#riverdaledrabbles

The Friday night rush at the Wyrm is considerably slower than you expected it to be tonight. Most of the older Serpents have settled into their regular seats and have taken to nursing their beers and reminiscing and the ones still in school ducked out of the bar over an hour ago, bored and headed to the quarry to cause trouble.

FP Jones and his kid are notably absent, as are most of the other Serpents rising up in the ranks. It’s not hard to figure out why. Lately, things have been rough on the Southside. The Ghoulies have been causing chaos all over town. There have been more brawls in the last week than there have in the previous month, and as far as you’re aware FP is pretty keen on ending things before they get out of control like they did back when you were all still in high school.

Worry niggles at the back of your mind, but you shove it down.

It’s a little after two in the morning and the bar is almost empty by the time Sweet Pea slips in through the front door. You don’t notice him at first, half-asleep as you scrub the same spot on the bar with a wet cloth, making lazy circles.

“You know, I think you missed a spot.”

Inhaling sharply, you startle at the unexpected voice. Your eyes snap up to meet Sweet Pea’s amused gaze and his lips quirk higher. You’re taken aback by the man standing in front of you. There’s blood on his knuckles, his own or someone else’s you can’t be sure, his lip is split and puffy, and there’s a nice bruise forming beneath his left eye. More blood is splattered across the front of his leather jacket and the white shirt he’s wearing beneath it.

Without really meaning to you look him over, cataloging the injuries you see. It’s not as bad as you were expecting. He’s bloody and bruised and holding himself like his ribs hurt, but you’ve seen he look far worse than this.

“Let me guess,” you muse, leaning forward on your elbows and grinning at him, “I should see the other guy?” His answering grin is wry and humorless and you think maybe you’re wrong and it’s worse than you think. “What was it this time?”

He shuts down and immediately you regret asking. His expression becomes pinched and a dark wave of fury washes over his features. Sweet Pea grits his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle in his jaw pops. “Business,” is all he tells you.

You don’t have to ask what kind.

Instead, you ask “whiskey or vodka?” Something to make him loosen up or forget. It’s always the same with him.

He leans forward on the bar, careful not to get blood on the clean surface as you grab him a glass. “Whiskey.”

You pour him his drink and slide it across the bar. As he reaches for his wallet, you stop him. He stiffens under your brief touch, but doesn’t pull back.

“It’s on the house,” you tell him quietly. You aren’t sure what possesses you to say that, but you don’t regret it for a second. Hog Eye will be pissed if he finds out you’re giving away free alcohol—at least, he’ll pretend to be—but it’s worth it with the way Sweet Pea reacts.

His expression softens considerably and your throat tightens, your mouth dry. There’s something about the tall, angry biker looking at you like that that makes your breath catch. “Thanks, Babe,” he murmurs. Sweet Pea offers you another small smile before taking his drink and straightening.

You roll your eyes as he fishes out his wallet and shoves a twenty in the tip jar before heading for a table in the back where Jughead and Fangs are waiting for him.

You’ve never understood the point of drag racing. It seems stupid, betting so much on who can drive marginally better than someone else, but those were the Ghoulies’ terms. While the Serpents would prefer an all out rumble, the Ghoulies always have been fond of their flashy cars.

When Toni threw a crop top and shorts at you this morning you should have known it would be something like this. You may not be an official Serpent, but there are still certain expectations.

So here you are, waiting on some dusty back road as one of the younger Serpents argues with a Ghoulie about the same age, setting up the terms of the race. You aren’t sure where Toni disappeared to; she disappeared to go find Fangs as soon as the two of you pulled up in her beat up car.

Usually it wouldn’t bother you, being alone like this, but you’re really not liking the way one of the Ghoulies across the dirt lot is eyeing you. You doubt he’d be stupid enough to try anything in a crowd of Serpents, but you can never be too sure. The Ghoulies tend to be bold and don’t take no for an answer, and everyone here is just looking to start a brawl.

Ignoring the Ghoulie doesn’t seem to dissuade him.

You jump as a pair of big hands settle on your hips from behind and squeeze gently. Panic surges in your chest until a familiar, rough, baritone laugh rumbles through you as you’re pulled back against a broad chest. “Relax, baby girl,” Sweet Pea murmurs against your ear, voice low and throaty. “It’s just me.”

Breathing a sigh, you lean into him. “Fuck, Sweet Pea,” you huff, rolling your eyes when he chuckles.

You don’t have to ask what he’s doing, already feeling the Ghoulie’s eyes slide away from you. And sure enough, you crane your head back to look at him only to find him locked in a staring contest with the Ghoulie across the lot, who sneer and turns back to his friends. Sweet Pea’s jaw is clenched tight, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and you shake your head at the alpha male bullshit, but gladly sink into him anyway.

The pad of his thumb strokes the bare skin over the waist of your shorts, just teasing the tattoo peeking out on your hip. You wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, trying not to squirm and shiver as he leaves a trail of fire in his wake, the heat of his hands sinking into you.

“I thought you were supposed to be giving Isaac and Dexy some pointers,” you murmur, watching the two younger Serpents head back to their car, the Ghoulies doing the same. Briefly, you wonder where they got it, but figure it best not to think about it.

Sweet Pea pulls you a little closer to his torso, leaving no space left between the two of you. He doesn’t wrap his arms around you, just holds you there, grip loosening now that the Ghoulie has lost interest. “I already did.” A low sound rumbles in his chest and echoes in your own. “Thought you looked lonely.”

“So you came to keep me company? My hero,” you joke. He pinches your hip like he always does and you swat at him playfully. Sweet Pea strokes the curve of your tattoo and you hope he doesn’t notice the hitch in your breathing.

You expect him to let go as the race starts, but he keeps his hands on you the entire time. They just rest there on you hips, drumming absentmindedly against your side to his own rhythm.

Picking up an overnight shift at Pop’s Diner wasn’t something you wanted on a Wednesday night. Wednesday’s are always quiet, the shift slow because it’s the middle of the week and no one wants to pop into a twenty-four hour diner for a shake at two in the morning aside from stoners and occasionally Jughead Jones.

And that’s exactly who’s here tonight. A group of southside teens stoned out of their minds are a giggly mess in the far corner of the room, milkshakes of every flavor laid out in front of them. They’ve been taking sips of each one individually and looking like their minds are blown every time. Jughead, meanwhile, is in his usual spot on a stool up front, laptop laid out in front of him as he types away furiously, still working his way through that novel of his that stopped being about Jason Blossom almost five years ago. Besides them, it’s only you and the cook, Brian, here tonight, and you’re pretty sure Brian is taking a power nap in the back while you lazily wipe down the same spot on the counter you have been all night.

When the bell above the front door chimes, you don’t think much of it, calling out a reflexive greeting as a man in a black coat walks up to the counter. It’s not until there’s a gun in your face that you realize what’s going on. The stoners stop giggling in the booth and from further down the counter Jughead stares at you with wide eyes and you hope he doesn’t try to be a hero tonight.

White noise rings in your ears. The man is shouting, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. You fumble and nearly drop the key you need to open the register. The drawer pops open. Jughead slowly starts to stand. The cold kiss of steel presses against your temple.

You wait for the bang but it never comes. Your hands shake as you give him the cash from the register. The bell above the door jingles.

It’s all a blur to you after that. Someone must call the police, because suddenly Sheriff Keller is standing in front of you, holding you steady with one hand on your upper arm. Your head is foggy and you stutter as you recount the events from minutes earlier. There isn’t much to say. You didn’t see his face.

Sheriff Keller talks to Jughead next, and then the stoners in the corner. Jughead comes to stand next to you against the far wall and makes a phone call, but you don’t pay attention.

The shaking in your hands spreads through the rest of your body and suddenly you’re sliding down the wall to the floor, a trembling, sobbing mess as you realize how different things could have gone.

The bell above the door chimes and you flinch. Someone drops to their knees beside you. There are hands on you them, gentle and coaxing, and your back is pulled flush against a broad, firm chest as arms wrap around you. You curl into the person behind you, immediately sinking into the familiar embrace. A tattooed thumb rubs circles into your upper arm.

