#motorheadshow

Summery: She always knew he was off-limits, untouchable. But when the line between childhood memories and something darker starts to blur, she falls harder than she ever meant to.

18+ MINORS DNI!

Pairings: Ray Young x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, Cheating, Size Kink, Choking, Age Gap, Hand Job, Fingering, Oral F! Receiving, Dom Ray, Power Inbalance, Unprotected Sex (Wrap Before You Tap).

We were all kids once.

Me, Curtis, Brooke, and Ray — packed into that hot garage with sticky fingers and blown-out speakers, passing AUX cords like they were holy. It didn’t matter who lived in the house. That garage was ours. The music, the noise, the stupid laughter echoing against the metal walls.

Curtis was loud. Brooke had a mean streak. I was the one always playing DJ, lying on my back on the stained rug with a half-broken Walkman and dreams too big for this town.

And Ray?

Back then, he was nice.

Not sweet, not soft, but solid. The oldest of us — tall and broad-shouldered, with hands that always had grease under the nails. He’d ruffle Curtis’s hair, flip Brooke off when she stole his cigarettes, and carry me inside when I passed out after too much sun.

I never thought about the age gap then.

We were just kids.

And he was just Ray.

I found the CD one night when they were all distracted.

The case was cracked, faded, shoved between an old Tool album and something covered in duct tape.

I held it up. “What’s this?”

Ray turned, wiping his hands on his jeans. His voice came low.

“Don’t touch that.”

That made me want to even more.

So I popped it in. Sat cross-legged on the floor, letting the opening track roll out like smoke. Low and eerie and beautiful. Like falling into a dream that might bite back if you weren’t careful.

No one else paid it much attention.

But Ray watched me.

Didn’t say anything. Just let it play.

After that, I started staying later.

They’d drift out one by one. Curtis off to soccer. Brooke to wherever she always vanished.

And I’d still be there.

Ray never told me to leave.

He’d work with the music low in the background — the kind of stuff that sounded like heartbreak on cassette.

Sometimes we talked. Not much. Just little things.

Sometimes we didn’t say a word.

And still, I liked it better than anywhere else.

The summer I left, I told them it was for art. For adventure. For something bigger than this town and its too-small streets.

I came back at the end of August.

Sunburned. Sharper. With calloused fingertips and an energy that made heads turn.

Curtis had grown too — taller, a little less annoying, maybe even handsome if you tilted your head.

He didn’t say I looked pretty.

Not yet.

But his eyes did that flicker thing—up, down, back again—and I knew.

He saw it.

He just didn’t know what to do with it.

But Ray?

Ray was a man now.

And that…

I noticed.

He didn’t say hello.

Just nodded once. Walked past me in the kitchen like I was part of the wallpaper.

That silence?

It pissed me off.

So I got louder.

Flirtatious smiles. Bigger laughs. Calling him “Raymond” in that voice that made Curtis roll his eyes and Brooke give me side-glances like what the fuck are you doing.

And still—he didn’t look at me.

Didn’t see me.

Not until Curtis started showing up more.

He was different now.

Gentler. Steadier.

We’d hang out in his truck till midnight, talk about nothing with the windows down.

He brought me milkshakes without asking what flavor. Wrote dumb poems in the margins of his notebooks. Said my name like he liked the sound of it in his mouth.

And I let it happen.

Because Ray wasn’t looking.

Because maybe I wanted someone to look at me like I was real.

One night, we kissed.

His thumb under my chin, his forehead resting on mine like he was asking permission.

And I let him.

I kissed him back.

I tried to want him like that.

He was safe. Familiar.

He braided my hair on long drives. Let me sleep with my head on his chest.

We didn’t have sex.

But we got close.

Skin to skin, breath to breath.

I stopped it.

He said, “It’s okay.”

He said he’d wait.

And still —

When he kissed me, all I could think was:

Ray never would.

Weeks passed. The tension was static now—always humming, just under the skin.

I started catching Ray’s eyes again.

Quick glances. A slow drag of his gaze across my legs when he thought I wouldn’t notice.

But I always did.

Curtis begged me to go.

I didn’t want to. I already knew how these nights ended—cheap beer, someone crying in the driveway, Brooke flirting with someone she didn’t really like just to feel something.

But I said yes anyway.

I always said yes to Curtis.

That was the problem.

It started fine.

His arm around my waist.

My hand on the back of his neck.

He kissed my cheek while I poured a drink. We smiled too hard, laughed at nothing.

I was scanning the room for Ray.

But he wasn’t there.

I don’t know when it changed.

Maybe it was the hallway—

the way the bathroom light spilled under the door.

Maybe it was the sound.

Soft. Rhythmic. Unmistakable.

Maybe it was how the door wasn’t even fully shut.

I pushed it open without thinking.

And there they were.

Curtis.

Brooke.

Her dress hitched up around her waist. His hands on her hips.

His face buried in her neck like she was everything he’d ever wanted.

They didn’t even see me.

I didn’t yell.

Didn’t cry right away.

Just turned and walked out before they could notice the ghost in the doorway.

I made it to the curb before I broke.

The gravel crunched under me like bones.

My throat was burning. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out with a spoon.

I hated this fucking town.

I hated the smell of beer and the sound of my name in other people’s mouths.

I hated how Curtis looked at me like I was already his.

And most of all—

I hated that I didn’t want him in the first place.

His car pulled up slow.

Engine rumbling. Headlights off.

I knew it was Ray without looking.

No one else drove like that.

He stopped beside me. Window down. Said nothing.

I didn’t move.

He waited.

Then:

“Get in, I'm taking you home.”

I didn’t ask how he knew I was there.

Didn’t ask if he saw what happened.

I just opened the door, climbed in, and slammed it shut behind me.

The cab smelled like old leather and cedar smoke. The stereo was off.

Ray stared straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, jaw tight.

I could feel his eyes on me in flashes.

My bare thighs. My blotchy cheeks.

The sharp little breaths I was trying to keep quiet.

I could feel it.

Him holding it all back.

“Do you wanna come in?”

My voice broke the silence.

Low. Small.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at me.

But he turned into my driveway anyway.

We didn’t say a word as we walked to the door.

My fingers shook unlocking it.

Inside, it was dark.

Empty.

Too quiet.

I kicked off my shoes and turned.

He was standing just inside the doorway, eyes heavy, chest rising like he was trying not to breathe too hard.

“Ray,” I whispered.

I could feel the heat coming off him. His breath. The tension strung so tight it could snap—

“You’re crying over him?”

His voice was low, rough.

Like gravel in the dark

“He fucked her.”

I said it like it burned.

Ray’s thumb traced my cheek.

“Curtis never knew what the fuck to do with you.”

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my jacket.

Tried to calm my breathing.

Tried not to look as cracked open as I felt.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

It came out thin. Croaky.

My throat ached.

Ray shook his head.

“No, you’re not.”

I laughed once — dry, humorless.

“He was so gentle with me, you know? Took his time. Said the right things.”

I looked up at him.

“But he was never really looking.”

Ray’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just something tight.

“He saw what he wanted to see.”

A pause.

“You always scared him a little.”

That made me go still.

“Why?”

He shrugged. Looked down.

Then back up — like it cost him something.

“Because you feel real. Not easy. Not simple.”

We just stared at each other after that.

It stretched long.

Heavy.

Something in it breaking open.

“I thought maybe…”

I started, but couldn’t finish. My throat was raw.

Ray stepped forward.

Slow. Careful.

“You let him close,” he said gently, eyes scanning mine. “But he never reached you.”

My breath hitched.

“Not really.”

This time, I didn’t speak.

Just nodded.

Ray’s fingers brushed my cheek. Featherlight.

The softest thing.

It made my eyes sting again, stupidly.

“I hated watching it,” he murmured.

“The way you tried to shrink yourself down just to fit him.”

His thumb traced under my jaw.

I blinked at him.

He was so close now.

Close enough to feel.

Close enough to want.

“But I waited,” he added.

His voice was steady. Low.

“I waited for you to see it for yourself.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

And finally—

I leaned into him.

His mouth brushed my temple.

Just once.

Tender.

Reverent.

Then his lips moved against my skin, barely above a whisper:

“Tell me what you want.”

I didn’t answer at first.

Couldn’t.

The words were too tangled up in my throat. Too heavy.

I just pressed my face into his shoulder, and his arms came around me like instinct.

For a moment, we just stood there.

The hallway breathing around us.

The heat of his chest beneath my cheek, solid and steady.

“I don’t know,” I whispered finally.

“I just know it’s not him.”

Ray didn’t move.

Didn’t say I know, didn’t say I told you so.

He just ran a hand slow up my back, resting it between my shoulder blades.

“You don’t have to know,” he murmured. “You just have to feel it.”

My fingers curled into the back of his shirt.

He smelled like firewood and leather and summer rain.

“I wanted you,” I said, so quiet it felt like a confession.

“All that time… I wanted you.”

His breath caught, just slightly.

And then he pulled back to look at me.

There was something in his eyes — that all-knowing kind of hunger that didn’t need to rush.

That knew its way around patience.

“I know” he said, voice low.

His hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, then lingered — fingers tracing the side of my neck.

I looked at him.

Really looked.

He leaned in, forehead pressing to mine.

His nose brushed mine.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

His thumb stroked my jaw.

“You should be.”

Then:

“But not of me.”

I felt my stomach twist.

In the kind of anticipation that hums just beneath the ribs.

“I just didn't know what to do."

Ray’s hand slid down to my waist. Held me there.

Firm. Present.

“No,” he said softly. “I think you’ve always known. I just think you were trying not to.”

And then finally — finally —

his mouth found mine.

Warm. Full. Slow.

The kind that didn’t ask for anything but gave everything.

His hands found my face as mine gripped his arms.

Years of not-saying.

Months of almosts.

A summer full of moments just barely missed.

His lips moved against mine with something like reverence, like it mattered.

His mouth tasted like heat.

Like things unsaid. Like tension unraveling after too many years pulled tight.

I kissed him like I meant it.

Because I did.

Because every almost, every silence, every too-long stare had led to this.

And Ray kissed me like he knew.

Like he’d always known.

His hands gripped my waist, then slid under my shirt.

Not rushed. Not frantic.

But with the confidence of someone who’d imagined this a hundred different ways.

I gasped into his mouth when his palms met skin.

His touch was warm. Rough. Real.

I could feel the callouses on his hands, the ones I used to watch wrap around guitar necks and cold beer bottles.

They felt better here.

On me.

He broke the kiss just long enough to pull my shirt over my head, slow, careful, like he didn’t want to spook me.

But I was already too far gone.

My fingers went to his belt like instinct.

I wasn’t thinking anymore — I was feeling.

And every inch of him felt like gravity.

Ray walked me backward until my calves hit the edge of the couch.

He didn’t push — just looked at me. Waiting.

“I want this,” I whispered, breathless.

His eyes darkened.

“Then lie back.”

I did.

The room was quiet except for our breathing.

The low creak of denim. The whisper of skin on skin.

Ray climbed over me, bracing himself on his forearms.

Our noses brushed again.

But he didn’t kiss me yet.

“You sure?” he murmured.

I nodded.

Reached up.

Pulled him down.

The kiss was deeper this time.

Hungrier.

His body settled between my thighs, heat to heat.

I arched up into him, and he groaned into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my jaw. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hands mapped every inch of me — my ribs, my hips, the small of my back.

Every place that had ached for him.

And when his mouth found my neck, I whimpered.

Because I’d thought about this. So many nights.

Him right here.

Breathing me in like he was starving.

I hooked my legs around him, dragging him closer.

His hips rolled once, slow and deep, still clothed, and it sparked through me like lightning.

We gasped at the same time.

“Ray—”

My voice cracked.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always had you.”

And then he was kissing down my chest, dragging his tongue along the edge of my bra.

He pushed the straps down with his teeth.

God.

His mouth was everywhere.

Teasing. Worshipping.

Like he was trying to memorize me from the inside out.

When his hand slipped between my legs, I nearly bucked off the couch.

Still over my underwear, but the pressure was perfect.

His fingers slow. Knowing. Addictive.

“You’re soaked,” he growled, voice low and wrecked.

I hid my face in his neck.

“Look at me,” he said gently, thumb pressing against the wet spot. “I want to see you fall apart.”

“Ray—”

My voice cracked.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always had you.”

And then he was kissing down my chest.

He looked up once, eyes molten.

“Can I?”

I nodded so fast it made my hair fall into my face.

“Look at you,” he murmured darkly. “So fucking ready for it.”

He rubbed slow, steady, firm — and then slipped under the fabric, dragging his fingers through the slick heat between my thighs.

“You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you?”

My whole body jerked.

“Ray—fuck—”

“I know, baby.” His voice was low, guttural. “Been dreaming about getting you like this — feeling you in my hand.”

His fingers slid deep — curled once, twice — and I cried out, hips jerking against his hand.

Ray groaned.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

He pulled his fingers out — slowly, deliberately before he sank down to his knees in front of me.

“Ray—what—”

But he was already pushing my legs apart.

Already leaning in.

Already tasting me.

His tongue slid through wetness, slow at first — then deeper, filthier, like he was starving for it.

I gasped. Grabbed for the couch. My legs shook.

He moaned against me, and it vibrated all the way up my spine.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice muffled. “You taste so good.”

Two fingers slid back inside while his tongue worked circles around my clit, fast and relentless.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

“Ray—fuck, I—”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t let up.

