

you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.

nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.

his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.

the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.

he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.

“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.

your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.

his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.

now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.

he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.

you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.

nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.

but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.

with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.

your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.

he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.

the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.

your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”

the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.

nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.

“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.

nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.

his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.

the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.

nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.

for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.

nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.

your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.

finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.

a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.

the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.

he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.

“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”

the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.

he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.

“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”

the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.

You've always thought your uncle was cool!! He always let you come over and play video games on his Xbox, or play tennis with him, or even show you how to play bass!! I mean he wasn't your REAL uncle, just a good friend of your dad Patrick. But Pete felt like an uncle, he was always there.

Like now, Pete's at your family gathering, it wasn't HUGE but it was enough to make you a little anxious. Everyone is so loud and close, it feels like your suffocating, and the room feels like it's 1000 degrees. You already did your job; spoke to a few close family members and got your fair share of food. All you need to do is just go somewhere quiet and pretend you just knocked out after eating.

Your sneaking off does not flee the eyes of Uncle Pete, not one bit. In fact, you've never fled the eyes of Pete. He's watched you all night, seeing you so comfy yet kinda dressed up, so awkward, so nervous for no reason. He can't say he's not a little hard, he's worried about you too, it's hard to ignore his vices when your lips are wetted with your own spit every few minutes. He follows you out to the garage, thankfully it's pretty far from the main room.

You're sitting down by the tire of your dad's car, sipping on some off-brand soda a random distant cousin of yours brought.

"Hey kiddo, what's up? Why aren't you inside?" Pete asks, sitting down next to you. "Oh hey Uncle Pete-" "Just call me Pete, sweetheart. You know I don't like the formalities. You're just as much my friend as your father's my friend."

"okay, Pete. I'm just a little overwhelmed I guess. Not a big party fan" you mumble, Pete bumps his cup against yours. "aye, cheers to that bud, Im not much a fan of it either." He says as he messes up your hair a little

You immediately go to fix it, making Pete laugh a bit "how can you not like crowds? My dad and you are literally in a huge band?"

"just cause I like to play the music dosent mean I don't get overwhelmed. People are tough and a lot of time only think of their own interests, especially when it comes to spacial awareness." He slips an arm to your back, softly rubbing in circle. You sit in silence for a moment but nod. "Your dad said you really like learning bass. You wanna see me tomorrow to get in a little practice? Maybe I'll even let you borrow one of mine till we can go and pick out your own." You look up at him, wide eyed.

"what??? Really?? Yeah!! Yeah- I want to!!" You say excited, accidentally hitting his cup with your hand, a little splashes on yourself shoulder. Smells strong of an alcohol of which you dont know the specifics of. "Oh let me get that for you, bud" Pete says as he leans over, hand fully on your hip, sucking and licking at the soaked droplets on your shirt. You don't say anything, you can't bring yourself to. It felt weird but you liked it. You liked that he was in his mid 30s and you were 18 and 3 quarters. You'd fantasized about this before, and it felt so gross, you felt disgusting thinking about your awesome uncle this way, but.... Here he is, and God you can feel your whole body heating up...

He pulls away, looking up at you " 'm sorry, kiddo. I don't know what came over me. You're just so fucking sexy like that" he mumbles, he presses his cup into yours "why don't you have a real drink? We don't have to tell your dad." You're eager to try, so you take a sip, the liquor burns your throat. It sizzles against your vocal cords and makes your chest tighten with disgust. Its not even the taste that makes you writhe with that disgusted and unsatisfying feeling, its the thought of your dear father (surely he'd be distraught) and the idea that your uncle is making you so aroused. "Good, good [boy/girl/pet] you like it?" You nod "yeah Pete, it's good" he smiles, rubbing your hip "I can make it taste better, wanna try?"

You'd be stupid if you said no. You nod, silently begging for him to do something. He aggressively presses his lips to yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. At first you try to push him off but you give in, you want this. You want him to force himself on you, that's what you get off to. He holds you still, his tongue slipping against yours and pressing into your cheeks. Occasionally you squirm for air which he lets you have. Then goes back too it, drool leaked from the corner of your mouth, your teeth, clank together and you feel Pete's hardness against your leg. You shiver, a sensation that is akin to pins and needles runs through you.

"Feel that? See how hard I am? You're so innocent you either don't know what sex looks like or are some dirty perv" he mumbles playfully. Oh, if only he knew the TRUTH to that.... Pulling your hand to touch it, and you do. You adore how it twitches against your hand and how he's so encouraging, especially when he presses soft open mouthed kisses to your jaw.

He humps against your hand, like a rabid dog in heat. "God, you're so good to me. Thank you. Thank you so much" he mumbles, he reaches under your pants to rub you through your underwear with his calloused and strong hands. You're shaking. Whimpering here and there, trying not to be too loud. "Come on buddy, I know you need it. Know you want to cum for you your uncle Pete, right?" You nod, rutting against his hand. It feels so good, you feel yourself drool a little, and he's so good to thumb it away from your face.

You rut against his hand until you can't think, until it happens and you cum. You're embarrassed, you just came, in your underwear, just from humping your uncle's hand... "Good job buddy, so good. So proud of you" he groans and with a few more desperate humps you feel him also cum. The warm liquid seeps out of his boxers onto your hand. He looks at you "you're so good. I need you so bad. Can't have your dad finding out. Promise you won't tell Pat? I can't ever make you feel good or teach you bass if you tell your ole dad. You'll never see me again." That immediately makes fear shoot through you. "I won't tell!! I won't! I don't want to. I liked it" you mumble. Pete gives you an adoring smile. "That's good kiddo. "Wish I could fuck you right here on your dad's car, but I dont want us getting caught. Come over to my house tomorrow, I'll teach you the bass and make you feel extra good. I'll teach you how to make your uncle Pete cum a whole bunch." You nod your head, he helps you stand up, fixing your clothes and kisses you. "Why don't we put you to bed, yeah?" "Yes please"

He walks you up to your room, just like when you were little. He gently lays you in your bed and pulls the covers over you, and presses a kiss to your cheek. You wanna feel gross. I mean, you do, you feel filthy. Cum all in your underwear, your uncle's cum has become sticky on your hand, you lick a little off and love the taste. Licking and sucking at your hand like a starved puppy.