“It’s okay, Baby,” Sweet Pea whispers in your ear as he strokes your hair away from your face. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” A small, hiccupping sob tears from your chest and his grip around you tightens. His lips press against your temple as he rocks you both. “No one’s gonna hurt you, okay?” he coos. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.” His palms rub up and down your arms, soothingly.

He kisses your head again and you believe him.

You aren’t sure how it happens exactly. One minute you and Sweet Pea are arguing about something pointless and the next you’re being dragged into the storage room behind the bar at the Wyrm and shoved up against a wall. The cold wall stings your back, but don’t have the time to complain. Sweet Pea’s mouth meets yours in a bruising kiss, and your knees almost buckle.

It’s a mad rush of hands and lips and teeth. Your fingers rake through his hair, squeeze his upper arms, dip beneath his shirt to tease the firm muscle beneath. Sweet Pea wedges a knee between your thighs and rocks up against you, applying enough pressure to make you moan and squirm, soft, needy sounds spilling from your mouth.

He grins against you, smug, and you’d wipe that look off his face if he wasn’t hooking his hands beneath your thighs and hauling you off the ground. You’re crushed between him and the wall, your legs wound around his waist, and already you can feel him, hard and hot against your inner thigh, achingly close to where you want him.

Sweet Pea’s hips rock against yours and you squirm.

A lick of heat curls in your gut, and you realize it’s skin contact you want. The leather jacket is shoved from his shoulders and left in a heap on the floor and he chuckles when your needy fingers grasp the hem of his shirt and tug upwards. You struggle with the fabric, huffing, and consider just ripping it when it catches on his shoulders. Through his amusement, Sweet Pea helps you yank the shirt off from over his head.

He doesn’t leave you for long. Another bruising kiss is pressed to your mouth before his lips wander to your jawline, nipping and sucking a path across your skin that makes your eyes flutter shut. Your hands slide up his back, feeling every bump and scar and bruise with the tips of your fingers until his mouth finds a spot that makes your whole body jerk against him. Sweet Pea squeezes your ass as your fingers grasp at his shoulders, and then his hair. He murmurs your name and you whimper, hips grinding against his until you pull a low moan out of him.

“That’s it, Baby,” he mumbles as your legs squeeze around his waist and your fingers tug at his hair. “Just like that.” His mouth moves from your jaw to your neck, the rough scrape of his lips against your sensitive skin making you shiver.

Sweet Pea grinds against you bucking his hips sharply, and your head falls back against the wall as you arch into his chest.

He pulls away from you then, and you whine at the loss of contact as you’re placed back on your shaky legs, but he smothers your complains with a kiss that makes you dizzy. And you really can’t complain as his tongue drags across his lower lip as he sinks onto his knees in front of you.

There’s something absolutely erotic about having him on his knees for you, his lips teasing the soft skin above the waist of your jeans, his eyes on you, taking in every expression you make as he pulls little sounds from your mouth. His eyes lock on yours, pinning you in place as his fingers slide up your thighs. Your breath catches as he pops open the button on your jeans.

Sweet Pea holds your gaze as he leans in to press a soft kiss beneath your bellybutton. His mouth follows the hem of your underwear to the tattoo on your hip and your legs turn to jelly. The grip he has on your thighs is the only thing keeping you upright and aren’t able to swallow down a pleased moan when his teeth graze your sensitive skin.

His fingers hook around the edge of your panties and the ache between your legs grows painful as he kisses your hip and—

“Oh!” Sweet Pea rips his mouth away from you and you gasp, eyes flying open to see a very surprised Toni standing there. Her lips twitch like she wants to laugh. She turns around and heads back out to the bar, shouting, “Hog Eye, I think we’re out of that!”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, mortification rushing through you when you realize you were about to let Sweet Pea go down on you in the back room of the Whyte Wyrm.

Sweet Pea groans and stands, leaving you wet and needy, and the sound just makes the pulse between your thighs more noticeable. “Shit.” He sighs and glances down at you, taking in your bee-stung lips and rumpled hair, your pupils blown wide with lust. “My place?” he jokes.

There’s a nervous look in his eyes that you really don’t like, but right now you’re more concerned with getting uncuffed and outside. Maybe your roommate was right. You really should have swiped left. Dilton is turning out to be a real freak in the bedroom, but not in a sexy way.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Would you please uncuff me so we can go?” You would do it yourself but, well, you’re a little tied up at the moment.

Dilton nods slowly, finally calming down and not running in circles like a headless chicken. He takes a deep breath. He reaches into his pocket where he slipped the key earlier. A moment later, Dilton goes horrifyingly still. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off, his brows furrowing in confusion. You shift on the bed, trying to get into a more comfortable position. Dilton pats himself down. “Oh, shit,” he hisses, growing frantic.

It hits you a moment later exactly what’s happening: he lost the goddamn key.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Groaning, you flop back against the sheets. Your hands are still awkwardly bent over your head and your shoulder is starting to go stiff. For the second time tonight, you realize what a horrible decision this was. Frankly, you didn’t even want to bust out the handcuffs in the first place, but damn did it seem like a sexy thing to do in the heat of the moment. But now here you are: stuck to your bed, the fire alarms blaring, with your date looking like he’s about to piss himself or start to cry.

You’re never using Tinder again.

Maybe it’s not all bad. It’s just a little fire. Dilton can probably just go find someone to cut you loose and you’ll all have a laugh over this later. No one will ever let you forget the time your dumbass got handcuffed to the bed and lost the key and a sexy firefighter will have a funny story to tell later tonight. It could be worse.

And that’s the exact moment that Dilton decides to bolt for the door without a word.

For a second, you can only stare in stunned silence at the place he was previously standing. Footsteps pound down the hallway and tell-tale creak of your apartment door lets you know that Dilton has, in fact, abandoned you in the apartment.

“Dilton? What the fuck!” you shout a second too late, more annoyed than anything else. “Son of a bitch,” you snarl, yanking violently at the cuffs around your wrists. The cuff doesn’t budge. Metal digs into your wrist painfully and already you can see the outline of a bruise forming on your skin from the continuous tugging.

You bite back a frustrated scream and drop back against the bed, resigning yourself to lay there and be stuck until your roommate comes home later tonight. The last thing you want is for them to find you half-naked and handcuffed to a bed, but oh well. You’ll probably have to call a locksmith too. Dammit.

A knock at the door startles you from your thoughts.

Frowning, your eyes narrow as you glance back at your bedroom door, twisting awkwardly to see from your position. You arch off the bed slightly, suddenly painfully aware that you are indeed mostly naked when you realize there’s someone coming down the hallway.

The door is pushed open slowly as a man steps into the room. Concerned, brown eyes immediately lock with yours and your jaw drops.

Well, damn. For a firefighter, he’s quite the smoke-show, and if you weren’t mostly naked already, you think you’d strip down immediately just from looking at him. His jacket is wrapped around his waist, leaving him in a black t-shirt that’s a little too tight around his broad shoulders and bulging biceps. He’s tall and fit, six-feet at least, with messy black hair and a look in his eyes that makes you think he must be a troublemaker. Your eyes move back to his bare forearms and biceps that look like they could break you in half and you inhale sharply.

There’s a tattoo creeping up the side of his neck and your first thought is that you want to lick it.

In short, he’s pretty damn delicious and you’re half-naked, handcuffed to a bed, and a little horny.

The firefighter blinks down at you, his brows furrowing. The bewildered look on his face at finding you tied up and in your underwear makes a tiny bit of satisfaction creep through you, despite the awkwardness. You’d be willing to bet he doesn’t see something like this every day.

There’s an awkward minute where the two of you just stare at each other. His gaze stays determinedly on your face, but you’re ogling his biceps with shameless wonder. How could you have ever swiped right on Dilton when this spicy snack exists in the world?

The hot firefighter clears his throat and heat prickles along your skin as he steps further into your room, crossing the short distance towards where you’re tied up on the bed. He crouches beside the bed, eyes locking on yours. “I’m Sweet Pea,” he tells you. “I work with the local fire department.