One arm locked around my thigh, keeping me wide open for him while the other hand fucked me deep, curling just right — over and over and over.

When he pulled back, his mouth was wet, chin glistening. His eyes were blown wide, dark and dangerous.

He brought his fingers to my lips.

“Open your mouth.”

I did — dazed, wrecked — and he slid them in slow.

“Good girl,” he rasped, watching every inch disappear. “Suck.”

I closed my lips around them, tasting myself on his skin. He groaned.

“See how sweet you are?” he said, low and rough. “That’s all mine now.”

I whined around his fingers, eyes fluttering.

His free hand slid up my neck — Like he owned me.

“You gonna come for me?” he asked, voice close, deadly calm. “Gonna fall apart like a good little girl around my fingers?”

I nodded. Couldn’t stop it.

He worked his fingers faster, lips brushing my temple. “That’s it. Come for me, baby. Let go.”

And I did. Hard. Writhing under his touch, moaning into his hand like nothing else existed. My body convulsed around his fingers, toes curling, breath catching.

Before I even had time to come down, he grabbed my wrist and guided it down — lower — until I felt the hard length of him through his jeans.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what you do to me.”

I nodded, trembling.

“Take it out.”

-

I hesitated — just a second — and he tightened his grip around my hand.

“Don’t be shy now. You wanna touch it, don’t you?”

I swallowed. Nodded again.

He helped me undo his jeans, his breath sharp as I wrapped my fingers around him for the first time. Huge. Thick. Heavy in my hand.

“Such a good girl,” he growled. “Stroke it. Just like that. Nice and slow.”

I moved my hand the way he showed me — up, then twisting down — and he groaned, low and broken.

“Fuck, that’s it. Keep going.”

His hand slid back up to my throat, thumb brushing my jaw, and he leaned in close again.

“I’ve thought about this,” he said, teeth grazing my cheek. “Thought about your hand wrapped around my cock.”

I whimpered, squeezing tighter, and he shuddered.

“Eyes on me,” he said, voice suddenly sharp.

I looked up.

“Good,” he said again, slower now. “That’s where you stay, sweetheart. Right here. With me.”

“You like that?” he asked, voice low and rough.

I nodded.

“Say it.”

“I like it,” I whispered.

His lips twitched, and for a second, there was something soft in his eyes. “Yeah?” he murmured. “You like making me lose control?”

Then, in a blink, the softness vanished.

His jaw flexed.

“Well, you don’t get to,” he snapped. “I’m in control here.”

His voice went sharp — deeper, dangerous.

“Get your fucking hand off me.”

I froze, startled. My hand slid back off his cock automatically, and before I could blink, he grabbed both my wrists in one hand and slammed them above my head, pinning me to the mattress.

His other hand wrapped around my throat.

“You don’t get to drive this,” he growled. “You’re gonna lie there," his hand tightening around my throat, “and take everything I give you.”

His cock was already heavy in his hand, thick and flushed. I squirmed under him, hips twitching, but he just held me down — palm flat on my stomach, keeping me pinned.

“Stay still” he murmured, the head nudging against my clit. “You’re shaking already. Barely touched you.”

He dipped lower. Rubbed the tip against my entrance, slow and cruel, teasing little circles that made me whimper.

“You feel that?” he whispered, voice all syrup and threat. “That’s just the tip, and you’re already falling apart.”

He pressed in a little — just enough for the thick head to push past my entrance — and my mouth dropped open. I felt impossibly full already, stretched to the edge.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he murmured.

“You wanted this, remember?” he said, all mock-sweet. “You begged for it. Look at you now.”

I blinked up at him, breath stuttering, body locked around him.

“It’s too—”

He cut me off with a chuckle, low and smug. “Too big?” His other hand returned to his cock, dragging it back out slow, then rubbing it through me again. “You’ll take it. Every inch.”

He leaned down, kissed the corner of my mouth, then murmured, “Open your legs wider."

I obeyed without thinking, thighs trembling as he lined himself up again.

“Good little slut” he purred, thick head pressing back in. “There we go."

He took my hand — trembling — and guided it to my lower stomach.

“Right there,” he said, pressing down gently over my hand. “Feel it.”

My eyes fluttered. I could feel the pressure, so deep it made my head spin.

“You like that?” he asked, cock twitching inside me.

I moaned, broken and breathless.

“That’s what I thought,” he said darkly. “Now shut up and take it.”

He didn’t give me time to adjust just slid in another inch, slow but unrelenting.

“There you go,” he whispered, watching my face twist up. “That’s it.”

My breath caught, eyes rolling, mouth open on a silent gasp.

“You’re taking it so fucking well,” he murmured, thumb brushing over my cheek, mock-gentle.

He gave a slow, grinding thrust — barely another inch deeper — and my nails scraped at his arm.

His fingers slid back to my throat — thumb brushing against the underside of my jaw as his hips started to move. Slow, dragging thrusts, pushing deeper with each stroke.

My legs shook. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Oh my god—”

“You like that?” he whispered, cock so deep I could feel it pulse. “Right fucking there — that’s the spot, isn’t it?”

I whimpered, legs twitching. He grinned like he knew.

“Yeah, it is. I can feel you clenching around me. So tight. So fucking wet.”

He pulled almost all the way out — and then slammed back in hard enough to make me cry out.

“Say it,” he demanded, fucking into me with rough, perfect rhythm now. “Say you love it. Say you’re mine.”

“I—I love it—fuck—”

He cut me off with another brutal thrust, then stilled. “Good girl."

He started moving again, hand sliding from my throat to cup my breast, squeezing hard, hips grinding deep and deliberate. My whole body was trembling.

Then his fingers dipped down, found my clit, and rubbed tight little circles in time with his thrusts.

“That’s it,” he hissed, not stopping, not slowing.

“Let go for me,” he growled against my ear. "I wanna feel you come all over my cock. Show me how good it feels."

And I did. My body locked up, legs clamping around his waist, everything shattering into stars as I moaned his name.

“That’s it,” he hissed, not stopping, not slowing.

His thrusts drove deeper, harder, each one pushing me to the edge. His fingers circled my clit mercilessly, setting my nerves on fire.

I was drowning in sensation.

He growled low, pushing even harder, his body slamming into mine with relentless hunger.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven ” he cursed, voice thick with lust. “Come all over me, baby. Make me yours.”

His hips slammed faster, fucking me raw and wild. My nails dug into his back, breath ragged and desperate.

My orgasm ripped through me, leaving me shaking and gasping. The only thing keeping me from falling apart was him, buried deep inside me.

“Just like that. So fucking perfect,” he growled, voice rough and heavy.

Then his release slammed into me like a freight train, holding me tight, filling me up completely as he twitched and pounded through every last shudder.

After we both caught our breath, his grip softened, fingers tracing slow, gentle patterns along my spine.

He pulled me closer, chest rising and falling against mine, whispering, “I’ve got you.”

His lips brushed my temple, warm and reassuring, as he cradled my face in his hands.

Summery: At a party one night, longtime rivals stop fighting over the same girl—and decide to share instead.

Pairings: Zac Torres x Harris Bowers x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: Oral F! Receiving, Threesome, Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talk, Soft Zac, Dom Harris.

The house was full of smoke and sweat, music loud enough to rattle the goddamn windows. Somebody had spilled beer on the tile, and girls in denim cutoffs were moving off rhythm in the living room, trying to dance like it mattered. It didn’t.

I was leaning against the wall near the kitchen, plastic cup in hand, pretending to listen to someone talk about their bike rebuild when I felt it.

Two sets of eyes.

Zac — jaw locked tight like he was holding back something dangerous.

And Harris. Sitting sideways on the arm of the couch, legs spread, smirk cut across his face like he already knew what was gonna happen tonight.

He didn’t smile at me.

He nodded.

And I felt it down to my knees.

Next thing I knew, they were both in front of me. No words, no smile, no small talk.

Zac leaned in close to my ear. “We need a minute.”

Harris tugged the cup from my hand and passed it off like I wouldn’t be needing it.

My pulse went wild. “You good?”

He raised a brow. “That depends. You gonna come with us?”

I should’ve said something smart. I didn’t.

They walked me through the party like it was nothing. I caught Jackie’s wide eyes from the kitchen. She mouthed, girl, but I was already halfway up the stairs.

My room was small, half-messy, bed barely made. I turned to ask what the hell they were doing — but the door shut behind us with a click and Harris leaned against it, blocking the way out.

Zac stepped up close. Too close.

“Been watchin’ you all night,” he said, voice low, eyes locked on mine. “Tryin’ not to touch you.”

His hand brushed my hip.

Harris came up behind me, hands sliding under my shirt — palms warm and rough as he dragged it up slow. “Don’t act like you didn’t want this.”

My breath hitched. “You two… planned this?”

“No,” Harris murmured, mouth near my ear. “We just got tired of pretendin’ we don’t both want you.”

Zac kissed me then — no warning, just heat and tongue and his hand on my throat. My knees buckled. Harris caught me from behind, one arm around my waist, the other already sliding under the hem of my shorts.

I gasped, mouth falling open between Zac’s kisses.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “This is—”

“Right,” Harris said, dragging his teeth along my neck. “It’s right, baby.”

Zac’s hand slipped under my shirt, slow and reverent. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

“Or not,” Harris added, already nudging me toward the bed.

My body gave out first. They didn’t give me a second to think. Harris pushed me down on the mattress, and Zac came with me — kissing me again, one knee between my legs, his hand still cradling my face like I was something worth holding onto.

“You wanna stop,” Zac murmured against my lips, “you say so.”

“And if she don’t?” Harris asked, yanking his shirt off in one motion.

Zac’s mouth curved just slightly. “Then we hit the gas.”

Zac was kissing me like he’d waited all year to do it — slow, deep. Every time I pulled away for air, he followed, like he couldn’t stand even a second of space.

Meanwhile, Harris knelt at the foot of the bed and hooked his fingers in my waistband.

“You don’t mind if I take my fuckin’ time, do you?” he asked, voice low, already tugging my shorts and panties down in one smooth drag. “Been thinkin’ about this. ‘Bout you.”

My knees fell open without me meaning to. The way they looked at me — like I was something holy they planned to ruin — had my whole body in flames.

Zac leaned down again, lips brushing my ear. “You okay, baby?”

That voice. That voice. Soft like honey, low like gravel.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Don’t stop.”

He kissed my collarbone, then lower — unhurried — like he was memorizing every inch. My shirt came off somewhere in the haze. Fingers dragged down my ribs, my stomach, over the curves of my hips.

And then—warm breath.

Harris’s mouth on me.

I gasped — hips twitching — and Zac caught my wrists, holding them gently above my head, watching me come undone under both of them.

“Fuck,” I whimpered. “Harris—”

“Mhm.” His tongue worked slow, precise, greedy.

Zac kissed my jaw, then my chest, tongue teasing the edge of my nipple before sucking it into his mouth. I arched off the bed, my whole body strung tight between them.

“Let her feel it,” Zac whispered against me, looking straight down at Harris. “Don’t make her wait.”

Harris smirked. “You tellin’ me what to do now?”

Zac didn’t blink. “She’s already shaking.”

My thighs were trembling, and I wasn’t even trying to hold it back. I was soaked, wrecked, aching, and Harris hadn’t even fucked me yet.

His fingers slipped inside, thick and deep, curling just right.

“Jesus Christ,” I moaned.

Zac kissed me again, holding my jaw steady. “You like that, baby?”

I nodded, breathless, hips chasing every movement. “More.”

“You’ll get more,” Harris muttered, voice rough. “Gonna make you cum on my fingers first. Then you can fall apart on this cock.”

Zac chuckled softly against my skin — sweet and sinful. “Then mine.”

The room spun.

My orgasm hit hard — hips jerking, breath catching in my throat as I cried out into Zac’s shoulder. Harris didn’t stop. Not until I was shaking and twitching and begging under them.

Zac pulled back, watching me with flushed cheeks and stormy eyes. “You still sure, sweetheart?”

“God, yes.”

Harris stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Then get ready.”

He undid his belt slow, smirking.

He drove into me in one hard thrust, stealing the air from my lungs. My legs wrapped around him instinctively, trying to hold on, to ground myself as his hips slammed into mine again and again.

“Fuck, you take me so good,” he groaned, bracing one hand beside my head, the other gripping my thigh. “You love this.”

I cried out, overwhelmed — but then Zac was there.

Right beside me.

His hand slipped into mine, fingers lacing, grounding me. His other hand brushed my cheek, his lips finding my temple, then my jaw, then my mouth.

“You’re okay,” Zac whispered between kisses. “You’re so perfect like this.”

I moaned, caught between the delicious pain of Harris stretching me and the gentle sweetness of Zac kissing me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Zac leaned in closer, lips grazing my ear. “Let go, baby. We’ve got you.”

Harris fucked me hard, hips slapping against mine, his breath ragged against my throat. “Look at you,” he growled. “Fucking made for this.”

Zac was pressing kisses down my neck now, soft lips trailing heat across my collarbone as his hand slipped between my legs, rubbing gentle, slow circles on my clit as Harris filled me over and over.

My whole body arched.

I turned my face to Zac, gasping. “Don’t stop—please—don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he murmured, kissing me again, slower this time. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. His fingers were heaven, his mouth worship.

Harris fucked me hard and fast, chasing his release, building me up higher and higher until I was breaking.