You'd be stupid not to see your uncle Pete tomorrow...

~~~~~~~~~

Gerard Way had a weird charm to him… If you could even call it that.

You met him in one of your classes, beginning of the fall semester, when you two were paired together for a book report. He was very nerdy with a slouched posture that obviously lacked confidence. You didn’t even notice him the first few weeks of class until the project came along… He was quiet, avoided eye contact, and was always scribbling these elaborate doodles in his notebook. His dark clothes were always wrinkled, and his greasy hair somehow always seemed a few too many washes overdue... There isn’t a time you can think of where Gerard didn’t have greasy hair. 

Despite all of this, there was something about the way he acted. The way he tripped over his words when he was flustered, or the way you could see his eyes light up when he could talk about anything comic or horror-related. Pathetic, yes, but weirdly endearing. His passion was strong and genuine, a quality that seems rarer every day. You couldn’t help but be curious.

That evening, you found yourself outside his dorm room on a Friday, knocking lightly, nerves starting to buzz. Which was ridiculous. This is Gerard. Why were you nervous now? You have no reason to be.

You stood there for more than a few seconds before knocking again, in case you weren’t loud enough. From inside, you heard a loud thud.

 What was that? 

You leaned in towards the door to listen, eyebrows raised, and heard muttered curses which were followed by frantic footsteps.

The door swung open, and Gerard stood there awkwardly with a lopsided smile. Behind him was the exact kind of space you’d imagine him to live in, a cramped single dorm, walls plastered with comic memorabilia and posters from alternative bands, most noticeably a massive Smashing Pumpkins poster above his bed. Though it was very dirty, you had to appreciate the personality that was shown. 

“Uh- Hi,” he stammered, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.  “Sorry, it’s such a mess. I didn’t even realize the time because I got distracted and I… yeah. Here, come in.” He finished his rambling as he shifted on his feet nervously, his cheeks a little flushed as he kept habitually adjusting his hair. His eyes kept darting from you to the floor as if holding your gaze might kill him. 

You gave him a reassuring smile, “I’ve seen worse, don’t worry about it,” you lied. Poor guy.

You took a few steps in, getting a better look at the place. There were sketchbooks and empty cans stacked all over the place, a few DVDs scattered across his desk. He had a few shelves filled with comic issues and action figures, which made you giggle to yourself. All you could imagine is Gerard reading the comics with his action figures in hand and acting out the scenes from the series with them.

“Ah, wait- here,” Gerard blurted, rushing forward. He brushed the DVDs and a few paper piles onto the floor in a frantic attempt to make it look presentable. “You can set your stuff on my desk here,” he stammered. He then motioned toward the low-rise coffee table at the center of the room and laid a pillow down for you to use as a seat. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a cluttered mess on top. He must have had time to organize this part before you came. 

So, you and Gerard sat criss-crossed at the table with your laptops open, notebooks sprawled out with your colorful pens and markers. Gerard had put on a record to prevent the silence, “Louder than Bombs,” by The Smiths, an album you enjoyed and found quite intimate on its own. The soft glow of the corner lamp on his desk, besides the bright computer screens, had filled the room with a strangely intimate glow. Every time you shifted a bit to get more comfortable, your knee brushed his. 

Gerard hunched over his notebook as he continued annotating the assigned book. It was filled with little tabs to mark pages; you smiled when you noticed. He was putting in a significant amount of effort, mostly from outside preparation for this meeting, because he was currently pretty distracted. His knee bounced rhythmically, and he twirled his pen every once in a while; his lip stayed caught between his teeth as he lightly chewed. Every other second, you’d notice his eyes flick toward you, only to dart away when you looked back.

It was… cute? In its own awkward, kinda pathetic way, it was cute. 

When you reached to grab your water, you knocked some pens over, causing them to roll down under the couch. You tsk’d and reached under, not far under, and felt something else. It was a stack of thin, stiff but bendable layers. Comics naturally were your first thought, but this material had been too stiff to be paper. Photos, maybe?

You abandoned your highlighter and grabbed that instead. Sometimes curiosity gets the best of you. You can’t help it! 

Out came a small stack of Polaroids, bound with a rubber band.

You blinked at them, curiosity sparking, while Gerard found it in himself to finally focus on the project rather than trying to sneak glances at you. He was writing something down after highlighting a section of the book. You slipped the band slowly, trying not to make any noise, and you began to flip through the stack.

Your chest tightened. 

It was all you.

Walking across campus. Waiting at the bus stop. Laughing with a friend. Sipping coffee. Your face and body had been captured from a distance without you even realizing. Some of the photos were even of you doing more intimate actions, tying up your hair… bending over to pick up something you dropped… 

You in your dorm room window.

You froze as your stomach began to twist with shock, and soon something… darker. Slowly, you pulled one of the photos where your skirt had been hiked up a bit and set it to your right, face-up on the table, in between the two of you. 

Gerard glanced over absentmindedly, hard at work, and then completely froze. His hand stopped writing mid-sentence, causing some ink to pool on his paper where his pen had stopped. His eyes locked with the photo, and his face drained of color.

Though his voice worked perfectly fine before, everything caught in his throat. No words came out, just a strangled noise, like he had been caught in headlights. 

Your eyes flicked up to him, watching as the panic began to grow on his face. God, he looked so pathetic with his cheeks flushed and lip trembling slightly, his mouth opened and closed, fumbling for the right words to say. To somehow save himself from this situation.

“…W-where did you—“ he started, voice cracking.

“Under the couch,” you interrupted him, smoothly. You sat there with confidence, in control of the situation. He had to bend to you. 

You held up another photo, looking at it closely in front of him in the warm lamp light. “These are… interesting, Gerard.”