You tell him your name and there’s a twitch to his lips like he’s trying not to be amused at the situation, ever the professional. “I know,” he chuckles and the sound sends a little thrill shooting down your spine. “Your landlord sent me in to find you, said you weren’t outside, but you were still home.”

Embarrassment curls through you as his gaze flicks up to the handcuffs securing you to the bed. You shift under his gaze and the cuffs single around your wrists. “Yeah, I got a little tied up with something,” you joke, a little more at ease with the situation than you probably should be, but you chalk that up to the shots you took before Dilton came over and whipped out the handcuffs.

The metal clinks against the headboard and his gaze flicks between your wrists and your face. His lips twitch again. “I can see that.” Sweet Pea stands from his crouch and leans over you. One of his knees presses against your outer thigh as he reaches for your bound wrists. Warm fingers brush against your forearms and you shiver. His thumb rubs the reddening skin where the metal is digging into your wrists and his lips purse, his eyes narrowing in irritation, and you suddenly find yourself fascinated by the curve of his strong jawline, wondering how it would feel beneath your lips. “This hurt?” he asks, snapping you out of it.

You twist your wrists, nose wrinkling. “A little,” you tell him honestly. You’re a little sore, but they haven’t been on long enough to really hurt yet. If anything, you’re too distracted by his muscular frame hovering over you to really think about your wrists right now.

Sweet Pea glances at you again, searching your face to make sure you aren’t lying. Eventually, he turns back to your wrists, surprisingly gentle as he touches you. “Your boyfriend leave you here?” he asks, like he’s trying to distract you. There’s a hint of anger behind the question.

Humming, you crane your head back to watch him tug at the chain looped around one of your bedposts. “Shitty date,” you correct. The hands on your wrists still and he glances down at you. The intensity of his gaze has your thighs squeezing together, and you clear your throat. “What happened with the fire?” you ask, voice a little higher than normal.

Sweet Pea snorts. “There was no fire,” he says, “just a lot of smoke. But we still needed to clear the building.”

“Lucky me,” you murmur, causing his lips to curve up at the edges.

“You have the key?” he asks, giving up on lightly pulling at the chain.

How the hell Dilton came across handcuffs this sturdy, you really don’t want to know. “He said he lost it,” you say, snorting slightly. You’re not sure if you believe that or if Dilton’s just a major dumbass, but you’re willing to bet on the latter. With your luck, he left it on the counter in your kitchen or in his back pocket. Regardless, you really can’t complain too much as you get a good look at the chiseled hunk leaning over you.

Sweet Pea swears under his breath. His eyes narrow in annoyance, and a muscle in his jaw flexes when he clenches his jaw. “Okay. It’s gonna be fine.” Those dark eyes lock on the handcuffs securing you to the bedpost again, and you wonder what the hell he’s planning to do about that. His gaze slides back to yours. “I’m gonna have to break the headboard,” he tells you, not sounding the least bit apologetic, but you don’t really give a shit.

Hell, he can break your headboard anytime he wants.

Fascinated, you watch the way his bicep flexes as he pulls at the thin, wood posts on the headboard, checking to see how sturdy they are. The firefighter towers over you, giving you an eyeful of his well defined chest beneath that tight, black shirt. Sweet Pea shifts his grip on the bedpost and then yanks. It snaps easily beneath his grip and damn if you weren’t wet before…

“Next time,” he says softly, leaning in so that his lips are close to your ear, “you probably shouldn’t use the real thing.” Your breath catches at how close he is, and Sweet Pea’s gaze is amused as he pulls away, but there’s something else there, too.

His hand is hot on your back as he helps you off the bed and wraps his jacket around your shoulders, your hands still cuffed in front of you.

It takes nearly a half-hour for Sweet Pea to finally get the handcuffs off of you, and by the time they pop free you could kiss him. His jacket is warm around you, and he’s nothing but professional as he finally unlocks the cuffs and slides them from your wrists.

“Thanks,” you say to him as you rub the raw skin on your arms. You’re still wrapped up in his jacket, and though the fire has long been put out and everyone else has gone back inside, the rest of the firefighters are still crowded around their truck, talking and occasionally sending Sweet Pea sly looks that he ignores.

His eyes soften around the edges as he looks at you, a small smile on his lips. “Don’t worry about it.” A deep, baritone laugh rumbles in his chest and your breath catches. “You’d be surprised how many people we’ve had to get out of handcuffs before.” He stands and helps you onto your feet for the second time tonight.

Sweet Pea’s hand lingers a little too long on yours before he crosses his arms over his broad chest. You just stare at him for a second, uncaring of the fact that you’re naked aside from the long, fireman’s jacket and your lacy underwear. Maybe it’s the looks from his friends or the fact that you’re hardly dressed, but somehow you get the courage to ask, “what are you doing tonight?”

For a second, he’s taken aback. His eyes widen just a little. “Not much,” he finally tells you after a moment of silence. “I have tomorrow off.”

“How would you feel about dinner? There’s an Italian place across town.” His lips part, and suddenly you’re afraid you’ve over-stepped. “You know,” you hurry to continue, “as a thank you for saving my life.”

He chuckles, but there’s a faint flush on his neck as he looks you over. “Are you asking me out on a date?” The amusement in his tone is palpable.

“Well, you did see me naked, so…”

Again, he looks at you like he can’t quite figure you out. “My shift ends in half-an-hour,” he tells you.

2.

The second time it happens, you still don’t think anything of it.

The Wyrm is as crowded as ever on a Friday night, packed to capacity with Serpents both young and old. The music is loud and some of the younger Serpents are already way beyond tipsy, much to your amusement. Usually, you’d be working the bar tonight with Toni, but somehow you both scored the night off, Hog Eye being unusually generous.

More likely is that Fangs and Sweet Pea bribed him, but if they did they haven’t said a word about it. Regardless, you plan to enjoy the night off. Everyone has been stressed in the weeks since the schools merged, and things have become more and more tense on the Southside, so it’s nice to see everyone finally relaxing for once.

You peer around the packed room, squinting to see a flash of bubble-gum pink against all the leather and dark hair, but the room is too dark to see much of anything at all. Huffing, you press up on your toes, looking instead for Sweet Pea’s towering frame, knowing that he’s infinitely easier to find than Toni.

At least hypothetically he should be. Your frown only deepens when you don’t see your mountain of a friend anywhere in the room, a frustrated groan building in your throat. It really shouldn’t be this difficult to spot Sweet Pea. He’s over six feet and is one of the tallest Serpents in the room. He shouldn’t be able to hide like this.

“Boo,” a low voice whispers in your ear, a pair of hands grabbing you by the shoulders. You yelp, about to swing at whoever’s grabbed you but a familiar, rough baritone chuckle reaches your ears first, his laughter vibrating through you both, and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Somehow, he always manages to find you first.

Sweet Pea squeezes your shoulders, big hands running down your arms to your elbows, palms warm against your bare skin. His touch is light and it tickles and if you lean into him it’s only because of the two shots you’ve already taken tonight.

You consider punching him anyway for scaring you, but the smile on his face when you turn around whisks the thought away.

He peers down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners from how wide his grin is, a lightness to his features that you don’t often get to see anymore. He looks absolutely elated, comfortable in his skin, and there’s no trace of the deep-set anger in his eyes that just won’t seem to wash away most days. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him this open and happy. The last few weeks have been difficult for everyone, but especially for Sweet Pea.

He’s always been protective of the Serpents, of his family, and he’s done everything to put a target on his own back at Riverdale High in order to keep it off everyone else. You aren’t sure if he’s brave or reckless because of it, but you’ve always thought he was a little bit of both.

You think that that smile on his face might be the epitome of joy and chalk it up to the alcohol.

“Asshole,” you call him, rolling your eyes as his hands drop from your arms, “don’t scare me like that!”

His grin only widens at your irritated expression, expression impish, and a smile tugs at your own lips before you can stop it. “Come on.” His reaches for you easily, fingers tangling with yours as he gives you a little tug in the opposite direction you were previously looking. “Toni and Fangs are waiting.”