“Oh my god,” I whimpered, “I’m—I’m coming—”

Zac whispered against my lips, “Come for us, baby.”

And I did — body shuddering, hips jerking, everything spiraling out all at once. Harris followed, his rhythm turning ragged as he groaned deep, spilling inside me with one final thrust.

My body was still twitching when I felt Zac move. Slow, reverent, fingers ghosting over every oversensitive inch. He was kneeling between my legs now, eyes locked on mine.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" His voice was velvet—low and rough in the quiet room, darker than before.

I nodded, chest still rising and falling, lips parted. "Zac… please."

Harris chuckled softly beside me, his hand stroking my thigh now, warm and possessive. “Didn’t even have to ask nice,” he said, leaning in to kiss my jaw, then my neck. “So desperate already.”

Zac leaned forward, bracing himself on one arm beside my head. “You're perfect like this.” His other hand slid between my legs, fingers dipping into where Harris had just been. I gasped, body clenching.

“So fucking wet,” Zac whispered, his mouth brushing mine. “I’ve wanted you like this since the second I saw you.”

He lined up, nudging gently at my entrance, then slid in with aching slowness. It wasn’t teasing—it was intentional. He watched me the entire time, like he wanted to feel every second of it with me.

The stretch was different with him—not as rough as Harris, but deeper somehow. Fuller. He groaned, low and guttural, like he was holding back everything.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured, forehead pressing against mine.

Beside me, Harris’s hand moved up, fingers curling around my breast, thumb circling my nipple. His mouth brushed my ear.

“You look so fucking hot like this,” he whispered. “Taking him after me. Letting us both ruin you.”

I moaned, caught between them—Zac’s slow, relentless thrusts, Harris’s lips tracing my throat and his hand rolling sweet pressure across my chest.

Zac kept moving, deep and smooth, every roll of his hips sending sparks up my spine. He kissed me—slow, sensual, mouth moving with mine like he wanted to taste every breath I let out.

“You want us both?” Harris asked, lips dragging along my jaw. “You like being our girl?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes.”

Zac growled softly, like that flipped a switch inside him. He thrust harder, still measured, but with more force now—more emotion. His fingers tangled in my hair as he pulled back to look at me.

“I’m not being gentle because I think you’re soft,” he said, voice fierce and low. “I’m being gentle because I want to make you feel everything.”

I couldn’t answer. I was too lost in the rhythm, in Zac’s perfect, consuming pace, in the heat and pressure building again so fast I could barely breathe. My nails dug into his back, and he groaned, thrusting deeper, filling me completely.

“Come for him,” Harris whispered in my ear, fingers teasing between my legs now, rubbing exactly where I needed it. “Be a good girl and let him feel you fall apart.”

Harris slid two fingers against that sensitive spot, perfectly timed to Zac’s thrusts, drawing every last tremor from me. The pressure was unbearable — perfect. My back arched, hips trembling, breath catching.

“Come for him,” Harris whispered in my ear, voice like smoke.

Zac thrust deeper, a rough sound tearing from his throat as my body clenched around him. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Just like that.”

My orgasm hit like a wave, blinding and brutal — my cry caught between a sob and a scream as my body locked around him. Zac held on, burying his face in my neck.

Harris kissed my shoulder, fingers still teasing, voice warm and wicked. “Goddamn, baby. You look so beautiful right now.”

Zac's lips brushed mine, breath ragged. “You were made for this,” he murmured, still inside me. “Made for us.”

And I believed him. With my body still shaking, their hands still on me, their mouths still murmuring promises against my skin—

Summary:

Local mechanic Curtis and the girl who always wanted him finally give in to the slow-burning tension.

18+ Minors DNI!

Pairings: Curtis Young x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral Female Receiving, Oral M! Receiving, Loss of Virginity, Soft Curtis.

It always started the same, me knocking on the side door in my cutoffs and a bashful smile I wore when I asked for help with something I probably could’ve figured out myself. A loose bike chain or just a ride to the corner store because “Mom took the car again.”

Curtis was good. Steady. Older, with grease under his nails and this quiet way of noticing things. He didn’t look at me like I was just a girl — but I wanted him to.

I wanted him to. Bad.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me when I leaned on his workbench a little too casually. Or how I started showing up more, staying longer. Sitting in his garage while he worked on engines like I belonged there.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew he noticed me. The way his eyes lingered, then darted away like he was trying not to burn. The way he cleared his throat when I stretched just a little too obviously. But he never crossed a line. Not once. Not even when I wanted him to.

It was driving me insane.

They were old. Cut so high they barely covered anything. I’d worn them on purpose. Sat up on the counter in his garage, swinging my legs like it was nothing, like I didn’t see the way his jaw tightened when he turned back from the toolbox and caught sight of my thighs.

“Hot today,” I said.

Curtis didn’t answer. Just gave me a look — the kind that made my stomach flip and my throat dry.

He washed his hands in a small metal sink.

“Want me to give you a ride home?”

“You offering,” I teased, “or telling me to get lost?”

That got a smile out of him. “I’m offering, darling.”

My chest fluttered.

He called me that. Darling. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Something warmer. Older. Like I was his already, and he just hadn’t admitted it yet.

The cab was warm. Quiet. He tapped the wheel with one hand, the other resting loose on his thigh. I kept stealing glances at him — the veins in his arms, the way his curls stuck to his neck, the way his mouth looked when he was focusing on the road.

Pulling up to my house.

I didn’t think. I just leaned in.

Kissed him.

Soft. Nervous. Lips parted but unsure.

Curtis didn’t move at first. His whole body went still. And then—

His hand found my waist, thumb pressing slow circles into the skin under my tee. The kiss deepened, pulled tighter. He tasted like spearmint and summer and something heavy, something starved.

His mouth broke from mine only to press kisses down my jaw, then my throat.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice raw.

“Yes,” I breathed. “God, yes.”

His fingers slipped between my thighs, dragging up the seam of my shorts. I gasped — loud — hips jolting. My whole body buzzed.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Relax, darling.”

When his fingers slipped under the fabric and found me, I almost sobbed.

“Oh my god—Curtis—”

He stilled. “Too much?”

I shook my head, wild-eyed. “No, it’s just—I’ve never—”

Silence.

“You’ve never…?”

I bit my lip, heart hammering.

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Curtis swore under his breath. Pulled his hand back like I’d burned him.

“Christ,” he whispered, cupping my cheek. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you to stop.”

“I wouldn’t’ve,” he said. “But I would’ve been so much gentler. You deserve that.”

He brought me inside like something sacred. Closed the blinds. Sat me on the edge of his bed and knelt in front of me.

“Still want to?” he asked, voice low. “You say the word and I’ll stop. I don’t care how far we’ve gone. I’ll take care of you no matter what.”

I touched his face. “I want to. I want you.”

He kissed me like he meant it — slow, deep, achingly careful. His hands shook a little as he helped me out of my clothes, trailing his fingertips down my bare legs like he was memorizing me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

I blushed. “You really think so?”

Curtis smiled — soft and wrecked. “I know so, darling.”

He pushed me gently back on the bed, kissing his way down my body like a slow prayer. Hands strong but reverent as they slid my thighs apart. I was already soaked — wet and waiting for him.

He spread me gently with his thumbs and let his tongue flatten against my clit in one long, slow lick.

My whole body jumped.

“Curtis—oh my god—!”

He chuckled into me. “You’re so fuckin’ sensitive, sweetheart.”

I moaned loud again — hands flying to his hair, tugging, and then down to his bare shoulders where my nails dug in deep.

He hissed, dragging his tongue in slow circles, then sucking my clit lightly.

“F-fuck—Curtis, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmured, voice low and hot. “You take it baby. Let me hear you.”

I was. Whining. Moaning. Hips bucking, thighs trembling around his head.

When he slid one thick finger inside me and curled it just right, I nearly screamed. My body arched clear off the bed and my nails raked across his back.

Curtis didn’t stop. He held me down gently, mouth locked on me until my legs were shaking violently.

When he finally pulled back, he looked wrecked — lips slick, hair messy, scratches down his back.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, voice rough. “You taste like heaven.”

Curled against his chest, I looked up at him — eyes still hazy, lips swollen from kissing.

“I want to… do something for you,” I whispered.

His brow furrowed. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” I hesitated. “I’ve never, like… done it. But I want to learn. I want it to be with you.”

Curtis’s hand slid to my hair, threading through it gently.

“Alright, darling,” he said, voice low. “I’ll show you. I’ll go slow. You stop if it’s too much, yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He guided me gently between his legs, helped me wrap my hand around the base.

“Start with your tongue,” he murmured, breath already catching. “Just lick.”

I did — soft, shy kitten licks at first, then a little braver when he moaned.

“Just like that, fuck—you're a natural.”

When I finally took him into my mouth, lips tight around him, Curtis swore loud, his hand flying to my hair.

“Good girl. You feel so good. Hollow your cheeks—yes, just like that.”

I gagged slightly once and pulled back, blushing.

He reached for me, kissed my forehead. “You okay?”

I nodded, smiling. “I want to keep going.”

Curtis looked like he was dying. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

I took him back in, slower this time, and he couldn’t stop the noises he made — low, desperate groans, curses, soft praises over and over.

“Fuck, baby—darling—you look so pretty like this. All messy for me.”

He damn near collapsed.

After, he pulled me into his lap, kissing my hair, stroking my thighs.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered again, voice hoarse.

“Good,” I said, grinning into his neck. “I want to.”

Curtis leaned over me, kissing me again, slow and steady. My thighs were still trembling slightly, my lips swollen, body flushed with heat.

“You sure you’re ready?” he whispered against my mouth. His forehead pressed to mine, voice raw with restraint. “We can wait. I’ll wait as long as you want.”

I shook my head, pulling him back down. “I want you.” My voice was breathy, certain. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

He stared at me for a moment, like I was something fragile and holy. Then he kissed me again, deeper this time — with that quiet, aching desperation that made my heart race.

“Okay, darling,” he breathed. “I’ll go slow. So slow.”

He reached for the condom from his drawer — I watched as he rolled it on, my fingers brushing his stomach, nerves humming under my skin.

When he settled between my legs, he kissed my forehead first, then my cheeks, my nose, the corners of my mouth.

“You tell me if anything doesn’t feel good. I need you to promise.”

“I promise,” I whispered. “I trust you.”

Curtis lined himself up and eased in inch by inch.

My breath caught — not painful, just stretching, like my body was learning something new. My thighs tensed. I clutched at his arms.

He stilled immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just… go slow.”

“You’re doing so good.” His voice cracked, low and reverent. “So fuckin’ tight."

He didn’t move until I whispered, “More.”

And even then, he rocked his hips just the slightest bit, his hand cupping the back of my head, mouth pressed to my shoulder.

I gasped, one arm thrown over his back, the other clinging to his bicep.

“Curtis—”

He moaned into my skin. “You feel like heaven, baby. Warm and wet and perfect.”

Every slow thrust made me cry out, not from pain — from the overwhelming fullness, the burn of it turning into something good.

My nails found his back again, digging deep when he hit that perfect spot, and he nearly lost it.

“God, that’s it. Right there?”

I nodded fast, mouth open in a moan. “Don’t stop—please—”

“You’re taking me so well,” he groaned. “Like you were made for me.”

The rhythm stayed slow — deep and dragging, his chest pressed tight to mine, our bodies flush and burning.

When my breath hitched again, he pulled back just enough to watch my face. “You gonna come for me?”

“I—I think so,” I whimpered. “I don’t know—”

He reached between us, thumb circling my clit gently, coaxing me there.

“That’s it. Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

And I did — body tensing, thighs clenching around him, a loud, helpless cry leaving my lips as my orgasm hit.

Curtis swore and followed me, hips stuttering, his whole body shaking as he came, head buried in my neck.

We stayed like that for a moment — still joined, still shaking — before he kissed me again.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, breathless. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, pressing one last kiss to my cheek. “You were perfect.”

“You were everything.”

He pulled out slowly, tied off the condom, and tossed it before pulling the blanket over us both.

Then he wrapped me up — arms snug around my waist, legs tangled, hand stroking gently down my spine.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered again, softer this time.

Summary:

Zac calls after dark and takes her out — but it’s more than a date. It’s soft, slow, and deep, and this time, it feels real.

Pairings: Zac Torres x Female Reader

18+ Minors DNI!

Warnings: Smut, Oral F! Receiving, Unprotected Sex, Soft Zac.

The call came after dark.

I was still sore from Harris. Still humming from it. But the second I saw Zac’s name light up, my heart dropped straight into my stomach.

“Hey,” I breathed.

His voice was calm. Low and lazy, but there was heat underneath.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

I closed my eyes for a second. God. Sweetheart. From him, it didn’t sound casual. It sounded possessive.

“You busy?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m outside.”

His car was sleek. Dark, quiet. Smelled like leather and pine and something expensive — probably his cologne.

When I slid into the passenger seat, he looked over at me like I was made of sin.

“You wore a dress.”

“You told me you were taking me out.”

His eyes dropped, slow. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d try to kill me.”

I smirked and crossed my legs just to watch his jaw tighten.

“Sweetheart,” he muttered. “You really expect me to behave tonight?”

“I never said that.”

He didn’t say a word. He just drove.

He took me for food — nothing fancy, just street food and cold sodas — but he picked a view. We parked on a hill, city lights blinking out in the distance. He leaned back in his seat, watching me more than the view.