“Shit I- No, I just— Fuck, look, I can explain,” he stammered, not able to fully form a sentence as he suddenly flew forward to attempt to grab the photos, but you snapped your wrist back, smirking.

You were enjoying this. 

“You can explain?” Your tone was teasing, light, like this was all a game to you. Because in a way, it turned into one to get what you wanted. 

“So… you just accidentally followed me across campus with a camera? You accidentally,” you took a look at a random photo in the stack, “took a photo of me in a skirt on a windy day? And let’s not ignore the fact that some of these- some of these are from last school year. I didn’t even know you existed last school year.”  

His eyes were wide as you berated him, and his hands were hovering helplessly in the air before letting them fall back into his lap in defeat. He looked like he wanted to sink through the floor and fall through the Earth. 

How could he have been so careless? He finally got his chance with you, to have you so close to him finally, and he blew it. 

However, you continued to flip through the polaroids, landing on one with you bent over a desk in a library, your foot crossed over the other as you leaned down. The angle was from behind; you couldn’t see up your skirt, but it looked very suggestive. How did he even take this without anyone noticing? How long has he been doing this? 

Your smile sharpened, “Wow. You really are a little creep, aren’t you?“

He shuddered at your words, his breath hitched as shame washed over his face. And yet you noticed it. The way his thighs squeezed together and his breathing began to quicken. The way his pants suddenly seemed to get too tight. The way his hand quickly shot down to cover himself under the table, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

Oh.

You really had him now. 

You couldn’t help but feel so powerful from this situation. You knew you could do anything, and he would take it. All because you’re you. You let out a bubbly and playful laugh, though it wasn’t anything other than cruel, “Oh my god. Seriously? You’re actually hard right now? From me calling you a creep?”

Gerard let out a whimper as if he had been hurt; his face wasn’t any other color than red. The worst thing was that he couldn’t defend himself. It was all true. He didn’t dare to look at you, now, eye contact would kill him. 

You leaned in closer, playfully sliding the Polaroids closer to him on the table. The stack lay out in front of you as if it were evidence for a trial. Your eyes trained on him as your voice dropped to a syrupy sweet tone, “Pathetic. You like me finding out how much of a perv you are. You wanted me to find out, didn’t you?”

His breathing grew uneven once again, his lips parting like he might start begging for forgiveness. Or just start crying. It was hard to tell from his facial expression. 

And that’s when you realized how much control over him you had. You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself.

“Didn’t you?” You repeated as Gerard struggled to come up with a response. 

“I mean- Don’t get me wrong. I noticed the way you’d stare at me across the room in class. You were so obvious, so I assumed you had a crush, but this… this is pathetic. You’re pathetic.”

Gerard’s entire body had flinched at the word. His face heated up to where it burned, his thighs pressing so tight together that you had seen his knees shake. 

You leaned closer to him over the coffee table, your voice intoxicatingly soft and sweet, “But you like it when I say that, don’t you?”

He whined as your breath hit his ear, “I— No, I—“ he couldn’t speak, and at this point, his hips were speaking for him. He shifted and stuttered, looking for friction from the fabric of his jeans, full of desperation. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my God. You’re humping the air. That’s so fucking adorable.” 

He choked out a noise; his eyes had not left the floor. Setting the photo down, you crawled onto the coffee table, your knees knocking against the wood. You leaned until your face was inches from his, “Look at me, Gerard.”

He immediately obeyed. His wide, glossy hazel eyes shone with humiliation and pure lust. 

“Good boy,” you whispered. His lips parted as if your words had shot right through him. 

Moving your hand to his chest, you then trailed a finger down, stopping right above his waistband. His stomach moved from his nervous breathing, and you couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. 

He’s so fucking adorable.

You didn’t touch further, just lazily circled your finger along the waistband where he was straining and twitching. 

“You’ve taken dirty pictures of me,” you murmured to him, “but now, you can’t even ask me to touch you? Do you even want me that bad?”

His voice hitched as he quickly replied, “Please.” It came out as a raspy beg.

“Please what?” You were evil. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, face burning as he felt the embarrassment creep up on him, “Please… touch me.” 

You grinned, “Mmm, you see, I just don’t think you deserve it. Creepy perverts like you don’t get what they want, ya know?” You sat back down, opposite side of the table, removing your hand, giving some distance from Gerard, which caused a look of alarm to wash over his face. He wanted you to himself. 

“They get laughed at.”

He let out a sound that can only be described as half a groan and half a whine. You almost felt pity for him… almost.

Instead, you made direct eye contact with him, a smirk slowly growing on your face as you slid your foot up to his shin under the table, teasing him as you slowly moved your way up to his inner thigh. His legs automatically opened, and he even inched closer. He was desperate for you to take him right then and there, but you only played along his inner thigh and moved back down, over and over.

Your foot grazed higher than before, and his breath hitched so that it came out as a strangled gasp, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the low coffee table, as if it was the only thing holding him back.

“Fuck,” he whispered, low and gravelly. 

Tilting your head, you feigned innocence, “What’s wrong, Gerard? Shouldn’t we get back to work? There’s a big project waiting for us…” 

His eyes finally met yours. Wide. Glassy. You could see he was on the edge of breaking..

“Pathetic,” you murmured, drawing your foot away completely. You stood, circling the table with a deliberate slowness before settling down beside him on the floor. You leaned in close enough for your lips to brush his ear as you whispered, “You’ll never get what you want from me.”

That did it.

The sound that escaped Gerard’s mouth wasn’t the pitiful, pathetic whimpers from before. No, this was guttural. As quickly as you blinked, Gerard grabbed you by your waist, pulling you up and pinning you down on the couch behind the two of you with ease. You gasped as his strong hands gripped you, holding you down tightly. He hovered his body over yours, his knee right in between your thighs.