3.

The third time it really happens, you don’t notice. But Toni Does.

You’re used to Sweet Pea grabbing your hand and pulling you along behind him at this point. It’s just become second nature. Anytime you’re in a crowd, Sweet Pea will lace his fingers through yours, keeping you close to his side so you don’t get swept away. At Riverdale High. At the Whyte Wyrm. Down at the Quarry with the other Serpents milling around you. It’s nothing unusual at this point. It’s just how the two of you are.

So really, you just don’t notice when his fingers slip through yours when you’re at the Drive-In with Toni and Fangs.

The Drive-In is playing some eighties-night marathon that Fangs had begged you all to watch with him, something you were suckered into with his puppy-dog eyes. Toni fell for the eyes too, and either Sweet Pea was bribed or just decided he didn’t want to be alone on a Saturday night. Regardless, somehow you all ended up curled up in the bed of his pickup with a multitude of blankets and pillows for everyone to use.

When he reaches down and hoists you onto the truck with one hand, he doesn’t let go.

And that’s the end of it. Your hands should slip away from each other, but they don’t. And you don’t notice. You end up squeezed between Toni and Sweet Pea with your laced fingers resting on your lap, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand. You lean into his side a little more than usual, the early March air still chilly, and his grip around you tightens just a fraction.

They stay linked like that until the credits of the first film begin to roll and Fangs gets restless, badgering Sweet Pea until the other by agrees to go on a quick snack run with him. Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and makes a snarky remark about Fangs eating his candy too quickly, and you and Toni both snicker, knowing how Sweet Pea has just as big of a sweet tooth as Fangs.

His hands slips from yours and your fingers go cold.

Toni smirks as soon as the boys disappear from sight, one brow quirked at you expectantly, expression mischievous. “So,” she drawls, playing with a piece of popcorn and trying to appear casual, “what’s going on between you and Sweet Pea?”

Rolling your eyes, you level her with a pointed look, but her smile only widens. “As I’ve told you, there’s nothing going on between me and Sweet Pea.” It’s a conversation you’ve had with her a million times before. No matter how much you deny that there’s anything between you and Sweet Pea, Toni just won’t seem to believe it.

Her smirk widens like she’s won. “Then why exactly were you two holding hands just now?”

Automatically, you go to respond, brows furrowing because you know exactly why Sweet Pea would hold your hand. Then you stop. Because you weren’t in a crowd of people this time. It was just Fangs and Toni and there was no reason for him to be keeping you close like that. There’s no way he could have lost you in a crowd.

You purse your lips, trying not to blush, and Toni snickers. The boys come back before you can say anything else and Sweet Pea settles down beside you once more, a bag of gummy worms in one hand. His side is pressed flush against yours and the heat of his body is something you’re suddenly all too aware of.

The next movie starts to play and Sweet Pea’s hand curls around yours.

4.

After that, you don’t stop noticing it.

Sweet Pea holds your hand more than you initially realized. It’s no longer just at school in between classes when the hallways are packed with students or just at the Wyrm on a crowded Friday night. No, somehow it’s extended to when he walks you home after your shift at the bar and movie nights on Fangs’ couch and under the booth while you’re at Pop’s with friends, all without you even realizing it.

It’s strange, how perfectly his hand fits into yours, how without realizing it you’ve begun to relax into his touch completely, unaware that you were searching for it until his hand was completely enveloping yours.

Toni and Fangs have both noticed it at this point, but neither have said anything since that night at the Drive-In and you aren’t sure quite what to make of that. They keep giving you these sly looks each time they catch you and Sweet Pea holding hands, and each time your face flushes, like you’re getting caught doing something wrong.

It’s gotten to the point where the two of you hold hands more often than not, and at this point you’re almost painfully aware of that fact. Sweet Pea will just grab your hand at times and it’s like you can’t breathe, or his thumb will brush against your thigh as you hold your clasped hands in your lap and it’ll leave a burning trail of heat along your skin, a shiver running down your spine. Every little touch makes you ache for something that you aren’t sure you want to put a name to.

But Sweet Pea doesn’t talk about it and neither do you and Toni and Fangs keep on grinning like they know something you don’t.

You’re inclined to think that maybe they do.

Sweet Pea sighs. “Why are we here so early again?” he complains, glancing down at you, an annoyed expression on his face. Despite his protests, his grip only tightens around your hand as he allows you to tug him through the school towards the auditorium, the musical bound to start in less than twenty minutes. He frowns at a group of parents who send the two of you disapproving looks. “Actually, why are we here at all?” he rephrases, keeping close to your side as the two of you step in line.

“To support Toni and Fangs,” you remind him breezily, trying not to smile. Despite his griping, Sweet Pea is nothing but talk. He can complain all he wants, but you both know he would be here with or without you. Sweet Pea cares about Toni and Fangs way too much to miss out on something so important to them.

He groans low in the back of his throat, way too close you your ear, and you try not to shiver. “I don’t like musicals.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh come on, Sweets.” You tug at his hand, absentmindedly playing with the rings on his fingers, ones you’ve become well-acquainted with since the two of you started doing whatever this is. Please, for me? is almost what you say next, but you swallow it back, not willing to go there. “It’ll be fun,” you say instead.

For a moment he simply stares down at you as you pause just outside of the theater, dark eyes locking with yours as you twist one of the rings around his finger, trying to ignore the way he inhales sharply at the small action.

His shoulders slacken and he shakes his head, grinning as you pull him into the dark auditorium.

5.

Things build and build until they don’t.

Midge Klump dies and Fangs is accused of murder and then Fangs is shot and all of Riverdale goes to hell. It all happens so quickly and yet not fast enough, everything in excruciating detail, yet you’re powerless to stop it. Everything is chaos. People are screaming. A gunshot rings in your ears. You’re lost in the shuffle of bodies swarming the streets.

An unfamiliar ache of fear erupts in your chest when you realize you’re alone. Your heart lurches, throat constricting in panic, and with wild eyes you look around the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of another Serpent, a familiar face.

A familiar voice shouts your name and you whip around, the panic uncoiling in your chest as you see him. “Sweets,” you breathe back.

His wild gaze meets yours, eyes searching your own for something you’re not quite sure of, his hands hovering over your shoulders, clenching and unclenching like he doesn’t know where to touch you. Finally, he seems to find what he’s looking for. His arms snake around your frame, pulling you tight to his chest.

You grip him back just as tightly, hands fisting in his leather jacket as he buries his face against your hair. “I’ve got you, Baby,” he murmurs, voice almost swallowed by the screaming all around you. “I’ve got you.”

Somehow you end up back at the Wyrm in one of the bathrooms. You’re on the counter with Sweet Pea standing between your spread legs and there’s something electric between the two of you, but you’re shaking and he’s shaking and his fingers slip through yours like it’s natural, and at this point you think it must be. At this point you hold hands more often than you don’t. At this point you’ve realized you don’t want to let go. There’s blood on his hands and they stain yours as his fingers lace through them, anchoring the two of you together, and it’s enough.

You clean the blood off his hands with a wet cloth, fighting to keep your hands steady. You’re safe. He’s safe. But Fangs was shot and half of the Serpents are still missing and it feels like everything in this whole damn town is crumbling around you.

Releasing one of his hands as you wipe the blood clean, his fingers find yours in the dim light of the bathroom, gripping you so tight it almost hurts, but he needs this and you need it too. “Why do you do that?” you ask before you can stop yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

His eyes snap from your connected hands to your face, his brows furrowing. “Do what?” he asks, low and deep and rough, more fragile than you’ve ever heard him before.

Silently, you wipe more blood off his hands. He releases you, every so often, allowing you to shift his hands in your grip to wipe the blood from his palm, from under his nails. Neither of you can stay away for long, something about the skin on skin contact making your chest settle.

“Hold my hand,” is what you finally say.