“I meant to call earlier,” he said. “But I figured you might still be…”

He trailed off.

“Sore?” I offered.

He glanced at me sideways, something wild flickering in his eyes. “Was it good?”

I blinked.

“With Harris.”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

Zac nodded once, slow. “Good.”

Then he reached over, brushed his fingers down the inside of my thigh.

“Still,” he murmured, “think I can do better.”

We didn’t rush home. He drove like he had nowhere else to be. One hand on the wheel, the other resting between us — waiting. I slipped my fingers into his. He gave a little squeeze.

When we got inside, I didn’t even get the lights on.

Zac caught my wrist, spun me, and pressed me against the wall with a firm, slow control that made me gasp.

“You wore a dress,” he said softly, “with nothing underneath.”

I nodded, breath catching.

“You let me take you out looking like that.” He leaned in, lips grazing my neck. “And now you’re acting surprised I can’t wait.”

He kissed me — soft at first, then rough, hands on my hips, my ass, gripping tight enough to leave marks.

“Zac—”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Zac kissed me hard once more before pulling back, his breath hot against my jaw.

Then he looked at me. Really looked at me.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now. “You want this?”

I nodded.

But he didn’t move. He just kept his eyes on mine, fingers brushing slow across the curve of my thigh. “I mean it,” he said. “I need to know.”

My chest ached at the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just about sex. Like he was asking something else entirely.

“I want you,” I whispered. “All of it.”

His jaw tensed, but his touch stayed gentle. “Then let me give it to you.”

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, carried me into the bedroom, and laid me down like I was something he didn’t want to break.

Clothes came off slow this time. His fingers slid under my dress, dragging it up inch by inch, and when I was bare for him, he took a second to just look. Not like I was a prize. Not like he’d won. Like I was his.

He kissed down my chest, my stomach, my thighs — but never rushed. Never forced.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against my skin.

Zac kissed me slowly as he laid me back on the sheets, his body hovering over mine, but he didn’t press down. Just hovered. Watching. Breathing me in like I was something he needed to study.

Then, without a word, he began to trail down. Kisses on my neck. My chest. My ribs. Hands pushing my thighs apart with the kind of gentleness that made my stomach flip.

I barely whispered his name.

He didn’t answer — just settled between my legs, warm breath brushing over where I was already soaked for him.

His fingers slid over me first. Just barely. A teasing graze. Then a little firmer. Stroking slow, careful circles that made my hips twitch.

Then his mouth.

Soft.

So fucking soft — the kind that makes your lungs forget how to work.

He tasted me like he had all the time in the world. Tongue slow and wet, lips dragging across me like he wanted to learn the shape of every sound I made.

When he slipped one finger inside, I gasped. He moved so gently, curling it in rhythm with his mouth. Then another — stretching me open with care, every movement tuned to my breath, my body, the way I arched into him without thinking.

“Zac—” I whimpered, hand tangling in his hair.

He hummed against me, low and deep, and the vibration sent sparks through my thighs.

My body was already close — the orgasm building with that aching sweetness, like a wave pulling back too far before the crash. And he knew. He could feel it in how my thighs tightened, how my hips rolled.

“Come for me,” he whispered against me, voice wrecked, fingers still stroking inside. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

And I did.

It rolled through me slow and full, making my toes curl, my breath break, my head fall back with a low, shaking moan.

Zac kissed the inside of my thigh after, then crawled back up the bed and kissed my mouth like he hadn’t just ruined me with his tongue.

“You okay?” he murmured.

I nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”

His hand slid over my waist. “Then get on top.”

I blinked.

He laid back, hands behind his head, eyes hungry but patient. “Do whatever feels good. I want to see you take it.”

My whole body lit up again at that. Still trembling as I straddled him, still breathless.

Zac looks up at me like I’m something holy.

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

I reach between us, wrap my hand around him, and guide him in slow. The stretch makes me gasp — not just from the size of him, but the feeling. The way his cock fills me so perfectly, inch by inch, like we were made to fit just like this.

Zac groans beneath me, head tilting back.

“Jesus… you’re so warm,” he breathes. “So fucking tight.”

I roll my hips, testing the rhythm. It’s slow, deep, and good — thick pressure building with every grind. I plant my hands on his chest for balance, fingertips brushing over his skin, the slope of his collarbone, the edge of a vein in his neck.

His eyes flutter open again, dazed and locked on mine.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Look at you. Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”

I start moving a little faster — not bouncing, not rough — just grinding in tight little circles, letting the pleasure simmer until I can’t keep my moans in anymore.

Zac’s hands roam. One slides up to cup my breast, thumb brushing the peak until I arch into him with a soft cry. The other drifts lower, teasing where we’re joined — his thumb stroking lazy circles over my clit while I ride him slow and full.

My whole body clenches.

“Zac—”

“Let go,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And I do. I fall apart again — not loud this time, but deep. My back arches, my thighs tremble, and I collapse forward, burying my face in his neck as I pulse around him.

He groans into my hair, hips finally thrusting up to meet mine, chasing his own release.

“Can I—” His breath stutters. “Inside me please"

He shudders beneath me as he comes, deep and thick inside me, hands gripping my waist like he never wants to let go. It’s slow, drawn out — like even the way he loses control is intentional.

When it’s over, we don’t move.

His arms come around me. My body melts into his. We’re still tangled, still connected.

Zac kisses my shoulder, then my jaw, then my mouth.

“I wasn’t planning on falling for you this hard,” he murmurs.

I look at him, surprised. “You think you already have?”

He smiles, sleepy and soft. “Sweetheart, I think I fell the second you opened the damn door.”

Summary:

The morning after turns into round two when Zac leaves, and Harris decides he’s done sharing. Things get rough, hot, and way too much.

Pairings: Harris Bowers x Female Reader

18+ Minors DNI!

Warnings: Smut, Oral F! Receiving, Unprotected Sex, Dom Harris.

Sunlight hit me like an accusation. I hadn’t closed the curtains — too drunk on adrenaline and touch and the way they both said my name like a prayer and a threat at the same time. Now, the morning poured in, cruel and clear, dragging me out of sleep and straight into memory.

The first thing I noticed was the ache in my thighs.

The second was the shirt on the floor.

Not mine.

I sat up slowly, blanket wrapped tight around me, heart thudding too loud for the stillness of the house. My skin felt fever-warm. Marked. I didn’t need a mirror to know what they’d left behind. I could feel them everywhere — ghosts of hands on my hips, mouths at my throat, fingers digging into the backs of my knees as I came apart under them.

I swallowed hard. My lips were dry.

Where were they?

The door creaked. My head snapped toward it, tension in my shoulders like I was about to be caught — even though this was my room, my house.

Zac stood there, shirtless, hair a mess, one hand already running through it. His mouth curled at the corner when our eyes met.

“Morning,” he said.

He looked too casual. Like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t let both of them ruin me right here, on these sheets, like I was some kind of sacrifice they’d agreed to share.

“Harris is making coffee,” Zac added, voice rough from sleep. “Or trying to. Your kitchen's a maze.”

I blinked. “You’re still here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

“I figured… I don’t know.” I adjusted the blanket around my chest, suddenly too aware of how naked I was beneath it. “You’d sneak out. Fade into the mist or whatever.”

He chuckled, stepping into the room. “Sorry to disappoint. Not a fan of ghosting. Especially not after last night.”

I looked away. My heart did something complicated. I didn’t regret it — not exactly — but it was all so much. Too much. Their mouths. Their hands. The way they looked at me like I was some kind of beautiful mistake they were going to make over and over.

I hadn’t meant to let it happen.

And yet.

“You okay?” Zac asked, softer now.

“I think so.” My voice cracked on the last syllable.

He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not.”

“You look like you’re overthinking everything.”

“Is that a crime?”

“No.

“I wanted it.”

Zac looked at me then — really looked. His expression shifted from cocky to quiet, like he was recalibrating something. “And do you still?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. The real answer tangled in my throat, dangerous and too honest.

Before I could speak, Harris’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“Zac, where the hell do you keep the sugar in this house?”

Zac didn’t take his eyes off me. “Her house,” he called back.

“Oh. Shit. Right. Sorry.”

I almost laughed. The absurdity of it — these two men, one of them shirtless in my bedroom, the other rummaging through my cabinets like he belonged there. Like any of this made sense.

“I should get dressed,” I muttered.

“You don’t have to,” Zac said, but he stood anyway. “We can go if it’s too weird.”

“It’s already weird,” I said.

“Fair.” He gave me a lazy grin. “You make it hard to leave, though.”

“Don’t be charming,” I warned.

“Why not?”

“Because I might let you stay.”

His eyes darkened. “Then let me."

My heart stuttered in my chest. I looked away again, suddenly overwhelmed by how much I wanted that.

“Coffee,” I said instead, getting up, blanket wrapped tight around me as I crossed to the dresser. “Let’s start with coffee.”

Downstairs, Harris was shirtless too, of course. Leaning against the counter with a mug already in his hand, acting like he lived here. His grin stretched wide when he saw me.

“There she is. I was starting to think we broke you.”

“You did,” I said flatly, pouring myself a cup.

He chuckled, watching me over the rim of his mug. “Good. You looked like you needed it.”

I glanced at Zac, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me since I walked in.

“What now?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light. “You two go find another girl to wreck next?”

“No,” Zac said, dead serious.

Harris shot him a look. “Damn, you’re blunt.”

“What? She asked.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to say it like you’re already in love.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

I froze. Zac didn’t move.

I cleared my throat. “Okay. Well. Thanks for the… night. And the coffee. I think we’re good now.”

Neither of them moved.

Then Harris stepped closer, all slow swagger and morning-after confidence. “We’re not trying to mess with your head. But we’re not pretending it didn’t mean anything, either.”

Zac nodded once. “We’re not done. Unless you want us to be.”

I swallowed.

God, I was in trouble.

Zac’s phone buzzed where he’d left it on the counter. He glanced down at the screen, sighed, and raked a hand through his hair.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go.”

“You work?” I blinked, surprised. “You don’t look like the type.”

He smirked. “That’s the point.”

I wasn’t sure if he was serious — he never was — but he crossed the kitchen to me anyway, cupped the side of my face, and kissed me like we hadn’t just been standing in our underwear talking about feelings.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t possessive. It was soft and slow and left me breathless.

When he pulled away, his thumb lingered at the corner of my mouth. “You good?”

I nodded.

He looked at Harris, who was still lounging shirtless at the table with his coffee. “Behave.”

Harris grinned. “No promises.”

Zac kissed my forehead and was gone.

The door shut. The silence changed.

I didn’t move right away. Just stood there, coffee in hand, heartbeat somewhere near my throat. The room felt too small with just Harris in it — too warm, too full of memory. He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched me with that unreadable look of his.

“You hungry?” he asked finally.

“A little.”

“I can cook.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

“Better than Zac,” he shrugged. “Come on, sit. I won’t burn your house down.”

I gave him a half-smile and slid onto a stool, watching him move around my kitchen like he’d done it a hundred times. He was effortless, casual, confident. The kind of person who made you feel like things were happening to you, even when you were pretending to be in control.

“You don’t have to,” I said.

“Don’t have to what?”

“Stay.”

He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “I want to.”

There was something in his voice — that edge of challenge, like he could already see me trying to retreat into my own head again.

I took a sip of coffee to distract myself. “I’m gonna shower while you play chef.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded once. But I felt his eyes follow me the whole way down the hall.

Steam filled the bathroom. Hot water pounded over my skin as I leaned against the tiles, heart still racing. I should’ve felt relaxed, clean. Instead, I felt electric. I couldn’t stop thinking about them — about last night — about the way Harris had looked at me just now.

I dried off fast, hair dripping, skin still flushed from the heat. I wrapped a towel around myself and opened the door—

Only to find Harris right there.

Leaning against the opposite wall.

Waiting.

My breath caught. “What are you—”

He didn’t give me time to finish.

He crossed the space in two steps, crowding me back against the wall, one hand gripping my waist, the other braced above my head. The towel slipped slightly, and he didn’t look away. He looked hungry.

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

He leaned in, mouth at my ear. “Zac’s gone.”

“I noticed.”

“That means I don’t have to share.”

My knees nearly buckled.

“You want that?” he whispered. “You want to know what it feels like when I’m the only one touching you?”

I nodded. Barely.

His hand slid to my throat, gentle but firm, thumb pressing under my chin. “Say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I want it.”

“Good girl.”

Then he kissed me — hard.

My breath caught. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Legs tightening, chest rising, heart kicking against my ribs.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My mouth was dry and my towel was slipping and he smelled like sleep and coffee and whatever cologne he always wore that made me feel drunk.

He leaned in, and I felt the heat of him before his lips even touched mine. He kissed me like it was a dare — slow at first, then deeper, rougher, his teeth catching my bottom lip. His hands slid down my sides, tugging at the towel, pulling it away like he owned it. Like he owned me.

The towel hit the floor.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

I stood there naked and dripping, trembling from something that wasn’t cold. His gaze crawled over me like hands, like heat, like he was already imagining all the ways he was going to take me apart.

Then he shoved me gently back against the wall.

The cold plaster made me gasp. So did his hand at my throat — Possessive. Testing.

“You liked this last night,” he said, voice a low rasp. “Liked being told what to do.”

I nodded, throat moving under his grip.

His eyes flicked down. “Then keep your hands right there.” He lifted my wrists above my head and pressed them to the wall. “Don’t move them unless I tell you.”