“Don’t—“ his voice cracked, he was panting with a slight tremble as his hair fell in his face as he leaned over you, looking down. “Don’t fuck with me like that. Not anymore.” His hands had moved to pin your wrists above your head to the couch. There was a desperation in his tight grip that you knew he would not let go. Ever.

You stared up at the flushed boy above you; your initial wide-eyed face of shock had grown into a smirk. This feral change within him was something you wanted. You loved seeing just how far it would take for him to snap. 

“Finally,” you teased softly, despite no longer being in control, “I knew I could rile you up…”

His grip tightened, and there was a new look in his eye, dark and wild, like you had just permitted him to ruin you. And for the first time that night, Gerard smirked, knowing that after all those pleas, he got what he wanted. 

Your lips parted to speak, but you never got to start. Gerard didn’t wait to hear whatever quip you had to make. His mouth crashed into yours. It was a frantic, messy, and desperate kiss, his tongue now darting in. He kissed you like his life depended on it, and in a way, he felt like it did. You had been his life for so long now, every day you had been his every thought. Even in his dreams, he couldn’t escape you. It was like he had been starving for this, and even if he wanted to pace himself, he couldn’t. You tasted too damn good. 

Your wrists struggled against his grip; you wanted nothing more than to tug at his shirt, run your fingers through his hair, unbuckle his belt, but Gerard was in control now. And you were going at his pace. 

Gerard pulled back, and you whined from the loss of contact, causing him to scoff to himself.

He dipped down to kiss you again before muttering against your lips, “Fuck—“ he dragged his lips down to your jaw, kissing as he went to your throat, now sucking bruises onto your skin, licking them softly after as an apology for the pain, marking you as his. He finally got you, and he wanted people to know. 

His lips brushed your ear, leaving a slow, deliberate kiss before whispering, “I think about you…” His mouth moved down your throat, the words buzzing against your skin. “Every fucking…” He stopped at the low dip of your shirt, kissing along the exposed skin of your chest. “Every fucking night.” He buried his face against you, inhaling you like he was starving, while his knee pressed firmly between your thighs.

His confession, muffled against your chest, made your stomach twirl and flip in all sorts of directions. You had never been worshiped in such a way before; you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you. All you could do was whimper beneath him and grind down on his knee, begging for more. 

He pulled up to look down on you, “I touched myself to those photos, to your face, your body, fuck— I can’t stop.” His hands left your wrists, but you didn’t dare move them; you let him do as he pleased. His hands roam your body, grabbing your waist, sliding up your shirt. He trembled with lust, unsure if he wanted to worship or ruin you now. 

And God- you realized you had won. This is what you wanted. See this pathetic loser crumble beneath you until he snapped. His confession lit something in you, something hungry, something dark. Your hands flew to his hair to tug, then you hooked your legs around his hips and dragged him hard down against you, grinding up on him. He groaned, low and guttural, grinding back into you desperately, his head dipping down to your neck, muttering swears. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, moving to tug at your shirt, up and over your head. His breathing was heavy as he returned to kissing you desperately, hands now fumbling with the button of your shorts. He tugged them down, now having successfully stripped you down to your bra and panties. 

And then, he froze.

Gerard pulled back, hovering above you. His frantic breathing calmed into long, shaky breaths as his eyes swept over you. The soft glow from the lighting made you look absolutely beautiful as the shadows danced along your curves. Your hair was fanned out across the cushions, messy from his hands, and you’d never seen anyone look at you the way he did. 

His lips parted, but no voice came out. He couldn’t form any words, even though his mind was thinking one thing. Just how much he adored you. 

His wide, glossy eyes shimmered, overwhelmed. A tear pricked at the corner of his eye, running down. 

“You’re… god, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking like it hurt him to say it out loud. 

Desperation no longer was driving him; he was awestruck. He couldn’t believe you were even real; you were someone Gerard could’ve only dared to dream about. He completely marveled at your beauty.    

And then, with a shaky breath and hand, he cupped your face, and you put your hand over his. He dipped down, the hunger taking over him at your reciprocation. He was more frantic than before, and you happily matched his pace, your heart hammering. He cupped your face as his other hand slid down to your thigh, pulling you closer to let your core feel just how hard he was. 

His hands are now fumbling with the clasp of your bra. As it finally snapped free, he let out a sigh, almost a moan, and pulled the straps from your shoulders and tossed it aside. 

“Jesus Christ,” Gerard breathed, his eyes taking in the sight of you now bare. His eyes shone with awe and lust. He dipped down, latching his mouth onto your breast and nipping and sucked rhythmically. When he bit down a bit harder, you hissed, only for him to immediately soothe the spot with his tongue and gentle kisses. Still, he couldn’t help but bite a few more times to elicit those noises again, after all, he suffered for so long to get here… you could take a little pain.

You arched as he dragged his teeth along your collarbones. Your hands tugged at his shirt, begging him to take it off. He smirked to himself— finally, you wanted him just as badly as he’d always wanted you. He happily obliged and took his shirt off, quickly returning to your body with adoring kisses. As your back arched up towards him, he left a wet trail of kisses down the center of your chest to your stomach, before coming back up to kiss your swollen lips. 

He began to fumble with his belt, whining as he struggled to unbuckle it, which caused you to help him. You undid it with just as much haste as he had, if not faster, and tugged them down. He kicked off his pants, leaving you both in your underwear. 

Honestly, both of you were so excited. So turned on. So, so desperate for each other. 

“I— Fuck,” you swore to yourself, your face hotter than you’d ever felt. You have never been this turned on, and the humiliating truth? It was because of Gerard Way that you got this hot and bothered. 

Gerard looked down at you with that sexy smirk you now couldn’t get enough of.  “What was that?” he asked sweetly, “Use your words, sweetheart…” he instructed you, his voice coming out low and velvety. 