Sweet Pea opens his mouth but doesn’t answer for a long time, just watches as you dab at a split in his knuckles that reopened sometime during the night. His hands are still trembling, but neither of you mention it. There’s a lot you don’t talk about. Finally, he exhales, a quivering little thing, and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he murmurs, fingers tightening around yours.

And somehow that’s enough.

+1.

Things have changed since Riot Night.

It’s been nearly three weeks and but it feels like several lifetimes apart. Fangs is alive. Jughead is alive. But you lost the Wyrm and you lost Sunnyside. And you think you lost a part of yourself that night too, while you and Sweet Pea were in that bathroom. And you know he lost pieces of himself too. Things changed. Maybe you got scared or maybe he did, or maybe it was both of you, but things changed.

You never realized how cold you were without him, how empty your hand feels without his fingers tangled up with yours, his rings cold against your skin. You’ve been reaching for him lately, without even noticing, hand searching for his, only he isn’t there.

He said he was afraid of losing you, but you think maybe you should’ve been the one who was scared. Sweet Pea has always been detached, brave and reckless and too proud to think he needs anyone until he’s already begun to lose them. And you? You’ve always just been too blind to see what’s right there until it’s gone.

But you and the rest of the Serpents build a new home by Sweetwater River, one made up of cheap tents and scavenged materials and a type of raw anger that makes the Serpents strong even though the Southside is gone. Only it doesn’t feel like home with Sweet Pea so close but still so far away.

He’s with Fangs and Jughead, the three of them smiling, big wide grins that make your heart squeeze in your chest. One of them was shot. One of them was beaten. And the third a broken boy barely put back together. You can still feel the blood on your skin and the ghost of his breath on your neck from that night, a whispered word of I’vegotyouI’vegotyouI’vegotyou and your chest aches. Sweet Pea’s eyes meet yours over Fangs’ head and something in his expression changes. There’s fear there, and loss, and something you don’t want to put a name too.

Something in you snaps and comes back together, a tide washing in.

I’vegotyouI’vegotyouI’vegotyou.

Jughead becomes Serpent King. They lost the Southside, but not their spirits, and Sweet Pea slides up beside you, arm pressing flush against yours and leaving a pleasant warmth rushing through you. You lean into him and it’s enough.

That night he hovers over you, breathing your name against your skin, mouth on your neck, your cheek, your chin, anywhere he can reach. Sweet Pea lets out a sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh against your throat, something soft and shaky—nervous—and you can’t help it when you keen, fingers quivering against his shoulders as his breath fans over your neck, warm against your skin. His hand curls around your bare hip and squeezes.

He doesn’t say it and neither do you, but your hand finds his for the first time in weeks, fingers knotting with his as he presses his weight against you, bare chest meeting yours. He whispers your name again, and it sends a chill through you, enough to make you shiver, but he only pulls you closer, until there’s no space left between you. His thumb bushes against you hip as you rocks against him, holding you steady, and his hand squeezes around yours.

Your bones hum.

Toni groans as she comes to the same conclusion. “Who was supposed to be watching him again?”

Jughead takes a sip of his beer and glances at the couple on the ground slyly. “I’m pretty sure it was Sweet Pea,” he says as Jubilee disentangles herself from her grabby boyfriend and stands up.

“What?” Sweet Pea snaps, surging up from his prone position. “Fuck you, Jones, I watched him last time!” He follows Jubilee up, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he glares at Jughead.

Jughead scoffs. “No, I watched him last time because you were busy trying to grope my sister behind a tree.”

“Can we not have this conversation now?” Jubilee asks, sighing as she grabs Sweet Pea’s arm to keep him from beating the shit out of her brother. Joaquin stares at the rest of them in amusement and continues to stroke Hot Dog’s head.

Toni sets her drink on the ground by her feet. “Agreed. Let’s just find Fangs and go home. He can’t have gotten far.”

Sweet Pea rolls his eyes as he runs his hand through his messy hair, irritation flashing in his dark eyes. “Let’s split up and look for him then,” he suggests.

“Let’s not,” Jubilee says, staring up at her boyfriend. She crosses her arms, having to crane her head back to meet his eyes. “That’s a good way to get lost. Or axe murdered,” she tacks on. He snorts in amusement, and she glares back at him. “What? You know what people say about Fox Forest.”

“Oh yeah. Sacrificial cults. A bloodthirsty, demonic creature. So spooky!” He laughs at the face she makes, and Jubilee shoves him away from her. Sweet Pea doesn’t let her go far. Easily, he tugs her back to him and wraps his arms around her torso, hugging her to his chest. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs against her hair, still chuckling as he presses a kiss to her temple. “There’s nothing out here. The Gargoyle King is just a myth.”

A displeased sound pulls from her throat, but she leans against his chest. “That’s what the hot guy in every horror movie says before everything goes to shit,” she reminds him, but she doesn’t stop his hands from flirting with the hem of her shirt.

He grins against her hair. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Eww,” Jughead says loudly from where he’s sitting closer to the fire. “Can you two not fuck in the middle of the woods? Thanks.” He takes the last swig of his beer, pulling a face as his sister and her boyfriend continue to flirt shamelessly.

Jubilee rolls her eyes. “Shut up, dumbass.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” Jughead repeats mockingly.

Before they can start bickering, Toni stands from her folding chair. “Okay!” She claps her hands together, gaining everyone’s attention. “Look, Sweet Pea is kind of right,” she admits. “Fangs probably just wandered off to take a piss and passed out in one of the bushes. It’ll be faster if we split up and look for him.”

Jughead’s eyes narrow as Sweet Pea’s fingers dip beneath Jubilee’s shirt. “Maybe I should go with Sweet Pea.”

“What? Need me to protect you, Jones?”

The girls share a look before Jubilee slips from Sweet Pea’s grip and gabs his hand instead. “Sweet Pea and I will go this way,” she tells the others, gesturing north of their camp. “You two head towards the lake. And Joaquin,” she shrugs, “just stay here in case he comes back, I guess. Is that okay?”

Joaquin snorts and ruffles Hot Dog’s ears. “I’m fine with not wandering around in the middle of the creepy woods.” Hot Dog woofs his agreement, tail thumping against the ground by Joaquin’s feet.

“Great,” Jubilee says. “Keep your phones on and meet back here in an hour?”

Begrudgingly, Jughead stands from his chair, already groaning. “An hour?” he repeats, his brows furrowing. “You think it’s going to take an hour to find Fangs?”

“Nope.” Sweet Pea licks his lips as he looks at Jubilee, a mischievous look in his eyes. As he tugs her away, Jubilee giggles, barely glancing back at the rest of them.

Jughead watches them go. “You two disgust me!”

Jubilee flips him off over her shoulder.

They’ve been wandering around Fox Forest for nearly a half hour when Jubilee comes to the conclusion that they have absolutely no idea what they’re doing or where they are. It’s been at least twenty minutes since either of them could hear Toni and Jughead in the distance, and they’ve checked every bush and tree, yet there’s been no sign of Fangs.

In his drunken state, she seriously doubts he could have made it this far into the woods by himself, and she’s half tempted to head back to the bonfire to see if he came back. Though, that’s hard to do when everything looks the same and she has no idea where they are anymore.

“I’m calling it,” she says, stopping with a heavy sigh. Sweet Pea glances at her over his shoulder. “We’re officially lost in the woods.” It’s cold and dark and everything looks the same out here, and Jubilee can’t shake the weird feeling she’s had since they all split up.

Fox Forest has always creeped her out, especially at night. Sure, a demonic gargoyle and satanic cults sounds ridiculous, but with the rest of the weird shit that happens in Riverdale, she really wouldn’t be surprised if they walked into the middle of a group of masked cultists about to sacrifice some poor animal.

As if he knows exactly what she’s thinking, Sweet Pea rolls his eyes. The light from his flashlight makes another sweep across the nearby trees, casting gnarled shadows across the ground. “We’re not lost, babe,” he says. “I know exactly where we are.”

Yeah, that’s a lie. “I’m sure,” she responds dryly, gaining another look from him. “Okay, human compass, what direction are we going?”

It takes him way too long to answer her. “North?”