I obeyed. My arms trembled, but I didn’t let them drop.

He bent, lips brushing just beneath my breast before closing around it — wet, warm, tongue circling until I was arching into him, thighs clenching. His hand slid between my legs without warning, and I gasped, head thudding lightly against the wall.

“Already so wet,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through it, slow and deliberate. “You wanted this. The second Zac left, didn’t you?”

“Harris—”

“Say it.”

“Yes.” It came out strangled. “I wanted this.”

“Good fucking girl.”

He dropped to his knees in front of me, shoved one leg up over his shoulder, and buried his mouth between my thighs like he was starving.

I bit down on a moan, head spinning. His tongue was relentless — dragging, curling, sucking in a rhythm that had me shaking. One hand kept my leg braced on his shoulder while the other snuck up and pressed hard at my pelvis, pinning me to the wall as he devoured me.

He didn’t stop when I started begging.

He didn’t stop until I was nearly screaming, and then he stood, his mouth wet and his eyes wicked.

“Bed,” he ordered.

I stumbled past him, legs unsteady. He followed me, stripped down in seconds, and pushed me face-first onto the mattress.

He didn’t give me time to think. Just gripped my hips and pulled me back to meet him, lining up and filling me all at once with a roughness that stole the air from my lungs.

I cried out into the sheets, and he groaned behind me.

“Fuck, you feel good.”

His hand curled around my neck, not quite choking but close — just enough to make me go still. The edge of danger. The feeling of surrender. My walls fluttered around him.

“You like this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You like being used like this?”

“Yes—Harris—please—”

“Then take it.”

He thrust harder, each movement rocking me into the mattress, my moans breaking open with every push. His fingers slid back down to that sweet spot, circling in time with his hips until I was begging again.

But he didn’t let up.

“Not yet,” he growled when I got too close. “You don’t come until I say.”

I whined — a needy, desperate sound I didn’t recognize as my own.

And still, he kept going.

Kept holding me there — hips locked against mine, hand tight on my throat, voice in my ear like a curse and a promise.

“Now,” he finally whispered.

And I came. Loud and shaking. My body clenched around him as he cursed again and came with me, dragging my name from his throat like it hurt.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs and sweat and heat.

And for a long moment, neither of us said a word.

My skin was burning. My heart was in my throat. I could taste him on my tongue and feel him everywhere.

He kissed my neck. Soft. Lazy. A total contrast to the way he had just wrecked me.

And then, without lifting his head, voice still wrecked and low and smug as hell—

Summery:

A charged summer night crackles with tension and desire. Two powerful, dangerous forces collide, driving a relentless dance of control and surrender, where boundaries blur and every touch ignites fire.

18+ MINORS DNI!

Pairings: Harris x Zac x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, Fingering, Oral M! Receiving, Dirty Talk, Public Sex (Kinda), Threesome, Dom/Sub Vibes, Hair Pulling, Chocking, Spanking, Breath Play, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex (Wrap Before You Tap).

The garage is packed. Bodies everywhere, pressed shoulder to shoulder, thick with sweat and music and the stink of beer that’s been spilled over concrete too many times to count. Someone's standing on the workbench with a bottle in hand, singing along off-key to AC/DC, and the old fluorescent lights above buzz like they’re about to blow. But no one cares. It’s late. It’s hot. And it’s summer in the kind of town where nights like this are the only time anyone feels alive.

I’m leaning against the back of the Dodge, cold metal on my thighs through this little skirt I probably shouldn’t be wearing. The fabric clings, and it’s hot as hell in here, and I swear every time I shift my weight, I feel Zac’s eyes on me.

He’s standing near the drinks table, beer in hand, leaning against the edge with that soft slouch he does — casual, quiet, but eyes locked on me like he’s thinking about unzipping me with his teeth. Every time I glance his way, he looks away like I caught him. Smiles a little, almost shy. But I know better. There’s something under his skin tonight. Something watching. Waiting.

And then Harris is there too.

“Careful sitting like that, sweetheart.” His voice cuts through the music, low and close to my ear. I didn’t even see him walk up. “You keep pressing those thighs together like that and someone’s gonna think you’re desperate.”

I laugh — dry, sharp. “Someone already thinks that, don’t they?”

He grins. Fuck, he’s pretty when he grins. All arrogance and bite. His knuckles graze the inside of my knee, slow. Testing. Like he’s daring me to flinch.

I don’t.

“Atta girl,” he mutters, and takes a sip of his drink without looking away.

I see Zac again — still watching. He’s moved closer, maybe just a few feet away now, like he’s pretending to talk to someone else. But his eyes flick between me and Harris. Assessing. Calculating. And then he meets mine.

Heat. Real heat.

And I smile, just a little. Enough to let him know I see him. Enough to say: do something.

Some guy leans in, way too close. “You new here?”

“Something like that,” I say, flicking my gaze over him and taking a sip of my drink.

“You here alone?” he asks, and I feel it before I see it — a shift in the air, the temperature around me changing.

“No,” Harris says, sudden and sharp, right behind me. His voice slices through the music like a knife. “She’s not.”

I glance sideways. He’s standing close — one hand on the car beside me, the other hanging loose, but there's nothing relaxed in the way he looks at this guy.

The guy tries to puff up. “I’m just talking.”

“You’ve got two seconds to find someone else to talk to,” Harris says, voice low, like he’s not angry — just bored. Like this guy’s not even worth his full attention.

I can feel the tension roll in thick behind me before I even turn my head — Zac.

He steps in without a word, slips between us like smoke. His hand brushes my waist as he does it, not holding, just there. Steady. Intentional. The guy clocks it, and Zac’s hands ball into fists.

“Leave,” he says — calm, controlled, but it lands like thunder.

The guy’s mouth opens, then closes again. He glances at me, then back at Zac, then Harris — calculating whether this is worth it.

He mutters something and disappears into the crowd.

Harris lets out a sharp breath through his nose, like he’s disappointed the guy didn’t push harder. His gaze cuts sideways, to Zac, then down to me.

Zac’s still close. His fingertips graze the hem of my skirt, a nothing touch that makes my thighs clench anyway.

“You alright?” Zac asks me, voice low enough it’s almost drowned out by the music.

“Yeah,” I say, but my mouth is dry.

Someone across the garage shouts over the music: “Damn. Didn’t know you had the Twins of Terror running defense for you.”

A few people laugh. Eyes flick toward us.

Zac’s fingers lace through mine — rough, strong, a solid promise. No words, no hesitation. Just that silent pull, like I’m the only thing that matters in this crowded, noisy garage.

The heat from his hand crawls up my arm, sinks into my bones.

We move together, slipping past the packed crowd, past the sticky smell of sweat and beer and the low hum of guitars and laughter. No one tries to stop us — and no one needs to.

Zac leads, sure-footed, his body just close enough to mine that I feel every breath, every muscle shift.

We reach the ladder. He climbs without a glance back. I follow, heart pounding, nerves crackling.

Up here, the world falls away.

The loft is tight, shadowed — lit by a single flickering bulb. The mattress on the floor looks worn, sheets tangled, the scent of old leather and motor oil mixing with him.

He turns slow, and the space between us crackles.

His hand slides to my waist, steady, grounding. His other fingers ghost up my ribs, light as smoke.

His mouth finds mine — slow, exploring, tasting. His lips rough but gentle, like he’s memorizing me, worshipping me.

His hands travel, trailing heat along my skin, slipping beneath my shirt, fingertips warm and sure.

He backs me gently against the wall, breath hot on my neck.

“I’ve wanted this all night,” he murmurs.

I shiver.

His thigh presses between mine — deliberate, teasing — and his hands cup my hips tight.

I’m lost in the softness of it, the tender way he holds me, when the door creaks open, slow and deliberate — a sound that steals all the air from the room.

Without turning, I know who it is before the silhouette fills the doorway.

Harris stands there, leaning casually against the frame, eyes dark and sharp, drinking us in like he’s savouring a secret no one else knows. He says nothing at first, just watches — the kind of gaze that weighs you down, slow and heavy, like heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

Zac’s grip tightens around my waist but doesn’t move to pull away. I feel the shift in the room, a tension thick enough to taste.

After a long moment, Harris’s voice cuts through the silence, low and teasing, rough as gravel.

“Starting without me, huh?”

He pushes off the frame and steps in closer, every movement measured, deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. His eyes flick between Zac and me, a wicked smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Then, almost like he’s giving us a final warning before unleashing chaos, he leans toward Zac, his voice a dark whisper in his ear.

“Give it to her hard. Show her what you’ve really got. Ruin her.”

Zac’s jaw tightens, muscles bunching under my hands as he looks down at me, searching, asking without words.

My breath catches as I nod, my body aching with the promise of what’s to come.

Harris’s grin darkens, eyes blazing with hunger. “Good,” he growled.

Before I could react, his teeth bit into the soft skin of my neck, sharp and claiming, sending fire coursing through me. My breath caught.

“Jesus, you taste like sin tonight,” Harris whispered, mouth trailing over the bite, sucking hard enough to mark me.

Zac crushed his mouth to mine, biting my bottom lip until I moaned into him, his tongue dragging slow and demanding, fingers threading through my hair. “God, you’re something else,” he breathed, voice thick with want.

They covered my skin — Zac’s lips moving fast and hungry across my jaw and lips, Harris’s teeth sinking deep into my throat, the mixture of pleasure and pain dizzying.

Zac dropped to his knees, hands trembling as they gripped my hips, yanking my skirt down and over, letting it fall. I was bare beneath, heat prickling every inch of exposed skin.

Harris’s hands slid under my shirt, pulling it up and off, baring me fully to the air — and to their eyes.

“Don’t hide,” Harris murmured in my ear, breath hot and thick.

Zac grabbed my wrists, rough and insistent, pushing me down onto the bed. I gasped as his weight pressed over me, lips trailing kisses down my collarbone, lingering with soft heat. His fingers curled lightly around my throat, enough to make me shiver — his mouth biting and sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Say you want this,” Harris growled.

“I want it,” I whispered, voice trembling.

Zac’s hands slid to my thighs, spreading them apart. His fingers pressed slow and deliberate, sinking deep inside me, curling and probing.

“God damn, you’re tight,” he growled, voice low and rough.

His fingers moved again, slick and sure, making me arch and tremble.

Behind me, Harris leaned forward, teeth nipping down my neck before his hand came crashing down on my bare thigh, hard enough to sting, sending a sharp thrill through me.

“Be quiet,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous.

Zac’s lips brushed my ear as his fingers drove deeper, faster — working me with precision that had me gasping, clutching the sheets, my whole body drawn taut and desperate.

“Such a needy little thing,” he murmured, the heat of his breath making me shiver.

He pulled back, just enough to unbuckle his belt — slow, deliberate — the sound of the metal clinking echoing in the stillness like a threat. When his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, my breath hitched.

“Stay still,” he warned.

And then he slammed into me — one brutal thrust, hard and unforgiving, stretching me wide and filling me so deep it knocked the air from my lungs. His hand clamped over my mouth, swallowing the scream that tore up my throat as he fucked me like he wanted to ruin me.

“Fuck,” I choked behind his palm, voice broken and trembling.

“Aw,” he drawled, breathless but smug, hips pounding into me, “does baby want to come already?”

“Please,” I begged, voice muffled and desperate.

But Zac just grinned — I could feel it against my cheek. “I’m in charge,” he said darkly, “and you’ll come when I say so.”

His free hand slid to my throat, fingers wrapping around the sides, squeezing just enough to blur the edges of everything. My vision swam. My thoughts scattered. I was nothing but sensation.

He fucked me ruthlessly, deep and fast and perfect — his cock hitting something devastating with every thrust. I could feel it rising, the orgasm coiling tight and sharp, unstoppable.

It hit like a lightning strike — my whole body trembling, back arching, vision going white.

But before I could even catch my breath, Zac snapped, “What the fuck did I say?” His voice was dangerous now, velvet-wrapped steel. “You think you get to come without permission?”

Behind us, Harris laughed — low and dark and mean. “Should’ve listened to him, sweetheart.”

“Flip her,” Harris said, voice rough and full of command.

Before I could process, Zac grabbed my hips and flipped me onto my hands and knees, spreading me wide.

And he didn’t wait.

Zac shoved his cock deep into me and fucked me from behind, hard and heavy, every thrust shaking me to the core.

Then, without warning, his hand slapped down on the curve of my ass over and over.

“Fuck.”

Every time he slapped me, he ran his soft warm hand over it, and then did it again. Each slap echoing in my mind like thunder.

Harris pressed his cock against my mouth, pushing in deep, no mercy. “Take it.”

I sucked him down, swallowing every inch. His hand slapped my cheek, rough and insistent.

“That’s it,” he growled, pulling my head back, forcing my head up and down. “Good girl.”

Harris’s fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me harder on his cock.

I was gasping, trembling, lost in the raw, filthy rhythm of them both taking me, owning me.

“Don’t fucking move,” Zac growled, voice thick with hunger as he sped up, pounding harder.

The world narrowed to their hands, mouths, hips — the heat, the sting, the slick pull of pleasure and pain.

“Come for us like a good little slut,” Zac whispered, voice rough and urgent.

And I did — shaking, screaming, drowning in everything they were giving me.

They didn’t even give me a moment to catch my breath.

“My turn,” Harris growled, pulling out with a sharp grunt, his chest rising and falling like a storm, eyes burning with fierce, untamed hunger.