“P-please.. just— I need you so bad. So bad, Gerard,” you breathed into his ear, pulling his head to your shoulder. You nipped at his ear, tempting him to go further. 

He pulled up and rested his forehead against yours, “Are you sure?” He paused, “I won’t be able to stop…” 

That’s the point.

“That’s okay.” 

And he leaned in for another tender kiss. Then bit your lip teasingly and pulled back to position himself between your thighs. He shoved his underwear off and let out a shaky, desperate whimper as his cock pressed against your soaked panties. He began to grind himself on you, already as hard as he could be. 

The lamplight gleamed off the sheen of sweat at his temple as he smirked down at you. He saw how desperate you have become. All because of him. This pathetic pervert got you under him, willing to let him do anything. He had to savor this moment; there wasn’t anything he wanted to waste. 

Gerard grabbed his member and dragged it agonizingly slow against the soaked fabric of your panties, the fabric hot and slick. The amused tilt of his head told you he was savoring every second of your desperation.

His tip nudged your clit through the thin material and lined it up with your hole, the fabric acting as a barrier. He began to thrust with quick, short pulses, just to watch you squirm. 

“Fuck, Y/N” He moaned, “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me…”

You arched and whined, nails digging into his shoulders as if you could pull him inside you by force. He groaned at the sight of desperation in your eyes. You were practically trembling from the teasing. How would you be when he’s finally fucking you?

“P-please, please, Gerard,” your voice whined, cracking with need.

“Who’s the pathetic one now?” Gerard taunted, voice low and ragged as you whimpered and begged beneath him. 

He continued to grind against your clothes core, slow and deliberate, until you were breathless and nearly crying from need. Your hips stuttered up, chasing more friction, but he pulled back and pinned your hips down firmly to keep control. He savored the way you writhed beneath him. Fuck, you were so needy.

Finally, he couldn’t hold himself back from you. With a frustrated growl, Gerard hooked his fingers under your panties and yanked them down, exposing your wet core. His breath hitched, wasting no time to grab his cock and start coating himself with your slick folds.

“Fuuuckk…” He moaned out, his head tipping back, “You’re this soaked for me… all from teasing?”

“God shut up,” you choked out. The teasing had caused you to become so sensitive; the skin-to-skin contact was overwhelming, “J-just fuck me,” you begged, “please.” 

That was all he needed. With one deep, merciless thrust, Gerard sank into you. He stretched you out, making your back arch off the couch as a broken cry escaped your lips.

His hand shot over to the drawer beside the couch, fumbling until he pulled out his Polaroid. He didn’t pull out. He didn’t even slow down. Instead, he angled the camera down, making sure the frame caught exactly what he wanted: his cock buried deep inside you, your panties shoved aside, your body trembling beneath him. He snapped a photo before you could process it, and the soft whirr of the photo printing could be heard.

You realized in disbelief that the picture had frozen the moment: him buried inside you, your body arched and open beneath him.

You stared up at him breathlessly and let out a laugh of disbelief, “Adding that to your collection?” 

He grinned and nodded, holding the photo up for just a second before tossing it aside to develop. “Damn right I am,” he rasped, his cock still pulsing deep inside you as his hips pressed against yours, “I had to capture how beautiful you look, full of me.”

Your cheeks burned, and you clenched from his words, making Gerard let out a guttural moan. He pulled out just to thrust back in harder, trying to press himself in even deeper. 

“Fuck— you’re so— tight,” he gasped, his voice breaking as his pace turned more frantic. You let out a strangled cry as he sped up, your body rocking up and down below him. Shocks of pleasure coursed through you as he lost control, his hips slamming down into you.

“shit, Y/N—“ He groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his eyes half-lidded as he held your gaze, “Y-you’re mine, okay? Not anyone else’s. Mine.” 

You could only nod through your cries, nails digging into his back. He hissed at the sting but drove his hips in even harder, as though as punishing you for daring to belong to anyone else.

He slowed his thrusts down for you just long enough to catch your breath, “Say it,” he demanded, lowly.

The words spilled from your mouth before you could even think, breathless and wrecked, “I’m yours, Gerard. F-fuck, I’m yours.”

His smirk returned, and his pace snapped fast and brutal again, “Good girl,” he groaned, the praise breaking into a curse as your walls clenched around him again.

Gerard’s control snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight. His hips crashed into yours, over and over, the couch began to creak from the force. Every thrust was filled with passion, causing your moans to turn into choked sobs of pleasure.

His mouth found your neck, and he began to kiss. The rhythm was relentless as he didn’t let you catch another breath. 

“You feel that?” he panted, his mouth hot against your ear as he bottomed out inside you, pressing himself as deep as possible, “Feel how I’m in you? Filling you up? You were fucking made for me. You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.” His voice cracked into a moan, his whole body trembling with the overwhelming need to stay buried inside you, to make sure you never forgot who you belonged to.

Your whole body quivered beneath him as the pressure kept building. You felt yourself close to coming undone, and Gerard wanted so desperately to hear that. He shifted his body as he grasped your hips tightly, angling his thrusts until he hit the spot that made you see stars. 

Your mouth opened, yet no words could come out besides struggling moans. Your orgasm coursed through you, your legs trembled, Gerard groaned into your ear, and it only drove you higher. Every shudder, every squeeze of your walls around him made him lose a little more control.

The sight of you coming undone beneath him sent Gerard over the edge. With dilated eyes, he tightened his grip around your waist as he began to thrust faster, using the friction of your orgasm to chase his own. With one final thrust, he buried himself deep, a high-pitched whine coming out as his climax tore through him. His whole body shuddered against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he spilled into you, completely lost in the heat of it. 