“Are you asking or telling me? Because I swear, Sweet Pea, if we’re lost out here in the middle of the creepy ass woods, I’m not sleeping with you.”

A smirk she knows far too well creeps onto his face, and the double entendre hits her a moment later. “What?” Sweet Pea asks her. “You scared?” He angles his light on the ground and crosses the short distance between them.

That look in his eyes makes her mouth go dry. “Hardly.” Jubilee wets her lips.

He clicks off the flashlight and slips it into his back pocket, plunging them into darkness. She blames the hitch in her breathing on the sudden chill in the air. “It’s okay to admit it,” he tells her, clearly amused.

“Bite me,” she murmurs as he backs her up against the nearest tree, his lips hovering over hers teasingly.

Sweet Pea’s hands press against the rough bark on either side of her head, boxing her in. Her fingers fist around the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling him closer. “You first, baby.” Teasingly, his lips brush against hers, the heat of their breaths mingling in the chilly air.

Goosebumps prickle at her skin as his palm leaves the tree to settle on her hip, his fingers flirting with the hem of her shirt. “We’re supposed to be looking for Fangs,” she reminds him half-heartedly, rising on her toes to get closer to his lips.

“He can wait,” Sweet Pea tells her before his mouth finds hers in the dark.

It doesn’t take long for them to become lost in each other. Their heavy breathing and the quiet gasps and whimpers slipping from their mouths are the only sounds in the dark woods. The moonlight casts a silver shadow across the secluded spot between the trees.

Jubilee’s arms loop around Sweet Pea’s neck as his mouth moves against hers roughly, the alcohol buzzing in their veins and the thrill of the night making them bolder than usual. His fingers slip beneath her shirt, his palms hot against her as he tugs her shirt upwards, revealing inches of soft, creamy skin to his greedy hands. She moans against his mouth, raking her fingers through his hair, and Sweet Pea’s lips move to her jaw. Nipping and sucking his way to her neck, he grins when her head falls back against the tree trunk, her eyes fluttering shut as he works a faint hickey just beneath her chin.

Jubilee giggles as he nips her shoulder, pulling her shirt higher, letting it bunch above her bra. His teeth scrape across her neck as her fingers disappear into his boxers. A low groan rumbles in his chest.

Glowing eyes lock with hers in the dark from between the trees. Jubilee freezes, her breath hitching. A trick of the moonlight, maybe, an owl in the trees, or a deer, but then her eyes start to adjust. A figure swathed in a black cloak watches them from between the shadow of the trees. Gnarled antlers protrude from a deer skull, blending with the trees.

It stares with empty eyes, and every story she’s heard about the Gargoyle King comes rushing back to her. Slowly, as if it isn’t really happening, the figure’s head moves.

“Sweet Pea,” she murmurs, watching in horror as it takes a step out from the trees. “Sweet Pea—stop. Oh my god!”

He rips away from her neck, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit, sorry, doll, I—” A branch snaps behind him, and Sweet Pea whirls around, releasing her. “What the fuck?” Sweet Pea immediately shoves her behind him, blocking her from view as whatever the fuck just popped out of the woods takes another step towards them. “Hey, what the fuck, man?” he shouts, glaring at the figure.

It just keeps coming closer, unafraid, and Sweet Pea squeezes her hip. The familiar sound of a switchblade clicking open splits the air.

“Jubilee, I want you to run,” Sweet Pea tells her, voice low so whatever the fuck the creepy masked thing is can’t hear him.

Her fingers curl against the back of his jacket. “What? No, are you crazy?”

“Jubilee—”

The goddamn Gargoyle King raises its arms, spreading them wide. “It’s time to ascend,” a voice booms across the space between them, a hoarse, gravelly sound. And then, the figure starts to shake.

It takes them a second to realize it’s laughing, the sound familiar.

“Wait, Fangs?” Sweet Pea asks. The figure only laughs harder as it yanks the mask from its head like a damn Scooby villain.

“Fangs, you asshole!” Jubilee yanks her shirt back down, glaring at the cackling man as he doubles over, clutching at his stomach.

The creepy, antlered mask drops to the ground by Fangs’ feet, rubber and very much fake. Sweet Pea slowly lowers his arm when he realizes it’s just his best friend, though he doesn’t put away the knife in his hand. Jubilee subtly grabs his arm. The last thing they need is for Fangs to get his dumb ass stabbed.

Fangs wheezes, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, “Oh my god,” he giggles, “that was fucking fantastic!” He wipes the tears from his eyes and straightens. A smug smile spreads across his face as he looks at Sweet Pea and Jubilee, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“What the fuck, man?” Sweet Pea sneers, his jaw clenched tightly. Jubilee slips around his broad frame, and his arm immediately curls around her waist. She leans against him in return and slips her cold fingers beneath his jacket. She rubs his back, drawing small circles between his shoulders, and he slowly starts to relax again.

“Where the hell did you get that costume?” she asks, eyeing the black fabric draped around his frame and intentionally ignoring the ugly, rubber mask on the ground.

The twigs sticking out from his back shake as Fangs shrugs. “Dilton Doiley had one,” he says. “Something about LARPing? I don’t know, he just said I could borrow it for twenty bucks.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jubilee murmurs, running her fingers through her hair and brushing the strands away from her face.

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrow. “There’s no fucking way you knew we’d show up here. We’re in the middle of the woods, how’d you even find us?”

“I didn’t.” The smirk never leaves Fangs’ face as scoops his mask off the ground and crosses his arms. “I’ve kind of been walking around for the last hour waiting for someone to show up. I was hoping to get all four of you at once, but, damn, that look on Sweet Pea’s face was priceless.” He chuckles again and Jubilee grips the back of Sweet Pea’s jacket as he puffs up. “You two were being loud, so it wasn’t hard to find you.”

Jubilee blanches as realizes Fangs was lurking around in the woods listening to her moan, and Sweet Pea’s jaw clenches as he comes to the same conclusion.

Oblivious to their anger, Fangs wrinkles his nose and tugs at the black fabric he’s still swathed in. The creepy decorations that look like bones on his necklace rattle. “It’s fucking hot in here, man,” he whines, pouting at them. He freezes when he sees the open switchblade still clutched in Sweet Pea’s fist. “Dude, were you gonna stab me?”

“Still thinkin’ about it,” Sweet Pea grumbles as he closes the knife and slips it into his pocket.

With a groan, Jubilee buries her face against Sweet Pea’s shoulder and tightens her grip around his waist, her face heating up. “I can’t believe we were almost those naked teens that die in every horror movie,” she murmurs against his shoulder. Sweet Pea leans down to kiss her temple.

“Want me to kill him?” Sweet Pea asks her, too low for Fangs to hear.

Their friend doesn’t pay them any attention, too busy trying to yank the costume off over his head, but only succeeding in getting the fabric even more tangled.

Jubilee snorts as she leans back. “No,” she decides, pursing her lips as she tries not to laugh at Fangs’ struggles. “People would ask too many questions.” Sweet Pea chuckles, and she rises on her toes to give him a chaste kiss.

He steals another kiss before letting her go, and she giggles before turning back to Fangs.

“Okay, Your Majesty,” she calls to him, “lets go back to the car now. You had your fun.”

Fangs gives up on tugging off the costume and looks at her. “Oh, come on, Jubilee, you’re not scared are you?” His eyebrows wiggle.

She sending him a blank look that makes him freeze. “You really wanna tease me right now?” she asks seriously, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip, a stance that means instant death.

Fangs swallows. “No.”

“Good!” Jubilee grabs Sweet Pea’s hand. “Let’s go.” The two of them leave Fangs there, his costume still tangled around him.

And coming here now, smelling like absolute heaven, in the middle of a rut, it’s about as brazen as she could get. She’s always been a spitfire, stubborn as all hell, and he should have known she’d show up here like this, practically dripping with want—knowing it would set him off.

It’s not just him either. Every other Alpha in the room noticed as soon as she stepped into the bar, and in the past maybe some of them would have tried something, but Sweet Pea’s made his claim on her clear with blood and sweat and his scent clinging to her like a second skin and Jubilee has broken enough bones to ward off anyone trying to touch her without permission.