Zac pulled out too, and before I could even move, Harris spun me around without mercy, tugging me backward until I was straddling him—riding him in reverse, the heat between us crackling like wildfire.

“Sit pretty,” he growled, tugging me down onto his cock. The stretch from this angle made my mouth fall open, and I whimpered as he filled me, thick and deep.

One strong hand snatched both of my wrists, yanking them behind my back. He held them there with a bruising grip, locking me in place, chest arched forward, helpless and wide open.

“Keep those right there,” he murmured darkly into my ear. “Or you will regret it.”

Zac stepped up in front of me — still rock hard, already smirking. His eyes dragged over my body, his cock twitching at the sight.

“Look at you,” he muttered, fingers threading through my hair. “All fucked out, and still begging.”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, wrapped it tight in his hand like a makeshift ponytail, tilting my head back just enough to bare my throat. His grip was rough, inescapable.

“You want cock in that mouth again?”

I nodded, mouth already open.

Zac shoved in deep, his cock hitting the back of my throat. His hand in my hair kept me locked there, helpless, unable to move.

The only thing I could do was take it.

“Fuck,” Zac groaned. “You look so good like this. Just a fuck toy for us to use.”

Harris bucked his hips beneath me, his cock dragging thick and slow through my soaked cunt. His hand still pinned my wrists behind my back, keeping me perfectly arched for him.

“Ride me,” he ordered. “Work that sweet little pussy while your mouth gets ruined.”

I tried — every thrust from below making me bounce, thighs trembling, core clenching with every grind. Zac's pace didn’t slow — he was fucking my throat like he owned it, growling with each thrust, his hips snapping forward, fingers yanking on my ponytail to control my angle.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“Goddamn,” Harris groaned beneath me.

Zac pulled out for a second, letting me gasp, dragging his cock across my lips.

“Such a fucking mess,” he breathed, slapping it gently against my cheek. “Open back up, baby.”

I did, eager, already aching for him again.

He shoved in with a grunt, deeper this time, hand tight in my hair. My hands were still pinned behind me by Harris, making me arch even further — a perfect angle for them both.

I was completely theirs.

Harris drove up into me harder, his grip punishing, his cock hitting that spot inside me over and over until I could barely breathe.

Zac didn’t let up either — fucking my mouth like it was the only thing he needed. His breath was ragged, every sound between us thick with filth and heat.

And then I broke — again.

The orgasm tore through me without warning, my whole body seizing, clenching around Harris’s cock as I screamed around Zac’s, the sound swallowed by him still deep in my throat.

Harris groaned, thrusting up hard, spilling inside me, his own release raw and guttural.

At the same moment, Zacs heat hit the back of my throat.

“Swallow,” he ordered, voice rough.

I did, lips parted, tongue out — ruined and gasping.

My arms were shaking, legs trembling — used and perfect.

They both settle beside me, breaths slowing but still warm in the quiet space. My skin tingles, every nerve buzzing from everything that just happened.

Zac’s fingers find mine first, gentle but steady. He laces our hands together, thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he murmurs, calm and sure.

Harris shifts closer, pulling me between them, his arms wrapping around me like a shield. His lips brush softly against my temple, sending warmth that melts through the lingering tension.

“You handled that so damn well,” he whispers, voice thick with quiet admiration.

My body still trembles, overstimulated and raw — the way they moved inside me, the way they owned me — every muscle wants to relax but can’t quite settle. I rest my head against Harris’s chest, heart pounding softly against his skin.

Zac’s thumb slides gently under my jaw, lifting my face so I meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he says softly, breath warm. “You’re so beautiful. So perfect.”

I barely manage a nod, voice caught between shaky breath and quiet tears. The overstimulation hums through my veins like electricity, but their presence holds me steady.

Harris’s hand cups my neck, stroking slowly. “Want us to hold you for a while?” he asks softly.

I close my eyes, whispering, “Please.”

Summary:

Three friends. A few bad decisions. Late nights, stolen lighters, feelings that don’t stay in their lanes and learning that it's never that serious.

18+ MINORS DNI!!!

Pairings: Curtis x Zac X OC

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Angst, Unprotected Sex (Wrap Before You Tap), Oral F! Receiving, Anal, Praise Kink, Drink Spiking, Weed Smoking.

They say Curtis doesn’t talk to anyone.

Like it’s some haunting, mysterious thing. Like he’s cursed or cursed someone or maybe just too good for the rest of us. But I’ve always figured he just doesn’t see the point.

He’s the kind of boy who moves like smoke—quiet, grey, impossible to pin down. Headphones in. Eyes low. Always wearing that same old jacket with the frayed collar and the patched-up sleeve. I don’t think I’ve ever heard his voice. Not really.

But sometimes, when I pass him in the hallway, I swear he looks straight at me. Like he’s waiting for something.

Fourth period drags. I sit by the window and count the cracks in the glass. There’s gum under my desk and someone keeps coughing behind me like they’re dying.

I chew the inside of my cheek until it stings. There’s nothing here for me except the slow ticking of the clock and the burning want to get out.

Out of this school. Out of this town. Out of my own skin.

When the bell rings, I leave without speaking. No one expects me to anyway.

I cut through the parking lot, duck past the back of the cafeteria, and walk the long way home. There’s this spot by the old train yard where I go sometimes. It smells like rust and piss, but no one else goes there, and that’s kind of the point.

I light a cigarette and lean against the fence, watching the sky rot into orange. My fingers are cold. My throat’s already raw from this morning. I don’t care.

I hear the rumble of a car behind me. Low, growling engine. Familiar.

I don’t turn around.

Curtis parks across the gravel, gets out like he’s made of fog and bone and heavy thoughts. He doesn’t say anything. Just stands a few feet away and lights his own cigarette, the flame quick and sharp in the dusk.

We don’t look at each other. Not really. Not yet.

But I feel it. The hum in the air. The silent click of something shifting.

He doesn’t stay long. Just long enough to smoke half, flick the rest, and crush it under his boot. He walks back to his bike without a word.

But just before the bike starts, I glance up.

And he’s looking at me. Not in a curious way. Not like he’s wondering who I am.

In a way that says he already knows.

I go home and Dad’s passed out on the couch, TV buzzing static in the dark. There’s an empty bottle on the floor and a half-eaten microwave dinner still steaming on the coffee table.

I step over it, go to my room, lock the door.

The next day school feels the same but something feels different.

There’s always a new kid.

They show up looking like hope in a clean hoodie. Fresh backpack, clean shoes. Smiling too much. They don’t know yet.

Give them two weeks and they’ll be just as grey and ground-down as the rest of us.

But then Zac walks in, and I know instantly:

He’s not like the others.

He’s got this curly brown hair that looks like it’s never seen a brush and somehow still works. He smiles like he means it. Wears this denim jacket with patches stitched all over it—band names, flames, a weird cartoon skull flipping off the world.

He slides into the seat behind me in third period, and five minutes later he taps my shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. Voice low and warm.

“You got a pen?”

I hand him one without looking. He taps it twice on my desk before pulling back.

“Thanks, pretty girl.”

I freeze. Not because it’s the first time someone’s called me that—just because he says it like it’s obvious. Like I should already know.

By lunch he’s sitting with Marcel and a few guys who think they’re cooler than they are. Curtis is there too, leaning against the wall near their table, arms crossed. Eyes distant.

I linger near the vending machines just long enough to see it—Zac, mid-laugh, tossing something at Curtis. A balled-up chip bag. Curtis catches it without even flinching and throws it back without smiling. Zac howls like it’s the funniest shit in the world.

It’s weird.

Curtis doesn’t usually let anyone near him. But Zach? He gets in close. And Curtis doesn’t shove him out.

Zac finds me again after school.

I’m standing outside, waiting for nothing, when he walks up like we’re already friends.

“Hey, Dahlia.”

I blink. “How do you know my name?”

He grins. “Asked around. You’re kind of a mystery.”

“I’m kind of not.”

He kicks a rock with his boot. “You always walk home?”

“Most days.”

“I got wheels. Want a ride?”

I shake my head. He shrugs, no pressure. Starts to walk off, then looks back.

“Well, if you ever get tired of walking, you can sit shotgun. I got a decent playlist.”

I watch him go.

And for the first time in what feels like years, I kind of want to follow someone.

That night, I lie awake with Zac's voice echoing in my head.

Hey, pretty girl.

Got a pen?

Zac texts me after school.

u ever jumped off the old bridge?

I don’t answer. Ten minutes later:

come on, don’t make me go alone

marcel’s bringing snacks

curtis might show

u can bring cigarettes

we’ll trade

I go.

I don’t even bother coming up with an excuse. Just climb out the window, hoodie zipped up, boots half-laced, cigarettes in my back pocket. The air’s warm with leftover sun. It smells like dirt and engine oil and pine needles.

They’re already there when I get to the river. Marcel’s sitting on the hood of his car with a bag of chips, talking shit. Zac’s half-undressed, barefoot, already climbing the railing.

Curtis is leaning against his bike, arms crossed. Watching.

Always watching.

“You came,” Zac says when he sees me. Like I do this all the time. Like we’ve been friends for years.

I flick my lighter. “Someone’s gotta supervise.”

Zac grins like I just told him the secret to life, then launches himself off the bridge. Arms wide. Full yell. Big splash. Marcel whoops from the car.

Curtis glances over at me. His voice is low.

“You ever done it?”

I shake my head. “Don’t plan to.”

He nods once, like he understands. Like he respects it. Like he doesn’t know that I already feel my bones aching to jump.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing on the railing. Hoodie ditched. Socks in my boots. Bare toes gripping rusted metal. Zac’s in the water, yelling up.

“Come on, Dahlia! Don’t punk out!”

My heart is hammering. But I don’t want to be the girl who never does anything. Not tonight.

I jump.

The water hits like a slap. Cold and full of fire. I surface gasping, hair in my mouth, lungs burning—and then Zac's hands are on my arms, steadying me, laughing.

“You did it!” he yells. I want to hate him for how happy he is.

But I don’t.

I kind of want to do it again.

We lie on the shore after, damp and breathless. Marcel’s playing music from his phone, tinny and too loud. Curtis sits a few feet away from me, legs stretched out, face tilted toward the sky.

His hoodie is in my lap. I didn’t ask. He just handed it to me when I was shivering.

It smells like cedar and smoke. I don’t give it back.

Later, when we’re packing up, Curtis brushes past me. Just for a second. His hand grazes mine.

I swear I stop breathing.

I don’t think it was on accident.

Back at home, I sleep in his hoodie.

And in the dream, I’m still falling—but I’m not scared.

The next night Marcel invites me to the beach. The bonfire smells like smoke and sweat and bad decisions.

Marcel’s got a few people here from school—mostly strangers. I’m standing by the fire, sharing a joint with a couple of them. Everyone’s drunk enough to forget the real world, but not so wasted they don’t care about the moment.

Then some guy—half-drunk, full of himself—leans in close and says,

“You got any tattoos I can’t see?”

His breath is warm beer and Axe body spray. The fire crackles. I blink at him.

I don’t answer.

The mood shifts. Like a knife sliding out of a pocket.

Marcel, trying to save it, jumps in—

“Spin the bottle, guys! Come on. Let’s not get all serious.”

No one wants to, but Marcel spins anyway.

The bottle lands on me.

Then on Curtis.

I swallow hard.

Curtis’s eyes flick to mine. Just once.

We kiss.

It’s fast. Quiet. More heat than I expected in half a second. My hands shake a little when we pull apart, but I play it off.

Then Marcel spins again.

The bottle lands on me.

Then on Zac.

This kiss is different.

Warm. Soft. He grins against my mouth. It’s messy with teeth and laughter.

Everyone cheers like it’s all a joke.

Zac checks his phone.

“Gotta bounce—early shift.”

He ruffles my hair. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

He grins. I try to smile back.

I watch him disappear into the dark, and something inside me knots up.

I take another sip of my drink.

It tastes… weird.

My tongue feels heavy. My hands go cold. The fire suddenly feels too loud. Too bright.

Faces blur at the edges. Sound gets slippery.

My skin itches like it doesn’t fit right.

I try to take a step, and the ground moves under me.

Curtis is in front of me before I hit the dirt.

“What the fuck?” His voice cuts through everything.

He grabs my arm. “Who gave you this drink?”

I blink. “I—I left it on the table.”

His jaw tenses. “You left it?”

I try to answer, but nothing comes out.

“Wait here,” he mutters. Then shakes his head. “No. Fuck that. Come on.”

He picks me up. Full-body lift like I weigh nothing. The whole party watches.

He half-drags me through the crowd until he finds the guy from earlier—the one who brought the sketchy cooler, the one who’d been eyeing me all night.

Curtis shoves him, hard.

“What the fuck did you put in her drink?”

The guy stumbles. Tries to laugh it off.

Wrong move.

Curtis punches him.

Fist to face. Clean. Loud. The guy hits the dirt.

Marcel yells something. Curtis doesn’t even look.

Back at the bike, he lifts me again, pulls his helmet over my head.

“Hold on,” he says, voice tight.

I do. I hold on like my life depends on it. Because maybe it does.

The ride is cold and loud and terrifying and safe. Curtis smells like sweat and leather.

At my place, he helps me in, takes off the helmet, sets it gently on the floor.

I can barely speak. But he’s there.

Hands steady.

Eyes on me like I’m the only thing that matters.