For a moment, the room was filled with only the sound of your heavy breaths, tangled together. His forehead pressed to yours as he struggled to catch his breath. His glossy eyes scanned your face, softening as he realized just how wrecked you looked, and just how much he adored it. 

He collapsed beside you, still buried inside, his chest heaving. For a long moment, neither of you could move, completely fucked and worn. Gerard shut his eyes as his mind raced; he was afraid that if he opened his eyes, you’d disappear. He kept his hand entwined with yours, squeezing lightly as reassurance.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh. He kissed your forehead, your nose, then hovered over your lips again, softer this time. “I lost control, didn’t I?” he admitted, a little sheepish but still smirking. “Couldn’t stop even if I wanted to…”

You chuckled weakly, tugging him closer. “I didn’t want you to stop.”

That made his breath hitch. He kissed you again, slow and lingering, his hands running down your sides. Still inside you, he gave the slightest, lazy thrusts, almost absentminded, like he couldn’t stand the thought of pulling away just yet.

Gerard leaned his head into your shoulder, muttering almost to himself, “Mine. You’re mine now.” His tone was quiet but possessive.

And as you curled your arms around him, your heavy breaths coming out as soft whimpers, you realized he wasn’t just saying it in the heat of the moment. He meant it. 

But you didn’t mind.

There was only him, only you, and the quiet, intimate aftermath of everything he’d just lost control over.

He would hover over you whenever he got the chance, crowding your space and acting like your attention was something he deserved.

Tens of thousands of fans screamed his name every night, camping outside of venues just to catch a glimpse of him slipping backstage. They clawed over one another for a look, a sign, anything that might convince them they were special, that they stood a tiny chance of being different from the rest.

It was pathetic, the constant fixation, the endless adoration; it was no wonder Frank had the most obnoxious, repulsive personality to match. Your band had been trapped in his orbit for years now, booked on the same festivals, locked into the same tours, and repeatedly forced to open for his band. The fact that anyone thought to group your bands together was unfathomable, the comparisons often diminishing your band entirely. 

It didn’t help that you saw him everywhere you looked, strutting down red carpets at awards shows, laughing like a spoiled brat in every “band in town” interview, posing ridiculously for Kerrang magazine shoots; It truly never ended.

Frank’s signature smirk would greet you each time, smug and untouchable as you scowled back at him. Nonsensical tattoos sprawled across almost every inch of his skin, and he made a point of randomly showing you the newest ones whenever your paths crossed. Worst of all were his eyes: bright, piercing, boring into your soul with every glance.

He was infuriating, revolting in his arrogance and charm, a walking storm that demanded attention, yet no amount of hatred in your chest could erase how absurdly, maddenly attractive he was. Somehow, that made it even worse.

It was night three of five somewhere in the Southwest, the sweltering summer heat clinging to your skin and eating the festival grounds alive. Sweat ran down your temples as your band scraped through the final notes of the encore. You were exhausted, every muscle screaming from months of non-stop touring, and it showed. The crowd didn’t care, cheering anyways, louder because you were the act right before his band. 

The lights and heat made your head spin as you staggered into the wings completely spent. The crew members were scattered, tied up in the chaos of a malfunctioning sound system to give a damn about you and your heatstroke. Your ears were ringing, body trembling as you pushed your way backstage towards your trailer. Outside, a full moon shone brightly, the cold light stark against the lingering heat of the night. You followed its glow to your trailer, crew members scattered around the bus when you approached.

“Wetbay’s flooded, miss. We’ll need to call a maintenance company to fix it. Bus is out of commission for now.”

Your manager was livid. Someone had left the sink running before your set, and everything from your gear to your bags, even your shoes were soaked through. “Great. Looks like the entire team will have to find somewhere else to crash until the bus is fixed. Every hotel within fifty miles is booked until at least the end of the week.” 

The crew shuffled around nervously, murmuring apologies to you and your bandmates, but you didn’t have the energy to care. Every muscle ached, your mind fogging up with fatigue as you stumbled to the nearest trailer. You yanked the door open, collapsing onto the nearest bunk and letting the world fade around you without much of a second thought. 

Oh well. Whoever slept here probably wouldn’t mind. 

You were woken by the sound of shuffling, low laughter drifting through the space as the trailer lights flickered on behind the curtain. For a moment, your mind struggled to catch up, groggy and disoriented from your heat-induced haze. You tried to place where you were, whose bus this might be, but before you could fully make sense of it, the curtain was yanked open. A shadow fills the entrance, smug and unmistakable as your pulse jumps. 

There’s no way… 

Frank is drenched in sweat from head to toe, hair sticking to his forehead as he begins to pull off one of his “homemade” muscle tanks. He stops immediately as the realization hits. 

“Oh shit… ”

You glare up at him, voice sharp. “Go away.”

“Should I even ask what you’re doing here?”Frank smirks, kicking his shoes off under the bunk.

“No.” You roll onto your side, eyes pointed anywhere but him.

“Fine with me. Guess we’ll have to share then, sweetheart.”

“No. And don’t call me that, you animal.”

“You love it,” he chuckles. “Besides, our bus is full. Are you gonna let me in, or am I gonna have to crash on the couch?”

“Crash on the couch,” you mutter, trying to sound firm but failing to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“Someone’s more irritated than usual…” Frank mumbles under his breath. “Must be the heat. Now make room.” 

You grumble, sliding over as Frank slips beside you. He’s warm, heat radiating from his body as his shoulder brushes yours. You stiffen, glaring daggers into him, but your pulse has a mind of its own. He smirks, shifting slightly to get comfortable. 

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, voice tight.

“And yet, here I am,” he whispers, close enough that the words tickle your ear.

Eventually, the tension gives way to exhaustion, both of you drifting off to the steady hum of the portable fan he keeps on in his bunk. The small space presses around you, the side of his body practically pressed into yours as the scent of sweat lingers in the air. 