That doesn’t stop them from looking.

Another low sound rumbles in the back of his throat as her lips move to his neck and the tattoo there, not quite kissing him. “Come on, Doll.” Sweet Pea wets his lips and drops one hand from the wall near her head so that his fingers are teasing her upper thigh, flirting with the hem of her dress. “You know better than that.” He noses at her, drinking in her scent. Usually it would calm him, but right now all he wants it to drag her into the bathroom and fuck her hard, make everyone in this bar remember that she’s his and he’s hers.

A shiver wracks her as his hand creeps higher up her leg, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. There’s an ache already forming between her legs, a heat pooling in her stomach, and when he chuckles against her ear she bites her lip.

Sweet Pea leans back and almost groans at the sight of her, all smoky eyes and burgundy lips caught between her teeth. Her dress is short and black and hugs ever curve of her. Her arousal only grows as he looks at her, eyes dark with want.

Her head cocks to the side and her expression becomes coy. “Maybe you should remind me.” Her fingertips slide along his sides, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough to reveal the enticing shape of his hip bones.

He shudders as he imagines her mouth on him. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetness,” he warns her, clucking his tongue.

Her smile turns wicked and she feigns slipping out from under him, but he’s quick to pin her between him and the wall again, careful not to hurt her. She inhales sharply as he crams his knee between her legs and grinds his thigh against her. Jubilee’s fingers fist in his shirt and he swallows down a moan at the way her arousal flairs, practically dripping from her.

He’s hard and hot against her thigh and Sweet Pea rolls against her lazily, soaking in the soft sounds slipping from her. His mouth is on her then, his teeth scrapping against her neck. Sweet Pea suckles on her skin, working hickeys down the length of her neck as a reminder.

The rest of the bar ignores them, for the most part. They wouldn’t be the first couple to hook up at the Wyrm, hell this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had a quick fuck in the back, but even now Sweet Pea can feel the curious gazes of some of the younger members, drawn in by her scent.

Possessiveness flares in his chest that isn’t usually there and he rocks his knee harder against her sensitive heat, drawing a strangled gasp from Jubilee. That dark, animalistic part of him wants them to watch as he gets her off with nothing but his mouth on her neck and his thigh crammed between her legs, wants them to see how good he makes her feel as she whimpers and moans his name, her thighs quivering around him.

He could take her right here, bend her over the pool table and fuck her until she can’t walk.

His teeth dig into her shoulder a little too hard and her hips jerk against his. “Sweets,” she pants. The hands on his chest are suddenly flat palms pushing him away. “Sweet Pea, stop.” It comes out quiet, just loud enough for him to hear, and he stills against her, mouth leaving her with a wet pop as he comes back to his senses an apology already on his tongue. Jubilee is grasping at him then, her hands gentle against his face, reassuring. “Not here,” she says, and then, “take me home.”

They barely make it through into the house before he’s shoving her up against the front door, his chest pressed against her back and his bulge grinding against her ass, big and imposing even through the layers of their clothes.

It’s almost embarrassing how loudly she moans at being manhandled.

“Sweets,” she chokes out, trying to rock her hips back against his, desperate for friction. Being this close to him is making the ache between her legs unbearable and her stomach twists as he rolls against her, but it’s not enough.

His face is pressed against her hair again, then her neck. He huffs, breathing deeply. “You smell so fucking good,” he mumbles, lips hot on her neck. Jubilee trembles beneath him, wet and wanting as his hands slam against the wall on either side of her.

It’s suffocating in the best way. He’s hard and hot against her ass, hands boxing her in, and her back is on fire where he’s pressed against her. He’s so much bigger than her and she whimpers at the thought of him fucking her from behind, making her beg for it.

He’s thinking the same thing, picturing her trembling and clenching around his cock, his cum dripping from her, too spent to do anything but scream his name as her eyes roll back.

“Sweet Pea, please.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he asks her again, hands on her thighs, hiking her dress up higher. “Coming into the bar like this, a wet, dripping mess in the middle of a rut.” Sweet Pea slips a hand between her legs and traces her slit through her flimsy, lacy panties. She moans, hips rocking into his hand. He shoves her underwear to one side, two fingers teasing her drenched folds until she’s squirming and whining.

“Needed you,” she chokes out, breathing heavily. Her forearms are braced against the door, her temple resting against the cool metal. He doesn’t enter her, but god she wishes he would. The heat is almost unbearable. She’s already drenched and he’s barely touched her. She’s sweat-slicked, and the moonlight pouring in through the window makes her glow like some kind of goddess. “I tried, but—” His fingers drag against her clit and the raw pleasure makes her shudder. Sweet Pea gropes at her ass with his other hand, her dress bunched up around her hips. “Your hands are better,” she finishes.

The image of her touching herself is what makes him snap.

He chuckles, low and throaty and hot against her ear. “You wanna play dirty, baby?” His hand cracks against her ass in a sharp slap that makes her yelp. The sting only lasts a second and he soothes her reddening skin with a soft caress. The chill of his rings is a delicious contrast to the heat of his palm. “Lets play dirty.”

Sweet Pea’s hand leaves her aching center and he yanks her around again, barely giving her a moment to breathe as he slams her back against the door and grabs her thighs hard enough to bruise. He lifts her easily, she’s so tiny, and presses her back against the door. His mouth is on hers instantly, swallowing the breathy, mewling sounds coming from Jubilee, who locks her legs around his hips.

She arches into his chest, grasps at his shoulders, his arms, yanks at his hair until he’s snarling against her. Her hips are grinding into his and she gasps each time the button on his jeans catches on her clit through her underwear, the sensation of the cold metal foreign.

It’s all teeth and tongue as he carries her through the dark room. Sweet Pea only parts from her long enough to yank that tight, black dress over her head and toss it on the floor. Jubilee’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as he drops her down on a smooth, cool surface. The table.

Sweet Pea rips away from her, his hand pressed flat against her back, his heat leeching into her skin. The palm of his hand drags up her spine until his fingers find the clasp of her bra, a pretty lacy thing that matches her panties. He looks down at her, appraising, and his cock twitches at the sight of her, lips swollen and eyes hooded, pupils blown wide with arousal. Jubilee’s chest heaves, strapless bra barely covering her breasts. Her legs are spread wide for him, her underwear damp, and she’s practically shaking with need.

Seeing her like this, so wet and ready for him, only makes him harder and he grits his teeth to keep from moaning.

The snaps on her flimsy bra give away easily beneath his strength, and she gasps as he tears it from her, tossing it aside like her dress. The cool air causes her nipples to peak and Jubilee bites her lip, unsure what he’s going to do next.

The calluses on his fingers are rough and she keens as he tweaks her nipple, rolling it between his fingers before palming her breast. It fits perfectly in his hand, soft and smooth, and he’s oddly gentle as he leans down and kisses her chest. Sweet Pea squeezes her breast and rubs her nipple as he leaves another dark bruise on the top of her breast.

Jubilee sighs and arches into his chest, her eyes fluttering shut.

His hand slipping back beneath her underwear to tease her dripping slit, his fingers becoming slick. Her scent grows, clouding his senses. Honey and vanilla and jasmine. His jeans have become painfully constricting, and he snarls as her face contorts with pleasure when his thumb rolls over her clit.

He wets his lips. “What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, rubbing her clit harder. She rolls up against him and he grabs her hip with his free hand, keeping her firmly in place.

She pants out a soft, “you,” and he chuckles.

“Cute.” Sweet Pea purses his lips, amusement fading away. He pinches her clit and she squeals. The hand in her panties slips away. Leaning down, he presses his mouth against her exposed ear, a low warning in his voice. “Jubilee, tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” It’s almost too much, thinking about leaving her aching for him.

With a groan she complies, a desperate need for him coiling in her stomach. She’s wound tight and ready to burst. Jubilee’s hands tug at his hair again. “I want you to fuck me with your big, hard cock,” she tells him. And then, because she’s never been easily submissive, she leans in until her lips ghost against his and teasingly adds, “Alpha.”