He gets me water. Tucks a blanket around me.

When I reach for his hand, he doesn’t hesitate.

He sits beside me on the bed

I stare at the carpet, my voice a whisper.

“I'm scared.”

Curtis squeezes my hand.

Then, quieter—softer than I’ve ever heard him—

“I would never let anything happen to you.”

I glance up at him.

He looks deadly serious. Not dramatic. Just sure. Like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

“You’re safe now,” he says.

“I swear.”

And I believe him.

I fall asleep holding his hand like a prayer I didn’t know I needed.

My phone’s buzzing before I even open my eyes.

I blink at the screen.

Zac (8:12am):

what tf happened last night

Marcel said Curtis knocked some guy out??

I stare at the message for a second, thumb hovering. My head’s still fuzzy from everything. The spin of the drink. The warmth of Curtis’s jacket. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t broken glass for once.

I text back:

yeah

someone spiked my drink

Curtis got me out of there

Three dots. Then—

Zac:

are you okay??

where are you

do you need anything

I sit up slowly. Blanket still around me. Curtis must’ve left sometime earlier.

I’m home

I’m okay now

Zac:

I should’ve stayed

I feel like a dick

I didn’t know

My phone buzzes again:

let me come pick you up

get some food in you

you’ll feel better

I hesitate. But my stomach aches, and I know I’m not gonna make myself anything.

okay

gimme 10

Zac’s car pulls up with music already playing. Something summery and old, windows down even though it’s still early.

He leans over and opens the door for me like we’re in some corny teen movie.

"Hey, pretty girl," he grins. "I brought Tylenol.

He holds out the little packet like it’s a peace offering.

We get drive-thru breakfast and sit in the car, parked under some trees. I eat slowly. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t push. He just lets the silence stretch, playing with the straw in his drink, humming along to the radio.

At one point he looks over and says, “I should’ve been there. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

I don’t say it’s not your fault, because that feels fake. So I just say,

“It’s okay. Curtis handled it.”

Zac nods like that hurts a little. Then he shrugs and tosses his cup into the backseat.

“I wanna show you something,” he says. “You feel like a drive?”

He takes me out past town. Up winding roads, trees thick on either side. We end up at this little waterfall behind a chain of rocks, the kind of place that looks like it shouldn’t exist here.

I step out of the car and just… breathe. Everything slows down.

On the drive back, he’s talking about music and roadtrips and how his uncle used to let him drive on backroads when he was twelve, and I laugh and say, “I’ve never driven anything in my life.”

Silence.

“What?”

I glance at him. “I don’t know how to drive.”

Zac slaps the steering wheel. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“Oh my god. That’s criminal. We’re fixing that immediately.”

We pull over near an empty lot and he makes me switch seats.

“Gas is right. Brake is left. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You’re totally freaking out.”

I stall it three times. He laughs so hard I punch him in the arm.

But I get it going. The car lurches forward. I scream. We almost hit a mailbox. He cheers.

“See?” he says. “You’re a natural.”

The next few days blur together.

Curtis doesn’t text.

Doesn’t call.

Doesn’t even look at me at school.

Something about that burns worse than the night it all went down.

But Zac shows up every day. After class. After work. He takes me out to empty roads and teaches me to drive. We eat fries in parking lots and listen to stupid songs and talk about nothing until it starts to feel like something.

One afternoon, he pulls up outside my house with this beat-up little hatchback.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“My uncle fixed it up. It’s not much, but... it’s yours.”

“What? Zac—”

“I’m paying him off with my tips. Chill. You need wheels.”

I stare at it like it might disappear.

“You bought me a car?”

“Technically I’m buying you a car,” he smirks. “Don’t make it weird.”

I don’t say thank you. I just hug him. Tight.

That night, I’m driving home by myself for the first time. Radio on. Windows down.

My phone lights up at a red light.

Curtis:

I’m sorry I ghosted you

I felt weird about everything that happened

didn’t know how to deal with it

My heart trips over itself.

I don’t reply. Not yet.

He doesn’t say anything the next day. Not in the hallway. Not at lunch. Not when I catch his eyes across the parking lot and hold them for half a second too long.

But later that night—after I’ve already replayed that text like twenty times—he shows up.

At my house.

I hear the rumble of his motorbike before I see him.

I step out onto the porch, hoodie on, cigarette half-lit.

Curtis stands at the bottom of the steps, helmet in one hand, looking like he’s been through hell and back since the last time I saw him.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” I say, voice quieter than I want it to be.

He shrugs. “Took me a while.”

We sit on the steps. The silence stretches. I don’t try to fill it.

“I felt... fucked up,” he says finally. “After that night. After everything.”

I nod. “Me too.”

Curtis looks straight ahead like it’s easier than looking at me.

“I don’t do good with... closeness. Or people. Or you.”

That catches me off guard. “What does that mean?”

He glances at me now. His eyes are sharp. Tired. Full of something heavy.

“You get under my skin. I didn’t know what to do with that.”

The cigarette burns down between my fingers. I let it go. Watch it die in the dirt.

“You don’t have to run from me,” I say. “I’m not asking for anything.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s why it scares me.”

A car passes in the distance. Someone’s dog barks once. The night hums around us.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and finally says,

“I thought about you every day.”

That makes something in me ache. Deep and warm.

I want to tell him that I missed him too, but the words feel like too much.

So I bump my knee against his instead.

He bumps mine back.

We sit there for a long time.

Not together, not apart.

But closer than we’ve been in days.

The next evening starts casual. Like most dangerous things do.

Marcel texts:

chill at mine tonight

beers + snacks + Mario Kart

you, Zac, Curtis

come thru

I almost don’t. But then I do.

When I show up, the door’s already open and the place smells like weed, Doritos, and boy.

Inside, Zac’s on the floor, yelling at the TV. Marcel’s on the couch in a tie-dye hoodie, absolutely baked. Curtis is sitting in a bean bag, dead silent, eyes laser-focused on the game.

Zac looks over and beams. “Dahliaaa! Come save me, I’ve been getting my ass handed to me by a literal corpse.”

“I’m not dead,” Curtis says flatly. “You just suck.”

Zac throws a cushion at him. “You’re dead inside, bro.”

I kick my boots off and settle cross-legged on the floor. Marcel passes me a vape. I take a hit, pass it back, and reach for the controller.

Ten minutes in, I’m screaming and leaning like that somehow makes my kart go faster.

“You’re a menace,” Zac laughs, shoving chips in his mouth.

“You’re just mad I keep passing you" I grin.

Curtis, out of nowhere:

“She’s the best out of all of us.”

The room goes quiet for a second.

Zac raises his eyebrows. “High praise.”

Curtis shrugs. “Facts are facts.”

We keep playing. We drink. We laugh until Marcel has tears in his eyes.

At some point, Marcel disappears to his room with a wave. “I’m clocking out. You guys can stay if you want. Spare room’s free.”

It’s just the three of us now.

Music’s playing low. Something slow, dreamy, and old.

I glance at the clock. It's stupid late.

Curtis stretches his arms behind his head. “None of us are sober enough to drive.”

Zac’s sprawled across the rug. “I’d literally crash into a tree.”

“Same,” I say.

Curtis sighs. “Spare room it is.”

The bed is big.

We all just… kind of stand there for a second.

Curtis kicks off his boots. “I’ll take the floor.”

Zac laughs, already peeling off his hoodie. “Man, I’ll take the floor.

“Oh my god,” I cut in. “Shut up. Just sleep in the bed. Don't make it weird.”

There’s a beat.

Then Zac shrugs. “Bet.”

Curtis hesitates. Then nods. “Fine.”

I crawl into the middle because no one else will.

Zac drops in beside me with a soft “oof.”

Curtis climbs in on the other side.

We all lay there, high, quiet.

For a while, it’s just the hum of the ceiling fan and the warmth of their shoulders brushing mine.

Zac shifts. “This is kind of cozy, not gonna lie.”

I smile, eyes on the ceiling.

Curtis turns slightly toward me. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just… feels like something’s about to happen.”

Curtis: “Like what?”

Zac’s voice is lazy, teasing. “She probably means this.”

And then—he kisses me.

Right there in the dark. Slow, warm, unhurried. His hand finds my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek.

I don’t pull away.

When he breaks the kiss, I blink at him.

And then I turn toward Curtis.

He’s already watching me.

We don’t speak.

We just lean in at the same time.

His kiss is different. It’s deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

Like he’s been holding it in for weeks.

I pull back, dazed.

“I—”

I look at them both.

Zac’s hand is on my thigh. Curtis is looking at me like he’s seconds away from snapping.

And I’m sitting between them, heart thudding, mouth dry.

Zac leans in— all warm lips and soft scruff and sugar-sweet confidence. His kiss is grinning, messy, teasing. He makes a sound in the back of his throat when our mouths open to each other.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs, nipping at my jaw. “You always do. You taste like fucking cherry's.”

Curtis still hasn’t moved. His eyes are burning into mine.

“Come here,” I whisper.

He obeys. Of course he does.

Curtis kisses me like I’m the last good thing left in the world. Slow, reverent. His hands are trembling where they touch my waist.

“You’re so beautiful, Dahlia,” he whispers. Like he needs me to hear it. Like he’s been holding it in for weeks.

They both start touching me at once.

Curtis runs his fingers under my shirt, up my ribs, worshipping every inch of skin like it’s sacred.

Zac palms my thigh, pushes my legs open, kisses my neck and says, “You tell us if you want to stop, okay?”

“Okay" I breathe.

They undress me slowly. Together.

Curtis lifts my shirt over my head, pressing kisses to my stomach. Zac undoes my jeans, laughing softly when I almost kick him trying to get them off.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says, dragging the denim down my legs.

They take their time with my underwear.

Curtis kneels between my legs and kisses the fabric. Just kisses it. His breath warm. His mouth barely touching.

“You’re already wet,” he murmurs.

Zac leans over me, stroking my hair.

He kisses my cheek. “We’ve got you.”

Curtis slides my panties down slowly, reverently.

Then he spreads me open with both hands and groans, “Jesus Christ.”

Zac’s watching from beside me now, shirtless, hard in his boxers, kissing my neck as Curtis lowers his mouth to me.

The first lick is slow. Gentle. Testing.

My hips jerk.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper.

Curtis hums against me, like he likes how I taste. Like it’s what he’s been craving since the day we met.

Zac leans in and whispers in my ear, “You’re doing so good. So fucking pretty like this. Let him make you come. You deserve it.”

Curtis eats me like it’s his purpose.

Tongue working slow, then fast, then slow again. One hand on my stomach, holding me down, the other teasing lower — slick fingers circling, pushing in just enough to make me whimper.

I cry out. Loud. Honest.

Zac kisses me to muffle it, fingers tangled in my hair.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Good girl. You’re so fucking good, baby.”

I come hard — shaking, twitching, moaning into Zac's mouth while Curtis keeps his tongue on me until I push him away.

“I can’t,” I gasp. “It’s too much.”

“Not even close,” Zac says, smiling.

They get undressed fully now, both of them hard, flushed, breathing uneven.

I watch them.

Curtis is broad and lean and intense — eyes locked on me like I’m something unreal.

Zac is golden, grinning, cocky and sweet at once.

I lie back.

“Please fuck me" I whisper.

Curtis moves up, kisses me on the mouth and lines himself up.

His cock pushes in slow. My legs shake.

He doesn’t move at first. Just breathes.

“You feel so good,” he says, voice cracking. “So fucking good.”

He starts slow.

Just shallow thrusts. Careful. Worshipping.

Zac lies beside me, stroking my cheek, kissing my collarbone.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “Every fucking inch of you.”

Zac leans close to my ear.

“Can I fuck you too, baby? I dont think I can wait.” he whispers.

I nod. “Please.”

He licks his thumb, then reaches down — between my cheeks, slow, gentle.

He works me open while Curtis is still inside me.

One finger.

Then two.

Then his cock.

The stretch is intense. Hot. Sharp. Then so good I nearly cry.

Zac moves first. Slow. Gentle. Whispering praises.

Curtis grips my hips. Watching me. Letting Zac set the pace.

“You’re incredible,” Zac says, breath hitching. “Taking both of us like this. Fuck.”

Curtis leans forward, kisses my lips, moans when I clench around him.

“You okay?” he breathes.

I can’t even speak.

I nod. “Please don’t stop.”

They move in sync — one pulling out while the other pushes in.

My whole body is on fire.

Zac whispers filth and sweetness in my ear.

Curtis groans my name every time he thrusts deeper.

I come so hard it blanks me out.

They follow, nearly together.

Zac lets out a deep, wrecked moan and shudders behind me.

Curtis grips my hips and cries out softly, hips stuttering.

We collapse in a heap.

I’m sandwiched between them, bare skin and sweaty sheets.

Curtis presses soft kisses along my shoulder.

Zac’ hand stays on my hip, thumb tracing lazy circles.

No one says a word for a while.

Then Zac laughs.

“Okay,” he says. “That was a little weird.”

I laugh into Curtis’s chest.

“I liked it,” I whisper.

Curtis kisses my temple. “Me too.”

I wake up sore in places I’ve never been sore before.

My thighs ache. My back’s tight. My everything feels… well-used. In a good way.

In a fucked out but also floating-on-a-cloud kind of way.

The bed’s warm. Too warm.

I wrap the sheet around myself and roll out of bed, still a little shaky.

My underwear is nowhere. My shirt is god knows where.