You wake up turned away from Frank, dragged from the edge of a dream by movement besides you. Soft, almost hesitant pants echo through the dark trailer, mingling with the snores drifting in from just outside of the curtain. 

You turn around slowly. 

Frank’s eyes are closed, drool seeping out of the corner his mouth onto the pillow. From what you can see in the darkness, his face is flushed, breathing coming in heavy and uneven as he presses into you. He looks almost sickly, most likely a result of the heat and exhaustion catching up to him. The stench hits you before anything else: sweat and grime mixed with a sour, unrecognizable tang that makes your stomach twist. 

“You look like shit,” you mutter, voice escaping a little harsher than you intended. 

His eyes flutter open, half-lidded, confusion flickering before he lets out a weak groan. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Frank doesn’t respond, burying his face into the pillow. 

“Are you sick?” 

He shakes his head. 

You reach down, pressing your palm to his forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up. You’re sick… Let me get you some medicine. I think I have some in my bag…”

Before you can slip past him, a strong arm shoots out, grabbing you and pulling you flush against his chest.

“What the hell?” you hiss, blinking up at him, your words lost somewhere between shock and the heat radiating off him.

“Don’t go… please.” He whimpers into your neck, his spit tracking against your skin.

“What are you doing?” you snap, a mix of irritation and disbelief lacing your voice.

“… Need help,” he whimpers, pressing closer, ragged breath warm against your skin.

“Help? Huh?”

Before you can react, Frank grabs your hand roughly, forcing it between his thighs. The movement is sudden, shocking, leaving no room for hesitation as you gasp in disgust. 

“What the fuck?” you hiss, trying to jerk your hand back to no avail. Frank holds your hand there, pressing your palm up against the bulge in his jeans. Your pulse spikes, heat surging through you in a mix of anger and mortification

“Let go. Now.” 

Frank is panting openly, grip tightening on your hand just enough to keep you from moving away. 

“P-please…” he whines, voice desperate and strained, rutting his hips into your hand as you struggle against him. 

You freeze in his hold, chest pounding, caught between disgust and morbid curiosity. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap, yanking back harder unsuccessfully.

Frank’s whines deepen into low, urgent growls as his hips press harder into your hand. You grit your teeth, finally twisting your hand free as you groan in disgust. Your mind is reeling with a messy mix of irritation, disbelief, and something you’re not ready to name. 

“Fuck this, I’m leaving.”

You shove against him, trying to untangle yourself, but his arms snap around you in an iron grip, far stronger than what you were expecting. “Hey!” you hiss, writhing against his chest, heart hammering in your ears. Frank doesn’t budge; if anything, his grip tightens, nails digging painfully into your sides. The heat radiating off him makes it impossible to think, every breath shared, every movement magnified as you stare at him in disbelief.

“Is this a joke?” 

He shakes his head, tongue lolling uselessly out of his mouth as a bead of sweat rolls off of his chin.

You almost laugh, almost shove Frank away, spit something cruel in his face before walking out, but the look in his eyes stops you cold. There’s no smugness. No mischief there. Not even a signature smirk. Just hunger.

Pure, unadulterated hunger, stripped bare and frighteningly sincere.

You swallow abruptly.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But you’re going to owe me. Big time. And if I get sick because of this, you’re gonna owe me double.”

“Please… please… shut up and fuckin’ touch me… please.”

You roll your eyes, pissed that he’d have the audacity to beg, but something inside of you softens. You shift slightly, rolling your hips as best as you can, his bulge slotting right up against the seam of your jeans.

Your bodies are pressed together in the cramped space, impossibly close as you grind down on him. You can feel slickness building between you, Frank’s soft whines echoing through the bunk as he presses clumsy, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. 

He begins rolling his hips into yours, the heat making your head spin as he grinds his hardness against you. The friction is electrifying, the rough denim of your jeans rubbing perfectly against your clit. A little gasp escapes you, hands planting on Frank’s chest to brace yourself.

Frank is blissed out, eyes squeezed shut as sweat drips off of him onto the sheets. Somehow, it intensifies the smell of him tenfold, the air thickening until the scent clings to everything around you. He’s bucking his hips up into yours now, grunting loudly as the pleasure becomes too much to contain.

You wrinkle your nose, breaths shallow, feeling a little dizzy with how intense the smell is hitting you. Your thoughts scatter, trapped somewhere between the friction between you two and the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Maybe this is all a dream, something fueled by the summer heat, the closeness, by the way air itself seems too heavy to breathe. It’s strange, intense, too disconnected from any form of logic. And yet, your body doesn’t cares about reason, not with how perfectly he’s moving against you, begging you, choking on his own spit. 

“Open your mouth for me,” you whisper, words barely louder than a breath. 

As smooth as you can, you slide out of your shirt, balling it up and slipping it into his mouth. 

“Stay quiet for me. You don’t want the others to hear, right?” You grin. “Or maybe you do, pervert.” 

Frank whimpers at your words, jaw tightening as he swallows hard behind the fabric and does his his best to follow your lead. You shift downwards, hands fiddling with his belt buckle until the clasp unlocks, helping him shift out of his jeans just enough you can slip his boxers down and… 

Jesus.

He’s massive, cock springing out against his stomach with a wet slap. It’s thick, so fucking thick, tip spurting bouts of pre cum all over his sweat-slicked skin. It almost looks swollen, veins jutting up and down the sides, an untamed mess of dark hairs at the base…

You try to wrap your hand around it, giving him a few messy pumps as Frank sighs in relief. He thrusts lightly into your palm, wetness coating your fingertips as you build a steady rhythm, thumb swiping over his tip with every pass. Desperation rolls off of him in heavy waves, the air thick with tension as his body pleads for more.

Still pumping him, you peel yourself out of the rest of your clothes, shoving them to the other side of the bunk as Frank grows more and more impatient. He whines as you press down onto his chest, fisting at his shirt as you wrangle it off of his head. As expected, his torso is covered in tattoos, dark hair curling and spreading across every inch of him. Frank’s fingers scratch at you, a little too eager for his own good, as he pulls the gag from his mouth. 