Growling, Sweet Pea backs away from her. “Turn around and put your hands on the table.”

He’s done playing.

When she doesn’t comply fast enough, Sweet Pea yanks her off the table and shoves her down. The hard edge of the table digs into her belly, the wood cool against her front, and the rough treatment only makes her keen and jerk back against him as he ruts against her ass.

“Don’t move,” he demands, a snarl mixed in with his words as he hooks his fingers around her panties and pulls them down her thighs. They pool on the floor by her feet.

Jubilee bites her lip, cheek pressed against the table. She can’t see him from the angle, but the clanking of metal behind her makes her breath catch. Sweet Pea practically rips at his belt, nearly tearing the leather before he pops the button on his jeans.

He groans as his hot hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly and smearing the thick fluid beading at the tip as he presses against her from behind. Both of his hands grip her waist and he yanks her back. Her ass hits his hips with a muted slap and Jubilee moans as his cock slides between her thighs, rubbing her clit. The sensation of him grinding against her, covering his cock in her slick, makes her sob. A shier runs down her spine.

“Oh fuck,” she breathes, “Sweet Pea, please.”

He doesn’t keep her waiting. Sweet Pea thrusts up against her, thick cock spreading her lower lips as he shoves deep inside. There’s a moment of pause as they both get used to the feeling.

Sweet Pea leans down, chest pressed to her back, and she shudders at the skin on skin feeling, electricity prickling between them. The heat of him presses along her spine as Sweet Pea looms over her, growling against her ear as he trails wet kisses along her flushed skin. He noses her neck sweetly, then her exposed cheek.

And then he starts to fuck her.

She’s already on the edge by his second thrust. The wet sound of his cock pounding into her makes her eyes roll, and she moans each time his hips slap against her ass. He drives himself into her, cock hard and hot and perfect as he grinds against her sweet spot with each thrust. Sweat builds on her back as he slides over her.

“Such a good girl,” he’s telling her between harsh thrusts. “You’re so wet, baby. You feel so fucking good around me.”

One hand slips around her hips to roll against her swollen clit. Jubilee sobs and twitches beneath him, hips jerking back against his. She whimpers his name and rocks back against his hard cock as he murmurs nonsense praises against her hair. “That’s it, Doll, just like that.”

It’s all she can do to keep breathing each time his thick length fills her from behind, stretching her wide for him. Her wet walls clench around his length with each rough thrust, but Sweet Pea never slows.

He rolls her clit between her fingers and she’s pulled taut as a sudden climax crashes over her. It slams the breath from her lungs and she chokes on his name, eyes squeezing shut at the pleasure that coils in her gut and snaps.

Sweet Pea doesn’t stop fucking her. His fingers don’t slow and it’s all too much but not enough all at once. She’s a twitching, dripping mess and he just keeps fucking into her from behind, huffing against her neck and snarling.

A hand fists in her hair and she screams as she’s yanked backwards. Her back curves off the table, her sweaty palms sliding against the slick surface beneath her. Sweet Pea’s hand leaves her oversensitive clit and slides up her stomach slowly. He palms her breast again, nipping at her ear as he guides her head back against his chest.

She whimpers when he rolls her nipple between his thumb and finger. “You gonna cum for me again, Jubilee?” There are teeth on her neck and she’s panting like she’s in heat as he fucks her fast and brutal. “Gonna cum on my cock like a needy little bitch?”

In response she clamps down around him, writhing and sobbing beneath him. “Yes,” she gasps. “Fuck, Sweet Pea, yes.” She’s so far gone at this point, it’ll only take a few more precise rolls of his hips to make her come undone beneath him. “You’re so fucking big.”

The base of his cock starts to swell, and the knot grinds against her clit with every harsh thrust. Jubilee inhales sharply, so close to coming again. His grip shifts, hand leaving her hair to grab her throat and squeeze just enough for her to feel it. There’s a hitch in her breathing and Sweet Pea grins against her shoulder, muttering “that’s a good girl,” as he nips at her skin. “Fuck, if you could see yourself, all spread open for me and dripping.” His hand disappears between her thighs and the knot of tension in her gut unravels.

Jubilee comes hard on his cock for a second time, thighs shaking.

Sweet Pea lets go of her neck and pins her back against the table, covering every inch of her. His teeth dig into her shoulder at the same time he bottoms her out, hot, thick cum coating her walls as his cock swells, the knot keeping it from spilling from her spent pussy. She whimpers as his teeth pull from the curve of her shoulder.

He thrusts into her a few more times, slowing until he’s unmoving behind her.

Jubilee shivers when his lips press against the back of her neck, Sweet Pea leaving a slew of kisses down to her shoulder where a faint bruise is already forming where he bit her. They’re softer than before, sweeter, and a ragged sigh pulls from her chest as he shifts inside her, the two of them still locked together by the knot.

Knotting isn’t something that always happens, but when it does it’s more intimate, the two of them tied together like this. Sweet Pea buries his nose in her hair, drinking in her sweet scent as his hands stroke up and down her sides, nonsense praises being mumbled against her ear; Jubilee’s legs quiver, her body lax and loose from the euphoria. His hips move against hers, pressing his knot deeper inside her, and she whimpers at the small, sensitive aftershocks that ripple through her.

His palm pressed flat against her abdomen is the only thing keeping her from collapsing against the table.

The knot loosens eventually, and Sweet Pea’s cock slides from her with a slick, filthy, wet sound. Cum drips from her, sliding down her thighs and sticking to her skin, dripping onto the floor. It’s messy, they’re both sticky with sweat and fluids and the room smells overwhelmingly of sex, but the feeling of his cum dripping from inside her is absolutely erotic.

Sweet Pea presses a kiss to her temple and strokes her hip before pulling back. A low growl rumbles in his throat at the sight of his cum sliding down her quivering thighs. It’s enough to have him half-hard again, and the thought of bending her back over the table and fucking her raw again makes his cock twitch, but Jubilee whimpers, sensitive and spent, and he knows that’s not what she needs.

Reluctantly, he releases his grip on her, and Jubilee sags against the table in response, heels making her unsteady. He leaves her long enough to slip into the small kitchen and cleans himself off before grabbing a damp washcloth for her.

She’s right where he left her when he returns, slumped against the table and panting. He chuckles at the sight, fondness swelling inside his chest. A hum rumbles through him as he presses his lips to her shoulder blade, and Jubilee sighs, exhausted and content.

With a hand on her hip, he coaxes her to turn around. She’s shaky, but stays on her feet. Sweet Pea’s lips quirk upward fondly. He crouches in front of her, hands on her thighs to keep her upright in her heels. Once he’s sure her legs won’t buckle, he removes one hand from her skin.

Sweet Pea helps her out of her heels and she kicks them aside. He cleans her gently, lips against her thigh as he wipes the mess of fluids from her skin. Jubilee sighs at the feeling, her hands running through his hair absentmindedly, brushing his bangs away from his sweaty temple.

She winces as the cloth brushes against her swollen clit. “I know, baby,” he whispers, kissing her sweaty thigh.

When he’s done, Sweet Pea slides her panties back up her legs, hands on the back of her thighs as he kisses her hip, then her stomach beneath her bellybutton. He stands slowly, hands hooked under her thighs, and Jubilee is boneless against him as he lifts her off the ground. She sags against him, curling into his warmth, and he kisses her temple.

“You okay, Doll?” he asks as he sets her down on their bed. Concern is thick in his voice, and worry flickers in his eyes as he looks her over, because he can be rough and hard to handle, and she’s so small beneath him.

Jubilee only hums and curls into his side when he slips in beside her. “Yeah, Sweets,” she murmurs, rolling over to kiss his chest above his heart, limbs draped across him. “I’m good. Really good.” She’s sore and sweaty and messy, but satisfied. The ache is gone for now.

His arms wrap around her protectively and he sighs as her lips press against his jaw. “Thirty minutes and we go again?” he jokes, fingers teasing the curve of her ass and making her squirm.