I grab the nearest thing — Zach’s black tee from the floor — and tug it on.

It hangs loose and smells like cologne and sleep and sex.

The house is too quiet.

I shuffle into the kitchen.

Marcel’s gone — his keys aren’t on the hook and there’s a note that says “work. don’t destroy my house. love you.”

So that answers that.

The second I turn around, I see them.

Curtis is shirtless, in boxers, pouring pancake batter into a skillet.

Zac’s got a spatula in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. Also just in his boxers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Zac says, biting back a grin when he sees me in his shirt.

Curtis glances over and goes a little pink. “You okay?”

“Alive,” I say. “Barely.”

They both smile.

Zac walks over, wraps an arm around my waist, and kisses my temple. “You want coffee?”

“God, yes.”

Curtis flips a pancake with the kind of focus I couldn't muster if I tried.

Zac hands me the mug, then whispers, “You were kind of amazing last night.”

I take a sip, hiding the blush behind the rim.

Curtis kisses my cheek before handing me a plate.

Zac sits beside me, thigh touching mine, grinning like he knows I’m reliving every second of last night.

No one says what happened out loud.

No one calls it what it is.

But when Zac takes a bite of pancake and says, “We should do this again sometime,”

And Curtis brushes my cheek—

Summary:

At a drag race, Christian and the new girl connect, leading to a night charged with tension and honesty.

Pairings: Christian Maddox x Female Reader

18+ MINORS DNI!

Warnings: Smut, Oral F! Receiving, Violence, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Soft Dom Christian.

The night was thick—so thick you could almost taste it—saturated with the deep, steady hum of engines idling, and the sharp, acrid scent of burnt rubber curling up into the heavy air like a whispered dare. The kind of heat that clings to your skin, sticky and restless, pulling you in despite every warning in your head. I shouldn’t have come here, not to this drag race, not to this gathering of hardened leather jackets and restless souls. It wasn’t my scene. But then the black ’55 Chevy tore down the strip, its roar cleaving through the night, and suddenly the world sharpened around me. Everything else faded — blurred, distant — except for that one raw, pulsing presence.

He killed the engine with a slow, deliberate ease, the growl fading until only the quiet hum remained. The door swung open and he stepped out, tall and sure. Blonde hair slicked back, shining like gold wet with sweat, every strand in perfect, effortless place. The leather jacket hugged the broad lines of his shoulders, creasing just so as he moved with a predator’s grace. A cigarette dangled lazily from the corner of his mouth, the glowing tip pulsing softly, casting flickering light across his sharp jawline. His hands, long-fingered and strong, slid casually through the pockets of his jeans, but the rings gleamed at his knuckles—silver bands etched with small, intricate symbols, catching every stray light.

And then those eyes—blue as a storm-tossed sea—found mine, locking me in place. The noise around us dimmed, the crowd’s distant shouts and cheers fading into silence. It was like the whole world held its breath. I felt it in my bones: something was shifting.

Christian’s POV

The rush of adrenaline still thrummed in my veins from the race, that familiar burn that sharpened every sense. But then I saw her. New girl. Hair pulled into a high ponytail, loose strands framing her face just so, the soft fabric of her sundress moving with the light breeze, catching the faint moonlight like spun silk. Her eyes—wide, curious, but guarded—stood apart from the usual girls who hung around these parts. Not like the others.

The guys around me nudged each other, low bets starting to fly—fifty bucks says I can’t get two words from her.

I laughed, a low, rough sound, tossing back without hesitation, “Double it.”

A hundred bucks on the table. The gamble was on.

I stepped forward, cigarette smoke curling in lazy spirals as I exhaled into the cool night air. The scent was sharp and familiar, mingling with the leather and gasoline.

“I’m Christian,” I said, voice gravelly, just on the edge of a growl.

She crossed her arms, posture tight and unreadable, as cool as ice.

“I’m not interested.”

“Good girls usually aren’t.”

She turned away, but the challenge was set — and I was already hooked.

Y/N’s POV

The next day, the diner was quiet except for the clinking of dishes and low hum of conversation. I wiped down the counter, hands moving mechanically, when I felt it: his gaze. Like a wave of heat pressing into the back of my neck, coming from a booth near the window.

Later, outside, the chain on my bike snarled stubbornly under my fingers. I twisted and cursed under my breath, the metal refusing to give.

Before I could curse again, he was there.

Strong hands, sure and confident, took the chain from me. The muscles beneath his jacket flexed as he worked, steady and practiced. His fingers moved with a patient grace, the veins running just beneath the skin visible in the soft light. There was something soothing in the way he handled it—like the weight of the world could rest on those hands and never falter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, watching his jaw flex as he smiled—a slow, crooked curve that sent a surprising warmth through me.

He shrugged, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes darkening with something unspoken and raw.

“I wanted to.”

He wiped his hands on his worn jeans, the motion casual but charged.

Days later, the bonfire crackled beneath a blanket of stars, the smoke curling like lazy ghosts through the sticky night air, thick with the scent of cheap perfume and woodsmoke. I was laughing with friends when someone idled up beside me.

“Hey, new girl,” he murmured, "I'm Luke." “Wanna walk down the beach?”

I smiled politely, careful and firm.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

He stepped closer, persistent.

“Come on, the waves are really beautiful at night.”

The sand was cool beneath my bare feet, the ocean whispering secrets as the tide slipped and pulled. He followed closely.

His hand slid over my arm — light at first, testing — until I pulled away sharply.

Suddenly, his demeanor shifted, darkening like a storm rolling in.

Before I could react, his hands were on my waist, his mouth hot and demanding at my neck, peppering kisses.

“Stop,” I said, voice trembling.

“Come on, just relax. You know you want it.”

“Get off me!”

Then Christian was there. Fists flying, muscles taut with rage, sweat and blood mingling in the heat of the fight.

“Get your hands off her.”

His knuckles were bleeding, raw and torn, but he didn’t stop—each punch a promise and a warning.

He finally let go of the guy, blood dripping from his knuckles like something sacred and angry. I barely had time to react before he grabbed my hand—not rough, but urgent—and pulled me toward the car.

“Come on. I’m taking you home.”

His voice was still ragged with fury, chest rising and falling fast beneath his jacket. He leaned against the side of the Chevy, eyes burning in the streetlight’s glow. I reached into my bag, hands trembling as I pulled out a bandage.

“Let me see,” I whispered, carefully wrapping the torn skin over his knuckles. The blood was hot, staining my fingers, but I kept them steady.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly, not trusting my voice.

The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly, the roughness melting away.

“I wanted to.”

That silence again. The kind where everything pulses beneath the surface—breath and heat and things unspoken. His eyes searched mine like i was something breakable.

“I’m so sorry that happened. No one should ever treat you like that.”

“I shouldn’t have gone with him. What was I thinking?”

“No, this isn’t your fault. You should never have to feel like that.”

My heart skipped as we pulled into my driveway.

“If you were mine, I would never let anyone touch you.”

Something took over me. I leaned in, breath catching, and tried to kiss him.

“I don’t want to do this—not like this. It should be perfect. Let me take you out tomorrow night.”

"I don't know"

"Please"

The look in his eyes told me to trust him.

“Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

The next night, he picked me up at exactly seven. The Chevy gleamed like black chrome under the low sun, music already playing softly through the cracked windows. Elvis—of course.

He opened the door for me, one hand brushing the small of my back as I slid in. Even that touch made me feel like I might come undone.

We drove out of town, past the broken signs and whispering cornfields, until the drive-in came into view. It was tucked away behind a grove of trees, half-forgotten and perfect. The screen flickered with color as we pulled into a far corner, where no one would bother looking.

The movie was some old noir—moody and slow. His arm was draped across the back of the seat, not touching me but close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him in waves.

We talked. About nothing. About everything. Every time he smiled, I caught a glimpse of something underneath—soft and real, breaking through the leather and smoke.

The movie started to fade into the background. The sky had gone dark, stars stretching like dust across velvet. He turned to me, eyes glowing faintly in the shadows.

“You're quiet,” he said.

“So are you.”

I felt his breath before I saw the shift. And then I leaned in—barely thinking, just feeling. His lips met mine, slow and questioning at first. Like he didn’t expect it. Like he needed to be sure.

And then it deepened.

His hand came to my cheek, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. The way he kissed me—gentle at first, then urgent, then something entirely his own—it left me breathless. His rings were cool against my skin when his fingers slid into my hair, holding me there.

When we finally pulled apart, hearts racing, he didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, in that low voice that always felt like it was meant only for me, he said, “Will you come back to my place?”

I hesitated. My breath caught in my throat.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t touch you unless you want me to,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “I swear. I won’t push you.”

He meant it. I could see it written all over his face. That steady, raw kind of honesty that somehow made me trust him even when I shouldn’t.

“…Okay,” I said softly.

His house was tucked behind a row of trees, a low, moody structure that looked like it had stories to tell. Inside, it smelled like motor oil and something faintly warm—like cedar and skin. He flicked on a low lamp, casting golden light over the room. There were records stacked beside the turntable, jackets draped over chairs, and a half-drunk Coke bottle by the sink.

I stood near the center of the room, fingers twisting in the hem of my dress.

He didn’t come close. Just stood across from me, eyes careful.

“You want anything?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

But I could feel it between us. That charge. The gravity pulling me forward.

And I stepped toward him.

His eyes widened slightly. “You sure?”

Instead of answering, I reached for him. My fingers found the hem of his shirt, slipping just under it to feel the warmth of his skin. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move. He didn’t push.

It was me.

I kissed him—deeper this time. My hands tangled in his hair, and he groaned low into my mouth like he’d been holding it back all night.

His hands came to my waist, cautious at first. When I didn’t pull away, he let his touch deepen—fingertips pressing in, warm and steady, mapping the shape of me like a promise.

His rings skimmed my skin as his hands moved under my dress, the cool metal making me shiver.

“You’re mine,” he breathed against my collarbone.

His chest rose and fell beneath his white tee, the veins in his forearms stark under his skin, rings catching the low light. There was something restrained in his stance—tense, like every muscle was coiled tight.

“I want you” I said softly.

He tilted my chin up, eyes searching, almost disbelieving.

“Are you sure, baby?” he asked, voice rough, low, already wrecked.

“Yes.”

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world.

But his hands said otherwise.

They were everywhere—ravenous and rough, the metal of his rings dragging across bare skin. One hand slid under my shirt, across the soft swell of my stomach, up to cup my breast. He brushed his thumb over my nipple until I gasped.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he muttered against my neck, voice low and frayed at the edges. His teeth scraped along my jaw before he kissed just below my ear. “Every look, every sound you make... You don’t even know.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He pushed my shirt up and pulled it off, his lips trailing heat down my collarbone. When his mouth closed around my nipple, I arched up into him, breath catching. He bit softly, tongue circling, and I whimpered.

Then he looked up at me—eyes blown, chest rising fast.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

I reached for his belt, fingers shaking with need. He let me undress him—his jeans shoved low, then kicked off—until he was kneeling between my legs. My lips parted as I looked at him.

Fingers wrapping around the waistband my underwear, pulling them down.

“Jesus, look at you. You’re so wet,” he muttered, dragging two fingers through my folds.

“It’s for you,” I whispered.

He groaned like he couldn’t take it. He pressed his fingers into me—slow at first, then deeper, curling just right. I cried out, hips bucking. His thumb rubbed tight, deliberate circles on my clit. His breath was ragged now.

“Look at me while I make you come.”

I tried, but my vision blurred. He kept his eyes locked to mine, watching every shudder, every twitch, every soft gasp that broke from my mouth as he played me like a song only he knew how to perform. I clenched around his fingers as I came, crying out his name into the warm, summer night.

Then he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean.

“Sweet,” he rasped. “Knew you would be.”

His tongue lapped at me, slow and deep, groaning into me like he was starving. He sucked my clit, then pulled back just before I could fall again.

“Please,” I begged, desperate.

He smirked. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

He kissed the inside of my thigh. Bit down gently. “Good girl.”

Then he hovered over me, hand resting against the side of my face.

“Last chance,” he murmured. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

I looked up at him, breathless, bare, and trembling.

“Don’t stop.”

And then he pushed into me—slow, steady, thick and perfect. I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He filled me completely, stretching me in a way that made me ache and burn and want more all at once.

“God, you feel good,” he groaned. “So fucking tight.”

He gave me a moment—let me adjust—then pulled back and thrust in again, a little harder this time. My legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in.

He set a rhythm—deep and steady, driving into me again and again, until all I could do was moan and cling to him. He kissed me as he moved, slow and rough, one hand slipping under my back to hold me close, the other gripping my throat—not to choke, just to feel. To own.

“Look at me,” he rasped. “I want you to remember who you belong to.”

I met his eyes—and almost came again from the look on his face alone. He looked ruined. Beautiful. Like I was breaking him in all the best ways.

His pace picked up—harder now, slamming into me with every thrust. I cried out, head falling back, body trembling. He leaned in and kissed me like he was drowning.

“Come for me again,” he whispered. “I want to feel it.”

I did—louder this time, stars bursting behind my eyelids, nails raking down his back as my second orgasm crashed through me. He wasn’t far behind—hips stuttering, breath hot against my neck as he moaned my name like a confession.

And when he came, it felt like the world held still for a second.

After, he didn’t move. Just lay on top of me, heartbeat thudding against mine, one hand still tangled in my hair.