“Easy now,” you tease, lining yourself over him, tip catching your entrance. 

“Fuckin’ need this…” he pants, hips jerking upwards to spread his pre all over your folds. “Need you…”

“Ask nicely.” 

“Goddamnit—“  

Without warning, Frank shoves you off of him, flipping you onto your side as he shuffles in place behind you. You’ve had him wound-up, frustrated, begging for you this entire night, and he’s fucking pissed. He guides his cock towards your entrance, lining himself up and forcing his way inside.

It hurts, the stretch more painful than pleasant, but you don’t have another second to adjust as he starts slamming into you, sloppy and uncoordinated.

“S-slow down, asshole.” You hiss, teeth gritting together as his fingers latch onto your hips, nails digging into your skin. Frank sets a brutal pace, each thrust knocking the wind out of you as pain swallows you whole. It’s aggressive, detached, and you can feel the irritation building in your veins.

You’re being used, completely at his mercy as his hips snap against yours so hard you know they’ll bruise. Frank is snarling into your hair, drool dripping down your neck as he loses himself inside of your tight warmth. 

You can’t take it anymore, beyond frustrated and annoyed, elbowing him so hard in the chest you hear the air get knocked out of his lungs.

“I said slow down!” you hiss as he whines, stilling inside of you. He obeys, easing the pace just enough you can finally take steady breaths.

“Good boy.” 

Frank leans his head down again, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the back of your neck, leaving little bites anywhere he can reach. His hands wander your body, one hand settling on your chest while the other snakes down between you. He parts your folds with a surprising grace, fingers rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. The rough callouses on his fingertips only add to the sensations as you pant.

The sounds of wetness fill the air, the fan doing little to muffle the obscene slaps and squelches echoing around you. You arch your back to take Frank in deeper, feeling him tense up as he begins fucking you harder. You bite down on your lips in an attempt to silence yourself, needy moans slipping as his nails dig into your hips so hard you can feel the skin breaking. 

Frank is slamming his entire body into you, using the leverage to pull your body back onto his with every forward thrust. He presses his nose along your neck, nipping at the oversensitive flesh, almost like he’s trying to mark you. It’s strange, animalistic, but you don’t seem to care, not with how good he’s making you feel. He goes lower, pressing his teeth against your neck, razor sharp, in an attempt to hold you in place.

“M-more…” You moan, completely drained, but the sensations are too intoxicating to resist. Your whimpers and cries only encourage Frank as he continues to drive into you relentlessly. You don’t know whether it’s the heat between you or something else that’s driving you crazy, pushing you into a trancelike state as you instinctively clench around him. 

He whines, hand frantic on your clit, his heavy panting music to your ears as your eyes roll to the back of your head. The pressure peaks, wrapping around every one of your nerves so tight it pushes you over the edge. Your body trembles as you ride it out, loud moans escaping your lips as you clench onto him. The feeling is better than anything you’ve ever felt, completely overwhelming your senses as you write in his arms.

Is it because of the heat?

Or because of him?

You don’t have time to think about it, Frank pounding you through it with ragged breaths. The thought of you, swollen and round, carrying his pups is too much to bear. You’ would make such an amazing mother, an amazing mate, always keeping him in line, always taking care of him even when he doesn’t deserve it.

The thoughts spiral, obsessive and consuming as he imagines the perfect life you would share together. Frank grabs your chest, pulling you as close as possible as his cock catches inside of you, his knot locking into place as he spills into you. You scratch at him weakly, struggling to escape his grasp, but he doesn’t relent, focused on nothing but filling you to the brim.

Your cries for him to get off fall on deaf ears, Frank absolutely spent, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as his cum pools inside of you, hot and sticky. You grimace at the feeling, body slumping against his as you shift awkwardly to get comfortable. When Frank finally comes to, he brushes the hair from your face, looking into your eyes almost lovingly as he admires your sleepy form.

He sighs dreamily, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead as he wishes more than anything for his thoughts to become a reality. You slump against him, eyes fluttering shut as you drift off to sleep.

Frank would allow it. Your first knotting and you had taken it so well! His heart swells, pride and admiration warming his chest as he curls your body against his, still buried deep inside of you. It would be a while before his knot went down, and you had definitely earned your rest. 

After all, you were going to need it. The night was still young.

Hours later, you wake to a steady pounding in your head and the feeling of achingly stiff muscles. Frank is snoring beside you, clutching you loosely into his chest as he mumbles into your hair. You untangle yourself from his grasp and slip out of the bunk, every inch of your body protesting as you make your way to the bathroom. 

You don’t remember much from the previous night, only hazy fragments that slip away the harder you try to hold onto them. The boys are sipping coffee, Ray and Gerard sitting on the couch as you shuffle by. They steal glances, Gerard looking you up mischievously.

“Rough night?” Gerard asks, a coy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your neck is covered in bites, blues and purples blooming across your skin, your eyes bloodshot and heavy, hair wild and untamed.

“Mmhm,” you croak, voice completely gone. “It was too hot.”

“Yeah,” Ray says dryly. “Bet it was especially hot in Frank’s bunk.”

You move to the counter, pouring yourself the last of the coffee when a pair of arms wrap around you, making you stiffen. Frank is there, miraculously not looking as terrible as you do in the moment. He grabs the mug from your hands, sipping the coffee and flashing you that familiar, idiotic grin.

“She helped me out last night,” he says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, pressing a kiss to a bruise on the back of your neck. “Thanks, baby,” he whistles, strolling off with the mug like nothing happened.

You groan, face twisting in disgust.

“We heard,” Gerard snickers. 

“Everything,” Ray adds humorlessly.