#missmvrder

Adelaine’s gasp hitched, sharp and uneven, as the deliberate movement of his hands sent shockwaves through her already frazzled nerves. Her thighs quivered, pressing tight against his hips in a desperate bid to anchor herself, though it did nothing to stifle the raw sensitivity that coursed through her.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a fleeting moment, but his command pulled her back into focus, her lashes lifting to reveal glassy, desperate hues. The intensity of his gaze unraveled her further, exposing the fragile thread of composure she clung to. ❝I—❞ The words faltered on her tongue as his thumb grazed her nipple, stealing her breath and replacing it with a soft, trembling cry.

The flick of his thumb against her swollen nub shattered what remained of her resolve. She twitched, her entire body responding to the sharp, electrifying sensation, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Her lips parted to protest, to plead, but his next move silenced her entirely—his thumb brushing against her lips, tasting her desperation as easily as if he’d drawn it from her soul.

❝I—❞ Her voice was a broken whisper, her nails clawing at his shoulders as she trembled against him. ❝I’m trying—❞ Her hips shifted of their own accord, chasing even the faintest bit of relief from the unbearable tension coiled within her.

first and foremost, the last thing that michael should be doing was drinking himself to the point where he felt like it was a good idea to snatch the microphone mid song from the wedding singer. secondly, he was definitely going to regret this in the morning. "hey," he started, his voice slightly slurred, "hey! there's, ya know, something i want to say." he added and took a healthy gulp of the bourbon in his glass as his eyes met his best friend's, "i just wanted you to know that i'm happy for the two of ya. real, real happy," he paused, a small shake of his head following, "but i don't think i'm as happy as i would have been if you would've chosen me. gotta say, it hurts to be a second choice right now. i guess this is also a hell of a time to admit i'm in love with you too, huh?"

Morning shift at the local garage, on call at the motel all night. Work didn't seem to end for Devin ever since he got out. That felt good to him. It kept his hands and mind busy; it gave him a purpose. His mother liked to think it was him punishing himself, but he didn't want to think like that even if it was the truth.

Like most nights, he was exhausted. Fingers were sore, still stained with black oil that felt too impossible to scrub off. He stood outside his room at the motel and smoked a cigarette instead of sinking into bed. He wandered to the ice machine with a small empty bucket and attempted to retrieve ice. It sputtered out a noise and only gave a few cubes. He cursed under his breath and bashed his fist against the top. He had just fixed the damned thing. He heard footsteps approaching behind him as he gave it another smack. "Sorry," he grumbled, cigarette at the side of his lips. "This thing has a temper." Finally, it sprung back to life. He stepped back to let the guest get their share of ice and blew smoke in the opposite direction. Before he could get another word out, his eyes met hers and he was suddenly thrown back to a time almost forgotten. Devin stood there like a damn ghost, unmoving and silent. It was her.

Dominic stilled at her words, the soft crackle of the fire the only sound between them. For a moment, he didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch, heavy and almost suffocating. Then he exhaled, a rough, uneven sound that spoke of frustration and something deeper, something softer he didn’t know how to articulate.

❝You think you slow me down?❞ he finally said, his gravelly tone edged with disbelief. He pushed off the truck, stepping closer to her. The firelight caught on the sharp lines of his face, softening them just enough to make the intensity of his gaze bearable. ❝If I thought you were a liability, you’d already be gone.❞

It wasn’t the most comforting thing to say, but Dominic didn’t do comforting. What he did do—what he was trying to do—was remind her of the truth.

❝Soft doesn’t entirely mean weak, Alara.❞ His voice dropped, quieter now, almost too quiet to hear. ❝This world’s hard enough. The way I see it, you’re not slowing me down—you’re keeping me alive in your own way.❞

He shifted, crouching again to adjust a log in the fire, his movements deliberately slow. He wasn’t great at vulnerability, but he wasn’t going to let her spiral into some guilt-laden pit either.

❝And for the record,❞ he added, his voice lifting just a little as he glanced at her, the faintest smirk curling his lips, ❝if you even try to find yourself another camp, I’ll drag your ass back myself. No one out here’s gonna look out for you like I do.❞